Reign of the Favored Women (15 page)

I bowed to him, thanking him for his concern. I was going to go against his counsel nonetheless, but I think stopping to hear it was one of the most provident things I’d ever done. Just as I turned to continue, heedless, on my way, what sounded like a thunderclap came from the very spot I would have been at that moment if I had not stopped.

I do not know what the sound was. And no one who was close enough to see what it was lived to tell the tale.

There are those who think it was only a fire such as any kitchen with piles of wood and pans of grease is subject to. Maybe it was only the words the overseer had just finished giving me, but I’m afraid I must refute that notion. That sound and the awful speed with which smoke, then flame was soon pouring down the corridor in both directions make me suspicious.

Suspicious of what, I can hardly say. And I did not take time to think about then, for the overseer and I were shoving each other out the door and into the courtyard to shout the news to anyone who had ears, “Fire! Fire! Quick!”

Not a moment later we were followed by all those who managed to escape the kitchens if they did not jump out the windows in the other direction. One man had his eyebrows singed. Others, overcome by smoke, were carried by companions. One brought fire with him, clinging to his clothes like a playful little monkey. Screaming wildly, he flung himself to the dust and rolled while some came to his aid.

They answered our call quickly: janissaries, pages, officials of all descriptions carrying water in vessels just as varied. Soon several hand-to-hand chains were set up to carry water from the Fountain of Execution in the first court. The fountain’s steps, brown with dried blood, grew red as the water splashed on them—here the head executioner and his assistants always washed themselves after carrying out their function. Now it was called on to save lives instead. But soon the fighters were halted at the kitchen door in their efforts, and then one or two were seriously injured as the roof of the portico collapsed in front of the door.

A strong breeze like the breath of Judgment came off the Marmara, pushing my robes against the fountain and making them wetter and heavier still.

“We shall have a time of it if that wind keeps up,” the man closest to me shouted, and I agreed.

The wind working like a great bellows trained right on the hot spot and fanned it towards the main part of the palace and the harem. Where a corps might have set themselves to strategic advantage, none did because that would mean violating the Sultan’s women.

As soon as I saw this, I left my place in the brigade—there were plenty with pinched faces beneath the sweat to replace me, and fire-fighting was not my first responsibility. I walked as fast as a eunuch’s dignity would let me through the Gate of Felicity.

I found my lady gossiping with friends. In their
oda
, no sound of the fury out in the second court had entered. I waited as long as I dared, but then felt obliged to interrupt.

“What is it, Abdullah?” Esmikhan turned to me still weak and smiling from her last fit of giggles.

“Lady,” I said, “there is a fire in the kitchen.”

Her face puckered and then burst into laughter again. “I am glad to hear that,” she said. “They will need something to roast our shish-kebab on.”

The others joined in her laughter.

“You misunderstand, lady,” I said. “There is a fire gone out of control. Several men have been killed already and the whole second court is in alarm.”

“Oh!” some of the ladies exclaimed and wondered if, from the lattices in the female slaves’ dormitory on the second floor, they could get a view of what was going on. They went to find out.

For my lady and even for some others not so handicapped as she, the diversion was not worth the trouble of climbing stairs, so they picked up the conversation where they’d left off.

“But lady,” I persisted, “I think perhaps I should call the sedan porters to have them on alert, at least, in case we are forced to flee.”

My lady sighed at this second interruption. “Abdullah, don’t bother them to no purpose. No, I’m sure they’ll have it put out long before we have to worry in here.”

“Allah veiling, it will be as you say.”

I bowed to her words and made my way back to the eunuchs’ quarters by the gate where I joined a crowd of my colleagues, watching anxiously from the windows. We heard a shout and a groan from the firefighters, but what caught their attention escaped us, the angle of the wall blocking our view.

We didn’t have long to wonder. The head eunuch soon came running in. “To our charges,
khuddam
. They tried to hold the flames back at the gate, but it’s breached now. Come, to the ladies.”

