Davud looked dour and distrustful, as was his wont. He whispered, ‘Master would never tear the four of us away from work. There must be something gravely wrong.’
Thankfully, the glass-makers soon left, saving them from making foolish guesses. They found the master sitting on a carpet decorated with blossoming trees in the middle and a procession of deer, gazelles, tigers and lions along the borders – woven in the city of Herat in Khorasan and presented to Sinan by a Kurdish beg for whom he had built an alms house. In his right hand, propped up against cushions, Sinan held a rosary, which he thumbed slowly. Jahan knew that he carried a different one for each of his moods: the azure opal when he was immersed in thoughts, the yellow amber when blithe, the black onyx when eager to start a new project. Today it was the pale green beryl, which he took when preoccupied. On the low table in front of him was a cup of coffee and a glass of water. Next to them lay a sketch Jahan recognized: the Hagia Sophia.
One by one they sat down on the carpet, facing the master. He was silent until they had settled; the sound of the beads, now moving faster, filled the air. Then he told them what had been preying on his mind.
The area around the Hagia Sophia, over the years, had been packed with hovels, every one of which had been built unlawfully. Several complaints had been made to the Chief Kadi of Istanbul, to no avail. At long last, seeing how desperate things were becoming, Sinan had sent a petition to the Sultan. In his letter he had criticized the ignorant men who, taking the cubit-rule in their hands, had raised structures without any knowledge of the craft or care for the environs.
‘Our Sultan considered his humble servant’s request,’ Sinan said.
A committee had been formed. The Chief Kadi, the mosque’s imam, religious scholars and the doyens of draughtsmen and masons would get together to inspect the damage and report their findings. After that, provided the Sultan agreed to it, Sinan would repair the Hagia Sophia.
‘For this I need to go back to Istanbul, and I’d like you to accompany me.’
Jahan bowed his head, glowing with excitement. What an honour it would be to renovate this pearl of architecture – once a beloved basilica, now a grand mosque. The building that had goaded Justinian to exclaim with pride, ‘Solomon, I have surpassed thee!’ Yet, at the same time, Jahan had the distinct sensation that there was more to it than they had been told. He said, ‘Should our Sultan give permission for the mosque to be restored, what will happen to the surrounding houses?’
A shadow crossed Sinan’s face. ‘They will be demolished.’
Jahan took a breath, understanding Sinan’s conundrum. His master had to make a choice between the people and the building, and he had clearly chosen the latter.
Back in Istanbul, on the day of the meeting, much to their astonishment, they were joined by the sovereign and his entourage. Eager to see the situation with his own eyes, Sultan Selim had decided to come, attended by his grandees and viziers. Thus they walked around the Hagia Sophia. What they beheld was distressing beyond words. Gutters ran alongside the mosque’s outer walls, leaking a murky water that left those who came into contact with it dirtier than before. On its edges frogs croaked, rats scampered, and faeces piled up – of animals and humans alike. Around a bend they saw the carcass of a dog, its jaw missing, its eyes open wide as though still in horror.
All the people living around the mosque had recently moved to Istanbul. Leaving their villages behind, they had migrated to the seat of the throne without a shelter awaiting them, kinsfolk to trust or land to till. Having heard from others that the area around the Hagia Sophia was unoccupied and within easy reach, they had put down roots there. It wasn’t only sheds of all sizes that encroached on the ancient building. There were ateliers, stables, sheep pens, milking parlours, chicken coops, latrines. Together, they leaned against the mosque, pushing into it from four sides. Such had been the pressure that the western walls of the Hagia Sophia, where the settlement was the most dense, had begun to tilt inwards.
The entourage entered a cobbler’s workshop. The artisan, wild-eyed with fear and dumbfounded at the sight of the Sultan, trembled and stuttered, unable to answer a single question. Mercifully, he did not faint. Down the street, in a lean-to, they saw huge cauldrons in which the intestines of animals were boiled to make candles. So horrible was the stench that the Sultan, holding a silk handkerchief to his nose, bolted out. The rest followed in haste.
