Текст книги "Gardener. Secrets of the Ottoman house"

Gardener
Secrets of the Ottoman house
Konstantin Krokhmal

Иллюстратор Konstantin Krokhmal

Дизайнер обложки Konstantin Krokhmal

Фотограф Konstantin Krokhmal

© Konstantin Krokhmal, 2017

© Konstantin Krokhmal, иллюстрации, 2017

© Konstantin Krokhmal, дизайн обложки, 2017

© Konstantin Krokhmal, фотографии, 2017

ISBN 978-5-4485-5252-6

Создано в интеллектуальной издательской системе Ridero

Dear friends!

Many know me as a public figure, an auto expert, a journalist, a participant in television and radio programs. Today I am opening up for you on a newer side, as a writer. Possessing a huge amount of information, historical facts, I do not use them in full, except that I sometimes quote the classics in speeches before citizens, on television, radio, etc. Only a few of my close associates know my hobby – to write stories and novels. I write in the new, and more correctly, in a transformed style of an active story based on a real story or a little-known historical fact. I try to describe the events in an exciting manner from the first lines of the narrative. I would call my style a story-track or a story-composition.

I have long wondered why we listen to the song we liked a few times in a row. Why does not it bother us?

And all because a good song every time gives us a feeling of familiar novelty.

Have you re-read a story or a story for a long time?

In my opinion, an interesting and intelligent book should be read several times in a row, fueled by emotions and getting a charge of energy. I hope that this my story «The Gardener» will take a place in your library and will be among the books that will want to reread, reside and empathize with its heroes.

I specially designate and describe my characters with special touches, and already you, my dear reader, visualize the image of the hero and imagine exactly how it looks. I give a guide, and already the integrity of the picture is formed in everyone’s own, according to your imagination.

In my works, I do not claim 100% historical certainty, but only try to reconstruct events, and I myself live with my characters specific life situations.

I specially write compact, but capacious stories. My goal is to make them dynamic, easy to read and kept in suspense until the very last line. The ending of most of the works will surprise you.

I purposefully try to include in my stories a maximum of facts, so that you can add to the baggage of your knowledge, for knowledge, like health, is never superfluous.

I do not cunning, saying that my stories have a good therapeutic effect, in order to tap into those parts of the brain that are responsible for the flexibility of thought. Checked experimentally: I want to reread my works, and they give a charge of mental activity.

In my opinion, these stories are ideal for preparing a script and shooting an exciting movie. If among the readers there is a knowledgeable person, I will be glad to cooperate.

In the story there is a special terminology of that time, of that era, and at the end of the book in the Notes section, detailed explanations are given so that you can more fully understand the details of the narrative.

In my table there is a large number of similar works of various themes: from serfdom to World War II and the modern era. All of them are planned for publication, as they are ready for printing.

I will be glad if you liked my book, and you have spent your time and have learned a lot of new things.

Enjoy reading!

With sincere respect for you, my dear readers!

Yours, Konstantin Krokhmal.

web-site: krohmal.ru

– —

Announcement of the book

One is the gardener, the other is the Vizier. The capricious will of the Great Sultan reduces them one by one, and they begin a deadly race for survival. Who of them is a hunter, and who is a victim, will decide Fate. All this happens under the unflinching gaze of the Lord of the Osman and thousands of secret spectators.

Who will win? A human machine trained to kill, or a civil servant who has passed through all circles of hell, who has many years of experience of survival in difficult situations behind his back?

The result of the duel you will learn, after reading my new book «The Gardener», which is based on real historical events.

I wish you a successful hunt!

Konstantin Krokhmal, the author.

Gardener
(Based on real events)

Semi-bent scissors, which resembled two medium sized knives, fastened in the middle, slowly stuck into the green flesh of a plant with triangular sharp spikes. A long stalk cut off at an angle, with a huge half-blown scarlet bud, fell into an outstretched broad palm in a worn leather glove. Picked up like a real juggler, the flower, turning in the palm of his hand, smoothly moved into a nearby bronze jug, almost completely filled with the same red roses.

– Here they are, beauties, exactly 41 pieces, – the man with a strong look whispered softly in a velvety voice and, looking up, looked at the dome, which was painted in a bright red color, with a burning crescent moon peeping out from the high, flat wall that had been recently painted in White color.

