The Panther and The Pearl

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “It runs in the family.”

  “Since you have made an observation, may I make one?” Kosem said, enjoying the parrying.

  “Certainly.”

  “For a woman who’s about to get her heart’s desire, you don’t seem very happy.”

  Sarah turned away from her and looked out the window of the coach.

  “Sarah, if you leave us and go back to the United States you will never see my grandson again as long as you live. Is that what you really want?”

  “I have to go.”

  “Why?”

  “Kalid doesn’t love me.” If she weren’t certain of that she could never leave.

  “You stupid girl, of course he loves you. Love sometimes finds expression in self sacrifice,” Kosem said urgently. “He loves you enough to let you go, and that’s more love than I have ever seen him show for anybody.”

  “He has never told me so,” Sarah said.

  “Deeds mean more than words, or isn’t that true in the U.S. of America?”

  “That’s true anywhere.”

  “So? Has he behaved as if he loves you?”

  “He has behaved as if he wants me, which is an entirely different matter.”

  The coach hit a rut, and both women jounced on the seat. Kosem leaned forward and pounded on the roof of the carriage with her jeweled walking stick.

  “This driver is an idiot,” she grumbled. “He finds all the holes in the road as if he were searching for them.” She looked at Sarah. “You can’t tell the difference between affection and desire?”

  “Kalid can’t. Any time I think he feels something real for me, it turns out that he just wants to get me into bed.”

  “Is there something wrong with that? Did you think that his interest in you was...” Kosem searched for a word.

  “Platonic?” Sarah supplied.

  “What is that?”

  “Just friendly.”

  “Yes,” Kosem nodded vigorously.

  “You don’t understand. Of course I know that he has always desired me.” She hesitated. “I feel the same.”

  “So exactly where is the problem?”

  “He has desired Fatma and I don’t know how many others. It has to be more than that for me.”

  “You want to be special.”

  “Yes. And I’m afraid his only interest in me is the challenge I represent.”

  “You think you will be discarded once he has achieved his goal?” Kosem said.

  “Kalid is accustomed to getting what he wants,” Sarah said. “Since I resisted him, chasing me was a novel experience. What will happen when he no longer has to chase me? If there is no real love between us I’ll be cast aside like a toy which no longer interests him because it has become too familiar.”

  “And if there is love?”

  “If there is love I’ve seen no evidence of it.”

  “How can you say that? He drove Dr. Shakoz day and night when you were ill, he tore apart the palace to find those responsible for your poisoning.”

  “To keep me alive so I could warm his bed in the future,” Sarah said flatly.

  Kosem examined her soberly as the coach slowed to a stop. “You cast a very cold eye on my grandson’s behavior.”

  “He bought me, valide pashana, and then kept me here, locked me up like a convicted criminal. As much as I react to his physical presence, I’ve never been able to forget the cynical, calculated way in which he selected me as if I were a piece of fruit that looked particularly appetizing, paying the price to obtain me like a customer in a bazaar.”

  “It is the way things are done here in the Empire,” Kosem said simply.

  “Kalid knows better. He spent time in the west.”

  “Never believe that. In his soul, he is an Eastern man, Turkish to the core. It is why he wants to possess you. For him, there is no other way.”

  The driver opened the door of the coach and let down the steps. Kosem alighted and turned to wait as Sarah followed her.

  “It’s a lovely day,” she observed, as they started down the path to the beach. “Will you miss our balmy weather?”

  “I’m sure I will, it can get very cold in the winter in Boston. Though I confess there have been days when the heat here has been too much for me.”

  The khislar and the two halberdiers took up their positions on the road as Kosem led the way to the gazebo built for the Sultan’s kadin, Nakshedil.

  “Did you know her?” Sarah asked, sitting on one of the stone benches inside and looking out to sea.

  “Who?” Kosem replied, sitting across from her.

  “Roxalena’s mother.”

