Trinity Blood fic: Complicated
Sep. 4th, 2008 08:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
narcasse3263 words. PG.
This is what happened when I tried to write Süleyman background fic last year while in a less than serious frame of mind and with a stack of history texts to hand. I should probably warn for Turkish breakfasts, showtunes and Mircea cel Mare, after a fashion, really.
Complicated
Disclaimer: Trinity Blood belongs to Sunao Yoshida, Gonzo and others.
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His mother’s death was actually rather more of a surprise than it should have been; seeing as she’d been announcing its impending nature every five years for the last fifty. Which was why, instead of rushing off to the familial estates that seemed to be slowly expanding northwards as if eventually to make an attempt to consume the Anatolian plateau; he’d instead gone riding when the latest announcement came. He’d come back two hours and some cheap terran food later to discover that his mother had in fact died this time. It had lent his sauntering into the entrance hall holding a chocolate filled crêpe in one hand and a terran newspaper in the other a sense of distinctly lacking filial duty.
“Well how was I to know she actually meant it this time?”
He’d received a rather sour look.
“I mean it. She’s always dying- was always dying at any rate. How was I meant to know that she was actually going to die this time out of all the others?”
“You came back from your ride eating some terran confectionary and singing ‘I feel pretty’ under your breath.”
“So? Wait- how did you know that?”
“I have my spies.”
“In my household?”
“And all along the Boğazı.”
“Well, I did.”
“Did?” A raised eyebrow.
“Feel pretty and witty and-“
“Süleyman.”
“What? You taught me that one anyway.”
“And I’ll live to regret it. But these impromptu absences without a guard must stop.”
“Why? Relax, Mircea, nobody is likely to attempt an assassination… not now.”
“Now more so than ever. Your brothers died when they least expected it.”
Süleyman frowned, watching the Baron carefully stir sugar into his teacup. Mircea Barvon was a fastidious man, in all actions and if he was going to warn about the possibility of assassinations now; the warning probably was worth heeding.
“But who’d want to assassinate me?”
Mircea sipped his tea carefully.
“Mircea?”
“If we discount the obvious and the currently incapable that still leaves you with far too many enemies, your grace.”
Giving up on following the logic, Süleyman slumped back in his seat and put his feet up on the low table to wait for Mircea to announce his conclusions.
“The Marquis of Damascus has already missed his chance. And they lack a candidate to replace you with anyway. The Countess of Odessa is too old now and her successor is already embroiled in her own troubles. I foolish move for one so young. Your brothers’ supporters are either directionless or dying…”
Süleyman folded his arms.
“But there are others and the rapid succession of deaths amongst your siblings is likely to have made them… opportunistic.”
“Opportunistic. You just said that there isn’t anybody left to take advantage of anything.”
“Not directly.” A long pause. “Bayezid’s death was unfortunate.”
“Hardly. He was next in line after Ahmed. If he’d survived that accident; I’d still be living with mother and having to listen to her mutter ancient history at me.”
“Ahmed would have been a good choice as Duke.”
Glaring, Süleyman finally took his booted feet off the table and helped himself to a pastry, proceeding to chew it in silent annoyance.
“Yet he would have made little use of us. He was too honest to have the House of Luxor do his dirty work.”
“Hrumph.”
“There’s no need to take offence; I’m merely stating fact.”
“Would you have preferred my brother as Duke of Tigris?”
“Ahmed? No, not particularly, though I can see why he was chosen.”
“That hardly fills me with confidence in your loyalty.”
“We are loyal only to you.”
“Now you are but what about before? Where would your loyalties lie if Bayezid had survived or even that idiot Selim. Blasted Selim, always father’s favourite.” Scowling he mimicked his mother’s sharp voice. “Isn’t Selim so wonderful? You should learn to be more like your brother. He always takes time to visit me. What do you do in the city anyway? I hope you’re not wasting your time with some low-born girl!”
Mircea laughed politely behind a hand.
“Damn Selim and his allies. Wretch. He wasn’t even older than me and yet he couldn’t stop his incessant preaching about how best to be an obedient son. Idiot.”
“And now he’s dead.”
A snort of laughter. “Yes, at least there’s that. Tripped in a brothel and managed to pull an oil lamp down on top of himself. Serves him right.”
But the practiced smile that Mircea turned on the young duke this time was decidedly unnerving.
