“Why is that?”
“Because he is seized with unfathomable paranoia, and the palace’s location on the Bosphorus made him feel vulnerable. Of course, there is not much that does not make him feel vulnerable.”
“Are you close to him?”
“I have been noticed,” she said, turning away as hot color crept up her cheeks.
“Handkerchief dropped in front of you to alert you that you’ve been chosen for the night?” I had read more than my share of fantastical novels set in the seraglio and found the rituals of harem life fascinating.
“I hate to disappoint your Western romanticism, but that is not how it happens. Reality is much more prosaic. Most of us never have any contact with the sultan. We see him—from a safe distance—on formal occasions. It’s not so easy to catch his attention, though. Some manage, of course, but it takes a not inconsiderable effort.”
“How did you do it?”
“I didn’t. The valide sultan selected me for him.” I felt my face tighten as she spoke. “Barbaric, isn’t it? But there’s no handkerchief dropping. The k?zlar aas?—chief black eunuch—informs you that you’ve been chosen, and you’re off to the hamam to prepare. Generally the sultan sends a small gift.”
“Had you never spoken to him before you were summoned to him?”
“I’d never even seen him. Had done all I could to keep from drawing attention to myself. If I must be here, I will have a quiet life of contemplation. You do not understand in the slightest how I am tormented.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. I could not imagine the horror of being sent to the bed of a man I knew not at all. Barbaric did not even approach a strong enough word.
“Most of the time, no one pays attention to me. My religious beliefs have kept me from becoming close to those around me.”
“You are not a Muslim?” I asked.
“And now, Lady Emily, you have discovered what it is that I need to hide. I’m a Christian. And every day—every night—that I spend with the sultan puts my soul in mortal danger. Have you any idea what it is to know that you are forced to live in sin?”
“Are you allowed—forgive me—to be Christian?” I asked.
“I do not speak of it to others. No one knows. I kneel in the direction of Mecca during times of prayer but recite my own words.”
“As a fellow Christian, I can assure you that if you are forced to do things—”
“The martyrs had the strength to stand up for their beliefs. I am not so brave, nor so virtuous. Now that I’ve spent the night with the sultan and am a gözde, I have better quarters and more privacy. If I am elevated further and become an ?kbal, or kadin—an official consort—my position would be better still. But I ought not be tempted by privacy and should have refused to go to him in the first place, regardless of the consequences.”
“What would the consequences have been?”
“I don’t know, but can well guess. No one rejects the sultan. The punishment would be unspeakable.”
“How did you come to your faith?”
“I have lots of time to myself here and fill most of my hours reading. One day I came upon a volume of Aquinas. . . .” She sighed. “No, I must be honest with you. I asked for it—one in a long list of books I requested. One of our maids is a Christian, and I’ve heard her speak of the comfort it brings her—a comfort for which I have great need.”
“Why Aquinas?” I asked.
“She suggested his Summa Theologica to me. I devoured it and then moved on to every other of his works,” she said. “ ‘To convert somebody, go and take them by the hand and guide them.’ It was as if he spoke to me and took my hand in his own. And now, lacking the courage to refuse my sin, I have no option but to flee. Perhaps years of penance will compensate for my weakness.”
“You’re too hard on yourself,” I said.
“I will promise to aid your investigation in any way possible, but, please, please, Lady Emily—I implore that in exchange you help me find a way out of here.” We had reached the harem building, where a eunuch guard pulled open a door to let us in. “We can say nothing further of it now. Everything spoken in these walls runs through channels you can’t even imagine.”
“Shall we return outside?”
“Not with that man watching us,” she said. “Did you not see him in the trees?”
“No, I—”
The voice that interrupted me was not sharp, but startling regardless as it meandered, all soft bounces, through the stone corridor in which we stood.
“You would be in great danger were he not watching you.” The valide sultan, in a golden kaftan over pink-and-silver billowing Turkish trousers held in place with a diamond-encrusted girdle, slipped out from a doorway and took Roxelana’s arm, gripping with white knuckles. “It is time for you to go to the hamam. The sultan expects you tonight.”
Roxelana blushed crimson, the sides of her eyes crinkling as tears welled. “Yes, madam.”
“I have laid out clothing in your rooms. The servants will see to you in the hamam. Do not disappoint me.”
If Bezime had intimidated me, Perestu terrified. Her face possessed the calm smoothness of marble as she watched Roxelana walk away from us, but something in her eyes—a shot of calculating manipulation—shook me, and a pervasive feeling of dislocation swam through as I considered the reality of what I’d just witnessed. Bezime might have had her share of power, could believe in hope, but nothing in the context of this world was better than a prison. A beautiful setting, servants, and fine clothing could not make up for freedom—real freedom. English society was full of restrictions, particularly for the fairer sex, but women were not forced into such reprehensible situations with no possibility of ever escaping. I recalled Bezime’s claim that here, there was hope. She was right in her way, but that hope extended only to women whose goals fit into the most narrow of passages.
