The Janissary Tree (41 page)

He
called softly. "Ibou?"

No
answer. He called again, a little louder. "Ibou? Are you there? It's me,
Yashim."

The
tiny candle at the far end of the room was snuffed out for a moment, then it
reappeared. Someone had moved in the darkness.

"Don't
be afraid. I need your help."

He
heard the slap of sandals on the stone floor and Ibou stepped forward into the
light. His eyes were very round.

"What
can you do?" he almost whispered.

"I
need to use the back door, Ibou. Can you let me through?"

"I
have a key. But--I don't want to go."

"No,
you stay. Do you know what's happening?"

"I
am new. I wasn't asked--but it is some kind of meeting. Dangerous, too."

Come
on.

The
little doorway gave onto the corridor in which the Valide Kosem had been
dragged to her death. Yashim clasped Ibou's hand.

"Good
luck," the young man whispered.

The
door to the guard room was closed. Yashim opened it with a quick flick of the
handle and stepped inside.

"I
am summoned," he announced.

Approach.

The
halberdiers stood frozen.

They
made no effort to stop Yashim opening the door, as though they were clockwork
soldiers that someone had forgotten to wind.

For
a moment he, too, stood transfixed, looking into the Court of the Valide
Sultan.

Then
he took a step back and very softly closed the door.

121

***********

The
sleeping quarters of the harem slaves lay above the colonnade that spanned one
side of the valide's court: quietly trying the door, Yashim found himself in a
small, bare chamber strewn with rugs and mattresses and dimly lit by a few
short candles set on plates on the floor. The beds were empty: dark shadows at
the latticed window showed him that the harem slaves were crowding there for a
better view.

One
of the slave girls gave a gasp as Yashim stepped up behind her. He put a finger
to his lips and looked down.

Never
in all his life would Yashim forget that sight. To the left, the valide sultan
stood at the doorway to her apartments, at the head of a crowd of harem women
that spilled from the doorway and lined the walls three deep: a hundred women,
maybe more, Yashim guessed, in every state of dress and undress. Some, roused
from their beds, were still in their pajamas.

Across
the courtyard, massed in their finery, stood the palace eunuchs, black and white.
Their turbans sparkled with precious jewels, nodding egrets. There must have
been three hundred men, Yashim guessed, rustling and whispering like pigeons
roosting in a tree.

A
silence fell on the eunuchs: they turned their faces to the doorway below Yashim's
window, and slowly they began to move aside, creating a corridor. Yashim could
see them better now, even recognize a few faces: he saw sables, and caftans of
cashmere, and an imperial ransom of brooches and precious stones. They were
more like magpies than pigeons, Yashim thought, drawn to everything that
glittered, amassing their nests of gold and diamonds.

He
reached up on tiptoe to see who was coming through the crowd, though he already
knew. The kislar agha looked magnificent in an enormous dark pelisse so
spangled with the moisture in the air that it sparkled. He walked slowly, but
his tread was surprisingly light. His hand, clutching at the baton, was thick
with rings. His face was lost beneath a great turban of whitest muslin, wrapped
around the conical red hat of his office, so Yashim was unable to gauge his
expression. But he saw how the other eunuchs lowered their eyes to the ground,
as if they didn't quite dare to look him fully in the face. Yashim knew that
face, wrinkled like an ape's: the bloodshot eyes, the fat, blubbery cheeks, it
was a face that carried the stamp of vice and wore its vice with an air of
blank unconcern.

The
eunuchs had now formed two wedges, leaving the kislar agha standing alone
between them, facing the valide across the court. He didn't raise his hands: he
didn't need to. Nobody stirred.

"The
Hour has come."

He
spoke slowly in his high, cracking voice.

"We,
who are the sultan's slaves, proclaim the Hour.

"We,
who are the sultan's slaves, assemble for his protection.

"We,
who kneel beside the throne, uphold the sacrament of power.

"We
will speak with your son, our lord and master, the shah-in-shah!"

The
chief eunuch's voice rose as he cried out, "The Hour has come!"

And
a wavering cry rose from the ranks of the eunuchs: "The Hour! The Hour!"

The
valide sultan never moved, except to tap one dainty foot on the stone step.

The
chief eunuch raised his arms, his fingers curled like talons.

"The
banner must be unfurled. The wrath of God and the people has to be appeased. He
shall draw back from the abyss of unbelief and wield the Sword of Osman in
defense of the faith! It is the Path.

"It
is written that the knowing shall approach and become one with the Core. Caliph
and sultan, Lord of the Horizons, this is his destiny. The people have risen,
the altars are prepared. It is God who has awoken us, at the eleventh hour, the
Hour of Restoration!

"Produce
him!" he bellowed, in a terrible voice. He curled his fingers into loose fists
and let them sink to his sides. His voice sank to a hoarse whisper. "Reveal the
Core."

Like
Yashim, the valide sultan seemed to find the chief's performance somewhat
overdone. She turned her head to murmur something to an attendant, and Yashim
saw her perfect profile, still clear and beautiful, and recognized the lazy
look in her eyes as she turned back and focused on the chief eunuch. Lazy meant
danger. He wondered if the kislar agha knew.

"Kislar,"
she said, in a voice that rang with amused contempt. "Some of our ladies
present are not at all well dressed. The night, I may point out, is chill. As
for you, you are not suitably attired."

She
raised her chin slightly, as if inspecting him. The eunuch's eyes narrowed in
fury.

"No,
Kislar, your turban seems to be in order. But you do seem to be wearing
my
jewels."

Good
work, Yashim thought, bunching his fist. The valide certainly knew how to use
information.

