Harem, page 4
***
The Kiaya snatched the cushion slip from Meylissa's hands, flung it on the floor and stamped on it. 'What is this? Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?'
Meylissa shook her head miserably.
'Look at these stitches! I would not give this to a peasant in the field, never mind the Valide!'
'I'm sorry …'
'What is the matter with you? These last few weeks you have been quite impossible!' She slapped Meylissa hard on the ear. The girl's howls encouraged her and she did it again.
Hürrem was contemptuous of Meylissa's surrender, but it was an opportunity to confront the old bitch. She got up from her workbench and snatched up the silk cushion at the Kiaya's feet. 'It is not so bad. I can alter this easily.'
'Ah, the little minx! You cannot sit still when you see fur flying, can you my sweet?'
'Leave her alone, she is not feeling well.'
'Well, let's send her to the infirmary then. And if your stitching is so fine, you can do her work as well as your own!'
Hürrem flung the piece of material in her face. 'Do it yourself, you old hag!'
The Kiaya slapped her hard on the cheek. Hürrem took a step back, then her own hand took the Kiaya on the side of the head, almost knocking her off her feet. The sound of the slap was followed by utter silence. The Kiaya stared at her, stunned.
Then her face split into a slow, triumphant smile. 'For that you get the bastinado,' she whispered. 'The Kapi Aga will have them strip the flesh from the soles of your feet with whips. It is spring now. If you are lucky you might take your first steps again in the winter. I will teach you to strike me!'
Two guards appeared in the doorway. One stepped into the room and took Hürrem's arm. 'You are to come with me,' he said in his high-pitched tremolo. 'Bring your sewing with you.'
Well, that was quick, Hürrem thought. Even the Kiaya cannot have her revenge served as promptly as this. She picked up her needles, her little bag of emery powder, and the green square of silk she had been embroidering, hoped the old hag could not see how her hands shook.
'Where are you taking her?' the Kiaya said.
'The Kapi Aga has given us our orders,' he said and led Hürrem to the door.
'She must be put to the bastinado!' the Kiaya shrieked, but there was no conviction in her voice, only bewilderment.
Hürrem let the guards hurry her away down the corridor. If the Kapi Aga had sent for her, it could mean only one thing, and it was not the bastinado.
Chapter 9
The courtyard was paved with almond-shaped cobblestones and dominated by an ornate marble fountain. Windows looked down from all sides. Hürrem felt as if the whole Harem was watching her.
This was the courtyard of the Sultan Valide! These were her apartments.
The guards hurried her to the centre of the court and there released her. 'The Kapi Aga says you are to wait. And be sure to sing.'
'Sing, why? What is happening?'
But the men had done as they had been ordered and they wheeled away without another word, the sickle-bladed yataghans at their waists rattling in their scabbards. Hürrem stared after them.
She waited there for an eternity but no one came. Water murmured in the marble fountain. Perhaps the Kapi Aga had arranged an interview with Hafise Sultan? she thought. But then why had they insisted she bring her needlework? What else was it they had said? 'The Kapi Aga says you are to wait. And be sure to sing.'
The Kapi Aga wanted her to break the sacred silence of the Harem?
She grew tired of waiting, found a cool spot in the shade of the fountain and sat down, crossing her legs beneath her, Osmanli style. She spread the handkerchief on her lap, took out her needle and went back to her embroidery. She chose to hum a love song her mother had taught her, about a boy whose horse had fallen in the snow, trapping him; as he died by inches on the winter steppe he told the wind how much he loved a certain girl and how he had never had the courage to tell her. He asked the wind to carry his words across the plain so that she would remember him. It was a stupid, sentimental song, Hürrem thought, but she had always liked the tune and after a while the words came back to her as well.
She soon forgot her initial anxiety and did not even notice the tall, slender figure in the white turban until his shadow fell across her lap.
'The first law of the Harem is silence.'
She looked up, startled. The man was standing with the sun behind his back and she had to shield her eyes against the glare. He did not speak like a eunuch and he was not black like a Nubian. There was only one other man who might walk freely here.