The Sultan’s Topkapi Palace¹ in Istanbul met the next dawn.

– Today is a great day, today is the birthday of the Lord, may Allah keep his soul! – he already spoke louder, taking off his gloves and neatly laying the scissors in a small wooden box with a wide leather belt.

Then the man looked cautiously around, as if frightened of someone.

But there was not a soul around. In Harem, located in a special building, the entrance to which was at the end of the second courtyard of the richly decorated «Gate of Happiness»², woke up late, despite the huge number of women. It was the most inaccessible yard for strangers. To see even one of the many concubines was deadly dangerous. Any outsider, who even glanced at the Sultan’s concubine with one eye, was executed on the spot.

The gardener hurriedly hung the belt with a drawer over his shoulder, took a jug of roses with both hands and headed for the exit from the garden. He carefully concealed from his outsiders his secret that, despite the strict prohibition, he was very fond of talking. Yes, it’s hard to believe that life in such a luxurious palace could be very heavy and gloomy. Even the great Sultan Selim the Terrible³ was compelled to obey the ancient custom and speak extremely seldom, since verbosity was considered very indecent, and for communication a special form of language was introduced-the system of nods and gestures. So it was established long ago, and the ruler of a huge empire was forced to spend most of his time in complete silence. He repeatedly tried to abolish this restriction, but his viziers flatly refused to lift the ban on conversations, arguing the inviolability of the canons established earlier.

Maybe because of this, the ruler of the Ottomans felt a vicious disgust towards the Viziers.

It was difficult for Sultan to talk even to himself, since he almost never remained alone. When he walks through the palace, dozens of people accompany him; When dressed, he is watched by numerous guards; When he is sleeping, the guards are standing next to him. This is loneliness under the watchful eye of servants and guards.

One consoled him: he had complete control over the life and death of his subjects, and he enjoyed it without a drop of embarrassment.

***

The gardener’s eerie hearing caught a quiet rustle that was heard from the opposite side of the garden adjoining the tallest building of the palace with a high tower-the Sultan’s chambers. He stopped, quietly put a vase of flowers on the ground, next to it – a box of tools and, taking a few steps back, hid between tall bushes. A minute later, a silhouette appeared on the path, which moved quickly along the well-groomed path. But when he saw the vase standing in the middle, the stranger stopped and slowly bent down to her, inhaling the wonderful fragrance of freshly cut flowers.

The gardener sprang lightly from behind the bush and, finding himself behind the stranger, grabbed his left hand by his forehead, and the right put a sharp blade to the unprotected throat.

– Stop, stop! – wheezed, the stranger begged. – It’s me, Fatih, with a letter from our master!

For a moment the gardener froze and slowly withdrew the blade from his throat. On the neck remained a thin red line from the point of the knife. Fatih jumped from him and, rubbing his neck with his hands, spoke:

– How much I serve in the palace, I just can not get used to your tricks.

He quickly rubbed his throat, then cleared his throat and continued:

– I have an assignment from the Lord.

And slowly, pulling from under the floor a long embroidered gold coats wrapped in a tube paper, gave it to the gardener.

The gardener examined the scroll from all sides, then brought it closer to his eyes and examined in detail the small seal with the initials of the Sultan. Convinced that she was untouched, with the usual gesture of her thumb, she snapped it with a soft snap.

Opening it, he carefully read the message. Slowly and almost without interest, he tightly wrapped the sheet and hurriedly put it in the inner pocket of his robe.

Fatih, slightly bent, looked with interest at the Gardener’s face, trying to guess the contents of the scroll.

– Tell the Master that his will will be done, – the Gardener said indifferently, looking steadily at the visitor. He knew perfectly well that by the expression of his face one can guess what is contained in the letter, that’s why he learned to hide his emotions from strangers.

vYou’re free, – he said imperiously.

Fatih shuddered, bowed slightly, backed away and, smoothly turning, disappeared behind the trees.

«So tomorrow, Run,» thought the Gardener, and mechanically touched the robe in the place where the scroll was. – This will be another routine work, which was a lot for my life at the palace.»

