for him on the road, heard that he was on his way to Amasia, and had
already reached Angora, his suspicions were relieved, and he rapidly
marched on Koniah,[206] which was held for him by a garrison which had
been thrown into it. For not the least of the anxieties which racked
Solyman’s mind was, lest Bajazet should seize Koniah, and so make his
way into Syria, and thence invade Egypt, a province which was open to
attack and of doubtful loyalty, and which, having not yet forgotten
the ancient empire of the Circassians or Mamelukes, was eager for a
revolution.[207] Should Bajazet once establish himself there it would
not be an easy task to dislodge him, especially as the neighbouring
Arabs would readily adopt any cause which held out prospects of booty.
From Egypt too if he were hard pressed, all the coasts of Christendom
were within easy reach. For this reason Solyman took the utmost pains
to bar the road which might be expected to be Bajazet’s last resource,
orders having already been given to several of the governors in Asia
Minor to hold themselves in readiness to take the field when Selim
should give the signal. At the time of which I am now speaking, Selim
had called them out and had encamped before the walls of Koniah,
anxiously watching his brother’s movements. He determined to wait there
for his fathers reinforcements, and not by a premature engagement to
expose his life to the hazard of a battle.
Bajazet, on the other hand, was keenly alive to the magnitude of the
enterprise he had undertaken. He had hired a body of Kurdish horsemen,
who are, probably, descendants of the ancient Gordiæans.[208] They
have a great reputation for valour, and Bajazet felt confident that
their assistance would ensure the success of his arms. The day they
arrived at his camp they went through a sham fight on horseback, which
was so like reality that several of them were slain, and more were
wounded. He pitched his camp in the open country, near Angora, so as
to have at his command the ample resources of that important town. In
the citadel he placed his concubines with their children. From the
wealthier of the merchants he raised a loan, on the terms of repaying
them with interest if Providence should crown his hopes with success.
From the same source he obtained the means of equipping and arming
his forces. He had, after the fashion of Turkish nobles, a numerous
retinue of servants; these were reinforced by the Kurds I mentioned,
and by men whose interests had been advanced by his mother, his sister,
or Roostem. To them were added many of the surviving retainers of
Mustapha and Achmet, brave and experienced soldiers, who burned to risk
their lives in avenging the cruel murders of their masters. Nor was
there wanting a motley following of men, who were discontented with
their actual condition, and were eager for a change. The motive of
some was compassion for the unfortunate Bajazet, whose only remaining
hope lay in an appeal to arms. They were attracted to the young man by
his looks, which strongly resembled his father’s; while, on the other
hand, Selim was totally unlike the Sultan, and inherited the face and
manner of his unpopular mother. In gait he was pompous, in person he
was corpulent, his cheeks were unnaturally red and bloated; amongst
the soldiers he was nick-named ‘The stalled ox.’ He lived a lazy life,
at the same time a sluggard and a sot. In the smaller courtesies of
life he was singularly ungracious; he never did a kindness and he
never gained a friend. He did not wish, he said, to win the favour of
the people at the expense of his father’s feelings. The only man that
loved him was his father. Everyone else hated him, and none so much
as those whose prospects depended on the accession of a generous and
warlike Sultan. The soldiers had been wont to call Bajazet Softi, which
means a studious and quiet person, but when they saw him take up arms
and prepare to fight to the uttermost for his own and his children’s
preservation, they respected his courage and admired his conduct. ‘Why
had the father,’ they murmured, ‘disowned a son who was the living
image of himself? Why had he preferred to him that corpulent drone,
who showed not a trace of his father’s character? To take up arms was
no crime, when nothing else would serve the turn. ‘Twas nothing worse
than what Selim, their grandfather, had done.[209] That precedent would
cover everything, as he had not only taken up arms against his brother,
but also had been compelled by the force of circumstances to hasten his
father’s end. Dreadful as the crime was to which he had been driven,
still, by it he had won the empire for his son and grandsons. But if
Solyman stood rightfully possessed of an empire, which had been won
by such means, why should his son be debarred from adopting the same
course? Why should that be so heavily punished in his case which Heaven
itself had sanctioned in his grandfather’s? Nay, the conduct of Selim
was far worse than that of his grandson Bajazet; the latter had taken
up arms, but not to hurt his father; he had no desire for his death;
he would not harm even his brother, if he would but let him live, and
cease from injuring him. It had ever been held lawful to repel force by
force. What fault could be found with a man for endeavouring to save
himself from ruin when it stared him in the face?’
