Feathers in the Wind: The Cygnets

by Camille Anthony

  Chapter Forty

  Grand Throne Room

  Topkapi Palace

  An hour after the Divan concluded Merri stood waiting at the double doors leading to the throne room, her knees weak and knocking, barely up to sustaining her weight. The silent eunuch beside her stood stoically awaiting the signal to accompany her into the presence of the Sultan. She resented being reduced to cooling her heels outside, and the heated discomfort of three layers of formal, court attire did not help her rising temper. All things not being equal, Merri had occasion to be grateful—being angry left no room for fear. As her temper rose, so did her courage. By the time she was ushered into the Sultan's august presence, she was no longer trembling.

  "Simsiyah Gül, keep your head lowered while the Sultan speaks to you, and do not dare to speak until the Sultan commands it. I may not enter here, but will await your return.” The eunuch whispered his instructions in a low, hurried voice as he gestured towards the ornate double doors opening onto the throne room.

  Merri nodded in understanding. Peeking a look at the man occupying the chair upon the raised dais while keeping her head down was difficult, but she managed it. Merri's first impression of the Sultan was he looked much like the Duke. Her second was that the Sultan was more ruthless and focused than the Duke. This man is dangerous.

  Having been schooled by Laihla, Merridyth dropped without prompting into a graceful curtsy worthy of royalty. She had made her bow to the Regent at her debut, thniking it the high point of her life, yet now, she sensed this audience would supplant every important event that had come before.

  A languid finger motioned permission, and Merri rose from her curtsey to face the Sultan square on, her chin firming and rising in an unconscious mannerism that others had come to despair over, forgetting the cautioning words of the eunuch, that quickly.

  "Buraya gel-me-niz-i istiyorum."

  No questioning inflection at the end. A sentence, then. What had he said? Merri blinked, frozen in incomprehension.

  "Buraya gel-me-niz-i istiyorum.” The repeated words were harsh, as though the speaker were not accustomed to speaking more than once. Frowning, the sultan snapped, “I said I want you to come here. Come closer, girl! Do so at once!"

  "I ... ex-excuse me, Excellency...” she stammered as she stumbled closer to the throne. Her words gained clarity as she let her anger flow. “I am learning your language, yet I am not so proficient that I can understand words barked at me so fast."

  A sharp burst of laughter, instantly quelled, erupted from the stooped elderly man, standing slightly behind and to the side of the imposing throne. Merri's startled gaze locked with his, and she was pleased at the twinkle she detected there. Her lips turned up and her face brightened in instinctive response.

  She learned later, her smile saved her. Selim, who was about to give way to his famous temper saw the smile and froze. “At rest,” he later shared, “your face is only above average, but that smile bathed your features in radiant beauty, and suddenly, I could understand my son's riveted attention."

  "In deference to your incompetent Turkish, we will conduct this entire audience in English,” he conceded snidely. “Approach Us. We would examine you."

  The Sultan's accented voice rolled over her, and Merri heaved a sigh, glad she would not have to struggle with an unfamiliar language while dealing with this stressful situation. “I thank your Majesty,” she said, keeping her head lowered as she moved slightly closer to the raised dais, “and beg His indulgence. I would entreat Him to have patience with me for I am unused to the presence of Royalty and might act inappropriately. I assure you, it will not be on purpose.” It was a struggle to keep her words soft and meek.

  Selim relaxed back into his chair and raised one languid hand. At the circular motion of a long, slim finger, she swelled with outrage, but obediently rotated in place, allowing the Sultan to view her from all angles.

  "Sisman koyunlar sevmek." Selim chuckled to Tubal. “I envy Jamal for he will have both hands over-full."

  Merri gasped, sucking in a shocked breath. She knew enough Turkish to understand the man was talking about her breasts. They were not fat. She savagely bit down on her bottom lip to keep from blurting out all the scathing remarks she was dying to release.

