The Debt of Tamar (8 page)

“Yes, I am Don José Nissim.”

The two men stood eye to eye. José cleared his throat but the man said nothing. He just stood there for a moment, before proceeding to examine everything about José, from his fingernails to his physique, from his shoes to the way he wrapped his turban.

“Have you been drinking?” the man sniffed.

“
Effendi
, it was just a small amount earlier today, to celebrate the birth of my daughter.”

“The birth of a child!” the man exclaimed. “Yes, certainly an occasion worthy of celebration.”

“Can you tell me what this is about?” José spoke up against his better instincts.

“This is an unofficial visit,” the man replied. “I am Selim. I believe you met with my father, the Sultan, several years ago?”

Dumbfounded, José fell to his knees. “Your Highness, please excuse my ignorance.”

Selim laughed and tossed back a whip of his yellow hair. “Come on. Get up.” He thrust his arm into the air sending his falcon into flight.

Within an instant, the bird was making vast circles in the sky overhead.

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here.”

José came to his feet.

“I hope I haven’t startled you. It’s just that, I need someone I can trust, and Doctor Hamon tells me that you are a man that can be trusted.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Come, José. Sit.” He took a seat on the bench and gestured for José to do the same. “You see, my father the Sultan is getting old. He will step down soon and I will be crowned emperor.”

“
Effendi
?”

“When I inherit the throne, I will also be inheriting the tangled mess of international diplomacy that comes with it. I’m going to need someone who is familiar with European affairs.”

An awkward silence passed between them.

“Me?” José questioned.

“Naturally!”

“But I’ve never worked in politics.”

“And I have never been outside the Empire!” Selim threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know how to deal with these Europeans. We could rule all the world, bring our citizens peace and bounty for ten thousand lifetimes, and they’d still call us barbarians.” He leaned toward José. “But you, you have lived among them. You understand them. You’re one of them.”

“That may have been true, a long time ago, but—”

“Doctor Hamon tells me that you were a frequent visitor of European courts before your arrival in Istanbul, that you are acquainted with many of the powerful ruling families throughout Europe. Is that so?”

“I suppose it is. I was just a child, raised alongside Spanish and Portuguese nobility. At times I was sent further off, to the Low Countries, where I held court with a few lowly princes.”

“So you have seen much of Europe?”

“It was a very long time ago.”

“And what of William of the Netherlands? Is it true you spent time as a child at Dutch court? Did you happen to come across him then?”

“He taught me how to play cricket.”

“Cricket?”

José shook his head. “So much time has passed. I doubt he would even remember me. Why do you ask about William?”

“My sources tell me there is a deep discord in Antwerp. The people are tired of the Spanish ruling over them. Collecting taxes but offering nothing but tyranny in return. After this year’s bad harvest, talk of a rebellion is brewing.”

“Yes, but how can I be of service?”

“A Dutch envoy will arrive shortly in Istanbul, led by your boyhood friend, William. You are to convince him to stage a revolt against Spain and in exchange, we will provide any military support the Dutch may need. He knows you. He will trust you. Let us strike at the very heel of the Spanish Empire, so that it may fall hard like Achilles.”

“And these princely people you speak of, I am not so sure they will accept me now, after all, we have been branded as heretics throughout Europe.”

“Exactly my point! Your people have suffered under Spanish rule. The Dutch suffer under Spanish rule. You’re European. They’re European. You understand the way they think. That’s the kind of adviser I will need moving forward.”

“But—”

“José! How many languages do you speak?”

“A few, I suppose. I’m fluent in Latin, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, and well of course, now Ottoman.”

“An educated man.” The prince slapped his knee and came to his feet. “You Jews never cease to amaze me.”

The falcon suddenly swooped down from the sky and landed gently on Selim’s outstretched arm. “My father has been good to your people?”

“Most definitely.”

“Rescuing your family from certain death?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I would not be here if it were not for his kindness.”