“That… is a tad odd though. Selim may have preached at me incessantly but if he’d been known to frequent brothels somebody would have noticed already and that really must have been some oil lamp for it to burn the body so completely that we only knew it was him due to the dental records…”
Mircea helped himself to a small pastry and said nothing.
“You don’t suppose that maybe some assassin did it?”
“Anything is possible, your grace.”
“But to burn someone to death like that. It must be an awful way to die. My poor brother…” For long moments Süleyman appeared to genuinely be mourning.
A polite cough interrupted that. “Selim was the last obstacle in your path.”
“That is true. After all I’m Duke of Tigris now and there’s nobody left to challenge me, not even my sister.”
“The Countess’ death was unfortunate.”
“Yes, she was only a few years older than me. Oh… I suppose if she hadn’t died then she’d have taken precedence over me?”
“Precisely. And we did have every reason to believe that she was meant to be your father’s successor.”
“Really?”
“She was already Countess of Babylon after all and yet neither you nor your brothers held titles.”
“Oh… I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Thus the games played by the Duke’s four sons would have made little difference to the line of succession.”
“But I- I mean, Bayezid’s death was so unfortunate.”
“You had assassins sent after him.”
“No! What makes you think that I’d-“
The baron’s laughter cut off anything further.
“Baron, your allegations-“
Mircea held up a hand for silence while he recovered from his laughter. “Your assassins failed.”
“What? Impossible- I-“ Süleyman threw himself back down into his seat, reduced to glaring angrily at Mircea’s pale face.
“Your sister’s assassins on the other hand proved to be quite successful.”
“Nilüfer sent assassins? Why would she do that?”
“Because she was disposing of a rival.”
“She was?”
“If Ahmed had lived she might have happily conceded the title to him but certainly wouldn’t to Bayezid.”
“No?”
“No. Your eldest brother would have made a fine duke but not the second eldest. He was too… impulsive to be suited to the role.”
“Which would leave me then.” A contented smile.
“Or Selim.”
“Selim.”
“Don’t be so surprised. He was your father’s favourite and certainly took the time to curry favour with your mother. Something you deliberately neglected to do out of a childish obstinacy.”
“Whose side are you on anyway?”
“Yours, of course.”
“Really? You seem quite fond of Selim.” Letting the accusation hang between them.
An indulgent smile. “The dead have no use to us.”
And then Mircea did something completely unexpected; putting a hand-rolled cigarette to his lips and lighting it with a flame the suddenly appeared in the palm of his hand.
Lurching backwards on the couch Süleyman stared wide-eyed. “You… you’re…”
“An ifrit.”
“You killed Selim!”
“So I did.”
“Why?” Aghast.
“Because he suddenly ceased to be of use to us and we have no interest in supporting a duke with such pedestrian designs.”
“You’re not…” An uncomfortable swallow.
“Going to kill you? Hardly. You’re the only one left.” That amused gaze flickering over Süleyman who still lay half sprawled across the couch.
Standing up, Mircea bowed almost mockingly. “You had best go visit your estates, your grace. As a last sign of respect for your death mother.” And then he simply turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
Fragments of that conversation kept replaying themselves in Süleyman’s head in the days that followed and still it took him almost two weeks to unravel exactly what had been done. He was standing by the boiling teakettle sometime during the early afternoon in the vast and empty kitchens of his family estates when it finally all settled into place. Ahmed should have been duke and if not him then Nilüfer. Unfortunately, Ahmed had died, entirely due to natural causes, leaving Nilüfer and Bayezid as contenders for the title and Bayezid had been prepared to fight for it. Thus the sending of assassins had been necessitated, both Süleyman’s and Nilüfer’s. His assassins had failed but his sister’s hadn’t. Which wasn’t what Mircea had wanted since he’d been likely hoping that Bayezid and Nilüfer would keep each other busy for a few more years to come, by which time Mircea would have prepared his own candidate to replace the both of them. Unfortunately, Bayezid’s death had put pay to that idea, leaving Nilüfer as clear successor… until she fell off a horse and broke her neck rather sooner than anyone might have hoped for. Which left the two youngest; Süleyman and Selim. But for some godforsaken reason Mircea had decided to back Selim, who’d subsequently managed to irritate the Barvons to the extent that they’d decided that the only solution to be had was his death. Süleyman frowned at that because while it left him with both the title and the support of the Barvons; it seemed to do it by a process of elimination to the point where he wasn’t exactly the best choice for anything but was in fact the only one left. It was hardly reassuring.
