The Sultan's Eyes (7 page)

‘Please pass on our gratitude,’ said Valentina. She turned her formidable gaze on Justinian. ‘And our thanks to you, young man.’

He inclined his head ever so slightly. ‘My mother hopes you will call on her so she can meet you in person.’

‘We would be thrilled to make her acquaintance,’ said Valentina, although I was fairly certain that was a lie. She gave me one of her pointed looks.

‘That would be lovely,’ I blurted. ‘And thank you. Too. From me.’

‘We look forward to your company soon,’ said the Admiral.

I took a deep breath. It made sense, then — the flowers, the arrangements. It was, in an odd way, just like Justinian, who, I remembered, had a weakness for the dramatic flourish. Nothing sinister in it at all. I was so relieved I sat down rather heavily on the nearest chair.

‘May we offer you gentlemen some refreshment?’ Al-Qasim asked, and sent Mirza off in search of tea.

‘Please, sir,’ I said to the Admiral, finally remembering some manners, ‘take a seat.’

‘Thank you, my dear.’

He sat across the room next to Valentina. Al-Qasim moved to sit near the fireplace, but Justinian remained standing, as did Willem.

Mirza returned with mint tea in tiny glasses and offered them around on a tray. The Admiral sipped at his carefully, seemed to decide he liked it, and took a gulp. ‘Lovely.’

‘I must thank you for welcoming us to Constantinople,’ I said.

‘No trouble at all, my dear. The Ambassador has asked me to act as your liaison during your stay.’

‘That’s very kind,’ I said. ‘But with whom will you liaise? I know nobody in the city, and have no business dealings here.’

‘Why, with the palace, of course.’

I laughed. ‘There’s no need for that. We’ll never go anywhere near the palace, I’m sure.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Admiral Jonson, ‘you have been invited to attend the Divan — that’s the Sultan’s council meeting — next week. Where’s that paper?’

Justinian handed him a document wrapped in silk ribbons.

‘Me?’ I said.

‘Yes, Mistress Hawkins. You, Signora Contarini and Al-Qasim.’ He turned to Willem. ‘Sorry, lad.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Willem. ‘I’m used to it.’

‘The palace?’ said Valentina. ‘How delightful. Perhaps I won’t mind being in Constantinople, after all.’

‘But why should they invite us?’ I asked.

‘Why, my dear Mistress Hawkins,’ said the Admiral, ‘you and Signora Contarini are seen as wonders of the age, all over Europe and even here.’

I laughed. ‘Whatever can you mean?’

‘Two women who publish books, who translate and print and —’

‘But we’re not the only female printers in the world,’ I said. ‘You make us sound like rare creatures from Africa.’

‘Don’t argue with the Admiral, Isabella,’ said Valentina. ‘I’m very happy to hear that I’m a wonder of the age.’

He grinned. ‘I confess your reception is not entirely on your own account. You travel with one of the finest minds in the Ottoman Empire. The Sultan is pleased to have him home.’ He turned, beaming, to Al-Qasim.

‘This is not my home,’ said Al-Qasim. He didn’t return the smile.

‘I understand the palace is willing to overlook your lengthy absence.’

Al-Qasim grimaced and turned away.

‘What’s all this about?’ I asked, but Al-Qasim had his back to me and the Admiral wasn’t listening. One of his assistants unpacked a bag of papers and they both bent over it, flicking through the contents.

Valentina tapped Justinian on the arm with her fan. ‘I wonder if you could advise me: what should a European lady wear to meet the Sultan?’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Justinian said. ‘Such important issues are well beyond the capabilities of any of the ambassadorial staff. But I’m sure my mother would love to assist you in this urgent matter.’

‘Silk, I imagine,’ said Valentina. ‘I shall need new silks.’

‘It won’t matter what you wear,’ he said. ‘I’m sure the palace will have never seen anyone so glamorous.’

‘I like him,’ Valentina whispered loudly to me in Venetian.

Willem choked on his tea. I ignored them both.

‘You will find everything you need in the bazaar,’ said Justinian. ‘Most foreigners never go across to the city, but I hope you will. There’s a great deal to see, so long as you don’t mind taking boats all the time. Some people find it a nuisance.’

‘You forget, sir,’ said Valentina. ‘We come from a city where the streets are salt water.’

‘Of course,’ said Justinian with a bow.

‘Besides,’ said Willem, ‘Isabella is desperate to trudge around endlessly quoting the ancients at us and pointing out inscriptions on old bits of marble. It’s her favourite thing in the world. That’s really why we’re here.’

Justinian allowed himself the hint of a smile. ‘Then you have come to the right place.’

