Baybur sat in a boat with a wide shaft, facing Çetin pasha and the translator whilst right behind him a man rowed it forward. They weren’t in any sea or a lake, they were in a street- the streets of Venezia. To call them streets would be somewhat wrong, Baybur felt, but in reality that was the state. The stream they followed wasn’t a single, unique path leading to Doge’s Palace. Instead, almost all corners of the city had streams interlocking and flowing from the city to the Adriatic. Baybur watched the passing boats, all alike and filled with men of different clothing than his hometown, or Sultanate. Baybur’s eyes fell on the hats they wore, they seemed like a three pointed star and slanted backwards, for they were just a tad bit shorter than an adult's head. The sight itself wasn’t funny, Baybur’s own janissary clothing included a headset that flowed back down to his waist, which he found not quite to his liking, so he knew the uncomfortable weight they possessed. But this man had a pleasant expression accompanying his hat, so Baybur guessed, perhaps, this man felt near to nothing from its weight.

Comparing to his hometown’s clothing, and the similar ones all across the balkans, these people didn’t wear belts, only rarely; whereas in Serbia they would fasten them around the waist tight to hold their tunics tight, neat, and good looking. Though this was also to keep the clothes under the tunic together, for if they both moved independent the itchy feeling irritated the skin. This wasn’t to say Venezians had a poor taste, Baybur thought, it was the difference in the perception of fashion and, concluding from his limited knowledge, climate. Serbia had harsher winters and more rainy seasons while, from what their guide told the translator, Venezia rarely had ice and snow at the peak of winter. So these tight pants and loose linen, and more so puffy tunics were a more reasonable choice to equip. It was the same for the Sultanate, they wore gowns over shirts and trousers with wide interior, as the climate hardly proved harsh except the eastern region of Anatolia. The living Armenians, of course, adjusted their outfits to the changes as well.

Going back to the calm waters and the boat he was on, Baybur raised his head to look at the arches and domes over the juxtaposed buildings lining all the way to the horizon. They had canals of streams parting them, and at these gaps were high bridges wide enough to contain two to three men. Byzantine, Ottoman, or is it Roman? Each of these empires had tremendous influence, either from their heritage or their own style, on the architecture of Europe, Middle-East, and North Africa. Hence, parts of their culture remaining in Venezia was no surprise to Baybur. What he wondered most was why they had built these houses with no distance between each. Translator turned his head to ask their boat owner, who in turn spoke a curt answer.

‘’There isn’t enough space, he says.’’ The translator said.

‘’Hm, hm,’’ Çetin pasha nodded with a faint smile, gazing at the long tower like buildings. The decorations and light looking bodies of these Venetian houses seemed...refreshing. In Baybur’s opinion, of course, but he could guess how awed Çetin Pasha was as well. Though he was a man tempered by war and drilled by discipline, no doubt he took some other interests with the old age and the relatively less frequent life of a Pasha. Architecture being one of them was no secret, so he felt confident of his thought.

‘’How far are we?’’ Çetin Pasha asked, the translator turned to inquire again.

‘’Almost there-’’ Translator said while their guide pointed at the front. ‘’Yeah, this is it My Pasha.’’

They approached a stairs leading to the thin walkways before Baybur could see where they pointed at, then climbed off the boat. Translator gave a small coin to the boat owner, exchanged a few words Baybur assumed to be farewell and gratitude, then parted ways. Now that they were closer to these buildings and above the canals of water, Baybur had a greater view of the scenery. Buildings and their arches above still spread to the ends of the world, as well as the streams with boats rowing over them, but nevertheless it looked much fabulous than before.

After inspecting for some more time, he realized the translator and Çetin Pasha had moved far from him, so he rushed to their side. They walked for some longer and passed over a bridge, took a left, then reached a square with grandiose white tiles covering the ground. Baybur raised his chin and his gaze slipped from the numerous men and women with long dresses to the palace. To be exact, the Doge’s Palace.

It had arches, no surprise at this point, at the bottom of the white marble palace leading to the entrance, and above it another series of them with narrower curves serving as the balcony’s railings. Right atop these second line of arches were four-leaved clovers, not of wood or stone, rather carved into the building itself and circled by...circles. Too many buildings past this point had similar decorations and adjustments made to their exterior, so Baybur had quite a difficult time finding the extraordinariness of this palace. Not that he had the intention to mock, he wasn’t narrow minded as to declare the worth of a man by the first impression. In his mind, perhaps, this ruler could be one of the humbler ones, or his ancestors were, as they built this palace, or the culture itself didn’t revolve around the prosperity of the ruler, as many others did. Though he didn’t have the intention to ask bout this, too.