He stretched himself out and, spreading his broad shoulders, spread his hands to the sides. There was a characteristic crunch of joints that yearned for physical exertion.

The gardener took a box of tools, then looked at the jug with freshly cut scarlet roses, which could be seen behind the bush.

«The servant will take the roses, and it’s time for me to prepare,» he said softly, and, clicking his phalanges of fingers, headed for the inconspicuous door in the wall between the towers of Baba Salam⁴. Behind this door there was a special room, in which only he and his assistants could come.

***

The gardener was always ready for this letter, he knew perfectly well what Sultana needed not for courting flowers, but for performing special assignments.

He was the Executioner⁵.

Only he was trusted to execute the objectionable and unquestioningly carry out assignments. When he was ordered, he did not think. He was killing.

Yes, the palace had its own rules, even for execution. The executioner had no right to kill with blood the tall faces, relatives of the Lord, so they should be strangled with a special ritual silk cord. The Sultan did not like blood, especially when he saw her at his relatives.

Unlike the Sultan’s family, the rest, any people disliked by the Sultan, including influential viziers, the gardener could kill at his own discretion. And then the blood flowed like a river…

Yes, he was an executioner, he killed those whom the Lord ordered to kill. And the garden was a compensation for these monstrous errands, and for all he was a simple gardener and looked after the flowers.

This took a long time, and then a custom appeared, when the condemned Master to death could escape his fate by defeating the chief gardener in the race through the palace gardens. The Vizier was summoned to a meeting with the chief gardener and after an exchange of greetings he was given a cup of frozen sweet sorbet.

If the sherbet was white, the Sultan granted the vizier a reprieve, and he had a month to rectify the situation. And if the sherbet was red, then the vizier should be immediately executed. And this was already done by the gardener. As soon as the condemned to execution saw the red sherbet, he had to take a sip and immediately run through the palace garden between the shady cypress and the rows of tulips. The main goal was to get to the gate on the other side of the garden that led to the fish market. And if he could run and pass through them, then all his sins were forgiven him. He again became a great vizier with unlimited powers.

Yes, it is difficult to imagine that the Topkapi Palace, in which petitioners from all over the world were received, was a terrible and terrifying place. In the main courtyard at the entrance to the palace, specially made two columns, on which the severed heads of people disobeyed or infidel Sultan were placed. During the periodic purges of the palace, from the unwanted or guilty in the courtyard, entire mounds were built from the languages of the victims. The gardener knew all this and remembered that sooner or later the purge would begin.

In the corner of the garden there was a special fountain⁶, with sparkling spring water. But everyone in the palace knew that it was forbidden to drink or wash hands in it. This fountain was made exclusively for the executioners, so that they could wash their hands and arms after the punishment procedure.

***

A small, bone-bound, heavy door opened noiselessly, and the Gardener, stepping over the high threshold, stepped inside. It was a large and spacious room, well lit by square windows. They were located high under the vaulted ceiling, painted in white, and therefore the room was surprisingly light. On the walls hung various devices, at first glance, not at all terrible. But only the executioner knew that the most familiar things can serve as an excellent weapon for killing unwanted Sultans.

The gardener closed the door on the bolt and walked confidently toward the shelving with tools.

– Tomorrow is an important day, and I need to prepare some tricky traps, – he whispered softly and began to make intricate things.

The executioner sincerely did not want anyone to reach the market gate and escape the just punishment of the Sultan.

He was not told who would run, but he knew exactly how to kill him. The executioner was allowed to kill the blood of all subjects, except for the relatives of the Sultan, they were to be executed only in one way – strangulation. Why is it so? The gardener knew the answer: because this type of execution since ancient times is considered shameful. The cruelest punishment for a person is not physical death, it was more terrible that when strangled, the soul can not leave the body, as if remaining in prison. In the people of such dead were called «hostages». The executioner knew, like no one else, that to die from suffocation was painful and painful. Death does not come instantly, and the convicted person remains conscious for a few seconds. In these instants he understands the approach of his end and experiences unbearable physical suffering, which ends in a terrible agony. At the same time, he was watched not only by the Sultan, but also by hundreds of spectators.

