The Wanderer (67 page)

“And Mustafa ben-Nakir?”

Giulia’s face flushed deeply; she quivered almost voluptuously and pressed against Alberto as she replied, “Sultana Khurrem is capricious and becomes much excited by the sight of blood. I may not speak of all that happened, but I fancy that Mustafa was not entirely disappointed. He remained long alone with her, but in the morning when a black thread could once more be distinguished from a white she sent him away lest he compromise her good name. But the trusty eunuchs found him in the forbidden garden and castrated him at once. They did a great deal more to him by means of short, keen knives, as is customary in the harem, and I believe that not even at Ibrahim’s death did Sultana Khurrem laugh so cooing a laugh as when she witnessed Mustafa’s fate. He heard it and raised his face to look upon her once more before they put out his eyes.”

“I know, I know. You need say no more of that. But dusk is falling and it is time to tell me of yourself, dear Giulia. Tell me what sort of woman you are and why I have never pleased you—why it is you bear me so bitter a hatred.”

Giulia’s voice sank to a whisper and her whole body shook as she replied, “Last night I learned something new, Michael, though I thought I knew it all. It is for that alone that I’ve returned, for I know now—though you can never understand—what exquisite pleasure I shall find in watching the silken noose drawn tight about your throat. I hope you will do me one last service and struggle hard against the mutes, weakling though you are. If sleep is death’s brother, then for a chosen few voluptuous pleasure is its twin! This the Sultana has taught me, and my only regret is that I did not know it sooner; though at times when Alberto thrashed me I seemed to guess at something of the kind.”

“What do I care about Alberto? I have long known that Mirmah is not my daughter, though I never cared to think of that too often. Also I loved you very dearly, desperately though I fought against my love when once I knew what you were. Answer me one question. Have you ever, even for a short time, truly loved me? That is all I want to hear from you now, Giulia—only that.”

Giulia hesitated and turned a frightened glance toward Alberto’s expressionless face. Then she said quickly, “No, I have never really loved you—never. At least not after I found the man who could master me. This you never understood, though often I angered you to make you behave like a man and beat me. Ah, Michael, as a husband you’ve been worse than a eunuch.”

She was now such a stranger to me that I did not even hate her. This strangeness terrified me more than all else, and I could not conceive how I had ever kissed her limbs and her false lips, and with tears. At last in a tremulous voice I said, “The sun is setting and soon the stars will come out. Forgive me then, Giulia, for having spoiled your life and wearied you so long. No doubt it is partly my fault that during our life together you have been turned into a witch—a wild beast incapable of mercy. In my madness I fancied that deep love meant warmth and kindness between two people, and some mutual solace in the hideous loneliness that is the lot of each one of us. I don’t blame you, Giulia. The mistake was mine and I blame only myself.”

Giulia stared at me without grasping a word of what I was saying. I might have been speaking an unknown language. As I had no wish to delight her by displaying my terror of death, I straightened my trembling body and with head erect descended the stairs without giving her a glance. I believe I never even stammered as in the name of the Merciful and Compassionate I begged the Kislar-Aga respectfully to be prompt in the execution of his task. He started from his pleasant snooze, regarded me benignly, and clapped his fat hands. The three mutes at once entered the room, the first of them bearing beneath his arm a bundle that I supposed to contain the necessary black kaftan. I could not but feel some curiosity as to the color of the silken noose. For the green I could not dare to hope, but even the red would have been a mark of high favor, for the salary I received entitled me to no more than the modest yellow cord.

But when the mute unfolded the bundle I was surprised to see only a large leather sack which he spread out upon the floor. At a sign from the Kislar-Aga he took out a hempen rope and while the other two seized Alberto firmly by the arms, he slipped the loop over die slave’s head from behind and strangled him so swiftly and deftly that he had no time to realize what was happening. Alberto had fallen lifeless with a swollen and distorted face before Giulia had taken it in. Then she sprang on the kneeling eunuch like a cat, but his comrades knew their business. They caught her arms and twisted them behind her, holding her fast. She kicked, howled, and tossed her head from side to side, her eyes bloodshot with fury. The Kislar-Aga surveyed her with his head on one side, as if deriving pleasure from her anguish.