  She felt Selim's golden gaze locked on her chest noticing her harsh breathing and the flush of anger on her cheeks. “So, you have enough words to understand my comment of your big breasts."

  His unfeeling words left her speechless. He shrugged at her open-mouthed response. “You are nothing but a slave. How dare you take offense at my comments?"

  Merri clenched her fists at her side and reminded herself what she was here to accomplish. She apologized. “I am a young maiden, my Lord, unused to hearing men speak of such things in my presence."

  "You sought this meeting between us,” the Sultan remarked coldly. “Niçin? Why? Could not the new Mistress of Girls or the Kislar Agasi satisfy your needs? Am I now to be burdened with the commands and requests of every disgruntled odalisque?"

  Anger welled up anew at the ruler's words. Merri choked it back, gritting her teeth on the retort she wished to hurl at his face, ever mindful of Seana and Susan. “I did approach the master of the girls, Sire,” she said when she had regained her calm demeanor. “It was his decision to seek your wisdom in this sad situation.” There, that sounded suitably toadying, she thought.

  The skeptical gleam in the potentate's eyes let her know he was not deceived. His next words disabused her of the notion, totally. “As the wisdom of the Agasi is not to be questioned by a lowly woman such as yourself, we have no choice but to accept his judgment."

  Merri bowed her head to keep her expression hidden. The Sultan was a master game-player and she was out of her league, yet she had no option but to continue. She refused to play by his rules, though, and impulsively threw truth into the equation. Her opening sentence was stark. Frank. Hiding nothing but her desperation.

  "My Lord, you know I and my two friends were brought here against our will. While I could argue your right to keep us locked up, we both know that would be a futile debate for surely there are many in the Seraglio who have lived out their lives here against their will—” She spoke quickly, hoping to get through her speech without interruption. “We have been through much, and in desperation, one of my companions—Lady Seana MacCarris—attempted to take her own life."

  "We were much dismayed and infuriated that such was allowed to take place,” the Sultan interjected; his words and manner cold enough to firm butter. His golden eyes glittered with shards of bright anger. Merri shivered, glad he did not now aim that cold animosity toward her.

  "Yes. Well ... she, uhm ... sustained some mental damage, and is no longer capable of looking after herself. The Master of Girls informs us that custom demands she be put out of the harem. Tossed into the streets to fend for herself. My Lord, I am here to beg you not to allow this injustice."

  Selim shifted back in his chair and flashed a quick, triumphant smirk in Tubal's direction. He had determined on threats to bring this woman into line, and now found he would not need them. She had delivered herself into his hands by revealing her concern for her crazed friend.

  "It seems we must question the Agasi's wisdom, after all,” he snidely remarked. “Woman,” he continued, “we rule a vast kingdom. What makes you think we have either the time or the interest to waste for one lone woman? We have hundreds of women at our beck and call, even more thousands ready to grace our bed, should we be so inclined. We do not concern our self with any of them. They come at our bidding and go at our whim. What is your friend to us, that we should bestir our self on her behalf?"

  "Nothing,” Merri whispered dejectedly. “She is nothing to you, but much to me. Does not the Koran teach that men are blessed by being merciful? Will you not show mercy to one who cannot help herself?"

  "We do not read the Koran,” Selim drawled, impervious to the gasps of disbelief his statement garnered. He continued, clar
ifying, “We have ministers who do that for us. And as for mercy, we have found it to be a quality much unequal in its application. You see, it is always those who have nothing to offer, who demand it."

  "I do not demand, I beg.” Merri returned, dropping gracefully to her knees and extending her arms towards the throne, and the aloof man who sat upon it.

  "For what do you beg?” Selim asked, leaning forward, “And ... do be specific."

  Merri's head snapped up. She sensed a trap, but was committed. She would not risk twisting and turning, and perhaps losing all. “I beg the right to keep Lady MacCarris with me, to care for her...” She faltered, looking into the hardened features of the Eastern monarch. “To-to be her friend,” she finished dauntlessly, daring to match Selim glance for glance.