The prince nodded. “Gratitude.” He seemed to be talking to the falcon as he spoke. “Gratitude breeds loyalty.” Selim snapped his fingers and a servant suddenly came forth presenting a tray of raw meat bits to the bird. He smiled as the bird devoured the juicy bits. Turning his attentions back to José, he continued. “Loyalty is why I want a Jew. It’s why I want
you
.”

José nodded.

“Now, Doctor Hamon says you are a man to be trusted. Tell me, José. Can I trust you?”

He slid off the bench and bowed his head to the ground. “I am your servant.”

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and fine, but what I need to know is, can I trust you?”

“Your Highness.” José lifted the edge of Selim’s cloak and brought it to his lips. “You can trust me.”

“Good. Now get off your knees. You’ll report to the palace tomorrow morning and the morning after that.”

José could hardly believe what he was hearing.

Selim clapped his hands, eliciting the prompt return of his servant, who wrestled the falcon from his possession.

“Here comes my boy!” Selim turned towards a teetering infant wrapped in purple velvet. He was taking small, clumsy steps towards his father with hands raised high in the air. Selim bent over and scooped the child up into his embrace. “This is my son.”

“A handsome boy,” José remarked.

“And one day, you will be able to say that you have met three sultans of the empire.”

“Your Highness?”

“After my reign, he will rule. I have chosen him. See his porcelain skin? That is the skin of his mother. A Venetian noblewoman. I call her
Nur-Banu.
”

“Princess of Lightness.” José said the name aloud.

“That’s right.”

José examined the child prince. He had fair skin and chestnut eyes, with rosy cheeks and a crop of thick black hair. He could not have been any older than a year.

“His name is Murat,” Selim explained. “Murat the III.”

José was unsure of the proper protocol for being presented to a royal prince, let alone an infant at that. Certainly he should not coo or reach out to touch the child. Whatever the proper conduct, he had managed to get this far without insulting Prince Selim.

“See how intelligent he is?” Selim went on. “You can tell, just by looking at his eyes. He’s observing us right now.”

José nodded.

“And you will bow to him one day,” Selim continued. “You will bow to him along with all the empire.”

The boy began to gurgle as tiny bubbles began to foam from his lips.

“That day is still far off.” Selim smiled and handed the boy back to his servant. “Now that we’ve settled our business,” he turned his attentions back to José, “how about we celebrate with a drink?”

José looked up, not sure if he was being tested, or if the Prince Selim was actually serious about breaking one of Islam’s more serious prohibitions.

“Stop gawking, José. It doesn’t suit you. Even a Muslim prince needs to have some fun once in a while. And telling from the purple stain on your tongue, I can tell you are a man who likes to have a good time too.”

“Your Highness
,
I…” José stuttered.

“Let’s keep this our secret.” Selim winked as a tray was presented to them with two silver goblets. The prince smiled mischievously, before taking a swig of wine. He smacked his lips then squinted. “I think I like you, José.” He took a moment to consider his own statement, then nodded in agreement with himself. His eyes twinkled with delight and his smile was warm and playful. He slapped José on the back before turning and heading away from the garden. “See you tomorrow!” he called out as he disappeared from the courtyard.

José lowered his face to his palms and felt warm tears of gratitude against the inside of his hands. Standing alone in the middle of the Sultan’s garden, surrounded by fluttering tulips and the smell of the sea, José gave thanks. He brought his fist to his heart and lowered his chin to his chest. With his eyes closed tightly, he recited a prayer of thanksgiving to the Lord.

He stood motionless for some time, overwhelmed by gratitude and remorse. He had been blessed with so much and yet he had been blind to it all.

He would recite that same prayer once again, later in the day. He would return home and take his daughter in his arms, recite those same words of gratitude, and give thanks to the Lord for the miracle of life.

Several years had passed before Suleiman the Magnificent retreated from palace life and his son Selim ascended the throne. José’s wisdom and aptitude became increasingly apparent as the young sultan sought out his advice on various matters, from how to deal with quarrelling concubines to more serious issues regarding political dealings abroad.