In some respects, it was good the head eunuch’s quarters were on the outer side of the gate; he had already lost his possessions to the flames and was now able to think clearly about other things. When his seconds stopped by their cubicles to gather what they valued most, he was able to knock silk robes, fine ceramics, and books from their hands, saying, “Put that down, my friend. You will need your arms for the children.”

“But where shall we take our charges?” someone asked.

“The garden,” the head eunuch said. He answered on the spur of the moment. Nonetheless, given all the time in the world, anyone would have come to the same conclusion; the garden was the only sanctuary.

“But we can’t take them into the garden. It’s not ladies’ day in the garden. The Sultan is there, entertaining friends.”

“I’m sure the men will be circumspect enough to look away if they realize the only alternative is the flames. And if they are not—well, then, you will have to work harder, won’t you?”

We were met at the harem vestibule by several ladies who had been drawn by the smoke and came to wonder.

“Into the garden. Into the garden, ladies,” the head eunuch said, and set one of his seconds to accompany them. They stood at the door to the outside, blinking and hesitating, as skittish as horses when the stables are on fire. Inside was safety. Outside was something worse than pain or death—a loss of honor.

“Come on, come on,” the eunuchs encouraged.

“We’ll have a time of this,” I warned the head. “I know many women have gone up to the second floor to watch from the windows. You’ll have to get them down.”

“Yes, thanks for the word,” he said, and went up the first staircase we came to with half of his staff following.

When I opened the door of the room where I’d left my lady, the smell of smoke followed me quite strongly and gave force to my words. “Come, lady. It’s too late to leave by the front in the sedan. That way is already in flames. We must go out the back on foot, into the garden. Come, I’ll help you.”

I’d given all my seconds the day off because I’d assumed, in the Serai, I wouldn’t need them. I cursed that assumption and the lack of another pair of strong arms. But three of her maids and I managed to half carry, half support Esmikhan out of doors. Our task was made even more difficult by the fact that, as soon as she saw we were in earnest, as soon as she saw the smoke, and caught the panic of the fleeing women passing us, my lady remembered her daughter.

“Gul Ruh!”

“I’ll go for her when we’ve got you safe, lady,” I promised.

She called out her daughter’s name again and began to struggle, making our task more difficult.

Gul Ruh no less than her mother was my responsibility to see safe. I knew that, but I couldn’t be two places at once. To calm her, I spoke to Esmikhan as if I were already working on that problem.

“Where is she, lady? Do you know?”

“With Muhammed, her cousin. I haven’t seen them since this morning. They went off to play together. Allah knows where that might be.”

Allah knew indeed.

Anywhere in the palace was possible, for the girl was only three, and if the Prince’s school was not in session, under few restrictions of honor. It was proverbial how those two had been found, hand in hand, gaping at the sick in the infirmary, watching the boats from the wall, dropping pebbles on the turbans of petitioners as they passed beneath the Sublime Porte, stealing (Allah forbid they were there now) dates from the kitchen stores. This spunk was mostly the girl’s doing, for it was known that by himself or even with other playmates, the Prince tended to be quiet and pouty.

Once they had even wandered into the Sultan’s baths when he was sporting with his favorites. Neither of the children had ever seen a naked man before, and one erect had been a sensation. Investigations on their own persons were found wanting and their questions continued to be the scandal of the harem. My earlier attempt at an explanation of the will of Allah paled by comparison.

“That is what will happen to me when I am circumcised,” I overheard the little Prince tell his cousin.

“You will grow big like that?”

Muhammed nodded soberly. “That is what it means to be a man.”

And Gul Ruh was duly impressed.

But though their nurses and tutors slapped them and the less conscientious merely hid their faces and tittered, no one thought of prohibiting the children’s rambles. The Sultan merely doubled his guard when he wanted to indulge.

“I’ll stay here,” Esmikhan said firmly now. “Now you go find Gul Ruh.”

“Lady, you’re too close yet. The roof of this kiosk could easily fall down on you if it should catch.”

“Then here. I’ll go no further without my baby.”

“Lady, I still fear if this wing goes, you may get scorched.”

“I can make it on my own from here. Please, please, my baby.”

