Chapter forty nine: Istanbul Reminders of Past Glory


Istanbul, Sunday the 13 Jumaada al-Thaany 1216 A.H.


"Will there be war, father?"

Selim the third looked up from the message his Master of Birds had just brought. His oldest son, Mustapha, had just finished his lessons and, as usual, he had come to give his father a summary of his day.

"There is already, son… Our troops fight in Greece and the Balkans and Armenia is at the brink of rebellion."

"Those are not wars, father, those are traitors who soon should lose their heads…"

Selim smiled at his son's certitudes and hid a frown while he sniffed a hint of criticism.

"Don't be too rash to brand new traitors. We the Sultans we made mistakes and me and you we will have to pay for them. In blood most probably."

"We will win, Allah is on our side."

"Allah was already on our side three years ago and we still lost Syria and Egypt…"

I should stop speaking so, thought the Sultan. Those walls have grown ears centuries ago. And speaking against the Faith won't give me new allies to secure my power. I know this Empire is slowly crumbling away and I know what I should do to preserve it but as soon as I even think about what have to be done my enemies crush it in the bud.

"That's because we weren't straight enough in our Faith. That's what happens when mongrels and apostates are allowed to flourish."

I'll have to organize some accident for some of your teachers, my son… I won't let them poison our relation.

"Am I hearing a criticism, here?"

His voice gave his son a clear hint of his father's present state of mind.

But he didn't balk and that gave the Sultan great satisfaction. At least his son was not craven.

"Indeed you do, father. We should stop thinking about winning the people of the Empire back with lenient policies and show them what it will cost them to stop being obedient. A few thousand beheadings will do the convincing quite fine."

Those words sound familiar. I do believe I just was granted a look into the future. I know who will slip in his bathroom and drown to death…

"Father beheaded thousands in Syria and Egypt and it just convinced our surviving subjects to look for another ruler."

"Traitors, all of them. When we take those countries back they'll pay. The desert will blossom many red flowers in the coming years."

Indeed it will but those flowers won't be the sign of dying traitors.

"I didn't really answer your question son. Yes we will be at war soon."

"Who will it be?" asked his son who was easy to push in a new direction.

He's too easy to manipulate. He doesn't know it but he is uttering strangers' words believing that they are his… The Sultan smiled at his son who frowned at him in response showing contempt where respect should have been shown. Be careful son, you are my first born but I still have Mehmet, he will become my heir as soon as I'm sure that I've lost you. Hopefully you are not yet tainted and somebody else's creature. Let's hope for you.

"I believe they will send this d'Arcy with his armies…"

"We will teach him defeat, father. Don't doubt it. Our armies are nothing like those English militias. Our Janissaries will beat his troops to pulp."

"They already tried once in Syria and Egypt! Have you forgotten?" asked the Sultan still smiling.

"We were betrayed…" came the immediate, rash and disappointing answer. "He bought our generals. It is said that he is fabulously rich."

The Sultan stopped smiling and gave his son a stern look.

"It was your uncle who was in overall command of the Syrian armies. Your mother's brother. Do you accuse him of having been bought by d'Arcy?"

His son paled visibly.

You're not yet good enough for this sort of play, my son. I wasn't sure who was trying to make you his tool, now I know. I'll have to have a word with your mother.

"Not him… His underlings… They have been bought."

"He chose them, all of them. I gave him carte blanche to win this war and he picked all the officers he wanted. I had no say in this part of the Syrian campaign. Would you trust a man who has shown so poor a judgment?"

"He is our best strategist…"

Is he? Now that is news. My best strategist lost forty thousand of my best soldiers within four weeks. I dread to think what another might have lost.

"Have you studied his campaign in Syria?"

"He gave me an extensive report, father. He was…"

The Sultan stopped his son immediately.

"Have you looked at the official reports? Have you recreated the battles on maps? Have you asked questions to those other officers who fought with him against d'Arcy? In other words, son: have you studied the Syrian campaign as I asked you to?"

