- ARCHIVE - Sultanate Court of Algiers

[Martinus]

Court of the Sultan of Al-Djazair ​

Slowly, your ship pulls within the sight of land, the bustling port of Al-Djazair and seat of the Sultan, sprawling before you in its chaotic glory. Just as the Sultan's will rules over the seemingly anarchic hordes of desert berber tribes and dreaded pirates of the Barbary Coast, so the imposing palace stands atop a hill overlooking the entry into the busy harbor.

Lead through the narrow streets of the capital city, you are overwhelmed with exotic sights, sounds and smells, the merchants selling slaves from all corners of the known world; the priests calling the faithfull to a holy prayer; and exotic spices mixing with scented smokes of narghiles.

Finally you reach the audience hall of the Sultan's Palace, as the guards force you to your knees before the throne of the Falcon of the Desert, the Great Warrior of Allah, the Defender of Peace, Abu'l-Abbas Ahmed I, the Sultan of Algiers...​

 

[Martinus]

From the lofty position of his palace's balcony, Abu'l-Abbas Ahmed I, the recently ascended Sultan of Algiers, observed lazily the ships sailing slowly into the bustling port of Al-Djazair. Momentarily, his half-closed dark eyes focused on a galley flying a crimson banner of the infamous pirates of the Barbary Coast, instilling fear in every corner of the Mediterranean. Everywhere except here, where it only heralded arrival of a new loot, brining gold into the Sultan's coffers and slaves to his numerous harems and extensive estates.

The hunched form of a man kneeling in front of the ruler shifted slightly, streamlets of sweat running down his weather-beaten face, an iron helmet heating up quickly in hot rays of merciless sun. The Sultan's gaze slowly drifted in the man's direction, his ringed hand reaching for a candied date from a plate held by a slave. The young and handsome features of the ruler's face expressed nothing but boredom, hiding a genuine interest under a mask of indifference.

"Report, general…" the word was spat together with a date's oblong stone.

"Oh, great falcon of the desert…" The man croaked, his throat parched from the heat. "The remaining forces loyal to the Sult… to the traitor Abu Abdallah Mohammed…"

The Sultan's sudden chuckle interrupted the general's report. "No need to keep the appearances here, general. Abu Abdallah Mohammed is now in hell…" His hand drifted inadvertently towards a group of 5 skulls, two of them smaller then the others, all lined on a nearby podium. A thin smile creased his lips, the vision of long torture and execution he supervised personally still vivid in his memory. "…together with all his sons and heirs…" He sighed. "…such a waste…"

The general patiently waited for the Sultan's attention to return to him.

"As I was saying, oh great one…" The kneeling man continued, clearing his throat, as the young man's absent gaze focused on him once more. "The remaining traitors have been defeated and slaughtered, only a handful of nobles left alive to await your justice…"

The Sultan got up from his sofa and approached the trail of the balcony, his slim, silken-clad form flanked by two slaves carrying a canopy to protect him from the blazing sun. The 30 or so men standing in the open courtyard, surrounded by a unit of fully armed guards, were not so lucky. Despite their bruised and battered bodies, however, they stood proudly, some of them still wearing shreds of clothes that betrayed them for sons and nephews of sheiks ruling these berber tribes that decided to side with the dead Sultan. From the height of his balcony, Abu'l-Abbas Ahmed observed them dispassionately, his gaze shifting slowly, resting for several seconds on a face of each of the captives. Finally, after what seemed like eternity to the general kneeling on the hard floor, a sudden spark appeared in the Sultan's eyes. "Yes…" he bit his lip slightly, as if pondering the decision for the final time, "Have your men cut off their noses and ears, gouge their eyes and tear their tongues out. Then have them taken out of Al-Djazair and buried alive up to their necks in the sands of the desert…You may go now…"

"No, wait…" the Sultan's voice stopped the general in the middle of movement. "Leave each of them one eye instead. We wouldn't want the vultures to have no fun out of it, would we?" He chuckled. As the steps of the general leaving to carry out the cruel order echoed away on the marble floor of the palace, the Sultan turned back to look at the prisoners for the last time. "Such a waste…" He sighed, as he reached for another candied date.

