Free Shadow of God by Anthony Goodman

throughout the world for his wisdom.”
    Suleiman nodded, as the old man went on.
    “You are the Tenth ruler of the House of Osman. You are called to rule at the dawn of the Tenth Century of Islam. In every age, but one is appointed to grasp the era by the horns…”
    The number ten was of greatest significance to the Turks: ten is the number of divisions of the Holy Qur’an ; there are ten commandments in the Pentateuch; Mohammed, the Prophet of God, had ten disciples; ten is the number of fingers and toes. Ten was the perfect number, and Suleiman was born in the first year of the tenth century, by the Muslim calendar, which dates from the Hegira , the Prophet’s flight from Mecca.
    Suleiman leaned down to hear the man’s frail voice. But, the old man said no more. He seemed exhausted by the effort and the strain of speaking to his Sultan. He let go of the reins and moved away. Ibrahim handed a small sack of coins to a servant, and sent him after the old dervish. Suleiman looked at Ibrahim with a puzzlement on his face.
    “Did this dervish speak a prophesy of my future, Ibrahim?”
    Ibrahim only nodded. He was not a superstitious man, and he knew that his master was not one either. “He did, my Lord. And a propitious one at that.”
    “This old man has a wisdom we can only hope to achieve with time. His age is greater than yours and mine combined. Think what wisdom and experience are there in his head and in his heart. Just think of it!”
    Again, Ibrahim responded with a nod.
    The previous night, before they had departed the caravanserai , Suleiman’s officers had brought copies of the orders for the debarkation and the moving of his household and family to Istanbul. Suleiman took the pen and began to sign the orders. When he looked up, he saw that the eyes of all the soldiers were on him. There was something different, and he could not put his finger on it. When he had asked Ibrahim about it later, his friend replied, “You are not the same man you were yesterday, my Lord. They knowthat now. And so do you. You woke yesterday as the governor of a very minor province in a very insignificant part of Asia Minor.”
    Suleiman looked hurt for a moment. But, Ibrahim smiled, and said, “Do not look back, Majesty. You are, indeed, fortunate. You have no brothers to race you to the imperial city. There are no enemies to draw their reins across your path. All power waits for the touch of your hand. Even Piri Pasha, Selim’s Grand Vizier, waits to bend his head before the Shadow of God on Earth. With good fortune such as yours, there is nothing you cannot do. Nothing!”
    Suleiman smiled at his friend, and turned in the saddle. He looked behind him and laughed, “Except turn back upon this road.” Then, he spurred his horse and dashed ahead of the startled Ibrahim, down the road to Istanbul.

    For three more days, Suleiman’s small band moved north along the Aegean coast. Then, they turned east inland to parallel the Dardanelles. As they rode along, Suleiman noticed how the people’s livelihoods changed with the terrain. Here they toiled to bring in crops of barley and wheat, and there they pushed their flocks of sheep over broken ground to better grazing lands. Still others tended arbors of olive trees.
    Suleiman thought about these people; their hard lives. In the countryside, the Ottoman Turks lived constantly on the edge. Their meager livelihood could be wiped out with a single hailstorm, a lightning bolt, a flash flood, or any number of incurable diseases. Life was harsh, and death always in waiting. How, he wondered, can I as their Sultan change their lot in life? While I live in luxury in Istanbul, these people live in rags and hovels. While I eat and drink my fill each day, they are often at the very edge of starvation. How can I change this for them? What can I do? Suleiman shook his head and brought his mind back to the journey. There was so much for him to do, so many decisions for him to make.
    As the