CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
The summer breeze lilted down from the surrounding hills to caress the thousands of military pavilions littered across the broad valley floor. Though the sun had not yet risen, the Janissaries were tending to their horses and armament as the ancillary prepared and stoked the kitchen fires. Great cauldrons of pilav bubbled. Thousands of kitchen staff stirred in wagonloads of herbs, spices and chunks of tender lamb to feed the two-hundred-thousand-plus forces. The valley stunk of horses, men, summer flowers and pilav.
Davud walked up the crest toward the Sultan’s pavilion. His back ached from lying on the ground in the Itchoglan’s quarters, but he was in good spirits, caught up in the excitement of the men readying for battle. They had been victorious in a score of sk