 

[driftwood]

Uthman ibn Abbas, longtime Ottoman ambassador to Algiers, had been holed up in his suite with some of his favorite local girls since the ... change in government.

"I wonder <ulp> if it's safe to go back out," he wondered aloud around the grapes he was being fed.

Sighing, he levered himself up. In the five years he had been serving here, he had put on quite a bit of weight. He had not written any poetry, either, in at least three years. He had, however, sired a good seven illegitimate children, none of whom were in the capital. In sum, he now looked much older than his 27 years.

"Come on girls," he grunted as he stood up. Two of the women, naked from the waist up like the others, put down the grapes they were peeling to haul his bulk upright.

"Ahhh, that's it," he panted. "Well, time to get dressed. Better go see the new Emir, er, General, er, whatever..." He waved his hand vaguely towards some ephemeral form of the correct honorific that was perhaps floating nearby.

Three hours, and two ripped shirts, later, he made his appearance at the court.

"O Great Sultan," he intoned in what was still a deep and melodic voice, "I ... are those skulls?"

 

[Martinus]

At the mention of his title, the Sultan's gaze raised slowly, his attention so far engrossed in the lecture of his latest epic poem, praising his glorious victory over cowardly traitor. He examined the ambassador with some interest, a corner of his lips curling slightly at the sight of his youthful face, yet soon replaced by a disinterested sneer at the man's somewhat obese form. Sultan… The ruler repeated the word in his mind, smiling inadvertently to his thoughts. Certainly better than this carrion of an Emir…

A thought to stand up from the sofa briefly crossed his mind, quickly discarded however, a prospect of having to seat straight on the throne after the yesterday's night feast appearing quite abhorrent if not actually unfeasible. For a moment he wondered how the poor Yusuf was faring this morning, the courtier left unconscious after being beaten by the orgy's remaining participants. This will teach him to applaud my poems more eagerly. He thought, as his bleary gaze focused once again on the prostrate form of the Turkish ambassador.

"Indeed they are…" He gestured lazily to the line of skulls, following the envoy's curious question. "Such is the fate of those who displease Allah the Almighty…" The Sultan shifted into a more comfortable position. "You are of course welcome to remain in Al-Djazair, the friendship of your master being quite appreciated in the court of Algiers… Actually, I was told you are known for a talent of poetry. Perhaps you will want to review my latest creation…"

 

[driftwood]

"Sk... Sk..." Uthman coughed. He didn't do well with death, pain, the threat of pain, or even mild discomfort. "Skulls..."

He smiled nervously, feeling his shirt clinging to the sweat on the small of his back.

"I, ah, a poem?" He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. "Yes, a poem, let's see..."

His mind operating on a higher level than it had in many years, he took a panegyric written years ago for the old Emir, twisted it just enough to be beyond recognition, then embellished it greatly with references to the Sultan's manly virtue both on and off the battlefield.

He was also careful not to make it too long, correctly guessing the reason behind the new Sultan's heavy eyelids.

He is not too bad, for a hack, the Sultan mused to himself. And he can certainly eat and drink. He probably knows where all the young virgins cower, too. Maybe he is worth a favor or two...

Uthman finished with a flourish and bent into a deep bow. The position compressed his gut painfully and his thighs screamed in agony, but he held the pose breath by breath while he waited for the Sultan to speak.

 

[unmerged(7347)]

A letter arrives from Cairo.

“Honorable Sultan of Algier,

I wish to extend my hand of friendship. I am sure of that your newly begun rule of Algier will be a prosperius and wealthy time for your nation. It is my hopes that Algier and the Mamelukes will be able to peacefully co-exist in the future and that we will be willing to find common interestes in order to bring our two nations closer to eitchother. I also like to inform you that an ambassador from your great nation would be very welcomed in Cairo. It would also please me if you allowed me to send a representative to Algier.

Written and signed by

Yusuf al-Zahiri, Sultan of the Mamelukes”

 

[unmerged(5730)]

A letter from Saxony arrives

"Dear Sultan of Algiers.

