The Panther and The Pearl

by Doreen Owens Malek

  Roxalena turned to Sarah and smiled.

  “We must all be beautiful for my father’s guest,” she said.

  Sarah surveyed herself in Roxalena’s standing pier glass and did not recognize the woman she saw. The material of the silk blouse she wore was so thin that her arms were visible through the sleeves, and its scoop neck revealed the tops of her breasts and the diamond pendant which hung about her neck. The full linen trousers, known as shalwar, nipped in at the waist and ankle and were fastened at the hips with Roxalena’s jeweled girdle. The misty blue veil covered but did not conceal her hair, and its accompanying drape hid her face except for her eyes, which glowed in complement to the fine materials and luxurious ornaments.

  “Seker, yes?” Roxalena said from behind her, pleased.

  The word meant sugar, and by reference sweet, or desirable.

  “Roxalena, this ensemble is scandalous,” Sarah said softly.

  “What means this, scandalous?” Roxalena asked.

  Sarah sighed. How could she communicate the mores of Victorian society to this woman whose whole life had been a preparation for seduction, a training ground in the art of pleasing men? Roxalena would find her objections ridiculous, and Sarah had promised to abide by Ottoman customs if she came to Topkapi.

  “Nothing,” she said, smiling slightly. “Thank you, I am grateful for your efforts and I’m happy that you’re pleased with the result.”

  Roxalena beamed. “Now you must remember to keep your veil in place unless you are asked to remove it by my father. And you must not speak unless you are spoken to by one of the men, and keep your eyes downcast during the performance.”

  “What performance?”

  “The chengis, a group of women skilled in dance, have prepared a traditional entertainment for Kalid’s pleasure.”

  “I don’t know, Roxalena, I’m sure I’m going to do something wrong,” Sarah said nervously.

  “If you make a mistake I will shake my head, so, and you will stop, yes? Most likely you will not be required to do anything except watch the performance and then leave with the other women.”

  “All right.”

  Two eunuchs came to the door and folded their arms in a waiting stance.

  “It is time,” Roxalena said.

  Sarah took her place beside the princess and they walked out into the hall.

  The marble floored Hunkar Sofasi (Hall of the Sultan) was almost empty as the harem women entered it. At one end was a raised platform under an ornamental canopy, or baldachin, with an elaborate throne for the Sultan and smaller gilt chairs for his kadins and guests. Before the throne was a silk carpet embroidered by tirewomen, with comfortable tasseled cushions arranged for the favorite concubines, and above it was a balcony where the sazende, musicians, were tuning their stringed instruments. Tapestries suspended from the ceiling wafted back and forth, acting like fans to stir the warm air.

  Sarah had barely filed into the huge, columned room before cymbals clashed and the musicians began to play a slow, stately march. From the double doors at the rear, guarded by Osman Bey and his halberdiers, the Sultan advanced into the room, followed by his honored guest, his retainers, and his women. Sarah watched as Roxalena moved to take her place in the procession next to the first and second kadins, and then Sarah’s gaze fell on Kalid Shah. Thereafter she saw only him; it was as if everyone else in the vast chamber had disappeared.

  He was dressed in a scarlet robe edged with gold, the hanging sleeves slashed to display tight fitting white silk armlets beneath them. The dagger at his waist was studded with diamonds and a white aigrette in his turban held a cluster of rubies, diamonds and pearls. He turned slightly, as if he sensed Sarah’s eyes on him, and she felt a shock as his imperious gaze met hers.

  He had the darkest eyes she had ever seen, heavily marked by black brows and thick lashes, and tendrils of glossy black hair escaped his headdress at the sides to curl about his ears. His short sable beard framed red lips that parted as he looked at her, and for the long moments that they gazed at one another time seemed to stand still. Then the Sultan clapped his hands, Kalid looked back toward the dais, and the spell was broken.