The Admiral finished rummaging through the bag and handed each of us a wad of paper. ‘We have prepared these for you. They are passes that will allow you in and out of the city gates at any time, without too much trouble.’ He turned to me. ‘I hope you won’t find Constantinople dull after all your adventures, Mistress Hawkins.’

‘Adventures? Hardly the word.’

‘Now, now, don’t be so modest,’ said the Admiral. ‘Word has spread about your escapades in Spain.’

Willem and I exchanged a glance.

‘How on earth can that be?’ I asked.

‘In fact,’ the Admiral went on, ‘you are quite famous.’

‘You’re teasing me, sir.’

He smiled. ‘No such thing. That night in Seville when you faced the Inquisition alone —’

‘Not alone, I promise you,’ I said. ‘Otherwise, I’d surely have been killed on the spot.’

‘You spoke up — only you — against the Duke, the bishops, that monk.’

‘How can you possibly know any of this?’

‘There was a young Englishman there, in the crowd, watching it all. A poet, although not a very good one. He has written an account of his travels, and of that night in particular. It’s a sensation in London.’

‘Goodness,’ I said. ‘I had no idea.’ I felt a blush creep up my throat to my face.

‘I will arrange for someone to send a copy out here,’ said Admiral Jonson. ‘You would enjoy reading it, I’m sure, though its author is rather too libertine for my tastes. But never mind. You are seen in England as a brave opponent of Papism.’

‘I’m not brave,’ I said. ‘I’m not particularly opposed to Catholicism, either. I am, like my father — just like you, Justinian, as I recall — opposed to tyranny in whatever form it takes.’

‘Then perhaps you should write your own account of the incident,’ Justinian said. ‘Put the record straight.’

‘I have written something,’ I admitted.

‘You have?’ said Willem. He put his glass on the nearest table with a clatter.

‘But I haven’t published it yet.’

‘I urge you to do so,’ said the Admiral. ‘Every reader in England would want a copy.’

‘Don’t you dare write anything about me,’ said Willem.

‘Of course not,’ I said, thinking of the thousands of words scribbled on the pages in my journal about him, about all of them. ‘You’re not interesting enough.’

He snorted. ‘That’d be right. Isabella Hawkins’s famous account of how she saved the world single-handed.’

‘I’d never do that,’ I said.

‘See?’ he shot back. ‘You are writing about me.’

‘There seems no way for you to win this argument, Mistress Hawkins,’ said the Admiral.

‘I’m quite used to that, I assure you,’ I said.

Willem chuckled. So did the Admiral, although Justinian, I noticed, didn’t even smile.

The Admiral held up a thick scroll of paper. ‘Perhaps you would permit me to change the subject, fascinating though it is. This, Mistress Hawkins, is your official recognition by our embassy. Your passport. I am authorised by my government to recognise you as an English subject deserving of our protection and support.’

I stretched out my hand slowly to take the document, not sure if the Admiral and his son could see how my fingers trembled. ‘Thank you, sir.’

The passport felt heavy in my hand. I turned it over and pressed my fingertips against the red wax seal. ‘But I don’t really understand what it means.’

The Admiral smiled. ‘It simply means that should you need any assistance while you are here in Constantinople, we are able to offer what we can. As Justin says, my wife would also be very pleased if you would call on her at your convenience. There are so few Englishwomen here and she feels the loss of her friends at home. I’m sure you must feel the same.’

I blinked. ‘I had very few friends in England, sir, in fact, none. But I do know how it feels to lose a friend.’

He stood up. ‘Then I hope you will indulge her with a visit, perhaps after your reception at the palace? She was terribly envious when she heard of it.’

‘Yes, of course.’ I stood, too, and held out my hand. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘My pleasure. Welcome to Constantinople.’

After the Jonsons and the embassy entourage had left, we sat by the fire and tried to make out what it all meant.

‘It seems you are famous, Isabella,’ Al-Qasim said.

‘And I am a wonder of the age,’ Valentina reminded him.

He grinned. ‘I already knew that.’

‘So your government has recognised you?’ Willem said to me. ‘That means that of all the different people who want us dead, we can stop worrying about your General Cromwell.’

‘I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion.’

‘Still, if we get into trouble, at least one of us will have the support of their embassy,’ Willem said. ‘That settles it. I’m going to see the Dutch Ambassador tomorrow. If the English give us flowers, imagine what my people might offer.’

‘Tulips?’ I said.

‘A few years ago,’ he retorted, ‘one tulip bulb would have been worth more than this house.’

