The Kadin (8 page)

“You smile, my son,” said the agha.

“I am thinking of the image I must create.” He laughed. “Good Prince Selim! The perfect son, the perfect brother, the perfect husband and father. Allah, Hadji Bey! You ask a great deal of a rough soldier. What happens if I do not like the maidens I choose from my father’s harem? A pretty face is not a guarantee of a man’s happiness.”

The agha smiled “When you choose, I promise you that at least three of the maidens will be to your taste. I go to seek them myself.”

“So you think you know my tastes?”

“Beauty, intelligence, warmth, independence, and perhaps a touch of mystery.”

“Find me one woman with all those traits, Hadji Bey, and I shall be a happy man.”

“I shall, my prince, and you shall.”

On Selim’s twenty-fifth birthday, and at the sultan’s order, the entire empire from the Balkans to the borders of Persia, celebrated. Selim had arrived in Constantinople just a week before, and at his father’s order been housed in an apartment in the Yeni Serai.

Most of his time was spent alone, for the Ottoman court, unlike its counterparts in Western Europe, had no nobility from among which its princes could draw friends. Coupled with his lonely upbringing, his position made him shy and wary. He was more at ease among his Tartars, for among them he had proved himself in the arts of war and therefore won their admiration and respect He could outride any man, throw a lance farther than any other, and no one was his equal with either knife or scimitar.

He saw his father three times. Bajazet had, as Kiusem hoped, been favorably impressed with Selim. At their first meeting, both had been hesitant Neither father nor son really knew the other. Then, in a supreme effort to make conversation, Selim mentioned that he wrote poetry. Immediately Bajazet grew enthusiastic. He, too, wrote poetry. In that moment the floodgates opened, and though neither could erase the twenty-five years of neglect a friendship was born between them.

Selim also saw his elder brother, who had been summoned to the celebration. Mellowed by forbidden wine but primed by his mother’s constant carping, Ahmed eyed his handsome brother suspiciously as Selim bowed deeply.

“Our father does you great honor.”

“It is not me he honors but my mother’s dying wish.”

“I
am the heir.”

“Our father’s wish is mine also, brother.”

“My mother says you seek to steal my throne, but I told her she was wrong.” He raised his cup and drained it

Selim smiled. “I will not steal your throne, brother,” he said, but he was thinking, Fat fool! You have no throne and never will!

One day Selim was taken secretly by the agha to a hidden room overlooking the women’s baths in the Eski Serai Never had he seen so many females in one spot at one time—especially naked females.

“How many women does my father have?” he asked, never taking his eyes from the scene below him.

“At this moment about three hundred,” replied Hadji Bey, “but there are only about a hundred and ten gediklis. There are three kadins, five ikbals, and about a dozen guzdehs. The rest are servants.”

The prince did not answer, and the agha chuckled Though he had never functioned as a man, he was an appreciative connoisseur of the female body. Under his watchful eye, only the most exquisite beauties were trained as gediklis. Sitting back for a moment Hadji Bey and Selim viewed the living picture below them.

The baths were constructed of a pale pink marble with a domed roof of rose-colored glass panes. Spaced at various intervals along the walls were dark-blue and beige tiled panels from which sprang deep, shell-shaped rose marble basins with hot and cold gold waterspouts in the form of flowers. Several large rectangles of pink marble filled the center of the room. These were used for seating, resting, and massages. It was a beautiful foil for the various maidens who composed the sultan’s harem—dusky Spaniards and Moors, golden Provençals and Italians, coffee-colored Egyptians, cloud-white Grecians and Circassians, coal-black slave girls from Nubia.

Gradually the room emptied until only about a dozen maidens remained Selim started as a woman accompanied by several young girls entered the room.

“Ah,” said the agha, “the lady Refet.”

The prince was slightly discomfited at seeing his aunt “I had forgotten how identical in looks she is to my late mother,” he said.

“Not quite,” observed Hadji Bey. “Your mother had a rather charming mole, but it is not your aunt I have brought you to see. She guards the three special ones. Can you tell me which they are?”

Selim’s eyes moved to the little group. A tall, golden-skinned girl with almond-shaped eyes unbraided her long ebony hair.

“That one,” he said.

The agha nodded.

“And if you have not chosen that rosy-buttocked silver-blond, I shall.” He pointed toward Firousi.

“Correct, my son. And the third?”

But he did not speak, and the agha, following the prince’s gaze, smiled with satisfaction, for Selim was staring at Cyra. She reclined on one of the marble sofas, three slave girls attending her. One manicured a slim foot, another a slender hand, while the third rubbed a strand of her lovely red-gold hair with a silk cloth to give it more luster.

