the great history beneath his horse’s hooves. Nearly two thousand years before, the young Alexander, Sikander, as Abdullah would have known him, had set off from Macedonia to conquer Asia. As Alexander turned south into what would become Turkey, his path was almost exactly that of the young Sipahi. Alexander crossed the water at the very same narrows, and then went by sea to the ancient city of Troy. He ordered his ships to halt, and in full battle armor, plumes flying from his helmet, he leaped into the sea and walked ashore. He drew his sword and plunged it into the soil, declaring that he would plunge the very same sword into the heart of Asia, and conquer her. He stopped at the temple and was shown a shield said to have belonged to the Greek hero, Achilles, son of Zeus. Alexander dropped his own shield, and taking up the shield of his idol, began a journey into Asia that would forever change the face of the earth.
But, the Sipahi dwelled on none of this. He first passed Çanakkale, where Selim’s grandfather, Mehmet, had built the Bowl Fortress to protect the passage through the Dardanelles. Later, toward dawn, he passed the buried ruins of Troy, where Homer told of the pouting rages of Achilles, and of the beauty of Helen, and the infamous wooden horse. But, none of these ancient and historic places did the young Sipahi notice. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed rigidly upon the road ahead; his entire focus on his mission.
The road was flatter now, and the country drier. Water would be a problem unless he stopped at every opportunity. At each springfed creek or late-summer rivulet, Abdullah would rest his horse and both would drink together. He kept his water bottle topped off at every opportunity. He ate little from his bags, hoping to make the food last until he was very near to Manisa. He was finding it difficult to stay awake in the saddle as the second night opened onto dawn. He dared not sleep, for though there was little fear of falling from the saddle—he had slept many times in such a position—there was still the threat of highwaymen. When he rode with his corps of Sipahis at his side, he could doze and wake, knowing that his brothers would guard his flank. But, now he was by himself, and he alone was responsible for his own safety…and perhaps that of the realm.
Abdullah pushed still further south through the historic and turbulent lands of Asia Minor. There were olive groves along the wayside, but he never stopped to pick the remnants of the summer’s crop. Long stretches of arid, rocky ground were intermingled with green and rolling hills. He kept to the coast, for though this was longer in miles, he could push his horse harder over the flat land, avoiding the mountainous terrain of the interior. Each river they forded gave both horse and rider a refreshing bath and new energy. But, by the third day their energy was flagging badly. The horse stumbled more, and needed more rests. Once they fell together while coming down a steep hill. Only the grace of Allah had prevented the horse from rolling over on the young man and crushing him to death.
The rider knew his mount well, and allowed the horse to make decisions as to his own needs for rest. Abdullah dozed more often now in the saddle, despite the risks. He could barely hang on over the last fifty miles. The horse was bleeding from several cuts on his legs that he got from stumbling over rocky terrain. The rider began to lose sense of time and place. But, the two pressed on, the rider driven by the urgency and importance of his mission, the beast by his devotion to his rider.
Finally, on the evening of the third day, the perimeter guard at the caravanserai of Suleiman caught sight of a horse and rider staggering slowly toward them. They mounted their fresh animals androde out to meet the intruder. Lances and scimitars ready, they rode full gallop to intercept the possible threat to their prince.
Only when they were yards away did the guards recognize
But, the Sipahi dwelled on none of this. He first passed Çanakkale, where Selim’s grandfather, Mehmet, had built the Bowl Fortress to protect the passage through the Dardanelles. Later, toward dawn, he passed the buried ruins of Troy, where Homer told of the pouting rages of Achilles, and of the beauty of Helen, and the infamous wooden horse. But, none of these ancient and historic places did the young Sipahi notice. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed rigidly upon the road ahead; his entire focus on his mission.
The road was flatter now, and the country drier. Water would be a problem unless he stopped at every opportunity. At each springfed creek or late-summer rivulet, Abdullah would rest his horse and both would drink together. He kept his water bottle topped off at every opportunity. He ate little from his bags, hoping to make the food last until he was very near to Manisa. He was finding it difficult to stay awake in the saddle as the second night opened onto dawn. He dared not sleep, for though there was little fear of falling from the saddle—he had slept many times in such a position—there was still the threat of highwaymen. When he rode with his corps of Sipahis at his side, he could doze and wake, knowing that his brothers would guard his flank. But, now he was by himself, and he alone was responsible for his own safety…and perhaps that of the realm.
Abdullah pushed still further south through the historic and turbulent lands of Asia Minor. There were olive groves along the wayside, but he never stopped to pick the remnants of the summer’s crop. Long stretches of arid, rocky ground were intermingled with green and rolling hills. He kept to the coast, for though this was longer in miles, he could push his horse harder over the flat land, avoiding the mountainous terrain of the interior. Each river they forded gave both horse and rider a refreshing bath and new energy. But, by the third day their energy was flagging badly. The horse stumbled more, and needed more rests. Once they fell together while coming down a steep hill. Only the grace of Allah had prevented the horse from rolling over on the young man and crushing him to death.
The rider knew his mount well, and allowed the horse to make decisions as to his own needs for rest. Abdullah dozed more often now in the saddle, despite the risks. He could barely hang on over the last fifty miles. The horse was bleeding from several cuts on his legs that he got from stumbling over rocky terrain. The rider began to lose sense of time and place. But, the two pressed on, the rider driven by the urgency and importance of his mission, the beast by his devotion to his rider.
Finally, on the evening of the third day, the perimeter guard at the caravanserai of Suleiman caught sight of a horse and rider staggering slowly toward them. They mounted their fresh animals androde out to meet the intruder. Lances and scimitars ready, they rode full gallop to intercept the possible threat to their prince.
Only when they were yards away did the guards recognize
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