And, of course, he was right again. My body was in a state, reacting to my twin excitements of that night—in the cisterns with Zubaida and here in the menagerie with the wolves and the bear—and as my heart gradually slowed and my body warmed, I could feel a heavy sleep coming on.
The two wolves took up sentry positions right outside our cage, lying there in wait, while in the centre of the menagerie the great bear feasted happily on his catch, the sound of crunching wolf bones echoing throughout the walled enclosure.
I couldn’t resist the heaviness of my eyelids any longer and they closed and, forgetting all the things I had to tell my teacher, I fell into a deep sleep.
Mr Ascham held me close that whole night. He did not sleep. He guarded me. My teacher. My knight. My protector.
Just before dawn, the Sultan’s chief animal keeper and his assistant arrived at their menagerie to find the natural order of things overturned: two wolves in the central area, two humans in the wolf cage, and one very satisfied bear in its cage with fresh blood all over its mouth.
At first, the animal keepers refused to release us, despite our claims to be agents of the Sultan. I think they suspected us to be poachers whose plans had gone awry. The sadrazam was called and when he arrived some time later with a cohort of guards, he just looked at my teacher and me with a shake of the head.
‘Why am I not surprised?’ he said. Then, to the animal keepers, he said: ‘Get them out.’
At length, the keepers lured and captured the two loose wolves and reversed our situations. Mr Ascham and I thanked them profusely and hurried back to the palace. By this time, dawn had come, although it was still raining.
Before we hastened back up the hill from the menagerie, however, Mr Ascham did one last thing. He crouched to examine the muddy ground outside the main gates of the menagerie.
‘What are you looking for?’ I asked.
‘I assume that you, I, the animal keepers, the sadrazam and his men all kept to the paved path to get here. But I’m guessing that whoever trapped us inside the menagerie hid somewhere out here and then stole across the muddy ground to close the main gate behind us. I’m looking for . . . this.’
I crouched beside him and saw what he saw, and I marvelled at his acumen.
There in the mud was a fresh set of footprints, footprints made by a pair of wooden-soled sandals, the left one of which had a V-shaped nick in it.
ELSIE AND THE CROWN PRINCE
FOR ONCE, ELSIE HAD got to bed before me. When I returned to the room I shared with her, I found her curled up in her bed, blissfully asleep.
Exhausted from my stressful night-time adventures with first Zubaida and then Mr Ascham, I dropped into my bed, an act which unfortunately woke her.
She leapt to my side, excitement personified. ‘Bessie! Bessie! I did it! I did it! I snared the Crown Prince!’
I could barely keep my eyes open. ‘Really?’
‘I had him inside me, stiff as a flagpole. Oh, Bessie, it was simply divine. And after the raptures I gave him, I think I might have a very good chance of becoming his queen after all!’
Tired as I was, I was keen to hear her tale. And she was ever so keen to tell it.
Elsie said, ‘After I was granted access to the Harem—leaving you and Zubaida outside, I’m so sorry!—I was escorted to the Sultan’s private bath chamber, which was simply a paradise on earth, far grander than the prince’s bath-house. It had several hot-water pools made of marble, all built at different levels and all connected by tumbling waterfalls. Steam rose everywhere, making every nubile young body in there shine like polished bronze.
‘But while the bath-house might have been larger, the gathering was smaller: only the Crown Prince, a handful of his friends and six girls, including me.
‘When I entered the bath-house, I saw that Crown Prince Selim had ensconced himself on a marble platform that jutted out into one of the larger pools and on which sat a wide marble throne. Two naked Persian girls fed him grapes while a third with gigantic breasts bent over in front of him, offering him her body.
‘He saw me enter the bath-house. We locked eyes.
‘While I held his gaze, I loosened my dress, letting it fall to the floor, exposing my body to him. But my nakedness was different that night. Remember how I told you about that fashion among the Persian girls: to increase their allure, they shave the hair around their pudenda, with some even shaving it all off to create a sleek smooth look. Well, so had I. My nether region was completely hairless. The Crown Prince saw this and he smiled.
