Harem (16 page)

'No, she does not recognize me. I do not want her to know. I just want to get her out of there.'

'But Abbas … how? No woman ever escapes from there.'

'There must be some way. I only know I cannot do it alone.'

'It will involve terrible risk. Why would you do it?'

'Let us just say - I believe you owe me two gold ducats.'

'You have risked too much for her already.'

'Look at me, Ludovici. What do I have to lose?' When he did not answer, he went on: 'You told me once that women were just women, that I was a fool to moon over just one. Perhaps you were right. But if I was a fool then I am a bigger fool now, do you ot think so?'

'I don't know what to think any more.'

'You know I also might ask you why you wish to help me. You owe me nothing Ludovici - or her. This could be dangerous for you as well. If we do this and we are found out, you won't be able to hide from the Sultan's wrath here in Pera.'

'You are my friend, Abbas. I am yours to command.'

' You are a good friend, Ludovici, for you have more to lose than I do. Why don't I give you time to think about this. You have a nice life here now. Why throw it away?'

'You were my friend, Abbas. I count you as one still. Just tell me what you want me to do.'

Abbas seemed overcome. Finally, he said: 'Very well. But I don't know how this might be done. I shall try and think of something. When I have a plan, I shall get a message to you.'

'I would rather you come here yourself. I have missed you old friend.'

'I cannot come again. If I am seen here, and something goes wrong, it will put you in danger. And also …'

'Also?'

'It is painful for me even to come this once. I am sure you understand.'

He left. Ludovici stayed where he was, staring at the black water. The great mystery of his resolved then, but now he wished he had never known, so he could remember the handsome and reckless friend of his youth without thinking also of what they had done to him since.

Why did he still wish to help this woman? Was it love then, or was it a personal redemption? He did not know; as he did not know why he had agreed to help Abbas to do it. Was it out of love?

Or was he looking for redemption, too? After all, he was the one who gave him the letter that sent him to the Ponte Antico. He put his head in his hands. Poor Abbas.

The Hippodrome

Ibrahim stood on the balcony in the gathering darkness, staring at the rose-pink walls of the Aya Sofia and the cupolas of the Palace beyond, the distinctive tower rising above the Divan. Güzül thought he looked tired. His shoulders were hunched.

'I trust the Rose of Spring is well,' he said.

'She is well in her body, my Lord. But she is sick at heart.'

'I am her servant, as always.'

Güzül hesitated. Gülbehar had impressed on her that her message should not be heard by any but the Vizier himself. This game grew more dangerous by the hour! 'She has heard whispers, my Lord. About the lady Hürrem.'

'Go on.'

'She believes that the witch conspires against the
shahzade
.'

A cool wind accompanied the dusk, guttering the candles. 'She has proof?'

'Not yet, my Lord.'

'The there is nothing to be done, is there?'

'My mistress asked me to convey to you just one message. That if ever you were yourself threatened, Mustapha is ready to come to your aid at a moment's notice.'

'If I am threatened? By whom?'

'She did not say.'

'Suleiman loves me with his life! He is the only one who might threaten me. Unless you mean Hürrem?'

He knows exactly what I mean, Güzül thought; knows that he is as much a threat to her as the
shahzade
Mustapha. But Ibrahim must tread carefully; should anyone know of their conversation he would find his head on a spike, whether Suleiman loved him with his life or not. They were touching on treason here.

'Mustapha told you he would support me - or his mother did?'

'That is not the same thing,' Ibrahim snapped. He shook his head. 'You may give Rose of Spring my answer. Tell her I will do all in my power to help her, for I am as troubled by what is happening in the Eski Saraya as she is. But I will never, ever, do anything to harm the Lord of Life. Even if it cost me my life.'

'I shall convey your words exactly.'

'One other thing,' Ibrahim said. 'I am curious. Have you ever seen this - Hürrem?'

'I have seen her many times.'

'Describe her to me.'

'She is pretty, or pretty enough. But no beauty. Yet she has a certain way with her. She is brighter and more spirited than most of the girls in there.'

'What colour is her hair?'

'Gold and red. Like wheat and rust.'

'And her face?'

'Her lips are a little too narrow and her nose a little small. Her eyes are her best feature. Green and bright. Piercing, one might say, my Lord.'

