Love Wild and Fair (67 page)

“I will go to the island myself,” said the eunuch. “You must be mistaken. There has to be someone there!”

“There is no one, I tell you,” repeated the oarmaster. “I even called out. The island is deserted.”

“Change the rowers,” commanded the eunuch. “I am going.”

Several hours later he returned and sought Lateefa Sultan. “The island is indeed empty. There are no signs of violence. No blood. No bodies. Nothing. It is as if they never existed. What am I to tell the master, my princess? He adores Incili. She was to bear his child. What can I say to him? He will kill me.” This last was said with a sad finality, and Lateefa felt so sorry for the eunuch that she was almost tempted to tell him the truth—almost, but not quite.

“Tell him the truth, Hammid. You obeyed his orders. You sent Osman and four others to the island as my lord Cica instructed. You sent supplies for seven days, and at the end of that time you sent the caique. There has been no report of trouble. Why should you suspect that anything was amiss? Is it your fault the island was deserted?”

“I must go back to the island tomorrow,” said Hammid grimly. “There has to be something that will tell me what happened! I will find it!”

“Do what you think is best,” answered Lateefa Sultan.

The following day Hammid returned to the Island of a Thousand Flowers. Knowing he would spend a restless night otherwise, he had gulped a strong sedative so he might sleep and be clearheaded for his task.

Slowly he ascended to the garden, eyes on the ground, carefully studying the gravel paths. There had been no rain to wash away any evidence such as blood for seven days. The Starlight Kiosk was silent. He opened the doors and stood for a moment observing the room. The huge bed was rumpled and unmade, the faint imprint of her head still on the pillow. He walked closer and saw that her sleeping garment lay where she had thrown it. Nothing else in the room was out of place. Her clothes and jewels were neatly stored in her chest. Nothing was missing.

There were no signs of force. Eight people were missing, and he had absolutely no idea where they were or how they had gone. But he was going to do his best to find out. It was all well and good for Lateefa to say that he must tell the truth to the vizier, but what truth? My lord vizier, your second wife has mysteriously disappeared and we know not how. Cicalazade Pasha was not going to accept that.

Outside again in the garden, he gazed out over the Bosporus. The sunlight dappled the blue waters, and then, suddenly, he saw it. Six dark patches were contrasted against the aquamarine of the sea. Hurrying as quickly as his bulk would allow, he returned to the quay and spoke in low tones with the oarmaster. The caique was rowed out a bit into the stream and one of the rowers, stripped of his clothes, dove deep into the Bosporus. He surfaced moments later and was pulled aboard.

“What is down there?” demanded Hammid.

The rower shivered. “Bodies, lord. Six bodies, all with their throats cut.”

Hammid nodded. “Return to the palace,” he said, sinking wearily to the cushions. Now he knew, or thought he knew, what had happened to Incili. The eunuchs had been taken by surprise and murdered. Incili had been carried off. But, remembering the neatness of the kiosk, he revised his theory.

Incili had escaped. But who had helped her? She was in a strange land, cloistered from the world, yet she had managed to find aid and escape. As he searched his mind he kept returning to one constant: Esther Kira. The venerable
grande dame
of the House of Kira was the only person from outside the palace who had known Incili. Yet why would the old woman risk her family to aid a captive?

He commanded the oarmaster to row him to the Yeni Serai. There he spoke with his friend and mentor the Aga Kislar. The aga agreed that the situation was a delicate one, but he disliked the friendship between his mistress, the Sultan Valide Safiye, and Esther Kira. The old woman was a virtual institution with the valides, having been an intimate to four of them. She seemed indestructible, but if she was involved in this scandal then this was his chance to be rid of her.

The aga gained the sultan’s ear, telling him only what he felt he should know. “Cicalazade Pasha’s second wife appears to have been stolen from the vizier’s island,” the aga said. “We believe that we know some of the people involved, but we need your permission to proceed further. Will you sign this order?”

Recalling the conversation with his vizier of just two weeks ago, Mohammed III gave the aga his permission, and affixed his nigra seal to the order giving Hammid and the aga
carte blanche
to pursue their investigations. Soon a troop of janizaries was dispatched to the Kira house in the Jewish ghetto. The two black eunuchs followed them in litters.

Eli Kira greeted the two men and led them into a salon, where they were served coffee, honey, and almond-paste cakes, and sticky red and green candies. The banker knew there was something wrong when these two men came calling with a troop of the sultan’s elite.

