Lost Love Found (35 page)

The old lady cackled with dry humor. “Children never believe that their parents could have had any life before them, let alone an exciting life. Look at me! All you can see is a wizened old woman, but once I was as fresh and young as you are, and oh, what times I had! Now I sit, my limbs crippled so that I can barely walk, like an ancient old spider right in the midst of this web that I have woven. Do you know, I enjoy it. I have liked every moment that God has given me, for each age has its compensations as well as its difficulties. I have even outlived my children. I have seen many about me grow old and never cease to complain about it. It is their constant carping that has really made them old. Age is but another step in the natural cycle of life. We are growing old from the moment of our birth. My mind has always been the most active part of me, daughter of Marjallah. And now, even if my body refuses to cooperate, I still have my wits about me! Heh! Heh! Heh!”

“Just how old are you, Esther Kira?” Valentina demanded.

“I will be one hundred and twelve years of age on the first day of April, my child. How old are you?”

“I will be twenty-two on the twenty-first of March, Esther Kira” was the awed reply.

“Today
is
the twenty-first of March, child,” Esther Kira said softly. “How strange that you should arrive in Istanbul on this day of all days. I wish you felicitations on your natal day.”

There was a sudden knocking at the door connecting Esther’s apartment to the rest of the Kira house. A servant opened it to admit a richly dressed Turk. “Esther Kira!” he said in a deep, mellow voice as he entered the room. “I had business with your grandson, Eli, and could not leave the house without stopping to see you.” His eyes flickered to Valentina, then back to the old woman.

“My lord vizier, you honor me with your presence. Sit! Sit! How is your princess wife?” Esther Kira spoke to him in French so that Valentina could be part of the conversation.

“Quite well, Esther Kira,” replied the vizier in the same language, understanding the reason for his hostess’ choice. “Will you introduce me to your beautiful visitor? She does not look like a Jewess of your family.” He turned his blue-gray eyes on Valentina with frank curiosity.

“My lord vizier, I would present to you Lady Valentina Barrows, an Englishwoman. She is the daughter of an old friend of mine whose family does business with my family. You are correct. She is no Jewess. Valentina, my child,” she continued, turning her gaze to Lady Barrows, “I would present to you Cicalazade Pasha, Grand Vizier to his Imperial Majesty, Sultan Mehmed, may Yahweh grant him a thousand years!”

“You are English! My second wife was a Scot,” the vizier said. “The women of your race have independent spirits, which I find very exciting.” His gaze locked with hers, and he leaned forward. “You have magnificent eyes, lady. They are like jewels.”

“You are gracious to say so, my lord vizier,” Valentina said, discomfited by his look and his bold words. “I have never met a man with two wives,” she finished, very much at a loss for words and uncertain as to whether it was polite to speak of such things. Esther Kira did not seem distressed, however, so she concentrated on seeming relaxed.

The vizier laughed, showing perfect, strong white teeth against his tanned skin. “I
had
two wives,” he said. “My second wife died several years ago. It was most unfortunate. She was very beautiful, and she delighted me greatly. Her name was Incili, which means Perfect Pearl.”

“I had heard that the men of Islam were entitled to four wives,” Valentina said. “It would appear that you are a most conservative man where women are concerned, my lord vizier.”

“Because I have only one wife?” His eyes were dancing with merriment. “My first wife is Lateefa Sultan, an Ottoman princess, lady. I can take additional wives only with her permission, for that is a perogative of royal Ottoman females. I do not, however, need her permission to maintain a harem, and I believe I have well over one hundred women in my harem at present. Men of Islam do not believe that a woman must be a wife in order to pleasure a man.”

“My lord Cicalazade, for shame!” scolded Esther Kira. “You will shock Lady Barrows with such talk.”

The vizier laughed. “Do I shock you, lady?” he asked her, his blue-gray eyes mocking her silently.

“If I were to apply my country’s morals to your behavior, my lord vizier, then perhaps I should be shocked,” Valentina replied coolly, refusing to be intimidated. “But I am well aware that, in Islam, things are different. I can see certain advantages to a harem.”

“Indeed, lady? What advantages do you see?” He was mocking her openly now, and enjoying his game very much.

