Feathers in the Wind: The Cygnets

by Camille Anthony

  * * * *

  Selim was hungry, having delayed his breakfast, and therefore doubly irritated at Tubal's delay. He leaned at the entrance of the “golden path", foot tapping impatiently. The empty hallway led from his private chambers to the entrance of the women's quarters. He straightened suddenly, watching as Jamal turned a corner and strode towards him, his silky black hair caught back with a plain black ribbon, dressed in the loose, flowing robes he had grown to prefer, his long-legged strides purposeful. Tubal puffed along in his wake.

  "Ah. Jamal. Good morning.” Selim called out. His voice sharpened as he looked beyond his son to address the grey-haired Black eunuch who stood stooped over, panting, aged lungs laboring like bellows. “What took you so long, great tortoise?"

  Tubal wheezed a bit as he sucked in air. “Forgive ... this unworthy ... one, master.” he begged. “I am truly upset over taking so long to perform my Lord's command. The effendi was not in his quarters and after last night's events, it was difficult finding eunuchs to seek him out."

  "Why were you up and about so early, my son?” Selim probed.

  Jamal gave a slight nod. “I checked on the three ounce cubs I brought in from our trip. The mother cat attacked our party when we came upon her den unexpectedly. I had no choice but to kill her. The others felt I was being overly sensitive, but I feel responsible for the orphans. They are cute little things, and appear to be thriving for now."

  "The Ounce is a majestic cat, worthy of the hunt,” Selim said, never doubting the necessity—not to mention difficulty—of killing a den-cornered Snow Leopard. “They are a fierce opponent, very territorial. But the three cubs ... what will you do with them?"

  "I thought to keep one for myself and give the others as gifts—"

  Jamal broke off as Tubal who, having finally regained his breath, lost it again, making a strangled sound that might have been the beginning of a word, before choking it back. Both men watched in amusement as the eunuch tried to regain his nonchalant demeanor. His aged frame actually vibrated with pent-up desire as he followed the conversation with bated breath.

  "Everyone knows the species is too wild to make good pets.” Selim raised his eyebrows at his son, cluing him in on his joke.

  Tubal wilted.

  Selim snorted, his eyes dancing. “But I will accept one for this old fool. If anyone can gentle a savage beast, it will be he.” The Sultan's self-mocking tones acknowledged his own oft-times wild nature, and the older man's frequently failed attempts to tame it.

  Tubal's eyes lit up like fireworks on a Holy Day. Master, truly—?"

  Jamal smiled at the grizzled old eunuch. “I would be glad to give you one of the cubs. I have kept one male for myself. However, there is another male and one female, both are beautiful and well marked. Accompany me to the stables later this morning, and choose which you would like."

  "Tubal's eyes burned brilliant through a sheen of tears. “I-I...” he broke off sniffing, wiped his face on his sleeve.

  "I should have taken better care of you once I ascended to power,” Selim admitted. “That I've never spared a thought to what was owed my most loyal servant, therein lies my shame..."

  Tubal violently shook his head, his shocked expression matching his horrified words. “Master, never speak so! No one could have been a better master than you, no one."

  A half smile turned the corner of Selim's mouth up. “We both know that is not true."

  Jamal looked confused. “What are you two going on about? Is having a pet such a big thing?"

  Selim nodded, eyes locked with those of the older man. “For Tubal, yes.” He shook his head. “I rarely recall the early days of this life because I loathe being reminded of the uncertainties Tubal and I faced. Back then, any day could be our last."

  "When I was three years old, my mother died. Tubal was assigned to care for me and we continued to live in the harem-proper until I reached seven years, the age when all young males are removed from their mother's care. We went from the security of harem to the Kafes—known as the Golden Cage, yet actually a suite of guarded and barred rooms. It was supposed to be for my protection as an heir of the sultan, but all knew it was a way to keep me, the eldest, at arm's reach—an easy kill should the sultan have a son he wished to inherit the throne after him."