Now his son was pale as a frog's tummy.

"I thought that…"

"A Sultan thinks after he has looked at all the facts, not before!" interrupted the Sultan. "Since it seems that you have trouble following my orders, we will have to do the studying together."

He clapped in his hands.

Immediately his personal servant was at his side.

"Summon Abdul Baba in the war room and ask him to invite all the officers who were at his side during the Syria campaign."

Just before the servant was out of sight he called him back while looking at his son.

"And ask for the Headman to be present. My son believes some of those officers were bought by our enemies, it could be that we need him."

He didn't like his son's reaction.


"You called your Grace?"

"Indeed I called, general" answered the Sultan. "I spoke with my son about the Syrian campaign you leaded and I'm amazed by his answers. He seems persuaded that your underlings have been bought by d'Arcy. Hence the reason for our defeats…"

Said underlings who were already looking at the Sultan with more than a little apprehension in their eyes became a shade greyer.

The Sultan looked toward them before making a sign with his fingers asking for Suleiman Pacha to come nearer.

Suleiman had been his beloved Captain Pacha Hassan's trusted lieutenant and he had already answered to a lot of questions from his Sultan a few years ago.

He looked the old general in the eyes.

"My son pretends that you have been bought, general… Is he telling the truth?"

Suleiman Pacha sighed and smiled at his Sultan.

"Who am I to refute his Grace's affirmation? If it pleases his Grace to decide that I merit to be executed I will gladly await my execution." He looked at the headman standing at the Sultan's right. "Is it you wish to do it here?"

The Sultan looked at his son and smiled.

"Shall we begin immediately, Mustapha?"

Clearly unable to find an adequate answer his son's eyes were wildly going from his father to his uncle.

For a long time all eyes were on the young Prince.

His son finally summoned enough courage to answer.

"I don't know father… It would perhaps be better to make an inquiry before beginning to execute loyal officers."

The Sultan was satisfied with his son's answer but still the lesson had to be learned.

"There was already an investigation, son!" he said. "We don't have to wait a second longer. We know why we have lost Syria and treason was never a part of it." He looked his son in the eyes. "Still you accuse my brothers' underlings to have been bought. Could we know where you have found those new facts that change the results of a two year long investigation?"

Mustapha frowned and looked at his uncle.

"I have no fact but I have been told that…"

To his father's great satisfaction he stopped there, closed his eyes and cleared his voice.

"I was wrong to make accusations without having listened to all parties, father. I understand that now, could it be possible to show me why I erred?"

The Sultan nodded.

"Suleiman, please tell the Prince your part of the story, he already knows what my wife's brother told him."


Two hours later Suleiman stopped talking.

The Sultan looked toward the other officers.

"Do you want to add something to Suleiman's report?"

As he knew the only answer he received was silence.

Time to see if my son has understood.

"And you, son, do you want to ask for precisions?"

Mustapha shook his head and his father was satisfied to see in his eyes that certainty has been replaced by doubt. His son no longer was certain about what was the truth.

He'll have to study the military reports to understand exactly why we lost the battles and he'll have to study the reports of the Door's governors to understand why we lost the people. Now he knows only that even an uncle can lie if it's in his interest. All in all: an excellent lesson. Let's see if he has learned something else.

"Well, my son, can you give us a summary of that what you have learned about that campaign?"

Mustapha closed his eyes… I'll have to teach him to concentrate with open eyes. A Sultan must never forget that his enemies are everywhere, even in his throne room.

"We were on home ground and we had in each battle at least twice as much men than the French and we lost nevertheless each of them."

"Those are the facts…" the Sultan agreed. "What conclusions do you draw out of them?"

"The French were better?" said his son with reluctance.

"Nobody can deny it, son. During the investigation we looked at every single decision our commanders made and with hindsight we now know what we should have done to resist a little longer." He shook his head. "But in the end, even if we had made all the right decisions we would have lost nevertheless." He sighed. "Do you know why?"

"D'arcy outthought us?"