I was well acquainted with the difficulties faced when one’s happiness depended upon living a life that did not fit into the standard view of what was acceptable. Roxelana’s plight distressed me, and while I wished for an elegant and simple solution to her problems, I knew there was no such thing. The only sensible thing would be to dismiss the ideas mucking up my head. I could not assist her in any meaningful way, not so long as I was working for the Crown. But then again, it was not right—not moral—to leave her an unwilling slave. There had to be a way, subtle but radical, to save her.
“I am not certain of the best way to offer my aid to you.” Perestu’s voice sliced through my thoughts. “I will, of course, instruct the concubines to speak openly to you, but can make no promises that they will be forthcoming.”
I did not much believe her. She was the valide sultan; surely the concubines would do whatever she told them. “If you could perhaps start by telling me everything possible about Ceyden,” I said. “Was she a favorite of the sultan’s?”
“No, no.” She led me to a low sofa built along the outside wall of a charming room, stars painted on the ceiling. “Ceyden was not someone I thought fit for the sultan.”
“And what of his opinion?”
“Men’s opinions are oft en not worth considering.”
I could not help but laugh at this. “Does he know you feel this way?”
“I make sure of it,” she said. “For a very long time, the girl was not happy here. As a child, she was skittish and unpredictable. I understand this is to be explained by the violent manner in which she was taken from her parents, but we knew nothing of that until Sir Richard told her story after the murder. I am sorry for what she suffered, of course, but her inability to rise above it confirms I was correct about the flaws deep in her character.”
“She saw her mother murdered and was then kidnapped.”
“Yes. And was then taken extremely good care of and brought to the most spectacular palace to be found on earth. She was pampered, doted on, educated, given every luxury.”
“Did she have any memory of what she’d been through?�
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“Not at all. We think she was around five when she came to us—a gift from a noble family. They’d bought her from traders, I suppose, and had her in their household for at least two years. It is not unheard of to present the sultan with such a girl—it is an honor. She didn’t speak English until Bezime taught her, and if I remember, she had a difficult time of it. It was strange—she seemed to have an affinity for languages, but English always troubled her. She all but refused to speak it.”
I pressed my lips together hard, thinking of the little girl pulled away from her dying mother. “Surely that was because she remembered something of her past?”
“She was a proud girl and knew she hadn’t mastered the language. It came as no surprise that she would avoid showcasing a weakness.”
“Did she come to find a comfortable place here?”
“Eventually. As she got older, she began to enjoy the politics of the harem, and she did everything in her power to catch the notice of my son.”
“Was she successful?”
“She was an accomplished artist, though a terrible musician. She could speak French fluently—something the sultan finds enchanting—and wrote maudlin poetry.”
“Did he favor her at all?” I asked.
“He might have come to. But I kept her from him. The sultan cannot risk having children like her. It would threaten the very empire.”
I opened my mouth to protest, having read scores of stories about the cages, as they were called, in which the crown princes grew up, not allowed to learn anything that might make them competent rulers—competence would threaten the sultan, compromise his political stability. This was a dynasty in which rulers for centuries had murdered their own brothers upon ascending to the throne in an attempt to secure their own positions. The immature behavior of a traumatized child paled in comparison.
“You are skeptical, I see,” she said.
“I admit to feeling that it stretches credulity, but I’ve no reason to doubt your veracity.”
“It is essential the sultan know that he can depend upon my judgment. I have in front of me scores of girls when you include the slaves in the harem as well as the wives and concubines. I choose for him the best. Ceyden was not that. You may not agree with my decision, but your opinion of the matter is irrelevant.”
“Quite right. Please do not think I am questioning your actions.” Alienating her would not benefit me in the least. “Did Ceyden know her situation was hopeless?”
Perestu shrugged. “I did not deliberately hide my feelings from her. But her persistence knew no bounds. The day she died she brought me a scarf embroidered with the most intricate detail I’ve ever seen—flowers and birds all in gold and silver thread against a red background. I collect such things.”
“Did you feel she was insincere in her affection for you?”
“Affection? Her generosity was entirely self-serving, but there was a charm about her, a certain naïveté. She did not understand the art of bribery.”
“Did she try to influence anyone else?”
“She had a friendship with Jemal that grew too close.”
“I met him at Topkap?. Does he work at both palaces?”
“He was sent to Topkap? because of Ceyden. As I said, they’d become too close.”
“Who forced him to move?”
“I am valide sultan,” she said, smiling. “No one in the harem balks at my orders. It is as if they are law.”
“Why did Ceyden’s friendship with Jemal concern you?”
“Because I didn’t trust either of them.” I opened my mouth to ask why, but she did not let me speak. “And for now that is all there is to be said on the topic. It does not, I assure you, have any bearing on the matter at hand.”
“Did Ceyden make any other attempts to circumvent you?”
“There would be no point.”
“The sultan never makes a selection on his own?”
“He could, of course, but petty amusement is far from his top priority. He has an empire to run, Lady Emily. He already has children and their mothers to contend with.”
