The Lake of Sorrows (16 page)

“Please, Muhtar Bey.” Tahir rubbed the back of his neck with his large hand. “Let us change the subject. I am a courtier myself.”

“No, Tahir, you are not.” Muhtar smiled apologetically and put his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “You are a warrior, my father’s shield and a keeper of the peace in Yannina. Nothing slimy or shameful in that.”

Tahir smiled back at his master’s son and seized the moment of better mood. “Come, Muhtar Bay, let us join the festivities. Hear the music. Smell that food. Think of the wine. Your father might wish you to speak later. Being the best man, you should be there. Please.”

“I will come for your sake, Tahir.” Muhtar began trudging towards the palace gate, chortling. “However, have no doubts. There will be no need for any speech of mine. My father will do all the important talking himself. He always does.”

“I
thought they would never leave.”

Alexis’ fearful face appeared among the leaves of a bush hugging the harem garden’s gate less than two paces from where Tahir and Muhtar had stood only moments before. He extricated himself from the bush, then helped a trembling Shouhrae do the same.

“You are really here.” With wide, disbelieving eyes, Alexis revelled in the sight of her. “I thought I had lost you forever.”

Shouhrae was looking anywhere but at the young man, fidgeting. “Please, my love. Listen carefully. We cannot talk safely. Not here, not now. I have given a golden bracelet to a slave so tonight she will have a boat ready for you on the other side of the lake. It will take you from a safe route within the back walls of the palace. There it will be safe for us to meet and talk.”

The youth tried to take her in his arms, but she recoiled, although her eyes spoke eloquently about the effort it took to do so. “For both our sakes, my love. Go. If they catch you here, they will … ” She would not think any further.

“I will be there, my love.” Alexis forced himself to back away from her. “I cannot wait to hold you in my arms again.”

The sound of heavy footsteps reached their ears, followed by a gruff “Who goes there?” They bolted, Shouhrae back into the garden, Alexis in the opposite direction.

Moments later, a guardsman stomped up to the gate, eyeing the surroundings with more irritation than concern, then vented his feelings to noone in particular. “The pox on those boys and their shamelessness! Always trying to catch a glimpse of those bodies that are only for the Pasha’s pleasure!” Growling, he marched off.

Behind a tree, Alexis caught his breath and blessed those shameless boys, whoever they might be.

“L
ook at them!”

Muhtar and Tahir stood at the entrance to the great hall of the palace. The young Bey let his gaze take in the lavishly decorated room from end to end; hundreds of guests, dressed in their finest, trembling in their fine clothes, trying to look at ease on their divans, eating and drinking desperately, laughing shrill, forced laughter; musicians that played furiously, dancing girls sweating with fear of spoiling this terrifyingly important occasion for their master; and, in the select group around the Pasha, his favored Eminee, with
adjutant-commandant
Roche and his delicious bride - or bribe - at their side.

Tahir made a valiant attempt at mirth. “I have never seen so many people enjoying themselves so much. Your father — “

“They pretend to enjoy themselves although most of them are here because they have no other choice.”

“All prominent men of Yannina are present. What a tribute to your father’s reign.”

Muhtar was tired of even bothering to trip up Tahir’s merrymaking. “Who is her husband, Tahir? Where is he sitting?”

Tahir wished he had no tongue to speak with; he knew who ‘she’ was. “He is not here. He left yesterday on urgent business. But he has sent your father lots of gold to apologize.”

If a bee had stung Muhtar he would have seemed less surprised. “So he truly does not care a bit about her. He has left her alone again already.” His voice dripped disgust. “If she were mine, I would never leave her side.”

Tahir nodded in agreement and out of the corner of his eye he saw Alhi summoning his son with an imperious gesture.

“Your father wants you to join them.” Tahir’s evident relief brought a scowl to Muhtar’s face.

“Find an excuse, Tahir. I am leaving myself. Now.” The Bey’s scowl melted away and was replaced by a dreamy smile that left no doubt in Tahir’s mind as to
where
Alhi’s son was leaving for.

Tahir gingerly approached the Pasha’s table, and Eminee made room for him to sit next to Alhi. Servants quickly brought an extra divan, too quickly for the captain to think of some reason for excusing himself. So he bowed his head to his master, gulped in some calming breaths and spoke hurriedly. “A wedding that will become legend, my Pasha. Everybody will remember it for as long as people wed in Yannina. How can I serve you?”

