Panther's Prey

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “Someday soon all the people in this country will have enough of everything,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “I know that’s your dream,” Amy responded, standing in front of him and putting her hands on his shoulders

  He turned his head and kissed her fingers. “I hope it’s coming true.”

  “It will come true, I can feel it. The Sultan’s days are numbered.”

  He murmured something in Turkish, and Amy asked, “What was that?”

  “How do you say it in English? It’s the last word to all of your prayers.”

  Amy smiled. “Amen.”

  He nodded. “Amen.”

  When the water was heated Malik added some from the barrel and soaped up, the firelight playing over his bare body as Amy watched. He had lost weight in jail, and the muscles were clearly defined under his skin, his ribcage visible. He was still beautiful, but if he dropped a few more pounds he would begin to look gaunt.

  Amy resolved to fatten him up as quickly as possible.

  Malik went back outside to rinse off on the grass, and Amy handed him the quilt. He bundled into it, rubbing briskly and glancing up at the emerging stars.

  “It feels good to be clean,” he admitted.

  “Let me wash your hair now,” Amy said.

  He ran his hand through the ragged waves, his look rueful. “Pretty bad, eh?” he said.

  “Pretty dusty. It looks gray.”

  “It probably is gray,” he observed, following Amy back inside the hut and sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulled on the clean pants he’d found.

  She dipped into the kettle and wet down the dark mass of his hair, soaping it with the pine smelling lump Anwar had supplied and then massaging the thick tresses, digging her fingers into Malik’s scalp.

  “Feels good,” he grunted. “See anything crawling out of there?”

  Amy stepped back suddenly.

  He laughed. “You can pick up a lot of miniature company in jail,” he said.

  “Let’s not talk about it,” Amy said, forcing his head forward and rinsing the back of his hair.

  “Water’s getting cold already,” he said.

  “Almost done.” She rinsed again and ran her fingernail along a natural part in his hair.

  “Looking for vermin?” he asked.

  “Just making sure it’s still black.” She began to squeeze the moisture out of it with her fingers, since there was no towel and the quilt was already wet.

  “I wish I had a razor,” he said, rubbing his bearded jaw.

  “I’ll settle for just clean right now.” Amy replied, admiring how his wet sable hair gleamed.

  “I feel like a new man.”

  “I kind of liked the old one.” She bent forward and wound her arms around his neck. “I missed you so much.”

  “I didn’t miss you at all,” he said teasingly, pulling her into his lap. “I liked the Sultan’s jail, there were lots of like minded people there for me to talk to: thieves, rapists, murderers...”

  “You’re none of those things,” Amy murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Hammid would disagree with you.”

  “His opinion no longer matters.” She kissed him tenderly.

  Malik rolled over onto the bed, pinning Amy under him. “I never would have predicted things would turn out this way,” he said softly. “When I first met you I saw you only as a means to an end. But you changed that very quickly.”

  “And when I first met you my only goal in life was to get away from you,” Amy countered.

  “What’s your goal now?” he asked, smiling, moving back onto his side

  “Let me show you,” Amy replied, reaching for the drawstring at his waist.

  He closed his eyes as she loosened his pants and caressed him, his breathing escalating as his skin flushed deeply. Finally he stayed her hand and said to her thickly, “You’ll never touch another man this way.”

  “Never,” she whispered.

  He drew her to him fiercely, his lips against her hair. “I’ll make sure you keep that promise,” he said.

  “I will. But it seems like we’ve been in love so long, Malik, and we’ve only been able to snatch little bits of time together,” Amy said. “I want more. I want to be with you all the time, have a family, build a life together.”

  “We’ll have everything we want, you’ll see. Very soon,” he said soothingly, and kissed her.

  Amy responded avidly, and all conversation in the cottage stopped.

  * * *

  They spent the night in each other’s arms, and just after dawn the next morning there was a knock at the cottage door.

  Amy stirred in the semi-darkness, glancing at Malik, who sat up quickly, throwing off the sheet.