Such were the sentiments that made men daily flock to the standard of
Bajazet. When his forces had well nigh attained the size of a regular
army, Bajazet felt that he must forthwith attack his brother, and stake
life and empire on the issue of the contest. That he might be defeated
he was well aware, but even in defeat he felt that honour might be
gained. Accordingly, he marched directly against Selim. His object
was to effect a passage into Syria; if this should prove successful,
the rest, he was confident, would be easy. Selim, having, with the
assistance of his father, completed his armaments, awaited his brother
under the walls of Koniah. He had large forces, and a numerous staff of
experienced officers, who had been sent by the Sultan, and his position
was strengthened by well-placed batteries of artillery.
By all this Bajazet was not one whit dismayed; when he came in sight of
the enemy he addressed a few words of encouragement to his men, telling
them to fight bravely. ‘This,’ he declared, ‘was the hour they had
longed for, this was the opportunity for them to prove their valour.
Courage on that day should secure a fortune at his hands. It rested
with them to win or forfeit everything. Everyone who was discontented
with his lot had now an opening for exchanging his former poverty for
wealth and honour. They might expect from him, if they conquered,
dignities, riches, promotion, and all the rewards that valiant men
deserve. However extravagant their hopes, let them win this one
victory, and those hopes should be satisfied. They had abundant means
of gaining it in their gallant hearts and stout arms. Before them stood
only his brother’s following, cowards more debased than their cowardly
leader; it was through the ranks of these poltroons his men must cleave
their way. As for his father’s troops, though _in body_ they stood with
his brother, _in heart_ they were on his side. If Selim were out of the
way, his safety was assured, and their fortunes were made; let them
go and avenge themselves on the common enemy. Let them not fear,’ he
repeated, ‘the multitude of their foe. Victory was won not by numbers
but by valour. Heaven was on the side, not of the larger, but the
braver army. If they bore in mind how cruel and how eager for their
blood was the enemy they were to encounter, victory would not be hard
to gain. Last of all’ said he, ‘I wish you to regard not my words but
my deeds. Take my word for it, the day is yours, if you fight for my
life, as you see me fighting for your profit.’
Having addressed his troops in such terms, he boldly ordered them to
attack the enemy. He led the charge in person, and on that day proved
himself alike a gallant soldier and a skilful leader, winning, by the
courage he displayed, as much admiration from foes as from friends.
The battle was fierce and bloody; for a long time neither party could
gain any decisive advantage; at last victory inclined to the side which
was stronger in arms, stronger in right, and stronger in generalship.
Selim’s troops also received supernatural assistance, if one may
believe the Turkish story, for they aver that a great blast came from
the shrine of one of their ancient heroes, which stood hard by,[210]
and carried the dust into the faces of Bajazet’s soldiers, darkening
the atmosphere and blinding their eyes. After great losses on both
sides, Bajazet was obliged to give the signal for retreat, but he
retired slowly and without disorder, as if he had won a victory instead
of having sustained a defeat. Selim made no attempt to pursue. He was
perfectly satisfied with the success he had gained in repelling his
brother’s troops, and remained in his position as a quiet spectator of
the retreating enemy.[211]
Bajazet had now committed an act of direct disobedience to his father’s
orders, he had given the rein to his own inclinations, and he had been
unsuccessful. He abandoned his project of marching into Syria, and set
out for Amasia in good earnest.
