Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Suleyman climbed back up onto Tugra as the Janissaries hauled the massive gate of the Gate of Salutations open.

The Second Courtyard of Topkapi was smaller, though far more imposing, than the First due to its intricate design. A cloister of exceptional proportions, it was edged by a colonnaded stone portico. On the far left was the domed Divan chamber where the viziers of the Imperial Council would meet, pass laws and adjudicate on the running of the empire. And at the farthest end of the court, past noble Cypress and ornate fountains stood the Gate of Felicity that led into the private pavilions, courtyards and gardens of the Sultan and his household.

Normally the First Court would be tranquil—disturbed only by the splashing of fountains and the grazing of gazelles. But today it was full of princes, governors, Janissaries and foreign emissaries who had come to pay their respect to the new Sultan—over seven thousand in all. Riding through the crowd, Suleyman nodded to those few he knew personally. They had been standing, waiting for several hours, in total silence. To the rear of each official, pages and slaves held trunks and pallets of gifts high off the ground. Suleyman noted the exquisite fabrics and rare fruits. Baskets of sapphires sparkled and urns of fragrant oils and spices spread their aroma. Golden chains held a young giraffe securely behind the emissary from Egypt. One cage hoisted high on the shoulders of six Moors contained a lion—supposedly the last of the great prides that had once roamed Europe.

Dismounting from Tugra, Suleyman stepped up onto a platform that had been built for the ceremony under the broad canopy of the Gate of Felicity. He seated himself on a slightly elevated throne which was covered in gold cloth encrusted with numerous precious stones. All around him were many cushions sewn with emeralds, rubies and pearls. And above his head and to the sides, various glass and golden globes had been hung from the canopy. They reflected and dazzled in the early afternoon light.

To his right stood the Grand Vizier, Ferhat Pasha, who had concealed his father’s death until Suleyman could be secreted from Manisia to assume the throne. To his left stood Ibrahim Pasha, the head of the Privy Chamber and lifelong friend. Lesser officials of the palace and court flanked these men. The brightness and color of their couture of office would have put even the most magnificent garland of exotic flowers to shame.

Sitting amongst his advisors, Suleyman glanced at the carriages of the Valide Sultana as they pulled in and to the side of the court. They rolled behind the Divan to enter Topkapi Harem via the Carriage Gate. His thoughts were once again on the beautiful flower that had been presented to him.

She’s more beautiful than all the Tulips of Topkapi.

He felt Ibrahim’s hand on his shoulder. “It is time for the officials to present their gifts, my lord.”

Suleyman turned to his friend and then out toward the several thousand-strong crowd.

It took many hours for all of the gifts to be presented and it wasn’t until the sun had set and large torches had been lit around the cloister and under the canopy that the last had been received. He sat patiently as each of the officials had approached, prostrated themselves on the ground three times, kissed the hem of his caftan, put forward their offerings and withdrew back into the crowd, their hands clasped together in front of them. At all times his personal bodyguard stood staunchly around him with their pikes pointed at all who neared. Both Ibrahim and Ferhat Pasha would intermittently whisper in his ear or closely inspect the gifts and report back on their quality and value. In return Suleyman presented each of the officials with reams of finely spun gold fabric, or hand-embroidered caftans of the same fine material.

Such a beautiful flower.

After the formal proceedings a thousand and one waiters swarmed from the palace kitchens. They set up trestle tables and chairs. Golden platters piled high with steaming roasted meats, fresh breads and vegetables swiftly followed. Barrels of the finest wines and sherbets were rolled out and dispensed to the officials. Janissary war drums beat loudly and the men fell to the food and drink.

Ferhat Pasha, the Grand Vizier, took prime position at the head table to reign over the feasting. Suleyman and Ibrahim withdrew through the Gate of Felicity and into the solitude of the Third and Fourth Courts—the Sultan’s private domain.

“A most wonderful of days it has been, Ibrahim,” Suleyman said to his friend, appreciatively glad to be away from the formality.

They walked side by side past the residential pavilions and down through the intricate gardens that made up the remainder of Seraglio Point. Speaking quietly, walking amongst the cypress and beds of tulips, they now and then broke into a laughter that echoed amongst the foliage and fountains—filling them with the warmth that only the satisfaction of friendship can bring. When they reached the sea wall that protected the sanctity of the palace from the waters of the Golden Horn and the Marmora, they followed a narrow gravel path. In the semi-darkness, holding hands—as true friends do—they came to a pavilion that jutted out over the sea wall.

Suleyman, feeling the grip on his hand tighten, allowed Ibrahim to pull him up the timeworn stepping-stones.

The pavilion was really no more than a marble floor with stone columns holding up a broad wooden canopy, but it was a space filled with many fine memories and celebrations. Intricate lattice work between the columns offered privacy without obstructing the view. All about were Persian rugs and large cushions on which to recline. They rolled down onto the cushions and peered out over the water—the Golden Horn lapping at the shoreline below them and the mild breeze invigorating. Though they were far from the festivities, they could still hear the carousing of the people of Istanbul drifting down the point and echoing off the far shore. Boats, anchored on the distant side of the submerged chain, were brightly lit by lanterns and torches. Silhouettes could be seen frolicking on the boats and the nearby shore of Galata. Galata Tower itself was ablaze with light and gaiety.

Servants came with trays of food and drink for the two men. They consumed it with great delight—talking excitedly about the events of the day.

“Did you see how that fat Venetian had to be helped to his feet by his small pretty pages after prostrating himself on the ground in respect,” Ibrahim asked, amused.

“And the way his face went bright red when he realized he had to do it another two times.” Suleyman chuckled.

“Oh, oh—and what about the Persian Emissary.”

“Humph, one day you and I, my friend, will put those red-heads from the east in their proper place.”

“Yes, My Lord Suleyman, that time will surely come.”

The men sat quietly for a moment, reflecting, distracted only when fireworks exploded over the water. They slid across the cushions, to the edge of the pavilion, to get a better view. Reds, greens and golds filled the night sky. The colors rippled on the waves below. The sound of horns drifted from the distance.

“Reports have come in from the west that Pope Leo has ordered the litany of common prayers be sung throughout all Rome—by barefoot clergy, no less. They are certainly glad that your father is dead.”

Suleyman frowned. “Rome may rejoice at the moment, but they do not realize the true power of the Shadow of God on Earth. My father confided in me, despite popular rumor, and it is only a matter of time before Rome, and indeed Vienna, shall fall under the Scarlet Mantle of the Ottoman Empire. There is no doubt, in my mind, that we shall free Europe from the Hapsburgs and their stagnant tyranny.”

Ibrahim studied Suleyman for a moment. “Yes, my lord, by our hands it will occur.” They rose and stood close to the lattice, mesmerized by the flashing colors across the night sky.

And by the hand of God and throughout all the lands that we may free from the Roman yoke, I know in my heart that my own destiny will lie within the petals of that glorious flower.