  Sarah looked around almost wildly, as if afraid that her thoughts were visible, disconcerted to find that her heart was pounding and her mouth was dry. She deliberately unclenched her fists as the Sultan took his seat and the others settled around him, the novice concubines leaning against the wall, as they were not permitted to sit in the presence of the Sultan. The kadins and Roxalena sat on his left, Kalid Shah on his right. Just before the Sultan clapped his hands again and the dancers scampered into the room, Sarah was sure that Kalid’s dark gaze swept the crowd and settled on her once more.

  What transpired next was a blur. The musicians began to play a czardas, a fast, upbeat number that soon had the dancers whirling. They wore low necked muslin blouses, embroidered vests, and capacious skirts that opened like fans as they spun. There were twelve of them: the leader, ten dancers, and an apprentice. As one tune concluded it led into another, and a fine sheen of sweat soon appeared on their bodies as they leaped and capered to the music. When the Sultan became bored he signaled to the musicians, and the music changed to a slow, seductive number. The dancers filed to the side of the floor as the leader doffed her skirt and blouse and segued into a belly dance.

  Sarah was hardly aware of the spectacle taking place; her eyes were fixed on Kalid Shah, who was watching the performance expressionlessly. When the dancers left they were succeeded by a band of gymnasts, and then by a magician, and it seemed an eternity before the women were dismissed and the men were left to their pipes. Sarah got a last glimpse of Kalid Shah as she filed out of the hall behind the eunuchs on her way back to the harem. He was leaning forward, saying something to the first kadin, who nodded and smiled.

  Sarah had hardly returned to her apartment when Shirza bustled in after her, quite out of breath. She bowed hastily and then said, “My lady requests that you attend upon her immediately, Miss Sarah,” she said slowly in elementary Turkish, with explicatory gestures, so that Sarah could understand.

  “Where is the princess?” Sarah asked, surprised.

  “In the Sultan’s private audience chamber,” Shirza replied quietly, obviously impressed.

  “But why does she want me to come there?” Sarah asked.

  “I know not, miss. Your escort is waiting.”

  Sarah stepped into the hall and two eunuchs fell into step beside her. They led her to a small, expensively furnished room off the great hall, and she stopped short on the threshold when she saw who was waiting for her there: The Sultan, Roxalena, and Kalid Shah.

  “Come in, Sarah,” Roxalena said carefully, indicating with her eyes that Sarah was to proceed cautiously. Roxalena approached the Sultan, who was reclining on a divan, smoking, and made a low obeisance before him. When she looked up he nodded and smiled, saying something she could not follow.

  “My father, Sultan Abdul Hammid IV, Lord of the Golden Crescent, Lion of the Desert, sends you greetings, Sarah Woolcott,” Roxalena translated into English, “and would present you to his Pasha of the District of Bursa, Kalid Shah.”

  Her pulse racing, Sarah turned her gaze on the pasha. He regarded her intently, reclining on one elbow, his deep red robe open now to reveal a supple brown throat and an undershift of white silk. At close range he was even more impressive, his coloring more vivid, his presence impossible to ignore. Sarah bowed gracefully in his direction. He inclined his head.

  The Sultan spoke again.

  “My father instructs you to drop your veil,” Roxalena said.

  Sarah looked at her sharply.

  “It is the Sultan’s wish,” Roxalena added meaningfully.

  Sarah swallowed hard, then loosened the clips which held the yashmak, the face piece, to her veil. It came away in her hand, revealing her features.

  “And the rest,” Roxalena said, interpreting her father’s impatient gesture. Kalid Shah said nothing, merely
watched as Sarah swept the veil from her head, uncovering her bound hair.

  The Sultan murmured approvingly, puffing on his pipe.

  “Why am I doing this?” Sarah asked Roxalena, who shook her head warningly.

  Sarah subsided, remembering her instructions. She was not supposed to initiate conversation.

  The Sultan regarded Sarah imperiously, annoyed by her question. Then he barked a further order, his benign mood dispelled.

  “My father would have you unbind you hair,” Roxalena said, her eyes directing Sarah to obey without objection.

  Sarah removed the pins from her chignon, wondering if she would be required to disrobe next. Then she bent and shook out her hair, throwing her head back to loosen the tresses. When her gaze settled on Kalid, he was leaning forward, regarding her fixedly.