I tried to squelch the judgment rising through me. Children and their mothers, yet still in need of petty amusement? For a moment, I wished I could return to my romanticized view of the harem. Candor, I decided, was my only option. “Perestu, forgive me. This is all so very foreign. I cannot imagine sharing my husband.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Only a few months.”
“A short time, and you are very young. But this is not relevant.”
“I suppose not. I’m only trying to better understand Ceyden’s situation.”
“The harem is a world of its own. She wanted to climb to the top of it. I would not let her.”
“Are you glad she’s dead?”
“Her existence made no difference to me. It was, occasionally, amusing to watch her unschooled attempts at seduction.”
“I thought you said she wasn’t close to the sultan?”
“No, only to Jemal. She loved him.”
“But the eunuchs . . .” I was now full in territory that repelled, fascinated, and confused me.
“Are not true men,” she finished for me. “Quite right, but some of them are men enough.”
A thousand questions leapt to my lips, but I could not bring myself to ask a single one. “I didn’t—”
“You are unused to this sort of openness. Such subjects are not forbidden to women here, Lady Emily. Ceyden was not entirely incapable of using her charms, limited though they were, to her advantage.”
“Could Jemal wield influence with the sultan?”
“He would like to think he can influence me.”
“Is he right?”
“Sometimes,” she said.
“Who was watching Roxelana and me in the park? One of the guards?”
“We’ve covered quite enough for today.” She gave me a narrow smile and left the room.
I spent the rest of the afternoon interviewing slaves and concubines, many of them stunning Circassians, the stuff of harem legend in Western tales. These women, brought from the Caucusus Mountains to be sold in Constantinople, were treasured for their beauty—pale, luminous skin, mesmerizing bright eyes, and lustrous hair, blond or dark. Everyone to whom I spoke agreed Ceyden had done whatever she could to gain Abdül Hamit’s notice, but her lack of success in doing so kept her from threatening the positions, or desired positions, of her compatriots. The similarities not only in substance but in verbiage of what they told me made it apparent that someone had coached them, and well. Only a handful of them spoke much English, so Perestu translated for the rest. I had no idea whether she accurately reported to me what they said.
“Jemal must be subjected to extensive questioning,” I said to Colin as we sat on the balcony outside our bedroom that evening. The view stretched nearly to Topkap? in the south, the hills of the city piling on top of one another as they rose from the Bosphorus. Houses and buildings formed a dense tapestry above the waterline, flat and peaked roofs obstructing all but more roofs behind them, as if each were vying for a superior view. Far to the north was the Black Sea, and a steady stream of ships—barges, feluccas, caïques, and yawls—moved towards it, well out of our sight. “As for the women, it’s all too well organized, too orchestrated. I can’t decide whether they’re hiding something or just afraid.”
“Afraid?” Colin asked.
“Whoever killed Ceyden could strike again. Perhaps the girls are afraid of drawing attention to themselves.”
“They’d be better served by allowing you to gather as much information as possible. How else will this man ever be stopped?”
“How can you be sure it’s a man?”
“It’s difficult to strangle someone,” Colin said. “More likely that a man would have the strength for it. I don’t know that a woman could do such a thing with her bare hands.”
“Hideous.” Not wanting to dwell on the details, I mentally flipped through t
he catalog of women to whom I’d spoken and determined that each was far too delicate to pull off the task. “So we need a man in the harem.”
“I’d say they could use several men in the harem.”
“You’re dreadful, and I’m going to ignore you.” I let my eyes rest on his just long enough to fill my head with all sorts of visions about which I could do nothing at the moment.
“What of the other women?” Colin asked. “Did Ceyden have any particular friends?”
“None who will admit to it.”
“They undoubtedly want to distance themselves from her, regardless. Avoid any guilt by association.”
“Guilt?” I asked. “Ceyden is the victim in all this.”
“True. But the status of these women depends entirely on their relationship with Perestu, and the sultan, if they’re lucky enough to have won his favor. The reputation of her friends may have been tarnished by Ceyden’s violent death.”
I frowned. “Yes, but why not admit the relationship to me? Surely Perestu already knows. She keeps careful track of everything that happens in the harem.”
“A harem that shelters no secrets?” He drew on his cigar. “I’d be thoroughly disappointed if I could bring myself to believe it even for an instant.”
“Did you learn anything of use today?”
“I went back to Ç?raan and spoke to Murat. Excellent prison, the palace.”
“And is the former sultan discontented?” I asked.
“He did not seem so,” Colin said. “Spends much of his time listening to music and watching plays. Enjoys his children. The stress of ruling did not agree with him. That does not, however, mean that those around him would not prefer to take a more active role in the government.”
“Could they be plotting a coup?”
“It’s unlikely. The sultan has a spy in the household—the chief black eunuch in Murat’s harem. He’s as thorough a man as I’ve ever met and isn’t likely to miss something on that scale.”
“What about something smaller?” I asked. “A plan that looks on the surface like nothing more than standard harem politics?”
“The discontent I felt comes from the men around Murat.”
Tears of Pearl Page 6
