Mika Waltari - The Wanderer

Once again I begin a new book, and this time in the name of Allah, the Merciful and Compassionate. For my eighth book will show how the worm of decay was already nibbling at the fairest of blossoms, and perhaps also poisoning my own poor renegade’s heart.

THERE is but little to tell of the Sultan’s next campaign. It lasted from spring to autumn of the Christian year 1532, and came to nothing. Yet the march was eased by wise planning and perfect weather; strict discipline was maintained among the troops, and the three hundred pieces of artillery followed the marching columns without mishap. No general could have hoped for better conditions. But those who followed the progress on their maps noted with surprise that it slackened more and more as summer advanced. From midsummer onward, it became clear to the least experienced observer that indecision was delaying the march, until at last the whole of that gigantic army slowed to a halt and camped during August and September before the insignificant fortress of Guns.

Advocates of peace in the West made the most of this period of delay and doubt. Envoys from the Persian governor of Bagdad and from the Prince of Basra brought conciliatory messages to the Sultan, and their arrival seemed timed to show that at the most favorable moment for energetic action in the East the Seraskier had sent the army away to make needless and unprofitable war on the Emperor. Little wonder then that the Sultan paused so hesitantly before Guns, embittered by its stubborn resistance, yet for appearances’ sake he was compelled to persevere. “Instead of proceeding to Vienna, however, he marched from Guns toward imperial Carinthia, and his vanguard had reached the gates of Graz before he felt justified by the lateness of the season in beginning his homeward march. And though the grisly trail of slaughter left by his forces struck terror to the hearts of Christians everywhere, yet this great enterprise turned out to be nothing but a disorderly, planless raid, bringing Suleiman no honor and causing trouble in his empire that was out of all proportion to the result.

The only people to profit by this campaign were the Protestant princes of Germany, whom it enabled to make a pact with the Emperor at Augsburg. This for the time being ensured their religious freedom. Thanks to the pact Charles was even able to induce Luther to preach in favor of a united crusade against the Turks. Thus Grand Vizier Ibrahim’s hopes fell to the ground, and it became clear that yet again the Christians had made shameless use of their secret commerce with the Porte to secure concessions from the Emperor for their own ends.

But I have not yet mentioned the hidden but decisive reason for the Sultan’s strange hesitation before the walls of Guns. At the opening of the spring offensive, a fleet of seventy sail had put to sea to defend the coasts of Greece. Early in August, on almost the very day that Ibrahim pitched his pavilion before Guns, this fleet was sighted by the combined navies of the Emperor, the Pope, and the Knights of St. John, as they lay at anchor in Preveza Bay. At the same moment aVenetian fleet of forty war galleys was seen rapidly approaching; these neutral vessels anchored at a convenient distance to await developments. It is my belief that the hot, windless days of August, 1532, decided the fate of the world for centuries to come. The Emperor’s navy was commanded by Andrea Doria, undoubtedly the greatest admiral of all time, whom Charles had made Prince of Malfi. The commander of the Venetian fleet was Vincenzo Capello, who was strictly bound by the secret instructions of the Signoria. But the names of the Turkish sea pashas I shall not mention. I was informed of their shameful conduct by Mustafa ben-Nakir, who was eyewitness to these events.

Like his sovereign, Doria was a cautious man who would never give battle unless he were certain of winning. Perhaps he considered the Turkish war galleys too dangerous, although he numbered among his vessels the terrible carrack, that marvel of the seas-a floating fortress so lofty that her serried cannon could fire over the War galleys that commonly preceded her. Doria, then, did not attack, but secretly boarded the Venetian flagship to beg the commander to unite his force with the rest. No Mussulman fleet in the world could withstand them then, he said; they could proceed unhindered over the Aegean to the

Dardanelles and destroy the fortresses there in the twinkling of an eye. Then Istanbul itself, its ancient walls denuded of defenders by the Hungarian campaign, would fall an easy prey to the Christian navies.

But it was by no means to the Signoria’s advantage that the Emperor should by this single stroke attain to world dominion, nor was it desirable to put a spoke in the Sultan’s wheel. As the only well- matched opponent to the Emperor, he kept the nations of the world in healthy equipoise. Capello, therefore, as an obedient son of the illustrious Republic, politely declined on the grounds of the secret instructions he had received, though no one knows what these were. Then, mindful of the bonds of friendship uniting Venice with the Porte, Capello informed the two Turkish sea pashas of Doria’s intentions. As a result these valiant men quite lost their heads, weighed anchor that night, and rowed back with might and main to the shelter of the Dardanelles, leaving the Greek coasts to their fate.

The return of the Moslem fleet in the utmost disarray, with its rowers half dead from exhaustion, threw Istanbul into a state of panic. The united navies of Christendom were expected to appear before the city at any moment. Wealthy Jews and Greeks began hurriedly packing their possessions for dispatch into Anatolia, and many of the highest officials discovered that their health required an immediate visit to the baths at Bursa. The garrisons of the Dardanelles fortresses were reinforced, and all available weapons supplied to them, while repairs were begun on the ruinous walls of Istanbul. The valiant caimacam was said to have sworn to die sword in hand at the gates of the Seraglio rather than capitulate, and this report, though intended as encouragement, gave the final impetus to the mad rush from the city.

So witless and cowardly had been the action of the Turkish fleet that not one of the Sultan’s warships dared show herself at sea for a long time afterward. It was left to a young Dalmatian pirate, a beardless boy who later won renown under the nickname of the Young Moor, to bring to Istanbul the comforting tidings that Doria had abandoned his plan because his forces, unaided by the Venetian fleet, were insufficient to ensure victory. Instead he was laying siege to the fortress of Coron in Morea. The Young Moor had come to Istanbul to sell Christian prisoners from one of Doria’s supply ships, captured by him off Coron. He had at his disposal one little felucca and a dozen boys of the same mettle as himself, his only effective armament being a rusty iron cannon. Yet he seemed not to understand that he had done anything heroic in attacking Doria’s whole fleet with one little vessel, though the Sultan’s sea pashas had fled without even engaging it.

The news he brought restored calm; the caimacam sent an express to the Sultan at Guns to report that all was well and that the campaign might continue, while the inhabitants of Istanbul hailed the Young Moor as a hero and pointed the finger of scorn at the sea pashas.

Mustafa ben-Nakir had returned to Istanbul with the demoralized fleet, and on entering my house found Giulia and Alberto packing up my most valuable possessions with the help of the terrified slaves, while I studied the maps for the best route to Egypt where I meant to beg the protection of the good eunuch Suleiman. He passed on to us the Young Moor’s reassuring news.