  "How selfless and self-sacrificing,” he sneered. “We, our self, abandoned such sentiment long ago. And so we ask: What do we gain, should we acquiesce to your ... request?"

  Merridyth spread her hands in an age-old gesture of questioning. “How would I begin to offer you value for what I request?” She asked, truly puzzled over what the royal ruler might want.

  "In normal circumstances, I would not hesitate to offer a substantial monetary gift as a ‘thank you', but these are extraordinary times for me. I have nothing of my own.” She indicated her clothes, “Even these clothes I wear are not mine. What, then, could I offer you, Sire?"

  Selim rested his head against the back of his chair. His right hand combed through his silky short beard as he pretended to contemplate his answer. He watched the black-haired one, curious to see if his prolonged silence would discomfit her. To his chagrin, the woman revealed no hint of her inner turmoil, if such existed, but stood proudly at attention, never moving a muscle as she waited for him to finish pondering his role in this unfolding drama.

  A sudden fit of ennui overtook him, and Selim tired of the game. He instantly acted to relieve the familiar annoyance. Irritated that so simple a thing as providing a woman for his son's enjoyment should become so complicated, the Sultan determined to bring his baiting to a close. To that end, he sat up and slid forward onto the lip of the marble throne. “Attend us.” Unadulterated authority sounded in that command, bringing Merri and the room's other occupants to attention. “You ask what we would have of you, woman. Know this: Of our self, we desire nothing from you—"

  Merri sighed in relief, yet the feeling didn't last long. Dropping the affectation of the royal “we", the Sultan continued. “I have a son, who has a ... need. That need has a name: the name of a flower; Simsiyah Gül. Will you willingly and submissively meet his need?"

  A moan of denial left her lips, a spark of defiance. She should have known it would come to this, yet she'd been unprepared. The suddenness of the request left her shaken. Her answer was automatic. “No."

  "Then it is hayir to the walking dead woman,” he decreed coldly. “No."

  Merri sank to her knees, bowed her head to the floor, uncaring that her hair trailed in dust of a thousand servant's bare feet. Lost in despair, she didn't hear the Sultan leave his throne and approach. He squatted beside her, raised her chin with that languid hand that hid steely strength.

  "But why say no?” he tempted, staring into her flooded eyes, his honeyed words dripping sweetness, trailing fire. “Say yes to luxury ... yes to servants to care for your helpless friend. Yes to the fulfillment my son can offer you."

  Merri swayed where she knelt. Eyes tightly closed, thoughts turned inward, she searched her soul. Trembling, she knew she would say the word the Sultan wanted to hear. Recalling her warnings to Susan about being prepared to sacrifice their dignity, even their morals, if it meant keeping Seana with them, she shuddered, feeling the hypocrite. Everyone would assume she capitulated for Seana's sake but all the while, she alone would know it was because of her weakness for a pair of broad shoulders and golden eyes ... and for the chance to taste, once more, the glorious passion of the Duke's kiss.

  Finally, daring to open her eyes and meet the stern hard gaze of the man bent over her, she nodded. Softly enough to strain the hearing of the Sultan, yet loudly enough to rock the foundations of her world, Merri betrayed her honor by one word. “Yes."

  Chapter Forty-one

  Grand Seraglio, Women's Quarters

  Ankara, Turkey

  Laihla swept through the open area of the women's barracks, her bounteous hips swaying in natural rhythm to the long-legged paces she took. She walked like a queen, a privileged being far above the lowly inhabitants of these miserly quarters, the knowledge of her own private room putting the “jounce” in her steps.

  It was late afternoon. A few intrepid women splashed in the cool green waters of the open pool located near the Sultan's private rooms under the bored eyes of the Black eunuchs assigned to guard-duty this shift. The rest rested on their pallets. Some languidly sipped at glasses of raki, a drink of fermented grapes flavored with anise that turned milky white when mixed with water or ice. Others chewed the gelincik balls favored by the majority of harem residents. The sweet narcotic treat gave waking dreams. Large numbers of women chose to relieve their boredom in this manner, becoming helplessly addicted to the drug, reduced, finally, to living in a world of constant shadows, divorced from reality.

