Revelations

THIRTY-ONE

Suleiman was already waiting when Ezio joined him outside the Divan-the council chamber-of the palace, a short time later. The young man was looking composed and alert.

“I have arranged a meeting with my uncle, Prince Ahmet, and Captain Tarik Barleti,” he announced without preamble. “There is something I should explain first. The Janissaries are loyal to my grandfather, but they have become angry over his choice for the next sultan.”

“Ahmet.”

“Exactly. The Janissaries favor my father, Selim.”

“Hmn,” said Ezio, considering. “You are in a tough spot. But tell me-how do the Byzantines fit into this?”

Suleiman shook his head. “I was hoping you might be able to give me some guidance on that. Would you be willing to help me find out?”

“I am tracking them myself. As long as our interests do not conflict, it would be an honor to assist you.”

Suleiman smiled enigmatically. “Then I must accept what I can get.” He paused. “Listen. There is a hatch at the top of the tower you see over there. Go up and lift the hatch. You will be able to see and hear everything that is said in the Divan.”

Ezio nodded and immediately took his leave, while Suleiman turned and entered the Divan himself.

By the time Ezio had reached his vantage point, the discussion in the council chamber below him had already begun and was already becoming heated. The three men involved sat or stood around a long table, covered with Bergama carpets. Behind the table, a tapestry depicting Bayezid, flanked by his sons, hung on the wall.

Ahmet, a vigorous man in his midforties, with short, dark brown hair and a full beard, currently bareheaded and changed into rich garments of red, green, and white, was in the middle of a tirade: “Heed my nephew, Tarik. Your incompetence borders on treason. To think that today your Janissaries were outshone by an Italian lute player! It is preposterous!”

Tarik Barleti, the lower half of his battle-scarred face lost in a grizzled beard, looked grim. “An inexcusable failing, efendim. I will conduct a full investigation.”

Suleiman cut in. “It is I who will conduct the investigation, Tarik. For reasons that should be obvious.”

Barleti nodded shortly. “ Evet, Sehzadem. Clearly you have your father’s wisdom.”

Ahmet shot the captain a furious glance at that, while Suleiman retorted: “ And his impatience.” He turned to his uncle, his tone formal. “ Sehzad Ahmet, I am at least relieved to see that you are safe.”

“Likewise, Suleiman. May God protect you.”

Suleiman, Ezio could see, was playing some kind of long game. As he watched, the young prince rose and summoned his attendants.

“I will take my leave of you now,” he announced. “And I will make my report on this disgraceful incident very soon, you may be sure of that.”

Accompanied by his retinue and guard, he strode from the Divan. Tarik Barleti was about to follow suit, but Prince Ahmet detained him.

“Tarik bey -a word?”

The soldier turned. Ahmet beckoned him to approach. His tone was cordial. Ezio had to strain to catch his words.

“What was the purpose of this attack, I wonder? To make me look weak? To make me appear an ineffective steward of this city?” He paused. “If that was your plan, my dear captain; if you had a hand in this mess, you have made a grave mistake! My father has chosen me as the next sultan, not my brother!”

Tarik did not answer immediately, his face expressionless, almost bored. At last, he said, “Prince Ahmet, I am not depraved enough to imagine the conspiracy you accuse me of.”

Ahmet took a step back though his tone remained level and affable. “What have I done to earn such contempt from the Janissary Corps? What has my brother done for you that I have not?”

Tarik hesitated, then said: “May I speak freely?”

Ahmet spread his hands. “You’d better, I think.”

Tarik faced him. “You are weak, Ahmet. Pensive in times of war and restless in times of peace. You lack passion for the traditions of the ghazi -the Holy Warriors-and you speak of fraternity in the company of infidels.” He paused. “You would make a decent philosopher, Ahmet, but you will be a poor sultan.”

Ahmet’s face darkened. He snapped his fingers, and his own bodyguard came to attention behind him.

“You may show yourself out,” he told the Janissary captain, and his voice was like ice.

Ezio was still watching, as, a few minutes later, Ahmet himself swept out of the Divan. A moment later, Ezio was joined by Prince Suleiman.

“Quite a family, eh?” said the prince. “Don’t worry. I was listening, too.”

Ezio looked worried. “Your uncle lacks sway over the very men he will soon command. Why did he not cut that man down where he stood, for such insolence?”

“Tarik is a hard man,” replied the prince, spreading his hands. “Capable, but ambitious. And he admires my father greatly.”

“But he failed to safeguard this palace against a Byzantine attempt on your life in its inner sanctum! That alone is worthy of investigation.”

“Precisely.”

“So-where should we begin?”

Suleiman considered. Ezio watched him. An old head on very young shoulders, he thought, with renewed respect.

Suleiman said, “For now, we’ll keep an eye on Tarik and his Janissaries. They spend much of their free time in and around the Bazaar. Can you handle that-you and your… associates?” He phrased the last words delicately.

At the back of Ezio’s mind was the memory of Yusuf’s admonition not to get involved in Ottoman politics, but somehow his own quest and this power struggle looked connected. He made his decision.

“From now on, Prince Suleiman, none of them will purchase so much as a handkerchief without our knowledge.”