The Sultan's Eyes (13 page)

‘Your friends are here,’ Admiral Jonson called to him. ‘Come and greet them properly.’

Justinian nodded, and bent low to whisper in the ear of the man beside him.

‘I notice your son dresses in the Venetian style,’ said Valentina. ‘Unlike all those other young men.’

‘Not intentionally,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘But he was so thin when we arrived here, we had to get a completely new wardrobe made for him. That was the best we could do with the local tailors.’

‘He’s filling out now, though,’ said the Admiral. ‘Our cook has made it her life’s work to fatten him up.’

‘Your cook is a woman?’ asked Willem. ‘I may have to marry her.’

Admiral Jonson chuckled.

‘What do you think, Isabella?’ asked Valentina. ‘Isn’t Master Jonson a fashionable young man?’

‘I haven’t noticed.’

‘Really?’

‘I assure you I have no interest in Master Jonson’s outfit.’

But while nobody was watching, I took a closer look at Justinian. He wore black velvet, finely but subtly embroidered around the cuffs, a lace cravat, and soft leather boots like Luis’s. I was so used to Venetian clothes I hadn’t noticed how different he looked to the men around him, all dressed in drab brown wool and stiff linen shirts.

‘I quite approve,’ said Valentina. ‘It suits him. And the English fashion is so severe nowadays.’

‘He’d be laughed out of London in those breeches,’ said the
Admiral. ‘The Puritans who run the place would not approve. But then, that’s the least of it, I suppose.’

Justinian walked towards us, stood before Valentina and ducked his head in the most circumspect of bows. ‘Ladies,’ he said.

He didn’t look at me, but if he felt awkward in my presence he didn’t show it. I was determined to match his unruffled expression.

‘Master Jonson.’ I tried to mimic his mother’s gracious tone, but instead it came out icy.

He nodded to Willem, who returned the gesture, but with the handle of a spoon sticking out of one corner of his mouth.

‘There’s sherbet,’ said Willem. Or at least, I thought that was what he said.

‘Just in time, my boy,’ said the Admiral. ‘The Ambassador should be here any minute, and you know how he hates his staff to be late.’

‘I should think we all have more pressing matters to attend to than sherbet,’ said Justinian.

‘Oh, don’t be so dull,’ said his father. ‘Honestly, sometimes I think you’re older than I am.’

‘So do I.’

‘Sshh,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘Here he is now.’

The footman’s announcement cut through the chatter. ‘Ambassador Sir Thomas Bendish, Baronet of Steeple Bumpstead.’

‘That’s a place?’ Willem whispered. ‘Really?’

Lady Elizabeth nodded. ‘He likes to remind us of his title, but in fact Cromwell has banned him from going anywhere near his lands.’

The Ambassador and his wife nodded to various people in the crowd and sat down near a table in the corner.

‘So we are all exiles?’ I said.

Justinian nodded. ‘You are in good company here, Mistress Hawkins.’

‘Even ambassadors can be punished, then?’ asked Valentina.

‘Some might imagine that being an ambassador is punishment enough,’ said Justinian. ‘But Sir Thomas supported the King back in England. He was thrown into the Tower, stripped of all his lands, and then sent here.’

‘Poor man,’ said Valentina.

‘Indeed,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘Although he is not alone in such suffering.’

‘Mother, please.’ Justinian interrupted before she could say another word.

‘My apologies,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘I spoke unwisely.’ She cast an anxious glance around the room.

‘Do not fear, Master Jonson,’ I said. ‘We are at the furthest edge of Europe. Surely General Cromwell’s spies don’t reach here.’

‘Even here,’ said Justinian, but so quietly I almost missed it.

‘I’m not afraid,’ I said. ‘I’ve faced worse things than General Cromwell.’

‘Then you should be wiser about what you say and to whom you say it.’

‘What are you telling me? Are you a spy?’

He swallowed. ‘No, I am not.’

‘But?’

‘Anyone, any time, may be listening to you,’ he said. ‘And people are paid well to report on what they hear.’

‘So I have learned, to my great cost.’

The Admiral took my hand. ‘Do not fear, Mistress Hawkins. We are among friends here.’

‘Of course we are,’ said Valentina. ‘We have all suffered similar fates to that of your Ambassador.’

‘Not quite.’ Justinian bowed curtly and walked away.

‘Please forgive my son’s manners,’ said the Admiral. ‘He has become a little unpredictable of late. Justin! Come back here.’