'Perhaps we should cut out the tongues of all the nightingales then. And the bees. We should do something about them also. All this incessant buzzing. Don't they know the rules?' There. It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
For a moment he just stared at her. Hürrem remembered that her first action before speaking should have been to lower her forehead to the ground and make her obeisance. She put down her embroidery and went to her knees. She touched her forehead to the hot stones, a futile gesture, it was already too late. She should beg his forgiveness for breaking the silence. Well, there was no point now, he had spoken and she had answered him.
She was suddenly aware that the old Kislar Aghasi - the Chief Black Eunuch - was standing behind Suleiman, his face beaded with perspiration, fanning himself with a silk handkerchief. He looked as if he were about to faint.
'Do you know who I am?' Suleiman asked her.
'You are the Lord of Life.'
'What were you singing?'
'It was a song I learned from my mother, my Lord. A love song. About a stupid boy who let his horse fall on top of him.'
'He was singing to the horse?'
She giggled, then stifled it. 'I think not. I dare to say the horse had lost much of its charm by then.'
She heard him laugh. 'What is your name?'
'They call me Hürrem, my lord.'
'Hürrem? Laughing one. Who gave you that name?'
'The men who brought me here. They could not pronounce my name. Though I suspect they were not intelligent enough to pronounce their own names either.'
He laughed again. 'Where are you from, Hürrem?'
She squinted up at him. This was the moment for which she had gambled so much and all she could think about was the pain in her knees. How long would he make her squat here on these cobblestones? 'I am a Tatar,' she said. 'A Krim.'
'Do all you Tatars have hair of such amazing colour?'
'No, my Lord. I was the only one in my clan so burdened.'
'Burdened? I think not. It is quite beautiful.' He stroked her hair and held a lock of it in his fingers, as if he were examining a piece of material in the bazaar for quality and strength. 'It is like burnished gold. Is it not, Ali?'
The Kislar Aghasi murmured his agreement. Liar! Hürrem thought. You have only spoken to me once, and on that occasion you called me an undernourished carrot.
'Stand up, Hürrem.'
At last! She did as she was told. She knew she should lower her eyes, as she had been trained to do, but curiosity got the better of her. So this was the Lord of Life, the Possessor of Men's Necks, the Lord of the Seven Worlds! He was handsome, she supposed, but not especially so. There was the shadow of a beard on his face, which lent a certain majesty to his beaked nose. He had grey eyes.
He examined her head to toe, as the spahis had done the day her father had traded her. He did not seem especially displeased with what he saw yet when he had done he gave a long sigh. 'What is that you are embroidering?' he asked her.
'A handkerchief, my lord.'
'Let me see it.' She handed it to him. 'A fine piece of work. You have great skill. May I have it?'
'I have not finished …'
'Have it ready for me tonight,' he said and placed it carefully over her left shoulder. The Kislar Aghasi's eyes widened in shock. Placing a handkerchief on a girl's shoulder signified that she was now gözde, and that the Sultan wished to sleep with her. No girl had been so favoured since he had assumed the throne.
Suleiman walked away without another word. The Kislar Aghasi looked as if he would burst; then he remembered himself and hurried after him.
Hürrem stood there, frozen to the spot, long after they were gone. Her body trembled with triumph and excitement.
Gözde!I am in the eye! Now I just have to stay there.
***
Suleiman hurried along the cloister, both angry and relieved. He had been forced to betray his own desires, but at least he had acted swiftly and decisively. After his mother's lecture to him that morning he accepted that he had neglected his duty, and had asked the Kapi Aga to arrange a suitable girl. This Hürrem that head picked out for him was appealing in an elfin way, she at least had an entertaining turn of mind. Most Harem girls were insufferably empty and vain.
And if she got pregnant his mother would be satisfied and he could return to Gülbehar and carry on his life in peace.