Such punishment was considered an impure death. Often at the time of strangulation, all the muscles in the body relaxed, and this led to complete emptying of the intestine and bladder, so that even after the execution the humiliation continued.

Whether it was a decapitation with an ax or ax, which was considered a quick and less painful death. Such a death allowed to avoid public agony, which was important representatives of noble blood. The crowd of spectators, eager for spectacles, should not have seen low dying manifestations. It was believed that only a strong and courageous warrior was prepared precisely for the death of cold weapons. When the condemned put his head on the block, he showed humility and resignedly accepted punishment. But all the same the main thing depended on the ability of the executioner. Often the convict himself or his relatives paid a lot of money to do his work with one blow, and death was quick and saved from violent torment. The gardener quickly enforced the sentence. The condemned man laid his head on a log, the thickness of which was to be no more than six inches⁷, which was ideally suited to the head of a man. A swing with an ax, a blow-that’s all.

Tomorrow’s fugitive was not Sultan’s blood, but he was very noble – it was the Vizier, the right hand of the Lord, whom he trusted as to himself. But something happened, and the Sultan suddenly began another purge of his associates, justifying his name – Selim the Terrible. Most likely, this was implicated in the heir Mustafa⁸, the closest pretender to the throne.

Such cruelty justified itself, because in the Ottoman Empire there were no bloody wars because of the throne, unlike Europe. The recent French Revolution^9, which began with the murder in prison of the 10-year-old son of the last French King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, did not have time to start, quickly drowned in the blood of their own leaders.

The gardener looked at the wall, lined with huge roughly chipped pieces of limestone. Behind this place was a fenced part of the palace, which was called Cafe¹⁰. It was a «golden» cage where Sultan’s relatives lived, whom he had not yet killed¹¹. He kept them next to him, allowing him to enjoy almost all the blessings of the palace in order to fully control their lives. Mustafa was in this cage and, most likely, became a bargaining chip in a never-ending backstage game.

Selim the Terrible knew how to overtake the fear of his courtiers: during his reign, so many great Viziers were executed, that they began to carry their wills with them.

The gardener took a scroll out of his robe pocket and put it in a large box filled to the top with the same orders. After a moment’s thought, he said calmly:

– Tomorrow I need to show a good performance, because the audience will be enough. But the most important spectator is, of course, he is the Great Sultan.

***

The morning turned out to be extremely cloudy. The sky was clouded by gray clouds that almost did not let in the sunlight, and the bright garden looked monotonous.

There was no one in the garden, but this does not mean that no one was following the upcoming action. On the highest balcony was located Sultan with the approximate, and a little lower on the terraces and from the open windows observed the rest.

The gardener was sitting in a luxurious gazebo on a dark green trestle. To his right was a closed vessel with a sherbet. Unlike the Vizier, to whom this message was intended, the executioner knew the color of the delicacy.

Behind the bushes appeared a recognizable silhouette in a bright robe, and it became clear that it was Khachi Salih Pasha. He cautiously, almost silently crossed the threshold, slightly bending his head, and slowly approached the Gardener.

Gazing furtively from under his brows, he asked quietly:

– Do you have something for me?

– Yes, sweet sherbet, a gift from our Great Sultan, he is no longer angry with you, – the Gardener replied monotonously and nodded at the jug.

The Vizier slowly bent down and took a trembling left hand by the handle of the vessel, then, stepping back three steps, quickly lifted the lid. Moments were enough to understand that he was sentenced to death, and a second later the jug was already flying into the head of the Gardener.

The gardener was always ready for any surprises, but what happened did not fit into any framework and was with him for the first time in many years of practice.

Hardly veering away from a ten kilogram heavy heavy weapon, he leaned back and felt the edge of the handle crash into his cheek, tearing it apart like a linen sheet. The blood spurted, the bay in red, the white caftan of the gardener. The jug cracked the openwork wall of the gazebo with a crash and fell to the flower bed with white tulips, which immediately turned red.

The gardener looked dumbfounded through the blood-stained face to the bright figure disappearing among the bushes. Sharply jumping up from the trestle, he, was, rushed into the chase, but stopped, tore a long flap from his sleeve and bandaged his head, pressing a dense cloth bleeding cheek. «He won time, good move! – flashed through his head. «We must hurry, because the garden is not infinite, but I know it better.» And turning, he cautiously climbed through the pit hole pierced and disappeared among the branches of the cypress.