“To a man, the advantages are obvious, my lord vizier, for like a honeybee, he can flit from flower to flower, never wanting for variety. For a woman, however, there is the advantage that if she detests her lord and master, she does not have to bear his company very often, not in a large harem, at any rate. If she is clever, he need never know of her dislike, and her jewelry case would be well filled by her grateful, unsuspecting lord. ’Tis most practical, I think,” Valentina concluded.

Brief anger sprang into the vizier’s eyes, but it was quickly masked and he said softly, “If you were my slave, lady, I should quite enjoy taming that wild spirit of yours. Such beautiful lips were made for kissing, not releasing unseemly thoughts into harsh words.”

This is dangerous, thought Esther Kira. I have not seen such interest in Cicalazade Pasha’s eyes since Incili. He is a ruthless man, and Yahweh only knows what would happen if Marjallah’s daughter were to remain in Istanbul.

“My thoughts, my lord vizier,” said Valentina sweetly, heaping fuel on the fire, “are but those of my independent spirit.”

Cicalazade Pasha laughed once more with genuine amusement. “Lady, you do, indeed, have an independent spirit. Tell me, is it this spirit that sends you so far from your homeland? Where is your husband?”

“I travel with members of my own family, my lord vizier. I am a widow, and my parents believed I should ease my mourning better away from England. We travel to Kaffa on business, then we will return home.”

“Will you come back again to Istanbul, lady?” he asked with a smile.

“I am attempting to obtain an audience with the valide for Lady Barrows,” said Esther Kira. “Valentina has been kind enough to bring a message to Safiye from her brother in Venice.”

“If I may be of any help to you, Esther Kira, do ask—though you have far more influence with the royal Ottoman family than I do, despite my being married to one of its members.” The vizier chuckled.

“You flatter me, my lord vizier,” the old woman said.

“Hah, you wily old female, I speak the truth! It is you who seek to flatter me,” the vizier said with a smile. He rose. “Now I will take my leave of you, having satisfied myself that you are alive and as wicked as ever.”

“Heh! Heh! Heh!” Esther Kira chortled, and she wagged a finger at him. “Do not forget to bring my love to your lady wife. Tell her if she should decide to set her foot in Balata, I would welcome a visit from her. I have not been able to get about a great deal on my own since I broke my hipbone.”

Cicalazade Pasha turned to Lady Barrows. “Valentina,” he mused. “From the Latin,
valentis
, meaning strong. Aye, you are indeed, strong. We will meet again, lady. That I promise you.” His white cape swirled about him as he left the apartment.

“That,” said Esther Kira, “is a dangerous man.”

“You told me he is the sultan’s grand vizier, Esther Kira, but who is he, really? He has a most commanding air about him.”

“His mother was the daughter of Ferhad Bey of Morea. Her name was Fatima. She was captured by Christian knights when she was a girl. After converting to Christianity, she wed her captor, Giovanni Antonio di Cicala, an Italian count. She bore him three children, two sons and a daughter. The elder of her sons went off to fight the infidel at the age of eighteen and was captured by the Turks. Following his mother’s instructions for such an emergency, he proclaimed his noble birth and his Turkish mother. He was converted immediately to Islam. His actions saved him from the mines. His intelligence noted, he was sent to Istanbul to the Prince’s School, where the empire’s public servants are educated.

“He moved slowly up the ladder of success by virtue of his intellect and hard work. He stands very high with Sultan Mehmed, for he saved the sultan’s honor in battle years ago by turning a rout of Ottoman forces into a great victory. Mehmed will not forget that. His wife is Lateefa Sultan, the sultan’s cousin. She is a kind and lovely woman who has given him three sons and two daughters. They are good friends, and he respects her greatly, even asking her advice on rare occasions. She, in turn, does not complain about the size of his harem, for Cicalazade Pasha has a huge appetite for women. His harem is famed for its variety of beauties. He prizes intelligence as well as beauty.”

“What of his second wife, the one who died? The Scotswoman?” Valentina was quite curious.

