Sultan Mehmed II looked at the fading sunset high above Constantinople.  His favorite concubine Tara leaned against him, her soft skin warm against his own.  The flames of passion had expired some hours before, and he was content to rest, his mind hazy and adrift on currents of wine and opium. 

A knock at the door distributed his reverie.

“Sultan, there is a messenger here to see you,” stated one of the guards.

“Send him away.  I’m in no mood for it,” Mehmed replied.

“Sultan, please, it is Bharti.  My--my news is quite urgent,” Bharti’s voice was unusually shaky, and Mehmed knew intuitively that this news was not good.

Tara murmured in sleepy protest, but reluctantly Mehmed rose and fastened his robe, careful to cover her with a...

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