by Zia Wesley
The Circassian Kadine gave instructions to a eunuch, who bowed and then left. The two women entered a small changing room, where four slaves expertly removed their clothing and covered them with sheer linen caftans. Entering the tepidarium, they reclined on divans, sipping coffee and nibbling on almonds with a thin, crunchy coating of sweetened gold.
The Kadine asked Aimée to talk about her life before she entered the harem, and was happy to learn that she had been well educated. She already knew that Baba Mohammed Ben Osman had been the young woman’s benefactor. As a former captain in the Sultan’s Navy, along with his fleet of fast ships, Ben Osman could be a powerful ally. Her instincts had been right in believing the girl to be more than just another sensual beauty. She was also clever and well connected. Perhaps she might even prove to be trustworthy. Of all the women who had entered the harem in the last ten years, she was the first to grasp the possibilities of her role beyond its obvious personal gains. She might be the one.
By the time they submerged themselves in the fragrant water of her private bath, the Circassian Kadine believed that she had found the key to her success. Although the temptation was strong to seduce her and take her as her own without the Sultan ever knowing of her existence, she chose instead to use her for a higher purpose. She had waited ten years for a woman like this, and another might never come. There would be time enough to satisfy her personal needs. For now, she would enjoy her new protégé from afar while grooming her to blissfully enslave the Sultan. They had precious little time, and so much to secure before he died.
~ ~ ~
After three hours of ministrations in the baths, the Circassian Kadine instructed one of her eunuchs to escort Aimée to her new room.
“I am sure that you will find it satisfactory, but I think you will not be there very long. The favorites have their own apartments, you know.”
Aimée curtsied and kissed the Kadine’s hand. “Thank you, my lady. I fear that I cannot adequately express my gratitude.”
“Oh, we shall find a way in due time, dear one,” she said, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
Aimée followed the eunuch down the corridor that led from the Circassian Kadine’s quarters to a small, splendidly decorated room. The walls were draped with yards of heavy embroidered silk in shades of blue, and a small cloisonné bowl filled with golden almonds sat on one of the tables. A large wardrobe and carved cedar chest, already filled with her belongings, stood against one wall next to a tall, ornately framed Venetian glass mirror. Egyptian musk smoldered in an incense burner, and a vase of bright red tulips from the Kadine’s own greenhouse sat on one of the tables.
Aimée touched one of the petals and remembered the first ones she had ever seen at Baba’s. It seems so long ago. Her eyes misted with tears as she tried to understand her feelings. Everything was so wonderful... better than she had imagined. But, fear seemed to hover just beneath the beauty and tranquility. She gazed at her reflection in the tall mirror, and tried to glimpse herself in the future. Would she ever be as powerful and assured as the Kadine?
Zahar appeared in the doorway. “Dress your hair?” she asked in Turkish.
“Yes, and lay out my clothes for dinner, please,” Aimée replied.
Her thoughts shifted to the present. Tonight she would dine with the women of the harem for the first time. She must dress well enough to impress, but not so resplendently as to incur jealously. She had learned a lot in the last six months, but she had the feeling that her real education was about to begin.
~ ~ ~
Dinner lasted over two hours and consisted of fourteen courses that began with lamb kebabs and ended with coffee serbet flavored with cloves. Many women greeted her and fussed over her hair, as the students had done when she first arrived, but the innocent excitement of the Cariye Dairisi was absent. In the harem, competition and jealousy prevented easy acceptance of a newcomer. There was too much at stake to form fast friendships, and women remained reserved until they could learn how much of a threat a new girl might be to their own success.
They asked Aimée many questions while offering little information themselves, and seemed unnerved by most of her answers. The more she revealed the more of a threat she became in their eyes. Had they any idea how much of a threat she really was, they might have banned together and poisoned her on the spot. Nuket Seza’s informants asked the most questions and, as they hurried off to make their report, wagered as to whether or not the young woman would live to celebrate another birthday.
Following dessert, many of the women smoked tobacco from bejeweled nargileh, while others grouped together to smoke opium.
“Elixir of the night?” one of them offered, extending the pipe in Aimée’s direction.
She politely declined, and joined a group who had gathered to play music for others who danced. Conversation was minimal, and Aimée realized that the language barrier must prove too great for some to master Ottoman Turkish. Many of those women clung together in groups where they could speak a familiar language such as Russian, Greek or Circassian.
Aimée missed little Perestu, and wished that she were there with her. She wondered how long it might be before she would join her in the harem, and hoped it would not be very long. She felt lonely in the unfamiliar crowd, even while playing music. It seemed that once again, her life had undergone a drastic change.
Suddenly feeling exhausted, she laid down her harp and went to her room, where she tossed about fitfully on her divan, unable to drive one niggling thought from her mind. What if the sultan does not favor me?
Chapter 27
Sultan Abdul Hamid looked lost among the silk-brocade pillows piled on the oversized bed upon which he reclined. The contrast between his sallow skin and dyed black beard made him appear to be ill, which in a sense, he was. The mounds of sumptuous bedding that surrounded him, embroidered with brightly colored peacocks and tulips, represented two things that had formerly brought him joy to behold.
