Odalisque (4 page)

Love it was not, she would be the first to admit this, but Herezah desired him with an irresistible passion, and she was the only woman of the harem who could now compel him to do her bidding. It made for interesting times ahead.

‘Good,’ she said, hoping her cheeks were not as flushed as they suddenly felt. ‘Let’s finish it.’

The princes of the harem wives, ranging in age from fifteen to just seven moons, were rounded up after midday; the baby seized from his wet nurse. It was she who set off the alarm with her terrible wails. She couldn’t guess what might be occurring but she instinctively went running for the Sapphire Pools and the child’s mother. The news of the snatching set the wives screaming as the reality of their fragile existence became clear. The Zar must have succumbed to his injuries, and that meant only one thing. Why else would the baby be taken so carelessly? They began clambering out of the pools and running wildly in the direction of where they last saw their sons, their eunuch servants throwing cloaks over bared flesh in a desperate attempt to protect the modesty of these women who were
not permitted to show their face, let alone naked bodies.

But it was already too late for the mothers. Their lions were gone, vanished away to a secret place from where they would not return…not alive anyway.

The Grand Master Eunuch had quickly overcome any reservations he harboured at the Valide Zara’s orders. He should not have been surprised at her choice of action and regretted his subtle warning of earlier. Salmeo made a promise never to underestimate Herezah again, certainly not now that she held his future in the palm of her hand. Oh, how the tables had turned!

Life had been near perfect for him with the old Zar. No-one, not even calculating Salmeo, could have foreseen the accident that had ended the Zar’s life. A fall from a horse of all things! And Joreb such an accomplished horseman. He had been showing off for his sons; two men on horses charging towards the same flag stuck in the ground. Joreb had made the same race countless times, had gleefully wagered five of his prettiest odalisques against that crimson flag. And he had won this time, but paid handsomely with his life. Who could have known he would slip off his saddle as he reached down to grab the prize? Or that the other horse would arrive not even a full second later without any opportunity to avoid trampling the Zar’s body so viciously that he
would never recover from the massive internal bleeding?

Salmeo sighed. All was not lost. He was still the most powerful man next to Boaz within the palace, despite what that ambitious Vizier might believe. His wealth was so vast and his influence so far reaching that Salmeo feared no-one. No-one that is, except Herezah.

He must ingratiate himself swiftly. They’d had their differences but Herezah was not a foolish woman. Better the devil you know, as the old adage said. He could count on her knowing how to play the game. It was why she was today Valide Zara. He admired her in spite of their mutual distrust. They were similar creatures, both prisoners, both wildly ambitious, both with sufficient survival instinct to beat off their rivals.

Perhaps they could start again and she might let the past remain just that? He had hurt her physically and emotionally but that was life in the harem, she knew that, all the women did. If she would permit him to work with her, then together they would be a formidable pair supporting the Zar. Boaz was still so young, it would be up to Herezah to run the realm for him. Oh yes, she would initially rely on Tariq but soon she would need Salmeo’s influence and he would give it gladly.

He would start by pleasing her with today’s event. It was regrettable but necessary. No-one appreciated the need for absolute supremacy more than Salmeo. He thought about the harem and
the great pity that it would be dismantled. It was one of the finest gatherings for several centuries, and he had kept everyone in it in their place.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of approaching children. It was time. He hoped Herezah would appreciate the symmetry between the old Zar’s injuries and the spectacle he had hastily planned for the execution. He was sure she would.

Salmeo met the youngsters in a long-unused pavilion. The slaves, who had been given their sorrowful orders, herded the boys towards the huge Grand Master Eunuch who took the baby into his own arms and placed the infant into a crimson velvet sack.

‘Is this a game?’ one boy asked eagerly.

Salmeo’s scar twisted as his mouth widened into a grin revealing his massive pearly teeth. There was a gap—as wide as a child’s finger—between his front teeth that never failed to fascinate in a macabre way, for his tongue would flick in and out of the hole and cause a lisp to his speech. ‘That’s right, my prince. It’s a new game we’ve devised just for this afternoon.’

‘What’s it called?’ another boy yelled, cheerfully climbing into his own velvet bag.

‘It’s called Trample,’ Salmeo replied in his effeminate, lisping way. ‘Now hurry, boys.’

Giggling and pushing at each other, the boys—even the eldest—managed to wriggle into their sacks.

