other cases?”
“You know nothing about the harem, do you?”
“Not enough. Enlighten me.”
She looked at me for a measured moment, then threw a short nod before starting to walk back towards the palace. “The sultan moved to Y?ld?z because he fears for his life and believes that Dolmabahçe was not secure.” Dolmabahçe was one of the palaces Colin had cited as being partly responsible for the decline of the Ottoman treasury. Its elegant cut-stone façade with rows of vaulted windows on both floors rose above the Bosphorus, the waters lapping below gleaming white wrought-iron fences. Its interior, designed partially to impress Western diplomats and visitors, was ornate and luxurious, a perfect exercise in excess.
“Why is that?”
“Because he is seized with unfathomable paranoia, and the palace’s location on the Bosphorus made him feel vulnerable. Of course, there is not much that does not make him feel vulnerable.”
“Are you close to him?”
“I have been noticed,” she said, turning away as hot color crept up her cheeks.
“Handkerchief dropped in front of you to alert you that you’ve been chosen for the night?” I had read more than my share of fantastical novels set in the seraglio and found the rituals of harem life fascinating.
“I hate to disappoint your Western romanticism, but that is not how it happens. Reality is much more prosaic. Most of us never have any contact with the sultan. We see him—from a safe distance—on formal occasions. It’s not so easy to catch his attention, though. Some manage, of course, but it takes a not inconsiderable effort.”
“How did you do it?”
“I didn’t. The valide sultan selected me for him.” I felt my face tighten as she spoke. “Barbaric, isn’t it? But there’s no handkerchief dropping. The k?zlar aas? —chief black eunuch—informs you that you’ve been chosen, and you’re off to the hamam to prepare. Generally the sultan sends a small gift.”
“Had you never spoken to him before you were summoned to him?”
“I’d never even seen him. Had done all I could to keep from drawing attention to myself. If I must be here, I will have a quiet life of contemplation. You do not understand in the slightest how I am tormented.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. I could not imagine the horror of being sent to the bed of a man I knew not at all. Barbaric did not even approach a strong enough word.
“Most of the time, no one pays attention to me. My religious beliefs have kept me from becoming close to those around me.”
“You are not a Muslim?” I asked.
“And now, Lady Emily, you have discovered what it is that I need to hide. I’m a Christian. And every day—every night—that I spend with the sultan puts my soul in mortal danger. Have you any idea what it is to know that you are forced to live in sin?”
“Are you allowed—forgive me—to be Christian?” I asked.
“I do not speak of it to others. No one knows. I kneel in the direction of Mecca during times of prayer but recite my own words.”
“As a fellow Christian, I can assure you that if you are forced to do things—”
“The martyrs had the strength to stand up for their beliefs. I am not so brave, nor so virtuous. Now that I’ve spent the night with the sultan and am a gözde, I have better quarters and more privacy. If I am elevated further and become an ?kbal, or kadin —an official consort—my position would be better still. But I ought not be tempted by privacy and should have refused to go to him in the first place, regardless of the consequences.”
“What would the consequences have been?”
“I don’t know, but can well guess. No one rejects the sultan. The punishment would be unspeakable.”
“How did you come to your faith?”
“I have lots of time to myself here and fill most of my hours reading. One day I came upon a volume of Aquinas. . . .” She sighed. “No, I must be honest with you. I asked for it—one in a long list of books I
“You know nothing about the harem, do you?”
“Not enough. Enlighten me.”
She looked at me for a measured moment, then threw a short nod before starting to walk back towards the palace. “The sultan moved to Y?ld?z because he fears for his life and believes that Dolmabahçe was not secure.” Dolmabahçe was one of the palaces Colin had cited as being partly responsible for the decline of the Ottoman treasury. Its elegant cut-stone façade with rows of vaulted windows on both floors rose above the Bosphorus, the waters lapping below gleaming white wrought-iron fences. Its interior, designed partially to impress Western diplomats and visitors, was ornate and luxurious, a perfect exercise in excess.
“Why is that?”
“Because he is seized with unfathomable paranoia, and the palace’s location on the Bosphorus made him feel vulnerable. Of course, there is not much that does not make him feel vulnerable.”
“Are you close to him?”
“I have been noticed,” she said, turning away as hot color crept up her cheeks.
“Handkerchief dropped in front of you to alert you that you’ve been chosen for the night?” I had read more than my share of fantastical novels set in the seraglio and found the rituals of harem life fascinating.
“I hate to disappoint your Western romanticism, but that is not how it happens. Reality is much more prosaic. Most of us never have any contact with the sultan. We see him—from a safe distance—on formal occasions. It’s not so easy to catch his attention, though. Some manage, of course, but it takes a not inconsiderable effort.”
“How did you do it?”
“I didn’t. The valide sultan selected me for him.” I felt my face tighten as she spoke. “Barbaric, isn’t it? But there’s no handkerchief dropping. The k?zlar aas? —chief black eunuch—informs you that you’ve been chosen, and you’re off to the hamam to prepare. Generally the sultan sends a small gift.”
“Had you never spoken to him before you were summoned to him?”
“I’d never even seen him. Had done all I could to keep from drawing attention to myself. If I must be here, I will have a quiet life of contemplation. You do not understand in the slightest how I am tormented.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. I could not imagine the horror of being sent to the bed of a man I knew not at all. Barbaric did not even approach a strong enough word.
“Most of the time, no one pays attention to me. My religious beliefs have kept me from becoming close to those around me.”
“You are not a Muslim?” I asked.
“And now, Lady Emily, you have discovered what it is that I need to hide. I’m a Christian. And every day—every night—that I spend with the sultan puts my soul in mortal danger. Have you any idea what it is to know that you are forced to live in sin?”
“Are you allowed—forgive me—to be Christian?” I asked.
“I do not speak of it to others. No one knows. I kneel in the direction of Mecca during times of prayer but recite my own words.”
“As a fellow Christian, I can assure you that if you are forced to do things—”
“The martyrs had the strength to stand up for their beliefs. I am not so brave, nor so virtuous. Now that I’ve spent the night with the sultan and am a gözde, I have better quarters and more privacy. If I am elevated further and become an ?kbal, or kadin —an official consort—my position would be better still. But I ought not be tempted by privacy and should have refused to go to him in the first place, regardless of the consequences.”
“What would the consequences have been?”
“I don’t know, but can well guess. No one rejects the sultan. The punishment would be unspeakable.”
“How did you come to your faith?”
“I have lots of time to myself here and fill most of my hours reading. One day I came upon a volume of Aquinas. . . .” She sighed. “No, I must be honest with you. I asked for it—one in a long list of books I
Similar Books
