Ismail Kadare - The Siege

“Stuff and nonsense!” the Mufti interrupted. “That’s the second time we’ve been told such crazy rubbish. Pasha, sire, how can you tolerate this … this … making a fool of us? How can a pipe be both true and false at the same time? Are we to suppose that aqueducts have doubles, like human beings?”

“Explain yourself,” the Pasha said to the architect.

“I not make fun nobody. I explain,” Giaour responded.

He stated that the aqueduct could be considered simultaneously true and false insofar as it was no longer in use. A course which carries water, he continued, is an aqueduct, as its name implies, but one which has ceased to do that and to fulfil its role is merely a pipe. The citadel had been supplied with water through the channel they had discovered up until the day of the army’s arrival. Then, for fear of it being found, they had themselves made it unusable.

“Did they now?” the Mufti shouted. “And for what reason did they do that, Mr Architect? Why did they hasten to do what it would have taken us a great deal of trouble to do? Was it out of their deep respect for us and their desire to spare us toil and time?”

Several members of the council started chuckling. Others nodded approvingly, meaning that they found the Mufti’s questions pertinent. One of the sanxhakbeys even declared: “That’s just what I was going to ask.”

The architect didn’t blink. Only his mouth opened, and poured forth his usual blather of words as same-sounding as so many grains of sand.

“You want know what made demolish pipe? Only reason is, afraid poison.”

He explained that it often happens that the besieged, once they have closed the gates and all other visible and hidden forms of access to their garrison, fill their cisterns with fresh water and, from fear of having their water supply poisoned, cut their last link with the outside world — their aqueduct.

A sly grin spread slowly over the wide expanse of the Mufti’s face. The others were very curious to see how this duel would turn out, for it seemed that for the first time this immensely learned man might bite the dust. The Mufti asked to speak again.

“Let us suppose that is right,” he said. “In spite of everything, what I cannot grasp is why they gave up their water supply three months ago, when they could have left the decision to cut it off until the fatal moment (fatal for them, that is) when we would find the aqueduct.”

“The old fox!” Saruxha said quietly in the Quartermaster General’s ear.

“He’s not as dumb as he looks,” was the whispered reply.

“It is obvious to all,” the Mufti continued, “that a cistern fed by a water pipe cannot be replenished once the pipe is cut, and it is no less obvious that if it has to be cut, the besieged will try to delay doing so for as long as possible. But according to you, the besieged we’re dealing with here are supposed to be mad enough to have cut off their own water before we even got here. That is what my poor brain cannot grasp.”

“Your brain not grasp because your brain not know,” the architect threw back at him.

“Don’t insult each other, but answer these two questions,” the Pasha broke in. “First: how do the besieged get their water? Second: why did they abandon their aqueduct prematurely?”

Old Tavxha, Kurdisxhi and some of the sanxhakbeys broke out in narrow grins. Tahanka’s eyes were lit with a fierce glow. Kara-Mukbil’s expression was as gloomy as ever. Tursun Pasha and the Alaybey, for their part, hadn’t lost their grumpy expressions. As soon as they saw this, the sanxhakbeys wiped the smiles from their faces.

All eyes were on the architect. The sound of the scribe’s scratchy quill seemed to make those glances even sharper.

Giaour’s mouth went slack in a single movement, as it always did. He answered the first question simply: in his estimation, the defenders must have both a reservoir and a natural well inside the walls. To the second question he replied that the Albanians had disabled the aqueduct in advance out of fear that it would be discovered secretly, and not openly as had been the case. We could have kept our discovery hidden, he continued, so as to transmit poison or some horrible disease through the pipe. Indeed, that was how he had poisoned the defenders of Xhizel-Hisar, ten years before; the same method had been used at Tash-Hisar a year later, as it had been used at Aleppo, twelve miles away, to infect the fortress with cholera. He cited the names of other besieged garrisons and citadels that had been brought low by water, a weapon more fearsome than the sword.

One by one the members of the council were overcome by stupefaction. They had no idea that Old Eggface, as they called him behind his back, could be so tough. They had lost all hope of seeing him bite the dust, and they felt exhausted. Tursun Pasha’s face also expressed weariness. You’ll go back to prison, he thought, but you’ll come out stronger, as you always do. Who knows what will happen to the others … But the Pasha could not believe his ears: the architect was now calling for an immediate assault.

“Next!” the Pasha said, not looking at anyone in particular.

The scribe took advantage of the pause to scribble away twice as fast.

“I’m in favour of an attack by stealth,” the Quartermaster General said. “But what do you think, brother engineer?”

Saruxha shrugged.

“Makes no difference to me.”

“But it is now or never!” the Quartermaster insisted.

Since the meeting began he had been thinking obsessively about a single thing: the destruction of the army’s supply trains.

The Quartermaster General spoke again. Couching his views in elegant and well-turned phrases, he referred first of all to the disadvantages of an overlong siege and of its potential for blunting the army’s ardour. Then he came to the point. He shared the architect’s position: he was in favour of attacking.

“Apparently a new astrologer has arrived from the capital,” a sanxhakbey said.

“That is correct,” the Pasha confirmed. “Have him called.”

A messenger stepped outside smartly.

“Since I have no special esteem for astrologers, I prefer to give my opinion before he comes in,” Saruxha declared. “I am in favour of an assault.”

They were all fingering their beads more and more slowly. They sought each other’s eyes, trying but failing to understand the nature of the miracle taking place in the war council. Men who hours before had been reckoned as soft as city whores and derided as laid-back, do-nothing, cotton-arsed cowards had suddenly turned into hawks.

The astrologer came into the tent. He bowed low and then took the seat he was shown on the divan. The Pasha whispered a few words to the Alaybey, who was sitting beside him.

“The council of war would like to know what the stars portend,” the Alaybey asked. “Do you have an answer?”

“I am ready.”

“Then tell us: what do the stars say about a second attack?”

“The signs are not auspicious. The present position of the stars is not favourable.”

The assembled dignitaries started whispering to each other.

“He seems to be smarter than his predecessor,” Saruxha muttered to the Quartermaster.

The Quartermaster was furious and grunted under his breath, “Every time, we have to put up with ignoramuses who spoil things.”

“He’s understood that it’s the only way he can avoid taking a risk,” Saruxha observed. “Any other prediction could lead him straight to his predecessor, six feet under.”

“The blockhead!” the Quartermaster went on.

Other members of the council gave their opinions in turn. In truth, they had never faced quite such a delicate juncture before. For one thing, they didn’t understand why the experts had suddenly changed their usual position. But the Mufti’s contribution made things even more complicated. The strong preference of the technicians for attacking now was enough to make him dubious, but when the astrologer came out against it, he had no hesitation in casting his own vote among the nays. The sanxhakbeys, who were next to speak, followed the Mufti. Old Tavxha and Kurdisxhi were totally confused by this upside-down state of affairs, and broke with their custom by showing no ardour for combat. As for Tahanka, who glared furiously at the technicians, he was prepared to join them provided they were in favour of attacking.