About this time Solyman crossed into Asia, having, it is asserted,
received news of the result of the battle in a marvellously short
space of time. The Pashas held it to be impolitic for the Sultan to
cross until intelligence of Bajazet’s defeat should be received, but
at the same time were of opinion, that when news of it arrived no time
ought to be lost, lest Bajazet’s misfortunes should provoke his secret
partisans to declare themselves, and thus greater troubles ensue. They
argued that nothing would be more effectual than the report of his
crossing for cowing Bajazet and terrifying his friends. The victory,
they urged, should be improved, and no opportunity be given to the
prince of rallying from the blow he had received, lest he should follow
in the steps of Selim, Solyman’s father, who became more formidable
after defeat than ever he was before, and owed his final victory, in no
small measure, to his previous failure.
The Pashas were perfectly correct in their view of the situation. For
though Bajazet had been defeated, his conduct in the field marvellously
increased his popularity and reputation. People spoke of how he had
ventured with a handful of men to encounter the superior forces of his
brother, supported as they were by all the resources of the Sultan.
The strength of his brother’s position, and his formidable array of
artillery, had failed to daunt him, while in this, his first field, his
conduct would not have shamed a veteran general. Though fortune had not
favoured him, yet he was the hero of the battle. Selim might go to his
father, and vaunt his triumph, but what then? True, he had _won_ it,
but Bajazet had _deserved_ it. To whatever cause Selim’s victory was
due, it was certainly not to his valour that he was indebted for his
success.
Such was the common talk, the effect of which was to increase Bajazet’s
popularity, and at the same time to make his father more anxious
than ever. His hatred was inflamed, and he began to long for his
destruction. His determination remained unaltered. Selim was the elder,
and had ever been a dutiful and obedient son, and he and no one else
should be his heir; while Bajazet, who had been a disobedient son
and had endeavoured to supplant him on the throne, was the object of
his aversion. He was well aware that the peril of the situation was
increased by the reputation Bajazet had gained, and the open support
which he himself had given to Selim. For these reasons he had crossed
the sea: his object was to give moral support to Selim by his presence
in Asia, but he had no intention of marching up the country. He could
not trust his troops, and if he ventured to lead them to the scene of
action, they might at any moment declare for Bajazet.
He left Constantinople June 5, 1559, on which occasion, in spite of
my cavasse, I managed to be among the spectators. But why should I
not tell you of my two skirmishes after the fashion of the _Miles
Gloriosus_ of Plautus? At any rate, I have nothing better to do, unless
worry counts for work. Under such circumstances letter-writing is a
relief.
When it became generally known that the Sultan was about to cross the
sea, and the day was fixed, I intimated to the cavasse my wish to see
the Sultan’s departure. It was his habit to take charge of the keys
every evening, so, when the time came, I bade him attend me early in
the morning and let me out. To this he readily agreed. My Janissaries
and interpreters, by my orders, hired for me a room commanding a view
of the street by which the Sultan was to pass. When the day came I was
awake before daybreak, and waited for the cavasse to open the gates.
Time passed and he did not come. So I availed myself of the services
of the Janissaries who slept at my gate and the interpreters who were
waiting to obtain admittance, and despatched messenger after messenger
to fetch the cavasse. I had, by the way, to give my orders through
the chinks of the crazy old gates. The cavasse kept putting me off
with excuses, at one time saying he was just coming, and at another
that he had business which hindered him. Meanwhile it was getting
late, and we knew, by the salutes fired by the Janissaries, that the
Sultan had mounted his steed. Hereupon I lost patience, for I saw that
I was being humbugged. Even the Janissaries on guard were sorry for
my disappointment, and thought that I had been treated scurvily; so
they told me that, if my people would push from the inside while they
pulled from the outside, it would be possible to burst the locks of the
gate, which was old and weak. I approved of the plan; my people pushed
with a will, and the gate gave way. Out we rushed, and made for the
house where I had hired a room. The cavasse had intended to disappoint
me, not that he was a bad sort of fellow, but when he had informed
the Pashas of my wishes they had refused consent, not liking that a
Christian should be among the spectators on such an occasion. They did
not wish me to see their Sovereign on his march against his son and at
the head of a mere handful of troops, so they recommended him to put
me off by courteous promises till the Sultan had embarked, and then to
invent some excuse, but the trick recoiled on its author.
