Ismail Kadare - The Siege

They didn’t understand a great deal of the architect’s talk. They didn’t put much effort into understanding, anyway, since none of them could have suggested any useful amendment to the plan for the underground passageway. They simply stared at the red arrow which started at a spot outside the fortress, then moved on under the foundations like a man trying to wriggle under a door, and ended at a different spot in the cellars and dungeons. A single question could be read in all their eyes: would this sharp-tipped arrow really pierce the belly of the citadel?

During the architect’s address the Mufti showed his disdain by not turning his head towards the drawings laid out on the kilim. Old Tavxha looked distraught as he gazed at them, thinking sadly that suchlike figures and inscriptions were rapidly taking over the profession of arms, which would very likely lose its holy ardour and gradually turn into a dreary succession of stratagems concocted by mysterious and cunning souls like the accursed architect with his incomprehensible blather. He vaguely foresaw that if the Empire put too much trust in such paperwork, it would slowly wither away, and if its roots ceased to be fed by the combative vitality of men of his kind but drew instead on dry-as-dust, intellectual formulae, it would perish from thirst. Old Tavxha kept his eyes half-closed. His face wound was hurting and he needed to sleep. While the head of the Janissary Corps nursed these thoughts in his weary mind, the Quartermaster General, keeping alternate watch out of the corner of his eye on the Mufti, Tavxha and Kurdisxhi, thought, for his part, that if the Empire wanted to endure, then it had better keep up with the times and gradually move men such as these away from decision-making roles. But perhaps it was they, in fact, who maintained the spirit of war. Maybe he and his kind, for all their knowledge, would achieve nothing without the help of the others’ ignorance. Maybe a learned man and an unschooled one, when they serve the same cause, produce an alloy far stronger than two learned men or two unschooled men, just as bronze is harder than either the copper or the tin from which it is made.

It was past midnight when the discussion came to an end. Before closing the meeting, the Pasha urged all to maintain the strictest confidentiality. Each would answer with his head, without distinction of rank or role. He rose, and said calmly:

“If we have not succeeded in taking the fortress by pouncing on it like falcons, we shall now take it from below, like the snake, and will bite it in its sleep.”

The Quartermaster General felt a shiver run through his entire body.

Their huge camp has changed its appearance these last several days. It looks more like an enormous fairground than a military camp. We who first saw it cover the earth like a glacier, then keep us from sleeping during its night of orgy, then glower, grow angry and spill forth horror and death on the day of the attack, we do not find it easy to get used to this new state of affairs. We could easily believe that it is not the same army at all, but some other force from another time and another power that has suddenly emerged at our feet, God knows how .

At first we watched with amusement as regiments marched off to exercises and marched back again to a chorus of orders and songs amid a jolly patchwork of brightly coloured banners and toy-like, hastily built wooden minarets, and as flutes, drums and cymbals played heart-rending tunes while horsemen ran races or competed in equestrian games .

Quite a few of us were bemused by it all. Some even went so far as to wonder whether the Turks had given up the idea of making war on us. Perhaps they had received an order — a firman , as they call it — from their monarch who lives at the other end of the earth? People began to pray. May they vanish from our sight as speedily as they can!

In short, after seeing much that was truly unbelievable, we noticed dozens of soldiers going about in flower-patterned robes and feminine adornments bought from the stalls set up in the camp. We thought either we were having a bad dream, or the Turks had truly gone out of their minds. We gathered our men and told them they would do better not to look down on what was happening in the plain. We also pointed out that an army capable of taking on the appearance of a horde of mercenaries, then of an iron monster, and then of a loose woman, must surely be a satanic force such as is rarely seen on earth. God alone knew what shape it would take on tomorrow, whether it would turn into a raging tiger or a dead vixen .

Many of us recalled the stories of our ancestors about ogres, many-headed dragons, witches with changing faces, about the Evil One and the horrible Horned Man. All those fantastical creatures had some resemblance to this wizard-army that now laughs and now cries, now spits smoke or else grows moody and silent. The noises it makes can’t be trusted. Even less trustworthy is its silence .

The akinxhis were leaving. Their vanguard was already on the march. Thousands of men came out of their tents to watch the departure. Many did so to say farewell to their friends.

Seated on a short-legged horse, like all of the akinxhis , the chronicler, wrapped in a woollen blanket, cast a forlorn glance at all he saw.

The colour had quite gone from his cheeks. He had barely slept since the Alaybey had ordered him to accompany the expedition. At first he had hardly believed his ears. At his age! Join the akinxhis ! What fault had he committed to warrant being sent to these desolate parts?

The Alaybey had explained that sending him on the expedition into the hills was not considered a punishment, but, on the contrary, as a favour granted him, so he could become better acquainted with war and describe it more faithfully, et cetera. Fearing he might otherwise be taken for a coward, the chronicler objected that his health was not up to it — his spine couldn’t take it, for sure, but there was also his spleen, which stopped him sleeping. The Alaybey pretended not to hear and went on with his speech, stressing that henceforth history would be written differently, on the battlefield itself and not in the cushioned comfort of the capital, and so forth, and in the end Mevla Çelebi dropped his original intention of complaining about jealous rivals who wished him ill, and finally thanked the Alaybey and his colleagues for the great honour being done to him by this wonderful opportunity to see the famous akinxhis in battle with his own eyes.

And now that he was there, on horseback, waiting for his unit to fall in, he was picking up snatches of conversation from all around.

“Who knows how many captives they’ll bring back?”

“Ullu, don’t forget what I asked you to find for me.”

“They’ll come back with loads of gorgeous girls for us!”

“Wait and see.”

“Why do you say that? A plague on your tongue!”

“The plague on yours, too! May you lick the earth with it!”

“Hey, you two over there, will you shut up? Today’s a holiday. Can’t you hear the drums? Come on, lads, get into the swing of it!”

“I’ll buy one at any price, as long as she’s blonde and a decent size.”

“Even if she costs six hundred aspers?”

“Yes, I’ll go up that far.”

“You arsehole, you let the azabs bugger you.”

“Shut your face, you venomous snake! Can’t you see how beautiful the world is today?”

“And where are you going to find money like that?”

“Don’t you worry. I’ll manage.”

“But in your unit you only get paid two and a half aspers a day. So how are you going to do it?”

“I’ll find a way.”