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that Selim were alive and merely resting.
    “I will leave orders for your food to be brought here by the Sultan’s own Janissaries. They will leave it for you outside the tent flap. Nobody must know that our Sultan is dead. Nobody! Not for ten full days! Do you understand?”
    Hamon nodded, but said nothing. His position as the respected physician in the service of the Sultan had given way to little more than that of a watch dog. He had grown used to restraining his anger, for he knew how precarious a place the Jew had in the Muslim court, and how important his position of influence was to the Jews of the Ottoman Empire.
    Piri went to the side of the tent where the possessions of the Sultan Selim were stored in ornately carved wooden chests. Each was sealed with the tura , the royal crest. Breaking one seal, he carefully opened a long, slim box, and placed the cover on the carpet. Next, he unwrapped the silk cloth that swathed the Sword of the House of Osman. The weapon was encased in a silver scabbard encrusted with precious jewels. The smallest of these could keep a man and his family living in luxury for several lifetimes. He pulled the sword partially from its sheath, and held it aloft. The red glow from the lamp caught the polished steel blade and reflected the color onto the walls of the tent. Piri resheathed the sword with a loud snap, then polished the silver scabbard with a piece of silk. Here is the power and the authority of the Empire , he thought. Who wears this sword at his side, rules the world.
    Piri carefully wrapped the sword again, and tied the cloth tightly with the woven silk cords. He closed the box and stood, placing thesword into his waistband, covering it with his outer robes. The Sword of the House of Osman would not leave his side until he had delivered it to Selim’s only living son and heir to the Ottoman Empire. Suleiman.

    Piri left Doctor Hamon in the tent and walked out through the door flap. He stopped to speak with the two Janissaries guarding the door. Both men snapped to rigid attention, and stared straight ahead. Neither looked at Piri Pasha.
    “The Sultan sleeps. The tabip will stay with him and feed him.” He had used the Arabic term, tabip, for “doctor.” He did not refer to Hamon by name in front of the soldiers. “The tabip will give the Sultan the medicine he needs for his pain. See that food is brought to the tent for our master and for the tabip. Leave the food outside the serai, and call the tabip to fetch it. Nobody is to enter the tent except I. Not even you. No one! Do you understand me?”
    The Janissaries saluted their reply and resumed their position on guard. Each of these heavily armed young men would give his life for his Sultan without a thought. Nowhere on earth was there a more loyal personal guard than the Janissaries of the Ottoman Emperor.
    Piri Pasha walked through the encampment, past the tents of his men. He spoke with his servants briefly. “The Sultan is asleep now, Allah be praised, and I am going to get some rest myself. He is well guarded, and I do not want his rest disturbed. Make that known amongst you.”
    Finally, he reached the perimeter of the camp, where the horses were tethered, and guarded by the Sipahis, the Sultan’s elite cavalry. These were the finest mounted troops in the world. Three hundred years earlier, Genghis Khan had conquered the earth from China to the shores of the Black Sea. His Mongol troops had ridden to the edge of Europe, and showed the western world a war machine the likes of which had never been seen before. The Khan’s mounted troops would ride two hundred eighty miles over rugged terrain in less than three days. When they arrived at their destination, without further rest, they were ready to fight. While riding at full gallopastride their powerful ponies, they could fire their armor-piercing arrows with deadly accuracy at two hundred meters. Mere rumors of the arrival of the Khan’s armies were enough to send