The situation between Moslims and christian people are going out of hand. We would very much like to discuss this issue with you, and we suggest that you send a representant to Dresden to represent you in this important issue. Allready we have recieved a man from the Ottoman Empire, and he has recieved a very own apartment in the Ducal Basement. We hope to see your man soon.

Duke Friedrich II von Saxe-Wittenberg."

 

[unmerged(7347)]

A man enters. He introduce himslef as Kaleb al-Mushin, the Mameluke Sultans representative.

“Honorable Sultan of Algier, Great ruler of the West,

The Sultan wish to thank you for sending such an honorable man as Rashid to his humble Court. He also hopes that my presence here is of satisfaction to you. The Sultan also send his hopes that Algier would like to engage itself in commerce with the other great Arab Nations here in the East. As you may know there is being formed a great community of trade from Oman in the far East to Egypt. Would it not be great, if such a community would stretch all the way to Algier. It would mean greater prosperity and wealth to us all. After all, trade is a strong sign for friendship and mutual understanding.”

 

[Martinus]

The Sultan shook his head in disbelief, reading again the letter from the heathen Prince. The nerve of some people! He muttered a curse, considering an audacity of the proposal requesting him to send an emissary to some backwater nation many leagues away from his sphere of interest. The Christian dogs surely seemed quite full of themselves. Well, that's sure something to be exploited. He smiled, sipping sweet wine from an encrusted goblet.

A polite cough interrupted his thoughts, coming from a man standing in front of him for some time already. The Vizier's obese silhouette, hunched in a humble bow and the sweetest, if insincere, smile on his fat lips amused the Sultan somewhat. The eunuch was apparently putting every effort into his desperate attempt to appear calm and collected in the face of the recent events, the elation of a sudden promotion to the lofty office quite marred by the awareness of the former Vizier's fate, the poor man's remains now serving as a meal for some carrion birds.

"Effendi…" The man noticed the focusing attention of the Sultan's piercing gaze, which only made him even more nervous. Swallowing hard, he swept droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. The Sultan remained silent, continuing to observe him with a dispassionate amusement of a viper watching a paralysed rabbit. "The nomad sheiks are swearing loyalty to you, Effendi… offering tributes and… hmm… hosta… guests…"

The Vizier's hesitation didn't escape the Sultan. "Are they?" The ruler shifted on his sofa, a slight sigh escaping his mouth. A light, wandering smile creasing his master's lips made the eunuch feel even more uneasy. "One boy and one girl… one son and one of daughter of each and every sheik… all of them no older than 20 winters? All as I required?"

"Yes, Effendi…" The Vizier's eyes inadvertently went towards the door, as if looking for a route of escape. He wanted to be as far away as possible from this place and this… man.

"Splendid!" The Sultan clasped his hands in excitement, two slaves immediately rushing to his side, but he dismissed them with a wave of a ringed hand. "As a gracious father of nation I owe the sons and daughters of my subjects a personal tutelage, don't I?"

The way the last words were spoken sent a shiver down the eunuch's spine. He stood there silent, thoughts of opposition fighting in his mind with a survival instinct. The instinct that was now screaming like a slaughtered hog.

"But the marabouts…" Almost despite himself, he spoke slowly and quietly, however a sudden scowl and grimace on the Sultan's face made him quickly regret his words.

"The marabouts?!?" The ruler looked like he was about to explode. "What about the marabouts? Do you think Al-Djazair should follow the will of her Sultan or a bunch of wizened old fools? Do you think Allah Almighty would rather speak to his favoured servant or some senile old charlatans and dervishes? Ignorant fanatics and crooks, every one of them!" His voice raised to crescendo, echoing throughout the halls of the palace. "And you!" Suddenly the Sultan's outstretched hand pointed at the quivering Vizier. "You aren't some sort of a damned Shiite, are you?"

If the eunuch's face could have went even paler, it would have been whiter than the marble of the palace's floor. "No, Effendi…Of course not." He managed to stutter, backing away from the Sultan's presence. "You were of course right all along, Effendi. Forgive me for doubting your judgement…"

"Good… now get out of my sight…" To the Vizier's relief, the ruler was getting calmer, his mind already drifting to another thought. "And summon this Turkish ambassador. I want his opinion on a new poem of mine …"

 

[driftwood]

"And then," Uthman's favorite slave girl said, "he demanded a young boy and girl from every tribe!"

