Chapter 670: The Old Man’s Adventure (4)
"Fighting has been made obligatory upon you ˹believers˺, though you dislike it. Perhaps you dislike something which is good for you and like something which is bad for you. Allah knows and you do not know."
- Qur’an 2:216
Ahmed Celebi flashed a grin, picked up a grape, and set it on the table. "You see, esteemed ambassador, it’s not my place to doubt your sincerity or the intent behind your gesture of goodwill, of course. But I understand a bit about commerce. When someone offers something benevolent to a stranger, or even an adversary, they likely expect something in return... In conventional commercial exchanges, if I give you this grape," he said, placing the grape on Apostolos’ plate and locking eyes with the elder statesman, "then I would anticipate something of comparable value in return, be it a raisin or a Churchkhela sweet..."
"...However, I would not welcome a cup of grape wine, regardless of its alluring aroma or the elegance of the cup, because I’m aware that I can only offer you a single grape, and I do not merit this cup of wine. I recognize that the value of the grape I presented you pales in comparison, and I must surmise that you seek something of equivalent worth from me. If it remains unspecified, I will begin to wonder what your true intentions are, or perhaps, whether this cup of wine harbours poison."
Apostolos carefully returned the grape to Ahmed Celebi’s plate. "I am no Trojan horse, Your Highness. It is peace and prosperity I seek; these gestures are solely aimed at rekindling the bonds between our peoples, aiding the Ottomans to return to a life of peace, tilling their fields rather than shedding their blood on battlefields. I, too, understand a thing or two about commerce, Your Highness, and indeed, there are things I require from you."
"What might those be?" Ahmed Celebi persisted, his gaze never leaving the older man.
"Three things, Your Highness," Apostolos declared, holding up three fingers with as much sincerity as he could muster. "Manpower for mercenaries, a marketplace for trade, and diplomatic support against the Venetians."
Upon hearing Apostolos’ assurances, Ahmed Celebi chuckled and returned to his seat, the grape in hand forgotten as they resumed their jovial exchanges over cups, the previous tension dissolving into the festive air. The banquet hall, once subdued, buzzed with life once more.
After the feast, Ahmed Celebi extended his hand, which Apostolos grasped without hesitation. Side by side, they exited the hall, conversing in fluent Greek as if they were old friends rather than diplomats meeting for the first time.
In a moment of quiet, Ahmed Bey posed another query to Apostolos. "Esteemed ambassador, do you truly believe that the bonds between our peoples can be mended?"
"Indeed, I do," Apostolos affirmed. "Time will pave the way, for it is the cure of all things."
Ahmed Celebi smiled warmly, leading the ambassador to a courtyard where a regiment of around two hundred Ottoman knights awaited their review. The soldiers, adorned in pristine iron armour atop majestic horses, presented a formidable sight. Yet, conspicuously, their quivers lacked arrows, and their swords were absent from their sheaths. As they marched past, their banners of war, flags of the white horse and Islamic symbols aloft, their gaze lingered on Apostolos in a silent homage, like a form of salute.
"What are your impressions of these soldiers, distinguished ambassador?" inquired Ahmed Celebi.
"Fine troopers." Apostolos nodded and replied. "A perfect image on how men of this age should be, energetic, disciplined, capable, builders for future peace and stability in this country."
"These are all orphans," Ahmed Celebi interjected, his tone shifting. "Children who lost their parents to the ravages of war between our states, slain by Roman forces."
Apostolos, sombrely acknowledging the gravity of these words, replied, "Please, convey my deepest sympathies to them, Your Highness. And rest assured, the numbers of this regiment will not swell or increase further on my account."
Ahmed Celebi nodded, then led Apostolos to the bustling market square. Contrary to the desolation Apostolos had witnessed along his journey, the square was alive with activity. Merchants haggled and quarrelled, while buyers navigated the throng with their purchases. This scene was a stark contrast to the quiet towns Apostolos had passed through. Notably absent were Greek faces, replaced instead by Mongols, Persians, or Saracens.
