3. Legends are born
Mihrimah and I are ordered to shelter in the commander's quarters with the wounded Janissary to guard us. Had the garrison been up to full muster, we would hold the upper hand. Unfortunately my father's sixteen soldiers, supported by the Sultan and three Janissaries are outnumbered two to one by the Duke's force. But the walls are strong and time is hopefully on our side. The Duke's force cannot risk a prolonged siege and they lack the cannon needed to breech the fort's walls.
The afternoon passes uneventfully. The fort has provisions and water for several weeks, so we have no fears of being starved into surrender. The men of the garrison are rested in shifts. Although I'm not permitted to leave this room, we at least hear enough news to know the Moldavians are still outside our walls, but don't seem to be in a rush to attack. The Sultan joins Mihrimah and I just before it goes dark.
"The Moldavians may attempt a night assault," he says. "They don't know the strength of the garrison, although our failure to attack means they will suspect it isn't at full strength. They may try to sneak men over our walls and open the gates for their main force. Stay in here and try to remain calm."
The Sultan's assessment of the Moldavian's likely tactics proves accurate almost to the last detail. At about 10 o'clock that night an alarm is raised. The small garrison isn't large enough to station men at every point along the walls. The Duke's men have identified a weak spot and managed to sneak a dozen men over the walls. A skirmish near the gates has the garrison to arms and a fierce battle breaks out.
The fight draws most of the defenders to the gate. Mihrimah and I are left isolated with our solitary injured Janissary for protection. A second group of six Moldavians take advantage of the confusion and starts ransacking the buildings near ours. Any moment now they will discover us. I grab my staff and Mihrimah hands the Janissary his sword. The wound to his sword arm is too severe for him to use his weapon in that hand so he transfers the sword to his other hand. Mihrimah takes down the sword hanging on the wall of the commander's office. The sword is probably too heavy for her to use effectively, even if she knew how to wield it. But she at least holds it as though she knows what she's doing.
We wait nervously and for a while it seems the men won't reach this far. The defenders at the gate are gaining the upper hand and the Moldavians near us are called to support their colleagues. But two men don't obey and continue to ransack the buildings. They are clearly more interested in loot than being Moldavian heroes.
The inevitable happens and the two men burst into our room. The Janissary charges at once and manages to fell one of the Moldavians with a single blow. But the other Moldavian parries the second blow and his counter-attack kills our protector. Now it is one trained soldier against two young girls.
"The ring, girl," says the soldier pointing to Mihrimah's emerald ring. "Give me the ring and I'll leave you unharmed."
"Never!" replies Mihrimah with a fierceness I haven't seen in her before.
I don't think her father will approve of her endangering her life for the sake of a jewel. But nobody is interested in my opinion, so it looks as though the dice is cast. The soldier advances towards us and I step in front of Mihrimah with my staff in position.
Soldiers trained in the use of steel weapons often under-estimate the potency of a wooden staff when used skilfully. At least that is what my father told me. I'm about to find out whether he is right. I don't claim to be an expert in fighting with a staff, but I know a few good moves.
This soldier almost laughs as he advances towards me. He swings his sword in an attempt to cut my staff in two. It is his first and last mistake. I easily deflect his blow and jab the point of my staff at the bridge of his nose. I hit him right between the eyes and stun him.
Mihrimah has been far from a passive observer and quickly thrusts her sword into the soldier's chest while he is dazed from my blow. He goes down with a crash. It is at this moment that the door bursts open to reveal the Sultan and a Janissary. They have belatedly come to rescue us. The sight of the Sultan looking at his daughter while she still holds her sword buried in the soldier's chest is how legends are made. In this case two legends are born. The first of a warrior princess, and the second of an emerald ring through which the wisdom and strength of ten mighty Sultans embraces a worthy wearer of the ring. It will be some years before the legends reach their final form. By then each legend is embellished with half-truths and wishful thinking. Neither legend is entirely true, but then, what legend ever is. But I am getting ahead of myself.
As for my part in the battle, I'm grateful Mihrimah makes no mention to the Sultan of my skill with a staff. I'm not certain how well I would be received into the harem of the Imperial Palace if my fighting skills became generally known. It remains a secret between Mihrimah and I and provides the beginnings of a bond of friendship between us.