  “Yes, she was a very powerful woman. Willful, beautiful. She exerted a great influence on the Sultan.”

  “Roxalena sounds a lot like her.”

  “The Princess Roxalena is a spoiled child. She refused to marry my grandson.”

  “I don’t think either one of them was really interested,” Sarah said, smiling.

  “I was interested,” Kosem said, and Sarah laughed.

  “I’m going to miss you,” Sarah said.

  “And Kalid? Will you miss him?”

  Sarah looked down at her hands. “Yes,” she said.

  “You will never meet another like him.”

  “I know that,” Sarah said quietly.

  “Nor anyone who stirs your blood in the same way.”

  Sarah was silent.

  “Are you prepared to make this sacrifice?”

  “I must.”

  Kosem shook her head. “I don’t understand you.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You could live out your life here in comfort, even if Kalid did give you up in later years.”

  “I could never stand that.”

  “To be discarded?”

  “To be unloved.”

  “I think you are too proud, Miss Sarah of Boston.”

  “Maybe.”

  “It is why you anger Kalid.”

  “I’m too much like him?”

  Kosem smiled. “He would never say so.”

  “He’ll have another favorite before my ship docks in Boston,” Sarah said tersely.

  “The thought of it bothers you?”

  “Of course.”

  “American women are a mystery,” Kosem said, sighing.

  “I’m sure Kalid agrees with you. He’ll find it restful to deal with women who aren’t such a puzzle.”

  “He might be bored,” Kosem said, smiling devilishly.

  “Not for long. Variety is the spice of life.”

  “I don’t imagine you will be replaced so easily.”

  “It would be nice to think so.”

  Kosem placed her hand over Sarah’s. “I had hoped you would be the mother of the next pasha.”

  “It is written on my forehead that I will leave this place,” Sarah replied.

  “Ah, now you sound like an Ottoman woman.” Kosem rose and tucked Sarah’s hand through her arm. “Come, let us walk along the beach. I find it very peaceful.”

  The two women, one at the beginning of her life and the other at the end of it, walked for some time along the strand, their guards following at a discreet distance. When it was time to return to the coach they walked up the hill slowly, both seeking to prolong what would probably be their last visit.

  Suddenly, just when they reached the road, the sound of pounding hooves overtook them. The khislar ran toward them, drawing his sword, and the two guards raised their halberds, looking around for the source of the noise.

  Three horsemen were bearing down on them, swathed in dark robes, their faces covered with hoods that revealed only their eyes. Sarah watched in horror as the first horseman ran the khislar down, striking him with a truncheon and knocking him to the ground. She grabbed Kosem’s hand and tried to run, but the old lady stumbled and they both fell to their knees.

  Sarah looked up to see one long arm swoop down and grab her. She struggled as she was hauled bodily onto the racing horse as Kosem stared
after her, screaming. The halberdiers tried to give chase, but the riders were already vanishing into the distance, the horses’ hooves sending up a cloud of dust.

  It was all over in seconds. Kosem sat on the ground, weeping, crawling toward the bloodied and unconscious Achmed. The halberdiers ran back to assist her, helping her to stand.

  “Who was that?” she gasped.

  “Bedouins,” the first halberdier said, as his partner knelt next to the khislar. His expression was bleak as he looked at Kosem; he knew how the pasha would react to this news.

  “What?” Kosem said.

  “The ikbal has been kidnapped by the bedouins.”

  Chapter 11

  Kalid looked up from a schematic for a dam he was building and saw Turhan Aga standing at the door. Two of his halberdiers were right behind him, and they all looked...frightened.

  Kalid stood abruptly. “What is it?” he demanded, his heart beating faster.

  “Master, there has been an...incident,” Turhan Aga began.

  “Sarah?”

  The captain looked ill.

  “My grandmother?”

  “Both,” Turhan said.

  Kalid stared at him, trying to absorb the enormity of such a disaster. Then, “Tell me,” he said tersely.