“Have you gone cross-eyed, Tahir?” The coarse accent of a Tepeleni goatherd was thicker than ever in Alhi’s voice, a voice that was, for once, slurred with drink. Today, the Pasha’s religion was Christianity, it seemed. “I wanted my son to join us.”

“Oh, forgive me, my Pasha. We thought you were waving at me. That is why your son left.” Tahir ventured an innocent smile, though the effect was marred by drops of sweat appearing on his forehead.

“Gone? Gone where, you lout?”

“He said he would make a round of the palace.” Tahir was improvising as he spoke, now sweating profusely. “He would make sure no enemy or thief would sneak in through the crowds that are in the palace today.”

Alhi gave his captain a look that made the old soldier acutely aware of his bowels, and Tahir could not stop talking. “Oh, he said he would do a sweep of the city, too. You know how these peasants start fights once they have too much to drink. And today, my Pasha, you have given them more drink than any man can hold without a fight.”

Alhi leaned forward, looked Tahir straight in the eyes and played along. “When did this happen and why did neither of you deign to tell
me?
”

Tahir was thrown off guard. “What? When did what happen?”

“Between you and my son, Tahir.” Alhi spoke with a naive face that would have made lesser men flee and women faint. “When did you arrange to exchange duties?”

Tahir gulped, his mind racing for an explanation - but Alhi gave him little time for one. “I put you by his side to keep me informed about what is going on with this Froshenie, Tahir. Not to uncle him and cover up for him. You think you can fool me, old man? Go after him. Right away. Do your duty - and remind
him
of his.”

Tahir left almost running, as if a pack of hungry dogs were chasing after him. Behind him, Alhi raised his goblet to propose yet another toast to Bonaparte, smiling once again to groom and guests, the smile of an absolute ruler. Fear made almost everyone believe it was.

Everyone but his sister. Haynitsa’s nightmare-plagued insomnia had set her nerves on a terrible edge, tortured her senses to an acute pitch. Alhi may have thought he had kept his voice so low noone but he and his captain could hear it, but he was not the first to make that mistake with Haynitsa.

She turned to Pashou, wife of the Bey of Yannina, sitting on the same divan, right next to her. “Forgive me, Pashou.”

Her tone made Pashou completely forget her dessert, although it was the most exquisite
revani
cake, soaked in the finest orange- and rose-flavored syrup. The lady Pashou, already quite voluptuous for a woman of her tender years, loved the pleasures of life and hated those who denied them to her. But Alhi’s madwoman sister asking for forgiveness made her quite lose her appetite. “Whatever for, Haynitsa?”

“For not having done my duty to you as a good sister-in-law. And for doing it now.”

“You … frighten me.” And there was indeed fear in Pashou’s face; Haynitsa was known to converse with the same ghost that stalked the Pasha himself.

“I merely want to open your eyes, although that is sometimes fearsome enough. Have you not noticed that your husband - who is not ill - is not among the guests for this splendid occasion?”

S
houhrae had never been in Eminee’s rooms in the palace before. They were right next to the harem wing, but few harem girls were ever asked - or summoned - there. Shouhrae had been summoned, definitely not asked, by a stern-voiced Eminee; now the young harem girl marveled at her mistress’ accommodations.

She had expected sumptuous quarters and great riches. Instead, she was standing in small, semi-dark rooms that held only a bed, a table and a simple divan with comfortable, but unadorned pillows. The only decoration on the walls was a sword, hung crossed with its scabbard; a sword she knew to have been Alhi’s before he became Pasha, for the sword was a pitted and scarred blade of simple steel, its handle and scabbard simple, faded leather.

Eminee waited patiently until her visitor’s gaze had been attracted by this single decoration and until Shouhrae had had the time to understand. “Yes. I am the Pasha’s sword. And yours. To protect all of you from enemies. And your worst enemy is sometimes yourself.”

Despite the heat of the approaching noon, Shouhrae felt ice-cold. “I … fail to understand, mistress.”

Eminee’s tone was full of concern yet stern and severe. “You have no idea what would happen to you, had it not been me who saw you earlier in the yard.”

“I just talked to a guard.” Shouhrae’s protest was reedy-voiced, the words coming too fast.

“I saw you, girl! You talked to a Christian and not a guard. Do not lie to me.”

