by Zia Wesley
“And your fleet continue to be the scourge of the Mediterranean,” the eunuch added with a smile that further distorted his ugly face.
“May the gift I bring you today bring you even nearer the heart of the Caliph of Islam, Allah’s Shadow upon Earth, and make the burden of your road that much lighter to bear,” Baba intoned.
“Tell me of this gift, friend,” the eunuch replied.
“The rarest, sweetest, most delicate flower to grace the most precious of gardens, my friend. She is a tiny, golden-haired porcelain doll with eyes that shine like the finest sapphires, and the disposition of an angel.” He paused for effect. “A daughter of one of the finest noble French families,” he embellished, “refined in manner, voice and countenance, she is also clever and astute. Should she be put before the Sultan, I have no doubt she would be embroidered upon his heart forever.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer whispering, “She could become your greatest ally, my friend.”
“Many have tried,” he replied wearily. “Thus far, none have succeeded. The Circassian Kadine is still his only confidant and her son, Selim, the heir.”
“Selim,” Baba mused. “How old is the boy now?”
“Already twenty and never immured within the Cage,” he replied.
“Ah. One year older than my little treasure,” Baba said.
A brief silence hung in the air as both men considered possible implications.
The Kizlar Agasi broke the silence. “Hmmm. Well, one never knows what kismet may bring. Let us pray that your gift proves worthy of your praise, old friend, and that she kindles the Sultan’s desire to the benefit of us all.”
Baba handed the eunuch a large leather sack, heavy with gold. “Care for her well and you care for me,” he said.
“I will do my best to protect her and make her ready. Be well and prosperous,” he salaamed. “Bring her to me now.”
Baba salaamed and went below to fetch Aimée, who had not moved from the spot where she stood.
“Come, my sweet,” he whispered. “Follow behind me and keep your hands hidden. It is all arranged.” He quickly turned and walked up the stairs as Aimée followed.
Aimée stepped onto the deck and almost swooned at the sight of the Kizlar Agasi towering over the Janissary guards. Even Baba appeared to be of average height next to him. His ugly face was black as night, with distorted features and an angry expression that frightened her witless. He wore a bright red robe, trimmed at the collar, cuffs, and hem with thick, dark sable. Atop his enormous girth, a tall, white conical hat extended two feet, and a jewel-encrusted scimitar hung menacingly at his side. How could she ever make this imposing giant her friend? In a panic, she looked at Baba who made reassuring gestures behind the eunuch’s back.
Her heart beating wildly in her breast, Aimée stood still as the guards formed a human wall around her. Instantly swallowed by the mass of guards, she crossed the ship’s deck and disembarked.
~ ~ ~
A sprawling array of whitewashed structures dominated the landscape, meandering up the hillside. Curved cupolas and ornate turrets twirled into the sky. Was this city on the hill the palace? Before she could see any more, Aimée was assisted into an ornate carriage drawn by six highly prized “blood bay” Arabian horses. Heavy silk curtains were drawn across the latticed windows, and as the door was fastened shut, twenty guards on foot surrounded the carriage. Fifty white eunuch guards on horseback flanked the party in front and back as they made their way through the streets of Istanbul towards the Topkapi Palace. They were the fiercest men Aimée had ever seen, and the knowledge of their disfigurement made her shudder.
Aimée peered through the curtains, but could not see past her guards. The sounds of the busy market permeated in a cacophony of languages too varied and foreign to identify. The crowd was composed of Turks, Moors, Jews, Arabs, Berbers, Bosnians – all men, and veiled women shopping with their African eunuchs and slaves. She listened to the city and smelled its odor, both foreign and exotic but not unpleasant.
In an attempt to calm her anxiety, she studied the only things she could see, the guard’s uniforms. The boots of the Janissaries were yellow, red or black, the feather plumes that swooped down from their turbans past their waists matched the colors of their boots and each turban held what appeared to be a large cooking spoon affixed vertically to its front. Why a cooking spoon? she wondered.
