The Tournament (15 page)

‘Two
men
kissing?’ I gasped. I had heard the occasional comment back in England about men who enjoyed the company of other men, but it had never made much sense to me. It seemed very peculiar. My father would sometimes insult two men by saying they were in love with each other and everyone present would laugh. And he would often call one earl a ‘dirty sodomite’. But I had never actually imagined two men kissing tenderly.

Elsie went on. ‘Then the haze parted and I spotted our new friend Zubaida lying on a lounge, half-naked, smoking an opium pipe as she surveyed the delightful scene. After she took an inhalation of the pipe, she caressed herself, drawing a finger from the tip of one of her nipples down the length of her stomach until it ended inside her, and with her senses heightened by the magic of the poppy seed, she pleasured herself. My!’

My eyes almost popped out of my head as I listened.

Elsie said, ‘Not far from Zubaida, above that theatre of hedonism, up on the largest chaise of all, was Crown Prince Selim who was himself being pleasured by a slave girl while he casually smoked an opium pipe.

‘I went over to Zubaida.

‘“Ah, Lady Elsie . . .’ she said languidly. “You came! Find a—mmm—partner and—enjoy yourself.”

‘I gazed around this chamber of pleasure and threw off my gown, joining them in their nakedness. I won’t lie to you, Bessie, I have enjoyed congress with men before and it is just the most
sublime
thing, intoxicating, almost addictive, really. I confess I have mounted quite a few gentlemen back in England, even some married ones. Indeed, the married ones seem to exert themselves with the most vigour of all.’

I listened in stunned silence, completely absorbed. Elsie had never spoken to me about such topics. At the time I felt she was confiding in me, but now I believe she just needed
someone
to tell about her nocturnal adventure, and in far away Constantinople I was the closest thing Elsie had to a confidante.

She went on. ‘So I strolled around that hazy chamber, completely nude, like a woman in a market, assessing the wares on offer. And I was not the only such observer. At one point, I found myself standing on a small balcony beside the young Austrian girl, Helena, the virgin who was to be presented as a gift to the Sultan: she was flanked by two stern-looking eunuchs, watching the scene. I guessed that as a virgin who would one day pleasure the Sultan, she’d been sent to observe the gathering—chaperoned by the sexless eunuchs—and thus learn the various techniques of pleasuring a man.

‘Oh, it was just divine, Bessie! The smell of the incense, the shadows writhing in the candlelit mist. I assessed the delicious prospects on offer and settled on a cluster of three wrestlers, glistening with oil from their earlier exhibition matches, who sat in a booth in a corner, chatting with two girls and sipping wine.

‘One of these wrestlers caught my eye. He was a gorgeous man, with a square jaw, huge chest and bulging arms. He looked me up and down, then nodded approvingly.’

‘My goodness, Elsie, what did you do?’ I leaned forward.

‘What do you think I did?’ Elsie said tartly. ‘I winked at him, then guided him over to an empty bed of cushions and let him occupy me beautifully for the next two hours. He took me in every way, Bessie, every way, but his massive body always moved with a gentleness, a
slowness
that was designed to heighten the extraordinary pleasure of our copulation. My body just thrilled at his ministrations.’

I gasped again. Till then, I’d not heard sexual congress described so openly or sensually. Back home in England, such talk was repressed; it was just
not done
. But Elsie, quite clearly, found the act of copulation—and the memory of it—exhilarating.

‘Oh, how he could teach the men of England a thing or two about lovemaking,’ she continued. ‘And the Persian girls, too, Bessie, you won’t believe what they do! They shave the hair around their pudenda into neat little triangles or, in some cases, they shave it all off, making them completely hairless down there!’

‘My Lord . . .’ I breathed. What a bizarre thing to do.

‘I must admit,’ Elsie said, ‘it looked very sophisticated and alluring, especially with their narrow waists and curving hips. Perhaps I shall try it. In any case, at length the night drew on and the oil lamps dimmed and the crowd slowly dispersed, I among them. I left my stallion with a dainty kiss of thanks and made my way back here, but on the way, I saw something most scandalous.

