Amin Maalouf - Leo Africanus

In spite of this exodus, the conquerors remain in their capital a minority among others, not in any way more affluent, except for the ruling family. In the most splendid villas, in the best-stocked shops in the bazaar are seen mostly Armenians, Greeks, Italians and Jews, some of the latter having come from Andalus after the fall of Granada. There are not less than forty thousand of them and they are united in their praise for the equity of the Grand Turk. In the suqs, the turbans of the Turks and the skull caps of the Christians and Jews mingle without hatred or resentment. With only a few exceptions, the streets of the city are narrow and muddy, so that people of rank can only move about if they are carried on men’s backs. Thousands of people follow this dreadful employment, for the most part new arrivals who have not yet found any better occupation.

The day that we disembarked we were all too tired to go out of the harbour area. The voyage had taken place at a bad time of year, since we had to reach Constantinople before the sultan left the city on his spring campaign. So we spent the first night in a hostelry run by a Greek from Candia, a distant cousin of Barbarossa. The next morning we presented ourselves at the seraglio, the sultan’s residence. Nur remained outside the portcullis, talking in low tones into Bayazid’s ear, quite indifferent to his age, his occasional groans and his untimely laughter. I suspect her of having studiously narrated to him on that day the entire bloody and glorious history of his dynasty until his birth two years earlier.

As for me, I was a few steps away on the other side of the Sublime Porte, dressed in a long silk gown studded with gold, my eyes reading and re-reading the poem which I was to recite before the sultan, which I had had to compose at sea, between two fits of dizziness. Around me were thousands of soldiers and civil servants, but also citizens of all ranks, all silent out of respect for the person of the sultan. I waited for over two hours, sure that I would be asked to come back later.

This was to underestimate the importance of Barbarossa and the interest which the Ottoman was taking in him. A page soon came to fetch me, with Harun and his companions, to make us go through the Middle Gate towards the courtyard of the diwan , a broad park with flowers in bloom, where I could see ostriches running. In front of me, a few steps away, I saw a row of sipahis, motionless on their harnessed horses. When, all of a sudden, my eyes misted over, my ears began to buzz, and my throat tightened so sharply that I felt myself unable to utter the slightest word. Was it fear? Was it the fatigue of the journey? Or simply the closeness of the sultan? Passing by the row, I could see only sparkling lights. I tried to maintain a normal pace, imitating the page who was going before me, but I felt I was about to trip over, to collapse; I feared above all that I might find myself struck dumb at the feet of Salim the Grim.

He was there, seated in front of me, a pyramid of silk on cushions of brocade, a vision expected but nevertheless sudden, with a cold look which dispersed the fog from my eyes without calming my fear. I was no more than an automaton, but an automaton which was functioning with precise movements which seemed to be dictated by the impassive sultan. Then my poem burst forth from my memory, without eloquence but without faltering, accompanied during the last verses by a few hesitant movements which cost me effort and sweat. The sultan nodded his head, sometimes exchanging a brief word with his courtiers. He had no beard but a bushy moustache which he fingered endlessly; his complexion seemed ashen, his eyes too large for his face and slanting slightly. On his turban, which he wore small and tightly wound, was a ruby encrusted in a golden flower. At his right ear hung a pearl in the shape of a pear.

My poem finished, I leaned over the noble hand, which I kissed. Salim was wearing a silver ring on his finger, rather roughly made, the gift, I was told, of his astrologer. As I stood up again a page dressed me in a long gown of camel’s hair and then asked me to follow him. The interview was over. The discussion could now take place, in another room, with the counsellors. I hardly took part. My role was to represent, not to negotiate, especially as the conversations, which began in Arabic, continued in Turkish, a language which I knew imperfectly before my stay in Rome.

However, I was able to obtain a piece of information of very great importance, thanks to a mistake on the part of one of the counsellors. ‘Nothing is worse for a man than he should make a slip of the tongue’ the Caliph ‘Ali used to say, may God honour his face! But the tongue of this dignitary was slipping incessantly. So that when the citadel of Algiers, occupied by the unbelievers, was being discussed, this man kept talking about the ‘citadel of Cairo’, even going so far as to talk about the Circassians instead of the Castilians, until another counsellor, although very much younger, gave him such a furious look that the other turned pale, feeling his head shaking on his shoulders. It was indeed this look and this turning pale more than the slips of the tongue which made me realize that something of extreme gravity had been revealed. In fact, Sultan Salim wanted it believed that his war preparations that year were directed towards the Sophy of Persia; he had even invited the master of Cairo to join together with him in the struggle against the heretics. But in fact it was against the Mameluke Empire that the Ottoman had decided to march.

As soon as the meeting ended, I hastened to discuss its purport with Nur, which was far worse than a slip of the tongue on my part. As I should have foreseen, my Circassian became inflamed with passion, not in her outward aspect but in her heart. She definitely wanted to warn the brothers of her race of the danger which was threatening them.

‘Sultan Qansuh is a sick, vacillating old man, who will go on listening complacently to Salim’s promises of friendship right up to the moment when the Ottoman sabre cuts his throat and those of all the Circassians as well. He was probably a valiant soldier in his youth, but at the moment the only thing that concerns him is his eyelids and to extort gold from his subjects. He must be warned of the intentions of Constantinople; only we can do it, since we are the only ones aware of them.’

‘Do you know what you are suggesting to me? To do the job of a spy, to come out of Salim’s antechamber to go and tell Qansuh what has been said there. Do you know that the words that have passed between us, you and me, here in this room, would be sufficient to have our heads cut off?’

‘Don’t try to frighten me! I am alone with you and I am speaking in a low voice.’

‘I left Egypt for your sake and now you are asking me to go back there!’

‘We had to leave to save Bayazid; today we must return to save my brothers, as well as the future of my son. All the Circassians will be massacred, Sultan Salim is going to catch them unawares, take possession of their lands, and build an empire so powerful and so extensive that my son will never be able to covet it. If anything can be attempted, I must do it, at whatever danger to my life. We can go to Galata and take the first boat for Alexandria. After all, the two empires are not yet at war, they are even supposed to be allies.’

‘And if I say no to you?’

‘Say to me “No, you are not to try to save the people of your race from massacre”, “No, you are not to fight so that your son will one day be the master of Constantinople”, and I shall obey. But I will have lost the taste for living and loving.’

I said nothing. She went further:

‘What substance are you made of that you accept the loss of one town after another, one homeland after another, one woman after another, without ever fighting, without ever regretting, without ever looking back?’