“From their spears, from their flags… They also have two cannons with them.”
“What will we do now?”
“God is generous… There’s no hurry. We’ll think.”
Two hours later, the noisy army of knights had thoroughly surrounded the castle. Barhan Bey closed the iron gate. There was no recourse but defense. For the tower’s exit was very narrow. An exodus movement was impossible. Even light volley fire would not let anyone out of here. Everyone was at arms standing alert, twenty people, without resting, were pounding in the large mortar in the inner courtyard of the bastion the charcoals prepared earlier. When the pounding of these charcoals was finished, the commander had the magazine opened. He had about a hand’s width of gunpowder taken from the top of the first twelve sacks that came before the door. He had it put in another sack. He had the top parts of the sacks from which gunpowder was taken filled with the pounded charcoal dust. He had their mouths tied as before. Then he ran to the cistern. To his young arms-bearer who never left his side, he said, “In my room, behind the door, there are two large boxes. Go, quickly bring them.” From above, the cavalry officer Mahmut Ağa, running, approached the commander.
“The attack will start, my lord, command, let’s load the cannons.”
“No, we don’t need cannons.”
“They’ve set up their cannons.”
“Let them.”
“Hey, what will we do?”
“We’ll wait. Tell the veterans not to fire until I come upstairs.”
“At once.”
Before Mahmut Ağa left, the arms-bearer brought the boxes. Barhan Bey with his own hand opened one of the boxes. He emptied it into the cistern. This was a black powder. To the arms-bearer he said, “Take the one in your hand too, go empty it in the well.” Then he laughed at Mahmut Ağa who was looking without understanding.
“Now we can freely discuss the truce.”
“What? The truce?”
“Yes.”
“Are you telling the truth, my lord?”
“The truth.”
“Our magazine is full of gunpowder, our weapons are perfect, our veterans are ready, we also have three months’ food. How can we surrender?”
“No one in the castle will agree to this, my lord.”
“Never mind. Now come with me, let’s go upstairs.”
Barhan Bey, smiling, walked toward the stone stairs going up to the walls. He knew that Turkish soldiers were very obedient. Whatever their commanders said, they would immediately do. But they wouldn’t show obedience to only one order. That was the “surrender order.” Turks prefer death to surrender… Yes, no one would agree to the truce. Inside himself, he said, “But I’ll trick them…” When he went up to the top of the castle, he turned to Mahmut Ağa.
“Call the officers, the squad leaders, the sergeants. Let them come here, I’ll talk with them. Go…” he gave the order. Then he walked around the wall parapets. From behind the soldiers kneeling and looking outside, he examined the knights’ army. They were more than three hundred men. Their uniforms and weapons were orderly. They didn’t resemble raiders or anything at all… Two minutes later, helmeted officers in their armor, sergeants gathered around. Barhan Bey had leaned one hand on the jeweled sword the sultan had last bestowed. With a heavy, stalwart calm he said, “Aghas,” “you see, those surrounding the castle are more than us. Perhaps twice our number. If we remain in defense, we have three months’ provisions. We can’t hold out long. However, this year there’s no possibility of reinforcements coming to us. We also can’t make an exodus.”
“Why? Why?…” they muttered.
“Look why? We didn’t build this castle. In its time, we took it from the enemy by truce. Apparently the enemy built this place only for defense, because both its gate is very narrow and it doesn’t open toward a field. If fifty men on that hill you see opposite the gate opened volley fire, no one could get out alive.”
Old Mahmut Ağa was trembling. “We won’t surrender…” he said.
“No, we won’t surrender. We’ll find a field to fight in. Do you agree to this?”
“We agree, we agree…”
“Do you trust me?”
“We do, we do…”
“Then I will discuss the truce with the enemy. My purpose is not to surrender, but to fight. Tell the comrades tomorrow. Let them not fall into wrong ideas. Let them not go outside my command.”
“At once, at once…” said the officers, the squad leaders who separated, and ran to the soldiers among the parapets. Mahmut Ağa remained beside Barhan Bey. They had the interpreter called. With nervous steps they went to the high parapet above the gate. Barhan Bey told the interpreter, “Ask these people, what do they want from us?” The interpreter shouted. From the knights’ ranks they answered in very proper Turkish: “We want this castle, if you don’t surrender it, we’ll take it by force.”
Barhan Bey, seeing that the interpreter was no longer needed, began speaking himself by shouting: “Very well, we’ll leave you the castle. Let’s discuss the truce.”
“Let’s discuss.”
“We are a hundred and fifty men here. All of us are warriors. Among us there are no children, women, old people. You cannot take this castle from us by attack. Our magazine is full to the brim with gunpowder. We have provisions. Our weapons are perfect. Send one of your men. Let him enter inside. We’ll also give you a hostage. Let your man see with his eyes our magazine, our weapons, our soldiers, whether we’re lying or telling the truth, let him understand. Then we’ll discuss the truce.”