While the family had been condemned as heretics throughout all of Europe, José’s wealth, wit, and charm still opened many doors. When visiting the palace, European diplomats were intrigued and completely taken in by this strapping Portuguese exile. He looked and spoke in the same manner they did, and yet he was a Jew living an exotic life in a faraway land under the protection of the Sultan himself.

After five years of service, José was granted a small Dukedom and raised to the status of official Ottoman nobility. He was gifted a permanent villa on palace grounds where he and his family were to reside.

As winter approached, the winds swooped down from the mountain steppes, rattling the lattices and the shutters of the Nissim villa. Silence descended from the grey sky along with a blanket of snow. The fish in the fountains had grown lethargic, barely swimming at all. Winter in the villa was a quiet, somber affair.

Reyna wrapped herself in a Siberian fur and drank eucalyptus tea alone by the fire.

Her chambermaid, Arabella, approached and handed her a scroll. “Doña Reyna, a message for you.”

Reyna unwrapped the scroll then glanced up at Arabella. “I’ve been invited to a lady’s party, hosted by the Sultan’s Beloved, Nur-Banu Sultana, to celebrate the birth of her daughter.”

“What an event it will be. You’ll need to have something made.” Arabella eyed the white robe that her mistress wore most days. “It’s been so long since you’ve been out. What about that new turquoise fabric I brought back from the Bazaar?”

“Yes, that fabric would be just right,” Reyna mused as she popped a grape into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “And perhaps a new dress for Tamar, too.”

“When will it be held?”

“Let’s see. Yes, it says right here. It’s to be held in seven days' time, on the waterfront pavilion of the Sultan’s family compound.”

“In the harem?”

“So it seems.” She lowered the letter to her lap and gripped it with both hands. “I have been so lonely here.”

Arabella squeezed her mistress’s hand.

Turning her attention back to the invitation, she continued. “Maybe this is an opportunity. I should like to meet the ladies here.”

Arabella cleared away a cluster of grape stems. “Then I shall call for the seamstress at once,” she called back cheerily as she headed away with some dirty dishes.

Reyna had never before been invited into the royal harem of the Sultan, and she was eager to meet and know the legendary women sequestered behind its guarded walls. Aside from being the Sultan’s private family quarters, the harem also served as a kind of high-end girls' university. The most intelligent and beautiful women of the empire were brought there to receive the very best education available. Although technically slaves, they were rigorously trained in literature, music, poetry and art. Their schooling was strict and took up much of the day. Those who were not chosen as the Sultan’s concubines were treated very much like daughters of the imperial household. After nine years of service, they were granted the freedom to leave. Very few exercised this freedom.

These were the most refined, beautiful, and sought after women in all the empire. Married off to high ranking officials and Ottoman princes, it was the Sultan himself who chose their husbands, provided their trousseaux, and gifted them stately villas in which to begin their new lives.

Among the concubines of the Sultan who remained in the harem, epic power struggles were known to ensue. It was not unheard of for one of these women to attack another, in an attempt to mar the beauty of her rival and decrease one’s competition with the Sultan.

They entered the harem as slaves, were educated alongside exalted princesses, and aspired to the rank of Valide Sultan, or Queen Mother. In this way, every sultan was the son of a former slave. It was the Valide Sultan who governed harem life and was oftentimes intricately involved in matters of state. It was she who dominated her son and advised him on how to govern his empire. Reyna had heard it many times since her arrival in Istanbul. The time was known as The Reign of Women.

Very few outsiders were granted access to this private world but when they were, they came back with tales of palace intrigue, vast riches, and exotic beauties from every conquered corner of the world.

Since having been re-settled on palace grounds, and with José away at the Imperial Council most of the time, Reyna grew lonelier than she’d ever been. She had lost her mother, and now it seemed, she had lost her husband, too. With little adult companionship of her own, she grew bored and listless. Hers was a life cut off from the outside world, yet apart from the vibrant and bustling community within the Imperial gates. For Reyna, the Sultana’s invitation offered the promise of new friendships, perhaps even, a life of her own.