Lost Love Found (50 page)

A feridje, the elegant outdoor garment of the wealthy, was brought. Of lavender silk outside, the feridje was lined with pink silk and had a closure of purple jade.

Valentina donned the garment and found that its hood extended over her eyebrows, like a yashmak. A veil of mauve silk was affixed to the hood, leaving only her marvelous eyes visible. Esther warned Valentina to keep her eyes lowered, as was proper for a respectable woman, and not to look any male, whole or eunuch, directly in the face lest she be considered bold or a whore.

In the courtyard Val was helped into the Kira litter, where Sarai, who would go with her, was waiting.

“Remember what I have said,” Esther warned her guest. “Guard your tongue, for as charming as Safiye may appear, she is as dangerous as a scorpion. May Yahweh go with you, child.”

“Thank you, Esther, for
everything
,” Valentina replied sincerely.

The old woman nodded, then drew the litter curtains closed. Valentina felt the vehicle being lifted, then they were off through the courtyard gates and down the hill to travel from the ghetto across the city to the Yeni Serai, the Imperial Palace of the Ottoman sultans.

“I do not care if the sultan is your ruler,” Valentina told Sarai, “his palace cannot have a more beautiful view than your family has from your home. Nelda says if she could not go home to England, she would not mind waking up every morning to the panorama of the Golden Horn with Pera and Galata beyond. You are fortunate to own such a house and grounds.”

“The house is relatively new, by Istanbul standards,” said Sarai, smiling. “Balata is, of course, a very ancient quarter of the city, but until fifty years ago, the Kira family lived in a brick house on a side street. The brick alone was enough to distinguish the Kiras as a family of wealth, and the house had belonged to the Kiras for centuries. Esther’s son, Solomon, received the property upon which our current home now sits as part of his wife’s dowry. For years he dreamed of building a home for the family there, but until his uncle and father died, he could do nothing. Once he became head of the family, however, he set about building the house. Esther did not approve, for she said to place our house in such a conspicuous location would only draw attention to us. But Solomon would have his way, and the house was built. My husband Simon was born there, as were all of his brothers and sisters, and the new generation also.”

“My home in England has been in my family for several generations, too,” Valentina replied. “It is called Pearroc Royal, which is Old English for Park Royal, for it was once a deer-hunting preserve reserved exclusively for the king and his guests. Our house was originally a hunting lodge, although today you would not believe it, for it has been expanded and added to over the years, particularly after my parents were married. There simply wasn’t enough space for all of the children, and we have a large family who think nothing of coming to visit on a moment’s notice. My father’s eldest sister and her family live on the neighboring estate, and there are always birthdays, saint’s days, betrothal feasts, marriages, and new babies, occasions calling for a celebration by the entire family who gather from all over England!”

“We are separated by different cultures and religions,” Sarai said slowly, “yet we are very much alike, Valentina. It is true that Englishwomen are more independent than we are, but our lives seem to revolve about our families nonetheless, and those families are remarkably similar, are they not? I think, perhaps, if people knew more about each other, there would be fewer wars and misunderstandings among the different races and cultures of mankind. Perhaps that is why Yahweh created us differently, so that we might learn to get along with each other.” She stopped. It was an incredibly deep thought for a woman so cloistered and bound by tradition. “You have made me consider things as I have never considered them before,” Sarai said wonderingly, and then she grew silent.

My father
. Valentina realized that in her previous speech, she had called Conn her father. Javid Khan was not her father. Was Conn indeed her true sire? Or was it the late and wicked Sultan Murad? She had almost forgotten the reason for her visit to the Valide, but now she was sharply reminded. She, too, grew pensive.

The litter bearers moved with assurance through the city, the hardened soles of their feet making sharp
slap-slap
sounds on the sun-baked streets that, in some places, still showed the ancient paving stones that dated back to the Roman or to the Byzantine empires. In other places, the stones had long ago been carted away for other purposes, and the streets were of hard-packed dirt, dusty in the dryest seasons, mud sloughs in the wet times. The city was unbelievably noisy. Many people used the streets to conduct business in, and others gathered to gossip. The Kira servants skillfully wove their way through the crowds. As they neared the palace grounds, the mass of people began to thin until it was suddenly possible to hear the sound of birdsong once again.