She could see Ibrahim trying to form a picture of his adversary in his mind. But it would be like trying to imagine the dome on the mosque by describing each tile separately. Hürrem was much more than the sum of her parts. You only had to be in the same room as her to know that.

He turned away and leaned on the balustrade, his forehead creased into deep furrows. 'Thank you, Güzül, you may go.'

Güzül touched her forehead to the carpets and hurried away.

***

After she had gone Ibrahim stood very still and watched the night come. He had risen so far; his own barge, eight guards of honour, a salary twice that of the previous Vizier. And more power than any slave could dream of; he ruled the Divan, now he even commanded the army. And yet he had been more content when he had been in Suleiman's shadow; indeed there had been freedom in it. He had only really learned what shackles were when he became Vizier.

Was he really in danger from that little Russian? But Suleiman was his friend, surely, as well as his Sultan. He would never betray him for a woman. He might give up the Divan and give up the Army but he would never give up his best friend.

The Eski Saraya

Julia had experienced many things since her capture by the corsairs; terror certainly, despair yes, and she had drunk humiliation to the dregs. There were long nights at the beginning when loneliness was like a physical ache in her belly. For a long time after that she had felt simply numb, overwhelmed by her situation.

But then one day she experienced something that was utterly unexpected.

Joy.

She had never appreciated how miserable she was before; it was simply her life and she was accustomed to it. But now, even though she had, in many ways, replaced one cage with another, she realized she had found more freedom here than she had ever imagined for herself. She did not have to nurse ane ancient and sickening husband that she despised and she also had other women to talk to; and although there was little of note to discuss inside the Harem walls, they were from all corners of the Empire, and many were Christians like herself. She was endlessly curious to hear about their former lives in Syria or Armenia or Greece.

Baths and massages were a daily event and she began slowly to awaken to her body's senses. Learning how pleasing it could be to be touched was a startling discovery. She even began to enjoy the sensation of being naked.

God would punish her one day, of course. The thought made her both fearful and angry. If he wished her to remain chaste why had He allowed the corsairs to capture their galley? And yet where was her sin exactly? She had committed no adulteries and she still prayed her rosary every day.

This morning she lay face down on the marble as Sirhane massaged her back with warm oil. It was stifling in the
hararet
and the sweat ran into her eyes and made them sting. Thinking about God and her Confessor made her neck muscles tight but Sirhane's expert ministrations soothed the knots out of her shoulders.

I never want to go back to La Serenissima.

She looked at the black pages standing mute at the doors. 'Why do they never try to talk to us?' she asked Sirhane. 'Isn't it torment for a man to see a woman without her clothes and not be able to touch her?'

'Some of them do,' Sirhane whispered.

'What if the Sultan were to find out?'

'Then they would find their heads on a spike outside the gate. Not that they can do anything. They are not really men any more.'

Julia hesitated. Sirhane would laugh at her, she was sure, but the question had been bothering her for weeks. 'Why not?'

'You mean you don't know? They've been razored.'

'Razored?'

'They've had their manhood cut off. They can't make love to a woman.'

Julia closed her eyes as Sirhane squeezed the muscles of her neck, kneading them until tears welled in her eyes. 'Sirhane, have you ever … with a man?'

'Of course.'

'What was it like?'

Sirhane paused. 'I thought you were married. Did your husband not possess you on your wedding night?'

'He did not seem interested. I think I was just a bargaining chip in a business or political arrangement with my father. He was an old man when he married me.'

Sirhane began kneading her shoulders again, pressing her knuckles deep into the valleys along her spine. 'I only did it twice. If my father had ever found out he would have killed him, and me.'

'What happens?'

'A boy has a muscle between his legs. If you stroke it, it gets long and hard and then it will fit inside you.'

'Where?'

'In your
kouss
, of course.'

'Does it hurt?'

'A little. But Hanif was gentle. I liked the way he kissed me best. That is what I miss the most. He would kiss my breasts, too. I still remember the feeling.'

Julia closed her eyes and tried to imagine Serena kissing her breasts. The thought made her feel sick. 'Is that what the Sultan will do?'

'If you're lucky.'

'Lucky?'

'Don't you want to be chosen by the Sultan? It's what every girl in here wants. But it's not very likely. It's a long time now since he chose a new girl. He spends all his time with his second
kadin
.' She put her knuckles into the muscles of Julia's bottom and she bit into the soft flesh of her arm to keep from crying out. 'If the Sultan chooses you, you will have all the wealth and comfort you will ever want. Look at Hürrem. She is practically a queen.'