One of the residents of this motley neighbourhood had built a cattle-shed and a three-storey house, renting the spare rooms to students and pilgrims. Another, in an attempt to open up a well in his back garden, had excavated deep into the ground, damaging the foundations of the Hagia Sophia. A third had raised a house that collapsed, miraculously without hurting anyone; after this he put up a second, this time succeeding in keeping it upright. Now a pile of rubble lay in his garden, where children played and dogs roamed.
When the tour was over, the Sultan called from atop his stallion: ‘Chief Royal Architect, step forward.’
Sinan did so, bowing low.
‘This is outrageous. It’s my wish to have the mosque restored.’
Sinan bowed again, closing his eyes in gratitude.
‘I give you my blessing. Start the restoration without delay. Set up buttresses where needed. Demolish the sheds. None of them were built with my permission.’
The Sultan waved a ring-bedecked hand, at which two servants came forward – one leading the way, the other carrying a kaftan of pure silk trimmed with ermine. The Grand Vizier took this and turned to Sinan, who was still kneeling, and asked him, in a gentle voice, to stand up. In this way, the architect was presented with the robe of honour.
Davud, Yusuf, Nikola and Jahan cast furtive glances at one another, unable to suppress their smiles.
‘Well, then. You may begin the work,’ the Sultan declared, pulling the reins of his horse, ready to leave.
‘Your Majesty, one of the unlawful buildings is a storehouse that belongs to the palace,’ said Sinan. ‘Are we permitted to knock it down along with everything else?’
Sultan Selim hesitated, though briefly. ‘Do what you need to do.’
The next day, they inspected the neighbourhoods of Zeyrek and Kalenderhane. Here, too, they found unlicensed constructions aplenty. Sinan decided to carve a space thirty-five cubits wide around the holy mosque and level everything within that area. He made his apprentices write down the plan for the work in detail. Not once, but twice. One copy for the approval of the Sultan, one for the archives of the architects in Vefa. They put on record their pledge to: fix up the parts of the Hagia Sophia, inside and outside, that had fallen into disrepair; bring fresh water to the mosque by means of new canals; cover the leaking roofs with lead; replace the wooden base of the minaret, dilapidated and crumbling, with a strong, brick one; open up a three-cubit-wide strip around the madrasa by dismantling the sheds; leave a clear space thirty-five cubits wide both left and right of the Hagia Sophia and knock down every unlawful structure; use the stones, bricks and planks obtained from the demolitions in the repair of the Hagia Sophia.
Shortly after he had received the list, the Sultan not only sent his approval but also issued a decree:
To the Chief Kadi of the city of Istanbul and the head of the endowment of the Hagia Sophia Mosque
This is my order to you and it ought to be followed at once and in its entirety. When it was reported to me that the Great Mosque suffered from the wear of time and the tear of people, and begged to be mended, I personally inspected the area in the company of the Master of Royal Architects and other experts, may God increase their wisdom, and have come to the conclusion that the restoration is essential and, as such, ought to be executed, since the repair of revered sanctuaries is the behest of God the Almighty and a noble responsibility for the Sultan.
Therefore, I command you to help the Chief Royal Architect and his draughtsmen, and to make sure that whatever they need is provided so that they can excel in their task.
; Buoyed by the decree, Sinan and the apprentices embarked on the work. With them were eighty-five labourers equipped with mallets and sledgehammers, as well as a great quantity of gunpowder. Animals, too: oxen, camels, mules and Chota.
When they reached the Hagia Sophia, they found a throng of people waiting. They stood in the way, a wall of flesh and bone, not letting the labourers pass. Dark, hollow eyes squinted with exasperation, mouths drawn tight. The anger in the air was palpable. Unused to hatred of this kind, the apprentices were taken aback. So was their master, his face drained of blood, and suddenly looking very old.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Sinan.
‘We are destroying their homes,’ said Nikola.
‘Master, allow me to talk to them.’ It was Davud who said this. ‘They come from where I come. I know my people. We don’t want to turn them into enemies.’