He waited a discreet time, indulging in small talk. Then, looking to the aga, he asked, “Well, my lord aga, why do you come to my home so heavily guarded? Is something amiss? Is there some unrest within the city that I have not heard about?”

“The wife of Cicalazade Pasha was stolen off his island retreat, Eli Kira. What do you know of it?”

The banker’s face remained impassive. Not a muscle twitched, nor did any expression ruffle his features. There is no way they can know anything, Eli Kira silently reminded himself. His dark eyes now widened in surprise. “Lateefa Sultan stolen?” he exclaimed, hoping his look was incredulous enough.

A faint smile touched the aga’s lips. Hammid’s suspicions were correct. The Kiras knew something. “Not Lateefa Sultan,” he said patiently, “but the vizier’s new second wife, the lady Incili.”

“Why should I know anything of this?” asked the banker haughtily. “I did not even know the lady.”

“Perhaps you do not,” conceded the aga, “but I will wager your grandmother does. The lady Incili was a stranger to this land. The only person from the outside she ever had contact with was Esther Kira, and the lady needed outside aid to escape.”

“I thought you said she was stolen,” said Eli Kira. “Is it not possible that she bribed the eunuchs to aid her? Why do you assume that because my grandmother casually knew this woman she has masterminded a plot? Where is your proof? You are insulting, my lord aga! I shall personally complain to the sultan about your actions!”

Slowly the aga drew from the sleeve of his robe a rolled parchment, which he handed to the banker. “If you will but take the time to glance at this, you will find that it is an order from the sultan giving me permission to take whatever action is necessary in this investigation. The sultan does not want his friend and valuable servant, Cicalazade Pasha, to be unhappy. And believe me, Eli Kira, the vizier will be very unhappy when he finds his favorite wife gone.”

Eli Kira looked steadily and directly at the Aga Kislar, and then he turned his gaze on the vizier’s grand eunuch. “I know nothing of this affair,” he said firmly, “and if you have no tangible proof other than your outrageous suspicions, I must ask you to leave my house.”

“No, Eli Kira. I intend questioning other members of your family. At this very moment, on my orders, my janizaries are entering your women’s quarters.”

“How dare you!” shouted the banker, his face going purple with outrage and anger. And he ran from the room towards the other end of the house, followed at a surprisingly swift pace by the two eunuchs.

They could already hear the shrieks of surprise and terror coming from the Kira harem, and the scene that greeted them was quite satisfying to the aga. He had wanted to instill just this type of fear in the Kira women. Now, as his reptilian gaze swept the room, he knew what tack to take.

Maryam Kira was white-faced and obviously very much frightened. She stood protectively clutching her two younger daughters, Rebecca and Sarah. Her eldest daughter, Debra, stood next to her mother, equally pale. Old Esther Kira was seated in a large chair looking frail but as fierce as a hawk. The room was full of brawny young janizaries, and several of the servant girls had obviously been molested.

Angry, red-faced, and fast becoming frightened, Eli Kira blustered at the aga. “This is the final offense, Ali Ziya! I shall send a messenger immediately to the sultan! You accuse us of some plot, but you offer no proof! You invade the privacy of my home with your soldiers, molest my servants, frighten my women! Show me some proof or get out!”

“Be silent! All of you!” All eyes turned to the old woman in the chair. “What is the problem, Ali Ziya? The Sultan Valide Safiye will not be pleased if I tell her of this unpleasantness.”

The Aga Kislar looked to the old woman. Here was the real power behind the Kiras, this tiny, apparently delicate old woman with her all-knowing black-currant eyes. She stared unblinkingly at him, and he shivered. He smiled at her. “What have you done with Cicalazade Pasha’s wife, Incili, Esther Kira?”

“What has happened to her, Ali Ziya?”

“I do not know, but I think you do.”

“Nonsense! I know not of what you speak.”

The aga smiled again, and decided to play his bluff. “Is this all of your family, Eli Kira?” he asked.

“No. There are my sons.”

“Fetch them,” came the command.

The banker nodded curtly to a servant girl, and several minutes later she returned with four of the boys.

“Is this all?”

“There is Asher, and our cousin John,” said Debra innocently.

The aga pounced. “Where is your son, Asher, and who is this cousin?”

“They have gone off on business for the bank, and will not return for some time.”

