“Lina! Stop embarrassing him.”
Lina jerked away from Sampson.
Sampson smiled. “I’m not embarrassed, Lara. Truly.”
Lara sniffed. She scowled at her sister. “Then perhaps you should be. I assure you that my sister will be fast asleep when you return from the wedding reception.”
Lina scowled back at her sister and then walked away.
Lara looked around and then leaned closer to Sampson herself.
“But if Don Diego does not require my services tonight, I am sure I will be awake.” Lara smiled and turned to follow her sister.
Sampson’s breath seemed to catch in his throat.
An interesting night indeed.
Sampson rubbed the back of his neck.
“Tired?” Don Issac asked.
“Just a bit, Don Issac. Do we have much longer to go?”
“Just the banquet,” Don Issac said. “But first we have the ritual to prepare the wedding couple for their future life of intimacy.” He nodded toward the bedroom that Hannalica and Hayyim Molho had just entered.
“They’re not going to consummate their marriage now, are they?”
Don Issac laughed. “Oh no. First we sing, then we open the door and rush in and take the plates of sweets around the room. Then we sit down at the banquet tables.” He pointed at the tables around them.
Sampson sighed. “Another song?”
Don Issac nodded. “And you may find this one quite, uh, rowdy, young man.”
The door to the bedroom closed and the two dozen other guests around them started to sing as the three musicians began to play.
Avridme, galanica, que va amanecer.
Open up, my little chick? Sampson thought. Rowdy indeed.
The guests had sung only two verses of the song when a loud feminine scream came from the bedroom.
No one moved.
It was the second scream that galvanized Sampson into action.
He burst through the door and saw Hayyim slumped over on the bed. At the window two men were struggling to force Hannalica out of the room.
“Stop!”
One of the men snarled and raised his wheel lock pistol as Sampson clawed to get his revolver out of its holster.
The barrel of the wheel lock lined up on his chest.
No!
Instead of a loud bang, there was a fizzling hiss from the wheel lock.
Misfire!
Sampson raised his revolver and fired twice at the gunman’s chest. He fell.
The second kidnapper turned and forced Hannalica in front of him. His knife was at Hannalica’s throat. She was at least six inches shorter than her attacker. Good.
“Drop the pistol, or I kill her!”
A flash of an image from a Grantville television program popped into his mind.
“I choose door number three,” Sampson said. He raised his revolver and fired.
“You have placed men to discourage Ebu Said from wandering too far?” Melek Ahmed Pasha asked.
Ismail nodded. “I have. And Yusuf Bey is being most cooperative in providing the evidence we need to have Ebu Said removed as Kadi. Naturally Yusuf is shocked at what his milk-brother has done.”
Melek Ahmed smiled. “Of course. I am sure that pressure from the other landowners was a factor in Yusuf Bey’s decision. And once again it seems that Ebu Said’s plans were foiled by Sampson Gideon. An interesting young man.”
Ismail nodded. “Even more interesting than we had suspected. After the incident at the wedding reception it appears that Sampson Gideon has made up his mind to convert to Islam. Apparently he believes an amulet given to him by the hodja at the Casimiye Mosque caused one of the kidnappers’ pistols to misfire, saving his life and allowing him to kill both of the kidnappers and save Hannalica Molho’s life as well.”
“Excellent! Allah be praised. Once he has converted bring him to me. He has shown great courage and deserves to be rewarded. Perhaps his fortitude will encourage others to emulate him.”
“As you command, My Pasha.”
“But Lara, Sampson is a Muslim now!” Lina wailed.
“So? He is a Sufi, one of the Bektashi. That makes all the difference in the world.”
Lina rubbed her eyes. “It does? But I thought you said being the slave of a Muslim was worse than being the wife of a Jew. And being the wife of a Jew is-”
“Worse than being the slave of a Jew.” Lara finished. “Yes, I know I said those things. That is why we never converted to Judaism. But being the slave of a Sufi, especially a newly converted Bektashi like Sampson, will be much better. In fact, if we please him, he may marry us. And to marry us, he will have to free us first.”
“He will?”
“ ‘May,’ I said. We will have to please him. As well as Roxelana pleased Suleiman the Magnificent.”
“And how am I going to do that?” Lina asked. “You’ve kept me out of Don Diego’s bedroom for years.”
“It was for the best, little sister. Don Diego’s desires have changed since his wife died. He even-” Lara leaned over and whispered in Lina’s ear.
Lina’s eyes flew open. “He didn’t! He wouldn’t!”
“He would and did,” Lara said. “But do not fear. I will teach you what you need to know before we move to Sampson’s household.”
“But Lara, if we convert to Islam, how will that help us? How can we make Don Diego sell us to Sampson?”
“Once we convert to Islam Don Diego will have no choice but to sell us. Jews cannot possess Muslims as slaves. While Melek Ahmed Pasha is liberal in some things, in that he is as firm as the sultan himself. As for why Don Diego will sell us to Sampson-” Lara smiled. “After six years in Don Diego’s bed, I have learned enough secrets about him to twist his mind on such a minor thing.”
Lina shuddered. “Are you sure? It would be horrible if we were sold to someone else. Horrible.”
“Trust me.”
Mustafa bin Kemal walked through the doorway of Sampson Gideon’s new house and nodded. “A magnificent residence the governor-general has given you.”
Sampson smiled. “It’s not much. Six rooms. A small courtyard. A third the size of Don Diego’s house.”
“And Don Diego is one of the richest Jews in the city,” Mustafa said drily. “And where are these new slaves that I’ve heard so much about?”
Sampson waved towards the entrance into the house. “Getting my bedchamber ready.”
Mustafa chuckled. “Really? I think you will have a pleasant time tonight, my friend. But I am here on an errand from the governor-general himself.”
Sampson motioned to the chairs and table in the courtyard. “What is it?”
Mustafa sat down and looked around the courtyard. The table was under the shade of several pomegranate and jujubee trees. The two ancient Roman columns that supported the gate into the house were covered with the vines of jasmine and their perfume mixed with that of the roses along the wall.
“Mustafa?”
“Sorry,” Mustafa said. “The beauty of your courtyard made me lose the path of my thoughts.”
“Melek Ahmed Pasha? He sent you on an errand?”
Mustafa snapped his fingers. “Of course. The governor-general has a request. Your new slaves may be a