"As hostages?" Uthman asked, his large eyes bugging out of his fat face.

"Pleasure hostages," the girl corrected, terror clearly etched on her face.

Hmm, has she put on a pound or two? Maybe it's just the light. Still, I think I'd better get rid of her. I just can't abide people who let their bodies go, Uthman mused.

She was staring at him, waiting for a reply. "Oh, erhm, yes. But boys too? What would he do with them?"

* * * * *​

Having forced his slavegirl to demonstrate, and having told her that her services would no longer be needed and that she would be auctionned off at the slave market that night, Uthman put on his reclining robe.

"This Sultan is a brilliant thinker!" he thought outloud. "An innovator! Boys!"

Just then a knock came on the door. "Ambassador ibn Abbas, you are summoned to the Sultan's presence!"

"Oh good," Uthman murmurred as he finished dressing. "What was it I was supposed to ask him about? A request of the Sultan?"

He enjoyed the Sultan's company, and had taken the precaution of composing some new poems, just in case. If only the ruler didn't make him dance for his amusement...

 

[unmerged(7849)]

A letter arives from Genoa,

"Sultan of Algiers,

In the recent months, Genoa has explored friendship with muslims which has led to the fruits of a good economy. Genoan merchants and muslim merchants now trade freely and openly.

I was wondering if you would like to conclude a trade deal with Genoa to increase the prosperity of our nations. Since both our ports lie close to each other in the Meditteranean it would be to both of our benefits, I think, if our merchants were busy importing and exporting goods between us.

yours in trade,
Doge John II."

 

[Martinus]

With a bemused smile creasing his pursed lips, the Sultan observed the Turkish emissary's "performance". How easy it was to make people dance like puppets to his tune, now that he held the absolute power in Al-Djazair. How deliciously easy... He thought, as his hands clasped in applause for the Turk's antics.

"Truly, your heavenly grace..." Abu'l-Abbas Ahmed didn't even attempt to hide his half-mocking smirk. "Brings glory to your master and rivals only his wisdom in appointing you to this post."

Lazily, his hand moved towards a scroll lying on a small table, the seal of Sultan Murat suddenly visible to the still-dizzy eyes of tired ambassador. "And I am now quite aware to what lenghts YOU would move to dispose me favourable towards your master's most gracious request. What I now want to find out is what our noble brother, the Sultan of Turkey is willing to give in order to achieve the same result..."

Motioning with his hand, he beckoned the ambassador, so that their whispers wouldn't be heard by spies and courtiers...

 

[unmerged(7347)]

Kaleb al-Mushin enters the Court. He delivers a letter to the Sultan.

 

[unmerged(8303)]

An Arab arrives. His face is drenched with sweat and he appears extremely fatigued. He drops to his knees before the Sultan and kisses the ground by his feet.

"Sultan of the North, I have come from far away to be in your presence. I am sent by Prince Hasan of Dongola, nephew of his christian majesty, Solomon of Alwah.

In the lands of Dongola, mullahs and Imams spread rumors of a majestic court by the sea and a benevolent Sultan with a brilliant and splendid court."

Turning his head behind him and pounding his fist on the floor, two dark skinned nubian men enter hauling a large chest. Lowering it to the floor and opening it, they reveal a small fortune of gold, precious emeralds and various figurines and small knives carved from beautiful polished ivory.

"I am called Malik al-Doba. I come from Dongola in the northernmost march of Nubia. I am dispatched to request your permission to stay in this city and learn and study it. My King wishes to know of the outside world and they say truly this is the gateway to a more civilized world.

Regular tributes in the form of gold, slaves and ivory would be sent as payment for your gracious hospitality. Does my master the Sultan find these terms agreeable?"