  Because the withholding of the drug was oftimes used as a punishment or teaching tool, Laihla had never taken up the habit. She was not willing to give up one iota of dominion into another's hands. The minute bits and pieces of her self-controlled life were precious to her, and despite her flirting with discovery—which was not really very likely—she was loath to risk her privileged position without promise of a seriously major return on the risk.

  No such promise was forthcoming in this situation with the English girls, yet she was compelled by debt and friendship. In one fell swoop, she discharged the one and honored the other. News was buzzing along the information lines, and Merridyth's name was prominent, linked with that of the Emir Jamal's.

  The English—which was what the harem population had taken to calling the three friends, lumping them all according to their nationality—were resting on their pallets. Laihla saw they had stacked their wicker chests in a row to shield the bed of the crazy one. Inwardly, she applauded this measure. The more Merri and Susan could keep their stricken friend from the notice of their neighbors, the better.

  Laihla had warned them of the smoldering anger building around the issue of Seana. The Seraglio housed a superstitious lot that easily became dangerous when frightened or threatened. On one hand, the harem looked upon insanity as a special or favored condition. The victim marked or “touched” by Allah, was therefore untouchable by men. Yet, the kirmizi kiz had—in an attempted act of wanton self-destruction—inflicted herself with madness.

  To a People willing to endure unending hardship and outright torture because of their belief in Kismet, this act was an abomination. Their belief in the futility of struggling against what has been ordained motivated their actions. At some deep level, Seana's deed was seen as an indictment against the others’ complacent compliance. It struck at the pride of the imprisoned women. They felt uneasy without knowing, why, which caused them to resent the situation all the more. Heated, hating murmurs grew louder daily. The women wanted the madness gone from among them, and there were some in that group with the power to make their voices heard.

  Laihla stood over the three friends, observing their positions. Even in sleep, Merri seemed to watch out for her companions. She lay in the outer-most position, her back to the other two women, facing the common room, in an unconscious, guarding position. Behind her, Seana was sleeping the deep sleep of the cocuk, or the innocent. She lay on her side, legs drawn tight to her body, her hands tucked under her chin. A line of drool issued from her slack lips, dribbled across her cheek to soak into her thin pillow. Susan laid farthest from her, sprawled on her back, a thin silk ribbon connecting her wrist to Seana's as a precaution against the Red one's wandering. Her eyes were open, watchfully trained on
Laihla's face.

  Placing a cautioning finger to her lips, Susan warned Laihla to silence. Sitting up, she loosened the length of ribbon, slipped it off her wrist, and arose, silently beckoning Laihla to follow her. She moved out of easy listening range of her friends, grateful for the slight breeze stirred at her passage. She pulled at the damp clinging, material of her under-robe, waving it to get a cooling draft to her perspiring skin.

  "Sicak dir.” She whispered to Laihla, who had followed close behind her. Susan was a little disgruntled that the Black woman showed no sign of suffering from the moist heat.

  "Evet,” Laihla agreed, “artik yaz geldi. Soon, we will have ... how do you say, müthis sicak?"

  "Terrible hot?” Susan said tentatively, not sure if her stab at translating was quite right, but the dusky beauty nodded enthusiastically.

  "Yes. Much heat. Soon coming."

  "Please do not say that,” Susan begged, groaning. “It is so hot now, I can hardly bear it. And Seana insists on removing her clothes at the first opportunity.” She shook her head, recalling her futile attempts to keep her friend appropriately dressed.

  Laihla nodded in sympathy. Caring for the vacant one was an all-day chore. She knew she would not want to do it and marveled at the sort of friendship that would willingly take on such a monumental task. “Bana ihtiyac-iniz-ol-up ol-ma-digini ögrenmege geldim."