The litter came to a stop. Suddenly, one of the curtains was drawn aside and a janissary’s head was inside the litter. “Your business?”

“This lady is expected by the valide,” Sarai Kira said.

The janissary withdrew, and their litter was allowed through the first of several gates.

“We are now in the First Court of the palace,” said Sarai.

“How many courts are there?” Valentina asked.

“Four” came the reply.

Once again their litter was halted and a head poked through the curtain.

“We are expected by the valide,” Sarai said without waiting for the question. The curtains were closed again. “We are passing through the Middle Gate into the Second Court now,” she continued. After a moment, she drew back one of the litter’s fluttering draperies and said to Valentina, “Peek out and you will see some of the gardens.”

The enormous court was a magnificent garden. There were carefully tended beds of late-spring bulbs; flowering almond, peach, and apricot trees, graceful olive trees with silvery foliage; and several fountains—all transversed by neatly raked paths of fine white marble chips. Many gardeners were engaged in maintaining the landscape.

“The gardeners are also the sultan’s executioners, and quite expert in the art of the bowstring,” Sarai informed her companion.

Valentina shivered. “How macabre,” she said, “that men who can so easily kill are also responsible for such great beauty.” She grew silent again as she realized that the very sights she was seeing now had once been seen by her mother.

“We are coming up to the Carriage Gate, which is one of five entries into the Haremlik. Once inside, we will leave our litter and continue on foot. We must pass through the domain of the Black Eunuchs and the Aga Kisler before we reach the valide. There is a chance that we will see the aga himself. His name is Ali Ziya, and he is a most evil man. He hates our family with a strange passion, but Esther’s influence, even now, is too great for him to overcome.”

“Why does he hate the Kiras?” asked Valentina, curious.

“I think it is because Esther is a living link to a time when the Ottoman sultans were strong and ruled without the influence of their favorite women and eunuchs. As long as Esther lives, she is a reminder to Ali Ziya that those times could come again, which would not suit him and his ilk at all. There has been no really strong sultan since Selim I. His son, the great and magnificent Suleiman, was a fine man, and his reign was a long and prosperous one for Turkey, but he was strongly influenced by his mother and his favorite kadin, Khurrem, the Laughing One. His descendants have grown increasingly more dependent on the advice of others,” Sarai finished in a low voice just as the litter was stopped for the third time. “We are at the Carriage Gate now,” she said softly.

The curtains of the litter were drawn aside by two young pages who reached in to help the women out. A young eunuch stood nearby. “You are the Kira woman and the Englishwoman?” he demanded in a high voice.

Sarai nodded, her eyes lowered.

“You will follow me,” the eunuch said, leading them through the gate, which opened into a small, domed room lined on either side with closets.

“Those closets are said to have magical powers,” Sarai whispered to Valentina. “Twice, people have gone into them never to be seen again. Once it was a eunuch escaping the wrath of a sultan, and the other time it was a slave girl engaged in a game of hide-and-seek.”

Suddenly, so suddenly in fact that Valentina jumped, a tall, ostentatiously dressed gentleman appeared out of the shadows. Their guide, the young eunuch fell to his knees, his head touching the floor. Sarai bowed to him from her waist.

“My lord Aga,” she murmured politely.

“Lady Sarai,” the man murmured, and then waited for Sarai to introduce her companion.

“This is Lady Barrows, who has come to visit the valide,” Sarai said simply. She offered the Aga Kislar no further information, which she knew annoyed him.

Ali Ziya reached out and loosened Valentina’s veil so that it fell away from her face, revealing her features. Her eyes remained modestly lowered as she had been instructed, while he scanned her features with the eye of a connoisseur. “Raise your eyes, woman,” he commanded sharply. “I would see their color.”

Valentina lifted her gaze to him, and it took every ounce of her willpower not to pull away from the Aga Kisler, whose talonlike fingers were grasping her chin. She had heard that eunuchs were obese, but Ali Ziya was not. He was a big man, but there was no fat on his body. His narrow brown face possessed high cheekbones, a sharp chin, an aquiline nose, narrow lips, and hooded eyelids over narrow, dark eyes that had a decidedly reptilian cast to them.

