the once-proud blue uniform and the sheathed scimitar of the rider as one of their own. The boy had long since lost the plumed white hat that is so easily recognized from afar. One of the Janissaries leaped from his own horse and grabbed the reins from the young man. Instantly, in his confusion, the Sipahi reached for his scimitar, but the Janissary grabbed his wrist and held him firmly in his strong grasp. “Calmly, my friend. There’s no need to draw your weapon. We both serve the Sultan, Selim.”
The Sipahi relaxed his grip. He had no strength left for fighting anyway, and soon realized that he was safe; that he could now deliver his message and remove the heavy weight of the mission from his back.
The Janissaries led the Sipahi’s horse into the caravanserai of Suleiman. They brought the young man to the tent of Suleiman’s closest friend and adviser, Ibrahim. The Inner Guard led the boy’s horse away to be fed and rested. The boy staggered along with the help of the Janissary and was led into Ibrahim’s tent. Word had already reached Ibrahim of the Sipahi’s arrival, and he was consumed with curiosity as to what this meant.
Abdullah bowed, and then fell to his knees. Though he was meant to deliver the letter directly to the Sultan, he was unable to resist these men in front of him. He reached into his robes and pulled out the letter that Piri Pasha had given to him; safe delivery of the message was the sole purpose of this terrible ordeal.
The Janissary took the sealed letter and handed it to Ibrahim. Ibrahim stared at the Sipahi for a moment. The boy could not have been more than eighteen, and even through the mud and the grime, his beautiful clear features were striking. Ibrahim unrolled the parchment and held it near to his oil lamp. He read the message in silence, and then moved toward the door. “Bring this young man with me. We must take this to the Master at once. There will be questions, I’m sure.”
Suleiman was awaiting Ibrahim, as he, too, had received word of the arrival of this unusual visitor. He was surprised at how quickly Ibrahim had come to his tent, though his own corps of advisors were already present.
“Come in, my friend. What have we here?”
Ibrahim bowed to Suleiman, and motioned for the guard to bring in the Sipahi. The young man staggered, and then knelt on both knees as he pressed his head to the rich carpet in front of Suleiman. Ibrahim handed his master the parchment, while the boy’s head remained pressed to the ground.
Suleiman unrolled the document and read it to himself. Then, he looked up and read the words aloud.
“The Sword of the House of Osman awaits you at the Tomb of Ayyüb.” Nothing more. There was no signature or seal.
Immediately, the advisers began to talk all at once, some rejoicing that their master was now the Sultan, and others fearing some ruse to get Suleiman away from the safety of his Janissaries.
“Ears deceive, eyes reveal,” one of the advisers said to Suleiman. Many pleaded for him to remain in Manisa, and even to increase his guard.
“Send an emissary. Perhaps, Ibrahim himself,” the other suggested.
Suleiman listened, but didn’t speak. He looked to Ibrahim and raised his eyebrows in question. Then he asked, “Ibrahim? What do you think?”
Ibrahim looked at the note again. Then he turned to the boy, still in a position of prostration before his prince. “What do you say? Who wrote this message that you bring to us?”
The Sipahi raised his head, but not his body. He looked at Ibrahim, for he was afraid to meet the eyes of the Son of Selim. “Piri Pasha, himself, has written these words, and Piri Pasha, himself, has commanded me to ride and deliver the message. I have ridden for three days and nights to bring this to you. This, in the name of Allah, I swear to you.”
Suleiman took a bag of gold coins from his table and tossed them to the young man. “Take him away, and see that he is fed andcared for. Let the tabip
The Sipahi relaxed his grip. He had no strength left for fighting anyway, and soon realized that he was safe; that he could now deliver his message and remove the heavy weight of the mission from his back.
The Janissaries led the Sipahi’s horse into the caravanserai of Suleiman. They brought the young man to the tent of Suleiman’s closest friend and adviser, Ibrahim. The Inner Guard led the boy’s horse away to be fed and rested. The boy staggered along with the help of the Janissary and was led into Ibrahim’s tent. Word had already reached Ibrahim of the Sipahi’s arrival, and he was consumed with curiosity as to what this meant.
Abdullah bowed, and then fell to his knees. Though he was meant to deliver the letter directly to the Sultan, he was unable to resist these men in front of him. He reached into his robes and pulled out the letter that Piri Pasha had given to him; safe delivery of the message was the sole purpose of this terrible ordeal.
The Janissary took the sealed letter and handed it to Ibrahim. Ibrahim stared at the Sipahi for a moment. The boy could not have been more than eighteen, and even through the mud and the grime, his beautiful clear features were striking. Ibrahim unrolled the parchment and held it near to his oil lamp. He read the message in silence, and then moved toward the door. “Bring this young man with me. We must take this to the Master at once. There will be questions, I’m sure.”
Suleiman was awaiting Ibrahim, as he, too, had received word of the arrival of this unusual visitor. He was surprised at how quickly Ibrahim had come to his tent, though his own corps of advisors were already present.
“Come in, my friend. What have we here?”
Ibrahim bowed to Suleiman, and motioned for the guard to bring in the Sipahi. The young man staggered, and then knelt on both knees as he pressed his head to the rich carpet in front of Suleiman. Ibrahim handed his master the parchment, while the boy’s head remained pressed to the ground.
Suleiman unrolled the document and read it to himself. Then, he looked up and read the words aloud.
“The Sword of the House of Osman awaits you at the Tomb of Ayyüb.” Nothing more. There was no signature or seal.
Immediately, the advisers began to talk all at once, some rejoicing that their master was now the Sultan, and others fearing some ruse to get Suleiman away from the safety of his Janissaries.
“Ears deceive, eyes reveal,” one of the advisers said to Suleiman. Many pleaded for him to remain in Manisa, and even to increase his guard.
“Send an emissary. Perhaps, Ibrahim himself,” the other suggested.
Suleiman listened, but didn’t speak. He looked to Ibrahim and raised his eyebrows in question. Then he asked, “Ibrahim? What do you think?”
Ibrahim looked at the note again. Then he turned to the boy, still in a position of prostration before his prince. “What do you say? Who wrote this message that you bring to us?”
The Sipahi raised his head, but not his body. He looked at Ibrahim, for he was afraid to meet the eyes of the Son of Selim. “Piri Pasha, himself, has written these words, and Piri Pasha, himself, has commanded me to ride and deliver the message. I have ridden for three days and nights to bring this to you. This, in the name of Allah, I swear to you.”
Suleiman took a bag of gold coins from his table and tossed them to the young man. “Take him away, and see that he is fed andcared for. Let the tabip
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