“Ah, Incili!” The old woman’s eyes clouded. “Ah, yes! The vizier was away on business for the sultan. Incili loved a little island that the vizier owned in the Bosporus. She begged to be allowed time to herself on the Island of a Thousand Flowers while her lord and master was away. No one really knows what happened to her, but she died, and the eunuchs guarding her attempted to cover it up and claimed to have executed her servant girl for her negligence in caring for her mistress. The vizier’s head eunuch, Hammid, executed the eunuchs even before the master returned. Although Cicalazade Pasha was inconsolable for many months, he did forgive Hammid in the end. The creature is, unfortunately, irreplaceable, and he had, after all, done his best. Incili had gone to the island many times before her death, and there had never been any difficulty. It has remained a mystery.”

“What do you think happened to her, Esther Kira?” Valentina was intrigued. Listening to the old lady was like hearing the most wonderful fairy stories. The usually voluble Nelda hadn’t uttered one word since they had arrived; her large dark eyes had simply stared all about the room, taking it all in so as to report everything to her mother, who would doubtless refuse to believe a word of it.

“What happened? What happened? Perhaps Incili fell from the top of the cliffs where the vizier’s little palace was. Perhaps she drowned in the pool or choked on a bone. Who knows? All that is certain is that the eunuchs guarding her panicked and behaved badly.”

“Poor girl!” Valentina said sympathetically. “Was she very beautiful?”

The old lady nodded. “Aye, child, she was. She was very beautiful, indeed, but more important, her heart was brave and good.”

There was a knock once more on the door to the salon, and the gentlemen came in. “It is time for Lady Barrows to leave now, Esther,” said Simon Kira. “They must get back to the harbor and be underway before the Sabbath begins, else they cannot go for another day.”

“Aiiii!” the old lady exclaimed. “You are right, Simon. Such a place we live in! Such a place! The men of Islam celebrate their Sabbath on Friday, we Jews on Saturday, and the Christians on Sunday! There are but four days of the week during which we can all do business, but at least here in Istanbul we recognize the right of the other faiths to exist.”

Valentina rose from the marvelously comfortable pillows and, bending, kissed Esther Kira’s soft, wrinkled old face. The elderly woman smelled of spring flowers, a contrast with Esther Kira’s most practical nature. It was the fragrance of a young girl.

“Farewell, dear friend,” Valentina said softly. “I will be back in several months. Perhaps Safiye will be ready to see me by then. Thank you for all you have done! Not just today, but for the many yesterdays.”

“Travel safely, child, and may Yahweh be with you,” Esther Kira answered. “Beware the Tatars, for they are a fierce, cruel people. Do not run recklessly into danger.”

“I will not, Esther Kira. I seek only to speak with the mother of Javid Khan, as one woman to another.”

Esther Kira shook her head. “I do not know what she can tell you, child, but go. Your spirit will not rest unless you do. I will look for your return by the end of spring.”

They departed from the Kira house, traveling down the narrow, winding streets from Balata. The late-afternoon heat was fierce. As they approached the waterfront, Valentina and Nelda heard the hum of fierce activity as those sailors anxious to be on their way hurried to leave the Golden Horn before sunset and the restrictions of the Islamic Sabbath.

Their papers were in order, and the harbor master stamped them. The ships’ lines were loosened from the quay and
Archangel
and her sister vessels slipped down the Golden Horn into the Bosporus straits.

Leaning against the ship’s rail, free of her yashmak and veil, Valentina watched the city as she sailed away from it. It was hard to believe that just this morning they had arrived in Istanbul, and the wheels were now in motion for her audience with the sultan’s mother. Perhaps, however, she reminded herself, she would not need that audience. Perhaps she would learn in Kaffa that it was Javid Khan who was her real father. Did she want a Tatar prince for her father? But did she want a half-mad Turkish sultan for her father either? Conn’s face rose up before her, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Papa,” she whispered, “how I wish Mag had never opened this Pandora’s box!” Then his words came back to her.

“I
am
your father, my dear. Believe me.… I have loved you from the moment I knew of your coming.…
You are my child.
”

“Oh, I want to believe you, Papa,” she sobbed, the tears flowing freely.

“Hinny love, what is it?” Padraic was at her side. Turning her to face him, he said, “Sweetheart, don’t cry! What is it?”

How could she tell him now after having dragged them all so far from England? How could she tell them that she wished she had never begun this quest, that she wished they were home? She couldn’t. They were so close to the Khanate of the Crimea. What was the harm in seeking just a little bit farther? “It is my birthday,” she said, sobbing, “and no one has remembered! Not even me! Not until Esther Kira reminded me.”