Dewirix: Glad you liked it!
And yes, one day she will discover just what is possible for someone to do.
Razgriz: No Prince, sadly, they start out as a Theocracy. Never saw the recent movie...didn't interest me much. Was it any good?
blsteen: Roadtrip indeed! I had the Odyssey in mind when I thought of this. The real reason was that nothing much happened in those seven years as the next Sultan, and there was no story reason for her to stay there.
Beowulf: Only a few general ones. I've got down to do a 'State of the World' every 100 years, but I can change that to sooner if you'd like.
Kipsnif: Thanks!
Well, as you'll see she took the 'scenic route', like Odysseus did! What we have to remember is that in the 15th century the roads were poor, the terrain bad, and the frequency of wars makes travel over long distances rare.
Boris: To Persia! But no elephants I fear.
morningSIDEr: Yes, it's a question all men fear as much as 'does this make me look fat?' or 'do you like these shoes?'
Now...onward!
---------
ISMA’IL I PART 1
XXX
3/9/1448
The city of Esfahan appeared before Talena like it was a mirage. A few soldiers, merchants and clerics were outside, but mostly there was just the farmlands and plains of Persia around her.
It had taken her seven years to reach this point, seven long years. When she had been young, Talena had read ‘The Odyssey’, and now she felt like Odysseus finally returning to Ithaca. At first she had made good progress, getting a ship that was supposed to take her to Tripoli in the Levant, but then things had gone wrong. First a storm had forced them to land at an island near Naxos, and it had been weeks before they could make it to port. Then as they set sail for Rhodes she had been embroiled in the war between the Ottomans and the French and Polish over Abdulaziz’s subjugation of Transylvania.
The Ottomans lost the naval battle off Rhodes and she was stuck inside the citadel for months as the Christians futilely besieged the mighty fortress. Finally when they were defeated she couldn’t find a ship going east, so had to land and go by foot across Anatolia. The deserts and mountains had caused her problems, but she had finally come down through the Taurus Mountains and into Syria.
There, true to form, she had become enmeshed in the Syrian revolution against the Mamluks and it was more than a year before she could cross the desert and into Mesopotamia. There she had entered a region at war and had been attacked several times by both sides, occasionally at the same time.
And finally she had arrived.
If anything it was rather disappointing. After Paris, Toledo, Rome and Istanbul, Esfahan was merely a walled city on a plain enclosed by hills. It was hardly the most prepossessing of places.
Still, it was a place to go, to relax, buy some new clothes, as hers were dusty, torn and ready for burning. A bath, some nice food and some sleep would also be just what Talena needed.
As she entered the city she found it full of high ranking clerics and generals, all heading to a meeting in the central Mosque. Talena, who spoke no Persian, and had learned only a little Arabic, entered the town warily. However, unlike many of the cities she had passed through on her journey, Esfahan was both peaceful and orderly. There were of course beggars and shady individuals, but there were also a great many guards, and less refuse and litter than normal.
It was as she was walking through the market, looking for what she needed, that she came face-to-face with an old man, very tall and severe, with a white beard and walking stick. He was trailed by two slaves, one African teenager, the other an Arabic man. Talena had almost bumped into him, and now stepped back, hoping she had not caused another mix-up.
“My apologies,” Talena said unthinkingly in Greek and stepped aside to let him pass.
“No, it is I who should apologise, my dear,” he replied in the same language. Though he was clearly Persian, and a cleric by the look of his robes, he spoke the language fluently...if with a slight accent. “You are new to the city?” he asked, looking at her dirty and torn clothes.
“Yes, I just arrived. I am looking for a place to buy new clothes. I have money,” she added, in case he thought she was a vagrant.
“And you travel alone? With no husband or slave to escort you?” he asked.
Talena nodded her head. “Just me. I’ve come a long way to reach Persia.”
“And I welcome you,” the Cleric replied. “What brings you to Esfahan? I see you have travelled a long way.”
“Three thousand miles, I think,” Talena replied. “I came here to search for something.”
“Do you follow the true faith?” he asked.
Talena hesitated before continuing. The wrong answer was likely not to earn her any favours. “I am not overly religious – but I am always open minded to new ideas.”
“Indeed. Then perhaps you will allow me to discuss and convince you of the truth and wisdom of the Prophet’s words?”
“I would like that,” Talena said. She didn’t want to make any enemies, and there was something about this man, beneath his pleasant exterior, something hard and unyielding. “My name is Talena.”
“Then allow me to help you, Talena. Imani here,” he gestured to his black slave girl. “She will take you to a guest room in the palace and provide you clothes, food and a bed. For now, I must attend the meeting of the Council.”
“Palace?” Talena asked aloud, wondering who this man was to give away rooms in a palace to unknown women.
“You are indeed new here. I am Ayatollah Isma’il, ruler of all these lands.”
Talena was surprised. Even when she had seen the newly crowned Syrian Emir, a man who controlled a bare hundred square miles, he had worn gold and silk.
“You were expecting a man dressed in finery obtained by oppression of the poor?” he asked. “That is because I am no hypocrite; I follow the true tenants of Islam, I do not merely pay it lip service when it is convenient for me. For that, I have many enemies. Good day.”
After giving some instructions to Imani he left, heading for the great Mosque.
Imani beckoned to Talena, and they headed down a side street. The slave was very pretty, and quite young as well.
“Do you speak Arabic, Mistress?” the slave asked.
“A little. You can teach me?” Talena asked. Having to learn so many languages was hard, and she’d virtually forgotten how to speak French or Castilian.
“Of course, Mistress. When the Master does not need me, I will be happy to.”
Talena felt she had to ask a question, even though it was rude, and probably quite upsetting for the girl. “Does he...you know...you?” she asked, trying to get her meaning across with expressive gestures, where her language skills failed.
To her surprise Imani giggled slightly, and covered her mouth. “No, Mistress! He’s very nice to me. He’s very...strict, but he is a true Muslim. He eats only bread and water, and always prays to God, even in battle!”
Talena nodded. “Lead on, Imani.” She’d never really dealt with slaves before, and it unsettled her. But, it was not for her to judge, and so she followed Imani.
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XXX
The nation of Persia had broken free from the grip of the descendants of Timur in 1436. Then, Ishmail, a Shiite cleric, had led a vast army that overthrew the Timurids and occupied Esfahan and established a new state. Since then, Persia had been asserting its own, fiercely religious identity. As a nation, they had two significant goals; to reclaim all lands where Shiia Islam existed, and then to expand the Shiite faith to all Muslims and beyond.
However, a brief war was fought with Hedjaz, who was quickly defeated. However, it once again showed the willingness of Isma’il to use war to expand Persia. It would not be long before there were more....