Perhaps, Andrea jolted with the perversity of the thought and studied the eunuch more closely. Perhaps my jealousy of Prince Murad has been misplaced.
“My young friend I never saw again,” the eunuch continued, “except once. That was yesterday morning. My lady contrived to have me in attendance at the minister’s secret war counsel. Through our connections in the kitchen, I was set to serve drinks, and so became a hearer of their every decision.
“All would have gone smoothly. The viziers and generals were agreed that the entire army should be thrown against Yemen to beat those rebels back. The Mufti had given his blessing. But then—then the Sultan arrived.”
“Sultan Selim!” Andrea could not keep from exclaiming.
“He who, in the intervening years, has inherited his father’s place.”
“But I thought he no longer attended either the Divan or the war counsels. That, at least, is the wisdom among the ambassadors.”
“So thought we all, as well,” Ghazanfer replied, “though that your intelligence should be as good may make us reconsider ours.”
Was the eunuch amused or angered? Andrea couldn’t tell and let him continue.
“In any case, from Sokolli Pasha down to myself, none of us could have been more surprised had we seen the Doge of Venice himself enter the chamber. But here came the Sultan with a train of followers. Foremost among them was, of course, Joseph Nassey.”
“The Jew who has been Selim’s companion since childhood?”
“Precisely. What people may not be so free to tell your prying Venetian ears is that Nassey is more depraved than the master. He delights in nothing so much as leading the master by the hand down the tortuous road in all the unfamiliar territory of debauch. It seems clear it was Nassey who set the idea in the Sultan’s head. The Sultan himself is too muddied with wine to put two and two together to come up with any sort of plan at all if something like this irritates him. Without Nassey, whose evil stamina is ever so much greater, Selim would only rant and rave.
“Of what plan do you speak?”
“In a moment. I will get to that in a moment.” It seemed more difficult for Ghazanfer to name the plan than to name his master’s corruption. “First I wish to tell you that besides Joseph Nassey, the master was accompanied by—”
“Yes. Go on.” Andrea spurred the balky gelding.
Ghazanfer looked down and away. “By my friend, the young page. No longer favorite, yet he was still trusted to arrange his majesty’s cushions and to fetch his narghile. We were able to exchange glances across the room, glances which said, ‘Thank Allah, you are still well.’ Nothing more.”
“And the Sultan’s plan?”
“The ministers at first opposed the Sultan’s plan with as much tact as they dared. ‘The scheme is ill-advised,’ they said. They called upon signed treaties for witness, which the Shadow of Allah may not break lest Allah Himself be called a liar.
“As they grew more adamant, so did he, then so again did they. At last Selim lost his temper. Now, our master is not a large man. Having seen him only from a distance, on his horse, in his huge feathered turban and when every head around him must bow, you may have received that impression. But it is false. He is not large, and his complexion and manner are quite pale and womanly, for he takes little interest in the male pursuits of hunting, riding, or war anymore. When he is sober, his small, dark eves seem bland and lifeless. But fired with drink, as he was then, he is a different man. His eyes leap, his flesh burns red, and his mouth spews fire.
‘How dare you?’ he cried to his ministers. ‘How dare you gainsay my heart’s desire. I am the Sultan of Islam, the Shadow of Allah. And you—don’t you know that you are my slaves? I could snap my fingers and see you all boiled in oil before noon prayer today. Your lives are nothing without my pleasure! Nothing!’
“None of us dared move or even breathe at that moment lest it be contrary to his will. And our fear served him as vet another draught of strong wine. Under its influence, he felt—and we did, too—that he had the strength of twenty men. He snatched the sword from the waist of the nearest janissary, then snatched my young friend by the neckband. And as he did, the look of venom with which the master fixed me announced his choice was hardly arbitrary. And I had thought myself so disfigured by my torturers that no one from before could recognize me.
Emotion swam like a fish in the blue-green of the eunuch’s eyes, then froze solid.
VI
“The lad made no resistance—” The eunuch’s tale continued. “—not even a whimper. Had the master asked him, he would have lain down voluntarily. But the Sultan shoved the boy down and pinned him with the sword—through the heart—to the rugs.
“The Sultan spoke. ‘All of you! Grand Vizier, Kapudan Pasha, whatever fancy names you have, you are all my slaves, no better than that crawling worm there, and if it is my pleasure, I could do you all the same at this moment. No power on earth could stop me. Is it my pleasure? Perhaps. First, I must hear your pleasure in this matter we are discussing. Shall we make war on whom I decide, or shall we not?’
“‘Be it according to your word,’ they all concurred as they watched—or tried not to watch—the boy’s last twitch.
“Even the Mufti agreed. The Mufti, who is not the Sultan’s slave, who is a free-born Turk, educated in the mosque schools, and who should have no other law than that of the Koran and the traditions of the Prophet—he who should act as a check to any madness in the Sultan.
“‘Although it is true the island has always been Christian,’ the Mufti said thoughtfully, ‘they did pay tribute to both the Mameluks of Egypt and Islam’s first caliphs. It seems