Shouhrae lowered her eyes to look at her feet. She could not keep them from shifting uneasily.

“You are not long with us.” Eminee’s face took on a motherliness that failed to soften her voice. “You must understand how the world of a Pasha and a harem works.”

“I am ever so grateful — “

Eminee waved her off. “Yes, you enjoy a good life full of luxury. But only as long as you do nothing to insult the Pasha’s name. Harem girls often think that means ‘as long as I am not
caught
doing anything to insult the Pasha’s name.’”

“But, mistress — “

“And the Pasha will know if any of
you
do anything to insult his name. It is I who reports to the Pasha what is happening in the harem. Not the eunuchs. It is unusual and a power I have earned with love and devotion. I do try my best to use this power wisely - but you must help me.”

“I would never — “

“Oh, yes, you would. Yes, I understand it is not easy. Young girls caged in here and temptation right across the hall. It seems so beguilingly easy to slip out one dark night — to the rooms of Alhi’s officers, perhaps. Or the barracks of his stalwart young guardsmen.”

Eminee put her hands on the girl’s shoulders and felt the tremors her words were driving into Shouhrae. “You have no idea how many girls I have seen slipping off and making that mistake over the years. I tried hard to save a few - but in vain. I am not Alhi’s only set of eyes, his spies are everywhere. Never forget that. Do you know what has happened to all those other girls that slipped and made that mistake?”

Shouhrae shook her head, not because she did not know, but to drive away the knowing.

“They are all dead, Shouhrae. At the bottom of the lake, that infernal lake! None of the rulers that sent their sisters and daughters to Alhi can blame the Pasha. There are no bodies, no proof. The mists of the lake keep its secrets very well.”

Eminee drifted her palm across Shouhrae’s face, fingers spread, as lightly as if it had been the mist itself.

The young girl felt it like the touch of death, and tears ran down her cheeks. “I did nothing more than just talk.”

“I hope so. If you did - or do - any more, noone will be able to help you.”

Eminee embraced the girl like a mother as Shouhrae burst into violent sobs. “I do not want to strike terror into you, girl, but I do not want to see any more like you go into that lake of Shaytan’s.”

T
he tavern of Constantine had never held so many guests at any one time before. Cheering, singing citizens were packed in to tightly that a wise man finished his glass or cup in a hurry, lest the constant bumping of elbows made one waste one’s drink. Then again, once a glass was drained, it was quickly refilled, for all the wine served in Yannina was paid for by the Pasha today, to celebrate the wedding.

“I am not serving them our good wine, Constantine!” His father-in-law, Yannos, was grunting under the weight of yet another barrel of wine he was manhandling up the staircase from cellar to kitchen. “Most of these brutes are so drunk already we could serve them goats’ piss and they would not notice the difference anyhow.”

Constantine answered nervously without looking at Yannos - the tavern-keeper was pouring wine with both hands into a dozen cups. “They would know in the morning and the Pasha would not take kindly to having paid for
that
. Choose decent wine, at least.”

Yannos heaved the barrel off his wiry frame and onto the kitchen floor. “What made you so devoted to the Pasha all of a sudden?”

“The Pasha paid us handsomely, Yannos. And I know he does so to impress this Frenchman with his wealth - but the Pasha is wealthy because he never liked to part with his gold. I will not serve bad wine for good money when it is the Pasha’s money!”

“I hope you will pour the very best wine for me, Yannos!” A young man with the broadest smile in Yannina had burst into the kitchen.

Constantine bear-hugged the youth, laughing. “The very best, Alexis. It has been far too long since you came to my tavern. Where is the fair Anesso?”

Alexis fought his way valiantly out of the mighty hug and slapped the tavern-keeper’s fat shoulder. “Off to re-stock her cart with silks and whatnot after the Pasha’s harem cleaned us out at such a lovely profit. But I chose your tavern to be the place where I celebrate something else entirely.”

“The wedding?”

“Myself too. And with far greater joy.”

Constantine motioned for Yannos to take a tray with the dozen-or-so filled cups to the guests, then pulled up a chair for Alexis. Reaching above his head, he found a noble-looking bottle in the darkness among the heavy beams holding up the tavern’s low ceiling and poured a mighty glass of wine for Alexis. “Always the best wine for you, Alexis. So come on now, spit it out. What do you celebrate yourself for?”