‘Perhaps you can set up an export business?’ Al Qasim said. ‘Tulips are native to this area, after all.’

‘Thank you, but no,’ said Willem. ‘I have no wish to scrabble in the dirt. My father was a farmer and I’ve struggled my whole life to avoid it.’

‘You’ve succeeded in that,’ said Valentina.

‘But now I find that I have no work to do at all,’ said Willem. ‘It feels very odd.’

‘Enjoy it while it lasts,’ she said. ‘Soon enough, this leisurely life will be over, and we will be home in Venice, working from dawn to sunset.’

‘I have to do something,’ he said. ‘I’m not like these fancy embassy types who sit around drinking tea all day.’

‘Now, now,’ said Valentina, ‘look what they’ve done for us.’

‘Pfft!’ said Willem. ‘Flower arrangements.’

‘And, it would seem, an introduction to the Sultan,’ Al-Qasim reminded him.

‘Wonderful,’ said Willem. ‘I hope it’s more auspicious than the last time you were invited to a palace.’

The day of our audience at the Sultan’s Palace dawned grey and cold.

‘Feels like snow,’ said Al-Qasim.

‘Lovely,’ said Willem. ‘Just like home.’

‘You will regret those words if we are kept waiting in the courtyard for hours, as is usual.’

‘Surely even a sultan wouldn’t keep a lady waiting in the cold?’ said Valentina.

‘Not intentionally,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘But any attendance at court is filled with lengthy rituals and processes. We will be there for hours before being admitted to the Sultan’s presence, if, indeed, we ever are. It’s much more likely that we will be greeted by some junior official of the Divan who will make long speeches to which
I will be expected to respond. The Sultan, if he’s there at all, will be hidden behind a grille, watching but not speaking.’

‘Then what is the point?’ I asked.

He shrugged. ‘The Sultan empowers his Divan to hear disputes and petitions and to decide matters of policy or law. But the members never know whether or not the Sultan is listening, so they must behave as if he is. I don’t know what happens when the Sultan is a child.’

‘We will see, soon enough,’ said Valentina. ‘Perhaps, instead, we will meet with this famous grandmother of his?’

‘Again, I doubt it,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘None of you will ever be permitted past the Gate of Felicity, and the Valide Sultan will not come out to greet us — nor anyone else for that matter. I don’t think she has left the harem for decades.’

‘I don’t care who greets us, or if we don’t even get through the first gate,’ said Valentina. ‘I am wearing my very best gown and all of my jewels, just in case. It’s not every day you get invited to the greatest palace in the world.’

‘The Divan has never seen anyone like you before,’ Al-Qasim said with a smile. ‘You will astonish them all.’

‘That,’ said Valentina, ‘is the plan.’

It took ages to get ready. The women servants helped me and Valentina wrap our heads in veils of the finest silk so that only our eyes were visible. We stood face to face and stared at each other. She looked like a very glamorous wraith.

‘Are you telling me that I have to wear this all the time now?’ she asked.

‘Apparently so,’ I said, my voice muffled by the fabric. ‘At least, whenever we go outside. Or if we’re in the presence of any local men.’

‘I will become invisible,’ she said.

‘That might not be such a bad thing under the circumstances. Think of it as a Carnevale mask.’

She picked up one corner of my veil and peeped underneath. ‘That does not sound like the Isabella I know. I would have thought you’d protest at hiding under all this.’

‘Under normal circumstances, perhaps. But at times like these, I quite like disguises. Just think: we can go anywhere we wish in the city, and nobody will know who we are.’

‘Speaking for myself,’ said Valentina, ‘I’d prefer to be famous.’

At the appointed hour, there was a loud knock at the door. Mirza announced that our carriage was ready, and helped us into long capes of wool and fur that completely hid all of Valentina’s fabulous Venetian silk and lace.

‘First veils and now this,’ she muttered. ‘What is the point of getting dressed at all? It’s not far. Can’t I just shiver for a while?’

‘We’ll need all these layers, by the sound of it,’ I said, ‘if we have to stand about in the cold.’

‘Ridiculous,’ said Valentina. She drew up her hood.

‘But, sadly, inevitable,’ said Al-Qasim.

Out in the street, sure enough, a light powdering of snow covered the roofs and whirled around corners. A carriage waited for us, covered in red silk and with doors of gilded latticework. It was drawn by two fine black horses, each with a glittering gold headband sprouting peacock feathers — although feathers, silk and horses alike were all rather damp.

‘How extraordinary,’ said Valentina.

A troop of a dozen guards stood in two lines in front of the carriage. Each wore a high conical hat from which erupted great
swathes of white feathers, and all carried razor-sharp pikes on long red poles.