‘As I was leaving the Harem, I caught sight of a robed figure—a woman, I was sure—darting down a side corridor and slipping into a curtained room. Thinking it might be a second exclusive gathering, I followed her and cautiously drew aside the curtain.

‘Oh my Lord, Bessie, inside the little room I saw the largest of all the wrestlers—the huge broad-shouldered fellow with long dark hair named Darius—making love to a woman with genuine unbridled passion. I noticed immediately that the woman was not Persian but rather had the fair skin of a European. They kissed forcefully and he held her up against the wall, her robe bunched up over her naked hips, her legs wrapped around his waist. He gripped her slim body with giant hands and I truly thought that if he wanted to, he could have snapped her in two.

‘Then she climaxed and threw her head back and I glimpsed her face, and I ducked back behind the curtains. Bessie, it was the queen! The Sultan’s wife! Coupling with the most celebrated wrestler in the realm!’

‘Goodness me . . .’

‘Needless to say, I scurried away from there and hurried back here to our rooms. Oh, Bessie, I can’t tell you how magical it all was. Magical, delightful, delicious and decadent. I’m so thrilled you brought me here! Zubaida says the Crown Prince will be hosting more gatherings during the tournament. I can’t wait to go again! Who knows, maybe I will catch the eye of Crown Prince Selim himself.’

Elsie threw herself back onto her pillow, sighing dramatically.

I did not know what to say.

I just said, ‘Elsie, are you not frightened by the murder of the cardinal last night? Do you think it wise to be venturing out into the palace after midnight?’

‘You may not understand it now, Bessie, but trust me, the pleasure I experienced tonight was worth venturing out for.’

A GLORIOUS DAY REPLACED
that grim night. After we partook of a sumptuous breakfast delivered to our rooms by Pietro, the chef’s teenage son, our little party gathered in the vestibule.

‘The tournament draw is to be held in an hour,’ my teacher said. ‘Giles, your plans before then?’

‘Just to keep my mind at ease, in case I am drawn to play in the first match.’

‘Right. Elsie, please stay here with Mr Giles and give him any help or attendance he might require; we need our man to be in top form when he is called on to play. As for you, Bess, you can come with me.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘We are going to commence our investigation and we will begin by retracing the dead Cardinal Farnese’s steps last night. Which means, first of all, we shall visit his host, the Pope’s ambassador here at the Sultan’s court, Cardinal Cardoza.’

Cardinal Cardoza’s embassy was not far from our lodgings. One of only a few ambassadors granted the privilege of living inside the palace walls, he and his staff resided in the standalone structure I had seen the previous evening out on the wide lawn of the Fourth Courtyard. A white two-storey marble building, it was one of the oldest structures in the palace and looked out over the Sea of Marmara to the south. It was also very close to the shallow pool in which Cardinal Farnese’s body had been found.

As we approached the embassy with Latif, Mr Ascham moved away from my side, peering oddly at the grass. Then, instead of going straight to the structure’s front entrance, he walked in a full circle around the building, his head bent the whole time, looking intently at the ground.

Only when he had conducted a complete circuit of the embassy did he allow Latif to take us to the main entrance. Latif knocked loudly on the ornate door.

Cardinal Cardoza’s manservant answered it. ‘Latif, good morning,’ he said. His voice was as emotionless and blank as his face. He was taller up close and I saw that he had the rough brown complexion of a Sicilian or a Sardinian. His eyes were dead.

‘Sinon,’ Latif said. ‘I have an investigator from the Sultan to see Cardinal Cardoza.’

The manservant—Sinon—threw a neutral glance at Mr Ascham and me. He pulled open the door and allowed us in. ‘Come inside, please.’

He guided us into the embassy. We entered a beautifully decorated atrium furnished with a large oak desk, some chairs and many Catholic icons mounted on the walls: crucifixes, chalices, candlesticks, all made of gold.

To our left, I saw a small chapel with rows of pews and an altar. Near its doorway, a set of stairs ascended to the building’s upper level. To my right were a couple of curtained-off guest nooks and some windows overlooking the sea: every one of them bore thick velvet drapes. The whole place exuded ecclesiastical wealth, the kind my father despised. A priest nodded to us as he left his nook and disappeared into the chapel to pray.