“Here. We’ve given you that expanse of lawn as a break. Allah willing, the flames will not leap to these trees across that. Unless, of course this wind keeps up. Here, then. I’ll leave you with these ladies here.”

“Abdullah.” She caught my hand. “I’ll go with you. I’ll help you look.”

“By Allah, there isn’t time!”

I had never shouted at Esmikhan before and instantly regretted it, for she fell to helpless weeping. Had she been any other mistress on any other day, I might have gotten a beating for it. But I didn’t even take time to apologize, only to tell the girls beside her that if they were not Allah’s greatest fools, they would do all in their power to see that she did not try and follow me.

Tears were infectious. Either that, or things had reached the boiling point and there was overflow. Everywhere were women weeping and their discomfort was added to by the fact that many men were also in the garden, either having no place else to escape to or trying to fight the fire from this angle with water from the fish ponds.

It was a difficult task to keep veils on demurely and yet watch the fire, or watch for children and friends, at the same time. For most, the choice finally fell with keeping honor, perhaps because all who were going to get out safely must surely have done so by now.

One face I did see, and that was Safiye’s fair one. She didn’t even care to keep her hair covered, so any firefighter might feast on what was Prince Murad’s property alone. Perhaps it made them fight harder, but their success seemed no greater.

“Lady,” I heard Safiye’s Ghazanfer pleading, “we cannot go back into the kitchens. The kitchen is the heart of the fire. Are we like Indian mystics that we can walk on flame?”

“But I must know if they are safe,” she insisted, wringing her hands.

By Allah, I thought. The two children had gone to rifle the kitchen storerooms.

I bowed and asked for confirmation of a thought that was too terrible, almost, to think, let alone speak.

“No,” Safiye replied curtly.

She had been asking after the precious dates. She had no idea where Muhammed was. She had assumed his nurse—but even as she spoke, that woman came sailing across the lawn towards us, almost unveiled so the grey grief was very plain. I think she was so distraught that she had no idea there were men present.

“Lady, lady, I’ve looked everywhere.” Her sobs stumbled her and brought her to her knees at Safiye’s feet. “I cannot find the young Prince. Oh, Allah, Allah, I shall die. Oh, Merciful One, I pray take me instead!”

Safiye did not bother to remind the woman that it was her baby, as she had always taken care to do before lest this nurse become as attached to him as the ill-fated first one had. Now Safiye realized that her dates would be of precious little use if there was no Prince to give them to. And her status—well, she couldn’t stand idly thinking about that. Against protests, she insisted on joining Ghazanfer, myself, and the others in the search.

It was too hot now to get very close to the harem at any door. As I circled around the building, looking for a way in, the sea breeze blew that heat upon me in gusts. I saw the copper dome over the great harem throne room glowing orange as if newly forged. I wondered what the ravenous fire could find to consume in that room that was mostly mirror and tile, but I smelled burning wool and silk—an awful stench—and remembered the thick rugs, cushions, and hangings. Then the very air inside seemed to catch in little explosions. Squares of copper crumbled down like no more than bone left buried in a trash heap for many years.

The flames shot up as in a giant potter’s kiln, higher than the three stories of the palace at any point. They ran along the rooftops like flood waters; the afternoon was warm for that time of year and against that natural heat, the flames appeared clear and shimmering as if they were water indeed. Above the conflagration, seven or eight minarets and lookout towers still stood, reaching heavenward like hands imploring aid.

Among the other smells of things that should not be burned billowed that of human flesh. I hurried on.

So effective was the division between selamlik and haremlik that even the fire could not breach it. The firefighters had managed to cut off the flame at the Divan and kept it there throughout the day. This men’s part of the palace, then, I searched thoroughly from the Eye of the Sultan to the grooms’ quarters until I was satisfied that the children were not there.

After that, I looked throughout the outer palace, trying to see everything with a child’s eye so as to catch a clue as to what might have attracted them. The crowd of firefighting men around the Fountain of Execution remained the most noticeable thing: They were weary now, black with smoke, washed with sweat, and short of patience. No child could pester them long without being swatted on his way, even if he were a prince.