I watched Justinian halt, draw a deep breath and turn back to face us. His father motioned him closer and whispered in his ear. Justinian shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, took a couple of steps towards Valentina and bowed.

‘Forgive me, madam.’

She smiled at him magnanimously. ‘I believe I shall.’

‘You are very kind,’ he said. ‘But if you will all excuse me, I must speak to the Ambassador.’

He vanished into the crowd, although he didn’t go anywhere near the Ambassador.

‘Please accept my apologies,’ said the Admiral. ‘He doesn’t mean to be rude.’

‘Don’t worry yourself, my dear Admiral,’ said Valentina. ‘He has weighty matters on his mind, that much is clear.’

‘Yes, that must be it.’

Justinian’s abrupt departure didn’t worry me. It saved me the discomfort of having to speak to him any longer.

I didn’t see Master Jonson or his family for several weeks after that. Our days of exile took on a familiar pattern. We awoke each morning, like the rest of the city, to the voices of the
muezzins
floating through the darkness, calling the faithful to prayer. ‘Allahu Akbar,’ they cried. As Al-Qasim had predicted, the chants became as familiar to us as the bells of Venice, marking the hours of the day and the rituals of the people around us.

After their prayers, the women servants brought us pastries and stewed fruit and cups of coffee thick with sugar. I read with Valentina for a few hours, or we’d take a boat across the Golden Horn and wander through the bazaar, where she would buy more gold rings and fabric than any woman could ever wear. We’d stroll past all the market stalls, sniffing the air and trying to describe the different smells to each other. There were pyramids of sweets made from rosewater and sprinkled with sugar and flower petals, trays of bread baked into knots, dried apricots and raisins, mounds of pepper and saffron threads and cinnamon bark worth more than everything I owned. Scribes, goldsmiths and embroiderers bent over their work, concentrating in spite of the calls of the flower-sellers and carpet merchants echoing through the aisles. Luckily, Mirza was always close by to translate, carry parcels, haggle with boatmen and shopkeepers, and help us find our way out of the labyrinth of alleys, past stacks of rugs and copper pots hanging low above our heads.

I spent my afternoons with the Sultan and his sister, while Willem waited to escort me home. But one day I returned from the palace alone to find Valentina standing in the hallway, impatient.

‘You have forgotten, I suppose?’ she said.

‘Forgotten what?’

‘You see?’

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You have become so absent-minded lately, Isabella, so preoccupied.’

‘Have I?’

She tapped one foot on the marble floor. ‘Tell me, what day is it?’

I thought for a moment. ‘Tuesday?’

‘Wednesday. But besides that, it is the day of the reception at the embassy, and we were supposed to be there an hour ago. Al-Qasim is meeting us there.’

‘Is that where Will is? I couldn’t find him when I left the Sultan’s pavilion.’

‘Of course. He probably got sick of waiting for you and went on ahead.’

‘But what sort of reception is it?’ I asked. ‘Why do they hold so many?’

‘I don’t know. They don’t need a reason. Just get ready. And quickly!’

By the time we arrived, the Ambassador and his wife had already left. The room was full of people. I bowed to Lady Elizabeth, who sat with the other ladies at one end. Their eyes followed us across the room. Admiral Jonson and Justinian sat near the fireplace with Al-Qasim and some embassy officials. Willem was nowhere to be seen. I imagined that he had gone in search of sherbet.

When we approached, the other men took their leave of Admiral Jonson. Justinian tried to walk away, too, but his father muttered to him and they both turned to greet us and offer us seats close to the fire.

Al-Qasim smiled broadly. ‘How is the Sultan this fine day?’

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘He is very interested in Roman emperors at present. I must seek out a copy of Tacitus.’

‘Isn’t he a little young for those stories?’ Valentina asked.

‘I might not read him every word,’ I said.

‘On the contrary, Tacitus ought to be required reading for every emperor,’ said Justinian. ‘All those tales of corruption and madness — it’s like a manual of how not to govern an empire. We might send a copy to our friends in London.’

‘Justin.’ His father didn’t need to say more. His tone was warning enough.

‘I’m sure General Cromwell would find it very entertaining.’

‘That’s enough.’

‘Sorry, Father.’

‘An interesting concept,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘Perhaps, Isabella, you should think of writing an
Instruction for Young Princes
?’

‘Like Machiavelli?’ said Valentina. ‘Except, perhaps, without the wickedness.’

‘Lessons they can learn from the ancients?’ said Justinian. ‘A splendid idea. Even for old princes. Or parliamentarians.’