There were few guards, donning pikes and chainmail standing at the entrance, though once Çetin Pasha took out his sealed letter and some sort of item, which they recognized, and the translator spoke to them they parted ways. They lifted the spears out of the way and they shouted inside, with faint steps a man rushed out and received them. Right before he entered, Baybur was asked to leave his weapon for obvious safety measures. He didn’t protest, this was how it was supposed to be, after all.

Once they passed through a small corridor from the entrance and came into what could be called the main hall, Baybur froze on his place for a solid minute. Then he turned his head, revolved, stepped around, his eyes devoured the sight in front of him as fast as he could.

The ceiling was covered in golden trimmed marks, like beams and colons, inscribed with delicate hands and mastery, and in them stood paintings. Masterpieces, in Baybur’s eyes, art like he had never seen before. Lifelike figures, fields of battle, pictures of terror, courts of heaven, portraits of men; With faces full of virtue, with gowns flowing like silk, with wings alike of angels, with faces twisted in agony, and figures of women; with faces full of virtue, with no clothes laying bare the artists’ imagination, with figures unmatching in beauty, with faces giddy in mercy.

Thinking wasn’t enough, imagining the grandiose majesty of the place was hard, trying to engrave it into his memory almost impossible. Baybur thought nothing other than watching. He didn’t realize he was walking towards one of the walls, his hand raised and palm opened, fingers stretched like a claw, eyes blank.

A hand yanked him from behind and his eyes regained their luster. It wasn’t anyone he knew, though, it was two children. They wore black, wide garments on top of another cloth he didn’t recognize, and red pants with flat red shoes. They also had necklaces refined of silver, at the tip a bright lustrous cross, swinging. Once he awakened and his eyes flew by the children, he saw a man staring at him. Elderly, high and thin eyebrows above his wrinkled eye bags, with puffed cheeks like a cute child. From his eyes flowed a kindness Baybur saw from Hikmet, from Caner’s brother, from his own mother. Not towards him, but towards all, a stance towards the world.

He wore a bright yellow hat, slightly longer than his head, and below it the strings of a coif could be seen. He also had a gold-like robe thrown over his shoulders and reaching his feet; serpents, flowers, leaves, and more embroidery trimmed with gold traveled on the robe’s surface. Under the robe also stood a white tunic, and the tunic’s sleeves came further than his arm, resulting in two patches of white cloth sticking out of his wrists. But it all made him look more amicable and friendly.

The elderly man smiled at him, then the two children ran towards the man. He didn’t mind the little boy and girl tugging at his robe, slightly caressed their heads and sent them on their way. If he hadn’t seen that gaze, Baybur swore, he would have thought the man acted because of the children’s noble status. But that gaze changed everything. First impressions were, after all, harder to shake. He gave a bow as an apology, the man waved his hand with a kind smile.

Baybur pried his eyes from the man and looked at Çetin Pasha and the translator. As his mind started working again, he saw both inspecting their surroundings in relative interest, yet their curiosity was a far cry from his numb dreaming state. Once they also grasped and pondered, their attentions turned back to the elderly man.

Francesco Foscari, Doge of the Republic Of Venice.

The translator approached and started talking with the man, the smiles didn’t cease from their faces all the while Çetin pasha presented the letter and let the Doge unseal it. A few moments passed and Doge replied with a single word, translator froze in his place.

‘’What did he say?’’ Çetin Pasha asked.

‘’...I agree. That’s what he said.’’

‘’But we didn’t even talk about anything, about the terms and what would be the deal. And gifts, too, they are still being transported.’’ Baybur said.

Translator seemed troubled as he seemed to ask something. This time Doge gave a slightly long reply and flashed the letter to him. Translator froze for a second time, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

‘’He says It is to the benefit of my people and not of danger to me, why should I hesitate? But the real reason is the letter,’’ He talked in haste, ‘’Sultan has listed all conditions, everything by himself, and even stamped it.’’

‘’This is not a stamp, but an agreement, then?’’

‘’Exactly-’’ Translator then suddenly turned as Doge told something while taking back the letter. He stuffed it inside the hem of his robe and smiled.