Both father and daughter are relieved that the other is safe, but we are not yet out of danger. All eighteen Moldavians who had scaled the walls are dead. But the cost to the defenders is high. Nine of my father's soldiers are dead, or wounded to the extent they are unable to fight. Fortunately the Duke waiting in vain outside the gate with the other half of his force has no idea of our casualties or how desperate our situation has become. We no longer have sufficient numbers to patrol the walls, let alone allow anyone time to rest.
But the Sultan is an able commander and by the simple trick of stuffing the dead soldiers uniforms with straw, we are able to make it look as though are walls are fully manned. It's a trick which won't fool anyone in daylight, but at night it may deter a second attack.
Mihrimah and I are allowed out of the room and we busy ourselves tending to the wounded. This is another skill my father thought appropriate for me to learn. Living close to the border has meant skirmishes are a regular feature of life, and skill at tending to the wounded a much valued asset.
Despite our plight we are in good spirits when dawn arrives. The Sultan's ruse with the straw filled sentries has achieved its goal, and no further assault is attempted on our walls. The dummy sentries are removed before daylight and real men stand in their place. Mihrimah and I even offer to don the helmet and breastplate of a garrison soldier, but the Sultan refuses point blank to place us in danger upon the walls.
The Duke of Jassy hesitates to attack. His force has been greatly diminished and he is facing an enemy of unknown strength. He is also well inside Ottoman territory, and he can expect no mercy if he is captured. At nine o'clock the matter is decided for him. A column of sixty foot soldiers wearing the unmistakable uniform of my father's soldiers is seen approaching along the road to the fort. The Duke and his men retreat through the woods in great haste. By the time the column reaches us, the Duke and his men are long gone.
The young commander of the column is treated as a hero by the surviving members of the garrison, even though his presence here is simply to replenish the garrison for the troops sent further north two days before. The presence of the Sultan and the remains of his party take the commander by surprise. But the Sultan is generous in his praise and I'm pleased that my father's actions have helped achieve a happy ending.
Four days later Mihrimah and I board a ship bound for Constantinople. The Sultan has ordered his army to prepare for a campaign into Moldavia, with the intention of removing the head of the Duke of Jassy, and reminding Rareş where his loyalties should lie. Mihrimah and her new maid are not allowed to be a part of that campaign, but I sense this won't be the last time Mihrimah travels the Empire with her father. I'm determined to make sure I'll be the one she selects as her personal maid on such ventures.
For the sake of morale, no official mention is made of the Sultan's narrow escape from disaster. Mihrimah and I are forbidden to mention anything about our adventures to those back in Constantinople, although I can't help feel the truth will find a way of coming out. In reality only six of us out of a party of forty escaped alive. Something that prompts the Sultan to make a swift and punitive campaign into Moldavia.
As for me, I'm content with my new life. I've seen more adventure and excitement in the last week than ever before, and I'm glad I did not disgrace my father by my behaviour.
"I haven't said how grateful I am for your selfless actions in protecting me at the fort," says Mihrimah as I prepare her for her first night's sleep on board the Constantinople-bound ship. "Name your reward."
"The only reward I wish is to serve you, my Sultana," I reply.
Without knowing it I have given the correct answer to her question. It was not until weeks later, after I had been formally inducted into the Imperial Harem, that I was taught that the highest reward a slave can wish for is to serve the Sultan, or a member of the dynasty, in a personal capacity. Had I requested any other reward, it would have been honoured, but my future role as personal maid to Mihrimah Sultan would have been jeopardised.
Once the Sultana is asleep I go to my cot and settle down for the night. I lie awake for a while, wondering what life awaits me in Constantinople. Not once do I regret my father's decision to gift me to the Sultan's harem. My only nervousness is the prospect of meeting Mihrimah's mother, the indomitable Hürrem Sultan herself. Is she a sorceress who bewitches the Sultan, as some rumours say, or is she like I wish to be, a slave who has brushed shoulders with the powerful elite of the Ottoman Empire and proved herself worthy.