Among them, the translation of this proposal took quite long. The knights accepted. From the gate, an unarmed enemy soldier was taken inside. A cavalryman was also given outside as hostage. Barhan Bey, with his own hand, showed this soldier around everywhere in the castle. He separately showed the full magazine, the cannons, the weapons, the soldiers.
“Go on, my brave, go, tell your commanders exactly what you saw,” he said.
This soldier was released outside, and the cavalryman given was also taken inside. Half an hour passed… Barhan Bey was waiting at the parapet. No answer had been given yet.
Ten more minutes passed.
The earlier Turkish voice suddenly asked: “What are your terms for the truce?”
Barhan Bey shouted: “We’ve been waiting here for two years. We’ve understood our army won’t come. Allow us. Let us go out with our weapons. We’ll leave you our horses, our ammunition, our provisions. We’ll withdraw downward, toward our homeland and go.”
The knights accepted this proposal after a brief deliberation. After the ammunition, cannons, horses, provisions fell into their hands, what need was there for battle, for attack? Besides, these hundred and fifty Turks would die of hunger on the road anyway. On the roads to Tata, thousands of Martalos were swarming. Leaving the castle meant certain death for its owners. But… They heard Barhan Bey’s voice again.
“How will you guarantee that you won’t break the truce?”
The knights wanted to give their word on their honor. Barhan Bey didn’t deem this sufficient. Indeed, in reality they weren’t thinking of breaking the truce. They all knew how difficult it was to take a castle from the Turks by force, by battle.
“We’ll give whatever guarantee you want,” they said.
Barhan Bey stated what he wanted: “We are a hundred and fifty men. You are more than three hundred. First divide into two parts. Let one part give all their weapons to the other part. Let the number of your armed men be equal. Then we’ll exit the gate with confidence. Then after we go out, first let your armed men, then your unarmed men enter the castle. We’re leaving you much ammunition, cannons. You also take your cannons inside. Only promise not to come out of the castle until we reach those hills opposite.”
The deliberation of this proposal also took quite a while. The knights who weren’t thinking of breaking the truce anyway saw no harm in giving this guarantee. With harsh commands they divided the army in two. They left one part unarmed. From the opened castle gate, Barhan Bey came out first on foot. Behind him, a hundred and fifty warriors appeared with their rifles, scimitars, shields, helmets, armor shining, wrapped in tiger skins. Nothing was heard except the clatter of weapons and swords. They moved about a hundred steps away from the gate. Enemy soldiers were entering the empty castle with cries of joy, victory hurrahs. They immediately pulled their flags up to the tower’s turret. They also brought through the narrow gate their cannons loaded on mules. Outside, only their baggage, ammunition, wagons remained.
Barhan Bey suddenly shouted: “Mahmut Ağa, quickly take the hill…”
Mahmut Ağa, breaking away from the unit with fifty men in an instant, shot up to the hill directly opposite the castle gate. With Barhan Bey’s command, forty men with bare swords also fell like a living avalanche on the enemy ammunition wagons standing at the edge of the scrubland on the left.
The victors who took the castle at first understood nothing from these strange movements of the defeated to whom they had given quarter. “What’s happening?” they were looking from the walls.
They asked in Turkish: “Look, we’re inside the castle… Why aren’t you leaving?” Barhan Bey’s laughter answered.
“We’ve besieged you. Surrender immediately!…”
“!!!”
A deep silence… Then a terrible roar… Rushings on the wall parapets… Curses, commands… Arrows began to be shot toward where Barhan Bey was. When the confused victors saw that their outside baggage and ammunition were captured, that those of the load guards who weren’t killed were tied and taken prisoner, they were completely confused. Mahmut Ağa’s cavalrymen on the hill were felling one by one with arrows and bullets those who wanted to throw themselves out of the castle gate.
In the noise, Barhan Bey’s harsh voice was heard again: “Hey knights! Pity on you! You’re firing your last bullets, I’ve captured your ammunition. Then what will you do? Your rifles will remain in your hands like shepherd’s staffs. You can’t get out of this narrow gate. Let whoever wants try. Come, surrender. Let’s discuss the truce.”
Gradually weapon sounds ceased. But no answer came out. As if answering piece by piece this pitiful, confused silence of the victors of a minute ago, Barhan Bey continued his intermittent cry.
“The cannons I left are empty. The sacks I showed your man as gunpowder in the magazine are full of charcoal dust. If you want, go look…”
“The waters of the well and cistern are also poisoned. If you want, take them, look, if you want to die, taste a drop…”
“Now if you refuse the truce and don’t surrender, in three days you’ll die of thirst. Or you’ll surrender again. At that time I won’t show mercy.”
“Think, consider. You’re in the palm of my hand. You won’t escape anywhere, you won’t be saved.”