The feel of a paw on his bare foot roused him from his thoughts and revealed one of his mother’s cats trotting past without the slightest care for his presence. Upon arrival, he’d discovered that his mother had in the latter years of her life taken to cultivating a rather shocking number of pure white, long-haired cats. Five of whom were called Süleyman for some inexplicable reason. And a glance across the kitchens now confirmed that yes, all five other Süleymans were sitting on the far table where he intended to eat his daytime snack. They’d taken to congregating there during the day when he prowled the empty halls in bare feet and usually ended up in the kitchens with tea and a sandwich. Why his mother had taken to naming five of the creatures after him; he didn’t know but it was more than a little disturbing.
“What?”
The cats stared at him, unblinking.
“I’m not going anywhere so you can just keep staring for all I care.” He turned his back to them.
It might have been seconds or minutes but it was difficult to concentrate on making himself a sandwich with five other Süleymans staring at him.
“I know mother disliked the idea of eating pork but I’m having a ham sandwich and you can’t stop me.”
Silence. But five pairs of unblinking eyes were boring into his back.
“Fine! I’ll have cheese instead!”
Still no response.
Spinning round, sandwich in hand Süleyman waved it at them somewhat hysterically. “Look! It’s a damned cheese sandwich! For goodness sake leave me alone!”
But the cats merely settled themselves on the tabletop more comfortably.
“Oh for- Fine, fine you can have the kitchen. I’m going to take my wretched cheese sandwich and my tea and go sit on the terrace.”
The smaller terrace near the kitchens, like the rest of the estate was covered by the atmospheric UV shield that was a somewhat smaller version of the covering over the capital city thus allowing him to sit in the shade with his bare feet stuck out in a shaft of sunlight during the day. His cheese sandwich wasn’t bad, admittedly but he would rather have preferred ham or maybe bacon. Not that it could be helped with the watchful eyes of the cats following him. And he still couldn’t understand why his mother had decided to name five of them ‘Süleyman’. Maybe she’d been growing senile; a thing unheard of for a Methuselah.
On further consideration, Süleyman had to admit that his mother had always seemed fond of him, even when his father had been complaining about a supposedly evident incompetence. His father really hadn’t liked him much and towards the end of the old man’s life, Süleyman had come to suspect that he’d been named for someone his father had known and thus had always managed to be a disappointment. Though possibly if he could find out who he’d been named for he might also find the answer as to why his mother had bequeathed the very same name to several cats. It was a worrying thought on one level since the possibility of some late, lamented Süleyman had probably doomed him to failure from the start. So despite the vast extent of the family archives at his disposal; he’d spent day after day sitting on the terrace, deliberately sleeping away the nights so as to avoid all company.
Following yet another week of isolation, some time around midday had heralded the arrival of the Baron of Luxor, enveloped in travelling robes that left only his gloved hands and a thin strip of skin around his eyes, which was clearly covered in some manner of UV filtering cream, visible. The black-lensed glasses that completed the ensemble reminded Süleyman of a terran novel he’d attempted to read once which may or may not have been titled “The Sheik”.
“I suppose you have a tent in there too?” Süleyman questioned as Mircea dismounted the horse he’d seemingly been riding simply for effect.
“And why would I need a tent, your grace?”
“I don’t know.” A shrug. “Maybe to ravish damsels in.”
Mircea seems to consider that before he pulled a light blanket from one of the saddlebags and promptly tossed it over Süleyman’s head.
“What the blazes are you-“
A sharp smack to the rump as Süleyman felt himself hauled over what was evidently Mircea’s shoulder cut off his protest due to complete shock.
“Hush, you complain far too much.”
And then he was being carried off in some unspecified direction.
“Mircea?”
“Yes?”
“Are you really going to ravish me?”
“I’ll think about it.”
A few moments later he was set down on a cushion-festooned couch inside the main building and after waiting under the blanket expectantly, lifted it off to see Mircea in the processes of wiping off the protective cream slathered over his face with a cloth. Then, adjusting his shumagg the baron simply peeled off his gloves and sat down on the opposite couch.
Süleyman coughed pointedly, earning himself a smirk from the other man.
“I suppose your servants won’t be awake for another few hours.”
“No, not till sunset.”
“Ah well, I’m sure we’ll manage until then.”
Stretching out on the couch, Süleyman sighed faintly. “You’re not very good at this abducting damsels at all really.”
“My apologies.”
“Hmm, you could always practice.”
