2. A dangerous journey

The whole party is assembled for safety at the local inn and its outbuildings. A few Janissaries are assigned as pickets to watch for the arrival of Moldavian troops. Somehow Mihrimah and I manage to snatch a few hours sleep amid the crowd in the upper rooms of the inn.

Dawn arrives and we are all ready to depart. The pickets are recalled and a small advance scouting party is sent ahead of the main party to check the way ahead is clear. Mihrimah draws up beside me as I wait on my horse for the order to begin our journey. She hands me a small dagger.

"Keep this safe in case you need it," says Mihrimah.

"I don't think I will be able to fend off an attacker with this," I say.

"It's not for that. It's in case you are trapped and at risk of capture. You know what fate awaits you if you fall into the wrong hands."

I nod in response and tuck the dagger in my belt. I've lived all my life on the border of the Empire. I've heard enough sorry tales of raiders and the fate of captured maidens. The order to begin our journey is given and Mihrimah moves forward to ride beside her father.

The first half of our journey towards the border is uneventful. We leave the road from Palada to Akkerman and follow the track that will bring us to the Chilia to Akkerman road. The weather is fine and in other circumstances I would enjoy the scenery. At one point our route requires us to travel through a short narrow gully between some low hills. I'm not the only one who senses this spot is an ideal place for an ambush. However the scouts report the way ahead is clear and we enter the gully with only minimal additional preparations for our defence.

In the event of an attack, my orders are to move to the back of the column with the other servants. Theoretically this places the non-combatants out of harms way, while the soldiers protect the Sultan and Mihrimah. This strategy works fine if the attack comes from the front. However, when the ambush is sprung, the attack comes from the rear. The two servants who had been my travelling companions on the baggage wagon at the rear of the column are the first to die.

The tactics of the ambushers also divides our column. The Janissaries and armed servants near the rear of the train turn to face our assailants, while those at the front rally around the Sultan. The Janissary commander urges the Sultan to flee clear of the gully with a small contingent of Janissaries, while the remainder deal with the attackers. The Sultan accepts the commander's advice. In the absence of orders to the contrary, I follow the group escorting the Sultan and Mihrimah to what we hope is safety.

There are eight of us in our group as we gallop through the winding gully. The Sultan and Mihrimah are flanked by four Janissaries. One of the Sultan's advisers and I follow close behind. The gully gradually widens and the end can't be far away. Then we see them. Ten soldiers wearing Moldavian uniforms are encamped near the road. I don't know if the Moldavians expected the Sultan to flee the mêlée, or whether they are simply here to catch anyone who escaped the ambush. Either way the gully is still too narrow for us to go around them. Our only hope is to ride through them before they can mount their horses and prevent our escape.

The Moldavian soldiers have seen us and are scrambling for their weapons and mounts. The Sultan doesn't hesitate and orders everyone to ride like the wind. The Sultan and his Janissaries draw their swords and let out blood-curdling shouts as we charge. I draw close to Mihrimah as she rides slightly behind her father. The adviser who had been beside me moves further behind us. Three of the Moldavians are armed with bows and their first arrows fly near us while we are still twenty metres from their position.

Seconds later we crash into their still disorganised line. Half of the Moldavians are mounted and fully prepared for our charge, while three remain on foot armed with bows and arrows. The clash of swords is brief and bloody. The two unprepared Moldavians are quickly cut down and the superior skill of the Janissaries soon takes its toll on the Moldavian soldiers. In no time we have broken through their line and are galloping south-east. I risk a look behind me as we flee. The remaining Moldavians show no sign of giving chase, although a few desultory arrows are loosed in our direction as we ride out of range.

When we finally stop to tend to our wounded we realise the Sultan's adviser is no longer with us. One of the Janissaries reports that he saw the man felled by two arrows at the height of the battle. It appears the bowmen were unable to fire into the mêlée for fear of hitting their own men, so targeted the adviser who was some distance behind us.

Two of the Janissaries sport sword cuts and Mihrimah and I help bandage their wounds. While we are doing so, the Sultan comes over to us.

"You both showed extraordinary courage just now," says the Sultan to Mihrimah and I. "You are both a credit to your fathers."