When we arrived at the house we found it barred and bolted, so that we
had as much difficulty in getting in, as we had just had in getting
out! When no one answered our knocks, the Janissaries came to me again,
and promised, if I would undertake the responsibility, either to break
open the doors or climb in through a window and let us in. I told them
not to break in, but did not object to their entering by a window. In
less time than I can tell it they were through the window, and had
unbarred the doors. When I went upstairs, I found the house full of
Jews, in fact, a regular synagogue. At first they were dumbfoundered,
and could not make out how I had passed through bolts and bars! When
the matter was explained, a well-dressed elderly lady, who talked
Spanish, came up and took me roundly to task for breaking into the
house. I rejoined that I was the aggrieved party, and told her that the
landlady ought to have kept her bargain, and not tried to fool me in
this way. Well, she would have none of my excuses, and I had no time to
waste on words.
I was accommodated with a window at the back of the house, commanding a
view of the street by which the Sultan was to pass. From this I had the
pleasure of seeing the magnificent column which was marching out. The
Ghourebas and Ouloufedgis rode in double, and the Silihdars and Spahis
in single file. The cavalry of the Imperial guard consists of these
four regiments, each of which forms a distinct body, and has separate
quarters.[212] They are believed to amount to about 6,000 men, more or
less. Besides these, I saw a large force, consisting of the household
slaves belonging to the Sultan himself, the Pashas, and the other court
dignitaries. The spectacle presented by a Turkish horseman is indeed
magnificent.[213] His high-bred steed generally comes from Cappadocia
or Syria, and its trappings and saddle sparkle with gold and jewels in
silver settings. The rider himself is resplendent in a dress of cloth
of gold or silver, or else of silk or velvet. The very lowest of them
is clothed in scarlet, violet, or blue robes of the finest cloth.
Right and left hang two handsome cases, one of which holds his bow, and
the other is full of painted arrows. Both of these cases are curiously
wrought, and come from Babylon, as does also the targe, which is
fitted to the left arm, and is proof only against arrows or the blows
of a mace or sword. In the right hand, unless he prefers to keep it
disengaged, is a light spear, which is generally painted green. Round
his waist is girt a jewelled scimitar, while a mace of steel hangs from
his saddle-bow. ‘What are so many weapons for?’ you will ask. I reply
for your information, that he is trained by long practice to use them
all. You will ask again, ‘How can a man use both bow and spear? will
he seize the bow after he has cast or broken his spear?’ Not so; he
keeps the spear in his grasp as long as he can, but when circumstances
require that it should be exchanged for the bow, he thrusts the spear,
which is light and handy, between the saddle and his thigh, so that
the point sticks out behind, and by the pressure of his knee keeps it
in this position for any length of time he chooses. But when he has
need of the spear, he puts the bow into its case, or slings it on his
left arm across his shield. It is not, however, my object to explain
at length their skill in arms, which is the result of long service
and constant drilling. The covering they wear on the head is made of
the whitest and lightest cotton-cloth, in the middle of which rises a
fluted peak of fine purple silk. It is a favourite fashion to ornament
this head-dress with black plumes.