  “Will they want to count my teeth?” she asked Roxalena sarcastically in English, unable to stop herself.

  Roxalena shook her head violently, her eyes round as saucers, her expression apprehensive.

  Sarah settled for running her fingers through her hair luxuriously, eyeing Kalid Shah defiantly.

  When he spoke she jumped; it was as if a beautiful statue in the room had come to life and talked.

  “Pasha Kalid asks why you have come to the Topkapi harem,” Roxalena said cautiously.

  “Doesn’t he know?” Sarah countered, watching his face.

  “Answer the question,” Roxalena hissed.

  “I have come to teach you English and to learn something of Ottoman culture,” Sarah replied obediently.

  Roxalena murmured a Turkish translation.

  Kalid spoke again, his voice low and modulated.

  “Pasha Kalid marvels that your husband would allow you to come so far alone and undertake such a mission,” Roxalena said.

  “Tell him that I have no husband, and that I do what I like,” Sarah said firmly. She watched Kalid’s reaction as Roxalena translated her statement. His lips never moved, but she could have sworn she saw a smile in his eyes.

  The Sultan said something abruptly, waving his hand in a gesture of dismissal.

  “We are free to go,” Roxalena said, rising and bowing to the two men. Sarah did the same. The princess and her tutor left the room and the door was closed behind them by a servant.

  “What is her name again, the American woman?” Kalid said to the Sultan, as soon as the women were gone.

  The Sultan turned to look at him.

  “Sarah Woolcott,” he replied.

  “I want her,” Kalid said flatly.

  The Sultan smiled.

  “Did you see him?” Roxalena exulted, laughing delightedly. “His tongue was hanging out like that of a parched dog! Oh, that I should live to witness it. The great Pasha Kalid pining for a woman! I can die happy now.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sarah asked in irritation, still smarting from the humiliating interview. She lay down on the plush divan in Roxalena’s apartment and rested her head on a satin pillow.

  “He is besotted with you!” Roxalena said, grinning. “If my father hadn’t gotten bored when he did Kalid would have stripped you to the skin and filled his eyes to brimming with your beauty.”

  “Not without a fight, he wouldn’t,” Sarah replied grimly, settling the pillow under her head more comfortably and sighing.

  Roxalena chuckled, enjoying herself immensely. “I always knew that someone would come along...” She looked at Sarah, a measuring expression in her eyes.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean someone who would strip him of that indifference and make him...”

  Sarah waited.

  “Hot,” Roxalena concluded. “Who knew it would be you?” She lifted the diadem from her hair and handed it to a waiting servant, dissolving into chuckles again.

  “Roxalena, I’m glad you find all of this so amusing, but being paraded in front of your father and his guest like a fatted calf...”

  “What’s that?” Roxalena inquired, removing her earbobs and sitting next to Sarah on the divan.

  “Never mind,” Sarah said.

  “My father was only accommodating his visitor,” Roxalena went on, as if Sarah hadn’t spoken. “Kalid saw you in the crowd and wanted to get a better look at you. He requested that you be brought into the antechamber so that he might examine you.”

  “That he did,” Sarah said dryly.

  Shirza appeared in the doorway, carrying an elaborately carved wooden tray.

  “What is it?” Roxalena asked her.

  “A gift for Miss Sarah from my lord the Pasha of Bursa,” Shirza recited ceremoniously, kneeling and proffering the tray.

  Roxalena giggled and elbowed Sarah in the ribs.

  “Please,” Sarah said, closing her eyes.

  “Bring it in here,” Roxalena said eagerly, eyeing the tray’s contents avariciously.

  Shirza entered and placed the tray on a table inlaid with ivory, setting it in front of the divan.

  “Bursa perfume, made for the house of Shah’s women alone, blended of the essence of jasmine and rosemary, sandalwood and ambergris,” Shirza said, indicating a carved crystal bottle. It was decorated with cobalt flowers and capped with a silver stopper.

  Roxalena nodded approvingly. “Very costly,” she said.