Chapter 10
Topkapi Saraya
A crescent moon trembled in the night sky. Suleiman and Ibrahim had dined well on sturgeon, lobster and swordfish, taken that same morning from the Bosphorus, all washed down with sherbets made with violets and honey. They had completed the meal with a bottle of Cyprus wine, even though it was forbidden by the Qur'an.
It was a small transgression, but one that gave him a measure of satisfaction, for in all other ways his life was proscribed by protocol.
At waking: the Parer of the Nails, and the Chief Barber to shave his head; then the Master of the Wardrobe, who laid out his day's clothes, each piece scented with aloe wood; then the Chief Turban Winder to curl yards of linen around his fez.
Five days a week he arose at dawn to attend the Divan; Fridays he rode to prayers along the Divan Yolu to the Aya Sofia, in procession with his Grand Vizier, his astronomers, his Chief Huntsman, his Chief Keeper of the Nightingales, the Master of the Keys, the Master of the Stirrup and four thousand of his Yeniçeris and Spahis of the Porte, his regular cavalry.
Afternoons: a short nap, required by custom, tired or not, reclining on two mattresses, one of silver brocade, the other of gold. He was attended at all times by five guards, deaf-mute eunuchs.
Within the confines of state, such small rebellions as a glass of wine were great victories.
Ibrahim was his greatest scandal, of course. During the siege they had slept in the same pavilion, had worn each other's clothes. He knew he outraged the whole court by showing such favour to a slave but then, for him, he was not a slave; he was confidant, confessor and counsellor. If anyone helped him shoulder the burden it was not Gülbehar or Hafise, nor even the Grand Vizier. It was Ibrahim.
After they had the wine, Ibrahim sat cross-legged beneath the window. They were the same age, but somehow Suleiman felt so much older. Careworn might be a better word. But this betrays our heritage, he thought. I am the son of a man they called The Grim; Ibrahim is the son of a fisherman.
He had been born in a village on the western coast of Greece. He was stolen by traders and taken to the slave markets in Stamboul, where he was bought by a widow from Manias. She raised him a Muslim, and when she discovered his flair for music and languages, she had arranged for him to have a good education. He learned to play the viol and he could speak Persian, Turkish, Greek and Italian.
Later she sold him for a handsome profit into Suleiman's service when he went to Manisa as the new governor of Kaffa province.
When he became Sultan in 1520 he brought Ibrahim with him to the Porte and made him his hasoda-bashi, head of household. He sought him out for counsel now more often that he did Piri Pasha, his old Grand Vizier. After Rhodes he even made him one of his counsellors, just below Piri Pasha himself in rank.
This is why we Osmanlis are glorious, Suleiman thought. Even a Christian slave can rise by his own merits to become almost pre-eminent in the greatest Islamic empire the world has ever seen. What was it the Fatih had said?
'Our Empire is the home of Islam, from father to son the lamp is kept burning with oil from the hearts of the infidels.
'So solemn, my lord?' Ibrahim said, setting the viol aside.
Suleiman sighed. 'Do you ever have regrets, Ibrahim?'
'Of course not. Look us here tonight. Good food. Good wine. What is there to regret?'
'But do you not sometimes wish you were someone else? Do you ever wonder what might have happened if the pirates had not come to the village that day and snatched you away?'
'I know what would have happened. I would be eating fish for breakfast and supper and mending nets on the beach all day. Instead I sleep in a palace, drink the best Cyprian wine and am held in favour by the greatest Emperor on the earth.'
'Your life would have been simpler.'
'My life would have been worthless.'
'You enjoy all this, don't you? You enjoy going to war and you relish the endless politicking in the Divan.'
'We are at the hub of the world, my Lord. We are writing history!'
'We are serving Islam.'
'Well yes, that too.' He picked up the viol again. 'We are Islam's greatest servants.'
Liar, Suleiman thought. You do all this for its own sake. That is why I love you and envy you so much. I wish I was more like you.
'I think sometimes you should have been Sultan and I the son of a Greek fisherman. We might have been happier that way.' He got to his feet, rubbed his face with his hands.