“That is Cyra,” said Hadji Bey. “Is she not lovely?” He did not wait for the prince to answer. “She is in many ways wise beyond her years. Your aunt tells me she speaks several languages fluently and has become a perfectly accomplished maiden in the Turkish fashion. It is fitting that she be the mother of your sons. Your father’s indiscriminate breeding produced Ahmed. However, my son, you must be gentle with her, for though she has been schooled by our women in the arts of pleasing her lord, she is still a virgin. In her land, whence she is newly come, men and women are fairly equal in many things. She retains her independence, and we have taken great care not to break her spirit You have never known a woman for more than one or two nights. They were women skilled only in the arts of love. Cyra will be shy at first but treat her with candor, Selim, and she will love you to the death.”

During the next few days, Selim thought of Hadji Bey’s words, and he thought of Cyra. The agha had puzzled him. Allah had created woman for man’s pleasure, and certainly the women he had possessed had given him pleasure, but nothing more. Suddenly he wondered if he had given them pleasure, too. And if a man were to spend a lifetime with a woman, there must be more than a simple physical act between them. Animals mated, too, but had not Allah given man dominion over the animals? If man was the superior being, then it must be love that made him so.

He was twenty-five years old, and he did not know what love was. Would Cyra teach him? What was she really like? He longed to hear the sound of her voice, to speak to her. Suddenly he was frightened. Would she like him? Hadji Bey could deliver her slim, white body to him, but no one could make her love him. The panic subsided. He knew her not, but tomorrow night he would sit on the dais with his father and choose her—and she
would
love him! He would make her love him. He had seen her only once, but he knew he could not live his life without her.

The muezzin’s call rang from the Great Mosque, the former Christian church of Hagia Sophia. Selim fell to his knees and prayed.

10

F
OR MONTHS
the gediklis of Sultan Bajazet’s harem had prepared for Prince Selim’s birthday. It wasn’t every day such an opportunity presented itself, and each girl secretly hoped that she would be one of the fortunate six to be chosen.

The sultan had three living kadins, and their constant intrigues to keep their lord and master’s favor was an open scandal. Although he was growing old, many girls were still summoned down the Golden Road to the sultan’s bed. Those who managed to please him and avoid the wrath of his three wives counted themselves lucky. The less fortunate were relegated under guard to the Pavilion of Forgotten Women.

Therefore the prospect of possibly being chosen for the harem of a young and handsome prince was a very attractive opportunity. Never had the girls worked so hard on their personal appearance. Never had they studied so diligently, and never had they spent their slipper money so freely on jewelry, perfume, or spies to discover the prince’s preferences.

Cyra, Firousi, and Zuleika had been quietly introduced into the household of Sultan Bajazet The entries made by the keeper of records showed nothing unusual, merely stating the girls’ ages, origins, places of purchase, and prices. Knowing that the enormous sum he had paid for Cyra would attract unwelcome attention, Hadji Bey had used his own wealth to purchase the girl, and had listed her price as five hundred dinars, which would not be considered an outrageous price for a beautiful virgin.

The girls were then assigned to the oda of Lady Refet Hadji Bey could not have made a wiser choice than entrusting them to Prince Selim’s aunt She was a slender woman with lovely dark hair which she wore elegantly braided upon her head. Her beautiful face, with its high, sculptured cheekbones, was gentle and kindly. Her soft brown eyes at once discerned that the facade of bravery worn by each girl covered anxious uncertainty, and perhaps even fear.

Warned of their approach by her eunuch, she was ready as they entered her salon with the agha. Coming forward, her arms outstretched, she warmly hugged each girl and said in her low, cultured voice, “Welcome, my dears. I am so glad you have arrived safely.”

“I leave them in your kindly charge, Lady Refet,” said Hadji Bey. “Farewell, my daughters. May good fortune attend you.”

Lady Refet did not allow them time for tears. “It is the hour of the baths,” she said. “Since we are alone, let us have a cool drink, and while we are waiting, I will show you the oda.”

She signaled a slave for the refreshment and then ushered her charges to their quarters. “This,” she said, waving her hand, “is where you and the other young ladies in my charge live and sleep.”

Cyra looked about the room. She saw three round, low, inlaid tables, several piles of colorful cushions, and a chair.

“Where are the beds?” she asked.

Lady Refet pointed to the paneling along the bottom half of two of the walls. “Behind the paneling are cupboards. Each girl is assigned one, and it contains her sleeping mattress, bedding, outdoor clothing, and other personal possessions. Each morning after prayers, we air our bedding. It is then put away until night.”

“Very practical,” noted the young Cyra, much to Lady Refet’s amazement “Do we also eat in this room?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Are we ever allowed to leave our quarters?”

“Gracious, my child, of course I You are not a prisoner. Naturally, your movements are limited to a certain degree, but is that not so even in your own country?”

