The Drowning Guard: A Novel of the Ottoman Empire by Linda Lafferty Read Free Book Online

will bring about their own demise. I will not spend another moment considering their future, other than their death!
    “We will form regiments, not ortas, with our new corps, and we shall have more discipline like the European armies,” said Mahmud, rubbing his hands enthusiastically as he imagined the future. He looked out over the Bosphorus towards the Sweet Waters of Asia. “I shall stand proud to see an Ottoman army drilling to Western marches and wearing new uniforms that reflect our dignity and my sovereignty!”
    “But my Sultan—” began the Grand Vizier.
    “Silence! Our new army will be the pride of Constantinople. I shall speak to the English and French ambassadors this very afternoon and begin immediately to study the problem.”
    “But, Your Highness, I only wish to defend you and your harem. The Janissary Corps has existed for over three hundred years. They will resist imitating the armies of the infidels and become rebellious. The Ulema could side with them, accusing you of fraternizing with the pagan enemies of the Prophet—”
    “Enough! I shall reform these bloody brutes and we shall have discipline. Send me this Ahmed Kadir immediately.”
    The Grand Vizier left the throne room stunned. What had begun as a report of the glorious Janissaries’ feats in the Western provinces had ended in a tirade by the Sultan. What had provoked such wrath in his master? Still, he suspected Mahmud would have to obtain a fatwa from the Mufti to conspire further, for the Janissaries were protected by the Sheriat as interpreted by the highest Muslim Imam. This would take time, and perhaps the Sultan would come to his senses.
    He sent a page to run to the barracks and fetch the soldier, Ahmed Kadir. Then he hurried off to consult the military officers and the Aga on the decision the Sultan was threatening to make.
    Several hours later, Ivan Postivich entered the Topkapi Court, his skin rubbed raw by an overzealous servant in the royal
hamam
. His blue tunic was spotless and starched as stiff as felt. He bowed to the new Sultan, the third he had known in just three decades. This one had been a boy let out of a Topkapi cage for equestrian events and cavalry drills, an arrogant, terrified youth about the same age as Postivich.
    The Sultan asked to examine Postivich’s sword.
    The Sultan’s smooth hand ran over the blade, his fine white fingers settling momentarily into the grooves etched in battle.
    “This is the sword of a true Ottoman warrior,” the Sultan had said. “Your feats as a corbaci of the elite Kapikulu are legend.”
    “The Ottomans have made me what I am, my Sultan.”
    The Sultan narrowed his eyes. He studied the giant who stood before him. This man was becoming a leader of other men. And any leader other than the Sultan was dangerous, especially when it came to the volatile and powerful janissaries.
    “Yes. The Ottomans have made you who you are, janissary. And I will make you who you will yet be.”
    Two days later, the Sultan’s private guard arrived to escort Postivich to the Sultan’s favorite sister’s palace, stripping the janissary of his command of his cavalry orta.
    “This is your new post, Ahmed Kadir. You shall guard the honor and life of Esma Sultan. The Sultan fears for his sister’s—habits,” he said. “Already there have been insults shouted at her by a man at the Galata Bridge, a man whose head now mourns the loss of his body. A madman—a Bektashi Sufi.”
    “I am a warrior—the corbaci of the cavalry orta—not a palace servant!” protested Postivich. “I was not trained as a palace Solak! I have my horses to attend to and I must train the new recruits in cirit and polo. I shall go insane if I spend hours groveling on the floor to please a princess’s fancy. Let me fight the Russians or send me to reclaim lands in the west from the Greeks!”
    “You know what you ask is impossible. The Sultan himself has assigned you to the Princess’s guard.”
    But even the Sultan