His dispassionate gaze wandered around the room, coming to rest upon a small vase of dead tulips in a niche in the opposite wall. How long have they been dead? he wondered, without taking the next logical step of asking what incompetent servant had allowed them to remain so. Just a few months earlier, that servant would have paid dearly for allowing dead flowers to remain within the Sultan’s sight.
The Sultan sighed deeply. Maybe if I close my eyes sleep will come. He rolled his head back further onto the mound of pillows, but did not fall asleep. After a few minutes he opened his eyes and began surveying the room as if he had not just done so moments before. This time, he noticed the serving trays holding bowls of dried fruits and nuts that had not been touched. His appetite for food had left him, along with most of his other appetites. He sighed again. Maybe if I close my eyes, sleep will come.
The huge bronze door that led to his sleeping room opened, and his chamberlain, the Bas Musahib, stood in the doorway and bowed deeply. He was a short, stout man in his mid-sixties stooped beneath the weight of his responsibilities and one of the only people permitted to address the sovereign directly.
The Sultan did not notice him until he spoke.
“Sire,” the chamberlain said, clearing his throat nervously.
“What is it? I’m resting.”
“I pray that your majesty is well and that one thousand blessings be bestowed upon you and the illustrious family of Osman.”
“You may dispense with further formalities. What nonsense causes you to disturb my rest?”
“Sire, the Divan is in session and would like to know if you will be honoring them with your royal presence today.”
“Today is not Friday, is it?” the Sultan asked.
The chamberlain cleared his throat nervously again, and thought in frustration, the Divan does not even meet on Fridays. “No, sire, today is Tuesday, and the Grand Vizier has brought new demands of the Janissaries before the Divan once again, but without your council, he cannot approve or disapprove...” his voice trailed off. He h
ad made this same speech to the Sultan for the past five weeks, every Saturday through Tuesday, when the Divan was in session.
The Sultan did not seem to comprehend the chamberlain’s words, although he answered with annoyance. “The Janissaries keep their own council, do they not?”
Since this question made no sense whatsoever to the chamberlain, he tactfully replied, “Ah, yes, often they do in fact keep their own council, but in this case, sire, the decision lies with you.”
“Not today,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand that indicated the meeting to be over.
The chamberlain could do nothing but make his exit. He bowed and backed out of the room, shaking his head in disbelief at the problem he faced. What would he tell the Divan? How long could he continue to make excuses for the Sultan’s refusal to partake in matters of state? Week after week, he had been lying and fabricating, and he did not know what would happen when they finally called him to account. Meanwhile, the Janissaries had become adamant about getting a resolution, and to show their displeasure, had once again begun the incessant and unnerving pounding on their kettledrums. In the last week they had piled more than thirty severed heads next to the Gate of Salutation. How many more would fall before the Sultan would act? He shuffled back to the Hall of the Divan, entering through the private entrance used only by himself and the Sultan, and wondered what excuse he would make this time. How will this end? he asked himself, pursing his lips and shaking his head sadly from side to side. To whom can I turn for help?
~ ~ ~
Shortly after noon, as the officials of the government’s Sublime Porte were leaving the Hall of the Divan, the Kizlar Agasi entered the apartments of the Circassian Kadine as she sat at her loom, weaving.
“Terrible news,” he said. “Once again, the Sultan did not attend the Divan, and the Bas Musahib is pleading with me to do something. It has been three weeks since the Janissaries have presented their demands, and the council is unable to respond without the Sultan’s approval. Three weeks. Those heathens are murdering people in their beds!”
The Circassian Kadine stopped her weaving, and sighed. “Well,” she said, and then sat in quiet thought for a few moments. “If he becomes any more despondent I fear the Janissaries may openly revolt. Let us move our plan forward immediately. Arrange for her to dance for him tonight.”
The Kizlar Agasi nodded his head enthusiastically. “Yes, Mihrisah,” he said. “Yes. We must do something.”
“Bring her to me at once.”
The Kizlar Agasi rushed from the room and within minutes reappeared with Aimée.
“May we dispense with formalities?” the Kadine asked.
“By all means, my lady.”
“You are going to dance for the Sultan tonight,” she said.
Aimée drew a sharp breath. “Tonight?” She had only been in the harem for two days and thought she would be given ample time to prepare for this occasion.
“I realize that this is sudden,” the Kadine said. “But certain events bring great urgency to our situation. I assure you that you will be furnished with all you require, and I will personally insure cooperation of the royal presence. Are you prepared, child?”
“I shall be, my lady,” she replied. Inside, her heart was pounding. Tonight?
“Good. I would like the dance of the seven veils. The costume that you wore for your test will do nicely, and I will add some jewelry.”
Aimée’s heart and mind were both racing. I must calm myself. Consider only what is necessary to make my performance perfect. “May I ask if I will be required to perform any other entertainments?”
“That is our hope. Pray that his majesty wishes it. I will do what I can to encourage this. With that as our intent, you will perform in his majesty’s bedchamber rather than in the Hall of the Sultan.” She turned to the eunuch and said, “Bring my Kutuchu Usta [herbalist] to me at once.”