  "Tubal was as much a prisoner as was I, cut-off from the rest of the Seraglio, from the company of other eunuchs. His entire existence consisted of guarding me, protecting me from the murderous schemes of the other princes’ mothers and their servants. No one but Tubal was allowed to prepare my food, and before I partook, he tasted each dish."

  "The poor fool's opportunities for friendships were severely limited. Between us, we always understood Tubal was my last and only line of defense. Without him, I would have stood exposed and alone—ripe for the assassination plots that proliferated in the fertile breeding grounds of the seraglio."

  "Whew! That sounds like it was rough ... on both of you,” Jamal commiserated. “I couldn't begin to imagine having to live like that."

  "It was.” Selim acknowledged his son's sympathetic comment. “But as hard as I found that existence, I believe Tubal had it worse. After all, I had his affection and love always. It was rare I showed him any in return."

  "Master...!"

  "Silence, old man, I am speaking."

  Selim softened his rebuke with a smile and Tubal relaxed, shoulders rounding as he shook his grizzled head. Glancing over at Jamal, the eunuch cupped his hand to the side of his mouth. In words loud enough for Selim to overhear, he mumbled, “When he finishes, I'll give you the true recounting of our history."

  Jamal laughed, tiger-gold eyes a light with teasing as he turned to his father. “So, since I'm assured of getting the real story later, go ahead with your version of it, sire."

  "Harrumph!” Selim pretended to frown, biting back the smile that wanted to curve his lips. “You are both lucky I feel magnanimous today."

  "You call this magnanimous?” Jamal murmured under his breath.

  There was nothing wrong with Selim's hearing. “Yes, I do. Now stop interrupting me. As I was saying, many highly favored servants owned animals as pets. Much like these animals, a slave is always at the beck and call of his or her master and a slave's attention must always be on his master. As my only servant, Tubal had no free time, certainly none I would allow him to spend with a pet. Selfishly, I required all his diligence, demanded all his attention centered upon me."

  "Why am I not surprised?"

  "Effendi, please do not say so!” Tubal protested Jamal's sarcastic comment.

  Selim held up a hand to interrupt his servant, feeling ashamed at the old man's vehement support. Tubal had always been like that. Salim hadn't survived the treacherous years of his youth without learning to be aware of all that was going on about him and he'd always been aware of his servant's weakness for the pets that roamed the royal palaces. He'd seen how he would watch them with furtive glances, sneak scraps to them, and indulge himself with stroking or petting them at every opportunity. Yet, until this morning, Selim had never realized just how badly his elderly retainer had ached for such a relatively minor and insignificant thing as a living object on which to vent his affection and care.

  "I ... did not know you were this serious about wanting a damned animal to tag along under your feet. You only mentioned it once or twice in twenty years.” Selim felt an uncommon twinge of remosre thinking how easily he could have arranged something like this, had he only paid attention to what might please Tubal.

  Tubal shook his head, tears spilling over to run down the furrowed creases of his weathered cheeks. “It was so unimportant ... I did not want to pester you—"he broke off to clear his throat. “It truly did not matter, my Lord, I was content,” he said, sniffing, not attempting to wipe away the evidence of his emotions.

  "It does matter,” Selim said shortly. “You have served me faithfully all the years of my life. I should have at least ... If you had asked, I would have ...
You should have asked."

  Tubal's eyes widened. “Master, I-I..."

  "So, you old fool—” Selim taunted gently, “We finally render you speechless.” His words were tender as he spoke to his long-time slave. “I have not been fair with you."

  "My Lord has always been indulgent with me. It is enough that you now show this great generosity to your lowly slave."

  "And that is another thing.” Selim exclaimed almost angrily. “I tire of hearing this lowly slave nonsense when we both know you have never been anything but in control of me and, when you deemed it necessary, everything else around you."

  His father's disgruntled words surprised a chuckle out of Jamal. He was even more surprised when Selim snapped out, “Write a notation, Tubal!"

  Conditioned by years of service, the eunuch withdrew a stylus and slate from his voluminous robes and waited for the announcement.

