Mika Waltari - The Wanderer

With a hopeful smile he twisted the ends of his long mustaches and looked admiringly at my turban, my earrings, and the buttons of my kaftan. There was nothing for it but to call down blessings on him and his men and to hand him a purse filled with aspers.

Few days in my life have seemed so long and heavy as that brilliant Ides of March, but after an eternity I watched the sun sink toward the Seraglio and tinge the billows of the Bosphorus with red. I sought out Abu el-Kasim’s deaf-mute under the boatmen’s shed on the shore, explained to him by signs what I wanted, and bade him betake himself as usual to the janissaries’ courtyard by the Gateway of Peace.

I slept not a wink all that night, and at dawn I ordered the sentries to wake the sleeping janissaries, with whom Andy and I then made the journey to the Seraglio. At the Gateway of Peace I found my faithful deaf-mute keeping watch. At my coming he stepped forward and told me with eager signs that the Grand Vizier had come to the Seraglio the evening before, dismissed his followers, and passed through the Gateway of Peace. He had not returned. A further gesture told me that my lord and friend was no more, and regardless of rank and dignity I sat down upon the ground to await the moment when the body of the murdered man would be thrown out into the courtyard. My attendant janissaries sat down also at a respectful distance. In the slowly growing light I saw the shrewd eyes of the onbash fixed upon me, but he asked no questions, knowing that our least actions are written in Allah’s great book long before our birth. Foolish curiosity was thus inconsistent with human dignity and self-respect.

The morning star faded, the cocks in the Seraglio forecourt began to crow, and soon the distant voice of the muezzin from the minaret of the great mosque reminded us that prayer is better than sleep. The onbash roused the janissaries, and we moved off in single file to the tiled fountain, where we proclaimed our intention and in turn performed our ablutions. Then turning our faces toward the Holy City we said our prayers. Soon the sun rose over the spring landscape and the great gates swung wide open. The porter, yawning and scratching his back, replied to our wordless query by pointing at a bier that stood under the archway for relatives to fetch away. But I alone, the renegade, with Andy and the deaf-mute, came to take Grand Vizier Ibrahim on his last journey.

Lying on that shabby bier he was less handsome than in life. His body was full of gaping wounds, and the green silk noose about his neck was drawn so tight that his face was black. His costly garments had been tossed pell mell over his naked body and the porter was even now removing them as his traditional perquisites. Nevertheless he willingly sold me a black cloth in which to swathe the body.

But it was too late. The janissaries who guarded me had already recognized him and could not restrain their cries of amazement and delight, though as a rule these men do not easily forget themselves and make it a point of honor to preserve impassive silence at all times. A crowd of others came to see what had happened, and soon the court resounded to excited chattering. I quickly gave the onbash the order to march and after only momentary hesitation he bowed, ordered four of his men to lift the bier, and took up his position in front of it, sending the other five on ahead to clear the way. Moslems have great respect for the One who severs all the bonds of friendship, and once we had left the courtyard we could make our way in peace, unmolested by passers-by.

We crossed the deserted Atmeidan and entered the Grand Vizier’s palace, where we laid the bier down before the famous clock in the great audience chamber. I was not at all surprised to see that the clock had at last stopped during the evening of the fatal Ides of March, Only a few frightened servants obeyed my angry summons and crept from their hiding places with bent heads. To them and to the eunuchs I gave orders that the Grand Vizier’s body should be arrayed in clean clothes and the face treated and colored to simulate the hues of life. Andy, meanwhile, went to find a hearse and a pair of horses.

While he was gone a dignitary sent by the Mufti arrived to announce in formal terms that burial in any of the Moslem graveyards of a protector of unbelievers and grand master of a heretic sect could on no account be permitted. This was an unforeseen difficulty, but while I was pondering what to do the young poet Baki arrived at the palace in tears, careless of the danger he ran by displaying grief for the death of a man disgraced. He told me that the dervishes would gladly allow the body to be laid at their sacred meeting place at Pera. if only to annoy the Mufti. I therefore sent him forward to arrange the matter with Murad-Asr/e£.

Andy returned from the coach houses where he had found only a hay wagon, as all the Grand Vizier’s state carriages had been removed for fear of the Sultan’s wrath. With curses and threats he had forced the terrified grooms to harness to this a pair of night-black horses that had been used at the funeral of the Sultan’s mother a year or two before. Then I chose the finest carpets and silken covers in the house and with Andy’s help transformed the wagon into a splendid hearse. When I had laid the body of the Grand Vizier upon it-leaving his face uncovered for all to see, for the skillful eunuch had given it back its former proud look-I sprinkled over it many flasks of rose water and also a pot of musk.

Having nothing to lose but my head, and that only once, I resolved to be thorough in my defiance of the Sultan’s wrath. Therefore I ordered plumes to be fastened to the horses’ heads and fine pepper to be sprinkled in their eyes until the poor beasts wept copious tears, as at the funerals of sultans. Encouraged by my boldness, two Negro grooms put on mourning and offered to lead the animals. So, by our resolute action, the procession soon moved of! from the courtyard, headed by the onbash. His eyebrows were drawn fiercely together, his mustaches stood out stiffly, and he strutted and swung his staff of office as if he were a subash, at least. Andy and I walked with slow steps immediately behind the wagon, and we were followed by a few of Ibrahim’s faithful old retainers.

In the meantime a crowd of silent onlookers had filled the Atmeidan, and had any ill-wisher taken it into his head to send agitators among them it might have gone badly with us. But all was deathly still; none dared molest us, and reverence for the dark, hovering wings held all decent Moslems motionless. Thus we crossed the Atmeidan unhindered, and the crowds fell in behind us until it seemed as if all Istanbul in deep, wordless grief meant to follow Grand Vizier Ibrahim to his grave.

At last we reached the great wall near the Adrianople Gate, where we turned our steps toward the shore and crossed the Arsenal Bridge to the Pera quarter, on the opposite side of the Golden Horn. The silent crowds halted at the bridge, but at the other end of it the dervishes were already waiting, led by Murad-Af‹?/f£, and beneath the sacred if somewhat notorious banner of their brotherhood they escorted us to their monastery at the top of the hill. Some of them whirled in wild mourning dances, while those with the shrillest voices sang laments. The professional mourning women who had long led the procession were now filled with emulous rivalry, scratching their faces till the blood flowed and tearing their hair as they uttered fiercer and fiercer howls.

Thus it was that contrary to all expectation the Grand Vizier’s funeral procession proved an effective spectacle and one worthy of his standing, despite the short time at our disposal. I fancy that Sultana Khurrem never bargained for such a thing, but rather hoped that the janissaries would desecrate the hated body in the forecourt and rend it in pieces, as had been known to happen before.