aloud in fear. Two Negroes stepped silently forward out of the darkness and barred the way with crossed scimitars. I now had no doubt but that the Venetians for some reason wanted to kidnap me. We had left our vessel without permission and no one would investigate our disappearance. But Andy said in his usual blunt fashion, “Think nothing of it, Michael. We’ll manage these two, if I can get a proper grip of one and kick the other where it hurts most.”
He smiled engagingly at the Negroes and began to tease them by pinching their arms, so that it was all I could do to control him. Fortunately the clerk returned and bade us step into the lighted room at once, whereupon he disappeared behind a curtain.
We stepped boldly in and bowed low, touching forehead and floor with our finger tips, for politeness could not come amiss in the presence of so important a man as Master Gritti. When I looked up I saw a table resplendent with gold and silver and lit by numberless candles in a candelabrum of Venetian glass. Two men had recently finished their meal; one, wearing the gorgeous dress of a Venetian nobleman, was lying back in his chair. Raising his goblet he bade me welcome in the Italian tongue. Only from the many fine wrinkles in his face could it be seen that he was considerably older than myself, for his figure was as slender as mine. I also observed that his eyes were red and swollen with drink. Beside him stood a man dressed in a Turkish kaftan of silk and a plumed and jeweled turban, holding a violin in his hand. He was the most magnificent-looking man I had ever seen, and gave forth a sort of radiance which made it difficult to take one’s eyes from him. His skin was smooth and milk white as a boy’s, though he was certainly more than thirty. His bright dark eyes rested on Andy and me with a mocking smile, as if he were conscious that no one could look upon him unmoved; yet his assurance had nothing in it of conceit. He was not even very splendidly dressed, and except for the jeweled buttons of his kaftan and the fine diamonds on his fingers and in his ears, his attire was of so quiet a distinction that an inexperienced eye might have found it plain. But when I looked into his eyes I trembled; I fell on my knees before him and pressed my forehead to the ground. Andy hesitated for a moment and then followed my example. Master Gritti burst into forced laughter and said as he spun the wine cup between his fingers, “Why do you show such veneration for a common fiddler, rather than for me who am master in this house?”
I answered humbly, “Fiddler he may be, yet the whole world is his violin and the nations of the earth are the strings. His proud gaze speaks the prince, whereas your puffy eyes, Master Gritti, tell of one lost to decency through gluttony and drink. While he stands you loll in your chair, nor do you treat me with fitting respect, though as Khaireddin’s representative I consider myself in every way your equal.”
Master Gritti, offended, demanded scornfully, “How can you, the slave of a pirate, consider yourself equal to a distinguished Venetian? If you want anything from me you must adopt a humbler tone.”
Knowledge of his illegitimate birth gave me courage, for in that respect at least we were equals. And so I replied, “I want anything from
The violinist laid aside his instrument, sat down, and addressed me in faultless Italian, “So you are Michael el- Hakim and this is your brother Antar, the wrestler and gun founder. I’ve heard of you and you do right to defend your master’s honor. But you must not quarrel with this man, who is my personal friend and an excellent musician. Tell me rather why you showed me such marked deference. Did you know who I was? If so, Master Gritti has performed his task imperfectly.”
I looked at him in unfeigned admiration, for he was indeed more worthy of it than any man I had seen. And I answered, “I don’t know who you are, but I suspect that the wanderer Mustafa ben-Nakir, whom I met in Algeria, has often spoken of you. If you are that man, then indeed reality surpasses his account as the sun surpasses the moon in splendor, and I can only praise the bright star that brought me to your presence. Praise be to you, most fortunate Ibrahim, pillar of the
Ottoman Empire-you on whom the Sultan has bestowed greater power than ever subject held before!”
He inclined his proud head and answered with easy modesty, “I am but my lord’s slave.”