Fetched by Sinon, Cardinal Cardoza appeared on the stairs. ‘Hello, Latif. I was wondering if I might receive an emissary from the Sultan this morning.’

Latif said, ‘Cardinal Cardoza, this is Mr Roger Ascham from Cambridge. At the Sultan’s command, he is investigating Cardinal Farnese’s death.’

‘An English inquisitor?’ Cardoza said. ‘Intriguing.’ His eyes fell on me. ‘Tell me, do all Englishmen bring children along when they investigate hideous crimes?’

‘This is my student, Elizabeth,’ Mr Ascham said evenly. ‘When I brought her to Constantinople, I did not anticipate that I would be charged with finding a killer. She is in my charge and so must accompany me wherever I go. I hope you do not mind.’

‘Not at all.’ The cardinal’s eyes lingered on me longer than I liked before returning to face my teacher.

Mr Ascham said, ‘I would like to ask you some questions about Cardinal Farnese.’

Cardinal Cardoza nodded sadly. ‘But of course. I have hardly slept. I am still appalled and aggrieved that my visiting brother from Rome should fall foul of this beast prowling the streets of Byzantium.’

He had deep red bags under his eyes. It
looked
like he had hardly slept.

My teacher said, ‘Your Grace, I am not so sure that is what happened, which is why I am trying to reconstruct the cardinal’s movements last night.’

At this, Cardinal Cardoza cocked his head. He looked at Mr Ascham with extra interest.

Mr Ascham said, ‘You and Cardinal Farnese left the banquet together, did you not?’

‘Yes, we did.’

‘And you returned here?’

‘Yes. I had arranged for separate meals to be brought here. We were planning to discuss some correspondence he had brought from Rome over dinner. But I was detained on our way out of the courtyard by some other Christian guests, Brother Raul from Spain and his patron, the famous Ignatius of Loyola, so Cardinal Farnese went ahead of me. My discussion went overlong and I was delayed by almost half an hour. When I arrived here, Cardinal Farnese was nowhere to be found.’

‘I see. Can you tell me if the cardinal was in any known danger prior to coming to Constantinople?’

‘Nothing beyond the obvious. His writings on Islam have provoked angry comments from the Sultan’s religious advisors and other Moslems, but nothing that I would call dangerous.’

‘You wouldn’t call a
fatwa
dangerous?’

‘That was mere posturing on the part of the Imam. None of the other Islamic scholars agreed with him, so the
fatwa
was never issued.’

‘Did the cardinal receive any threats of violence after his arrival here?’

‘None that I know of, beyond locals showing him the soles of their shoes.’

‘Cardinal Farnese would have informed you if he was in danger?’

‘We have been friends for many years, Mr Ascham. Since long before we were cardinals. He would have told me, yes.’

‘May I see his room?’

The cardinal’s eyes darted sideways.

‘Why would you want to do that? See his room?’

‘You say he returned here to dine with you in private but then departed—or was abducted—before you arrived. It is conceivable that he did not make it back here at all. An examination of his room might give us some clue as to his actions when he returned, if indeed he did.’

Cardinal Cardoza seemed to consider this.

‘All right,’ he said slowly.

The cardinal ushered us up the stairs. His manservant, Sinon, followed behind us, an eerie shadow.

Cardoza said, ‘Cardinal Farnese was sleeping in my personal bedchamber, as his rank required. I am sleeping in a common monk’s nook for the first time in years.’

We came to the top of the stairs and entered the cardinal’s bedchamber.

A breathtaking room greeted us. It featured an enormous bed dressed in gorgeous blue satin sheets. White gauze curtains swayed with the breeze coming off the sea, veiling the windows in the same way a bride’s veil covers her face. It was clear that Cardinal Cardoza usually slept in great luxury. My teacher surveyed the room and even if the others could not sense it, I could feel his disapproval. It was
too
well appointed, too luxurious for his practical mind.