Mihrimah almost burst into tears at the praise her father has heaped on her. As for me, I doubt my father will ever hear of what has just happened. But if the Sultan's pleasure at my deeds means my father's position as local Bey is all the more secure, then I'm happy.

Unfortunately we are not yet out of danger. We are still a good hour's ride from the nearest village on the other side of the border. We could wait to see if any of our main party has been able to break free of the ambush, but doing so will give the Moldavians time to gather more troops. The Sultan decides that we must continue our journey alone.

One of the wounded Janissaries is unable to brandish his sword, so Mihrimah takes his sword and sheath and straps it around her waist. She looks the part of a warrior princess although I know that, unlike her brothers, she will have received no weapons training at all. On impulse I pick up fallen branch and quickly strip it of twigs and leaves, giving me a short staff with which to defend myself. I haven't mentioned to anyone here that my father ensured I received some training in the use of a staff. A product of the fortunes, or misfortunes, of having no brothers. Denied sons, my father treated his eldest daughter as an honorary boy when it came to some manly skills. However, I'm not certain how well such news will be received here. I don't want to jeopardise my new role as Mihrimah's maid.

We continue our journey at a canter. One Janissary acts as a scout and the wounded man watches our rear. After about forty minutes we reach the small river that marks the border between the Empire and Moldavia. Normally we would be safe once we cross the river, but with such a rich prize within reach, it's likely the Moldavian soldiers will continue their pursuit until we reach the safety of the nearest village. We ford the river and regroup on the far bank of the river. Suddenly we hear the sound of horses coming south through the woods on the Moldavian side of the river. It's the wrong direction for it to be the rest of our column. They must be Moldavian soldiers sent to cut the road at the border.

Recognising our mounts need a few moments rest, the Sultan orders us to hide in the trees so we can observe the approaching riders without being seen ourselves. We only need to wait a few minutes before we see the riders. My heart sinks when I recognise the Moldavian uniforms and the large size of the group. Over forty well armed horsemen lead by a man wearing full armour.

"That's the Duke of Jassy's banner," I say to nobody in particular.

"If he crosses into my territory then his life is forfeit," says the Sultan.

I presume the Sultan means to take his revenge at a later date, since the chances of our small party scoring a victory against that many soldiers are negligible. For the moment the Duke's soldiers are hesitating on their side of the river. Then the Duke gives an order and he and his men start to cross the river. It is the signal for our small party to continue our flight south.

"My father keeps a garrison at the old fort on the hilltop to the north," I say when we reach the Chilia to Akkerman road.

The fort is slightly farther away than the nearest village along the road to the south, but it offers better protection. Providing, that is, my father's garrison is still there. The Sultan doesn't acknowledge my advice but immediately takes the road north that leads us towards the fort. We can hear the sound of horses behind us. When we left the river we had little more than a minute's head start. Some of our pursuers must be on fast horses because the gap between us is closing.

Ten minutes later we leave the main road and follow the track which climbs towards the fort at the summit of the hill. I breath a sigh of relief when I see the banner flying from the fort. The garrison is still there. From their vantage point, the sentries must be able to see both us and our pursuers. I can hear the alarm being sounded. Safety is only a few moments away.

We halt at the gates to the fort. The garrison commander isn't about to open the fort gates to unidentified visitors. With our pursuers close behind us, this delay could be fatal.

"I am Sultan Suleiman," shouts the Sultan. "Open your gates and let us in."

The garrison commander hesitates. He probably cannot believe the mighty Sultan of the Ottoman Empire is riding so close to the border with such a small party.

"I am Nilüfer, daughter of the Bey. Open your gates or you will answer to my father," I cry.

We have no means of knowing whether my outburst sways the dithering commander, but the gates are opened and we gallop into the safety of the fort. Unfortunately our relief is short lived. The garrison consists of only sixteen men. From the look of them, these men are hardly the cream of my father's troops.

"Forgive me your highness," says the commander as we dismount. "The Bey had a report from the local tax collector not long after you departed. He said that your party was being guided by suspected Moldavian spies. Unfortunately we thought you had already passed this fort. The Bey ordered most of our men to muster at the next fort to the north to search for you. We didn't know you were still in this area."

Further discussion is cut short when a cry from the sentries on the battlements alerts us to the arrival of the Duke of Jassy and his men.