‘Then, while still maintaining eye contact with me, he stood from his marble throne and entered the bent-over girl in front of him, all the while watching me. The girl squealed with delight as he pumped her but his every thrust was clearly directed at me across the chamber.
‘And so, still watching him, I just sidled over to the nearest bath and slid into its gloriously heated waters. Then I lay on a marble island a short distance from his throne, my body glistening all over with wetness.
‘Then, while he was still pumping the Persian girl, the prince called over one of his friends and whispered to him, nodding at me.
‘The friend, a muscular fellow named Fariq who would have been the catch of any ball back home, strode over to my island and offered me his manhood.
‘What to do, Bess? Do I wait for the prince’s attentions? Or do I let this lesser man occupy me? In the end, I decided that since the prince had sent him to me, what followed would be done for the prince’s gratification.
‘So I nodded to Fariq, rolled over, knelt on all fours and let him, still standing in the pool, enter me from behind.
‘Fariq was actually quite skilled and I must say, gave me genuine pleasure with his slow measured movements, but I had positioned myself so that as Fariq thrust himself into me, I faced the Crown Prince—thus while the prince and I engaged with different lovers, in truth our eyes never parted and in reality we were making love to each other.
‘Clearly, the Crown Prince also knew this was the case, for after a short while, he extracted himself from the Persian girl and called in Greek, “Fariq! Enough! English rose, over here, now!”
‘I removed myself from Fariq and sauntered over to the Crown Prince’s platform while he handed the three Persian girls off to his friends. I stood before him. He gazed approvingly at my entirely hairless body.
‘“English rose, I hear that you are magnificent,” he said. “Prove it.”
‘“If it pleases Your Highness,” I said. I knew that he favoured girls bending over before him so that he could enter them at his leisure, so instead I mounted him face to face, kneeling on the armrests of the marble throne on which he sat and lowering myself onto his member. This allowed me to control the rhythm of our lovemaking.
‘And so I called upon all the sensual skills I have gained and I pleasured him as he had never been pleasured before.
‘I rode him like a stallion, Bessie. Rolling my hips, arching my back, extending my breasts skyward—to the point where I could feel his manhood harden even more inside me and I had him groaning with my every rise and fall. When this happened, I knew I had him under my spell.
‘I should say that by this time most other men would have succumbed to an involuntary climax but the prince was clearly an experienced fellow and possessed considerable stamina. But eventually I outlasted him and his breathing quickened and I increased the speed of my hip motions, enhancing his pleasure as he rushed toward climax, and finally he yelped with delight and fell back onto his throne, spent and exhilarated, a broad grin spread across his face.
‘I had him three more times during the night, Bessie. I should mention that he genuinely pleasured me and on each occasion I shouted in ecstasy, his skills setting off fireworks throughout my body. The prince is a seasoned and skilled lover.
‘Anyway, as dawn approached and all the others were fading off to sleep—they had been indulging in their own pleasurable acts in the various corners of the bath-house whil
e I had been frolicking with the prince—Selim said to me, “English rose, you are a lover fit for a king. I thank you.”
‘With those words, I took my leave and just before dawn, I returned to our rooms. Oh, Bessie. “A lover fit for a king.” What do you think that means? In any case, I have had my chance to cast a spell over a prince and I have given it my best possible effort. It is now up to him to decide if he wants me in his bed forever.’
I was happy for Elsie, and I wanted her to be happy, but I had my doubts. From observing my own father, I knew that kings and princes accepted the favours of many women while offering absolutely nothing in return, except in some cases the enduring shame of a bastard.
But Elsie was excited, deliriously excited, and so all I said was, ‘I am happy for you, Elsie. After this night, you may well be closer to queenhood than I am.’
She hugged me tightly. ‘Oh, Bessie. Oh, Bessie.’ She wanted to continue talking about her night with the Crown Prince and becoming a queen, but I begged her off, buried my head in my pillow and turned away.
