Harem (5 page)

Now she was
iqbal
, Hürrem was given an allowance of two hundred aspers and her own apartment, and enough organza, silk, taffeta, brocade and satin for the Mistress of the Robes to outfit a complete wardrobe. She even had use of her own bath, carved from rose-veined marble, with its own cascading fountain of scented rosewater. Nightingales twittered in cedar cages on her private terrace.

She was also allowed her own
gediçli
. Hürrem asked for Muomi.

The girl seemed neither pleased nor surprised at Hürrem's summons. On being presented to her in her new quarters, she looked at the carpets, shuffling her big splayed feet, her face a sullen mask of indifference.

Hürrem sat with ler legs drawn under her on the divan. 'Are you happy with your work in the
hammam
?' she asked her.

Muomi shrugged her shoulders by way of answer.

'As
iqbal
, I am allowed to choose my own handmaid. The work will be much easier than you are accustomed to.'

Muomi offered no comment.

Hürrem got to her feet and put her lips next to the other girl's ear. 'I want you to help me. Tell me what you want in return.'

'What do I want?' She lifted her eyes. 'When I was seven years old, the magic man in our tribe came to our family's hut with a stinging nettle. He parted my legs and rubbed the nettle into my cleft. That was to make it swell. The next day he came back and washed between my legs with butter and honey, then cut away everything that gives a woman pleasure and cauterized the wound with a red-hot ember. My mother pretended to cry with joy to cover my screams. When I married my husband opened me up with a knife to take me. Then he had me sewn up again, until the next time. It was the same when the baby came. When the traders stole me they took my baby away, because he was a boy child. I do not know if he is dead or alive. If he is alive they will castrate him, the same as they castrated me. As for me, I will spend the rest of my life in this place, a slave, if not to you, then someone else. So tell me - what could you possibly offer me?'

Hürrem smiled and stroked her cheek, fondly as a lover. 'Revenge,' she said.

***

The Okjmeydan, the Place of Arrows, looked down through groves of rosebushes the size of apricot trees to the dark waters of the Golden Horn. It was nearly summer, the time of year when the war drum beat in the court of the
Yeniçeris
, when the Grande Turke would set out again from Stamboul to raid the Lands of War.

But this year there would be no war; instead Suleiman was to remove the court to Adrianople for the hunting. He and Ibrahim went every day to the
meydan
with their arrows and spears for target practice. Ibrahim had set up the statues they had plundered from Belgrade along the slopes. The notion of using Greek Gods as targets amused him.

He ran to collect the arrows that had missed their mark himself, bounding through the grass like a small boy, crowing with delight when he discovered his aim was good and his arrow had split itself apart on Dionysius or Zeus.

Afterwards he and Suleiman rested in the broad shade of a fig tree and pages brought them olives and cheese and sherbets.

'If only our statues had been Charles or Frederick, I should have pierced their hearts a thousand times! I cannot wait for the hunt.'

'Your aim is excellent, Ibrahim. If I were a boar, I should start running towards Russia now.'

'Your eye is good also.'

'No, you flatter me. My mind is on other things today.'

Ibrahim drained his silver goblet, then carefully selected an olive, chewing it slowly as he placed the chalice an arm's length away in the grass. Then, with great theatrics, he spat the stone into the empty cup. He repeated this several times, without missing once.

'You are like a child sometimes.'

'But it amuses you?'

'You always amuse me, Ibrahim.'

'So what is troubling you today, my Lord?'

'Let me ask you something first. When we came from Manisa, you were able to establish your own harem?'

'Of course, though it is not as extensive as yours, my Lord.'

'But you have a favourite?'

'Whenever I am with a woman, she becomes my favourite.'

It was not the answer he had hoped for. How could he explain his problem to a man like Ibrahim? The night after he bedded Hürrem he had chosen another of the Harem girls, fulfilling his duty to the Osmanli line, as the Valide had insisted. The girl was a simpering Georgian, with the most startling black eyes; eyes that must have taken up her whole head for when she opened her mouth she had nothing whatever to say. When he took her to bed she lay there pliant, and the only time she had cried out was when he entered her.

She did not wake him three times during the night, as Hürrem had done, begging for more.

The Georgian was classically, faultlessly beautiful but it was not enough. Not for him, anyway.