‘Now we’re going to tie you in,’ Salmeo warned, keeping his voice light. ‘Just loosely,’ he lied.

He nodded and the slaves obliged, securing the children tightly into the velvet pouches.

‘Everyone be still now,’ the fat eunuch warned. ‘The Zar will be present,’ he added untruthfully as a threat.

Each velvet bag with its precious cargo was picked up by a eunuch slave and carried to a large empty pond. It was the ideal pit in which to place the children. Within moments, however, the baby began to cry and this set off some of the smaller boys who had tired of the heat and the dark of the bags. The game wasn’t fun any more.

Herezah did not need to be veiled amongst the privacy of the harem courtyards or, indeed, anywhere that was considered the realm of the harem proper. Nonetheless, she wore a silken gauze draped over her head. She knew those present would think it was her showing respect but her intention was to hide her expression. It was precaution only. Herezah had little doubt that she would handle the spectacle with grace, unpleasant though it was bound to be.

Salmeo had sent a unit of his eunuchs to carry a silken canopy to shade her from the sun and to add to the mystery of the new royal she had become this day. It was a special honour he was paying her.

Striding unhappily behind her was the Spur. She felt sure Lazar was angry by nature. He was abrupt and distant with everyone except Boaz and the hated dwarf. Those two alone won amusement, even the spark of friendship in those fathomless grey eyes. She knew Lazar had liked Joreb and there had been a closeness between the two of them, but they had not had much to do
with one another in recent years as the Zar had slumped into a lazier lifestyle. His slide into more carnal activity had disappointed the Spur, or so she guessed. It was just another reason, she was sure, for Lazar’s fury at the world.

He was young for head of Percheron’s security. Joreb had admitted as much one night after she had satisfied his latest in a line of curious fetishes.

The Zar had been relaxing in the pleasant stupor that usually followed a long session of sexual release. Her work was not done, though. Herezah, just an odalisque then, had offered to massage the Zar’s spent body into sleep. She always preferred him in this mood, when his mouth seemed as relaxed as the rest of him.

Herezah took her chance. ‘Tell me about the Spur.’

‘Lazar?’ he asked in a lazy voice. ‘What a find he is for us. He was a prisoner, actually.’

Herezah knew from Lazar’s looks that he was a foreigner. No Percherese had such light eyes or the aquiline nose, the sharp angles to their face. If not for the dark hair he could have been Galinsean.

‘Where is he from?’ she asked, intrigued.

‘Guess?’ the Zar suggested playfully.

‘I cannot, High One. I am not experienced in lands beyond our shores…I know only life in the palace.’

Joreb reached under his silk pillow and slowly withdrew the lightest of sapphires which sparkled
in the soft glow of the lamps. A smile stretched across his mouth. ‘If you guess right, this is yours.’

She stopped her massage and looked at her Zar sombrely. ‘I don’t want jewels, High One.’

‘What is it you want, then, Herezah, my ambitious slave?’

She hated that word. Odalisque was bad enough but at least it sounded prettier. Nevertheless her expression did not betray her feelings. ‘I want the status of Zaradine.’

And he had laughed with genuine pleasure. ‘I knew it. Wife you shall be then, if you guess correctly.’

‘And the sapphire?’

‘Is yours anyway for amusing me.’

‘Tell me about him first and let me guess after.’ Her hands were working slowly, rhythmically once again.

‘You know that a captured prisoner can fight his way to freedom?’ She nodded. ‘Although most don’t take that option for the fights are to the death.’

‘Between how many, my Zar?’

‘Six is usual. As you can gather, not much chance for the prisoner.’ He rested his chin on his fists as he recalled the incident. ‘Ha!’ he laughed, ‘Lazar demanded twelve and the chance to speak with me. It was his audacity that won my interest. It amused me to watch the confidence being beaten from the pup so I asked the then Spur to choose a dozen of his best swordsmen and pit them against the prisoner.’

Herezah’s dark eyes glowed as she had pictured the scene. ‘He obviously won, Great One,’ she said, reaching to pour the Zar a sweet wine.

Joreb turned, sat up and sipped. ‘He barely broke a sweat, leaving each with broken limbs or groaning from some gash or injury, all disabling but none life threatening, which was the amazing part. He told me later, when I fulfilled his wish for an audience, that he thought it a waste of good men to kill for exhibition purposes only. And when I asked him whether he thought it a waste to risk his own life, do you know what he answered?’

