The Architect's Apprentice Read Online Free Page B

glanced at the sacks on the floor. ‘Have you no shame?’
    One of his attendants replied immediately: ‘We beg your pardon, my Lord. We thought you might wish to see them one more time. We will take them to the mortuary and make sure they are respected as they should be.’
    The Sultan said nothing. He then turned towards the figures kneeling down before him. ‘Architect, is this one of your apprentices?’
    Sinan replied, ‘He is, your Highness. One of the four.’
    ‘I had asked for you to come alone. Did the messenger disobey my orders?’
    ‘It’s my fault,’ Sinan said. ‘Forgive me. At my age, I need help.’
    The Sultan considered this for a moment. ‘What is his name?’
    ‘Jahan, my felicitous Lord. You might remember him as the palace mahout. He looks after the white elephant.’
    ‘An animal-tamer and an architect,’ the Sultan scoffed. ‘How did that happen?’
    ‘He served your glorious grandfather, Sultan Suleiman, upon whom be Allah’s peace. Seeing his talent in building bridges, we took him into our care and have trained him since he was a youngster.’
    Unheeding, the Sultan murmured, as though to himself, ‘My grandfather was a great sovereign.’
    ‘He was praiseworthy like the prophet he was named after, my Lord.’
    Suleiman the Magnificent, the Law Giver, Commander of the Faithful and Protector of the Holy Cities – the man who had ruled for forty-six winters and spent more time on his horse than on his throne; and, even though buried deep down, his shroud decomposed, he could be recalled only in a hushed tone.
    ‘May the mercy of Allah be upon him. I thought about him tonight. What would he have done in my position, I asked myself,’ Sultan Murad said, his voice cracking for the first time. ‘My grandfather would have done the same. There was no other choice.’
    Panic gripped Jahan as it dawned upon him that he was talking about the dead.
    ‘My brothers are with the Sustainer of the Universe,’ said the Sultan.
    ‘May heaven be their abode,’ said Sinan quietly.
    Silence reigned until the Sultan spoke again. ‘Architect, you were ordered by my venerable father Sultan Selim to build a tomb for him. Weren’t you?’
    ‘Indeed, your Highness. He wanted to be buried by the Hagia Sophia.’
    ‘Build it, then. Start the work without delay. You have my permission to do what is necessary.’
    ‘Understood, my Lord.’
    ‘It is my wish to bury my brothers next to my father. Make the
turbeh
so grand that even centuries on people can come and pray for their innocent souls.’ He paused and added in an afterthought, ‘But … don’t make it too spectacular. It should be just the right size.’
    From the corner of his eye Jahan saw his master’s face go white. He picked out a smell in the air, or rather a mixture of smells, perhaps juniper and birch twigs, with a sharp undertone, possibly burned elms. Whether it was coming from the sovereign or from Sinan, he did not have a chance to find out. Panicking, he bowed again, his forehead touching the floor. He heard the Sultan heave a sigh, as if searching for something else to say. But he said nothing. Instead he came closer, closer, his frame blocking the candlelight. Jahan shivered under the sovereign’s gaze. His heart skipped a beat. Had the Sultan suspected that he had trespassed into the inner courtyard tonight? Jahan felt his royal eyes running over him for another moment, no more, after which he strode off, his viziers and guards at his heels.
    And this is how, in the month of December, an early day in Ramadan, in the year 1574, Sinan, in his capacity as Chief Royal Architect, and his apprentice Jahan, who had no place at this meeting and yet was present, were given the task of constructing inside the gardens of the Hagia Sophia a monument that was large and impressive enough to befit five princes, the brothers of Sultan Murad, but neither so large nor so impressive as to remind anyone of how they had been strangled, on his