And what about Gülbehar? She had been his favourite for nearly ten years, a slight, shy girl of fifteen when he first lay with her. Until Hürrem she had satisfied all his needs. Now a door had opened on other possibilities.

The Possessor Men's Necks no longer had possession of himself. He had promised himself that he would not lie with any but Gülbehar more than once, he was now tempted to summon Hürrem once more; to hear her laugh, to hear her sigh and to discover if making love to her a second time might be as bewitching as the first.

But he hesitated. Surely, it was not good for a woman to find as much pleasure in the flesh as a man? This Hürrem's soul was tainted by the sins of Rachel. If he encouraged her in her vice, was he then not tainted also? And what of Gülbehar? He would be breaking the promise he had made to her, and to himself. He experienced the first sour gnawing of an emotion he had never expected to feel with any woman other than his mother.

Guilt.

'Does a woman have a soul, Ibrahim?'

'Does it matter?' Ibrahim sensed the shift in his mood and leaned in. 'Is it Gülbehar who troubles you?'

'No, it is another.'

'May I enquire her name?'

'Her name is Hürrem,' Suleiman said.

Ibrahim raised an eyebrow. Another woman in Suleiman's bed? That was rare, though he himself had encouraged the Lord of Life to choose from his Harem more often. Then why this feeling of unease? It could be nothing. Suleiman often fell into these strange moods for no reason.

He aimed another olive stone at the goblet but this time it landed softly in the grass, a man's footstep wide of the mark.

Meylissa lay up to her shoulders in the bath. The milky mist of the
hammam
made it appear that her face was disembodied, like a ghoul. Her eyes followed Hürrem all the way to the water's edge. Hürrem stopped beside the pool to allow Muomi to remove her gauze shift, then lowered herself naked into the water.

'You look ill,' Hürrem said to her.

'I am sick every morning. The
Kiaya
wants to send me to the infirmary.'

'Don't let her.'

'Do you think I'm stupid?' Meylissa moved closer. 'Every day my waist gets thicker. I cannot pretend forever that it is the sweetbreads. You said you would help me!'

'Why do you think I am here?'

'I don't know. You have your own
hammam
now. Does the Sultan visit you every night?'

'I am going to help you, just as I promised.'

'How? Will you plead for me with the Lord of Life while he shares your pillow?'

Hürrem nodded her head in the direction of her maidservant. 'Muomi.'

'Your
gediçli
? What can she do?'

'She is a witch. She is going to make you a potion, an abortive.'

Meylissa' bottom lip quivered. The girl was living on her nerves, Hurreem thought, it would not take much for her to break down completely. 'Be brave,' she whispered to her. 'It will be all right.'

'It is too late.'

Hürrem grabbed her arm. 'Don't be such a milksop! Of course it's not too late. Do you think this is any easier for me? What if the Kislar Aghasi finds out about this? They'll kill me too!'

Meylissa bit her lip to keep from crying. 'When?'

'I will send Muomi to you tomorrow. But you must tell no one about this.'

'Of course I won't.'

'Everything will be all right,' she repeated, 'you'll see.'

Meylissa nodded and climbed out of the pool. Hürrem studied her silhouette through the steam. Great Heaven she was getting big. She had hardly any waist at all.

***

Suleiman lay among the pillows and silks, Gülbehar naked beside him. He smiled; it was not just her beauty he appreciated but the familiarity of it. Perhaps I am a creature of protocol and tradition, after all. I love order and repetition more than I know.

He put a hand to her breast, and with his finger he tracked the blue vein from her nipple to the hollow of her shoulder. He watched the nipple tighten and constrict. Another small miracle of the flesh!

Gülbehar smiled at him, more in kindness than pleasure.

He felt a stirring of doubt. This pleases her because it pleases me, he thought, and that is the proper way of it. But with Hürrem, she smiles because it pleases her also. The teachers say that is sinful.

Gülbehar had painted her pubis with henna, as was the fashion. She moved her legs apart again, in readiness for him. He eased himself on top of her, watched her face intently for evidence of what she was feeling. She is so eager to please me, he thought. She has never wanted anything more but to sate my hunger. Why should I ever want any more than that?

When he was inside her he closed his eyes and Gülbehar's face vanished, suddenly, shockingly. Instead he saw Hürrem, her head thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream, the mane of gold-red hair splayed across the pillow, her body arched beneath him as if she were in the grip of some great torment. His sublime moment came swiftly.