Al-Qasim hesitated in the doorway and stared at them.

‘What is it?’ said Willem.

‘They are
kapici
, the Sultan’s own gatekeepers,’ said Al-Qasim.

‘Poor fellows,’ said Willem. ‘Imagine having to walk around with that on your head.’

‘Are you worried?’ I asked Al-Qasim.

He shook his head. ‘No. But it is unusual.’

‘Unusual in a dangerous way?’

‘I don’t think so.’

The man at the front of the troop spun on his heels and came towards us. He genuflected to Al-Qasim.

‘I am Captain Aziz Skender, of the Sultan’s
kapici
.’

Al-Qasim bowed. ‘We are honoured to have you attend us, Captain.’

‘The honour is mine. The Sultan himself has requested that we escort you to the palace.’

‘We thank you,’ said Al-Qasim.

‘Let’s get out of this snow, then,’ said Valentina. ‘My boots are already soaked through.’

Willem and Mirza helped us into our seats. The floor of the carriage was filled with heated bricks to keep our feet warm, and there were rugs of soft black fur to wrap around our knees.

Willem had decided he couldn’t miss a chance to see inside the palace and had appointed himself our official bodyguard again, although this meant hours of protocol instruction from Al-Qasim. Mirza would escort us only as far as the palace gates. They took up their appointed positions on foot behind the carriage, and at a bark of command from Captain Skender we moved off.

‘I love a procession,’ said Valentina, ‘but I never imagined I’d have my very own.’

She laughed aloud when she saw the boat waiting for us at the quay. It was a red and gold confection, as outrageous as the Doge’s barge, draped with silk and flying golden banners at each end. Thirty oarsmen rowed us quickly across the Golden Horn, to where another carriage waited.

‘I quite like Constantinople so far,’ said Valentina. ‘This city knows how to greet its visitors properly.’

Al-Qasim smiled. ‘It is true, hospitality is very important here. You are honoured guests. But I’m afraid not every day will be like this one.’

‘A pity,’ said Valentina.

It was a short drive, the road cleared of people by Captain Skender and his
kapici
, who marched quickly up the hills, their eyes straight ahead, their pikes held steady.

The streets were narrow in places, framed on each side by rows of brightly painted wooden houses reaching high into the sky. We saw a few old men leading donkeys down laneways, children playing in the snow, a cart piled high with firewood. Most people were inside, windows shuttered against the cold. I wished, more than once, that we were sitting at home by the fire, drinking sugary coffee.

As we reached the palace walls, our procession slowed and came to a halt in front of the Imperial Gate. It was open, and in front of it stood another fifty or so
kapici
. On the far side, facing us, were two rows of guards with swords drawn.

‘They look rather fearsome,’ I whispered.

‘Gorgeous,’ said Valentina. ‘But in a ferocious sort of way.’

‘They are janissaries, the elite imperial corps,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘They are not merely decorative.’

‘I can see that,’ I said. Even in the dull winter light, their blades shimmered.

I glanced around to check on Willem. He was gazing up at the walls that towered above us.

‘What if they don’t let Willem in?’ I asked.

‘Anyone at all is allowed inside the First Court,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘Ordinary people, servants — everyone. It can get very busy. Beyond the next gate, the Gate of Salutation, is the Second Court. Not everyone is able to enter there, but Willem is so obviously a foreigner and one of our party that he will be treated with respect.’

‘But he won’t know what they’re saying to him,’ I said.

‘He is quite safe, don’t worry,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘It’s not him I’m worried about.’ He reached for our hands. ‘Please, remember what I told you. Beyond the gates, we must be silent. No one can speak out loud, not even you, my dear
signora
, and only the highest of the high are permitted to ride through the Imperial Gate.’

‘Don’t worry so,’ I said. ‘We will both be good.’

‘We promise,’ said Valentina.

‘Of course you will,’ said Al-Qasim. He sat back, as if reassured. ‘Now, when they give the signal, we will step down and they will escort us into the guardroom to wait, probably for some time, before we walk to the Gate of Salutation.’

‘I hope it’s warm in there,’ said Valentina.

A trumpet sounded. Al-Qasim glanced around. ‘What’s this?’

‘Is something wrong?’ I asked.

‘I’m not sure … I … it is unexpected.’

He clutched the side of the carriage as it lurched forward. The
kapici
raised their pikes to shoulder height.

‘What’s going on?’ said Valentina.

‘This is quite extraordinary,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘Perhaps the ceremonies have changed since last I was here.’