  Turhan Aga nodded at his lieutenant, who said, “The valide pashana and the ikbal were just about to leave the Sweet Waters when we were set upon by bedouins. The khislar was badly injured defending the women. My partner and I tried to stop them but the pashana fell to the ground and they kidnapped the ikbal.”

  Kalid was already running toward the door. “How long ago?” he called.

  “About an hour.”

  “My grandmother?” he said to the halberdier.

  “A few scrapes. I think she is sound physically, but of course very upset.”

  “And Achmed?”

  “Doctor Shakoz is with him.” The men were dashing after Kalid as he burst into the anteroom of his suite, shedding his ceremonial clothes.

  “Tell the groom to saddle my horse immediately and bring him to the Carriage House gate,” he called to a eunuch outside the door, who broke into a run.

  “Did you see anything about the men who took her?” Kalid asked the halberdier, who looked pained.

  “There were three of them, but they were all swathed in dark, heavy robes. Only their eyes were visible.”

  “What kind of horses?” Kalid said, tearing off his caftan and then strapping on his sword.

  “The leader was riding a sorrel, the others had gray mares,” the halberdier replied.

  “The leader took the ikbal?” Kalid pulled out a drawer and removed his pistol, cocking it and loading it, draping a strap with extra bullets in it around his neck.

  “Yes, master.”

  “Then he is my man,” Kalid said under his breath. He pointed to a servant who was dusting his bookshelves, pretending not to notice the commotion, and said, “You. Go to the kitchen and tell them to prepare me a pack, food and water for three days. Bring it to the Carriage House gate as soon as it’s ready.”

  The servant bowed and vanished as Turhan Aga said, “Master, you don’t mean to go after her alone.”

  “I mean to bring her back. This is my task and I won’t endanger anyone else in pursuing it.”

  “Let me come with you,” Turhan Aga said.

  “I need you here,” Kalid replied shortly.

  “Then at least take some of my men with you...”

  “No. This is my woman and my fight.”

  “The bedouins are very dangerous, master. Perhaps your feelings for this woman...”

  Kalid whirled on him and he stopped.

  “Hold your tongue! They took her because of me!” he said to Turhan heatedly. “They knew she was my favorite, don’t you understand?”

  “Perhaps not, master. Maybe they just saw the yellow hair and thought she would bring a high price at the slave auctions.”

  Kalid shook his head, now strapping a short knife to his thigh. “They were following her, this was planned. They waited for the right moment, when she was lightly guarded, and then struck. They tried to kill me and that attempt failed. This is just another tactic to bring me to heel.”

  “Do you think they will demand a ransom?”

  “I’m not waiting to find out. I know those hills almost as well as they do, and they can’t have gotten far. On Khan I might be able to catch them.”

  He grabbed a cloth from his dresser and tied it around his neck.

  He turned to the halberdier captain and said, “Guard my grandmother with your life. Tell Dr. Shakoz I hold him responsible for the khislar’s health, he is not to leave Achmed’s side.”

  Turhan nodded.

  “And I charge all of you,” he said, raising his voice and looking at each man individually, “to keep the faith with me while I am gone and protect the house of Shah.”

  He dashed from the room and Turhan Aga looked around at his abashed halberdiers, then gestured abruptly for them to follow the pasha.

  Sarah could not tell if it was day or night, but she thought that it was night. Everything was quiet and the air was cool. She was blindfolded and gagged and her hands were tied to some sort of pole, but she could tell that she was alone.

  Whoever had kidnapped her must be somewhere else, plotting her sorry fate.

  She didn’t even have the strength left to cry. Exhausted from an endless ride over rough country and a futile struggle with her captor, who finally struck her smartly several times in order to end her resistance, Sarah’s head was ringing from the blows. She was viciously thirsty and her shins were scraped raw from being dragged across the ground and her wrists were chafed from the rope that bound them.