He groaned and his strength left him. Gülbehar's arms pulled him down on top of her in warm embrace. She was still smiling.

'It was good, my Lord?' she whispered.

'Yes. Yes, it was good.'

But his hunger had not gone. What more could he want? He wanted her. He wanted Hürrem.

***

Hürrem sat on the terrace, watching the dawn break over the city. A silver sliver of moon faded into the deepening blue of the morning as the calls of the muezzin broke the crystal silence. Another night passed without him, another night he had spent instead with Gülbehar, another night driven further into exile.

It had been almost a week since he had asked for her. One could not remain iqbal forever. If she did not become pregnant and the Sultan continued to ignore her, she would have to return to the sewing room and the taunts and lashes of the
Kiaya
of the Robes, and she would spend the rest of her life there, without prospect of more.

She could not allow that to happen.

The Kapi Aga had died a thousand deaths in the week since his encounter with Hürrem. He lived in unholy terror and every time he heard footfall in the corridor he thought it was the Sultan's bodyguard come to fetch him. He slept fitfully and dreamed about escape. But where could he hide where the Sultan could not find him when his empire spanned three continents?

So one warm-scented evening he went down to the garden once more. Nightingales sang in the plane trees. Such a pleasant hell, he thought. Every stone of this accursed place was dangerous, no matter how many birds sang in it.

He turned the ancient key in the lock and inched it open. He crept into the garden.

Hürrem knelt on the grass beside the fountain, a Qur'an, illuminated in green and gold, lying open on the wooden stool in front of her. She wore a green satin taplock, a chemise of emerald damask and white silk pantaloons so sheer she might as well have been naked from the waist down. He started to sweat.

She might have been desirable if she were not so terrifying.

'I did as you asked,' he said.

***

Hürrem looked up, the intimation of a smile on her lips. She studied him with her piercing green eyes, then returned her attention to her Qur'an. He was not such a bad-looking fellow, she thought. Eyes as dull and savage as an animal's, but you would expect that in a Serb. They dressed him well: a pelisse of green velvet, yellow slippers, a white sugarloaf turban. The effect was not too unpleasant.

'I said, I did as you asked.'

'Good.'

'And now?'

'Now?'

'You must fulfil your part of the bargain.'

She turned a page of her Qur'an. The Kapi Aga tried to control his temper. How thoroughly satisfying it would be, he thought, to slice off her head. Be done with this upstart right now. Watch her life's blood spurt over the word of Mohammed and up the grey stone wall. If only that would solve the problem.

'When does the Sultan return to the Eski Saraya?'

'Our bargain-'

'When?'

'He goes north to Adrianople tomorrow for the hunting. He will not be back until the leaves fall.' He smiled at how the blood had drained from her face. How much longer do you think you will remain
iqbal
, you little witch?

'We had a bargain,' he said.

'There is one more condition.'

'I have done as you asked. You may make no more demands of me!'

'While I keep your secret for you, I may do as I please.'

She is right. I am impotent in this. Yes, once more, someone has me by the balls. But I will see you squirm for this one day, Tatar witch. 'You said you would help me.'

Hürrem closed the book, the heavy pages slamming shut like an iron door. She got to her feet and stepped right up to him. To his amazement she ran a fingernail down the length of his arm and took his hand.

'I will help you. After tonight, you will no longer have a problem. You will live in fear no more.'

His mouth went dry. Hürrem moved closer. He could feel the heat of her body and the softness of her thigh against his groin. 'What do you want?' he said but his voice did not sound like his own.

Her breath was hot and sweet on his cheek. 'I want some of your juice,' she whispered.

***

Meylissa was embroidering a kaftan the colour of burnished gold for the young
shahzade
, Mustapha. She took her handiwork to the window to examine it in the fading light of the afternoon. She heard someone enter the room behind her.

'Did I frighten you?' Muomi said.

'No,' Meylissa said and shook her head, but it was a lie. Muomi always made her uncomfortable.

'I have what you needed.' Muomi put a small blue and white jar on her workbench.

Meylissa removed the rounded cork stopper and sniffed. 'It's foul.'

'Of course it is. It's a kind of poison. Swallow it all, it will make you sick and kill the baby.'

Meylissa replaced the stopper. Her hands shook. 'Thank you.'

Muomi gave her a pitying look. 'It has nothing to do with me,' she said and shuffled out.