"Indeed that he did but that is only one factor for our overall defeat. He was still outmanned and outgunned in a foreign country with no available reinforcement and with shaky supply lines. We could have won just by holding our positions. We should have resisted long enough to see the sent reinforcement arrive. And with armies four times as numerous as his even his tactical genius would not have been enough."

"Our men broke…" said finally Mustapha. "They lost faith and routed!"

The Sultan could only nod. Each time his soldiers had been unable to endure a lengthy battle. They fought but they never believed in their chances to win. And with each defeat their moral had been declining.

"We no longer have soldiers who believe in what they fight for, Mustapha. Even our elite troops do no longer have confidence in the Door's overall possibility to win a battle. Too many defeats have stripped them of their manhood. They are like beaten children awaiting their next trashing."

"One victory and everything can be reversed" shouted Abdul Pacha. "It is all we need…"

Selim smiled at his brother in law.

"You had eight possibilities, brother. And at the last battle you had once again more soldiers, more guns and more cavalry than d'Arcy and even a better position than him." You should have been more cautious with your choice of battlefield, brother. It was too good to be true. As you've seen… "And one hour after the first French charge you were running like every other soldier of my armies. Luckily your horse was better than those of d'Arcy's Egyptian Mamelouks…"

Abdul Pacha could only grit his teeth over what was his greatest humiliation. He couldn't deny it, he had run and he had been as scarred as every other of his soldiers. But who could have foreseen that the very position he had himself chosen was bristling with buried enemy landmines?

The Sultan sighed and made a slight gesture.

"Let's bygones be bygones and let's speak about the future." He ordered the Headman to his side and whispered in his ear. The Headman immediately removed himself from the room.

A few minutes later the Grand Vizier and the rest of the Inner Council joined them.

Selim showed them the message he received a few hours ago. "I just got confirmation from our agents in Paris that France and Russia will strike at us next spring." He looked at the lesser officers who were not delighted to still be there. "Since you are here and since you've all already fought against d'Arcy I want to hear your advice in order to win the next battles against him. Feel free to give us your honest opinion: I need advice not toadying!"

"Do we have an idea where they will strike?" asked his Grand Vizier Kör Yusuf Ziyaüddin Pasha.

"My spies just got general information about what the Czar and Napoleon are preparing. I'm not sure they know themselves where they will strike next spring."

"Will d'Arcy be in command of the French?" asked Mustapha.

The Sultan made a placating gesture.

"As of now I just know that they prepare an attack. I don't know if they will join or if they will attack at two different places. We have five months to be ready for their attack. What I want you to think about is how to use these few months at best to have a chance to still exist next year…"

It was one of the officers who spoke first. The Sultan was rather surprised by the man's courage.

"Without knowing where to await them, it's impossible to make any useful preparations…"

"We know everything we need!" countered Abdul Baba. "The Russian will come through Walachia. We must await them there."

"Were I the Czar Walachia would be the sole country were I wouldn't go" insisted the officer. "Even if it is the evident ethnic and political choice it would be a military mistake. Would he be alone, I'm sure he would exactly do that, but with d'Arcy's and Napoleon's input even he will understand that we will await him there with a strong defensive force."

"So you believe we should await him there?" asked the Sultan.

"We have no choice Your Majesty" answered the officer. "If we don't station troops there he will come! He has half the population spying for him. If we don't reinforce our troops there he will feel as if invited…"

"We could lure him" said the Grand Vizier. "Place troops in secret…"

"With half the population spying for him, your Grace? No way we can hide troop movements in Walachia without the Czar knowing. But we could send our worst troops there and have them prepare field fortifications. I'm sure that even with piss poor troops we can hold our positions against the Czar for months if need be."

"But in your opinion he won't come…" insisted the Sultan.

"Not if d'Arcy or Napoleon were able to share with him their military experience. As said we can't skip building a strong defense in Walachia but in my opinion we don't need to send anything better than armed work gangs under the supervision of a general with good defensive experience."

"Where would you attack?" asked the Sultan.

