Harem (12 page)

The stone kitchens below the Old Palace were cramped and hot, and smelled of spice, sweat and steam. Heat rose in waves from the open furnaces, and there was a constant clatter of pots and kettles. Cooks shouted at underlings and at each other, while veiled
gediçli
scurried through the fug of heat and noise with dishes and teas.

So in this hubbub the harried pages and servants and cooks paid no particular attention to the tall black girl carrying the tray of oranges; even if they had, even the most observant of them would not have realized that the platter of oranges she had with her as she left was different from the one she had brought in with her.

***

At fourteen years, Mustapha was everything Suleiman had hoped for in a son. Like every prince he was trained at the Palace School, with the elite of the boys recruited in the
devshirme
. He had proved an outstanding swordsman and horseman, and he was besides an outgoing and popular boy, already a favourite among the
Yeniçeri
who came to cheer him at the
çerit
- a horseback game using wooden javelins - in the Hippodrome.

He was also a talented scholar. He had already learned his Qu'ran, Persian and mathematics. Suleiman was sure the Osmanlis could have no better
shahzade
than this.

Today he sported a plum-coloured bruise above his right eye, which was almost swollen shut. Suleiman shook his head in feigned horror as his son knelt to kiss the ruby ring on his right hand.

'What happened to you?'

'It happens all the time,' Gülbehar said. 'He was hit by a javelin in the
çerit
. Tell him to take more care. Nothing I say to him seems to make any difference.'

'Should I be more careful, father?' Mustapha asked him and grinned.

'You should take care not to get hit so often.'

'He would spend all day on his horse if he could,' Gülbehar said.

'There is nothing wrong with that. There was a time when the Osmanlis did not have fine palaces to sit in, or laws to make. It is good the next Sultan knows how it feels to have a horse under him.'

Look how big the boy has grown, Suleiman thought. He was almost as tall as Suleiman himself, and he had the first sprouting of a beard on his chin. His eyes were bright with the optimism of youth; when I was his age I was consumed with terror, wondering when Selim's shadow would fall across my face. Thank God Mustapha will never know such a father.

Gülbehar sat on the divan and folded her hands on her lap. 'Leave us now, Mustapha, I wish to talk to the Lord of Life alone.'

Mustapha sala'amed to Suleiman, kissed his mother on the cheek and left the room.

'You are too severe with him,' Suleiman said, after he had gone.

'I have to be. He is all I have.'

'A young man should enjoy his youthful pleasures while he still can. He will have responsibilities soon enough.'

'Every day he brings back from the Hippodrome some fresh injury. Last week he was thrown from his horse three times! What if he gets killed in that stupid game? I have no son and no master. My life is over.'

'As God wills,' he said.

'He is the
shahzade
. Do you not take a care to worry what may happen to him?'

'A Sultan must be a soldier as well as a statesman. A few scars from the Hippodrome will only make him stronger. What of you? Are you well?'

'What does it matter to you? You only ever come here to see Mustapha.'

'That is my right.'

'Do I no longer have rights?'

Suleiman knew she had him there; he had ignored the
nobet geçesi
, the 'night turn' that was the prerogative of every
kadin
. He should by custom sleep with her at least once a week.

She had never questioned him before. He leaped to his feet and guilt made his fury even more potent. 'You may be first
kadin
, but you are also still my slave. You will do as I say and you will not presume to question me!'

Gülbehar wilted in the face of his anger. 'Once you would never have spoken to me so,' she murmured and hung her head. 'The little red-haired minx has bedevilled you. She wants dominion over the entire Harem - even over you!'

'Isn't that what you want also?'

She looked up miserably. 'I just want to serve you.'

'Then serve me by keeping your silence,' he said.

He turned his back, his silk kaftan flapping about his heels. Like a great bird taking flight, she thought, leaving forever. The black mutes at the door watched impassively, staring fixedly ahead like statues.
Kadins
came and went. The Harem remained always the same.

***

That night after the final prayer the
killerji-bashi
came to Mustapha's chamber and asked him if he would like to eat. Silent pages brought him his meal on a gold tray. There were tiny cubes of meat broiled in herbs, squash stuffed with rice, figs in sour cream and fresh oranges.