Herezah shook her head; she hardly knew Lazar even though they were of similar age, but she did know her body craved him.

Joreb grinned. ‘He said his life was never at risk! The cheek of it.’

‘And what did he want with you, my Zar?’

‘He wanted the freedom to live in Percheron. I offered him more—he accepted the position of Spur.’

‘Why did he choose Percheron?’

‘He told me that the city was a thing of such beauty it lifted his spirits. Our language, culture, people, art, architecture—he wanted to be a part of it.’

‘He must have come from a place sorely lacking in all the loveliness we take for granted.’

Joreb had swallowed the goblet’s contents and laid back again on his pillows. ‘You are crafty,
Herezah,’ he said and moved her hands to his sex. ‘Massage me there, but guess quickly, or I’ll forget our bargain.’

Herezah remembered how her mind had raced that evening to seek the right answer. The prize meant more to her than anything and was the first major step towards her goal. As Zaradine, wife to the Zar, she could bear him a son, a prince, and that meant a chance to become Valide Zara. She knew she would cast her fate with her answer and that the Zar would never enter into such a curious bargain again.

‘Well?’ he asked. ‘My mind is drifting, pretty one. It is heading south to where your fingers are calling me.’

She took a deep breath, remembering something she had overheard horrid Salmeo once airing about getting his greatest pleasure from making a Galinsean a eunuch.
‘I’ve only experienced such a joy once and the wretch died anyway but it was wonderful to watch a Galinsean’s manhood removed,’
he had explained.
‘They are the most arrogant of races and the hardest to tame.’

She risked it. ‘You know, my lord, if I didn’t know better I would think your Spur was Galinsean.’

‘You know that cannot be, Herezah.’ He yawned. ‘True Galinseans are golden of hair and curiously light of eye but he is dark, although I grant you his facial structure and bearing are
certainly typical of our warlike neighbour. Besides, Lazar has no animosity towards Percheron—he begged to be allowed to remain here.’

‘May I have one more try, my Zar?’ She tried not to beg but she had to win this contest.

‘Why not? But I warn you, Herezah, although you arouse me I tire of conversation and should I fall asleep before I can take my pleasure, your guess will not count, so be swift.’ He yawned to make his point.

‘Zar Joreb, I would hazard that Lazar hails from somewhere near to Galinsea, then. I would guess at Merlinea.’ She knew her geography of the region well and held her breath after giving her answer.

Joreb had moved fast and twisted her over onto her back, amusement twinkling in his no-longer-tired dark eyes. ‘I shall give you a son tonight, wife,’ and Herezah had arched her back with unrestrained joy as the Zar kept his promise.

Later still, as the Zar curled himself around her to sleep, she suggested he call another exhibition so the women could appreciate Lazar’s fighting prowess. Joreb refused.

‘Not even for your Favourite?’ she begged, relishing the thought of seeing a half-naked Lazar oiled and made to do combat.

Joreb shook his head sleepily. ‘A bond between two men.’

‘He hardly counts, my Zar, he’s only a Merlinean, barely one step better, in my opinion, than a Galinsean barbarian.’

Her new husband was wide awake then. ‘We should never underestimate them, oh my beautiful, ambitious one. We must teach our son the same. Yes, we are a cultivated nation with art and language to impress. Galinseans may seem vulgar in comparison. But, Herezah, you should fear them, not poke fun at them.’

She listened and nodded, knowing she had pleased the Zar this night. The jewels that would be left for her tomorrow would be enough to send the other wives into a frenzy of jealousy. But Herezah wanted only one jewel now. She wanted a son and for him alone to take the title of Zar. The rest meant little to her. Power was everything—riches could follow.

She had pleased him enough that night almost sixteen years ago not only to be showered with jewels but to be called back for the next four nights. This was unheard of for Joreb and this was the moment Herezah signalled her intention to take the title of Absolute Favourite. It was during these torrid nights of sexual play and favour that she became pregnant with Boaz. She had not reached fourteen and the Zar was an old man by her standards but that had not mattered. She had given him a prince nine months later and he had given her the ultimate reward, calling her Absolute Favourite.

Someone cleared their throat and interrupted her private musings. It was Tariq.

‘We’re here, Valide,’ the Vizier said.

She wanted to say she already knew this much from the unhappy moans of children. ‘Remove the canopy,’ she ordered and it was done.

