“Unbelievers!”
“Open the gate!”
A man stooped and picked up a stone, which he threw against the wooden gate. Soon the whole crowd was hurling stones, which thunked against the heavy wooden planks.
Yashim moved to the edge of the circle.
“What are you doing?”
The man beside him turned his head sharply. “The unbelievers, efendi. They have the body of a Muslim in there. They are hiding him.”
Yashim frowned. “How do you know that?”
“At night, they will feed him to the dogs!”
Yashim put up a hand. “How can you know so much? Have you talked to them, inside? Have you seen this Muslim?”
The man turned angrily. “Open this gate! We are Muslims!”
Yashim glanced back. More men were surging up the avenue; some were shaking their fists.
Ever since the Greeks of Athens had secured their independence, Greeks and Turks had been like flint and steel, striking sparks that threatened to set the empire alight. Husrev Pasha was right, these were uncertain times. The weather was too hot-and a man was dead.
Yashim put his hands in the air and stepped out in front of the gathering crowd.
“Listen to me.”
The men paused, curious.
“Listen to me. I am from the palace.”
A bareheaded man stepped forward. “The unbelievers! They treat the Muslims like dogs!”
Yashim laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, and invited him to sit down. He opened his arm, gesturing along the line. “All of you, please. Sit down.”
The men began to form knots. After all the noise, the quiet voice of the stranger seemed almost hypnotic. Some squatted, and one or two of them actually sat, crossing their legs.
“We will find out what is going on here,” Yashim continued. The name came to him at that moment. “Where is Mullah Dede?”
The men looked around. Mullah Dede was not there.
“Fetch the mullah. Go.”
“Who are you?” It was a fat man in an open shirt. He had his hands on his hips and he was glancing right and left. “Who are you, from the palace?”
“I am Yashim.” He spoke quietly, but loud enough for the men to hear. A wary look appeared on the fat man’s face. “And your name?”
“I am… Hasan.”
Men are driven by fear: and they fear only what they do not know.
“Will anyone else give me their name?”
Men looked away, feeling the ground with their eyes.
Yashim could see the figure of the mullah climbing briskly up the avenue. “When Mullah Dede comes we will all sit quietly, while he and I discuss the matter.”
The mullah walked in slowly through the ring of men, looking from right to left. He saw Yashim, and salaamed.
“What is this gathering, my son? They say the monks have taken the body of a Muslim. Can this be true?”
“We will ask the monks,” Yashim replied.
“Yes, that is the best way.” Mullah Dede nodded slowly. “We will enter, and speak with the abbot.” He turned to the men squatting on the ground. “Go, all of you. Go in peace, and if we have need of you again, I will call.”
Yashim glanced at Hasan. He was swaying, as if uncertain what to do; eventually he turned away and began to go down the hill. Many joined him; a few, however, only moved farther off, and squatted under the trees, planning to see what happened next.
“And now,” said Mullah Dede, “we will knock on the door, and hope that we are answered, inshallah.”
“Inshallah,” Yashim echoed.
10
At the sultan’s palace at Besiktas, the lady Talfa was jingling an enormous bunch of iron keys threaded onto an iron loop.
“Some of you girls,” she announced, “will receive keys yourselves as you settle in to your duties. That will be a matter for the Kislar aga to arrange, with my help, naturally.”
They were on the ground floor of the palace, where the windows were shuttered on the inside with diamond-shaped lattices to prevent anyone from looking in.
The girls avoided one another’s eyes, anxious not to be thought overbold. Many of them hoped to receive a key and to be allotted an important task. They had already inspected the laundry, under the lady Talfa’s direction: there would be a laundry kalfa, maybe two. They had looked into rooms containing the coffee sets for the coffee kalfa to manage; a silver room, stacked with plates, trays, and ewers; a china room, whose china kalfa would preside over the proper storage and cleaning of the Chinese porcelain.
The lady Talfa had familiarized them with each part of the building she knew so well. Baths had a key; so did the dressing rooms, where the sultan’s linen would be stored, properly folded and stacked away, and his frock coats, brushed every day and inspected for any sign of moth or dirt, with lengths of silk and muslin for his turban. There was even a slipper room, to which a slipper kalfa would possess the key.
The girls who followed the lady Talfa were used to luxury, but the scale of Besiktas bewildered them; the number of potential responsibilities and duties excited them. Some of them had forgotten their training and wandered openmouthed, eyes darting from precious silks to the immaculate polished parquet and marble on the floors. All of them were feeling weary, and slightly overawed.
Which was just how the lady Talfa wanted it, as she turned a key in the cellar door.
“Bring the lantern,” she said, “and follow me.”
They descended a stone staircase. Some of the girls reached out to clutch each other: it was quite dark, and the shadows that raced across the vault overhead seemed sinister and demonic. Somebody tripped and squealed.
At the bottom of the steps, the lady Talfa turned and held the lantern at her shoulder. Her face was plunged into dark shade. The girls, feeling the cold, shivered; they wondered why they had been brought down here.
“I have a duty, as the senior lady in the palace, to pass on a warning. The harem has many rules, as you know, and many traditions. Some of these ensure the smooth running of the sultan’s household. Some are upheld for your comfort and protection.”
The girls stood still, listening.
“There is one rule above all that you will be expected to obey, and that is the rule of silence. We are a family. We will have our disagreements and our rivalries, no doubt, as a family will. But what goes on here, in the sultan’s harem, is a matter for us and for no one else. You will see and hear things that will surprise you. Perhaps they will even upset you. But these are for us, and for us only. Do you understand?”
The girls murmured assent. They understood they had to keep their secrets.
Now, they hoped, the lady Talfa would lead them all upstairs, out of this dank cellar.
But the lady Talfa had turned, swinging the lantern. “The penalty for a girl who talks, or infringes the most serious regulations, is severe and horrible. Look.”
The lamplight settled, and the girls craned their heads, peering into the gloom.
“Do you see the table?” Talfa demanded.
They nodded. It was a plain wooden table with four stout legs. On the table lay several coils of thin cord.
