They remained like this for a good minute, Kamil staring at Elif and Elif gazing nonchalantly into space.
“Fine. But you receive no special privileges. If you want to be a man, then be one.” He turned on his heel and left, the iron cabin door clanging shut behind him.
FEBRUARY 24
Sultan Abdulhamid, dressed in a sable coat with broad lapels, waved at the crowd with both hands and then climbed into his carriage. With a deep bow an aide handed him his sword. Marshals, generals, officers, aides-de-camp, civilian officials, and foreigners, mounted and on foot, jostled and then settled into place at the side of the road.
Others lined up behind the carriage in the elaborate protocol that determined who had the honor of being a horse’s length closer than the others to the Commander of the Faithful on his weekly ride to the mosque. Outside the gates, ordinary citizens of the empire gathered to witness their ruler and gape at the display of wealth and power that accompanied him, from the bejeweled and caparisoned horses to the brocade and gold-stitched robes of the courtiers. Vahid, whose duty it was to protect the sultan, rode just behind his carriage. His men were deployed in the crowd and at the mosque. Nothing could go wrong. Still, he was sweating profusely despite the cold.
When they reached the mosque, the sultan emerged from his carriage and began to climb the steps leading to the great gate. Vahid too dismounted and followed him as closely as decorum would allow. Suddenly a shot rang out. Vahid leaped and flung himself before the sultan, shielding him with his body. He looked anxiously for blood, but, as he expected, there was none. There was pandemonium as members of the court threw themselves down or began to run. Military officers formed a human shield around Vahid and their sultan. Soldiers in the sultan’s entourage drew their weapons and plunged into the crowd, and hundreds more fanned out across Istanbul to hunt for the assailant and anyone who had assisted him.
Later that afternoon, Vizier Köraslan bowed low before Sultan Abdulhamid and expressed his gratitude that Allah had spared the Great Lord’s life. Dozens of officials arrayed by rank throughout the receiving hall in the sultan’s private residence murmured their assent.
“He seems to have been a remarkably bad shot for an assassin, as they’ve found no bullet,” the sultan noted, looking at his vizier with an unreadable expression. “I presume he’s been arrested. Who is he?”
“An Armenian student at the imperial school. He confessed to belonging to the socialist Henchak organization. May I remind Your Highness that these are the same people our spies tell us are setting up a community in the Choruh Valley. We believe that this community is the kernel of an independent Armenian state and is being organized with the help of the Russians just across the border. If this movement isn’t stopped, it will eat away the rest of our eastern provinces.” Even as he recited these suppositions, Vizier Köraslan remembered Kamil’s prediction that Vahid would stage an assassination attempt. He was certain the sultan remembered it as well. If the assassination wasn’t real, the vizier wondered, how much of the rest of Akrep’s information was reliable? He despised Vahid, but the man knew things that could destroy his family. Against his better judgment, he had allowed him command of Akrep. So far he appeared to have been successful, and now it seemed he had saved the sultan’s life. Vizier Köraslan decided to rely on Vahid one more time.
“So the assassin wasn’t working alone?”
“No, Your Highness. Akrep has launched an investigation into his network in the city. They will all be arrested. This organization will be eradicated.”
“I’m unclear about what socialism has to do with this. It seems far-fetched to me that the Russians would support a socialist project when the socialists are trying to undermine the czar. Socialism is an international movement, not a Russian one. Or an Armenian one. I would like to speak with the prisoner myself.”
The vizier faltered a moment before answering, “That won’t be possible, Your Highness. He was killed trying to escape.”
Sultan Abdulhamid was silent. His absolute stillness cast a pall over Vizier Köraslan.
Finally the sultan spoke. “Who arrested the prisoner and interrogated him?”
“Officers from Akrep, Your Highness.”
“Vahid, you mean?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Sultan Abdulhamid’s sharp black eyes rested thoughtfully on Vizier Köraslan, and he was silent for so long that sweat broke out on the vizier’s forehead.
Finally the sultan spoke again. “You assure me that this is all true?”
The vizier’s hesitation was not lost on the sultan. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“In that case, send the soldiers.”
74
Apollo shouted at the convoy to stop. The traces had snapped on one of the pack animals, and the saddlebags and supplies hung from its belly. The horse bucked and kicked at the weight dangling beneath it and then slipped on the icy trail, sliding down the ravine on its side, trailing the baggage. “Damn it,” Apollo shouted, pointing at the lead mule that, spooked by the horse, had begun to balk. “Keep the other animals calm.”
Vera worked her horse up to the mule. Holding the tether, she stroked the animal until it quieted.
Apollo dismounted so he could squeeze by the carts on the narrow road, in places no more than five paces wide. “Where did you learn to handle animals like that?” he asked Vera.
“My father has a dacha where he goes to hunt and to tame steppe horses. He used to take me along.” As she spoke about her father, she missed him with a searing intensity. He wouldn’t recognize her, she thought, in her broad wool shalvar trousers and fox fur cape and hat.
Behind them stretched a row of ten carts, each with five barrels strapped on and pulled by a team of mules or oxen. Before them, jagged cliffs rose to the summit, wreathed in clouds. On one side of the road gaped the deep ravine down which the horse had slid. Although the animal was lost from view, Vera could hear its screams.
Their group was made up of the ten men who had accompanied them from Istanbul on the ship and eight local men, Yedo’s cousins, all from the same clan. So far they had made good, if slow, progress. Snow blocked some sections of the road, and the men were forced to dig their way through. The animals had strained upward to the Zargana Pass, but now the road had narrowed so much that the carts could pass only with great difficulty. Sheets of ice extended where meltwater had collected and frozen. The animals skidded and, together with their carts, threatened to follow the horse into the ravine.
Apollo told them to wait while he scouted ahead. Yedo handed him the long wand they used to probe beneath the snow for fissures. Vera insisted on accompanying Apollo. “My father always said there should be two people on an expedition. If something happens, one can go for help.”
“Well, see you don’t get into any trouble then, Vreni,” Apollo answered, and kicked his horse’s flanks.
They worked their horses through the pass, testing the ground before them, and finally emerged onto a bluff that overlooked a protected valley of meadows amid fields of snow. “The road looks open from here on,” Vera noted. “But how do we get the carts this far?”
“There must be a way,” Apollo insisted. “This is the main road through the mountains. People bring carts through here all the time.”
“Not in winter. Remember, they told us in Trabzon that we were crazy to head out now. This is what they meant.”
“Let’s go back and look again. We can’t stay up here at night. We’ll freeze to death.”
“Is there any salt among the supplies?”
“Three sacks. I know what you’re thinking, but it isn’t enough to clear the whole way.”
“We don’t need to clear the entire road, just tracks for the animals and the cart wheels.”