Had she been able to observe her surroundings, she would have seen that Istanbul was one of the most beautiful cities in the world, built on seven hills and surrounded on three sides by water: the Sea of Marmara, the Bosporus and The Golden Horn. The first Islamic king had built the Eski Saray, or Old Palace, over three hundred years earlier. Now called the “Palace of Tears,” it housed the wives and concubines of former Sultans. The Yeni Saray, or New Palace, which would be Aimée’s new home, occupied the first hill, and every Sultan for the last two hundred years had built onto it, adding the buildings of his dreams or needs until it stood like a sprawling metropolis, a city unto itself.
As they approached the Topkapi Palace, the city within a city, the thirty-five-foot-high wall surrounding it stretched almost three miles. The wall contained twenty gates of entry, each manned by fifty palace guards, with Janissaries stationed along the battlements – but, Aimée was unable to see any of this.
The first gate through which Aimée’s retinue passed was called Demir Kapi, the gate used by dignitaries arriving by sea. Once inside the outer wall, the retinues of guards left her carriage to join others near the gate. She looked up to see the Janissary guards armed with scimitars, bows and arrows. The carriage continued forward with only two mounted guards and the Kizlar Agasi, riding on an unusually large black Arabian stallion.
Gingerly moving the curtains aside once again, Aimée was now able to see the immense inner courtyard through which they traveled. To her left, a herd of horses grazed behind a low, wooden fence and a row of stables stretched as far as she could see. To her right stood a long one-story building where hundreds of armed guards milled around casually in small groups, barely taking notice of her passage.
Ten minutes elapsed as her entourage crossed the courtyard and approached a gate in another wall. At this point, the two mounted guards turned their horses and trotted back in the direction from whence they had come, and the Kizlar Agasi dismounted to walk his horse beside her carriage.
They were entering the Gate of Salutation, through which only the Sultan could pass on horseback. It was one hundred and fifty feet long and thirty feet thick, with long slits through which bowmen could shoot arrows, and holes large enough for guns. The massive wooden gate was ironclad on the outside, requiring forty guards to push it open. The armed guards who protected this gate also enforced the strict rule of silence for those who entered.
Hundreds of tall, ancient cypress trees lined the courtyard’s cobbled pathways, their verdant color reaching straight up into the brilliant, azure sky. Broad covered walkways extended in both directions from the gate, with doorways that led she knew not where. Several odd looking four-legged creatures, slightly larger than common deer, idly grazed on the deep green grass. She stared in wonder at the exotic beasts, with beautiful elongated faces and delicate pointed antlers, and would not discover until almost a year later that they were African gazelles, some of the Sultan’s favorite animals, gifts from adventurers. White marble fountains splashed everywhere. The falling water sounded like music. Baba told her that the Sultan who had built the palace three hundred years earlier, had designed it for the sound of running water because he found it to be soothing. She listened to the fountains’ melody, hoping it would have the same effect on her.
Another ten minutes passed as the carriage made its way across the courtyard to a third gate, directly opposite the one they had just entered. It was small in comparison, only about thirty feet wide, and topped by a gold-pointed cupola that reflected the sun’s rays with blinding brilliance. The Tower of the Divan (where the Sultan’s government met), soa
red sixty feet on one side of the gate, and only those invited by the Sultan passed through its portal. This was the famous Gate of Felicity, through which all new concubines arrived—and rarely ever passed again.
Aimée’s carriage stopped as the heavy gates closed behind them, and two eunuch footmen helped her to step down. The rich, green grass felt like a thick carpet beneath her slippered feet, and the heavy scents of jasmine and frangipani permeated her veil. Groves of fruit trees, heavy with figs, pomegranates and other exotic fruits stood everywhere she looked. It appeared to be an exotic, well-manicured park with streams, ponds, shaded lawns and gardens. In fact, it was the innermost courtyard of the Sultan’s palace, the most enchanting place she had ever seen.
Momentarily lost in the beautiful surroundings, Aimée inadvertently jumped as the Kizlar Agasi suddenly stood before her. In a shrill, high voice incongruous to his great size, he dismissed the guards and motioned Aimée to follow him. He led the way through an olive grove to a grouping of low marble benches alongside an oval-shaped pond. Water lilies floated on the surface, and four white swans glided by.