  In addition, she was miserably sure that Kalid would not come after her.

  Why should he? As far as he was concerned she was a nuisance and he was well rid of her. Whether he was planning to dump her off at the Embassy or letting these hooligans have her, he had clearly cut his losses.

  And there was nothing she wanted to hear more at this moment than the sound of his voice.

  Sarah tried to change her position and couldn’t; she’d been forced into a kneeling posture and her legs were cramping. She moved her left foot a couple of inches and groaned. She listened, waiting for the babble of voices to resume at the sound she had made, but nothing happened.

  No one must be near.

  She was dreadfully afraid that the language they had been speaking was Arabic, and that her kidnappers were bedouins.

  She whimpered and then bit her lip to keep from crying out loud.

  What was going to happen to her? She remembered the stories she had heard of rape and torture and murder and closed her eyes behind the cloth that bound them.

  Why had she ever thought that Kalid was mistreating her? No matter how much she had teased and taunted and tormented him, he had never raised a hand to her, had endured her endless rejection in the face of his ardent pursuit with nothing more harmful than a few harsh words, and in the end had planned to give her the freedom that she wanted.

  She was sure that she could expect much different treatment from her current companions.

  Sarah tried to find some ray of hope, some positive prospect to cling to, and came up empty.

  She had a good idea what would happen to her when her kidnappers returned.

  Her future looked bleak indeed.

  Kosem gestured for the eunuchs to part ranks and admit James Woolcott to her presence. She was receiving him in her grandson’s audience room, with Turhan Aga at her side.

  James looked at the wizened old lady, dwarfed by the pasha’s ornate throne, and then glanced around in bewilderment.

  “I wanted to see Kalid Shah,” he finally said, in carefully grammatical Turkish.

  “You may speak English,” Kosem replied in that language. “Kalid Shah is not here. I am the valide pashana, his grandmother. I understand you have been trying to bribe your way into the palace for th
e last several days, the captain of the halberdiers has been bringing me reports. I finally decided to see you myself, since it became apparent that you were not going away.”

  “I tried the usual diplomatic channels, pashana. I went to see the Sultan, even sent a letter to the pasha asking for an audience about my cousin. Nothing worked, so here I am.”

  “Who is your cousin?” Kosem asked smoothly, as if she did not know.

  “Sarah Woolcott. She was a tutor in the Sultan’s harem and he sold her to the...to your grandson.” James waited for the pashana to launch into the same stonewalling routine he had heard from the Sultan, but she surprised him. She turned her head for a long moment, and when she looked back at him he was stunned to see that her eyes were filled with tears.

  “Sarah is gone,” she said softly.

  “Gone?” James echoed.

  “She went on a beach excursion with me and while there she was captured by the bedouins.”

  James was speechless for several moments, then covered his face with his hands. “The bedouins?” he murmured despairingly. This just got worse and worse; Sarah’s life was in ruins and it was all his fault.

  “Yes. I am very sorry to tell you this, but I felt it was something you should know. I think it may have been my grandson’s intention to conceal her presence at Orchid Palace from you, but he is very much in love with her and this is affecting his judgement.”

  “In love with her?” James said, staring.

  “Yes. He has gone after her, alone, to reclaim her from the gypsies who took her.”

  “I take it you don’t feel that he has much of a chance,” James said dully.

  “My grandson is very resourceful. If anyone can do such a thing, he can.”

  “He has a whole palace full of men here, why didn’t he take anybody with him?”

  Kosem sighed. “You would not understand. It is inshallah, a matter of honor. When your woman is taken, you go alone to do battle with the one who took her.”

  “The bedouins travel in packs! Are they going to respect your grandson’s tradition?” James asked incredulously.

  Kosem said nothing.

  James sighed, near tears himself. “I don’t know what to do,” he said aloud, voicing his thoughts.

  “Nor do I,” Kosem said quietly.

  “Should I go after them?”