important of all, Khaireddin must owe promotion solely to the Grand Vizier. You too must remember that in furthering Khaireddin’s cause with the cartographers, you serve Ibrahim. To him and to him only must you show gratitude, if ever you attain to a post of honor.”
“What you say is strange and disquieting,” I remarked. “Shall I not also be serving the Sultan?”
“Of course, of course,” returned Mustafa impatiently. “The Grand Vizier’s power derives from the Sultan, and anything that serves to strengthen Ibrahim’s position must ultimately be of profit to the Sultan. But the Grand Vizier can’t fill the Seraglio with slaves of his own choosing, as this might give rise to base suspicions. Whereas if Khaireddin sends you and your brother and other useful slaves to the Seraglio, no one can suspect them of being secretly at Ibrahim’s orders. His power exposes him to envy, as you can understand, and for his own sake he must weave a stout net to catch him were he to fall, and toss him up again to even greater eminence.”
Mustafa ben-Nakir was silent for a little before continuing, “We’re weavers, Michael el-Hakim, weaving a huge carpet. Each of us has his own thread and his own part in the great pattern. The whole pattern-the world-picture- we do not see; but it is there. Single threads may snap, colors may be clouded, and the individual weaver may fail in his task; yet the great overseer has the great pattern ever before his eyes and corrects the petty errors. You, too, Michael, shall be a weaver; then all your thoughts and actions will have purpose. You’ll be fulfilling your task within the great framework, and your life, hitherto so empty, will be filled with meaning.”
“If you allude to Allah’s carpet of eternity,” I said, “then I’m already a weaver, whether I like it or not. But if you mean Grand Vizier Ibrahim’s carpet, woven on the Sultan’s behalf, then I fear it’s too bloodstained to appeal to a sensitive heart. I also fear that it will be very clumsily cobbled together, and prove useless.”
“Allah’s will be done,” returned Mustafa suavely. “Remember you’re a slave, Michael el-Hakim, and
Giulia who had been listening patiently, now rose and said, “At the baths I’ve heard women all shrieking at once until I couldn’t hear myself speak, but even their cackle had more sense in it than the big, empty words of men. Here you sit spinning phrases about weavers and rulers and Michael’s beard, while all the time the fowls are stewing to rags in the pot.”
She brought us the good food and filled Abu el-Kasim’s most valuable goblet with spiced wine, saying, “Your religion of course forbids you to drink, but after all the soul-shaking talk I need something reviving.”
The sight of her white arms made me quite limp, and the wound in my cheek was very painful, and so I begged her earnestly to pour wine for me, too, as I was not yet circumcised and therefore not wholly bound by the law. Mustafa ben-Nakir smiled mysteriously and declared that his sect also was untrammeled by the letter of the Koran.
When we had finished the sweetmeats and fruit that brought the meal to an end, we went on drinking until Giulia became slightly affected. A deeper red colored her cheeks, and as if by chance she laid an arm about my neck and stroked me with her soft finger tips.
“Mustafa ben-Nakir,” she said. “You know the art of poetry and perhaps also the secrets of women’s hearts better than Michael does. Tell me what I must do, for Michael has long desired me and I’m his defenseless slave. Hitherto I’ve resisted him because of a secret which I would not divulge. But wine has softened my heart and I beg you, Mustafa ben-Nakir, not to leave us alone together, but tell me what I must do to protect my innocence.”
Mustafa ben-Nakir replied, “I’ve not the least regard for your virtue, false Delilah, and feel only pity for poor, sick Michael; for you would never ask my advice unless you’d already made up your mind.”
He rose to leave us, but Giulia, genuinely troubled, caught him by the girdle and said, “Don’t go, Mustafa ben- Nakir! Help us to a reconciliation. My purpose was to make Michael too drunk even to see me, far less discover my secret. But it would have been better if he’d whipped me long ago, for then I might have given way to him even though I bore him ill will.”
With this she threw herself at my feet, crying aloud and weeping and imploring forgiveness. I suspected mischief, but I tried to lift her up and calm her. She wept the more bitterly until Mustafa ben-Nakir said impatiently, “Cease your howling, Delilah, for you have nothing in your heart but falsehood and deceit. What is more painful and pointless than these intimate revelations? The relationship between men and women would be incomparably happier if each party kept his own mistakes and secrets to himself.”