The meal was served in blue and white porcelain bowls each hand painted with
hatayi
scrollwork. The
killerji-bashi
tasted each dish for poison, as he did at every meal, then bowed and left the room. Mustapha sat cross-legged on the carpet and ate in silence. Occasionally he raised the index finger of his right hand and a page would step forward to refill his golden goblet with sherbet.

When he had finished Mustapha looked at the oranges. He chose one, peeled the skin from one side of it, and tasted it. It was dry and slightly sour. He dropped it on the tray and pushed it away.

Instantly another of the pages stepped forward with a bowl of perfumed water. Mustapha dipped his fingers in the bowl and allowed him to dry them. Then he got up and went to his bedchamber. It was customary for the pages to eat whatever he left and as he left the room he saw them fall on his leftover dishes like starving street dogs.

Other servants unrolled his sleeping mattress for him but he did not feel tired. He sat at the Qu'ran stand and read two more
suras
by the light of the candle before the first spasm gripped his stomach.

***

By the time Gülbehar arrived, the pages who had served the prince's meal were already dead. Mustapha was pale and shaken but still alive. The Palace physician had administered an emetic and Mustapha groaned as his empty stomach rebelled once more.

Gülbehar cradled her son in her arms. He must be really ill, she thought, for he lets me do it. 'How could you let this happen?' she screamed at the terrified guards. 'Who did this to my son?'

'We will find them,' the Kapi Aga promised. By the prophet's Holy Beard, if Mustapha had died his own head would already be mouldering on the Gate of Felicity.

Gülbehar rocked Mustapha in her arms like a baby, sobbing with rage and fear. 'Who did this?'

Mustapha's chief food taster was delivered to the
bostanji-bashi
who awaited him in his torture chamber below the Ba'ab-i-Sa'adet. He was examined closely, but he insisted on his innocence between his screams. However he was at least finally able to indicate which food had contained the poison, by the simple expedient of force-feeding him each morsel that remained from the
shahzade
's supper.

'It was the oranges,' the
bostanji
reported. 'Somehow they poisoned the oranges.'

Suleiman ordered that everyone involved in the preparation of the prince's food be examined also; the two cooks and the pages who had brought the tray from the kitchen died screaming, pleading their innocence, begging for a mercy that never came.

Gold spigots dripped warm water into the marble bath. Naked bodies, alabaster, coffee and ebony, beaded with moisture, glided through the steam under a cavernous dome. Black
gediçli
in gauzy bath chemises scooped water into gold-plated bowls and poured it over the heads of the odalisques.

Hürrem perched on the edge of the navel-stone, a huge hexagonal slab heated from beneath by an underground furnace. Muomi soaped her back with rich lather. The other girls passed, their eyes averted, either from jealousy or from fear.

Muomi's knuckles worked the muscles in her back. Later she would have her work on her stomach and thighs. She would not allow herself to grow old and fat in here. A girl must have fangs in this snake pit.

She tried not to brood over her recent failure. The oranges had been her idea. She knew the
killerji-bashi
would not suspect a whole fruit. She had pierced the oranges with needles herself and Muomi had poured the hemlock in through the tiny pinpricks in the rind. Fate and a fussy nature had saved the
shahzade
.

Never mind, she would find some other way.

Gülbehar walked past. The bath chemise clung to her heavy breasts and Hürrem noted with satisfaction that her waistline was growing thicker. A slave girl hurried behind her carrying a silver platter of candied fruit. She supposed eating was all she had to look forward to these days.

'You will need a whole procession of slaves soon,' Hürrem said.

Gülbehar had not seen her, but she recognized her voice immediately. She wheeled around. 'You! What did you say to me?'

'I said you will need two more slave girls soon to keep your breasts from dragging on the ground. They can carry one each a silver platter. Like the fruit.'

Gülbehar gaped at her, astonished by her effrontery. 'How dare you speak to me like that!'

'I only say what everybody thinks.'

'I know it was you! You tried to murder my son and now you insult me!'