I’d had enough of chess and wolves and princes for one day. All I wanted to do was sleep.
KNIGHT
ONLY ONE PIECE IN chess is allowed to leap over other pieces: the knight. This curious L-shaped move makes him both unpredictable and particularly dangerous.
If chess is a metaphor for medieval society, then the placement of the knight on the board is worth noting. He does not stand at the side of his king; rather, he is separated from his master by both the queen and a bishop.
Even in the Middle Ages, a knight was simply a king’s enforcer both on the battlefield and on his estates. Real power resided at court with queens, ministers and religious advisors.
This is also reflected in the ‘relative values’ placed on chess pieces: bishops, rooks and the queen all outrank the knight. It is better to sacrifice a knight than any of them.
The loyal knight, astride his prancing horse, is designed only to be sent into battle by his king to die. In chess as in life, the knight is ultimately expendable.
From: Chess in the Middle Ages,
Tel Jackson (W.M. Lawry & Co., London, 1992)
I have had good experience and trial of this world . . . I know what it is to be a subject, what to be a sovereign, what to have good neighbours, and sometimes meet evil willers.
– QUEEN ELIZABETH I
THE SEMI FINALS
AFTER TWO ROUNDS OF the highest quality chess—and some of the highest quality cheating at chess—only four players remained in the tournament: the Sultan’s cousin, Zaman, Brother Raul from the Papal States, our own Mr Giles, and the people’s champion, Ibrahim from Constantinople.
Once again, an updated draw was slid under our door that morning. It read:
Since there were now only three matches to be played (two semi finals and the final) the second playing stage had been removed so that once again only a single stage occupied the centre of the Hagia Sophia.
For reasons that only the functionaries of the Sultan knew, today the lower half of the draw would play first, in the morning. I suspected this was because the Sultan’s cousin needed more coaching before his match.
Thus the first semi final to be played would be that between Mr Giles and Ibrahim. In the afternoon, Zaman would do battle against Brother Raul. That match would be a battle of faiths if ever there was one. Bet-takers in the streets were apparently calling it ‘The New Crusade’.
The citizens of Constantinople gathered both inside and outside the Hagia Sophia, their enthusiasm almost tangible. The day promised to be a most gripping one.
It would be more than that.
As Mr Giles strode out through the crowd to the playing stage, Mr Ascham, Elsie and I ascended the royal stage. Latif, as usual, followed behind us.
I yawned deeply as I looked out at the chessboard and the sea of people around it. Not an inch of floor space was bare and the crowd laughed and chatted amiably, enjoying the occasion. Beside me, Mr Ascham stifled a yawn, too. We had both managed to get a few hours’ sleep during the morning, and though outrageously tired, I was awake enough to take in the remarkable occasion before me.
Having said that, I could not help but compare this luminous, gay world to the subterranean one I had seen the previous night. The people of this world happily went about their lives—lives of work and play, food and joy, watching and gambling on spectacles like this chess tournament, blissfully unaware of the cruel existence going on in the cisterns beneath their feet.
Or maybe they were aware of it. The priests who had come down to the cistern to rent those children’s bodies were certainly aware of their plight. People, I surmised, were actually keenly aware of any superiority they had over other people.
I shook my head, clearing it of such thoughts.
Mr Ascham’s and Mr Giles’s pre-match strategy discussion had been short on this occasion. Ibrahim was roughly the same age as Mr Giles and played in a similar way. He did not appear to employ any unfair tactics or stratagems. This contest would, they decided, simply be a battle between two evenly matched and talented players, and whoever played best on the day would win.
As we made our way to our seats on the royal stage, the sadrazam appeared before us and discreetly took Mr Ascham and Latif aside for a quiet word.
Elsie and I took our seats, and within moments, Elsie was winking and waving coquettishly at the Crown Prince a dozen seats away. He smiled back, grinning knowingly.
Mr Ascham and Latif rejoined us. My teacher sat down beside me. Curiously, as he did so, a pair of the Sultan’s personal guards took up positions behind our chairs.