‘’Doge asks whether you would be interested in a boat tour?’’

*********

Baybur flung open the door and bolted outside without any garment to shield from the rain.

‘’ALEXAN-UGH!-’’ Shouts rose behind him, and he propelled with the fear of being caught up, his legs stampeded on the puddles of murky water. Who knew these little feet could garner such strength? Enough to put a sizeable distance between the murderer stumbling after him, chasing, shouting. Did no one hear them? The swears, insults, threats, and his sobbing. Was his existence so insignificant, not enough to gain even pity? Or he was. Perhaps one or two cowards looked on at his miserable state with twinkling eyes of pity, and prayed for his well being, asking God for his safety rather than acting themselves.

Baybur increased his speed, he felt cold drilling through his feet and pass through his nerves. A chill, the frozen hand of Serbian rain caressed his spine for a moment, and his blood flushed in response to push his little body to its limits. Streets were empty, he had no worries of splashing muddled ponds over people, and neither did his father. Shouts drew near.

Close, close, close, close, close, close, close, so close, so close, right next to here, just so close, just around the corner, push a little harder, go faster, close, close, close, close, close, there, there, there, there, here, here, here-

‘’HEREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!’’

Baybur’s lungs caved in to his chest, his throat trembled and burnt and itched, and his voice boomed under the dripping assault of the rain without any obstruction. He ran over to the familiar church, next to the familiar house, next to the familiar door, next to the familiar door handle now gripped by a long, dark man with a terrifying gaze. He froze on that place, looked behind Baybur, his gaze locked on the invisible path and the incoming murderer.

Then he ran towards them.

Just as he passed through, the door of the house bashed inside and another man stepped out, middle-aged, strands of grey hid in his dark hair. His eyes, too, widened into a glare, then he bolted again. They passed from his side and lunged at whatever thing now behind him, but Baybur had no more energy to chase. Cold was deep in his bones and flesh, his mind was muddled like the puddles, and his wet hair clumped the front of his eyes. The last bit of his willpower went into the drain with that shout, so he collapsed.

His knees gave way first, engraved into the softened road their shape, and his torso followed with a lean to the front. Raindrops covered the carved path of his footsteps with water and the rising voice of the violent brawl.

His eyes fell on the reflection in the half-opaque pond in his front, on his sorry figure, on his miserable half-smile, on his tears mixed with rain, on his paled face, on his reddened nose, on his bloodshot eyes, on his crimson ears.

‘’I-I-I-I-I-I...-I-I-I...I...please...’’

For the first time he felt teardrops fall this clear.

*********

Something nudged him in the shoulder, Baybur realized.

He opened his teary eyes and swiped the drops from the corners of his eyes, then looked up at the object. It was a rowing shovel, with a wide tip and long handle, at least long enough to be useful from the top of the boat. It was hard to see the dark-brown shade under the picturesque blue sky, but nevertheless it was still there. Though it was also not easy to notice the darker shade that turned light at the intersection of the shovel’s tip and the handle’s end. It felt cold to touch, too, and he concluded it must be fresh out of water.

‘’Hm?’’ He stood up from the boat and turned to his side, the owner of the boat gazed at him with a questioning gaze. Baybur swept his eyes at the back, he saw nothing other than the long canal and lined up houses of the Venezia, and he swept his eyes at the front; Doge, Çetin Pasha, and the translator were still seated at their own boat and talking. What was it then? He thought, and turned around again to see the owner sigh to himself. A soft, faint one. Helplessness, perhaps, would be the best way to describe its notion.

For what? He wanted to ask, but rather than the lack of a compromised language, it was his uncaring attitude that removed the chance. Or both, they were all important aspects of the misunderstanding, if there even was.

The boat’s owner had already turned his head back to the water, Baybur noticed, and his long oar was back in the canals to push the boat forward. Its occasional splash, penetrating the water sheen to move back and forth, was the sole noise other than the owner’s whistle. Tune was strange, one Baybur never heard before, but appreciated nonetheless.

Now that he realized there was nothing else to do, Baybur decided by himself to relax again and laid on the boat, his sword grasped with one hand and his head by the other. He looked up at the clouds shielding him from the Sun, or some other blessed soul that the giant golden thing persisted on not burning them all for his/her sake. Could Sun also turn stars into ashes, he wondered for a moment?

Perhaps, He thought, for the brightness of the Sun was of a different level than the stars. But who can say it isn’t the opposite? If those hundreds and thousands of stars gathered, who could conclude whether it would be destroyed or not?

