The Legacy of Grazia dei Rossi by Jacqueline Park

Author:Jacqueline Park
Language: eng, eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House of Anansi Press Inc
Published: 2014-11-03T20:41:56+00:00

From: Danilo del Medigo at Maltepe

To: Judah del Medigo at Topkapi Palace

Date: June 14, 1534

Dear Papa:

Just when I had begun to believe that I was doomed to spend my campaign days studying like a schoolboy for a test that I would never be required to take, a summons arrived for me to report to the Sultan’s tent after the final prayer tonight.

I will not hide from you, Papa, that I was already trembling when I began to prepare for my first reading session with the Sultan. This I did by reviewing the passages about Alexander that you sent to help me with my translating tasks. But I was so nervous that when I reached for the pages, they dropped from my hand and went flying all over the tent. Lucky for me these tents are carpeted, and no harm was done to your precious manuscript.

When I arrived at the Sultan’s tent, still shaking, he was seated on a throne of cushions beside a small desk piled high with papers and did not look up. Is that how he treated you, Papa? No greeting? No smile? Was I expected to announce myself? I thought not. How does one behave in the presence of princes? How does one find one’s place as a small cog in this vast wheel that is rolling over Anatolia? Oh, how I wish that I had asked you more questions when I had the chance. Because I once visited a military camp — and a European one at that — I foolishly believed that I knew all about campaigning. Now I find that I do not even know how to ask permission to use the latrine, much less whether or not to open my mouth.

So there I stood in the Sultan’s presence at last, waiting for a sign. And, to be sure, after several uncomfortable minutes, the Sultan did look up. But he never greeted me. Nor did he smile. He is not a smiling kind of man. He simply put down the last of his papers, withdrew from under his pillow my mother’s translation of Arrian’s Anabasis that you gave to him, and passed it over to me. I am pleased to tell you that he keeps the manuscript in a gold-embroidered bag. And that he takes great care with it. And that, in spite of my shattered nerves, I did not drop it.

Finally came the curt order: “You may begin.”

And so I began with the anecdote of Alexander’s taming of the wild horse, Bucephalus. But I hardly had the first words out when the royal hand went up.

“I wish to hear the Greek’s version of īskender’s landing on the shores of Asia. It is a tale I heard as a child from my blessed mother, may she rest in eternal peace.”

To which I added, “Amen.”

To tell the truth, Papa, I was more than a little surprised at the Sultan’s lack of interest in Alexander’s early years. Was this Sultan never a boy himself? Perhaps he is too occupied with the here and now as he walks in the footsteps of Alexander, I thought.

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