“Where? And who’s this John Kira?”

“I sent them to Damascus, and our cousin comes from northern Europe.”

“From Cousin Benjamin in Scotland,” spoke Debra again.

Eli Kira shot his daughter a fierce look. “Be silent, Debra. You are not to speak unless spoken to. Your manners are too forward for a maiden.”

“Ali Ziya!” All eyes turned to Hammid. “Ali Ziya!” The high voice was excited. “The woman Incili came from Scotland! I remember her telling me that when we first received her.”

The aga’s eyes narrowed. Here was his connection. He swung about and looked at Eli Kira and his sons. “Those two!” He pointed at the two youngest Kira boys. “What are their ages?”

“Thirteen and sixteen,” came the reply. “A good age,” came the reply, and then the next words fell like hammer blows. “I will honor your house, Eli Kira. I will accept these two fine young men into the corps of janizaries.”

“No!” shrieked Maryam Kira. The banker’s voice was firm, but his heart was beating very fast. “You cannot do that, Ali Ziya. I pay the head tax. My sons are exempt.”

“This is an honor I do you, Eli Kira. Your sons enter an elite military unit dedicated to the sultan himself. You cannot refuse my generosity without offending my master. And … I will do your loyal family even further honor.” His eyes swung over to where young Debra stood. “I am taking your eldest daughter for my master’s harem. Never have I seen such beautiful eyes. Their violet color is quite unique. I am sure that, with the proper training, she will enchant him.”

“No!” Eli Kira was shouting now. “The girl is betrothed! She is to be wed in two days!”

“You are wrong, my friend,” the aga smiled. “In three nights I will present her to the sultan, and she will enter his bed as his new plaything. Perhaps she will captivate him. If not, she will live out her life in the Palace of Forgotten Women.”

Maryam Kira flung herself at the aga’s feet. “What is it you seek?” she begged. “I will help you if I can. But do not take my children, I pray you!”

“Maryam!” Eli pulled his groveling wife up.

“Eli! Eli!” She turned a frightened, tear-ravaged face to him. “What have you done? What is so important that you would sacrifice David and Lev? What is so important that you would condemn Debra to a life of loneliness and shame? If you know anything, tell him! In Yahweh’s name tell him, I beg you!”

Eli Kira looked desperately towards his grandmother. Years of training now conflicted violently with his paternal feelings. He simply did not know what to do.

Esther Kira sighed. “Clear the room of all but Ali Ziya, Hammid, and my grandson, who ought to be told what this terror is all about. Do not touch any of my great-grandchildren, or you will learn nothing!”

“Take your men and wait in the courtyard. Touch no one and nothing,” the aga commanded.

Slowly the room cleared until only the old woman, Eli Kira, and the two eunuchs remained. “Sit! Sit!” commanded Esther Kira. “This is a complicated story.” And she settled herself comfortably. They looked expectantly at her. “Do any of you know when I was born?” she asked, and then cackled. “I was born on April first in the Christian year 1490. I am one hundred and nine years old! Now, of what I am about to tell you, my poor bemused grandson knows nothing. Since, however, my"—she stressed the word—"actions have brought difficulties to him, I think he should hear this.”

Eli Kira kept his face impassive. There was absolutely nothing that he did not know of his family’s business, but he understood what his grandmother was doing. By removing the blame from him, she was trying to save the family. It was a prime example of the first lesson she had ever taught him—survival at any cost. He felt a sudden burst of tenderness and affection for the lady who had built his family’s fortune. He wished he might take her in his arms and hug her. Instead he sat quietly, a slightly expectant look on his face.

Good, thought Esther Kira, he understood my tactic. Then she continued. “Your suspicions are correct, Ali Ziya. I did help the woman you call Incili to return to her own people. So would you have, had you known who she was.”

“She was a European noblewoman,” came Hammid’s voice.

“She was a descendant of Cyra Hafise,” came back the reply.

“How can that be, old woman?” demanded Ali Ziya. “Cyra Hafise left only her son, Sultan Suleiman, and a daughter who was wed to Ibrahim Pasha. Of the imperial grandchildren, the princes Mustafa and Bajazet were murdered. Prince Janhagir died, Prince Selim became Sultan Selim II, and Princess Mihrmah was wed to Rustem Pasha. The children of Ibrahim Pasha and Princess Nilufer never left this land. Your vast age has finally addled your wits, Esther Kira.”