As the Kizlar Agasi left the apartments to fetch the most senior harem herbalist, the Circassian Kadine began pacing back and forth, speaking aloud to herself.
“We must be sure that he is awake enough to see you dance and to respond, but he must be relaxed enough to not resist. A euphoric, that is what is needed... a euphoric aphrodisiac... rhinoceros horn—but with what? The Kutuchu Usta will know. Now, my dear,” she said to Aimée. “You must prepare yourself. Use my private bath, and I will send my hairdresser and beauticians to you. When you are attired, come to me and I will give you final instructions. You will begin as the sun sets.”
~ ~ ~
Aimée spent the remainder of the day in preparation for the night she had been awaiting for six months. She was bathed, shampooed, manicured and waxed. Her skin was scrubbed with a mixture of ground almonds, honey and yogurt until it felt like alabaster. Her entire body was coated in a mixture of rice flour, sesame oil and fragrant oils. The paste was allowed to dry, then washed off with bowls of warm floral water. Perfumed oils were massaged into her skin as she lay on a heated marble slab.
Throughout the ministrations, Aimée focused her attention on her goal, and rehearsed her dance in her mind. She was not afraid of failing in her performance, and hoped that it would elicit the desired response. She must do everything she had been taught to arouse his desire. Everything.
After being scrubbed and polished, her hair was dressed, her nails and toenails dyed with henna, and the intricate henna designs drawn on her hands and feet were renewed with a fresh application. Kohl was used to darken and extend the shape of her eyes and, finally, she stood over a smoldering brazier of fragrant ambergris and musk to scent her entire body.
One hour before sunset, Aimée arrived at the Circassian Kadine’s apartments.
“You are splendid,” the Circassian Kadine pronounced, reaching out her hands to hold Aimée’s. “An angelic vision. Come, I wish to give you a special adornment.”
They walked to a dressing table that held a small, sandalwood box inlaid with mother of pearl and gold. The Kadine opened the box, and withdrew a long rope of the thinnest gold interspersed with dozens of diamonds.
Letting the piece of jewelry dangle from her fingertips, she said, “Take off all of your clothes.”
Aimée did not understand why she should need to undress to put on a necklace, but did as she was told. When she was naked, the Circassian Kadine stepped forward so that their bodies touched and reached around her waist to fasten the diamond chain behind her back. The string of diamonds encircled Aimée just below the waist and slipped down to rest on her hips. The Circassian Kadine knelt down and carefully turned the belt so that the clasp fell just above the nether lips, trailing a string of six large stones that lay between them.
“Oh,” Aimée exclaimed looking down at her body, “I thought it was a necklace. It tickles.”
The Circassian Kadine held Aimée’s hips and looked up from where she knelt. “Yes, that is its purpose. As you dance, the stones bring on your arousal so that your desire may match the Sultan’s. It is also quite enticing when it is finally revealed. May it bring you luck and the adoration of the Sultan,” she said, her voice heavy with desire.
Aimée was either too naïve or so entranced by the delicate beauty of the belt that she did not notice the Kadine’s heightened state of emotion. “Thank you, my lady.”
The Kadine remained on her knees, staring at the object of her desire. It was so close; she had only to move her face forward a few inches to kiss the virgin lips. She abruptly rose and adopted an officious tone to chase the wanton thoughts from her mind. I must focus on the higher purpose.
“You may dress,” she said without looking again at Aimée’s naked body. “I have prepared a potion for the Sultan, which I will bring to him shortly. It will take effect by the time you are halfway through your dance. He should be quite aroused by the time you finish, but may appear to be sleepy or tired. He may even mumble his words or speak unintelligibly, but do not let this dissuade you. Even if he does not command it, you must display yourself to him ful
ly. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“If he merely gestures, without speaking a command, go to him anyway, crawl to his feet and proceed as you have been taught. Do not let his tiredness dissuade you from your purpose. And this is most important... should he not be firm enough to penetrate your maidenhead, use this yourself,” she said reaching into the pocket of her jeweled girdle and extracting a small marble penis. “Allow your blood to drop onto his manhood, and he will never know.”
Attempting not to show her surprise, Aimée took the small replica and tucked it into a pocket in her girdle. A feeling of fear and revulsion began to grow in the pit of her stomach. Break my maidenhead myself?
Unaware of Aimée’s thoughts, the Kadine continued. “When you remove your girdle hide it in your hand, and then secrete it in the folds of his bedclothes. I know you will succeed,” she said, grasping Aimée’s shoulders and kissing her lightly on the lips. “Report to me immediately afterwards. The Kizlar Agasi will escort you up the Golden Path.”
The “Golden Path” to which the Circassian Kadine referred was nothing more than a long corridor leading from the private apartments of the favorites directly to the Sultan’s bedroom. It was the path taken by all odalisques and favorites to liaison with their master.
The Kizlar Agasi walked before Aimée, turning around several times to deliver last minute instructions. “Pay no attention to his tiredness, should he seem so, and do not let protocol keep you from your goal.” He appeared more nervous than Aimée. “He will remember very few details tomorrow, but let us pray that he remembers you.”