Who would be the strongest star? Late Sultan...He was a strong man, someone he admired, though the few battles and skirmishes Baybur entered, and lost in a miserable way, were all under his command. But admirable people would be admired, there was no reason to not do so.

Caner would stink as always- He chuckled to himself, There would be a small yellowed net over the star’s head...

Hikmet would be...a fainter one? Not of old age, but because of his temperament. A faint star, that is.

And...

Why did she come in his mind, anyway? She would be...she...

What would she be?

Baybur closed his eyes and thought of a star, four pointed and blazing. Its lights tried to reach the ones around it, to touch, to merge with their lights. To create an aurora, something new, something belonging to both and no one else. There would be a burning, humongous star behind it, though, with ashes drifting over it. An old star, spending the last bits of its life to protect the smaller one.

One who tried to conserve, the other tried to advance.

Baybur pondered for a long, long time about this star. In the end, only he knew who this star was and what kind of a star she was.

Only, he didn’t know why the star was like that.

*********

They stayed in Venice not long compared to their expectations. One week and a half was enough to repair the cog ship’s broken deck and reload the goods and ammunition. For the lack of manpower caused by dead crew members, new ones were hired in their stead. Doge didn’t expect them to stay long as well, he plainly stated so, but from the tales Çetin pasha told he was magnanimous as to let them go with a merchant fleet escorted by the republic’s navy. This would ensure their safety well beyond Mediterranean and into the Aegean, further that point was no more danger than a plotting grand vizier.

The day they set forth there were no one to send them off other than the Doge and his few guards, alongside the two children Baybur saw in the palace. No cheers, no words, just the waving of a hand and the kind smiles. Baybur bowed his head towards the Doge before disappearing into the horizon, but only god knew what his response was.

The sail lasted three weeks, what Sultan Mehmed expected them in the first place, and they didn’t encounter any trouble in the way. They parted ways with the Venetian fleet near the Athens and further progressed to the port of Enez. Once they reached their destination, the household guards with Baybur and Çetin pasha bid farewell with the captain.

Çetin Pasha resumed the Edirne Palace with an additional letter and a copy of the Sultan’s treaty made by the Doge Foscari while Baybur decided to return to the tavern he rented a room with Caner.

There was the choking influx of culture all around Edirne he forgot well over the two months, Baybur noticed. It differed from the Venezia’s silent peace and refreshing air. But both were same in one aspect. They were foreign.

He found out two things when he inquired with the tavern owner. Caner had left five weeks ago or sometime around that period, which was expected, and all of the rooms were occupied today. So he had to look for another place to sleep in. Baybur didn’t leave the tavern so soon, he got himself a decent meal to eat and sat around for another hour after that.

Once he departed from the tavern, Baybur stepped through the crowd of traders and customers and pilgrims to pass through the short alleys leading to the residential area. Once he spotted the changing landscape he looked around for a few minutes and found the house he was looking for. He came beside the door of the building and knocked twice, loud.

Faint footsteps and a coughing approached, then the door squeaked open to reveal Hikmet, wearing his special gown with seven separate apertures filled with seven reed flutes. ‘’Oh, come in,’’ Hikmet urged with his hand and led him inside, closing the door behind.

They took a seat, this time without any cups of coffee prepared, and sat silent for a while.

‘’How was your travel?’’ Hikmet asked.

‘’With up and downs-’’ Baybur said, ‘’I saw the sea, three of them. They were all the same, though.’’

‘’Indeed, what do you expect otherwise?’’

‘’Nothing.’’

‘’Then, have you heard the news? A fresh fleet out of dockyard met its demise to the northwest of Crete.’’

‘’...is there a need to be roundabout?’’

‘’There is,’’ Hikmet sighed, ‘’For a little boy insists on withholding what he experienced. If not, why would I be?’’

Baybur shook his head with a smile. ‘’It was better than Kruje, at least.’’

‘’I doubt someone can experience a defeat harder than that in a single lifetime,’’ Hikmet raised his dry lips to a smile, ‘’And the treaty?’’

‘’State business, state business-’’ Baybur waved his hand in rejection, though blurted a second after. ‘’Done in a day, I expect Sultan to be overjoyed.’’

‘’With how messy things are, I doubt he will be, but joyous news nonetheless.’’

‘’Messy?’’