“No,” replied Cyra. “I was free to go where I chose in my own land.”

Lady Refet placed an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Then, my dear, perhaps your adjustment to our ways will be a bit more difficult, but we will try to make it as easy for you as we can. There is so much for you to learn that you should not have time to chafe against your fate. We speak French now, but you must quickly learn Turkish, You have no knowledge of our customs, and if you are to be presented to the sultan and his son in five months’ time, you must be proficient in many things. And all this must be accomplished within the daily harem routine.

“I hope you do not think that all we do is sit about painting our toenails, eating comfits, and waiting for a summons from the sultan. Oh, no! Each girl is assigned a light household task that must be performed daily. And then there are the baths, and exercise periods, and, of course, your studies. You will find your life very full.”

The next few months sped by. Lady Refet had been correct. There was no time for looking back. The three new arrivals quickly learned Turkish, though it was Cyra who was most proficient Languages were her forte, and she enjoyed them They absorbed the history of the Ottoman Empire because Hadji Bey believed that in order to understand the present and anticipate the future, they must be familiar with the past.

The manners and morals of the Turks kept them busy for hours on end. They studied music and dancing—an important part of Turkish life. Zuleika shone in music, for Eastern music was not unfamiliar to her ear. Firousi was the dancer and very adept at singing her native songs to her own accompaniment on the guitar. Cyra was neither musician nor dancer, but she studied hard and became adept enough to be considered accomplished. She found the wailing of the reedy instruments not unlike that of her native bagpipes.

Each girl was expected to embroider—which all three could do—and to read and write. In their own languages Cyra and Zuleika could do both. A scholarly old woman named Fatima was assigned to teach them to write Turkish. Cyra helped Firousi, who at first found writing difficult—and reading worse—but Cyra was patient and Firousi eventually succeeded, to her pride and delight.

As the weeks went by, each made her own adjustment to the situation. For Zuleika it was easiest She was accustomed to the cloistered existence of the imperial Ming court, and only the burning memory of her true identity and the betrayal of the shah’s concubine still rankled in her memory. Gradually she pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind—although never forgotten, they did not intrude on her everyday consciousness.

Used to the openness of her mountain home, Firousi might have found the transition difficult had she not been enchanted, amazed, and overwhelmed with all the sights, sounds, and luxuries of her new existence. Though she had lost everything—her home, her family, and her bridegroom—she was sensible enough to know that nothing she could do would bring them back, and when she thought of what her fate might have been, she thanked God and accepted the situation. Her own ebullient spirits did the rest.

For Cyra it was the hardest Raised in freedom-loving Scotland and used to coming and going as she pleased, she chafed at the restrictions of the harem. Her world now consisted of her oda, the baths, the women’s mosque, and the gardens. She would have given anything for a horse and a long gallop across an open field. Like Firousi, she accepted her situation, but there were times when she thought she might go mad.

Lady Refet noted this and tried to ease the young girl’s restlessness. She assigned a eunuch to Cyra with orders that when the girl wished, she be allowed long walks in the gardens provided she was suitably clothed.

This meant that Cyra must wear a loose-sleeved cloaklike garment of pale mauve silk called a feridje. It covered her from neck to ankles and had attached at her shoulders a large, square cape that hung nearly to the ground. With it she also wore the yasmak, a veil consisting of two pieces. The first was placed across the bridge of her nose and fell to her bosom; the second lay on her head and extended as far as her eyebrows. The rest of it fell behind her. In this costume no one could have told whether she was young or old, fair or ugly.

This was proved one day—much to the terror of Cyra’s eunuch. They were walking in the gardens when around the hedge came the sultan and his retinue. The eunuch went gray and almost fainted, having been warned by the agha that Cyra’s presence in the harem must remain secret; but Cyra reacted quickly. She bowed low, and the sultan, who might have stopped had he caught a glimpse of this muffled creature’s fabulous green-gold eyes, passed her by without so much as a glance.

Cyra gave a great deal of thought to the incident Until now, the sultan’s power had not seemed real to her, but one look at the terrified eunuch’s face had changed all that I must spend the rest of my life in this strange world, she thought I can be either a frightened slave like my poor eunuch, or I can be the willing and loving wife of a future sultan. Under Prince Selim’s protection I need never be afraid, and I shall have power. Perhaps I shall even love this prince. From that moment on, her periods of restlessness became fewer, and her attitude genuinely cooperative.

“What can have caused this change?” Lady Refet asked Hadji Bey.

“I do not know,” he replied, “but our young Cyra is a thinker. It is obvious that some incident has given her pause for thought I could not be more delighted. Her cooperation is vital to our plans, for it is she whom I have chosen to be Prince Selim’s first ikbal and, Allah willing, his bas-kadin.”

