The Drowning Guard: A Novel of the Ottoman Empire (19 page)

Saffron nodded to Bezm-i Alem as the old woman gave her a cool glass of barley water.

“Dede, you have lived many years under the Sultans and always the Bektashi have been brothers and spiritual leaders of the Janissaries,” she began.

Saffron suddenly stiffened.

The Dede pulled himself up straight against the cushions. His relaxed, affable face tightened and he clapped his hands three times. The old woman came running from the refectory, wiping her wet hands.

“Ayla, tell Abdul to secure the entries. See that no one enters or disturbs us. Ask the musicians to continue playing until after Bezm-i Alem leaves.”

Saffron lifted his eyebrow in wary approval, but his shoulders remained tight and his eyes alert.

“Forgive me, Bezm-i Alem, for the interruption, but the mention of the Janissaries at such tense times can be quite dangerous.”

Bezm-i Alem was aware of Saffron’s deep and steady breaths as he stood next to her. He fastened his gaze at the main entry.

It was the mix of cultures and faith that made the Bektashi so appealing to the Janissaries, the Dede explained. Through the devshirme, boys from all over the far reaches of the Ottoman Empire, from Egypt to the lands of the Balkans and to the border of Russia were gathered and brought back to Constantinople to train as soldiers and serve the Sultan. Some came quiet and shaking, other shrieked and cried, some died of grief. No matter their emotional state, those who lived would all become Janissaries or be sold as slaves.

Boys were taken from their homes, their culture, language, and their faith. They longed for traditions, these Christians, of the Blessed Mother, who would love and protect them, as their mothers had. Their souls cried out for a woman.

Bektashi tradition revered Fatima, the daughter of Mohammed, as well as the Virgin Mary, giving the lonely boys the comfort of a blessed mother in a strange land.

“Many are drawn to our mysticism because of the similarities with Christianity,” the Dede said. “They find comfort in the confession of sin, drinking of wine, and sharing of bread. Dispensation from the five prayers also appeals to those who are at war and cannot face Mecca on their knees, evoking Allah’s name.”

“But then,” Bezm-i Alem ventured, “do you have influence with the Janissaries if you are their spiritual advisor?”

Dede Mustafa’s dark eyes glinted with understanding.

“If you mean do we have the power to intervene in their course of total and inevitable destruction, the answer is no. This is their kismet and the Sultan’s. We cannot intercede in fate,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and lifting his open palms up to the sky. “Even if it means great suffering for all.”

His quiet words and gesture conveyed his absolute understanding. There was no point in pursuing this line of questioning and possibly endangering the Dede and his tekke.

“Saffron, would you advise the footman that we are ready to return to the palace?” Bezm-i Alem said, rising. Then she took Dede Mustafa’s hand in hers. It felt warm and soft, much softer than her own.

Bezm-i Alem thought of her father who had died when she was an infant. She had never experienced kindness from a man.

Dede Mustafa did not draw away his hand, but she felt his fingers moving tentatively against her palm, exploring her grasp.

His eyes opened in surprise. Bezm-i Alem wondered if it was because she had touched him, or if he felt the contrast of his supple skin against her callused hands, certainly not the hands of a harem woman. Surely he would wonder what caused her to have the rough skin of a farmer, and the daring to thrust her hand in his.

He studied her face and looked deep into her eyes.

“I see you have an unusual kismet,” he said slowly. “I will not forget your visit to our tekke or your concerns. You have my word on this. May you go in peace and with Allah’s protection, blessed be in the name of the Prophet.”

That night, as he was admitted to the interior chambers of the Sultaness, Postivich sensed a brooding darkness in the mood of Esma Sultan. He remembered how she had smiled just two days before and he realized with surprise how much he craved to see her lips arch up again, lifting his heavy spirit.

But tonight was different. She was looking out the windows, her eyes searching for the first sliver of new moon. As he entered he brushed shoulders with Emerald, the eunuch, who wore a stiff mask of hatred and fury.

The little man said nothing but hurried down the corridor.

“It is the Sultan’s moon,” she murmured, as Postivich entered. “A thin-bladed scimitar carving a swath across the universe.”

Ivan remained standing, waiting for an invitation to sit.

“Walk with me in the garden, tonight,” said Esma Sultan. “I cannot bear to be confined to this room on such a beautiful night.”

The Solaks hurried ahead to take their positions at regular intervals around the garden. They whistled to the sentries on the palace walls to alert them that the Princess was now outside and they should be even more alert for assassins.

Two young girls ran ahead, lighting torches and lanterns. Servants fluttered through the corridors, carrying linen, shawls, and flasks of lemon and barley water in case any should appeal to the Sultaness. The head of the female orchestra was alerted so that music would be at the ready. The boatmen were
roused from their mats, for it was entirely possible that a midnight sail would be required.

The palace was in an uproar at the whim of the Sultaness. Nothing was simple in a royal Ottoman household.

The Sultaness waved away offers of music, refreshment, and handmaidens.

“I want the Solaks to keep their distance from me,” she warned Saffron. “I want to speak to Ahmed Kadir in privacy.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” said the eunuch, bowing. “But for your protection, I shall accompany you—”

“You shall do nothing of the kind, Saffron!” she snapped.

The tall man bowed again, backing away.

“I will clap my hands if I need assistance,” she said, a little more kindly. “Please keep a distance of twenty paces or more. Come, janissary. Do not be so heavy-footed and slow.”