'You are getting old. Your mind is playing tricks.'

'It was you, little witch!'

'Why don't you run to Suleiman and tell him your suspicions then. If you dare!'

Gülbehar was on the edge of tears. But no, I will not give her the satisfaction! Hürrem was so certain of her hold over the Lord of Life! 'If you hurt my son, I will kill you.'

'I do not think so,' Hürrem said and smiled. She patted her stomach. 'How many more Sultans do you think I might grow in here?'

'Mustapha is all you have. I have two and another in my belly and I may yet have many more, since the Sultan no longer comes to your bed. Why is it you could not keep him, Rose of Spring? Because you are stupid or because you are dull?'

'Leave my son alone!'

Hürrem lowered her voice so that only Gülbehar heard her murmur: 'Say goodbye to your little bud, Rose of Spring!'

Gülbehar lashed out. The slap stung Hürrem's cheek. She struck back but at the last moment she pulled back so that she caught Gülbehar just a glancing blow on the side of the head. Gülbehar raked her face with her nails. Hürrem grabbed her and they fell onto the floor. The
gediçli
jumped back, screaming for the guards.

***

Muomi helped Hürrem back to her apartments. She was still dripping wet, just a thin bath chemise wrapped around her. Her hair hung in wet tangles and there were streaks of thin, watery blood on her cheek.

Hürrem slumped onto a divan.

'Shall I send for the physician?' Muomi said.

Hürrem shook her head but then a spasm of pain in her belly made her gasp and she doubled over. She had landed heavily when she had tussled Gülbehar to the floor. Well if she lost the baby that would still suit her plans. Two sons was enough. 'What good is the physician?' she said. All he would be allowed to do anyway was examine her hand, and that from behind three rows of armed eunuchs.

'You are badly hurt.'

'Fetch me a mirror.'

Muomi brought her a jewelled looking glass. Hürrem held it up and examined her reflection. There were some small scratches on her cheek, two deeper ones on her forehead. Damn the bitch, she didn't even know how to fight properly!

'Scratch me,' Hürrem said.

'My lady?'

'Scratch me!' Hürrem grabbed Muomi's wrist and drew her nails down her neck. 'Like this. Harder!'

With elaborate care Muomi brought her fingernails to Hürrem's neck and raked deep scratches almost to the collarbone. Then she made others, not quite as deep - she did not want to leave scars - on her cheek. She held up the mirror again. That was more like it.

'Are you satisfied?' Muomi said. She sounded breathless, as if she had just made love.

'It will do.'

'Will your Sultan love you more, looking like that?'

'No, Muomi. But he will love Gülbehar a lot less.'

The Eski Saraya trembled.

Suleiman strode through the cloisters, the Kislar Aghasi shuffling behind, face beaded with perspiration and babbling with fright.

The Lord of Life had come as soon as he had been told of the terrible incident in the
hammam
by his mother. He stopped in front of the doors to Hürrem's apartment. The two eunuchs who guarded the entrance trembled when they saw him, but continued to stare resolutely ahead.

The Kislar Aghasi caught up, his breath sawing in his chest.

'Tell her I am here.'

The old eunuch nodded and went inside but it was Muomi, not Hürrem, who was waiting to greet him. She sala'amed, and remained on her knees.

'The Lord of Life wishes to see your mistress.'

'She cannot see him at present.'

The Kislar Aghasi stared at her as if she had answered in a foreign language. 'What did you say?'

'My mistress is distressed beyond words that she cannot accept the honour he does her by visiting her here. But she cannot receive him. She could not allow the Lord of Life to gaze upon her in her present condition.'

The Kislar Aghasi felt the pain in his chest growing worse. He was getting too old for the tribulations this little Russian had brought to the harem. It had all been so easy when Gülbehar was the only
kadin
. How did the Chief Black Eunuch tell the Possessor Men's Necks that his second wife refused to see him? There was no precedent for this in the protocols.

'But she must see him,' he said.

Muomi stared back and said nothing.

He hurried past her, into the private dining room. Hürrem was sitting on a divan of green brocade, a heavy veil covering her face.