  "By my right as Supreme Authority under Allah, I, Selim, third of the name, do hereby free the man Tubal. I do further give him the title of ... Bey of Larrise with the income annually realized from those lands, witnessed this day ... blah, blah, blah ... by the Emir Jamal."

  Tubal was stunned. As he wrote, his eyes grew larger and larger until they were starting out of his head. The writing utensils fell from nerveless fingers. “Master."

  "Of course,” the Sultan continued, his voice very soft, very quietly sincere, “you are free to do anything you want, go anywhere you wish, but as your Sultan, I forbid you to forsake me.” In a rare gesture of caring, Selim placed his hands on Tubal's aged shoulders. “Old man, we have been through much. I ... do not want you to ... do not leave me, old dede,” he finally ended, uncomfortable at revealing his true emotions, even to Tubal.

  A tearful Tubal threw himself down to embrace Selim's feet. “I would never leave you, Lord.” Tubal cried. “Where could I live, but at your feet?"

  Jamal looked on, his own chest feeling tight, before glancing away, knowing Selim would be prickly about someone witnessing this touching scene between the two men who had spent most of their lives together.

  In fact, while Tubal lay prostrate before him, Selim chanced a quick, half-shamed glance at his son, relieved to see Jamal gazing off down the hallway determined not to intrude. Finding himself unobserved, he surreptitiously swiped the sleeve of his ornate morning robe across his eyes, removing telling moisture before addressing the man he had called grandfather; a title of much respect and love. “Get up, you old fool.” he ordered. “My Beys cannot go groveling about on the floor. What kind of impression will that make to the eunuchs around here?"

  Jamal reached down to assist Tubal up off the floor. He smiled, extending his hand. “Congratulations, my lord."

  Tubal took the offered hand, and huffed, jerking his head at the Sultan. “It is all fine and well,” he said, “but you will see it amounts to nothing. I will still be running about, fixing the Great One's mistakes, and holding the basin when he over-indulges—"

  "You see.” Selim laughed, relieved and thankful for the lighter mood laughter allowed. “You see why I have not done this years before, Jamal. This jackal would have driven me into the arms of Allah ages since had he had the freedom he now enjoys."

  Jamal was aware of why the servant had made the joke, and his quick glance assured Tubal his secret was safe. Tubal's slight smile neither confirmed nor denied. A look at the pad in his hands brought Tubal's mind back to the reason the three men were standing in the corridor attached to the women's section of the seraglio. He cleared his throat to get Selim's attention, and then murmured, “It is time. The women will be at their baths even now."

  All laughter fell from Selim as he focused on what would transpire in the next few moments. “Yes,” he agreed, “it is high time we got into position.” Turning to Jamal, he said, “I brought you here to observe two new members of the harem. I believe you will find at least one of them to your liking. As I informed you last evening, I took your protests to heart. I have gone to great effort to find you a woman worthy of your seed. Come, ogul. Let me show you..."

  Selim led the way to a doorway further down the corridor. Before a solid door, a stiff-faced eunuch stood guard, bared scimitar in hand. When the guard saw the Sultan, he made a deep obeisance and opened the door. The three men entered the room, and the eunuch silently closed the door behind them.

  "What is so special about this room that there is a guard assigned here?” Jamal asked, not seeing anything to warrant such care.

  Selim said, “You will soon see."

  The plainly furnished room held several comfortable looking chaise lounges, piled high with pillows. A low, functional table held a burning lamp. The couches sat fairly close to the walls, but were all placed facing the same corner. There were no pictures on the walls, yet they were not without adornment.

  At first glance, the walls appeared to be panels of ornate woodcuttings, carved into fantastical swirls and curlicues. The inter-connecting patterns drew the eye so well it was difficult to discern what lay hidden behind the sculpted wooden panels. The walls, themselves, were of some clear substance and they revealed two rooms in the harem proper.

  The first of the rooms looked like a huge closet. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of garments lay heaped onto every available surface. Silks, chiffons, brocades, samites and laces ... a rainbow conglomeration of materials spilled out of casks and boxes and drawers. A wall of mirrors multiplied the seeming confusion broken only by two low, wide, white marble benches adorned with simple cushions. A floor-to-ceiling shelved storage area took up another wall. This room was unoccupied.