“Perhaps later. It would be a shame to miss breakfast because I’m too busy ravishing a lovely youth after all. Especially after such a long ride from Kurigalzu.”
“Maybe after lunch then.” Süleyman deliberately closed his eyes to the Baron’s amused expression.
“Who was he then?” Mircea had barely taken his first bite of bread when Süleyman voiced the question he’d wanted to ask for a week now.
“Who was who?”
“This Süleyman person my mother was obsessed with?” The derisive mention of someone who shared his own name accompanied by the absent flapping of a hand that seemed just a little too unsteady to be nonchalant.
“Ah.”
“What do you mean ‘ah’?”
Seemingly ignoring the question, Mircea inspected the selection of black olives on one plate with distaste.
“Mircea?”
Selecting the least offensive olive Mircea chewed it thoughtfully. “These are too salty.”
“Oh, they’re out of season so those will be the preserved ones.”
“Your servants shouldn’t serve them then. The beef sausage is tasteless too.”
Lacking anything to say to that Süleyman eyed his own plate and considered the fact that he’d eaten several of the allegedly substandard olives already.
At the edge of his vision Mircea was casting imperfect slices of cheese aside too. Now was probably not the time to reiterate his question.
“He was your father’s tovarăş.”
“What!”
“Or at least.” A boiled egg held up for inspection. “He may as well have been. They were that close.”
“My father’s…” Süleyman set his teaglass down quickly before he dropped it.
“They were comrades in arms. That’s what ‘tovarăş’ means after all. Fellow soldiers fighting for the cause. You were named for him; he died shortly before you were born.”
“So that’s why.”
A raised eyebrow.
“If that’s the case then… it makes sense. I could never live up to a memory.” Well, at least it was an answer and that was enough. At least that was what he was going to keep telling himself until he believed it. The tissue that hit him in the face was unexpected.
“Don’t cry over it, for goodness sake.”
“I’m not. You don’t have to be so cruel.”
“Idiot.”
“What? You’ve just told me that the reason my father never loved me was because I was named for his dead and martyred tovarăş and I could never live up to that. How am I meant to react?”
“Martyred?”
“Yes.”
The baron’s expression was distinctly irreverent. “You don’t even know how he died.”
“How then?“
“The great lord Süleyman died of a heart attack while abed with two teenaged boys.”
“What!”
“It’s true.” Mircea’s expression was far too gleeful.
“How the blazes do you know what?”
The obscene grin widened. “I was one of them.”
Süleyman clutched at the tissue in his hands out of sheer confusion.
“Of course he only thought I was seventeen but I can play the part if I have to.”
It took a few moments for that to sink in.
“I take it my father didn’t know about that at least? Considering he named me after him.”
“It wasn’t your father who named you.”
Setting down the almost shredded tissue, Süleyman picked up his teaglass again with as much calm as he could muster. “Why don’t you tell me the whole tale rather than dropping it on me in little shocks.”
“If you insist. Very well then, your father was aware that his dear tovarăş had some rather unsavoury tastes, they argued about it frequently but following his death your father had a change of heart and decided that it didn’t behove him to cast doubt on the integrity of the dead.”
“That makes sense at least.”
“Which was why he allowed your mother to give the son born not long after, the very same name.”
“I suppose it’s not that unusual a form of memorial.”
“Quite so. Your father was quite pleased with the matter for a while at any rate, at least until he discovered that his young son looked far too much like a dead man and nothing like his alleged father.”
“You’re going to tell me that my father wasn’t my father and that this Süleyman character was responsible instead?”
“Exactly. ‘Try anything once’ was his motto and that’s exactly what he did.”
“Even the wife of his tovarăş.”
Mircea winked.
Eyeing the plate of substandard olives critically, Süleyman frowned. Life had suddenly grown an awful lot more complicated.
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The names of Süleyman’s brothers are all taken from Ottoman sultans; Ahmed I, Bayezid I and Selim II respectively. Nilüfer was the wife of Orhan I who ruled at the beginning of the Ottoman Empire. Mircea cel Bătrân is the name of the famous Wallachian ruler who was grandfather of Radu cel Frumos.
Süleyman has seemingly been reading “The Sheik” by E. M. Hull which was the basis for the famous Rudolph Valentino film.
Mircea seems to be wearing traditional Gulf Arab clothing hence the shumagg head covering.
He also shortens the name of the city Dur-Kurigalzu, which was founded in the 14th century BC and is situated within reasonable distance of the point where the rivers Tigris and Euphrates come closest together after their initial division.
