Gennadius bowed and departed. Constantine was a fool. Gennadius would bring him down and union with him, but he could not do it alone. As he rode back to Saint Pantocrator, Gennadius began composing a letter in his head, a letter to the grand vizier of the Ottoman court, Halil Pasha.
Chapter 11
FEBRUARY AND MARCH 1451: EDIRNE
Mehmed rode through the gate into Edirne, his back straight and his head held high. A crowd had turned out to watch him and his household enter the city, but the atmosphere was far from festive. Murad, Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, was dying, and his poor health was no secret. The faces of the people were grim and unsmiling. There were no cheers for Mehmed.
The people's dark mood mirrored Mehmed's own grim thoughts. Only two weeks ago, Sitt Hatun had given him a son, Selim, and Mehmed knew that any child of his could be a rival in the hands of a cunning mother. But that was not the true reason that he disliked Selim. The child raised painful memories of his other son, Bayezid, and of Gulbehar. Even though the kumru kalp lay against Mehmed's heart, a reminder of Gulbehar's infidelity, Mehmed still longed for her. The thought of her in his father's arms was a nagging pain that not even Murad's impending death could remove.
Mehmed reached the Eski Serai palace and dismounted in the courtyard. Halil waited on the palace steps along with a crowd of important ministers, eunuchs and viziers. The entire group bowed low as Mehmed approached. 'Greetings, Your Highness. Allah be praised for your safe journey,' Halil said. Mehmed motioned for him and the other men to rise, and Halil straightened and stepped closer. 'I have a great deal of news for you, but first, the sultan is eager to see you.'
'I will wait on my father shortly,' Mehmed said. 'I have other business to attend to first.' Mehmed turned to Sitt Hatun, who was just emerging from her covered litter. 'Wife, you will come with me. Bring your child.'
Mehmed led them to Gulbehar's apartments in the harem and pushed the doors open without knocking. A jariye servant girl was standing in the entrance room, watering plants. She dropped her watering tin at the sight of Mehmed glowering at the threshold. 'Where is she?' Mehmed roared. The jariye bowed low and backed away.
'I… I will bring her to you, My Lord,' she stuttered and disappeared into the servant's passage. A moment later, Gulbehar appeared with her son Bayezid, who was now two and a half years old. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Sitt Hatun holding the infant Selim, and then she bowed gracefully before Mehmed. Bayezid also bowed. Mehmed could not help but notice that the boy had Murad's golden eyes. His jaw tightened as he felt a fresh surge of anger well up in him.
'And whose child is this?' he demanded. 'Is he my son, or my brother?'
Gulbehar flushed crimson. 'I do not understand, My Lord. He is your son. Bayezid, go to your father.'
The boy took a step forward and then froze, frightened by Mehmed's menacing scowl. 'My son? My son!' Mehmed said, his voice rising. He stepped forward and slapped Gulbehar hard. 'Are you sure it is not my father's bastard?' Bayezid was crying now, and Gulbehar pulled him to her, holding him tightly as if for protection. 'Answer me, woman!' Mehmed demanded.
Gulbehar lowered her head. 'I had no choice,' she whispered. 'He is the sultan.'
'I am your sultan!' Mehmed roared. He raised his hand to slap her again, but then restrained himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet but hard. 'You will leave here and go to your apartments. You are not to leave them. I will post a guard outside, since it is clear that you cannot be trusted.'
'But My Lord, these are my apartments,' Gulbehar protested.
'They were. They are Sitt Hatun's now. You will take her old quarters.'
'But what of my court? Those apartments are too small for them.'
'You have no court,' Mehmed replied. 'You will have your maidservants and a few jariye to look after your household. That is more than you deserve.' He turned to go, but Gulbehar stopped him, pleading one last time.
'What of your son, Bayezid?' she asked, tears in her eyes. 'Surely he deserves better.'
'As you see, I have another son now.' Mehmed turned and left, leaving Sitt Hatun alone with Gulbehar. Her gloating would be a more insufferable punishment for Gulbehar than any he could devise. Mehmed was still angry when he reached his father's chambers, but more at himself now than at Gulbehar. He should not have lost control of himself; it was unbecoming of a prince. It was even worse in a sultan. He would have to rule his emotions more closely now that the throne was practically his. While the Master of the Sultan's Chambers announced Mehmed's presence to his father, Mehmed took the time to compose himself.
Murad did not move when Mehmed entered. The sultan had aged greatly in the almost two years since Mehmed had last seen him. His thin, wasted body looked tiny amidst the pillows that propped him up. Despite the wintry weather and the noticeable chill in the palace, his robes were soaked with a fevered sweat, and two slave girls fanned him vigorously. His hair, flecked with grey before, was now almost totally white. The biggest change, however, was in the sultan's face. Murad's strong, tanned face had become thin and wasted, with dark hollows under his eyes. The scar on his cheek stood out bright red against the sickly pallor of his skin. His father was a pitiable sight, but Mehmed was in no mood for pity. He knew that Murad deserved his fate, and he felt no remorse, only an emptiness.
Mehmed knelt beside his father. 'Leave us,' he ordered the slave girls. 'I wish to speak with my father alone.' He thought that his father might be asleep, or even already dead, but then Murad's eyes opened, the same bright, intelligent eyes that Mehmed remembered. They, at least, had not changed.
'So, you have come to see me die,' Murad croaked, his voice so weak that Mehmed had to lean close to hear him.
'I have come to speak with you, Father.'
'You had best talk quickly then.' Murad managed a short, wheezing laugh. 'I am not long for this world. The throne will be yours again soon, Mehmed. I pray that you use it better this time.'
'I am no longer a child, Father,' Mehmed snapped. 'I will rule wisely, and I will succeed where you have failed. I will make Constantinople the capital of our empire.'
Murad shook his head. 'You are still young, my son. Do not seek to be great so soon. Constantinople has stood for more than a thousand years. Let it wait a few more. You must learn to rule in peace before you can rule in war.'
'I have learned enough, Father. The Greeks are weak. They have no allies. When I strike, they will fall.'
'You have always been too eager. Why will you not do as I say, boy?' Murad said in a louder voice, his eyes flashing. For a second, Mehmed thought that his father might reach out and slap him. But instead Murad collapsed back against his cushions, consumed by a fit of coughing. 'Ah well, you are not the sultan yet,' Murad said when he had recovered. 'Perhaps I will disappoint you and cheat death.'
'No, you will not recover, Father.'
'And why is that?'
Mehmed pulled the kumru kalp out from under his caftan, and Murad's eyes locked upon the jewel. Mehmed leaned closer to his father. 'I know what you have done,' Mehmed whispered. 'And I have taken my revenge. You have been poisoned. The drug acts slowly, but it is fatal.'
Murad's eyes opened wide, and Mehmed was pleased to think that he had been able to surprise his father, at least this once. 'It is you,' Murad said, his voice barely above a whisper. 'I have been killed by my own son.'
'No, Father. You poisoned yourself the day you took Gulbehar to bed.' Murad's eyes were even wider now, practically bulging out of his head, but he did not speak. 'Did you think that you could lie with Gulbehar without my knowledge?' Mehmed demanded. 'With my own favourite?'