"We have a robust trade here, honourable ambassador," Ahmed Celebi remarked, gesturing towards the bustling crowd. "We benefit greatly from our trade with Islamic friends from the East, bringing revenue to our people. It’s only the western regions that suffer from war, as we need to dedicate resources to our ongoing conflict with you, the Rumelians."
Apostolos nodded in understanding. "I hope, then, that in time the western regions of Asia Minor might return to their former glory—a land rich in trade, agriculture, and heritage, where Romans and Ottomans can live together in harmony."
"Under Ottoman rule." Added Hamza Bey.
"Yes of course, honourable Bey." Apostolos agreed.
Ahmed Celebi clarified his intentions. "Don’t misunderstand my showing you this, Ambassador Apostolos. It is our collective wish for Rumelian merchants to legally participate in the Sultanate’s trade, fairly competing alongside existing traders from Arabia, Persia, and Armenia."
"As you wish, honourable prince," Apostolos responded.
Ahmed Celebi nodded, as he led the group of men from Constantinople away.
Just about ten plus minutes after the two of them left, a man in robes, who have been venturing around the market square holding a donkey in his hands for about a day approached Hamza Bey. "Efendim, efendim! Gerçekten doğru mu bu, eğer bir gün bu çarşıda dolaşırsam, bu eşeği kendime saklayabilirim?" ("My lord, is it true that if I spend a day here in the market square, I can keep this donkey?")
Hamza Bey’s face blushed as he waved his hand. "Evet, evet, beni rahatsız etme." ("Yes, yes, do not bother me.")
Upon hearing Hamza Bey’s affirmation, the man’s face lit up with joy. Grasping the donkey’s leash, he exited the market square, his steps buoyed by newfound fortune. Not long after, the bustling market square began to empty, dwindling to just a couple of livestock traders and crows descending to scavenge the remnants of the day’s commerce, restoring the square to its usual quietude.
This episode subtly highlighted the precarious position of Ahmed Celebi, resorting to deception in an effort to mislead a distinguished envoy from a rival nation.
By the time the crowd in the market square have dispersed, Apostolos and Ahmed Bey have long left the place, and headed for the outside, where there exists a massive area of barn heavily guarded by troopers, used by the Ottomans to store seeds and grains for the empire.
"This is our central barn, honourable messenger." Ahmed Celebi pointed out, as he opened the door of the largest barn in the middle of the area, which revealed a crowd of workers on their jobs continuously loading new heavy bags of grains on their shoulders to the stockpile. "By Allah’s blessing our country had a great harvest last year, and after that our barn have been almost filled to the brim, enough to feed the entire Ottoman army for a month, you mentioned that you want to open trade routes with the Ottomans, right? Let me tell you what honourable ambassador, we can export grains to the Rumelians at a more affordable price in the future."
Apostolos, observing the immense reserves and considering the implications of such a proposal, expressed his gratitude with a respectful bow to both the grain stockpile and Ahmed Celebi. "Thank you, honourable prince, on behalf of the Roman populace."
Their visit to the granaries concluded, they stepped onto the open plains. There, they were greeted by the sight of a vast herd of horses, their manes catching the light as they galloped across the landscape, guided by their handlers. The plains stretched out before them, a sea of green undulating under the breeze, the freedom and vitality of the horses mirroring the potential for growth and prosperity in the land.
Ahmed Celebi, seating himself and Apostolos on a spread carpet, gestured towards the spectacle. "Behold, honourable ambassador, our renowned steeds, numbering in the tens of thousands. Should our nations forge a healthier relationship, we could extend to you not only these magnificent horses but also our mercenaries, reviving the camaraderie of bygone days, back then, when the relationship of the two states are still yet corporative."
Despite Apostolos’s enduring scepticism, evidenced by his ever-present grin, he once more expressed his gratitude to Ahmed Celebi.
This exchange against the backdrop of freely roaming horses marked the end of an exhaustive day for Apostolos, navigating through Ankara with weary bones. The prince, still in the bloom of youth, excused himself to attend to state matters, while Apostolos was escorted to his lodging, anticipating a formal engagement with the Ottoman administration, while he prepared all of his terms and conditions with the team of delegates.
Unbeknownst to him was the duration of his impending wait, as he is left there, stranded in the hostel, for days straight in a row.