To me he said courteously, “Forgive me, slave Michael. By command of my sovereign lady I am to see that your wife is strangled, after which she will be sewn into a leather sack and thrown into the Marmara. Sultana Khurrem is as you know a devout lady and abominates the indecencies of which your wife Giulia has so repeatedly been guilty. Only recently did she learn how criminally Giulia abused her confidence by disguising her lover as a eunuch so as to take him with her into the forbidden apartments of the Seraglio. Naturally you are guiltless of this and I share your deep sorrow, but so shameful an offense must be punished and I can assure you that in future the noble Sultana Khurrem will be more discriminating in her choice of company.”

Giulia had ceased her outcry and was now listening incredulously to his quiet speech. Froth appeared at the corners of her mouth as she screamed, “Are you out of your mind, Kislar-Aga? You shall pay for this with your head. I know too much about you and your secret dealings with the Seraglio physicians.”

“Quite so,” said the Kislar-Aga, and his fat, pale face was stony. “You know too much, you foolish woman. It is for that reason that

Sultana Khurrem has resolved to render you harmless. You should have understood that long ago—you should have seen it in the sand!”

With that he had had enough of words. Once more he gave a sign, the noose was slipped about Giulia’s throat and drawn tight, so that her wild shriek was cut short. Trembling all over I turned away my head, unwilling to see those eyes fade in death. Her body was then lashed to Alberto’s and both were pushed into the sack, which was quickly sewn up. When at last the mutes had departed with their burden I said in astonishment, “How dare they leave us alone together? I might have a weapon upon me and in my terror of death do you an injury. And why put off the inevitable any longer, for I suppose that my fate at your hands was preordained before my birth, noble Kislar- Aga.”

He stroked his bulging chin and his eyes were cold as steel as he replied, “I have executed the Sultana’s orders as confirmed by the Sultan. You also were to have been strangled, but here matters took an unexpected turn. The Sultan, noble man, greatly admires loyalty and daring, though he does not care to speak his mind to the Sultana. Perhaps too he stands just now in special need of acquiring merit. Therefore he commanded me secretly, without Sultana Khurrem’s knowledge, to spare you, because you risked your life to give Grand Vizier Ibrahim an honorable burial. The city was in so disturbed a state that you might have been torn in pieces for it. I may tell you in confidence that your action has greatly healed and solaced his heart. Yet, as you will understand, he is compelled to banish you from the city, that the Sultana may never learn of your reprieve. He is once more a prey to profound melancholy and needs the consolation of white arms and a soft embrace. But you have placed me in a grave dilemma, Michael el-Hakim. I am bound to obey the Sultan’s express command, yet I greatly fear the wrath of Sultana Khurrem. Whither will you go, Michael?”

“What do you say to Egypt, noble Kislar-Aga?” I asked meekly. “I fancy that that land is far enough away, and I believe I could find refuge there if you allow it.”

While I was speaking there entered on noiseless feet a little eunuch who was also a mute; he closely scrutinized my appearance and with a gesture invited me to be seated. He then began to shave me, and afterward set out many materials and pots of color.

“Egypt will do very well,” the Kislar-Aga assented. “You must forget your former life and assume a new name. You must also alter your appearance. My barber is now shaving you and will next dye your skin brown. Don’t be afraid at the wrinkles that will appear on your face as a result—they will disappear in a few weeks. Tomorrow the Sultan is to proclaim the dissolution of the brotherhood of whom Ibrahim was grand master. Countless dervishes will be fleeing for fear of the Mufti, and if you disguise yourself as one of them you need not fear detection. Remember only to talk as little as possible—and try in every way to behave yourself, or Sultana Khurrem will never forgive me.”

The queer tone in which he said this made me suddenly suspicious, and I leaned forward to look more closely at the inscrutable face of a man trained in the Seraglio.

“Noble Kislar-Aga! Only the mutes have seen us and the Sultan need know nothing of what happens. How comes it that you’re willing to spare me, when in general I know you to be a shrewd man?”

“I am a Moslem,” he replied piously, “and the Sultan is Allah’s shadow on earth. It is he alone whom I must obey, though it should cost me my head.” He stroked his fat chin, coughed, and added casually, “Of course I expect a present worthy of you, and I fancy I shall not be disappointed. No doubt you will allow me to glance into the sack that you’ll be taking with you to Egypt.”

“Alas, what are you saying? Through my wife’s extravagance I’m a poor man, as you must know. I own nothing but my house and furniture, and these I freely give you.”

He shook his head reproachfully.

“Remember you are dead. Your wife also is dead, therefore your fair daughter Mirmah is your only lawful heir. How can you be so base as to seek to deceive the man who has saved your life?”