“My nephew will not be told whom he must love, my lord agha.”

Hadji Bey smiled. “I shall not have to tell him. He will choose to mate with her first Selim has become very astute where women are concerned. Both Zuleika and Firousi are beautiful, but the girl from Cathay is proud, and deep within her heart she is bitter. She will be fiercely loyal to Selim, but he will never be able to get truly close to her. And behind the little Caucasian’s smile is a deep sadness. She, too, will be loyal, but she will always carry with her the memory of the boy to whom she was wed on the day of her abduction, and who died in her defense. Selim will sense these flaws, and though he may love them and beget sons with them, he will never feel completely at ease with either of them.”

“But does not Cyra have her memories? She has told me that she was betrothed when she was abducted.”

“Cyra is younger than either Firousi or Zuleika, She was in love with love, not with her young fiancé. Besides, she is—whether she realizes it yet or not—far too realistic. She has been with us now for several months, and during that time her mind has been busily absorbing all we can offer. Her senses have been awakened and stimulated. She is ripe for love, and once that love is returned, she will mature, using not only her body to please her lord, but her mind as well, There is not another maiden in the harem to compare with her. Selim is already besotted by her beauty.”

“He has seen her?” Lady Refet was incredulous. “By Allah, Hadji Bey, you risk our very lives!”

“No, my lady, I do not Overlooking the baths is a small hidden room I had installed by my mutes when I became agha. No one knows of it—not even the sultan. From it I can observe the girls without embarrassing them. It allows me the opportunity to cull the wheat from the chaff—for the most beautiful face can have an unfortunate bodily imperfection. No girl of this sort may go to the sultan. I took Selim there several days ago to see your charges in order that he might identify them at his birthday fete.”

“How I long for that occasion to come,” said Lady Refet. ‘This secrecy is beginning to get on my nerves.”

Finally the great day dawned, and pandemonium reigned throughout the palace. The crowded baths hummed with excited chatter. The hairdressers, in constant demand, rushed from one girl to another. The mistress of the wardrobe mediated so many quarrels over clothing between screaming and crying gediklis that she finally retired to her bed vowing to ask for a transfer to the Pavilion of Older Women.

In her unimportant little oda, Lady Refet closely inspected her three prize pupils. It amazed even her to think that for six months she and Hadji Bey had managed to keep these girls from the sultan’s eyes. There would be questions tonight about that, but Lady Refet trusted Hadji Bey to handle the situation.

“You are exquisite,” she said to Cyra. “You will outshine every other female at the reception.”

“You’re sure the colors are right?” asked the girl “We spent hours yesterday choosing them.”

Lady Refet nodded approvingly. She knew who had bribed the mistress of the wardrobe to allow her girls to choose their costumes a day early. That lady owed her position to Hadji Bey and was completely loyal to him. “Look at yourselves, my little birds. You are all lovely.”

They gazed at each other again. Cyra wore sheer, pale-green silk pantaloons with a matching bodice that was shot through with golden threads and fringed with small pieces of jade; a wide gold girdle encrusted with jade rested upon her hips. Her red-gold hair had been brushed until it glistened. Held back by a simple gold clasp with a pearl tassle, it fell straight down her back. On her feet were green-and-gold brocade slippers. Lady Refet slipped a matching green pelisse lined with gold-colored satin about her shoulders.

Zuleika wore lavender silk pantaloons and a matching bodice trimmed in purple velvet A beautifully worked girdle of gold and amethysts, brocade slippers, and a purple silk pelisse lined with lavender velvet completed her costume. Her blue-black hair, pulled severely back from her face to best show off her delicate Oriental features, was braided with lilac-colored ribbons and pearls.

Firousi’s pantaloons and matching silver-threaded bodice were turquoise, to match her eyes. Her girdle was heavy silver set with rare Persian lapis. On her feet she wore turned-up brocade slippers, and about her shoulders a turquoise-blue pelisse lined with creamy satin. Her silvery-blond hair fell in luscious curls about her plump pink shoulders.

Lady Refet handed each girl a little tassled cap—cloth of gold for Cyra and Zuleika, cloth of silver for Firousi. “Hadji Bey will be very pleased,” she said, smiling. “Now sit quietly while I inspect my other girls.” She moved among the others, bestowing a word of praise on a costume here, the suggestion of a bit more red on the cheeks there, a comforting pat to a frightened girl.

A eunuch came to call them. It was time for the reception. The gediklis formed two straight lines.

“Now, remember,” said Lady Refet speaking softly to her special charges, “separate as soon as you reach the Great Hall. Do not be seen together. Firousi, when the maidens begin to approach the sultan and the prince, be among the first You, Zuleika, wait until half the girls have passed, and you, Cyra, be in the last group.”