"Greece and Armenia" answered the officer. "Greece because the French have within the last six months acquired an extraordinary experience in landing troops on foreign shores. They have the know-how to do it even under enemy fire. Add to that military factor the fact that in Greece they will be able to count on the support of a friendly population and you have all the best reasons to see why they will disembark there."

"And Armenia has the same advantages for the Russians" nodded the Sultan. "Should we concentrate troops there?"

"Yes" said the officer. "We should concentrate troops but not to defend Greece or Armenia. What we need to do is launch an attack." He made a face. "We need to force them to make war on a battlefield of our choosing. Everything else is an open door to fast defeat."

The Sultan wasn't a fool and he had learned a long time ago to see ugly nuances when they came upon him.

The key word is fast! He doesn't promise victory just a way to hold out longer. He shrugged. At least he is honest. It is time to let his superiors do their work.

"Brother" he said while looking at Abdul Baba. "See if and when we can launch an attack with sufficient power behind it to force the Russians to postpone their own plans and react to our movements. You'll have my best troops and the major part of all my Janissaries. We must threaten them or they won't take the bait. See me tomorrow with your first propositions."

He smiled at the young officer whose honesty has probably shattered forever his military carrier.

"What is your name, Agha?"

"Suleyman, Your Majesty…"

Another one, grumbled the Sultan. Let's hope I'll never become as famous as my forebear dubbed the Magnificent! Half my subjects are named after him and it makes things so much more difficult.

"Move your family to Istanbul, I take you as my military councilor and want you available night and day." He looked at the Grand Vizier. "See that my new councilor gets a nice accommodation for himself and his family within the Palace."

That will mark you definitely as one of my creatures, boy. You've just lost half your friends and all your hopes to die of old age in your bed.

He made an imperative gesture to his new servant and turned around.

"Follow me we are not yet finished."


"Would killing d'Arcy help?" asked the Sultan.

"Marginally, Your Majesty. He is a military genius and his death would mean better chances to win a battle from time to time. But the French have another military genius in the person of Napoleon and what makes thing even uglier half the French generals are amazingly capable tacticians. They will jump into his boots and win most of their confrontations against us." He shrugged. "We are just not good enough…"

"Not even you?"

"I'm good at finding truths not easily found. But I'm not fast enough to make decisions in the blink of an eye. I am probably a good enough analyst –not as good an analyst as d'Arcy but better than most- but I'm a lousy tactician. It takes too long for me to make up my mind. And that's a bad combination when a battle is being fought and men are dying while you ponder the decision you have to make."

"I've heard that d'Arcy is well loved by our former Arab subjects… Why is it so?"

"He is, in his behavior and upbringing, a man of the East. He speaks Arabic fluently and he understands how his counterparts will react. He looks like a Westerner but his soul has been forged over an Eastern Anvil with a Chinese Hammer. No squeamish armchair strategist that one! He knows when a little massacre brings better results than leniency."

"Is there a chance to win him for us?"

"What could we offer him? He's already richer than Croesus, is in everything but title France's number two leader and has, last August, found a spouse who is already renowned to be Europe's most beautiful woman. Add to that that rumors say that he will be, next year, the happy father of twins…" Suleyman made a face. "Nothing to do in that department."

"We could kill or kidnap his wife" said the Sultan. "It would probably trouble him…"

"It would anger him and he would retaliate, Your Majesty. Please remember he's no squeamish Westerner, if we began the dagger dance he will enter the fray with gusto and determination. I'm not sure we really want to discover everything he's capable of…"

"Not a very satisfying answer…" grumbled the Sultan.

"The best one I can give you, though" answered Suleyman. "But, to ponder what I said, you should know that I believe that d'Arcy won't be the commanding officer of the French Invasion Force."

"Why so?" asked the Sultan.

"Napoleon needs to get back in the limelight and he's afraid to lose his clout with his troops. He will be heading the French troops."

"And that's good for us?"

Suleyman could only shake his head.

"Not really, Your Majesty, not really…"