 

[Martinus]

It took a while for the half-closed, sleepy and bleary eyes of the Sultan to focus on the Nubian emissary, even more so to actually make sense of his words. The hazy cloud of smoke, smelling strongly of hashish, surrounding the ruler lent an otherworldly look to his relaxed form, stretched in flowing silken robes on a divan.

It was only the entry of two Nubians, carrying a chest full of jewels, that finally picqued his interest. Motioning for them to come closer, he adressed the envoy, his fingers inadvertantly running through the treasure, as if satiating themselves with their cold touch:

"The gift of... your lord, the King of Nubia, is most pleasing to our..." His gaze wandered briefly towards the porters. "eyes... uhmm... and heart... and is most appreciated." He spoke slowly and a bit mumblingly, trying to focus his wandering attention on the topic of conversation. "Yes... where was I... ah... yes... you are of course free to remain in... Al-Djazair as our guest... and envoy of our friend your King... you may go now..."

We a wave of his ringed hand, he slumped back onto his sofa.

 

[unmerged(7849)]

A man walks in laveshly dressed. With him come many other men with chests and what appears to be gifts.

"Great Sultan of Algiers. I am Tommaso Purgilleni, a representative from the Doge of Genoa, if you will have me.

Let me say that I am glad that even in the midst of this war between Christians and Muslims, certain nations, such as ourselves, have the wit to realize that economic friendship is much better.

And I am sure you know that we Italians are always open to economic agreements. I will immediatley draft a trade agreement for you to see. When I do so I will present it to you.

As for now, I bring many gifts. Including fine Italian wine and cloths. Just a couple of the items you can recieve in your trade with us."

With that the man stops and the others standing behind him approach the Sultan with the chests and gifts.

 

[unmerged(7347)]

The representative from Egypt enters.

“Honorable Sultan of Algier, Great ruler of the West

The Mamelukes with its allies is currently fighting to drive the devilish subjects to the Bishop of Rome out from our ancestors land. We ask for you to consider an intervinion in order to help your arabian brothers and sisters. The brave soldiers of Algier could win marvelous victories against the Papal State and its subject Genoa.”

 

[unmerged(7849)]

A letter from the Doge arrives,

"Sultan of Algiers,

I write to you today because of the treachery of the Mamelukes. I ask you not listen to them.

Genoa has now befreinded many sunnis. You can message the Sultan of the Ottomans and he can tell you of our relations. We regaurd each other as freinds.

And now I approach you as a freind. The Mamelukes are shittes, your enemies. Why not conqure their lands and bring the sunnis back. The Mamelukes have plagued you long enough.

They have compltely stabbed me in the back. And if you would not join to destroy them I do ask that you stay nuetral. Genoa has only desired freindship with muslims, it can be proven through our pacts of non-aggression and our trade. And unfortuanely the shitte devils wish to change that.

yours in freindship,
Doge John II."

 

[unmerged(7347)]

Kaleb, the ambassador from Egypt, enters.

"Sultan of Algier,

I have been called back to Cairo, so I bid you farewell"

The ambassador turns around and heads for Cairo.

 

[Martinus]

"Heh. Heh-heh." The Sultan nearly choked on a plump grape, droping a file of papers onto a marble floor. A slave raised her fiery-haired head from his torso, looking at him with her sleepy, yet beautiful eyes, surprised by her master's sudden laughter.

"Heh... the letters... from my spies... Heh-heh-hah... from Genoa... and Cairo... " He pointed at the scattered documents, laughing even harder. "Heh-heh-hehheh-heh." The sleeping form of another slave - a Nubian - lying nearby shifted slightly, the man mumbling something through his dream, his well-deserved sleep interrupted by the Sultan's loud outburst.

"You... heh... wouldn't believe it..." The ruler's face was all red, his eyes full of tears in a futile attempt to contain his laughter. "Hah-hah-hah-hahhh"

"Shiites..." He gurgled, calming down finally and reaching to bite a peach handed by the slender hand of the now-fully-awaken girl. "No sex. No hashish. No wine. No nothing." Licking his lips from the sweet juice running down his chin, he turned towards his slave. "No wonder they go crazy..." A sudden spasm of laughter shook him again. "Mwahh-hah-hah-hah-hahhh"