period from the end of 1571 to the beginning of 1572. In addition, when the Sultan wanted to praise and reward him personally, Sokolović said that they should not believe in him, but in the strength of the empire. What sultan would not want to have such a man beside him?
Truth be told, a part of his internal self-confidence (which he did not allow to surface in the presence of others often) actually came from the vizier’s earlier experience, when a quarter of a century before, as the high commander of the Ottoman navy, he had hundreds of new ships built. He was better at that task than at going to war at sea. That was why he let those with greater skill than his own lead the naval battles. During that same period, he built new arsenals for shipbuilding, all together forming a terribly powerful shipbuilding industry. At the same time, he executed a fundamental reform of the navy and made plans for the future conquests of territories in the Indian Ocean, north Africa, and the European parts of the Mediterranean. With his knowledge, his diplomatic skill, his sense of order, discipline and hierarchy, and with his realistic visions, he completely prepared the field for his commanders to turn his plans into their actions.
In the revival of the fleet after the defeat, Mehmed-pasha activated the entire country: there was not a class or a strategic entity that did not have to respond to the decrees in its own way. The vizier intentionally made such a far-reaching noise about it in order to motivate the demoralised citizens across the country by the breadth of the action, and to warn those outside the country that the Turkish Empire was indeed still to be reckoned with.
The vizier knew what he was doing. Immediately after the defeat, he was visited by the Venetian diplomat Mark-Antonio Barbaro, who had not left the Ottoman capital despite the war, so that he could somehow determine the further intentions of the empire. Mehmed-pasha, as an experienced politician, received him in a friendly but cynical atmosphere, “You’ve come to see if we’ve lost our courage after the defeat.” Then he surprised the diplomat with a comparison, “There’s a huge difference between your loss and ours. By snatching the Kingdom of Cyprus, we have cut off your hand; by battering our fleet, you have set our beard on fire. A hand cut off will never grow back, but a singed beard will grow back even thicker.”
He was right.
“But the Grand Vizier treated his own people the same,” I said to Pamuk when he told me these facts. “When the newly-appointed kapudan-derya, who was his most direct helper in the job of rebuilding the fleet, and who longed in every imaginable way to have a strong armada, began to doubt that the vizier’s plans and decrees would succeed, the crucial part of their conversation went like this, or so a chronicler says:
Kilij Ali: ‘It’s easy to build ships, but in such a short time it is impossible to obtain enough anchors, ropes and other equipment.’
Mehmed-pasha: ‘The power and wealth of the High Porta is such that, if necessary, it is possible to make anchors of silver, ropes of silk scarves, and sails of satin and velvet. Ask me for whatever is missing on any of the ships, and you will get it.’
At these words, says the chronicler, the admiral fell on his knees before the vizier, his hand outstretched, he touched his forehead and palms to the ground and said, ‘I knew that you were the only one who could build the new navy.’
Both Pamuk and I concluded together that this is a real example of a story with a moral to it. Both sides in the conflict allowed their vanity to overwhelm them: the Turks before the battle, and the Europeans after it. And both sides, each in their own way, paid with historical consequences for that weakness. No matter how skilfully and quickly they diluted, diminished and hid those consequences – and however praiseworthy their efforts – they still had to pay the price.
As the Ottoman army’s conquest went forward, the words of the Grand Vizier proved to be absolutely correct. The business of war in that insignificant Auxiliary Unit turned out to be not only quite important, but so much so that the army would not have succeeded without it. There were so many places where they had to get through swamplands or to bridge rivers, reinforce levees, build non-existent ramparts or strengthen existing ones, along with trenches to be dug or filled in. Without the various inventions and quick-thinking of the members of this unit, it was not possible to conquer high barriers or knock down walls. There were all sorts and sizes of apparatuses, tools, ladders, platforms, cannons, self-winding weapons with ammunition of stone, metal balls and incendiary materials, strange carts and battering rams for knocking fortress doors down and myriad other weapons of which Bajica had never heard, much less did he know what they were used for. Yet, above all, it turned out that the soldiers in these units actually showed exceptional courage as well, because they were often sent ahead of the battle troops, and sometimes covered the rear during retreats. They were never left by themselves, of course; they were protected by the other units, but these ‘thinkers’ went after the enemy with equal fervour and bravery.
This was also Bajica’s first impression of Sinan, who constantly gathered information from the other apprentices and craftsmen, giving ideas and applying them immediately if possible, and at the same time going into battle at times, more to defend his companions or their inventions than to attack. When it was necessary, he was quick in offering his thoughts and quick to act, but he was mellow and peaceable when at rest and in conversation with Mehmed. Mehmed in turn, questioned him about his memories of Belgrade from five years ago, about his plans, about his hometown, his family and his background. Sinan’s stability pleased him because it was a quality he lacked (and not just because he was so much younger). And Sinan had an explanation for this certainty of his., since he had been brought up in a village inhabited by purely Greek Orthodox Christians, but which was set in the middle of an Anatolian region with an Ottoman population. Even though he was born on that soil, it did not free him from the destiny that also happened to Bajica, who had been brought in from a conquered land. Even though he belonged to the Ottomans by the very fact that he lived within the empire, he was taken from home by force, just like one of the infidels. So judgment was passed on the background of his blood, not the land.
At one moment, Sinan thought that, as he was evaluating young Mehmed, he was using the same measure of blood and (former) religion, but he quickly changed his mind: of course this had some influence on a deeper consideration of a possible new friendship, but it was not the crucial thing. Above all, he liked the candour that Bajica showed toward him from the very beginning. Understandably, in the chaos of war the young man had come across someone who had experience in battle, in fear and sadness, but also in living with the issues of an unstable background of body and soul. It was thus natural that this insecure and confused young man should stick close by him. Then again, it was clear to Sinan that this confusion was caused by the chaos that the conquest brought with itself, and that it was not one of Mehmed’s normal qualities. To a great degree war is, among other things, made up of sounds; from the reports of guns, the thunder of cannons, the chopping of trees and meat with sharp blades, battle cries, death wails, the clattering of horses’ hooves, the pounding of drums, gentle pipe notes and brassy trumpet sounds, rarely those of a song, the barked orders of the commanders and the quiet prayers to the Almighty in solitude. Mixed in with this are the sounds of nature: rain pouring down or a thunderstorm, the popping of a campfire and the roar of wildfire, the babbling of brooks, the rumbling of bridges and ships on flooded rivers and the waves of the sea. Defeat shatters these sounds, and victory raises them into a harmonious melody.
Still, sounds could not be the deciding factor in a friendship.
The essence of attraction between people evaded clear explanation.
Finding himself more and more often near Sinan, Bajica began to take the difficulties of the conquest more easily. He met ever more people who had lived through his current fate before him, and who managed to survive its difficulties by carrying out their duties. Now they seemed to him to be quite at peace with themselves. On the march toward Osijek he saw hundreds if not thousands of Cherahors and Armatoles, and they had a calming effect on him. Government under the Cherahors seemed to be completely stable even though it was composed exclusively from military units formed of the local population from the frontier provinces of the Ottoman Empire. All of them Christians, most of them were