  “Who is it?” Amy hissed in alarm.

  “It’s probably just Anwar, he’s the only one who knows we’re here.”

  We hope, Amy added silently, shivering and drawing the blanket over her shoulders. The fire was out but her chill was not just a product of the temperature in the room. She watched Malik pull on his trousers and then walk to the door, then sighed with relief when she saw Anwar standing outside.

  “What news?” Malik asked him.

  Anwar glanced at Amy in the bed, then looked away quickly.

  “I have a message from Kalid Shah,” he said soberly. “He has received the Sultan’s terms.”

  Malik waited.

  “He will step down in favor of his brother, who will grant the formation of a parliament with elected representatives, if you will meet with Abdul Hammid at noon tomorrow.”

  Chapter 13

  “I can’t believe you even listened to that nonsense!” Sarah said in an outraged tone to her husband.

  “My role was to hear what the Sultan had to say,” Kalid replied mildly. “I didn’t indicate to him in any way that I agreed to accept his terms.”

  “You are not going to sacrifice that boy,” Sarah declared in strong voice. She had been reclining on a chaise in their bedroom and rose quickly, gathering her dressing gown about her.

  “Of course not.”

  “The Sultan is ruthless. He knows that he is going to lose his throne and he wants to take Malik with him. He’ll be waiting for Osman’s brother with a firing squad.”

  “Not if he wants to get out of this with his life. I think he’s intelligent enough to imagine what will happen to him if he kills Malik Bey on the eve of this compromise.”

  “Then why make this demand?”

  “Maybe he just wants to meet the man who has given him so much trouble.”

  “Is he that curious?” Sarah asked.

  “Wouldn’t you be? If you were one of the most powerful rulers in the world and you were about to be overthrown by an upstart peasant barely out of his teens?”

  Sarah shook her head. She still didn’t like it.

  “I’ll make it clear that if anything happens to Malik the janissaries will not return and Hammid’s imperial head will be back on the block again.” Malik sat on the edge of their bed and pulled on his boots.

  “Maybe he doesn’t care,” Sarah said. “He’s about to lose his position and his power. Maybe he doesn’t want to live.”

  Kalid shook his head. “Hammid is a coward. Cowards always want to live. Anyway, I don’t know if Malik will go.”

  “Malik will go.”

  Kalid looked at her.

  “He’s nothing if not courageous. Surely you have noticed that about him.”

  “You sound like you’re the one in love with him instead of Amy,” Kalid said tightly.

  Sarah sat next to him on the bed and put her head on his shoulder.

  “Are you jealous, you foolish man?” she said softly.

  “I think I could be.”

  “Oh, Kalid, don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Why ridiculous? You admit that you admire the kid’s nerve, and it’s been quite some time since I impressed you with my feats of derring do.”

  “I
f you get us all through this to a democracy without a bloodbath, that will be quite enough derring do for me.”

  He stared at the floor. “I’m tired, kourista,” he said.

  Sarah said nothing. He rarely commented on how he felt when in a crisis, but this time he really looked tired. He had been wearing himself out, occupying center stage in this clash of wills which could explode at any moment into real warfare, and the toll it had taken on him was visible.

  A servant knocked and at Sarah’s command entered the room. The girl was carrying a silver tray containing Kalid’s Turkish coffee and a samovar for Sarah’s tea.

  “Set it on the table,” Sarah said.

  The girl put it on the serving stand and then vanished, closing the door quietly behind her.

  “I won’t let Malik go alone,” Kalid said suddenly to Sarah. “Whatever happens.”

  Sarah kissed him. “Thank you.”

  He kissed her back, then pulled her down to the bed as their breakfast drinks cooled on the tray.

  * * *

  The Imperial Palace at Topkapi was almost deserted; the few janissaries who had remained loyal to the Sultan stood about, armed to the teeth, watching stolidly as Kalid and Malik walked through the vast hall leading to the Sultan’s audience room.

