The Janissary Tree

other, and drank a glass of scalding sweet mint tea while he read the verses through again.

He lay down on his side. Fifteen minutes later his hand snaked out and groped for the old fur that lay rumpled somewhere by his legs. He hauled it over his body.

In three minutes—for he was already half-dreaming—Yashim the eunuch was fast asleep.

[ 41 ]

The Polish Residency was favoured by the dark. As dusk gathered, even its railings seemed to shed their rust, while the ragged curtain of overgrown myrtles which sheltered the carriage-sweep from the eyes of the street jostled together more closely, bulking black and solid as the darkness deepened. Then empty rooms, long since uninhabited, where the plaster sifted in eddying scales from the ornate ceilings and settled on wooden floors that had grown dull and dusty through disuse, gave out false hints of life within, as if they were merely shuttered for the night. And as night fell, the elegant mansion reassumed an appearance of weight and prosperity it hadn’t known for sixty years.

The light which flickered unevenly from a pair of windows on the piano nobile seemed to brighten as the evening wore on. These windows, which were never shuttered—which could not, in fact, be shuttered at all, owing to the collapse of various panels and the slow rusting of the hinges in the winter damp - revealed a scene of wild disorder.

The room where only a few hours before Yashim had left the Polish ambassador dithering over whether to open the bison grass or simply a rustic spirit supplied to him, very cheap, by Crimean sailors on the sly, looked as if it had been visited by a frenzied bibliophile. A violin lay bridge down on a tea tray. A dozen books, apparently flung open at random, were scattered across the floor; another twenty or more were wedged haphazardly between the arms of a vast armchair. Tallow dripped from a bracket onto the surface of a well-worn escritoire, on which was piled a collection of folio volumes and tiny glasses. It seemed as if someone had been searching for something.

Stanislaw Palewski lay on the floor behind one of the arm—chairs. His head was thrown back, his mouth open, his sightless eyes turned upwards towards the ceiling. Now and then he emitted a faint snore.

[ 42 ]

The seraskier picked up a handful of sand and sprinkled it across the paper. Then he tilted the sheet and let the sand run back into the pot.

He read through the document one more time and rang a bell.

He had thought of having the notice printed for circulation, but on reflection he decided to have it simply transcribed, by hand, and delivered to the mosques. The imams could interpret it in their own fashion.

From the Commander of His Imperial Highness’s New Guard in Istanbul, greetings and a warning.

Ten years ago it pleased the Throne to secure the peace and prosperity of the Empire through a series of Auspicious Acts, intended to extirpate a lying heresy and put an end to an abuse which His Imperial Highness was no longer prepared to tolerate. As by his wars, so by his acts, the sultan achieved a complete victory.

Those who, by dealing death, would wish to return the city to its former state, take heed. The forces of the Padishah do not sleep, nor do they tremble. Here in Istanbul, a soldier meets death with scornful pride, secure in the knowledge that he sacrifices what is unreal for what is holy, and serves the greater power of the Throne.

In all your strength you will be crushed. In all your cunning you will be outfoxed. In all your pride, humbled and brought forwards to face the supreme penalty.

Once again you will flee and be brought from your boles by the will of the Sultan and his people.

You have been warned.

The seraskier felt that he had made an effort to clarify the situation. Rumour was an insidious force. It had this in common with the passion for war: it could be, and needed to be, controlled.

Drill the men. Straighten the rumour. Keep the initiative and leave the enemy guessing. The eunuch suspected some kind of Janissary plot, but the seraskier had prudently decided to keep his terms vague. The implication was there, of course, between the lines.

A textbook approach.

The seraskier stood up and walked to the darkened window. From here he could look down on the city it was his duty to defend. He sighed. In daylight he knew it as an impossible jumble of roofs and minarets and domes, concealing a myriad crooked streets and twining alleyways. Now specks of lamplight blended in the dark, softly glowing here and there, like marsh-light shimmering over a murderous swamp.

He curled his fingers around the hem of his jacket and gave it a smart tug.