‘He’s right,’ Jahan said. ‘We ought to persuade them before we start.’
Pulling his cloak around him, as though exposed to a draught, Sinan conceded. ‘Davud, go, speak with them. Make sure you tell them we shall compensate them for their losses. Our Sultan gave his word.’ Then he turned to the labourers. ‘We shan’t do anything today.’
The next morning when they arrived the street was empty and things seemed calm. That is until the foreman came running, his face flushed crimson, and said, without offering so much as a greeting, ‘Effendi, pray.’
‘What is it?’ Sinan asked.
‘They have stolen our tools, broken our carts. They are not letting us work, wicked people!’ A crowd – larger and angrier than the one from the day before – had gathered on the other side of the mosque, he explained.
‘What do they want?’
‘They say this is an infidel’s temple,’ explained Snowy Gabriel. ‘The nerve of them! They spread mean rumours about you, forgive me for saying so, master.’
‘What do they say?’ asked Sinan.
Snowy Gabriel lowered his gaze. ‘They say since you are a Christian convert, you want to destroy the homes of good Muslims for the sake of a church.’
Sinan said, his brow puckered in concern, ‘Mosques, churches, synagogues are built to honour God. How can they be disrespected?’
The mob heard none of this. In the ensuing days, the apprentices dealt with one trouble after another. The labourers were intimidated. Two animals were found dead, poisoned. Fearing something might happen to Chota, Jahan stopped bringing him to the site. Not a nail could be hammered, not a stone removed.
A week later Sinan sent his apprentices to the Chief Kadi to get help. He was a grey-bearded man with sunken eyes and a cautious mien. Jahan had expected him to be angry at the squatters. Instead, he was furious at Sinan.
‘Your master wrote to the Sultan, and our Sultan, benevolent as he is, took his plea seriously. Look where it has brought us now.’
‘Effendi, aren’t these people to blame?’ Jahan asked. ‘They have unlawfully built around the Hagia Sophia and –’
‘Right,’ the Chief Kadi cut him off. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Don’t expect miracles.’
The apprentices left the kadi’s place demoralized. Jahan understood that the people who could help them would refrain from doing so, out of bitterness or laziness or jealousy of Sinan’s success.
Things might never have improved had it not been for the fatwa that was issued soon after. The Grand Mufti’s words rained on the city like hailstones, quenching all fires, small and large.
Question: There are those who say, on the subject of the repair of a holy mosque that was formerly a church, we are not leaving because an infidel’s building is bound to collapse, and it is not important if it collapses, and there are those who support them, saying that anyone who renovates an infidel’s temple is an infidel. What shall be done about such people and those who follow them?
Answer: Anyone who says such erroneous things is an infidel himself and shall be executed. Those who prevent the work will be punished. The restoration of the mosque shall proceed steadily, as befits the righteous sharia.
From then on, things simmered down. There were no more mobs on the streets, though minor incidents occurred here and there – pilfering of equipment, mostly. Sinan returned to Adrianople with Yusuf to complete the Selimiye Mosque. Jahan didn’t like this. He would rather keep an eye on Yusuf. He still had not been able to question him about his secret meetings with Tommaso, and seeing him alone with the master made him uneasy.
Davud, Nikola and Jahan were left in charge of the work around the Hagia Sophia. Every few days they were to send their master a letter to keep him apprised of what they had accomplished. Gradually the letters dwindled away, a guilty silence filling the distance between the master and the apprentices.
This they never confessed to Sinan, but the apprentices who stayed in Istanbul were ill at ease. Every day they tried to forewarn the inhabitants of the hovels they were going to demolish, tried to give them enough time to remove their belongings. But the people were either too slow or reluctant, so time and again the same sorrowful scene erupted: entire families, amid tears and curses, dragging away what little they had – kitchen utensils, lamps, mats, toys, a cradle, a kilim, a bird in its cage.