  In stark contrast to the soldiers who served the Sultan, they were unarmed.

  At the end of a long, wide hall tiled with marble and hung with ornate tapestries stood a pair of doors, covered with gold leaf and overhung by a plaque which listed the Sultan’s titles in lapis enameled script. As the visitors approached the guards on either side presented arms. The doors swung open, revealing the Sultan seated on his throne at the far end of the reception hall. It seemed to Malik that it took a long time for him to cross the intricate bird of paradise carpet which covered the mosaic floor and stand in front of the man who had been his enemy for so many years.

  Abdul Hammid II, the Lion of the Desert, Defender of Allah and Master of the Two Continents, Ruler of Destinies and Sultan of the Sublime Porte, Shadow of God on Earth, looked back at him. Hammid, his graying black hair covered by a scarlet fez, dressed in his finest array, was alone in the room except for the two guards at the door. After studying Malik for some moments with obsidian eyes he turned to Kalid and said, “Your presence was not requested for this audience, Kalid Shah.”

  “Nevertheless, I am here,” Kalid said firmly.

  “I wish to be alone with this brother of Osman Bey,” the Sultan said.

  Kalid opened his mouth to protest again, but Malik said to him quickly in English, “It’s all right. You can wait for me outside in the hall.”

  Kalid looked at him, and Malik nodded. The Sultan waited until Kalid had left before saying to Malik, “You resemble your brother, but he is not so handsome. I assume you remember Osman, the thief who stole my daughter.”

  “He married her, for which you killed the rest of my family,” Malik replied.

  “He was not worthy!”

  “That was for Roxalena to decide. Thinking like that has made you obsolete, padishah, and caused this revolution against you.”

  The Sultan sat back in his jewel encrusted chair and fingered his mustache, still coal black and thick. “So now you have won,” he said flatly to Malik.

  “The people have won,” Malik replied.

  Hammid smiled thinly. “You talk like a Westerner. Democracy is more difficult than the American newspapers make it sound. It is quarrelsome, inefficient, and very slow. After six months of it you will be longing for the order and settled way of life of your ancestors, which you discarded for rule by ignorant rabble.”

  “It will take time, but we will learn. And in future generations the rabble will be educated and capable of ruling themselves.”

  Hammid turned his head slowly, looking past him into the distance, and Malik suddenly saw the Sultan for what he really was: a weakling, a venal and overmatched man. Thrust into his role by force of primogeniture, indulged and obeyed without question since childhood, incapable of understanding change, he couldn’t adjust to a world which had already left him behind. It must be almost impossible for him to accept that after ruling with a whim of iron for a generation the most he could hope for in this situation was to escape it with his head.

  “I have one further condition before I will abdicate in favor of my brother,” the Sultan said, looking back at Malik. “I wanted to express it to you personally.”

  Malik waited.

  “You will give me your word that you will have no public role in the formation of the new government. You will not run for office and will accept no official position offered by a plebiscite. That is my condition.”

  Malik was silent, rocked to his heels. It was a mean and petty request, typical of the Sultan’s nature. He was offering the one thing Malik wanted, democracy for Turkey, if he would give up the only thing he now had: his leadership role in the revolution. Hammid would concede his defeat if doing so deprived Malik of the credit for the conquest.

  Malik took a deep breath. “I agree,” he said.

  Hammid stared at him in surprise. He had misjudged his adversary. Again.

  “Then it is done,” Hammid said simply, after a long pause. “I will abdicate in favor of my brother and your representatives will work with him in the formation of the congress.”

  “Kalid Shah will arrange the details.” Malik turned and walked toward the doors.

  “History will record my name in large letters, and your name will not appear at all,” Hammid called after him.

  Malik kept walking, then stopped before the closed doors.

  Hammid gave the command, and they opened before him. Malik kept moving, but not until they closed behind him did he breathe a sigh of relief.

  “What happened?” Kalid asked, rushing to his side.