The Kizlar Agasi settled his huge body onto one of the benches and signaled Aimée to remove her veil. As the portion covering her face fell aside, he nodded his head in approval. Her nose was unusually small and tilted up at the end, and her perfect little mouth looked like it belonged to a child. No imperfections marred her alabaster skin, and he had never seen such eyes. He motioned her to remove the head cover, which she did, exposing her wavy tresses of palest gold.
The eunuch’s face contorted in a smile, and he brought his two enormous hands towards her, palms up, indicating that he wished to see her hands. Slowly she brought them forward, placing them onto his. He stroked one, then the other, turning them over and thinking they looked like they belonged to a porcelain doll. His huge head continued to nod its approval, and his smile spread larger across his face.
“My old friend was correct,” he murmured to himself.
Speaking very slowly as to a child, he said, “You shall do very well, I think.”
Aimée understood, blushed at his statement and smiled for the first time.
I have not seen sweetness like this in a long while, he thought. She might well be the elixir that could bring life back to our aging monarch. He remembered the words of his friend, Baba Mohammed Ben Osman: Should she be put before the Sultan she would be embroidered on his heart forever. It would be his job to mold the delicate flower to his will and the will of the Circassian Kadine, the mother of Selim, heir to the throne. He would do everything in his power to protect her and personally oversee her education. She had the looks and charming manner, but he must transform her quickly. Yes, he thought it might be possible. With the proper tutelage, they might rule the Sultan and the empire together.
Chapter 22
The Kizlar Agasi rose, motioning Aimée to follow him towards a group of buildings on the far side of the garden. From behind, his fur-trimmed garments and lumbering gait made him look like a huge clothed animal. Although frightened by his countenance, she thought he had seemed pleased with her appearance, and hoped that her assessment was correct. His displeasure would ruin her chances for success.
Two armed eunuch guards stood quietly talking near a thick wooden door sheltered by a carved cupola. As the Kizlar Agasi approached, he called out an order and the guards opened the door, then stepped aside to let them pass into a small entrance hall with doors leading off from the left, right and center. Beautifully woven tapestries of rich, dark colors adorned the walls, and thick, luxurious carpets covered the floor. In the center of the room an elaborate arrangement of curly willow branches and peacock feathers stood in a tall cloisonné vase. The Kizlar Agasi seemed to grow even taller as he strode purposefully across the low-ceilinged room and held the center door open for Aimée.
They stood at the end of a long, rectangular room with intricately latticed windows set high into the walls. Aimée looked up and thought, just like the convent. Rows of evenly spaced divans, covered in dark grey cashmere and strewn with colorfully embroidered cushions, were neatly arranged along two sides of the room. It looked like a more opulent version of the novices’ dormitory at the convent. Although the beds were empty, Aimée felt a strong, feminine presence, warm and sensual rather than austere and pious. She found the similarity comforting, while the disparity of their purposes made her smile. She quickly counted approximately thirty beds, wondered where the rest of the harem slept, and if one of the beds would be hers.
The eunuch led the way through the room saying slowly, “Cariye sleep here.”
Aimée did not understand the word “Cariye,” but would soon discover it was the word for slave as well as the one used for new harem initiates.
“Your teacher, the Vekil Usta, lives here,” the Eunuch explained, indicating a small private bedroom at the far end of the dormitory.
Aimée understood the word “teacher” and surmised the rest. She felt excited by her ability to understand the language and relieved that, thus far, her new surroundings did not resemble a prison in any way.
Immediately beyond the sleeping quarters were servants’ quarters and several large dressing rooms piled high with trunks and wardrobes. Beyond these were the kitchens where a dozen cooks were busily preparing food for the noon meal. As they passed through, Aimée recognized the fragrant aromas that began to make her mouth water.
They looked into a small room off the kitchen where several Nubians laundered clothes, then passed into a lovely dining room with low wooden tables surrounded by divans and plump silk cushions on a carpeted floor. Silver trays holding tiny porcelain coffee cups sat on many of the tables.