***

The Vizier ran through the rows of roses and tulips, ignoring the surprised faces of the observers who did not understand what had happened to the executioner. Why does he not pursue the doomed to death?

The path turned to the left:

«Cut through the bed, it’s faster,» Hachi Salih Pasha thought, pushing hard from the path and preparing to jump over to the other side of the flower bed.

Already in the air, he felt a prick, as if someone had pulled him by the leg behind him, and fell with a crash on bright flowers.

Turning over, he saw a small arrow sticking out of his right ankle.

There was no great pain, but it was clear that this was one of the hangman’s traps. Harpoon can not be touched, otherwise it forms a highly bleeding wound and paralyzes the muscles. Slowly holding his left hand with an arrow at the very foot, he rightly broke the wooden pole with his right palm. Taking out a small jar from his inner pocket, he anointed a brown viscous paste around the stump of the arrow sticking out of his leg and then gently bandaged the wound with pre-wrapped bandages. «I’ll hold out,» flashed through my mind. Life in the palace taught him to be always ready for any surprises, he was ready for it. The Vizier looked up. It’s a pity that you can not see the sun – it could be used as a landmark for a correct definition of where the saving way to the fish market is.

«Yes, the gardener is cunning, he is a real professional,» thought Vizier, looking around. After all, he and his assistants completely, beyond recognition, changed the landscape of the garden in order to confuse the convict, to confuse and buy time.

To think, because yesterday he himself could give orders and execute any man, he was the right hand of the Great Sultan.

«You must constantly work your head,» Vizier remembered his father’s words. – The brain never gets tired, the person gets tired only of emotions. Be calm and think. The more you work your head, the longer it will serve and save your life. He who constantly thinks, he lives long. Fools die early, be smart!».

– But I’m not that simple either, – Vizier whispered and grinned. – I grew up in a family of hunters. Still it is not known who will be the winner.

He slammed the bush with his palm, and laying something under the lying stems, quickly rolled back to the juniper.

***

– The main thing is silence, the execution of noise does not like, – the Gardener repeated several times. – Finally I got a real opponent, with whom you can fight on an equal footing. Yes, with a jug he worked perfectly, and most importantly – weakened my vigilance with my trembling hand.

The gardener crept through the rows of bushes, carefully reading the tracks like a book. Beyond the trees appeared a flower bed: judging by the crushed flowers, the trap worked.

– Harpoon will slow it down, – he rejoiced, and headed for the broken flowers.

The gardener squatted and, looking carefully at the plants, began to feel the crushed places: when falling, the Vizier could drop something.

A sharp pain literally paralyzed him. The gardener fell on his back and looked with surprise at his left palm. On it were two small holes with small droplets of blood. «Snake,» – flashed through his mind. But where? And then he understood everything. The Vizier did this.

The gardener pricked his mouth to the wound and began to suck venom furiously. The taste was bitter and reminiscent of wormwood. He spit on the poison several times.

– And they did not meet with such creatures, – the Executioner croaked, glancing at the crushed grass. Through the stalks, the wriggling back of the creeping creep was visible, which tried to escape. He recognized her at once – it was a lizard snake¹². Her bite was weaker than the viper’s poison, but still very dangerous. After all, the purpose of the Vizier was not to kill the Executioner, but to stop him. A knife flashed in the air, and he, together with the ground in half, was already almost disappeared from view, a brown, speckled, flexible body.

Wiping the blade on the robe, he made an incision above the bite and, pressing on the artery, strained his arm. Blood spurted from the wound, carrying the remnants of poison. The hand was a little numb.

– Yes, I greatly underestimated you, – the Gardener croaked, frowning, pouring a brown powder onto the wound from the canvas bag. He clicked the flint, and the powder flared brightly, went out, turning into white smoke. Lush vegetation slightly muffled a sharp cry. The gardener moaned quietly and, falling to his side, covered the burned place with a robe.