‘Why are these guards here?’ I asked.
‘A precaution,’ my teacher said. ‘The sadrazam says there have been death threats made to Mr Giles and to us should he beat the local man in this morning’s match. Giles does not know.’
‘Oh, my.’ I glanced at the two stony-faced guards.
‘And given our little incident in the menagerie last night,’ Mr Ascham whispered, ‘a little protection seems like a nice idea to me.’
I agreed. I also wanted to speak with Mr Ascham about my encounter in the cisterns the previous evening, before the excitement in the menagerie. It had not occurred to me to raise the matter while I had been shivering in his embrace in the wolf cage; my mind, I hope it will be understood, was on other things at that time.
And so, as Mr Giles and Ibrahim took their seats on the playing stage and began their match, I leaned close and told Mr Ascham in a hushed voice about my adventures in the palace’s underworld, how I had found Pietro and what I had learned from him.
My teacher listened in studious silence, offering me the occasional astonished look.
By the time I finished, the first game of the match was well underway but neither I nor Mr Ascham had noticed. (At this stage, Elsie got up to take her toilet. I imagined she did so because it afforded her an opportunity to sidle past the Crown Prince.)
My teacher looked seriously at me. ‘You are not to venture alone into the palace grounds at night again, young lady.’
‘But you did the very same thing—’
‘I am a full-grown man! You are a thirteen-year-old girl! Imagine if you had come to harm in those cisterns. You may never have been found.’ He said this last statement with genuine concern.
He softened. ‘Bess, I know Elsie takes off on nocturnal adventures, but Elsie is older than you are. She is also a sprite and a fool who does not fully understand the implications of giving her body to every man under the sun. Yes, I am aware of her predilections—both at home and here—and I suppose I could stop her, but she is a young woman who can make her own decisions. I also see her as an example to you, an example that you may choose to follow or to ignore. In my opinion, Elsie is almost certainly going to get herself into trouble one day. You, however, are not, at least not while you are in my charge.’
I bowed my head. ‘I am very sorry, sir. I won’t do it again.’ I was also somewhat
startled by his knowledge of Elsie’s promiscuity. Until that moment, I had thought that Elsie barely registered on Mr Ascham’s consciousness at all, but he was obviously aware of far more than I gave him credit for.
‘Thank you, Bess,’ he said, visibly deflating. ‘I must add that I am also just rather fond of you. I would be devastated if something were to happen to you.’
I smiled at that.
He straightened in his chair. ‘That said, with your discovery of Pietro, you have provided us with a very helpful new piece in this jigsaw puzzle of intrigue. So, Cardinal Cardoza refused to give Brunello’s younger boy a holy burial, thus angering the chef. But was such a slight enough to drive Brunello to poison the cardinal? Of that I am not sure.’
A cheer from the crowd made us turn. Ibrahim had just taken one of Mr Giles’s knights.
I took a greater interest in the match.
As it progressed, I noticed Mr Giles wiping his brow with his kerchief a lot. He seemed to be perspiring more than he usually did but I attributed this to the tension of being in a semi final against a talented player on such an historic stage.
Occasionally, however, he looked over at Mr Ascham and me and smiled weakly—something he had not done in any of his previous matches. It was most unusual.
Then I saw him make a mistake. A mistake he would never make.
He moved his queen to a square that would allow Ibrahim—on his next move—to fork Mr Giles’s queen and king with a knight.
Of course, Ibrahim took this gift and checked Mr Giles’s king with his knight. Mr Giles moved his king and—thump—a moment later, his queen was removed from the board and the crowd roared with delight.
From that moment on, the result of the first game was set. Deprived of his queen, Mr Giles could only battle on valiantly but in vain. Ibrahim gradually wore him down, slowly taking all of his major pieces, until Mr Giles—with only three pawns to protect his king, against Ibrahim’s queen and a rook—toppled his king and extended his hand in congratulations.
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