'Shall we sleep now, my Lord?'
'You may sleep, Ibrahim. Your life is simpler than mine. I have yet one more duty to perform.'
***
Hürrem had been escorted to the Keeper of the Baths to be bathed and massaged. Her nails were dyed, her hair perfumed with jasmine, her skin pomaded with henna to prevent sweating, her eyes blackened with kohl.
She was then escorted to the Kiaya of the Robes, who dressed her in a rose-coloured chemise and purple velvet kaftan, with a robe of silver and apricot brocade over the top. The Kiaya of the Jewels brought a diamond necklace as heavy as an iron collar and a string of fat Arabian pearls to plait into her hair, as well as a pair of heavy ruby earrings that reached to her shoulders.
They must all be returned in the morning, she was told.
A gediçli held up a mirror so that Hürrem could inspect her reflection. She regarded the apparition that stared back at her with something close to disbelief. 'I look completely hideous.'
The Kiaya of the Robes put her hands on her hips. 'It is the way.'
'It is the way to make a man fall on the floor laughing.'
'You ungrateful little minx. Do you not realize the great honour that has fallen on you? Remember, it happened to me once, so don't think you are so high and mighty. You could end up Mistress of the Robes on day, and no more than that!'
'If you dressed this way on your big night, it's a wonder he didn't make you Mistress of the Royal Lavatory.'
The Kiaya hissed with outrage and sent the two gediçli out of the room. 'Now listen here! I don't deny that you and I ever got along too well, but I'm still willing to help you. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I know what it's like, I was gözde once, when Bayezid was Sultan. Let me tell you what you should do to please him …'
'I do not need advice from a failure. I know what I have to do. I have to get pregnant!' And she swept from the room.
Chapter 11
There were two guards, the same pair who led her to the courtyard earlier in the day. They escorted her along a maze of gloomy, cold cloisters and down a narrow staircase. The hem of her gown and the trailing sleeves of her kaftan kept catching and tearing on the wood. She felt a chill draft of air on her cheek and she was propelled into the night through a heavy iron door. A boxlike carriage was waiting for her. She caught a whiff of horse and ancient leather and then a soft, fleshy hand pulled her inside.
The carriage jerked forward and the horse's hoofs clattered on the cobbles. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she made out the bulky silhouette of the Kislar Aghasi opposite her.
'Where are we going?' she said.
'To the Sultan. He is waiting for you in the Topkapi Saraya.'
The curtains were drawn. Hürrem tried to shift them aside to peek outside but he snatched her hand away. 'Is it far?' she said.
'No, not far.' She could feel his eyes watching her, huge and yellow, like a cat. 'The Kapi Aga arranged this for you,' he said.
'Why would he do that?'
'A question I have been asking myself all day.'
'And what answer did you come up with?'
'I have none. He looks very pale these days, like a man awaiting execution. Have you not noticed?' When she did not answer, he added: 'Or perhaps he is unwell.'
'Perhaps.'
'Do not misunderstand me. Should the Kapi Aga fall into disfavour I shall not weep for him.'
The coach clattered to a halt and the door was thrown open. Hürrem looked quickly around as she stepped down. So this was the Topkapi! The great tower of the Divan loomed above her and torches dotted around the gardens flickered among the bushes. A thousand trees rustled in the night wind.
Two halberdiers, the heavy tressed plumes on their helmets covering half their faces, ushered her through a massive iron-studded door and into the heart of the seraglio. The Kislar Aghasi wheezed and puffed as he struggled along behind. Hürrem was struck by how orderly and spacious it all seemed after the drabness of the Eski Saraya. The walls here were stone, not wood, and the corridors wider and better lit.
They reached two wooden doors, inlaid with mother of pearl and tortoiseshell, that led to the Sultan's private chambers. Two of his private bodyguards, the solaks, stood on guard on either side, their yataghans drawn.
Hürrem took a deep breath. This was the moment she had gambled everything for. Be calm, she told herself, you do not have to beguile him; just accept his seed and let it flower into freedom.