Jahan began to wander around the quarter to clear his head, sometimes with another apprentice, more often alone. One such day, he and Nikola were passing through a grimy alley cramped with half-emptied ateliers when they saw two children coming towards them. A girl and a boy – sister and brother, given the resemblance – with sage-green eyes glittering over dark freckles, which gave them a look of mischief. They had close-cut hair, a precaution against lice. Both were barefoot.
Bending his knees, Jahan said, ‘Hey, little ones. You should not be here on your own. Where do you live?’
The girl pointed to a shed at the end of the alley. Nikola and Jahan exchanged a guilty glance. It was one of the places they would raze the next morning.
The boy grabbed his hand and began to pull with all his might. From under his large, frayed shirtsleeves, his wrists showed, two white sticks. Jahan understood, with terror, that the child wanted them to follow him to his house. He said, louder than he intended, ‘No, I can’t come with you.’
The children were adamant. While the boy beseeched with his large, liquid eyes, the girl tugged at Nikola. In the end the apprentices could not resist them.
A fusty odour of mildew and decay hit Jahan and Nikola as they stepped into the hovel the children called home. Inside the first room, a sick man lay on the floor. He was attended by a woman covered from head to toe. When she saw them she left the room in a hurry.
‘My father,’ said the girl.
At the sound of her voice, the patient, who until then had been listless, turned his head. The stare he gave Jahan was one of pain. When he opened his mouth only a sibilant whisper came out. The girl, unshaken, leaned towards him, listened, nodded and said, ‘He asks if your name is Azrael.’
Jahan shuddered. The man was clearly having hallucinations, confusing him with the Angel of Death. A voice inside his head told him to leave. Instead he wished the man good health and followed quietly behind the children into the bowels of the house. Nikola limped alongside him. In the second room they saw twin babies sleeping in the same cradle, their mouths open, a sliver of sunlight over them. One of the babies had a malformed lip. Identical twins who would never look alike.
The children urged them to keep walking. Passing through a low-ceilinged, dim corridor they stepped into the backyard; the two apprentices were surprised to see how close they were to the Hagia Sophia. There was an empty chicken coop on one side. A rickety wooden door opened on to a patch of soil used as a toilet, its stench sharp. Beside that door was a brindled mother cat, her teats swollen, sprawled in a basket with five kittens of the same colour.
The girl took one of the kittens by the neck and pressed its nose against her skinny chest. The animal made no noise, smothered by love. Then, brusquely, she held the delicate creature up, an
d said, ‘Take it.’
‘Oh, no. I can’t do that.’
‘Yours,’ she repeated.
Jahan was equally stern. ‘I don’t want a kitten.’
Her face collapsed. ‘They will die here.’
Seeing his sister’s distress, the boy snatched the kitten and shoved it towards Jahan. The kitten, now panicking, scratched Jahan’s thumb. Jahan flinched, but suppressed a yelp, and said, ‘I’m sorry. It’s not in my hands to save your kitten.’
Shaken, the apprentices retraced their steps through the house and into the street, where a number of neighbours had gathered, having heard of their presence. Someone threw a stone, striking Nikola on his shoulder.
The apprentices started to run. In their confusion they took a wrong turn, dashing into a field, brambles tearing at their ankles. Their chests were heaving, their senses on the alert, waiting for someone to leap at them from behind the bushes. When they slowed down, Nikola gasped, ‘I don’t want to do this.’
‘Nor I,’ Jahan said.
Back on the construction site they found Davud working. When he saw them, a look of concern came over his face. ‘You well?’
Jahan told him what had happened. The sick man, the children, the babies …
‘Don’t let it affect you,’ said Davud. ‘They had no right to build that shed.’
‘But they had nowhere else to go.’
‘They’ll be compensated. Our Sultan said so.’
Jahan said, ‘You know as well as I do that it won’t be enough.’
‘What can we do?’ Davud murmured running his fingers down his beard. ‘Our master entrusted us with the task.’
‘Yes, and where is he now? Building the Sultan’s mosque while we have to deal with this mess.’ No sooner had the words left him than Jahan halted, shaken by his own anger. ‘Forgive me.’
‘I already have,’ said Davud with a brotherly smile.