Giulia dried her eyes, raised her tear-stained face, and said, “Michael prefers it so, though perhaps he won’t admit it. And for some unknown reason I can’t lie to him with my body. Perhaps it is that I really love him; if so I love for the first time in my life, and so passionately that I’m afraid. What devil’s spell is it that has bound me to this foolish, credulous man, so that even to look into his trusting face makes me loathe myself? It’s like snatching a pretty toy from a child.”
I could hardly believe my ears; yet of all her words I heeded only those which told of her love for me, and I could not understand why she had always treated me so badly. I cried out to her to hold her peace. Ah, would that she had! But wine had clouded her judgment, and she said, “Michael, beloved Michael! Forgive me, but I’m not the innocent you suppose and I cannot think how you got such an idea into your head.”
“Oh, God help me! How came you to lose your virtue? Haven’t I always tried to shield you from assaults upon it?”
I felt as if I had been kicked on the jaw. Giulia twisted her slender fingers together and went on, “I’m not even as young as you think me; I was twenty-five some time ago-nearly as old as you. I’ve been married twice, though each time to an old man. The first time was by my mother’s wish; I was only fourteen, but my eyes so horrified my husband that he died of a stroke on our wedding night. My second husband also died so suddenly that I was compelled to sail for the Holy Land, meaning to take refuge with a distant relative in Acre and escape from the foul suspicions that were cast upon me. It was on that voyage that you met me, for I had bribed the captain to take me aboard without the knowledge of the Venetian authorities.”
All this came upon me so suddenly that I could not at first grasp the full implications of what she said, and I stammered, “But when we
met you gave me to understand that you were still innocent. Why?”
“Never, never did I claim to be a virgin. But when on the island of Cerigo you first saw my eyes you were so shocked that you dared not touch me. No deeper insult can be offered to a woman than this, and I tried to persuade my wounded vanity that you were only sparing my virtue. And so I began to see myself with your eyes, Michael, and since then I’ve been as chaste as a virgin-” Here she faltered, looked away, and added, “Almost.”
Enraged I seized her by the hair, shook her head and hissed, “Why do you stammer and look away? Have you deceived me with Moslems, too, you false and shameless woman?”
She raised her hands and declared, “As God sees me, no Moslem has touched me save Captain Torgut and Sinan the Jew, into whose hands I fell as a helpless slave. But here in Algiers I’ve lived almost chastely for your sake, dearest Michael. If a few wanton women have caressed me a little at the baths, it was only to please them and comply with the customs of the country. I took no pleasure in it myself.”
As it dawned upon me how shamelessly she had deceived me my grasp slackened and tears ran down my cheeks. She put out her hand as if to wipe them away, but she dared not touch me, and looked appealingly at Mustafa ben-Nakir for help. But even Mustafa, who paid little heed to moral laws, had been startled by her confession. It was some time before he hit upon the right words.
“Remember that Allah is merciful and gracious, Michael el-Hakim! This woman undoubtedly loves you with a strong and passionate love, or she would never have laid bare to you her worthlessness. For your peace of mind it would have been better if she’d made you drunk, so that next morning you would have had no notion of what had taken place. But Allah willed it otherwise. All you can do now is to resign yourself and look upon Giulia as a young and undeniably beautiful widow; the main thing is that at last she surrenders herself to you.”
His clear thinking helped me to recover my own scattered wits and I realized that it would be petty to make too much of Giulia’s former life. I myself had committed the most grievous sin in denying my Christian faith and taking the turban. Giulia, whatever her faults, had at least remained a Christian and so was less guilty than I. The consciousness of this caused me bitter pangs and I had not felt so contemptible since the day when in mortal terror I first called upon the name of Allah the Compassionate. My own rottenness forbade me to condemn Giulia, and it was but just that for my sins I should be saddled with this false and depraved woman. I said, “Be it so, then. I am not without sin; how should I cast a stone? But I still cannot understand why you feigned innocence.”