Postivich was surprised how long and quick her stride was.

As they descended into the gardens through an arbor of jasmine and sweet vine, Postivich said, “Forgive me, Sultane, but you seem preoccupied.”

She did not answer until they reached a large fountain, illuminated by flickering torches. Dipping her fingers into the rose-petal strewn waters, she finally replied.

“I have reason to believe that there are spies in my palace, Janissary Kadir. Spies from the Topkapi who desire your death.”

“It seems I am not considered a friend of the Ottomans,” he said, sitting across from the Princess on the rim of the fountain. He watched her chase a petal through the ripples of the water with her hand. “And why do you concern yourself with what spies tell your brother?”

The Princess looked at him through the soft light of the lanterns.

“I have promised you protection, and I will use all my power to keep my promise. Such is an Ottoman’s word.”

She hesitated.

“I do not know how I feel about you, Ahmed Kadir,” she said. “But I have placed some trust in you, for there is a curious truth to your hatred of me. You came to me in loathing and disgust. There was honesty there. I can still see it in your eyes. The moment you decide to betray me, I will see it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Your blue eyes are the same color and depth as my mother’s. I could always
judge the truth of what she said by their reflection. I could detect a lie by the way the color changed quickly, like a cloud passing over the waters of the Bosphorus. Eyes like yours cannot betray me, even if they try.”

Her own eyes now sought him in the darkness, and he looked into their depths.

He reached out to her cheek, with the same impulse and instinct that had made him cross himself earlier that morning. His fingers brushed her skin and he cradled her fine chin in his palm.

She did not pull back, but closed her eyes. He gasped as a chill rushed up his spine, and seized him by the throat.

“Stop, Ahmed Kadir. Put your hand down at once,” she whispered.

“Only if you command it,” he said.

She turned away from him, leaving his hand empty in the night air.

“I do command it, if only for your sake. Your impulse is not worth your death.”

He dropped his hand to his side, struggling to keep his body under control. Once engaged in a battle, he could not easily disengage. His whole body trembled and his mind could only focus on reaching for her and pressing her soft bosom hard against his mouth. He realized he did not know how to make love, only to seize a woman and satisfy his urges quickly and violently.

“Tonight I want to tell you more of what happened to little Sophie.”

Ivan Postivich watched her hands continue to toy with the petals. He did not care about the little girl in the harem; his body was tense with lust and a woman’s words now were like nagging flies, bothersome and an unwanted distraction from his physical needs.

She lifted her chin to see that he was listening, as if she were unaware of his impulses.

He suspected she toyed with him as she moved a short distance away on the rim of the fountain.

“I did what I said I would do,” she began. “I asked my father for Sophie’s release from the Serail—to become my servant forever.”

“You cannot imagine how hard it was for me to see the Sultan, my father, in private. The women of the Serail are at his disposal and pleasure. Should he
want to visit his children, he will visit the Serail himself. To request a private audience with the Royal Ottoman Sultan, as a young woman—impossible!

“This is where my association with Emerald began. He was one of the many young eunuchs who supervised and served us. I knew he also served regularly in the men’s hamam, serving my father, brothers, and cousins. I took a chance and asked him.

“ ‘Emerald. I must ask you a favor.’

“ ‘Your desire is my command,’ he replied.

“He was an ambitious man from the start and my father’s favor towards me had ignited his interest.

“ ‘I want you to request a private audience for me with my father.’

“He raised his eyebrows and his thick lips parted. ‘How am I to do this?’

“ ‘When you are attending my father in the harem, you will ask him gently if he would consider it. Tell him—tell him there is a secret that I cannot share in front of my mother. He will respect that, I should think, and it will make him curious.’

“Emerald nodded, though his face showed great doubt. ‘And if he should judge me impertinent?’

“ ‘You will simply say that you were forced to do so by my royal hand, his favorite daughter! He will absolve you of all.’

“The eunuch nodded again, but he looked at me still in doubt. ‘Sultaness—I shall carry out your order, but you may learn a difficult lesson.’

“ ‘What is that?’

“ ‘A father’s love may be unconditional, but a Sultan’s is not.’

“With that he bowed, asking permission to leave.

“Despite Emerald’s warning, he did deliver the message to my father in the hamam. At first, the Sultan’s annoyance was clear and Emerald feared for his head. But then the Sultan decided he was delighted that I was coming to him for what he supposed was advice.

“ ‘She would have made a stately prince,’ he told the Vizier, in front of the eunuch. ‘She knows what gossips the women of the Serail are, and comes to me for wisdom. Had she been born a male, she would have governed this Empire with an iron fist.’

“So there was great confusion and disappointment when the Sultan heard my request.

“I was far too big to crawl up in his lap now. I stood straight and bowed low, as I had been taught by my mother.

“ ‘Speak, my daughter,’ he said. ‘You have been granted your private audience.’

“ ‘But the Solaks,’ I complained. ‘And the Great Vizier. I requested to speak to you in private.’

“ ‘How little you know!’ he roared laughing. He gestured to his Great Vizier who nodded to indulge him, though I could see that the Vizier was not happy about my presence in the throne room, reserved for men only. ‘Speak, Esma!’ my father commanded. ‘I am very busy today with ambassadors from France and Russia. I cannot make them wait much longer without risking war.’