Ismail Kadare - The Siege

“At the second siege of Aleppo,” the doctor answered, “the epidemic began fifteen days after the infected animals had been introduced. But we should not forget that only dead rats were used at Aleppo. Live animals move around and spread the disease faster.”

“Do we not need authority from the high command to use this technique?” Saruxha enquired. As two or three voices could be heard muttering, “What does he mean to say?” he continued in a sharper tone:

“I don’t see why my question should surprise anyone. The permission of the high command is required for the use of any new weapon. I know dead rats are allowed, but I’m not sure the same is true of live animals.”

“Previously, the use of live animals was forbidden for safety reasons,” the doctor replied. “But the Grand Vizier sent us authorisation three months ago.”

“Were there any conditions?” Saruxha asked.

All present followed this exchange with interest. It was the first time that experts had had a row of this kind.

“Yes, there are conditions,” the doctor answered. “We are not allowed to use catapults to get them inside the fortress, in case the animal cages burst in mid-flight.”

Sirri Selim then laid out the paradox that confronted them. If the cages were strong enough to stay in one piece during flight, they would not be weak enough to shatter once they landed. On the other hand, if they were designed to break open on impact, then they might … That was why they planned to have soldiers carry them up the walls and tip them over the ramparts.

“Have you thought about the soldiers?” Kara-Mukbil interrupted.

“Of course I have,” the doctor said. “They will be equipped with leather gloves and hoods.”

“Like executioners,” somebody observed.

“Like executioners, or like ghosts.”

“Hangmen or ghosts, what does it matter?” the medic riposted. “What matters is for them to have protection from bites when they open the cages.”

Still suffering from the high tension of the earlier exchanges, they were all relieved by this relatively normal interlude. Even the commander-in-chief seemed to appreciate the respite.

“Anyway, it’s a better idea than using catapults,” Old Tavxha broke in. “I remember that at the first siege of Szemendre we spent a week flinging rats, dogs and even dead donkeys into the fortress. Then they took to catapulting the corpses of prisoners, and the minders of the machine got so carried away that they started hurling vats of waste water, night soil, and god knows what else over the walls. Sure, the defenders caught diseases and finally surrendered, but what was the point? The stink was so sickening that our soldiers wouldn’t go into the place once it was ours. The risk of infection cooled their ardour! So there was no booty, no captives were taken, and the victory was a miserable one. I think I’m right in saying that it’s since that occasion that we’ve not been allowed to catapult filth. But as for live animals, that’s a different question. I’m not against it.”

Then each spoke to give his opinion, and after that, they all felt easier. Only the Mufti remained in the doghouse. It was clear that the resumption of normal conversation had made him angrier still and increased his isolation.

With the exception of Saruxha, who voted against for reasons that nobody understood, there was unanimous approval for the doctor’s plan.

Finally the Pasha himself took the floor. He spoke slowly, for longer than usual, in a voice that was going hoarse from the cold he had caught. He decided that they would try to contaminate the besieged by means of infected animals, along the lines proposed by Sirri Selim. The doctor blushed with pleasure down to the nape of his neck. The attack would be resumed, and they would make repeated assaults to stop the enemy even catching his breath.

“We’re here to take the castle, not to think deep thoughts,” he said. “The assaults will be daily, or almost, and no account will be taken of losses or obstacles.” He said that with deep conviction, because he knew from experience that only uninterrupted attacks, leaving soldiers no time to think, and barely enough latitude to save their own skins, were the best cure for war-weariness. Then he added, stressing each word individually, that he expected them all to put extra effort into preparing troops for combat. Also, and this was the essential point, he wanted them all to take part in the fighting themselves. Then he stared at each of them harshly in turn, as if to select those who should not be there at the meeting, reclining on the long stack of cushions, but ought instead to be lying six foot under, or at least on their beds, brought down, like Kurdisxhi, by battle wounds. In the ensuing silence the scratchy quill of the scribe felt like the fine point of a dagger scoring their skins. They realised that the commander was getting tenser by the day and that you could no longer tell what a man so overwrought was going to do. Lastly, Tursun Pasha ordered them all to treat the plan to contaminate the enemy as top secret, so that the soldiers handling the animals remained unaware of the nature of their charges. That was absolutely necessary if they were to avoid an outbreak of panic over plague.

The meeting came to an end. As the commander-in-chief had suggested, the Alaybey, Kara-Mukbil and the Quartermaster General accompanied Sirri Selim to the pavilion where the doctor kept his sick animals. On the way they encountered soldiers flocking to the central square where the flagellation of the astrologer was due to be held.

The trial of the spell-caster which had been taking place a little further on under a canopy had been going on for so long as to have stopped interesting anyone. People were waiting only for the sentence to be carried out — specifically, the amputation of both the man’s hands, or, in the most favourable case, of the hand that had made the fatal error in the act of casting the spell.

The place where the doctor kept his infected animals — “Death Row,” as he called it — was on the same hillock as the cannon foundry, behind a waste tip piled high with ash and other unusable material from the foundry. It looked just as sinister as the workshop, and was enclosed by the same kind of plank fence with a sign forbidding entry, but unlike the foundry there was a second enclosure behind the fence supporting a canopy that sheltered the whole area.

The guard attached to Sirri Selim took out a key and opened the gate in the fence, while the lord of this strange manor called out to all and sundry, “Welcome to Death Row!”

“Here is my kingdom,” Sirri Selim continued with a smile and waved his long arms at the lines of hutches, some of them double height, that ran the whole length of the enclosure. Inside them creatures shivered and mewled, or else lay lifeless on the floor. “Have no fear! There’s no risk of contagion for the time being.”

He told them that at all the sieges he had taken part in as army doctor he had the habit of setting up these kinds of cages and of collecting various animals on which he tried out the effects of various drugs and microbes.

Kara-Mukbil looked with disdain at the small cages mostly containing rats. But there were others with small dogs, cats, rabbits and some grey beasts he hadn’t seen before, as well as hedgehogs, grasshoppers and even, in a water-filled urn at the bottom of one of the cages, frogs. The Alaybey listened with all seriousness to the doctor’s explanations, whereas the Quartermaster General seemed to have his mind on something else.

“The use of sick animals in warfare is not a new idea,” Sirri Selim declared. “The Carthaginians, in ancient times, the Christian armies in later centuries, and more recently the Mongols all knew how helpful they could be. But the practice is not as widespread as it should be. Previously, cadavers were projected by catapult into besieged fortresses, but the use of live animals now looks set to become the norm.”