Mosaic murals of painted tiles covered the walls with a profusion of intricate designs in shades of blue, green, black and white. Several tall water pipes (nargileh) stood near the divans, and the Kizlar Agasi pointed to them saying their name. Aimée repeated the familiar word aloud and smiled, enjoying the pleasant way it felt in her mouth. She was wondering where the women who lived here might be, just as the eunuch opened a door into another large room, constructed entirely of white marble with benches lining the walls. Clothes of all colors hung from golden hooks, and dozens of pairs of delicate kid slippers lay scattered beneath the benches. Her nose detected the scents of jasmine, sandalwood and ambergris, and she knew that the bath must be near. She had not bathed in a large pool throughout her long sea voyage, and the thought of submerging her naked body into a hot, fragrant bath made her quiver with anticipation.
The Kizlar Agasi shouted a shrill command that startled Aimée and brought two Nubian girls running into the room from an alcove. They were clearly adolescents, naked from the waist up, wearing multicolored silk loincloths and colorful silk scarves wound around their heads into elaborate headdresses. Thick silver bracelets encircled their wrists and ankles, and multiple beaded necklaces wound around their necks before cascading onto their budding, naked breasts. Smiling broadly, with perfect white teeth, they expertly undressed Aimée in less than a minute. As the girls scurried away, she looked up to meet the level gaze of the Kizlar Agasi, who sat on a bench, leaning forward on the jewel-encrusted head of his heavy walking stick.
The disrobing had happened so swiftly that it caught Aimée completely by surprise. Now she found herself standing stark naked before the fierce-looking giant. She did not know what to do with her hands or how to hide the panic she felt. Realizing that she had been holding her breath, she exhaled all at once, simultaneously remembering that the imposing figure was actually a eunuch. Her nervousness made her giggle. She brought a hand to her mouth to stifle the laughter, and realized how little embarrassment she felt at being naked. Apparently, her time at Baba’s had effectively undermined years of imposed modesty, and she now actually enjoyed the sensuous feeling of being naked in a warm room. But she had never stood nude before a man, even though this one lacked the physical accoutrements to threaten her virginity. She was torn between self-consciousn
ess and her wish to present a pleasing image. This was the person whom she must impress and befriend, whose approval was vital to her success. As these thoughts passed through her mind she automatically stood as straight as she could, arched her back slightly to lift her little breasts, and then raised her chin and smiled.
In his wisdom, the Kizlar Agasi read every emotion that passed across Aimée’s face and found the whole effect to be quite charming. His eyes evaluated every inch of the front of her petite body—the firm, small breasts, smooth soft shoulders, rounded young belly and shapely thighs. Too thin, but we can fix that. He motioned her to turn around.
“Mmmm,” he murmured at the sight of her round buttocks. If the Sultan does not appreciate this, he might as well be dead. The golden hair and bright blue eyes were novelty enough to peak the jaded old man’s interest, but combined with her perfectly proportioned body and innocent manner, she was captivating. The old pirate was right. If she shows even the slightest aptitude for sensuality, I will be able to fan its flame and train her to fulfill the sultan’s every desire.
“Turn around,” he said. When she was again facing him he said, “Your life begins anew, created by me.”
She understood only the words “life” and “me” but discerned his meaning, already knowing that her fate rested in his huge, misshapen hands. Their eyes met, recognizing mutual determination. Aimée was going to learn how to become a queen, and this man, who sat before her drinking in her naked beauty, was the one who could make it so.
He clapped his hands and the slave girls appeared, bringing Aimée a pair of pattens, the high wooden clogs that she had worn in Baba’s bathhouse. The Kizlar Agasi rose from his seat.
“We will meet again after you have bathed and eaten,” he said, and left the room.
The slaves helped her to step onto the clogs, then each took one of Aimée’s hands and led her through the gracefully arched door, into the tepidarium. This was the anteroom attached to all Turkish baths, where bathers acclimated to the warm temperature and steamy air before entering the bath. As soon as Aimée stepped into the room she could hear the muffled sounds of bathers in the next room, and her heart began to beat a little faster.