……………
In the castle a commotion was going. In front of the narrow gate, those wounded by poisoned scimitars and forked bullets were moaning bitterly. They were running around on the parapets, moving the cannons from their places, bending down and looking with nervous, terrible gazes below, at the terrible defeated they had just left by truce. It didn’t last an hour—in the castle, reason and judgment seemed to overcome confusion. The knights who saw the cistern’s and well’s jet-black water, saw that the opened sacks in the magazine were full of charcoal dust, appreciated the gravity of their situation. There was no water. There was no gunpowder. There was no possibility of getting out through the castle’s narrow gate. They had come to such a terrible trap… now there was no recourse but to say “uncle”!
A little while ago, the Turkish voice that proposed surrender from among the knights’ ranks to the walls, this time from the walls down shouted to the new besiegers lying in ambush: “We’ll leave you the castle. Let’s discuss the truce!”
“Let’s discuss…”
The knights were proposing as a condition to go south with their weapons. Barhan Bey didn’t accept. What use was a castle without gunpowder, without water? To take this castle and enter inside was already to fall into a trap. They themselves were an example of this! The knights asked Barhan Bey his terms. His terms were very reasonable, very simple. Those remaining locked in the castle would throw down from the walls all the weapons they had—rifles, arrows, swords, daggers, lances, maces, shields, pistols. After Barhan Bey counted and collected these, if he was confident that everyone inside the castle remained weaponless, he would spare their lives with one “condition.”
“What is that condition?” they shouted…
“This condition won’t be told before all your weapons are thrown down.”
Those remaining locked in the castle resisted three more days before Barhan Bey with hopeless stubbornness. At night they were trying to get out through the narrow gate. But as if out of spite, it was the fourteenth of the moon. Everywhere was brighter than daytime. The cavalrymen were immediately felling every shadow sliding from the narrow gate. Inside, lips had dried, thirst had reached the soul. Their ammunition was also running out. They began to think about their end, their fate. Finally, to understand the truce condition, they decided to throw all their weapons down from the castle walls. On the morning of the fourth day, a rain of arrows, bows, swords, shields, rifles, lances suddenly began around the tower. This rain lasted about five minutes. Janissaries, cavalrymen, irregulars collected these weapons armful by armful and carried them behind the hill. Barhan Bey had them all carefully counted. He had them tied in bundles. He was convinced they were the weapons of exactly three hundred men. Then with his soldiers he advanced toward the castle gate. He shouted: “Everyone gather in the inner courtyard!”
The weaponless enemy obeyed this order they repeated in their own language with the meekness of a sheep flock… Barhan Bey entered through the gate with bare-sword cavalrymen. The courtyard was full. If he wanted, he could now put them all to the sword. But no… He didn’t need heads… he needed provisions.
“Let the knights and nobles separate to this side,” he said. The brave knights whose golden shields around their plumed helmets caught the eye with bright armor, the rich nobles wearing silver-buckled belts gathered to one side. They were counted. All of these were fifty men.
“Who is your commander?” he asked.
From among them, a large, red-bearded man came forward. His face was sallow. This was Petonleç, one of the famous warriors. More than the thirst and ammunition shortage trap he had fallen into, the absence of the possibility of dying honorably by fighting had finished him. Barhan Bey said through the interpreter:
“I’ll keep the nobles and knights in the castle as hostages. You go with your two hundred and fifty weaponless soldiers, in a month you will absolutely bring me a thousand sacks of flour, five hundred ewes of rice, five hundred sheep, two hundred skins of oil, a hundred skins of cheese, a hundred skins of molasses. If what I ask doesn’t come to the castle within a month, I’ll cut off the fifty men I’m keeping as hostages.”
Prince Petonleç turned even paler, bit his lips. This condition was the most terrible part of the disaster. Barhan Bey told the interpreter:
“He’s turning pale, ask, is he very thirsty?”
Petonleç didn’t answer. At Barhan Bey’s command, cavalrymen ran to the well in the middle of the courtyard. They drew a bucket of water. When they brought the bucket, the filled cup was first drunk by Barhan Bey:
“Don’t be afraid, neither the cistern nor the well is poisoned,” he said, “I only threw in some black paint to deceive you. You were afraid to taste. If a person fears death this much, he’s very mistaken.”
He gave the cup to the commander. The commander who had been without water for three days didn’t refuse what was extended to him. Now the weaponless prisoners had swarmed to the well… Barhan Bey ordered the hostages to be taken to the stone room in the left tower. Then, taking the commander, he took him to the magazine. He had the tops of the gunpowder sacks poured out. He showed that a hand’s width below wasn’t charcoal dust.
“You understand… I don’t need gunpowder. Whenever you want, come besiege me…” he said.
The weaponless enemies, who for three days were afraid of their dirty color and couldn’t taste but now drank their fill of water and somewhat revived, with their commander lying before them, eyes on the ground, between the jokes of bare-sword cavalrymen, going out through the narrow gate two by two toward where they came from, went meekly.
Before a month passed, the large provisions caravan sent by Prince Petonleç to rescue the hostage nobles and knights arrived before the castle. Full sacks, plump ewes, heavy skins were being carried inside one by one. This strange little fortress in the very distant interior provinces could now wait comfortably for a few more years for the great army that would surely take the “Red Apple”!