***

The Sultan watched with interest the events below and even forgot about sherbet. Which melted on an oval tray beside it, near a tall vase with roses. Red was his favorite color. This color from ancient times was considered sacred and even magical, having a large internal «life force». Therefore, precious stones of red color and especially rubies were so much appreciated. He remembered how still as a small child, running, accidentally touched the box, and from there large red stones poured. Under the rays of the sun they burned bright red color, as if alive. Then he got scared and screamed. The Khazedar-utah¹³, asmin-kalfa,¹³ and other servants who tried to calm him came running.

Already an adult, he learned that his father severely punished all the guilty, since the palace had a strong faith in the great power of red. And this belief was so strong that it was secretly forbidden to show stones of red color to small children, because their appearance could strongly frighten or agitate the fragile psyche of the child.

Many years passed, but for a long time he remembered the sensation of an incomprehensible, but at the same time attractive, fear, which subsequently strengthened him.

Sultan bent down, took a bowl with bright sherbet and, slightly sipping, felt a cool slightly sweet aroma, familiar from childhood. Today he turned forty-one, he is four years Ruler of the Ottoman Empire, which he created following the example of the Roman Caesars, but trying to take into account all their mistakes. The Roman Empire fell because of the internal split and stupidity of the emaciated and vigilant emperors and nobles, consuls, viceroys, who were crushed by a handful of uneducated barbarians from the north. Nobody seriously thought that the German mercenaries, who were called federates¹⁴, led by the King¹⁵ Oudoakrom¹⁶ destroy the centuries-old empire. You can not underestimate the enemy, you have to think like an enemy and anticipate his actions. Therefore, in the Ottoman Empire, everyone could serve, regardless of the place of their birth. The main criterion is devotion and acceptance of Islam.

After taking another sip, Sultan turned his head and stopped his gaze on a tall vase with roses. He remembered how, on his birthday, he was then six years old, playing in the garden and running away from the nanny, stumbling, fell into a bush with red roses. He distinctly remembered the feeling of fear when, floundering amongst the sharp stems, all cut with thorns, looked up from above upward to the fiery red terrible buds.

After that, he was trembling violently, and he could not come to himself for a long time. The wounds still did not heal completely, and he gave himself the word to overcome this fear. And one night, secretly going out into the garden, I got to a bush with roses and cut them all with a knife. Taking six roses, he brought them to his room as a trophy. It was his first battle with his own fear, and he came out victorious. Since then, having become the Lord, he received for his birthday red roses, as a symbol of strength and fearlessness.

From scruples he was distracted by a cry. He turned and somewhere on the left side of the garden saw a white cloud, which in shape resembled a tray and slowly rose upward. There was no wind, and the cloud was clearly visible from anywhere in the palace. «Powder? But what is it for during execution? «The intrigued Sultan thought, looking at the sherbet, which was almost melted.

***

The Vizier bent down and smoothly, without touching the protruding shaft of the harpoon, stretched out the swelling leg that was beginning to swell. He was used to fighting for his life, therefore he managed to last the longest in the palace.

«But who is to blame for what happened? In all I’m to blame! It was necessary to be even more cunning, even more merciless to your enemies, and I relaxed. Yes, of course, this is because I visited Mustafa in the cage, talked with him about the fact that he forever renounced the throne and went to the distant Sandzhak¹⁷. But after all, I talked with Mustafa face to face, and no one could know about this meeting… except, except for my assistant, Ibrahim. So, he handed me over to the Master! Probably, itself marks on my place. Well, now the main thing is to survive and get to the place, and then we’ll figure it out, «Khachi Salih Pasha speculated.

From somewhere from afar a long groan was heard, and he realized that his «snake surprise» had worked.

– This will temporarily slow the Gardener, but we must hurry,» Vizier said with a slight smile, and added:

– Now our chances are even!

Vizier once again felt his almost numb leg, straightened and, limping, disappeared behind the lush bushes.

***

Clarity slowly returned, and the turbidity in the eyes began to pass. Never had he been in the role of a prey. The gardener did not create illusions about his skill as a hunter for the disliked Sultan, but today the roles have changed. It was difficult to admit, but he underestimated the enemy and relaxed. A lot of easy executions dulled his vigilance, and here’s the payoff – he was wounded, and his right hand was left acting, and the left one stuck and his fingers practically did not move.