Salmeo bowed his enormous bulk before her. She noticed he was wearing all black silks in honour of the soon-to-be-dead. His painted nail was the only patch of colour amongst the dark of his skin and robes. She glanced briefly to her left and saw the grinding jaw of Lazar. He had already given his orders to his men and so need not remain except out of a reluctant sense of honour, but she knew that honour was not for her; it was for the young princes.

‘Shall we call for the creatures, Valide?’ It was Tariq again, determined to take charge of proceedings.

She saw Salmeo scowl. ‘Grand Master of the Eunuchs,’ she called, deciding in that moment that as much as she detested Salmeo, he would be vital to her success. Despite her new status Herezah did not relish him as an enemy and was far-sighted enough to realise he would be a powerful ally. ‘Please take charge.’ She refused to look at the Vizier, who she was sure was visibly fuming at being overlooked.

Again the huge man bowed and as he straightened the look that passed between him and the Valide Zara spoke much of what never needed to be said out loud. An understanding had been reached. They were now a partnership. The past set aside.

‘Bring the elephants,’ he bellowed in a voice the harem rarely heard. Salmeo preferred to intimidate with his gentle, lisping lilt. Herezah felt sure the booming tone came from the very tips of his black satin slippers.

At the order fresh screams erupted from the imprisoned children. Suddenly none of them felt comforted by the notion of a game. Somehow things had turned sinister. Elephants were neither cuddly nor playful. Why were they being called? All of the children had marvelled at them in their father’s magnificent private zoo but the lumbering giants were dangerous, especially the four males.

The tamed females had been left behind in the zoo. Only a mother enraged by threat to her baby could be persuaded to step amongst the restless velvet sacks. But the males had no qualms. They were led by their keepers to the pit where the noise of the children’s terror intensified at the trumpeting of elephants.

At Salmeo’s signal the huge animals were run into the pit and encouraged to raise themselves on hind legs and stomp down. This was a trick they had been taught to entertain the children; it was now being used to kill them.

The first bag to stop moving had only a small bundle contained within. Herezah winced. Her thoughts went to Ayeesha. It was her baby. After that death she promised she would wince no more. These were all potential murderers of her
son. Even the other wives, demented by grief as they were, would ultimately understand, as she too would have had to had she not been the mother of Joreb’s Chosen One.

Soon enough all the bags stopped their writhing and pitiful screams. Odd moans were quickly dealt with by an elephant’s strategically placed foot. The Vizier, Herezah noticed, did look away when one sack broke and bright blood splashed the dazzling white cotton robes of one of the handlers. She recognised the face of that child, but only just—he was Boaz’s closest stepbrother. They had been born just weeks apart. The back of the boy’s head was smashed, its wet contents leaking out. She did not look away but cast quiet thanks to the gods for saving Boaz this trial.

Lazar had not spoken or moved beside her but she felt sure if it were quieter she would be able to hear his teeth grinding, for his jaw was working furiously. However, her stolen glance from beneath the gauze told her he did not cower but stared straight ahead at the grisly scene until Salmeo called a halt to proceedings. The Grand Master Eunuch had decided that the bags contained little more than pulp now. No bodies would be handed back to grieving mothers. They would be burned immediately, following the Valide Zara’s instructions.

Herezah sighed, relieved it was done. The throne was safe.

As if reading her thoughts, Lazar turned slowly, deliberately, and looked straight into her eyes as though he could see through the veil and deep into her soul. ‘Satisfied, Valide?’

She would not be baited but took pleasure in knowing she had managed to break through his well-constructed defences. ‘Careful, Lazar. A new Spur can be appointed as easily as I blink.’

‘As you see fit, Valide Zara,’ he said, not intimidated at all. ‘Excuse me, duty calls,’ he added before she could return his brittle reply.

Herezah reined in her natural reaction. She might suddenly be the most powerful woman in Percheron but she was far too mindful of the Zar’s warning when he had called for her earlier that day.

‘Keep Lazar close to our son. He alone understands the Galinsean mind.’

No, she would not be replacing this Spur when he might be all that stood between Percheron and a Galinsean uprising, especially now that a boy sat the throne. She would let him have his anger for now. Herezah was clever enough to work out more subtle ways to have her revenge and she would exercise those as soon as the old Zar was cremated.

In fact, a wonderful notion was already taking shape in her mind for how next to impress upon the Spur of Percheron her power over him.