The Kadin - Bertrice Small [114]
The following morning, dressed in quilted, hooded silk cloaks and heavily veiled, the kadins watched the panorama from a specially constructed platform. At the far eastern end of the valley, they could see the camp of the shah of Persia. Between the two encampments the battle raged.
The Persians fought valiantly, but from the start they were badly outclassed by the Turks’ new artillery. Over and over again, groups of the sultan’s swift horsemen would dart in among them, draw them within range of the Ottoman guns, and then dash off, leaving the shah’s soldiers to be shot to pieces.
Ismail’s troops had neither seen nor faced artillery before. They fought the Turks as they always fought an enemy, and the results were disastrous for Persia
The smells of blood, gunpowder, horses, and sweat mingled in the wind to create a nauseating odor, and the kadins held clove-studded oranges to their noses to block the stench.
Watching as Suleiman’s and Mohammed’s soldiers cut to ribbons a troop of Persian horsemen misled into thinking that Prince Suleiman was separated from his cavalry, Zuleika observed. “They are still small boys who play at war.”
Cyra nodded in grim agreement She was angered at her eldest son for taking what she considered foolish chances, and a little frightened of the battle The noise of the guns deafened her, and seeing men fall dead about her seemed unreal. The bearers ran back and forth carrying the wounded from the battleground to the medical tents. Some of the fallen were horribly maimed and torn, for the simple Turkish soldier, as unused to the guns as his Persian counterpart, was suffering also.
Cyra put her hands to her ears for a brief moment to still the terrible din, and saw Selim on Devil Wind—in the midst of the fray—his scimitar flashing like a bright and terrible butterfly. His lips moved constantly, and she instinctively knew he was shouting encouragement to his men over the cacophony of the battle.
A messenger rode up to Cyra. “Madam, I regret to inform you that Prince Kasim has been killed. His body is being brought to the sultan’s pavilion.” The messenger wheeled his horse about and galloped off.
As she swayed and the scene before her eyes swam, she felt Zuleika’s arm tighten about her. “It is the will of Allah,” she heard her own voice say. “Praises on Allah and Mohammed, His Prophet” Zuleika led her back to their tent
The Battle of Chaldiran was a great victory for Sultan Selim. Shah Ismail himself, along with his personal possessions and his favorite wife, Tacli Hanim, had been captured. The victory fires burned high and hot throughout the night The sounds of the drum and flute echoed over the valley, and the laughter of women could be heard among the tents. The shah had traveled neither lightly nor without amenities, and Selim’s soldiers had found, much to their delight, a number of attractive female slaves and dancing girls in the Persian camp. Though the officers had been allowed first choice, there were enough women left to satisfy the men’s needs.
Selim, supping with his captains, drank from a goblet of black amber circled with gold flowers. To his amusement, the golden inscription identified it as the property of Shah Ismail. Selim had also appropriated the Persian ruler’s belt and armlet—plates of gold set on iron and held together with a woven red-and-blue fabric
The night was not so merry for Ismail. Quartered under heavy guard in a small tent, he wept bitterly, not for the battle lost but for Tacli Harum. His beautiful young wife, along with her fortune in jewels, had been given as a slave to the sultan’s handsome second son, Prince Mohammed.
In the sultan’s private quarters,