This is what happened when I tried to write Süleyman background fic last year while in a less than serious frame of mind and with a stack of history texts to hand. I should probably warn for Turkish breakfasts, showtunes and Mircea cel Mare, after a fashion, really.
Complicated
Disclaimer: Trinity Blood belongs to Sunao Yoshida, Gonzo and others.
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His mother’s death was actually rather more of a surprise than it should have been; seeing as she’d been announcing its impending nature every five years for the last fifty. Which was why, instead of rushing off to the familial estates that seemed to be slowly expanding northwards as if eventually to make an attempt to consume the Anatolian plateau; he’d instead gone riding when the latest announcement came. He’d come back two hours and some cheap terran food later to discover that his mother had in fact died this time. It had lent his sauntering into the entrance hall holding a chocolate filled crêpe in one hand and a terran newspaper in the other a sense of distinctly lacking filial duty.
“Well how was I to know she actually meant it this time?”
He’d received a rather sour look.
“I mean it. She’s always dying- was always dying at any rate. How was I meant to know that she was actually going to die this time out of all the others?”
“You came back from your ride eating some terran confectionary and singing ‘I feel pretty’ under your breath.”
“So? Wait- how did you know that?”
“I have my spies.”
“In my household?”
“And all along the Boğazı.”
“Well, I did.”
“Did?” A raised eyebrow.
“Feel pretty and witty and-“
“Süleyman.”
“What? You taught me that one anyway.”
“And I’ll live to regret it. But these impromptu absences without a guard must stop.”
“Why? Relax, Mircea, nobody is likely to attempt an assassination… not now.”
“Now more so than ever. Your brothers died when they least expected it.”
Süleyman frowned, watching the Baron carefully stir sugar into his teacup. Mircea Barvon was a fastidious man, in all actions and if he was going to warn about the possibility of assassinations now; the warning probably was worth heeding.
“But who’d want to assassinate me?”
Mircea sipped his tea carefully.
“Mircea?”
“If we discount the obvious and the currently incapable that still leaves you with far too many enemies, your grace.”
Giving up on following the logic, Süleyman slumped back in his seat and put his feet up on the low table to wait for Mircea to announce his conclusions.
“The Marquis of Damascus has already missed his chance. And they lack a candidate to replace you with anyway. The Countess of Odessa is too old now and her successor is already embroiled in her own troubles. I foolish move for one so young. Your brothers’ supporters are either directionless or dying…”
Süleyman folded his arms.
“But there are others and the rapid succession of deaths amongst your siblings is likely to have made them… opportunistic.”
“Opportunistic. You just said that there isn’t anybody left to take advantage of anything.”
“Not directly.” A long pause. “Bayezid’s death was unfortunate.”
“Hardly. He was next in line after Ahmed. If he’d survived that accident; I’d still be living with mother and having to listen to her mutter ancient history at me.”
“Ahmed would have been a good choice as Duke.”
Glaring, Süleyman finally took his booted feet off the table and helped himself to a pastry, proceeding to chew it in silent annoyance.
“Yet he would have made little use of us. He was too honest to have the House of Luxor do his dirty work.”
“Hrumph.”
“There’s no need to take offence; I’m merely stating fact.”
“Would you have preferred my brother as Duke of Tigris?”
“Ahmed? No, not particularly, though I can see why he was chosen.”
“That hardly fills me with confidence in your loyalty.”
“We are loyal only to you.”
“Now you are but what about before? Where would your loyalties lie if Bayezid had survived or even that idiot Selim. Blasted Selim, always father’s favourite.” Scowling he mimicked his mother’s sharp voice. “Isn’t Selim so wonderful? You should learn to be more like your brother. He always takes time to visit me. What do you do in the city anyway? I hope you’re not wasting your time with some low-born girl!”
Mircea laughed politely behind a hand.
“Damn Selim and his allies. Wretch. He wasn’t even older than me and yet he couldn’t stop his incessant preaching about how best to be an obedient son. Idiot.”
“And now he’s dead.”
A snort of laughter. “Yes, at least there’s that. Tripped in a brothel and managed to pull an oil lamp down on top of himself. Serves him right.”
But the practiced smile that Mircea turned on the young duke this time was decidedly unnerving.
“That… is a tad odd though. Selim may have preached at me incessantly but if he’d been known to frequent brothels somebody would have noticed already and that really must have been some oil lamp for it to burn the body so completely that we only knew it was him due to the dental records…”
Mircea helped himself to a small pastry and said nothing.