'My Lady,' he said.

She said nothing. This is just intolerable, he thought dabbing at the perspiration on his face with a silk handkerchief. They were toying with him, that evil-eyed black slave and this little red witch.

Hürrem lifted the veil from her face and the old eunuch gasped. There were ugly red scabs over her nose and cheeks and her neck looked as if she had been clawed by a mountain lion. This was not the way he had heard it. He had been told that although the altercation had been unseemly, neither girl had been badly hurt.

He uttered a sob like the cry of a small animal and fled the room.

***

'Too disfigured to see me?' Suleiman said. He stared at his Chief Black Eunuch. The poor old man looked as if he was about to faint.

'It is as she says, my Lord.'

'I do not believe it,' he said. 'I am here to see my
kadin
. I will see her.' He swept past the guards into the apartments.

Hürrem looked up from the divan. When she saw him she slowly raised her veil a second time. Suleiman took one look at the ruin of her face and said, 'Gülbehar!' Then he turned on his heel and walked out again.

***

Gülbehar could hardly contain her excitement. The Kislar Aghasi's messenger had informed her that the Lord of Life was in the Eski Saraya. He had no doubt been told of the outrage the Russian minx had inflicted on her in the
hammam
. The snake had bared its fangs at last. Suleiman must see her now for what she was. She would tell him how she had tried to murder his beloved Mustapha; he would send her and her black sorceress to the
bostanji-bashi
and the truth would come out.

Then Suleiman would come back to her and everything would be as it was before.

She prepared the table herself, setting out sweetmeats and
rahat lokum
and sherbet, and then settled down to wait on the divan. Her hair was braided and brushed, and she was freshly bathed and perfumed.

She just could not wait to tell him how that bitch had provoked her, her whispered threat against the
shahzade
. Say goodbye to your little bud, Rose of Spring.

She was too impatient to sit still. She went to the window, stared through the grille at the glittering waters of the Horn and the red-roofed palaces climbing the hill of Galata. Sunny Stamboul that would soon belong, all of it, to her son. He had spent too long in the shadows.

The door crashed open.

There was no sweating old eunuch to usher the Lord of Life into her chamber, no time to settle herself. Suleiman stood in the doorway, his face ugly with rage. He slammed the door shut behind him, shattering the silence of the Harem, and advanced into the centre of the room.

Gülbehar dropped to her knees. 'Sala'am, Lord of my Life, Sultan of Sult-'

He grabbed her arm and forced her to her feet. She gasped in pain as his fingers bit into the soft flesh of her upper arm. 'Take off your veil.'

Gülbehar felt weak. What was the matter with him? She pulled back her veil and his face twisted in contempt. 'Not one scratch.'

'I do not understand.'

He slapped her hard across the face, then did it twice more. After the third blow she fell to the floor.

When Suleiman spoke again his voice was so soft she could scarce hear him. 'If you ever again take from me the pleasure of looking on her face, I swear I shall kill you.'

'Please, my Lord, I-'

'Your jealousy poisons the whole Harem!'

'What have I done?'

'Enough! You are the mother of the
shahzade
and one day you will be Valide. Be content!'

He struck her again, as she cowered on the floor. Then he held her by her arm and hit her again, kept hitting her long after she begged him to stop. It was only when he saw blood smeared on her white chemise that he realized what he had done. He let her fall to the floor, limp as a rag doll.

For a long time she lay at his feet, sobbing. He stood over her, panting with rage, appalled at himself. Just like your father, he thought. When she finally looked up her lip and eyes were swelling, and there was blood welling from her nose and her mouth.

'Silence! You will never try to keep me from her again! Do you understand?' She nodded. Now that his anger was spent he felt sorry for her. He reached down to help her to her feet but she twisted away.

I might have killed her, he thought. I came so close. If there had been a dagger in my hand, I would have used it. She has been my
kadin
for so many years, since I was barely more than a boy, and yet I might have murdered her in my rage.

'You must leave her,' he said, 'it is best for you. I shall make the arrangements.'

And he left the room, leaving her to her bitter tears.