‘’Assassinations- In the hearth and in the palace, even two of the aghas died while Sultan was gone. Grand Vizier is frantic, as all that died are either closely related to him or were discreetly helping him with influence over the janissaries. They even started hiding when Sultan came back a week ago. Then there are the accidents you suffered- Salih Pasha’s carriage got struck three times by mounted bandits. Unbelievable audacity- this grand vizier is too hasty to stop the Sultan.’’

‘’Mistakes will pile up either way,’’ Baybur said, ‘’And with both Sultan’s and the envoys’ return, I doubt the siege date will be put forward any longer. He doesn’t have anything to do other than, perhaps, mouth off in the ears of some sanjak-beys to make it hard to get rations for the army.’’

‘’He could-’’ Hikmet nodded, ‘’but it is too late already.’’

‘’True...’’

Now another silence fell between them, though it was a tad bit uncomfortable for Baybur to bear. After a few more minutes passed, Hikmet spoke again.

‘’Have you seen that girl?’’

Baybur understood who he mentioned in an instant.

‘’Why should I? Or let that alone, how can I?’’

‘’Çetin pasha should be more than happy to have you as a guest, no?’’

‘’Perhaps he would,’’ Baybur shook his head, ‘’But it is rude, and even awkward to some point. We are only acquaintances, and there is no real desire between. It would seem like I was a suitor if I wanted to visit them.’’

‘’Don’t you want to be?’’

‘’...I don’t,’’ Baybur muttered. ‘’May I sleep in your house today, if it wouldn’t be any trouble?’’

‘’Don’t worry, I’ll prepare the bedding for you. In the meantime, get some rest. There should be a lot to do tomorrow for you.’’

*********

It turned out as Hikmet said, there was a huge load of things to do.

For first, preparations for the siege started openly the moment Çetin Pasha presented the treaty’s copy they brought from Venice: They were the last to get back, too, so it seemed like they were what Sultan was waiting to act. Sultan opened the treasury and brought massive amounts of food, there would be more to come once they set the siege, armaments, which would also be repaired by the blacksmiths brought along, and at last carts and horses, both for, obviously, carrying the supplies.

The aghas and pashas were called to the capital while some, whose bases were located on their path to Constantinople, mustered the men and supplies in their command and awaited the arrival of the main army to join. Grand Vizier Halil pasha, in line with expectations, showed a great deal of opposition to the whole event, but it seemed like other than a few no one heeded his words.

Concurrently to that, Baybur was given the position of the second-in-command of his Orta, which meant he would be akin to the left arm of Muzaffer agha and could garner a great amount of influence. This was the position he sought for at the beginning, a footholding to lean his back and start his plans of revenge. This gave him hope for the period after the siege, when the time would be for him to shine if no accidents occured.

A few days after, Emperor Constantine threatened Sultan with supporting his brother, Orhan, in succeeding the throne, so Sultan now gained a valid casus belli to signal the war’s commence. He released his official decree to gather men, and tımar owners flocked to the nearest city to Constantinople and the capital to merge with the armies. As the second-in-command, it was Baybur’s task to ensure the admittance of the timar owners and their militias, as well as the preparations of orta's janissaries. So he had a huge burden on his shoulders.

Time passed too quickly for the Sultanate in the midst of hurry. As the forces started merging with each and march was imminent, the construction of the Rumeli Fortress finished. Once the Emperor Constantine realized that there wouldn’t be any help coming, he sought support from the European kingdoms and started gathering his subjects to the city with plentiful food to live on. Meanwhile, his calls for help were answered by no one except Giustiniani Giovanni, a genoese mercenary with a private army of several hundred men. No more support arrived.

That marked the start of the march.

*********

Sultanate’s army was one with great magnitude. They had over a hundred thousand men and a few dozen cannons. Among these cannons were a single, more brilliant one, called Basilica, masterwork of the Hungarian smith Orban built in Edirne prior to the siege. At the forefront of the marching army it was pulled by four pairs of oxen, for its sheer weight proved horses incapable of carrying it forward. Even then its speed was slow, and there were also other artilleries brought forward back in the lines, so the marching speed slowed down considerably.

Nevertheless, there were no problems on the path, so they reached in front of the walls not long after. Tent of the Sultan was set at the highest point looking at the city while others’ spread around it in a wide circle like a red sea.

Baybur, at the edge of the encampment, gazed at the walls of the thousand year old empire.

‘’It is time...’’