“Mirmah!” I cried with a start. “What is to become of her?”

The Kislar-Aga, resentful of my ingratitude, nevertheless answered patiently, “Sultana Khurrem is a pious woman and out of compassion for your unprotected daughter will take her into the harem and give her a suitable upbringing. She will also take over the stewardship of her property. The Defterdar’s clerk will shortly appear here to make an inventory and to seal the house with the Sultana’s personal seal. It would be well for you to make haste and bring out your treasure chest, or I may be tempted to follow your good advice.”

I found myself in very great perplexity, for I knew that if I showed him Muley-Hassan’s diamonds I should never see a sign of them again, and he would certainly not allow me to dig up the bag alone.

While we were conversing the little barber had completely altered my appearance and now stood admiring the results of his work. He gave me a set of ragged garments, such as dervishes wear, and an evil-smelling goatskin to throw over my shoulders. He had even provided me with an old staff. I could not recognize myself when I looked at my reflection in the mirror.

I was still anxiously debating with myself how to satisfy the rapacious Kislar-Aga when my own deaf-mute entered the room. With flickering fingers he begged my pardon for entering unsummoned, then signed to me to accompany him to the cellars. The Kislar-Aga would not let me out of his sight for an instant, so we took a lantern and went down together. I seldom went to the cellar save to fetch up a jar of wine, and the deaf-mute led us to a room whose existence I had never suspected, since Giulia alone had instructed Sinan how the house was to be built. Clothes belonging to Alberto lay scattered about, and there was also a richly covered bed where Giulia must often have been when I fancied her at the Seraglio. Remains of food, already moldy, a jar of wine, and a lithe cane showed how diligently they had refreshed and revived themselves. The deaf-mute raised one of the flagstones and from the hole thus exposed came the blaze of gold and precious stones. The Kislar-Aga, forgetful of his dignity, fell on his knees and buried his arms to the elbows in coin, then brought out some magnificent ornaments that he inspected with the air of a connoisseur. Only now did I understand what had become of my wealth during all these years.

“Michael el-Hakim,” said the Kislar-Aga, “your slave is more intelligent than you and deserves recompense. He will be raised to a position undreamed-of for one of his quality, for the mutes have chosen him to be their seventh man, now that his predecessor has disgraced himself by the wounds he inflicted on the Grand Vizier. They have already taught him how to handle the noose and he will soon be entirely competent for his merciful function. It was no doubt to win my favor that he showed us this hidden treasure.”

He glanced with benevolent condescension at the deaf-mute and even patted him on the back. But the slave fell upon his knees to me, kissed my feet, watered my hands with his tears, and looked at me with so intelligent and human an expression that with a flash of insight I realized that he knew more about me than I had ever suspected. My repugnance melted away and with my finger tips I touched his brow, eyes, and cheeks as a sign that I understood him. At the same time I felt greatly relieved not to be burdened with him on my journey to Egypt. The Kislar-Aga grew impatient and said, “Michael, you know me for an honest man. Take ten gold pieces from this heap; that’s a great sum for a poor dervish. You may also give a gold piece to your slave.”

Without further delay he took off his costly kaftan and spread it upon the ground, then with both hands heaped gold and jewels upon it. He had just tied sleeves and hem together to make a bundle when there was a fearful explosion. The floor shook, and plaster poured from the ceiling. The portly Kislar-Aga shook like a jelly and cried, “Allah means to punish the city! This is an earthquake. Let us hurry out before we’re trapped like rats beneath the tumbling walls.”

I too was frightened, but as I listened I could distinguish thunderous shots and understood that a cannon ball had struck the house. The janissaries in the garden were yelling at the tops of their voices and guessing at once what had happened I cursed Andy from the bottom of my heart because he would not even let me die in peace, but at the last moment must come meddling in my affairs. I ran swiftly upstairs and out into the garden, to see flames bursting from the janissaries’ muskets. The din of the shooting deafened me, and it was then that I became aware of a dozen wine- and opium-maddened dervishes howling and whirling and brandishing scimitars all over my flowerbeds. I roared to Andy to call off this nonsense, the Kislar-Aga standing behind me meanwhile, trembling and holding me convulsively by the sleeves. Like most eunuchs he was afraid of noise and shooting. Andy obeyed and staggered forward, yet his eyes passed me by and he said inquiringly, “The voice is Jacob’s, but where is Esau’s hairy breast? I seemed to hear my brother Michael’s bleating voice, though I came only to take charge of his corpse.”