“You don’t suppose that maybe some assassin did it?”
“Anything is possible, your grace.”
“But to burn someone to death like that. It must be an awful way to die. My poor brother…” For long moments Süleyman appeared to genuinely be mourning.
A polite cough interrupted that. “Selim was the last obstacle in your path.”
“That is true. After all I’m Duke of Tigris now and there’s nobody left to challenge me, not even my sister.”
“The Countess’ death was unfortunate.”
“Yes, she was only a few years older than me. Oh… I suppose if she hadn’t died then she’d have taken precedence over me?”
“Precisely. And we did have every reason to believe that she was meant to be your father’s successor.”
“Really?”
“She was already Countess of Babylon after all and yet neither you nor your brothers held titles.”
“Oh… I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Thus the games played by the Duke’s four sons would have made little difference to the line of succession.”
“But I- I mean, Bayezid’s death was so unfortunate.”
“You had assassins sent after him.”
“No! What makes you think that I’d-“
The baron’s laughter cut off anything further.
“Baron, your allegations-“
Mircea held up a hand for silence while he recovered from his laughter. “Your assassins failed.”
“What? Impossible- I-“ Süleyman threw himself back down into his seat, reduced to glaring angrily at Mircea’s pale face.
“Your sister’s assassins on the other hand proved to be quite successful.”
“Nilüfer sent assassins? Why would she do that?”
“Because she was disposing of a rival.”
“She was?”
“If Ahmed had lived she might have happily conceded the title to him but certainly wouldn’t to Bayezid.”
“No?”
“No. Your eldest brother would have made a fine duke but not the second eldest. He was too… impulsive to be suited to the role.”
“Which would leave me then.” A contented smile.
“Or Selim.”
“Selim.”
“Don’t be so surprised. He was your father’s favourite and certainly took the time to curry favour with your mother. Something you deliberately neglected to do out of a childish obstinacy.”
“Whose side are you on anyway?”
“Yours, of course.”
“Really? You seem quite fond of Selim.” Letting the accusation hang between them.
An indulgent smile. “The dead have no use to us.”
And then Mircea did something completely unexpected; putting a hand-rolled cigarette to his lips and lighting it with a flame the suddenly appeared in the palm of his hand.
Lurching backwards on the couch Süleyman stared wide-eyed. “You… you’re…”
“An ifrit.”
“You killed Selim!”
“So I did.”
“Why?” Aghast.
“Because he suddenly ceased to be of use to us and we have no interest in supporting a duke with such pedestrian designs.”
“You’re not…” An uncomfortable swallow.
“Going to kill you? Hardly. You’re the only one left.” That amused gaze flickering over Süleyman who still lay half sprawled across the couch.
Standing up, Mircea bowed almost mockingly. “You had best go visit your estates, your grace. As a last sign of respect for your death mother.” And then he simply turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
Fragments of that conversation kept replaying themselves in Süleyman’s head in the days that followed and still it took him almost two weeks to unravel exactly what had been done. He was standing by the boiling teakettle sometime during the early afternoon in the vast and empty kitchens of his family estates when it finally all settled into place. Ahmed should have been duke and if not him then Nilüfer. Unfortunately, Ahmed had died, entirely due to natural causes, leaving Nilüfer and Bayezid as contenders for the title and Bayezid had been prepared to fight for it. Thus the sending of assassins had been necessitated, both Süleyman’s and Nilüfer’s. His assassins had failed but his sister’s hadn’t. Which wasn’t what Mircea had wanted since he’d been likely hoping that Bayezid and Nilüfer would keep each other busy for a few more years to come, by which time Mircea would have prepared his own candidate to replace the both of them. Unfortunately, Bayezid’s death had put pay to that idea, leaving Nilüfer as clear successor… until she fell off a horse and broke her neck rather sooner than anyone might have hoped for. Which left the two youngest; Süleyman and Selim. But for some godforsaken reason Mircea had decided to back Selim, who’d subsequently managed to irritate the Barvons to the extent that they’d decided that the only solution to be had was his death. Süleyman frowned at that because while it left him with both the title and the support of the Barvons; it seemed to do it by a process of elimination to the point where he wasn’t exactly the best choice for anything but was in fact the only one left. It was hardly reassuring.