‘Indeed,’ said the Admiral. ‘Leaving aside my son’s cynicism, that does sound like an excellent project. And who better to write it than the Eyes of the Ottoman Sultan?’

I laughed. ‘Thank you for your faith in me, but I am hardly qualified to write any such thing.’

‘That’s never stopped anyone else writing a book,’ said Justinian.

‘See?’ said Admiral Jonson. ‘Cynical. And yet so young.’

Justinian smiled ruefully. ‘That’s true enough. I can’t imagine how it happened.’

Willem materialised at my elbow. ‘Good day, Admiral. Ladies.’

‘Where have you been, Willem?’ said Al-Qasim. ‘I searched everywhere for you.’

‘Nowhere,’ said Willem. ‘What are we discussing?’

‘Master Jonson’s temperament,’ I said.

‘Oh, that.’

‘Perhaps Constantinople doesn’t agree with you, Master Jonson?’ Valentina asked.

‘On the contrary,’ said Justinian. ‘I feel more alive here than anywhere else.’

‘Travelling has that effect, I’ve found,’ I said. ‘It opens up your idea of the world and its limits.’

‘I’m sure you are quite right about that, Mistress Hawkins. My life has been rather … um … constrained in recent times.’

He let out a bitter laugh, so unlike the Justinian Jonson I had once known that I stared at him. He was different now, that much was sure. But how?

‘That’s enough, son,’ said the Admiral. ‘You have startled Mistress Hawkins.’

‘Ah, but Mistress Hawkins doesn’t startle easily,’ said Justinian. ‘Do you?’

‘I’ve been startled enough for one lifetime,’ I said.

‘Then by all means let us keep you in a state of blissful innocence.’ Something like anger flared in his eyes.

‘Why do you speak to me so?’ I asked.

I could feel my own fury rising again in my chest. Justinian had always had a special ability to make me angry. Perhaps, I realised, it had been mutual.

‘Please, Mistress Hawkins,’ the Admiral cut in. ‘He doesn’t mean to be rude.’

I ignored him. We both did.

Justinian held my gaze. ‘It’s as if you were a trigger on one of my brother’s pistols. An explosion of some kind always seems imminent.’

‘And you sound as if you despise me,’ I said. ‘Is that it?’

That same laugh erupted again, as if I had strayed near the truth. ‘Despise? No, no. Nothing of the sort. You have it the wrong way around. You are angry at me and I reflect it back at you, that’s all. I am a looking glass. Not a well.’

‘No matter how you describe yourself, you mistake me,’ I snapped.

I knew the others were watching us, Willem glaring ferociously. His eyes flicked from my face to Justinian’s and back again. It felt as if I was on show, or even on trial. I should have remembered my manners, or at the very least fought down my temper, but I couldn’t. Something in Justinian’s face — in the very fact that he was here, in the same city as me — made me want to shout at him. It was all I could do to keep my voice steady.

‘I have apologised for my actions in England,’ I said.

‘And all is forgiven.’

‘What more do you ask of me?’

‘Not a thing.’

He glanced at his father, whose face was as red as the rug on the floor, then bobbed his head in what passed for a bow.

‘Please excuse me. My father will call the embassy guards if I say another word. I know the meaning of that look.’

‘I’ll whip you myself, boy,’ said the Admiral. ‘I don’t need the guards.’

‘Farewell.’ This time, Justinian bowed deeply and ostentatiously. ‘It seems I must flee.’

He vanished through a side door, and the smack of his footsteps echoed down the long hallway. The rest of us sat for a few moments in awkward silence.

Al-Qasim was the first to rise. ‘We must be going, too, I fear.’

I got to my feet.

‘I can only apologise again for my wayward son,’ said the Admiral.

‘Please don’t worry,’ said Valentina with a gracious smile.

The Admiral smiled back at her, relieved. ‘He doesn’t mean anything by it.’

I bowed to him, although not quite as theatrically as Justinian. ‘On the contrary, Admiral, I think your son has made himself perfectly clear. Good day to you.’

‘Oh, I like young Justinian,’ said Valentina once we reached the street.

‘I don’t.’ Willem crammed his hat onto his head. ‘He and his temperament can go —’

Valentina raised a hand to prevent Willem saying anything more. ‘He has wildfire in his eyes, don’t you think, Isabella?’

‘Can’t say I’ve ever noticed that,’ I replied.

‘Handsome, too, compared to all those other pasty Englishmen,’ she added.