“Magnificent,” he said in his high, whispery voice that was very like a snake’s hiss. “You are a most beautiful woman and would grace my master’s harem. A pity you are not a slave, for I should enrich your owner beyond his wildest dreams in order to possess you for the sultan.”

“Lady Barrows is a woman of wealth and power in England. She has even served her queen,” Sarai said quickly, goaded into revealing more than she had intended to.

“Is this so?” Ali Ziya demanded. “You are in favor with the great Virgin Queen who is in correspondence with the valide?”

“It is so,” Valentina replied. “I have the privilege to be in charge of Her Majesty’s maids of honor, who are the virgin daughters of the great families who serve my queen.”

“A pity.” The Aga sighed. “A great pity that I cannot have such a woman as you for my master.” Catching himself, he said, “The valide is most pleased with your gift, lady, and has asked me to escort you into her presence personally. Please follow me.” He led the two women from the Dome Room to the outer courtyard, across the Courtyard of the Black Eunuchs, and through the main door of the Haremlik.

Valentina cast Sarai a glance as she fastened her veil and found the young woman’s eyes laughing at her in response. She stifled a giggle and hurried along after the long-legged, pompous Ali Ziya, whose opulent fur-edged velvet coat was swinging about his long frame.

When they entered the harem’s main door, they turned left down a long corridor.

“This is the corridor where the food is brought in from the kitchens,” Sarai whispered. As they turned sharply right, she whispered, “This is the Corridor of the Women Slaves.” They exited into an open courtyard with magnificent gardens filled with rosebushes just coming into bloom. “This is the valide’s own private court,” Sarai informed her.

Ali Ziya ushered the two women into the valide’s Reception Room, then hurried into the next room to inform the valide that her guests had arrived. Valentina’s gaze swept the room. The walls were tiled in blue and white. Beneath Valentina’s feet was the thickest, softest carpet she had ever stood upon. Two slave women appeared and took their outdoor garments, removing their veils as well.

Sarai slipped two gossamer head veils from a pocket hidden within her voluminous cherry-red robe and handed to Valentina a mauve one edged in gold and seed pearls. “It is the custom to keep one’s head covered except in intimate or special circumstances,” she said softly, covering her own dark head with a red veil shot through with gold.

Valentina had just covered her dark hair when Ali Ziya returned and said to Sarai, “My gracious lady, the valide, bids you to wait here, or, if you choose, you may enter the harem to conduct your usual business.” Turning his reptilian gaze to Valentina, he said, “My gracious lady, the valide, bids you, daughter of Marjallah, to enter her salon.”

Valentina felt a shiver ripple through her when he addressed her as “daughter of Marjallah.” Her mother was Aidan St. Michael, a good Englishwoman, not some exotic creature who lived in a palace like this. Yet her mother had once lived in this very palace. Lived here as the desperate slave of a now-dead sultan who just might be Valentina’s father.

As she followed the Aga Kislar into the valide’s salon, Valentina did not know where to look first. The room was one of the most beautiful she had ever seen. Long lead-paned glass windows looked out onto the valide’s private court. The walls were paneled with a pale golden fruitwood, and tiles were inlaid every few feet to make a design of flowers. The tiles were all cream, rose, and pink, and were surrounded with gilt moldings.

On the wide floorboards were lush carpets of cream, dark blue, and rose. The furniture was of ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl and of gilt set with semiprecious stones. On the tables were bowls of flowers whose perfume scented the air. The lamps were of gold inlaid with rubies. In a corner of the room was a tiled fireplace with a conical hood of beaten silver, and in the center of the chamber a blue-and-cream-tiled fountain was filled with pale pink waterlilies and large goldfish. There were several long-haired cats around the room, and Valentina was reminded of her beloved Tulip.

“Come over to me, my child,” a musical voice called to her from the end of the room, and Valentina turned to see a petite, beautiful woman who lounged with a regal air on a rose velvet divan.

Standing before the Sultan Valide, Valentina made a proper curtsy.