Julia glanced back at the eunuchs at the door. Eunuch: so that's what it meant. She had thought it was just a name the Turks gave to the Nubians. Look at them. They stood there like statues. Once she had felt mortified to be naked in front of them, now she treated them as if they didn't exist.

'I knew a boy once, we met in secret a few times, he wanted me to run away with him. Do you think he wanted to make love to me?'

'Of course he did. It's what they all want. Roll over.'

Julia did as she was told. She felt as if it had been pummelled with iron rods and yet all the tension was gone and she felt as if she was floating.

Sirhane stared at her. 'You're so beautiful,' she said and kissed her. Julia froze. Sirhane's wet hair fell across her face and then she felt her hand stroking her belly and sliding between her legs …

Julia pushed her away . She ran out of the
hararet
and into the pool, her mind and heart in utter turmoil.

Suleiman and Ibrahim dined off green and blue Chinese porcelain, a gift from some long-forgotten ambassador that had been found gathering dust in his treasure house.

There was honey from Wallachia; butter brought in oxhides across the Black Sea from Moldavia; sherbets iced with snow and carried in felt sacks from Mount Olympus; and to finish there were dates and plums from Egypt.

'My Lord, we have eaten our way around the Empire,' Ibrahim said, when they had finished.

The dishes were collected by servants and Suleiman asked Ibrahim to play for him on the viol.

'My Lord, I hope you will pardon me, but tonight I am too troubled to play for you.'

'But what troubles you, old friend? Is it the Army? Do you still wish for me to charge the walls of Vienna with you and help fill the moats with our soldiers?'

'It is a matter of greater import, my Lord.'

Suleiman sighed. How Ibrahim had changed, always needing to talk about matters of great import. He seldom laughed any more. 'Well, tell me, then. Is it to do with the Divan?'

Ibrahim shook his head. 'It is a matter I should normally tremble to mention in your presence.'

'You have mated with your horse?' Suleiman had spent the day with Hürrem and was in high spirits.

Ibrahim did not even smile. 'There is talk among the Janissaries and in the bazaars.'

'Rumours! You want to fill my head with rumours?'

'Rumours are like the pestilence. A few hundred cases a year are to be expected. When there is an epidemic one should take notice.'

'An epidemic?'

'The talk fills the bazaars and even spreads along the cloisters of the Palace itself.'

'What are these rumours?'

'They concern the lady Hürrem.'

Suleiman stiffened. 'What happens in the Harem is of no concern to anyone but me.'

'I only repeat what I hear.'

'What is it that you hear?'

'They say … they say she is a witch. They say she has enchanted you and clouded your reason and that is why you will not take the army to Vienna or attend the Divan.'

Suleiman leaped to his feet, stamping the room in search of someone to strike down. 'A witch, they say. A WITCH! Find me who says it! Find me these pigs and I will have every one of their heads hung on the gate!'

Ibrahim remained resolutely cross-legged at table while Suleiman paced the floor behind him. 'The reports are brought to me by my spies. They do not bring me names.'

Suleiman snatched up the nearest object within reach - Ibrahim's viol - and smashed it against the wall. 'I WILL CUT OUT THEIR TONGUES AND MAKE THEM EAT IT!'

Ibrahim stared at the mess of splinters and strings lying about the carpet. He turned white.

'Leave me.'

'My Lord?'

Ibrahim scrambled to his feet. This had never happened before. 'My Lord, let me sit with you a while and-'

Suleiman tore his own robe between his fists. He grabbed a eunuch who had been standing in the corner of the room and threw him onto the floor. The wretch cowered away, sobbing. He aimed a kick at his rump, sending him scurrying on all fours towards the door. Then Suleiman took the jewelled dagger out of his belt and sliced a hole in the fleeing man's robe leaving a bleeding gash on his buttock.

Then he turned around and stared at Ibrahim with the bloodied dagger clenched in his right fist. He was panting and his eyes were unfocused. 'GET OUT!'

Ibrahim fled. By the morning the news was all over the Palace. The Sultan had gone mad and tried to kill the Vizier. It was like the bad old days of Sedlim the Grim all over again.