Inside the gate, the
kapici
fanned out into a semicircle in front of us and stopped. Then, as if at some unspoken signal, the janissaries turned abruptly on their heels and began to march, peeling off into two long columns. A hundred men in bright silks and feathers led the way as our carriage passed right under the Imperial Gate and into the First Court of the Sultan’s Palace. Captain Skender walked solemnly in front of us, his curved sword drawn.

‘It seems we are extremely honoured,’ said Al-Qasim.

Inside the walls was a park, studded with trees, as vast as the piazza in Venice. Ahead of us, the guards marched across the grass in their soft boots, as quietly as cats. Six of them kept pace next to our horses. This was nothing like the Doge’s Palace, where people strolled about and officials argued loudly with petitioners.

I caught Al-Qasim’s eye. He didn’t seem worried, just a little taken aback, so I decided not to give in to the fear that was clawing its way into my chest. He smiled at me and I relaxed a little.

‘It would seem that you are indeed to be celebrated as wonders of the age,’ he said.

‘Quite right,’ said Valentina. ‘It’s about time someone recognised our true worth.’

‘See there?’ Al-Qasim pointed to the left. ‘The Church of Hagia Eirene, of divine peace. A thousand years old, and built by Justinian himself. The emperor, that is, not your friend Master Jonson.’ His voice was a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the silence that descended once we’d passed through the gate.

‘He’s not my friend,’ I hissed.

Captain Skender squinted up at us. ‘Sshh.’

Valentina sighed. ‘But I like talking.’

All the same, we kept our mouths shut as the carriage glided across the grass towards the next gate. The courtyard was full of people: servants carrying loaves of bread on great platters on their heads, clerks scurrying up the portico that ran along one side, janissaries in different-coloured uniforms marching about on some official business or other, two women carrying bundled linen to a laundry. But none of them spoke. Even the horses were silent the whole way.

The next gate was topped with two tremendous conical towers shaped like minarets. That gate stood open as well, with another two rows of guards standing to attention in front of it. Valentina nudged my arm, and I followed her gaze. High above the gate, stuck on long poles, were five heads, black and eyeless, presumably once belonging to people who had offended the Sultan in some way. I had seen such sights before, in London and Seville, but here in the palace, where we were at the mercy of men we had never met, it sent a chill shivering through my body.

‘The Gate of Salutation,’ Al-Qasim whispered. ‘Beyond it, the Court of the Divan, and the famous Library of the Sultans.’

‘Willem seems to be having a lovely time,’ said Valentina.

I twisted around in my seat to look. He was grinning from ear to ear as Mirza pointed at something beyond the gate. I peered over Al-Qasim’s shoulder but couldn’t see anything apart from the columns of janissaries and Captain Skender’s extraordinary headdress.

Our escort came to a stop and the next row of guards parted to let the carriage through. At last I could see what had made Willem smile. This courtyard was smaller than the last, but still enormous and filled with brightly clad people. There were more trees, clusters of white stone buildings with gilded domes, fountains trickling
water, and there, padding gently around patches of snow, a herd of creatures such as I’d never seen before.

Valentina gasped. ‘What are they?’

Al-Qasim smiled. ‘Gazelles, brought all the way from Africa. The Sultan owns several elephants, too, in one of his other palaces.’

‘Wait until I tell Will,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t believe in elephants.’

‘This is truly a city of wonders,’ said Valentina in a whisper so soft it was a sigh.

The carriage trundled to a halt under the gate, and men in blue uniforms unrolled a narrow strip of carpet. We waited for Captain Skender to open the carriage door and then climbed down carefully — a very difficult thing to do in several layers of petticoats and a winter cape, with two hundred pairs of eyes watching you.

An elderly man in grey silk robes and a white turban stepped forward and bowed. I followed Al-Qasim’s lead and dropped into a curtsey, as did Valentina. The man inclined his head and walked away. Al-Qasim motioned for us to follow.

It felt as if we had to walk by every man in Constantinople. Janissaries, merchants, court officials and artisans all lined the pathways in long rows, waiting for the chance to address the Divan or to hear its judgements. They pretended not to see us and kept their gaze fixed on the buildings to the left, where, I guessed, the council met.

The man in grey led us past them all. We walked along a path that cut right through the centre of the court, past a fountain and various monument stones. I glanced back. Willem was close behind us and threw me a reassuring grin. I smiled and took a deep breath. It all seemed so strange, more foreign than any of the places I had ever been, and I was very conscious that Valentina and I were the
only women among hundreds of men. I was glad that Willem had insisted on coming with us, and that Al-Qasim was striding so purposefully a few steps ahead of me.