their guns. Order and discipline, he thought: good men, moulded these last twenty years in proper habits of deference and obedience. They knew the penalty for stepping out of line. Order and obedience made an army, and an army was a tool in the hands of a man who knew how to use it. Without order you had only a rabble, that snarled and bit like a mad dog, ignorant of its purpose, open to every suggestion and prey to every whim.
Well, this night he would show the people who was stronger: the blind rabble and the vulture’s nest, or lead and shot and the power of discipline.
And when the smoke cleared, a new beginning. A brave new start.
He smiled, and his eyes glittered in the firelight.
Then he stiffened. He eased away from the wall and slid the pistol from his belt.
He cocked the firing pin and laid the barrel in a straight line, pointing back towards the arch.
Someone was coming up the stairs.
The shadow lengthened, and the seraskier saw the eunuch blinking as he turned his head from side to side.
“Well done, Yashim,” said the seraskier, smiling. “I wondered if you would come.”
[ 126 ]
The seraskier tapped his foot on the sloping roof.
“Do you know what this is? Do you see where we are?”
Yashim gazed at him.
“Of course you do. The roof of the Great Mosque. You see the dome, above your head? The Greeks called it Hagia Sophia, the Church of the Holy Wisdom. One hundred and eighty-two feet high. Enclosed volume, nine million cubic feet. Do you know how old it is?”
“It was built before the days of the Prophet,” Yashim said cautiously.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” The seraskier chuckled. He seemed to be in the best of spirits. “And it took just five years to build. Can you imagine what an effort that must have required? Or what we could do with such energy today, applied to something actually worthwhile?”
He laughed again, and stamped his foot.
“How does something so old get to last so long? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because no one, not even the Conqueror Mehmed himself, had the wit or courage to knock it down. Do I surprise you?”
Yashim frowned.
“Not entirely,” he replied quietly.
The seraskier looked up.
“Thousands of sheets of beaten lead,” he said. “Acres of it. And the pillars. And the dome. Just imagine, Yashim! It’s been weighing on us all for fourteen hundred years. We can’t even see beyond it, or around it. We can’t imagine a world without it. Can we? Do you know, it’s like a stench, nobody notices it after a while. Not even when it’s poisoning them.” He leaned forward. The gun, Yashim noticed, was still steady in his hand. “And it’s poisoning us. All this.” He waved a hand. “Year after year, habit piled on prejudice, ignorance on greed. Come on, Yashim, you know it as well as I do. We’re smothered by it, aren’t we? Tradition! It’s just grime that accumulates. Why, it even took your balls!”
Yashim could no longer see the seraskier’s face against the light of the fires at his back, but he heard him snicker at his own thrust.
“I’ve just come from the palace,” Yashim said. “The sultan is safe. There was a coup of sorts—”
“A coup?” The seraskier ran his tongue across his lips.
“Yes. The palace eunuchs, led by the Kislar Agha. They were set to turn back the clock. Re-instate the Janissaries. It was all in that Karagozi verse—remember?”
The seraskier blew out his cheeks. “Come, Yashim. This isn’t important. You know that, don’t you? Eunuchs. Sultans. The sultan’s finished. The Edict? Did you really think the Edict was going to make a difference? You saw him today, didn’t you, the old boozer? What makes you think any of them can do a thing? They are half the problem.