The feel of a paw on his bare foot roused him from his thoughts and revealed one of his mother’s cats trotting past without the slightest care for his presence. Upon arrival, he’d discovered that his mother had in the latter years of her life taken to cultivating a rather shocking number of pure white, long-haired cats. Five of whom were called Süleyman for some inexplicable reason. And a glance across the kitchens now confirmed that yes, all five other Süleymans were sitting on the far table where he intended to eat his daytime snack. They’d taken to congregating there during the day when he prowled the empty halls in bare feet and usually ended up in the kitchens with tea and a sandwich. Why his mother had taken to naming five of the creatures after him; he didn’t know but it was more than a little disturbing.
“What?”
The cats stared at him, unblinking.
“I’m not going anywhere so you can just keep staring for all I care.” He turned his back to them.
It might have been seconds or minutes but it was difficult to concentrate on making himself a sandwich with five other Süleymans staring at him.
“I know mother disliked the idea of eating pork but I’m having a ham sandwich and you can’t stop me.”
Silence. But five pairs of unblinking eyes were boring into his back.
“Fine! I’ll have cheese instead!”
Still no response.
Spinning round, sandwich in hand Süleyman waved it at them somewhat hysterically. “Look! It’s a damned cheese sandwich! For goodness sake leave me alone!”
But the cats merely settled themselves on the tabletop more comfortably.
“Oh for- Fine, fine you can have the kitchen. I’m going to take my wretched cheese sandwich and my tea and go sit on the terrace.”
The smaller terrace near the kitchens, like the rest of the estate was covered by the atmospheric UV shield that was a somewhat smaller version of the covering over the capital city thus allowing him to sit in the shade with his bare feet stuck out in a shaft of sunlight during the day. His cheese sandwich wasn’t bad, admittedly but he would rather have preferred ham or maybe bacon. Not that it could be helped with the watchful eyes of the cats following him. And he still couldn’t understand why his mother had decided to name five of them ‘Süleyman’. Maybe she’d been growing senile; a thing unheard of for a Methuselah.
On further consideration, Süleyman had to admit that his mother had always seemed fond of him, even when his father had been complaining about a supposedly evident incompetence. His father really hadn’t liked him much and towards the end of the old man’s life, Süleyman had come to suspect that he’d been named for someone his father had known and thus had always managed to be a disappointment. Though possibly if he could find out who he’d been named for he might also find the answer as to why his mother had bequeathed the very same name to several cats. It was a worrying thought on one level since the possibility of some late, lamented Süleyman had probably doomed him to failure from the start. So despite the vast extent of the family archives at his disposal; he’d spent day after day sitting on the terrace, deliberately sleeping away the nights so as to avoid all company.
Following yet another week of isolation, some time around midday had heralded the arrival of the Baron of Luxor, enveloped in travelling robes that left only his gloved hands and a thin strip of skin around his eyes, which was clearly covered in some manner of UV filtering cream, visible. The black-lensed glasses that completed the ensemble reminded Süleyman of a terran novel he’d attempted to read once which may or may not have been titled “The Sheik”.
“I suppose you have a tent in there too?” Süleyman questioned as Mircea dismounted the horse he’d seemingly been riding simply for effect.
“And why would I need a tent, your grace?”
“I don’t know.” A shrug. “Maybe to ravish damsels in.”
Mircea seems to consider that before he pulled a light blanket from one of the saddlebags and promptly tossed it over Süleyman’s head.
“What the blazes are you-“
A sharp smack to the rump as Süleyman felt himself hauled over what was evidently Mircea’s shoulder cut off his protest due to complete shock.
“Hush, you complain far too much.”
And then he was being carried off in some unspecified direction.
“Mircea?”
“Yes?”
“Are you really going to ravish me?”
“I’ll think about it.”
A few moments later he was set down on a cushion-festooned couch inside the main building and after waiting under the blanket expectantly, lifted it off to see Mircea in the processes of wiping off the protective cream slathered over his face with a cloth. Then, adjusting his shumagg the baron simply peeled off his gloves and sat down on the opposite couch.
Süleyman coughed pointedly, earning himself a smirk from the other man.
“I suppose your servants won’t be awake for another few hours.”
“No, not till sunset.”
“Ah well, I’m sure we’ll manage until then.”
Stretching out on the couch, Süleyman sighed faintly. “You’re not very good at this abducting damsels at all really.”
“My apologies.”
“Hmm, you could always practice.”
“Perhaps later. It would be a shame to miss breakfast because I’m too busy ravishing a lovely youth after all. Especially after such a long ride from Kurigalzu.”