  “A jeweled hairpin, for a lady with such wealth of tresses will surely have need of it,” Shirza went on, indicating a golden bodkin, such as Oriental women used to skewer a bun, displayed on a white linen napkin. It was studded with diamond chips and featured a pigeon’s blood ruby at its rounded crest.

  “Tasteful,” Roxalena said.

  “And coffee from Yemen, specially prepared,” Shirza concluded. “Kalid Shah instructs that it is for the palate of Miss Sarah alone, as it is his special gift to her.” Shirza poured the dark, steaming liquid from the jezve into an enameled cup which already contained a quarter inch of froth. She handed the cup to Sarah.

  “Well, drink it,” Roxalena said, smiling. “It would be an insult not to do so.”

  Sarah drained the small cup, grimacing at the bitter taste. She would never get used to Turkish coffee.

  Shirza waited expectantly.

  “Have you nothing to say to the sender of these offerings?” Roxalena asked Sarah, wide eyed with innocence. “It would be very bad manners not to respond to such lavish presents.”

  “Tell Kalid Shah I thank him very much for his courtesy,” Sarah said tightly.

  “That is all?” Roxalena asked.

  “That is all.”

  Shirza bowed and left the room.

  “Kalid will be disappointed,” Roxalena said gravely.

  “What would he expect me to say?” Sarah asked, yawning.

  “That you will join him in his chamber for a night of passion?” Roxalena suggested.

  “Very funny. To tell you the truth, my first instinct was to send it all back, but I realize that such an act would not be in accordance with your customs.”

  “Certainly not,” Roxalena said, shocked. She watched as Sarah rose and then staggered slightly.

  “Whew, I must be more tired than I thought,” Sarah said, passing a hand over her eyes. “I’d better go to bed.”

  “What about all this?” Roxalena asked, indicating the tray.

  “Keep it for me. In the morning we’ll try the c’s and g’s again.”

  Roxalena made a face.

  “Good night,” Sarah said in Turkish.

  “Good night,” Roxalena said in English.

  In the hall the eunuchs who accompanied the harem women everywhere fell into step beside Sarah and followed her to her room. By the time she approached her couch she was so dizzy that she sat down harder than she had intended. Then she found she could not get up again to undress.

  What on earth was wrong with her? She lay back on the cushions, the light from the long tapers burning in the sconces blurring when she looked at it.

  She closed her eyes. Time for a little rest. Then she would get up and
find out what was going on.

  When Sarah woke it was several seconds before she realized that she was not in her room at the Topkapi harem. The divan was covered in different fabric, a rose brocade, and the walls were pink sandstone, hung with lighter tapestries than the white walls of the Sultan’s palace. She sat up abruptly, alarmed, and a bolt of agony shot through her head at the movement, making her groan. She held her head for several seconds, waiting for the wave of pain to recede.

  Then Sarah realized she was not alone, and she blinked rapidly, trying to bring the figure sitting at her side into focus. When her vision cleared she saw a diminutive woman, who could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty, attired in a simple muslin gown. She brought her hands together and bowed deeply from the waist.

  “I am Memtaz,” this person said. “I have been assigned to you because I speak English, as does my master.”

  “Where am I?” Sarah gasped.

  “At Orchid Palace, the home of Pasha Kalid Shah. He has bought you from the Sultan at an enormous price and you are now his property. Come, you must prepare yourself to see him.”

  Chapter 3

  The khislar stepped aside to admit Roxalena to her father’s presence. She bowed low and performed the customary obeisance, waiting for the Sultan to command her to rise.

  “Well?” the Sultan said abruptly, helping himself to a piece of halvah from a silver salver held by a slave at his side. Behind him two Nubians stood waving elaborate feathered fans rhythmically, stirring the draperies of the throne room.

  Roxalena looked up, judged that it was permissible to stand, and did so. She waited.

  The Sultan gestured impatiently with the sweetmeat.

  “My English teacher has disappeared,” Roxalena said bluntly. She always knew when coquetry would work with her father, and this one was not one of those times.

  The Sultan said nothing, merely looked bored, as if this inconsequential matter had nothing to do with him.