  Malik told him.

  “That bastard,” Kalid said heatedly. “He wants to deprive you of the glory of his removal and deprive the people of a figure to rally around, a central leader to unify them.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Malik said. “Anwar and the others won’t do anything without consulting me. Hammid knows he can’t prevent me from working behind the scenes, but he thinks I’m as childish as he is and need the adulation of the masses.”

  “You deserve it,” Kalid said quietly.

  “I can live without it, as long as we get what we want.” He smiled at Kalid for the first time that day.

  Kalid smiled back, and the two men embraced.

  “Now let’s get to work,” Kalid said.

  * * *

  The reception room at Orchid Palace was decorated for a wedding, but it was not to be a traditional Turkish one. The bride had insisted on a Western ceremony, with the vows conducted in English, and the groom had agreed. A minister from the British community in Constantinople had been brought to Bursa to perform the rites, and he waited anxiously before the banks of massed flowers. His prayerbook in hand, he glanced around anxiously at the opulent furnishings. Until recently they had belonged to the Pasha, Kalid Shah, who now rented the palace and its contents from the newly established provisional government.

  In an anteroom, Amy fiddled with her trailing veil of white net, staring into the cheval mirror as Sarah stood behind her, arranging the train on Amy’s pale peach silk dress. The gown’s leg o’ mutton sleeves fit tightly from elbow to wrist and were complemented by a narrow waistline and an illusion bodice of filmy chiffon. Amy had bought the ensemble in one of the exclusive shops in Pera, her last indulgence before assuming the role of pioneering legislator’s wife.

  Malik had kept his word to the Sultan, but he was the real force behind the new government and everybody knew it. He was happier than Amy had ever seen him, and she would be too, if only James and Beatrice had agreed to attend her wedding.

  “There, it’s perfect,” Sarah said, stepping back to admire the modified bustle on the back of the gown.

  Amy nodded.

  Sarah put her hand on the yo
unger woman’s shoulder. “Don’t fret about James and Bea,” Sarah said, reading her mind. “They’re conservative people, it will take them a while to see Malik as anything other than a bandit who kidnapped one of their relatives. It took them a long time to accept Kalid too.”

  “I know, but this is not exactly what I pictured in my childhood daydreams. I thought I would be married at home, in a church, with all the family there and...” her voice trailed off in disappointment.

  “But then you wouldn’t be marrying Malik,” Sarah said to her.

  Amy brightened. “You’re right. And there’s no one on earth I would rather marry, so I guess that makes up for everything, doesn’t it?”

  “Of course.” Sarah pulled on her white silk gloves and picked up Amy’s bouquet of creamy peonies, bound with trailing streamers of peach and ivory silk. Sarah’s dress of celadon satin was bibbed and hemmed with three layers of broderie anglaise , and her daughter was similarly dressed, with white kid boots and lace bows in her hair. The two Shah boys were attired as pages in black velvet suits, and had spent the last hour fingering their black silk ties importantly.

  There was a tap on the dressing room door, and Sarah put down the bouquet to open it a crack. When she saw who it was she hissed, “Get out of here! You’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding.”

  “That’s a Turkish tradition,” Malik replied, trying to peer around Sarah to see his intended.

  “It’s a Western tradition too,” Sarah replied crisply, blocking his path.

  “Two minutes,” he said.

  “Sarah, who is it?” Amy called from her position before the mirror.

  Sarah sighed and bowed to the inevitable, holding the door open and then calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be back shortly.”

  Malik entered the room and then stopped at the sight of Amy, who whirled to face him.

  “You look gorgeous,” he said softly.

  “So do you,” Amy whispered.

  It was true. He was wearing a black tailcoat and trousers with a gray satin waistcoat, white shirt and white satin bow tie.

  “I look ridiculous,” he said uncomfortably.

  “You’re very handsome,” Amy said.

  He ran his finger around his neck under his collar. “This thing is choking me.”