The
chief eunuch's nostrils flared, but he looked down quickly. Whether that
movements--made, as it were, under the influence of a woman more powerful than
him--put him off his stroke, or whether it was the sheer unexpectedness of the
valide's remarks, Yashim could not guess. But the kislar agha opened his mouth
and shut it again, as if he had a speech he couldn't make.

The
valide's voice was like drawn silk. "And you murdered for them, too, didn't
you, Kislar?"

The
eunuch raised a forefinger and pointed it at the valide. Yashim saw that he was
trembling.

"They
are--for my power!" he screeched. He was improvising now, drawn into an argument
he didn't mean to have and couldn't win. His power was lessening with every
word he spoke.

Out
of the corner of his eye, Yashim saw a white shape stirring close to the wall. A
girlish figure sprang forward, like a cat, and began to run toward the eunuch.

The
eunuch didn't see her immediately: she was blocked by his outstretched arm.

"Produce
the sultan, or suffer the consequences!" the kislar agha screamed. Then his
head turned a fraction, and at the same moment Yashim recognized the girl.

The
girl who had stolen the
gozdes
ring.

Yashim
closed his eyes. And in that second he saw her beautiful, unyielding face
again, when she had closed her mind to him.

Only
now he recognized that look. A mask of grief.

A
slave girl gasped at his side, and Yashim opened his eyes. The girl had hurled
herself upon the enormous eunuch: he swatted her aside like a fly. But she was
on her feet in a moment, and for the first time Yashim saw that she carried a
dagger in her fist, a long, curved steel like a scorpion's sting. She sprang
again, and this time it was as if the two embraced, like lovers: the slim white
girl and the huge black man, staggering as she clung to him.

But
she was no match for the kislar. His hands closed around her neck, and with a
tremendous thrust of his arms he pushed her off. His long fingers spread around
her neck like a stain. Her feet kicked wildly but skidded on the wet stone. Her
hands came up to his, clawing at them, but the kislar agha's strength was far
greater. With a grunt he flung her aside. She crumpled back against the ground
and lay still.

Nobody
moved. Even the valide's foot had stopped tapping.

Suddenly
one of the women screamed and clapped her hand to her mouth. The kislar agha
swung around, his head moving from side to side as if expecting another
assault. Yashim saw the women shrink back.

The
kislar agha opened his mouth to speak.

He
coughed.

His
hands went to his stomach.

Behind
him the eunuchs stirred. Their chief started to turn toward them, and as he
moved Yashim saw very clearly what had made the woman scream.

The
jeweled hilt of a Circassian blade.

The
kislar spluttered as he turned, and then he began to twist toward the ground,
his enormous torso slowly sinking as he wheeled. His legs gave way and he sank
to his knees, still holding the hilt of the dagger in his abdomen, wearing the
look of horrified surprise that he would take to the grave.

Yashim
heard the thump as the kislar agha's body pitched headfirst to the ground.

122

***********

THERE
was a momentary silence before the court erupted in pandemonium. The eunuchs
swarmed toward the doors in a frenzy to escape, anything to put some distance
between them and their fallen chief. Men were slithering and scrambling over
each other to reach the doors, some running into the Golden Road, others
pouring below the colonnade where Yashim could no longer see them. Doubtless
those clockwork halberdiers would stand immobile as dozens of men fled to the
sanctuary of their own quarters. Tomorrow you would not find one, Yashim
reflected, who would admit to having been there that night.

They'd
accuse each other, though.

There
was one, at least, he could vouch for personally. He was glad that Ibou had
chosen the right course, sticking to his world of musty texts and tattered
documents.

The
eunuchs had all but cleared from the court, leaving jewels, slippers, and even
their batons strewn across the flagstones. A few men had attempted to stem the
rout at the first panic, dragging at the crowd, shouting encouragement. "It is
still the Hour!" But the eunuchs had run like chickens in a yard, and the words
of encouragement had died away. Everyone had gone.

Still,
the women had not moved, waiting for their mistress's signal. The chief eunuch
and the dead girl still lay on the gleaming flagstones like pieces seized from
a giant game of chess--white pawn sacrificed for the black castle. It was a
self-sacrifice, though. It had been her ring, all along. A token she had asked
her lover to wear, Yashim supposed. There were other forms of love inside these
walls than the love of a woman for a man--if the performance of the act could be
considered love. What had the dresser told them? That this ring turned up here
and there, with its esoteric symbol, its concealed meaning. It was clear
enough, now. An endless circuit, snake swallowing snake. Frustration and
excitement and pleasure in equal measure--and without issue.

The
valide had stepped down into the courtyard, and the women were crowding around
the body of the girl, lifting her up, moving her beneath the colonnades.

Even
now, Yashim felt a pang of pity for the man who had killed her, and her lover,
too. Only a few hours earlier they had spoken together, just where he lay now,
and he had reminded Yashim of the murder of the sultan's father, Selim, as he
played music on the nay for the entertainment of the palace girls. It was his
own predecessor who carried out the lolling. Was this one of the traditions he
was seeking to uphold: the murder of sultans by their kislar aghas?

But
why did he take the valide's jewels? Perhaps, in some crazy way, he had
explained it himself: in his narrow, cunning, superstitious old mind he had
come to associate the jewels with power, and he stole them as a talisman, a
juju that would see him through the greatest crisis of his career.

The
slave girls had crept out already. Yashim followed them, making his way down
the steps and through the guardroom to the corridor.

He
paused with his hand on the handle of the archive door. What should he tell the
young man?

He
pressed the door and it opened. Ibou was standing just inside, holding a lamp.