  The other room was a cavernous, steamy area with a large free-form bathing pool at its center. Huge potted plants ringed three of its sides, and ferns drooped their frilled fronds towards the water lightly brushing the surface. Steam rose up from the heated waves, misting the air, giving it an otherworldly atmosphere. It, too, was empty.

  "What is it we are supposed to see?” Jamal asked impatiently when over five minutes of dead time had elapsed.

  "But wait, and all will be revealed,” the Sultan answered, chuckling to himself. He gestured to one of the chairs angled towards the bathing room watching in satisfaction as his son seated himself.

  "Many generations ago, an ancestor had a penchant for watching his women at their grooming without all the posturing and posing that goes on whenever the Sultan makes a progression into the harem,” Selim said, the tone of his voice light for he found amusement in the story he related. “That distant sultan had these viewing rooms made. Over the years, the women came to know of their existence, yet have never learned of their whereabouts. In truth, there are several more such rooms scattered throughout the seraglio. There is even one or two in the young eunuchs’ quarters, as several past Sultans have leaned in that direction.” A shrug indicated his disinterest. “Because the women never know if they are being observed, they always strive to present themselves at their best."

  "I feel like a damned peeping Tom.” Jamal murmured in a disgruntled voice.

  "Like a who?"

  "A peeping—,” Jamal shook his head. “Never mind, sire. How long is this going to take?"

  "Not long. I gave strict instructions—ah. Look there."

  Through the arched, key-shaped doorway of the cluttered room came a group of women. The Mistress of the girls came first, then two ladies, followed by two serving girls; their arms laden with toweling and bath accessories. The servants unloaded their burdens on one of the scattered benches, then turned to assist the two women with the removal of their clothes. The women appeared uneasy—it was clear they were not comfortable with the idea of shedding their garments in front of an audience. However, with determined diligence, the servants divested the two women of every shred of concealing cloth.

  They were beautiful. Jamal had never seen two women more unlike, yet they complimented each other. He smiled, watching the dark-haired beauty bend to take towels from the stacks on the marble bench, handing one to her companio
n, both wrapping themselves in the cotton lengths. “I suppose these are the English women.” he commented, his gaze intent upon them. There was something about that dark girl, though—

  "Yes.” Selim kept his gaze locked on his son, whose eyes were locked on the women. He did not want to miss seeing Jamal's expression when he recognized Simsiyah Gül.

  Jamal's avid gaze noted the graceful way both girls moved as they left what he had mentally dubbed the “closet” and made their way to the bathing room. They did not drop their towels until they had lowered themselves into the steaming water. Once covered, they seemed to relax, their soft voices carrying clearly into the viewing room.

  "If we can hear them, can they not hear us?” Jamal whispered, wondering over the acoustics built into the other room.

  "Fear not.” Selim said. “They can neither see nor hear."

  "How can that be?"

  "The architects responsible for planning and building the Seraglio had no equals among their kind,” Selim boasted.

  Jamal turned his eyes away from the women to pierce his father with a strict gaze. “I can see at a glance, these ladies’ fine breeding and beautiful bodies; however, I have yet to see anything that would motivate me to take either to wife. My strongest motivation would be to remove such innocent pawns from this prison. Since that would liberate only one of them—and even my limited observation informs me those two are friends—I doubt one would accept her freedom if it meant leaving the other behind."

  "Keep looking."

  "What is it? What knowledge do you have that I do not?” Jamal asked, not liking the feeling of uneasiness he was experiencing. Something about this situation was sounding warning bells in his head.

  "I know everything.” Selim boasted. He left his chair and approached the right wall. “Come.” he ordered, gesturing for his son to follow. “You obviously require a closer look."

  Jamal, giving in to a driving compulsion, rose to follow. He watched in fascination as his father pressed an artfully concealed button and an entire panel slid to the left, leaving only the clear material of the wall through which all three watchers had an unobstructed view.