Then his animated mood prevailed again and he went on, “As you may realize, I arranged this meeting so as to gain certain necessary information from you regarding Khaireddin’s intentions. If you’re surprised that the meeting should take place in the foreigners’ quarter and in the house of a Venetian, you must understand that it’s to our advantage to let the illustrious Republic know what may be expected from your master, Venice also is at war with the Emperor. If Khaireddin receives the horsetail switch of a beylerbey he must obey the Sultan only, and cease harrying the vessels of our French and Venetian allies. Do you think he can control his pillaging officers, and one day join the allied fleets of France and Venice in a great naval attack on the Emperor?”
I replied, “Khaireddin is an unusual man, and very shrewd. Since his brother’s death he has encountered difficulties enough to show him that in the long run he can’t hold his kingdom without the Sultan’s powerful support. His ambition is limitless, his officers trust him implicitly, and he calls them his children. The richness of the presents he has now sent best proves his sincerity, and I know he venerates you and the Sultan so highly as to feel like a humble disciple beside you. It would flatter his vanity to receive the horsetail, a kaftan of honor, and a personal letter from the Sultan. And to my mind such a mark of favor would be a modest price to pay for Khaireddin’s mighty fleet and fine seamen.”
Beneath Ibrahim’s dark gaze I felt no wish to resort to fulsome flattery or exaggeration, and believed I could best serve Khaireddin’s cause by giving my honest opinion of him. Yet with my whole heart I longed to win the Grand Vizier’s confidence. So strong was his charm that I desired his favor for its own sake, without thought of the advantages it could bring me. He questioned me very thoroughly, and with practical knowledge, on the subject of Khaireddin’s building works and other activities, until Master Gritti interrupted him, and turning to me asked, “Can this Khaireddin sail oceans as well as seas, to crush the Portuguese spice trade and hinder Spanish traffic with the New World?”
Ibrahim said, “The Sultan of sultans and lord of all peoples is no spice dealer.
Master Gritti, discomfited, was silent. The Grand Vizier turned to me and went on, “No, we’re not spice dealers, and the Sultan has no real enemy but the Emperor, Charles V, for we’re now allied with Venice and the French King, and even to some extent with the Pope. The King of France is once more in difficulties, and to relieve him the Sultan must oppose the Emperor, or at least obtain from him fair terms of peace for France. It will be for Khaireddin to block the Imperial sea power when our army opens its campaign in the spring. If Allah wills we shall defeat Ferdinand, the Emperor’s brother, and take possession of his domains, for so long as the war with France continues Charles can send him no help. It’s true that the Emperor is negotiating secretly with Tahmasp, the Shah of Persia, and sooner or later the Sultan must fight the Emperor on Persian soil as well, at the same time liberating the holy tombs of Islam from the hands of the red-haired Shiites. But the cornerstone of Ottoman policy is neither more nor less than the blocking of Imperial world dominion which, were it to continue, would destroy the freedom of all peoples. Anything therefore which harms the Emperor helps the Sultan, and vice versa. Grasp this and you grasp all.”
Master Gritti, who was evidently bored, emptied another cup of wine and said, “Master Michael Carvajal-you’ll allow me to address you thus, for I happen to know that Master Venier of Venice made out your pass in that name. Well, Master Michael, the Ottoman emblem is the bald-necked vulture that appeared to Osman in a dream. Clearly, in order to survey wider expanses than come within the range of ordinary mortals, the vulture must mount high in the heavens. I, poor earthbound man, am more interested in the spice trade and the best way to protect Venetian merchant shipping against the pirates of Islam. For these are matter-of-fact, everyday problems, and their solution will bring many benefits. Our violinist should content himself with capturing Vienna and bestowing the crown of Hungary on my friend Zapolya, who has humbly sought the aid of the High Porte. For he is the lawfully elected king of the downtrodden Hungarian people, whose arrogant lords have accepted King Ferdinand as their ruler. By law, only a native of Hungary may wear the sacred crown of St. Stephen, yet the Viennese King’s German men-at-arms are still roistering in Buda. The forces of the Crescent ought to have freed Hungary from the German yoke as long