When the cavalry had ridden past, they were followed by a long
procession of Janissaries,[214] but few of whom carried any arms except
their regular weapon, the musket. They were dressed in uniforms of
almost the same shape and colour, so that you might recognise them to
be the slaves, and as it were the household, of the same master. Among
them no extraordinary or startling dress was to be seen, and nothing
slashed or pierced.[215] They say their clothes wear out quite fast
enough without their tearing them themselves. There is only one thing
in which they are extravagant, viz., plumes, head-dresses, &c., and
the veterans who formed the rear guard were specially distinguished by
ornaments of this kind. The plumes which they insert in their frontlets
might well be mistaken for a walking forest. Then followed on horseback
their captains and colonels, distinguished by the badges of their
rank. Last of all, rode their Aga by himself. Then succeeded the chief
dignitaries of the Court, and among them the Pashas, and then the royal
body-guard, consisting of infantry, who wore a special uniform and
carried bows ready strung, all of them being archers. Next came the
Sultan’s grooms leading a number of fine horses with handsome trappings
for their master’s use. He was mounted himself on a noble steed; his
look was stern, and there was a frown on his brow; it was easy to see
that his anger had been aroused. Behind him came three pages, one
of whom carried a flask of water, another a cloak, and the third a
box. These were followed by some eunuchs of the bed-chamber, and the
procession was closed by a squadron of horse about two hundred strong.
Having had a capital view of the whole spectacle, which I thoroughly
enjoyed, my only anxiety was to appease my hostess. For I heard that
the lady, who had addressed me in Spanish at my entrance, was on very
intimate terms with Roostem’s wife, and I was afraid that she might
tell tales about me in his family, and create an impression that I
had not behaved as I ought. I invited my hostess to an interview, and
reminded her of her breach of contract in bolting the door in my face,
when she had for a fixed sum agreed to leave it open; but told her
that, however little she might have deserved it, I intended to keep my
part of the engagement, though she had neglected hers, and not only to
pay her in full, but to give her a little extra douceur as well. I had
promised seven pieces of gold, and she should receive ten, to prevent
her regretting my having forced my way into her house. When she saw
her hand filled with more gold than she had hoped for, she suddenly
altered her tone, and overwhelmed me with thanks and civilities, while
the rest of her Hebrew friends followed suit. The lady also, whom I
mentioned as being intimate with Roostem’s family, echoing the praises
of my hostess, thanked me profusely in her name. Some Cretan wine and
sweetmeats were then produced for my refreshment. These I declined, and
hurried home as fast I could, followed by the good wishes of the party,
planning as I went a fresh battle with my cavasse, to whom I should
have to answer for having broken open the doors in his absence.
I found him sitting disconsolately in the vestibule, and he at once
assailed me with a long complaint, saying, I ought not to have gone
out without his consent or have broken the doors. He declared that it
was a breach of the law of nations, &c. I answered shortly that had
he chosen to come in time, as he had promised, there would have been
no need for me to burst the doors; and I made him understand that it
was all his fault for not keeping his word, and for trifling with me.
I concluded by asking whether they considered me an ambassador or a
prisoner? ‘An ambassador,’ he answered. ‘If a prisoner,’ I rejoined,
‘it is useless employing me to make peace, as a prisoner is not a free
agent; but if you consider me an ambassador, why am I not at liberty?
Why am I prevented leaving my house when I please? It is usual,’ I
repeated, ‘for prisoners to be kept shut up, but not for ambassadors.
Indeed the freedom of ambassadors is a right recognised by the law of
nations.’ I told him also to remember that he had been attached to me,
not as a jailor or policeman, but, as he was always saying himself, to
assist me by his services, and to take care that no injury was done to
myself or my servants. He then turned to the Janissaries, and began
quarrelling with them for giving me advice, and helping my men to open
the doors. They said that I had not needed their advice, I had ordered
them to open the doors and they had obeyed. They told him, with perfect
truth, that in doing this but little exertion had been required, as the
bars had given way under very slight pressure, and that nothing had
been broken or injured. Thus the cavasse’s remonstrances were stopped
whether he would or no, and nothing more was heard of the matter.