“Maybe after lunch then.” Süleyman deliberately closed his eyes to the Baron’s amused expression.
“Who was he then?” Mircea had barely taken his first bite of bread when Süleyman voiced the question he’d wanted to ask for a week now.
“Who was who?”
“This Süleyman person my mother was obsessed with?” The derisive mention of someone who shared his own name accompanied by the absent flapping of a hand that seemed just a little too unsteady to be nonchalant.
“Ah.”
“What do you mean ‘ah’?”
Seemingly ignoring the question, Mircea inspected the selection of black olives on one plate with distaste.
“Mircea?”
Selecting the least offensive olive Mircea chewed it thoughtfully. “These are too salty.”
“Oh, they’re out of season so those will be the preserved ones.”
“Your servants shouldn’t serve them then. The beef sausage is tasteless too.”
Lacking anything to say to that Süleyman eyed his own plate and considered the fact that he’d eaten several of the allegedly substandard olives already.
At the edge of his vision Mircea was casting imperfect slices of cheese aside too. Now was probably not the time to reiterate his question.
“He was your father’s tovarăş.”
“What!”
“Or at least.” A boiled egg held up for inspection. “He may as well have been. They were that close.”
“My father’s…” Süleyman set his teaglass down quickly before he dropped it.
“They were comrades in arms. That’s what ‘tovarăş’ means after all. Fellow soldiers fighting for the cause. You were named for him; he died shortly before you were born.”
“So that’s why.”
A raised eyebrow.
“If that’s the case then… it makes sense. I could never live up to a memory.” Well, at least it was an answer and that was enough. At least that was what he was going to keep telling himself until he believed it. The tissue that hit him in the face was unexpected.
“Don’t cry over it, for goodness sake.”
“I’m not. You don’t have to be so cruel.”
“Idiot.”
“What? You’ve just told me that the reason my father never loved me was because I was named for his dead and martyred tovarăş and I could never live up to that. How am I meant to react?”
“Martyred?”
“Yes.”
The baron’s expression was distinctly irreverent. “You don’t even know how he died.”
“How then?“
“The great lord Süleyman died of a heart attack while abed with two teenaged boys.”
“What!”
“It’s true.” Mircea’s expression was far too gleeful.
“How the blazes do you know what?”
The obscene grin widened. “I was one of them.”
Süleyman clutched at the tissue in his hands out of sheer confusion.
“Of course he only thought I was seventeen but I can play the part if I have to.”
It took a few moments for that to sink in.
“I take it my father didn’t know about that at least? Considering he named me after him.”
“It wasn’t your father who named you.”
Setting down the almost shredded tissue, Süleyman picked up his teaglass again with as much calm as he could muster. “Why don’t you tell me the whole tale rather than dropping it on me in little shocks.”
“If you insist. Very well then, your father was aware that his dear tovarăş had some rather unsavoury tastes, they argued about it frequently but following his death your father had a change of heart and decided that it didn’t behove him to cast doubt on the integrity of the dead.”
“That makes sense at least.”
“Which was why he allowed your mother to give the son born not long after, the very same name.”
“I suppose it’s not that unusual a form of memorial.”
“Quite so. Your father was quite pleased with the matter for a while at any rate, at least until he discovered that his young son looked far too much like a dead man and nothing like his alleged father.”
“You’re going to tell me that my father wasn’t my father and that this Süleyman character was responsible instead?”
“Exactly. ‘Try anything once’ was his motto and that’s exactly what he did.”
“Even the wife of his tovarăş.”
Mircea winked.
Eyeing the plate of substandard olives critically, Süleyman frowned. Life had suddenly grown an awful lot more complicated.
++++++++++
The names of Süleyman’s brothers are all taken from Ottoman sultans; Ahmed I, Bayezid I and Selim II respectively. Nilüfer was the wife of Orhan I who ruled at the beginning of the Ottoman Empire. Mircea cel Bătrân is the name of the famous Wallachian ruler who was grandfather of Radu cel Frumos.
Süleyman has seemingly been reading “The Sheik” by E. M. Hull which was the basis for the famous Rudolph Valentino film.
Mircea seems to be wearing traditional Gulf Arab clothing hence the shumagg head covering.
He also shortens the name of the city Dur-Kurigalzu, which was founded in the 14th century BC and is situated within reasonable distance of the point where the rivers Tigris and Euphrates come closest together after their initial division.
