One morning the Sultan was awakened by what seemed to him to be the
voice of a nightingale, and, looking up, he saw Maria near him kneeling
down, with bent head and arms crossed. The Sultan gazed long upon the
childish figure. He could not understand what she was doing.
Finally he interrupted her. "Morning Star, what are you doing?"
The girl started. "I am praying!"
Bajazet had never seen anything like this before.
"To whom do you pray?" he questioned her, with astonishment.
"To God!"
The Sultan shook his head, for amongst Mussulmans it is not customary
for women to pray.
"And why are you praying?"
"That God may be with you when you start for battle, and that He may
grant you victory!"
The Sultan was overcome with joy at the idea that Maria should pray to
her own God when her husband started for battle--a battle which was to
cause the destruction of her God's own altars. This idea was sweeter to
him than the thought of the blood to be shed.
"Pray for me. Pray fervently, with all the orthodox prayers to which you
are accustomed. I do not understand them, but your prophets will know
how they can persuade the ruler of good and evil to act differently to
what he had intended, perhaps, a million years before. Tell me about
your prayers. I find delight in them. I do not believe in them, but you
do, and that is pleasurable to me. And I swear to you by the name of my
own prophet Allah, and in the name of your God, that when I return from
the battle, concerning which you pray, you shall have whatever your
heart desires. In the meantime think of some desire which is as yet
unfulfilled--a desire which is yet hardly existent--which may be only a
fancy--waken it into life, demand it, and I will fulfil it!"
* * * * *
Soon afterwards he left to bombard Byzantium.
The Sultan was right in his belief that the world's history does not
depend on the tears of women. It was decided a million years ago that
this rotten country was to fall to pieces, but no one man was empowered
to hasten the destruction before the allotted day and year. Just when
the siege was completed the frightful news reached Bajazet that the
avenging Timur had accepted his challenge. Impregnable Szivasz had
fallen, and his greatest hero, his son, had been killed by the enemy!
Bajazet at once suspended the bombardment of Byzantium. He had neither
time nor desire to attack the Christian Churches when an enemy, mightier
than himself, approached. Byzantium, therefore, had for a short time to
be spared the fate of having its name changed to Stamboul, just as, 450
years later, it was spared from being rechanged to Byzantium, though the
change was already looming in the distance.
Bajazet was quite certain that he would take Byzantium. It was a dream
from which he could not free himself until it was fulfilled. Every one
was against the war. The soothsayers prophesied evil to come. His
leaders warned him not to commence the bombardment until he had finished
with Tamerlan. But he would not be dissuaded. The soothsayer who
advised him to start against Timur before proceeding to Byzantium was
dismissed from his presence.
When Timur approached towards Szivasz the Sultan's advisers again
implored him.
"Do not let Szivasz fall, or your son be lost!"
When he was tired of hearing this he had a few of them killed, but the
warning did not die with them. Though his advisers could no longer speak
to him, a sad and moaning song was heard amongst the soldiers, the
refrain of which was, "Do not let Szivasz fall, or your son be lost!"
The Sultan had to listen to this nightly from his tent, and when he
forbade it to be sung in his camp, it was passed on to the shepherds in
the Izmid mountains. In the silent night, and in the far distance, the
wailing of the shepherds' horn was heard from the Pontus as far as the
Sultan's tent, "Do not let Szivasz fall, or your son be lost!"
Bajazet had the shepherds driven into the mountains, or killed, in order
that he could no longer hear the cursed song! But he heard afterwards
what he little wanted to believe, that both Szivasz and his hero had
fallen, and had been destroyed by the hands of his enemy. Bajazet
strewed ashes on his head! This was his own fault.
He no longer attacked the gates of Byzantium. He left the subways in the
midst of their construction, crossed the Pontus with his army, collected
his generals and all his war-utensils, and was ready to start on his big
and revengeful expedition. As he anchored near the Izmid mountain, a
shepherd was seen close by, resting on his crook. Bajazid exclaimed to
him: "Now blow with your horn that song to me: 'Do not let Szivasz fall,
or your son be lost!'" The shepherd obeyed his commands and blew the sad
and melancholy sounds, which were re-echoed in the mountains. They found
an echo in the heart of the Sultan, who cried out, with grief and
despair, that he had let his bravest son die; and from that moment the
trumpeters were ordered to constantly play the melancholy song during
the expedition to Szivasz.