“I was not wrong. Your counsel is most wise, Fahn’ton Pasha.”
He hesitated, then asked, “Therefore it would be prudent of me to have you aware of other advice given, that you might be in a position to comment upon it.”
Did he mean … ?
“Shortly I will be in audience with General Sebastiani who will advise me on the situation. I desire you shall hear him.”
“Sir! How can I-”
“No one knows your exact whereabouts here. This must remain so. Nevertheless I conceive that there is a way for you to be able to overhear what passes between us. I shall meet him in the Mabeyn, a hall that is the most privileged and secure of my receiving chambers. It is at the edge of my harem, and when one of my wives is consumed with curiosity by a guest she is enabled to satisfy herself by passing up a secret staircase and hearing all that goes on from behind a privy screen. This you shall do.”
Selim clapped his hands. The tall dark man entered, bowing with hands widespread.
“This is Mahmut. He is chief of the eunuchs and I trust him more than any, for he is mute. He cannot speak to betray my secrets. He will conduct you by the secret stairway when there is need of you.”
Renzi could hardly believe his good fortune. To listen in on the machinations of Sebastiani was a priceless boon, and all unknown to the French.
“It is only fair to tell you, Fahn’ton Pasha, that if you are discovered in this place, by the laws of the sultanate your life is forfeit. Even I will not be able to save you. Shall you proceed?”
With that opportunity? Of course!
“For the sake of our friendship, Sire, I will.”
Mahmut appeared noiselessly and they left the cell. The beautiful arabesque corridor stretched away in the soft illumination of elaborate sconces but just a few paces further on they came to a discreet door, which Mahmut opened.
By the light of a small taper Renzi could see steps leading down. At the bottom they walked along for a space and, after a sharp turn, climbed up again.
Ahead was a patterning of light from a fretwork panelling.
Through its slits and holes Renzi found himself looking into a room that gleamed with the splendour of gold, enamel and intricate ornamenting that had no equal in Paris or London.
Sprawled in an elaborately carved chair and looking moodily at the scarlet divan under a gold-tasselled canopy, Sebastiani was in full dress uniform and decorations.
The space held an elusive, eastern fragrance, and Renzi remembered that he was to all intents and purposes in the harem of the sultan.
He pressed forward in his eagerness to see but Mahmut drew him back with patient gestures, away from the light that might give away his presence.
In rising excitement he peered at the officer, careful to stay in the darkness. Young, energetic and formidably intelligent, this was the man he must beat.
He studied him intently. Was he imagining it or was he trying to conceal nervousness-a lack of confidence perhaps?
If so, there could be only one reason. Nelson’s long shadow was reaching out and touching him-the legend of invincibility at sea that the Royal Navy had won for itself was now a confronting reality. If Selim was swayed by its appearance he could well be handed over, a prisoner of the English, within the day.
Renzi’s eyes glowed. This was working better than he’d hoped. If only he knew the unknown admiral’s orders … Still, their massive presence might be all that would be required for him to turn the tables on the French.
There was movement outside and Sebastiani shot to his feet with a broad smile.
“Why, General, you are already here, I see,” Selim said, accepting Sebastiani’s ostentatious court bow with an airy flourish of his hands.
“I believed my Turkish seigneur would be appreciative of my military counsel at this grave time.”
“Very well, General. The English are here for a purpose. What is your advice?”
“Sire, we know full well why they’re here.”
“Oh?”
“It is simple,” he began smoothly. “They are allied to the Russians. Tsar Alexander is ambitious and, as we have so recently seen, expands his empire into Turkish lands, which is scandalous. If you were the King of England would you rather favour this European monarch with friends, or will it be an Oriental sultan with none?”
“General, it is a mighty fleet, that of the ever-victorious Nelson himself. We cannot possibly prevail over them.”
“We cannot know this, Sire. My counsel from the heart to you, at this time of the greatest peril, is to delay. Obstruct and procrastinate until the situation is known. Only then can plans and decisions be made. It is the wisest course.”
“Very well. I thank you for your sagacious words and bid you goodnight.”
Renzi was taken back to his cell.
The Frenchman was good-very good. The advice to delay was what he would have given in the circumstances, and talk of the Russians was a neat ploy even if completely fallacious. The British would never take sides one against the other, not for any noble reason but because the risk of backing the wrong horse was too great when no commitment was being demanded.
It was disturbing that Selim did not visit afterwards. Not that he had anything to say: only when the true reason for the fleet’s presence was known would it be possible to bring to bear rational deliberation.
He was awake at break of day. If there was to be a note of demands it would be delivered promptly. He could only wait.
The morning wore on in hours of tedium.
The situation was unreadable: with the fleet at anchor only eight miles away, there could be no difficulty in getting a message ashore under flag of truce. What was holding them up?
In a fever of impatience he waited. Mid-morning a silent Mahmut arrived to take him to the eyrie. Renzi looked on as Sebastiani was brought in.
“General. We have our demands.”
“You will delay, Seigneur, of course.”
“We have done so. Our water guard refused to recognise the boat’s flag of truce. It was put ashore by a trick, however.”
“May I know its contents, sir?”
“My dragoman will read it to us both.”
So that Renzi could know it, too. In his hiding-place he smiled his appreciation.
A portly man was ushered in. Selim handed him the paper.
“Ah, from the English Admiral Duckworth to the Reis-ul Kuttab.”
“Our foreign minister, as you’ll remember, General.”
“Yes, Sire. And … ?”
Even in the courtly French the demand was baldly stated and brief.
The British viewed the growing influence of the French at the Sublime Porte as intolerable to their existing treaty of alliance. It was demanded that the French agitator Sebastiani and his associates be yielded up under pain of further action.
Sebastiani gave a superior smile, as if throwing off a triviality. Renzi was forced to admire his control and waited with interest for his reaction.
“I have to confess I’m not certain I’m flattered, Sire.”
“Why so, General?”
“This great fleet-to lay hands on my person? I rather think not. It is to a larger purpose-that of removing the only one standing in the way of dismantling your defences against their Russian allies. And I’m determined that you shall not be left at their mercy.”
“How can you say this, sir?”
“Sire, when before I said you had no friends, this may be true in the formal sense. Yet even without an alliance, the august Emperor Napoleon wishes me to do all in my power to assist you, and has empowered me to offer the resources of the empire to resist this insult and safeguard your throne. I will do so.”
“Against the fleet at our gates this very hour?”
“It can be done.”
“Forgive me, General, I cannot see how.”
“Sire, let me bring to your recollection the unbroken string of victories our illustrious emperor has won on the continent of Europe against the most dreadful of foes. The contemptible English successes pale against our laurels. True, they have prevailed in several battles out at sea, but who cares what happens on waters distant from the homeland?”
“Continue, sir.”