Mustafa ben-Nakir answered mildly, “Let’s not kick a man when he has already fallen. If the army returns safe and sound from Hungary we can allow the Grand Vizier to continue trusting to his star of fortune, this time in Persia. Sooner or later he’ll break his own neck. The Sultan and Ibrahim are together. They encounter the same dangers and the same obstacles and no doubt share the same tent. The Sultana would be most unwise to hurl accusations at the Grand Vizier as soon as he returns, for half would fall on the Sultan, and not even an ordinary man can endure reproaches after an enterprise which in his heart he knows has failed.”
Giulia opened her mouth to retort; yet she had been listening attentively and allowed Mustafa ben-Nakir to proceed without interruption.
“Persia is a big country; its mountain passes are treacherous and Shah Tahmasp with his gilded cavalry is a terrible foe-especially if, as I’ve heard, he is receiving arms from Spain. Would it not be wisest to send the Grand Vizier to that savage country alone? The Sultan is not obliged to go with the army; for once he can remain in the Seraglio to govern his people and make good laws, and remain beyond the all-too-powerful influence of his friend. If only I might have the opportunity of speaking to the most radiant Sultana, even through a curtain, I could whisper much good advice into her no-doubt seductive ear. It would be no sin for the slaves of the harem to speak to one of my sacred brotherhood, so long as the Kislar-Aga gave his permission.”
He glanced at Giulia and then contemplated his polished nails, to give her time to reflect upon his proposal. But her flushed cheeks and averted eyes made it clear that she was only too anxious to convey Mustafa ben-Nakir’s request to the Sultana as quickly as might be. And when shortly afterward I beheld our graceful boat speeding over the water to Seraglio Point I spoke warningly to Mustafa ben-Nakir.
“You frighten me. Don’t count on me to join you in going behind my lord Ibrahim’s back. And remember, he is the grand master of your order.”
Mustafa ben-Nakir’s fine eyes flashed as he replied, “How shortsighted you are, Michael! We must play the Russian’s game so long as circumstances favor her. And I long to see for myself whether or not she is a witch. The Grand Vizier will be defenseless on his return, which is why we must persuade Khurrem that she would weaken her own influence by seeking his overthrow. No one could replace him, for he is the greatest statesman ever seen in the Ottoman Empire. And he will be master of the future if all goes as we hope. Without him the Sultan would be a reed bending to every wind. You don’t want that epileptic boy of his to succeed?”
“But Prince Mustafa, not Prince Selim, is the eldest!” I exclaimed in astonishment.
“If the Sultan were to die, none but Ibrahim would dare to send the mutes to Khurrem’s sons. So long as one of them is alive, a bowstring is all that can be predicted with certainty for Prince Mustafa.”
I remembered little Prince Jehangir with his sad, sad eyes, and I thought also of my dog. Sultana Khurrem had not treated me badly; on the contrary, she had saved my life and shown great kindness to my wife Giulia. I was filled with repugnance at the thought of what my loyalty to the Grand Vizier might one day entail. Mustafa ben- Nakir went on, “Grand Vizier Ibrahim will certainly not be defeated in Persia. Bagdad and Basrah will be in our hands before the outbreak of war, and our object this time is for Ibrahim to lead the army alone and garner the undivided honors of victory. The army must learn to look upon Ibrahim as their highest commander, and in the eyes of the people the crushing of the Shiite heresy will cover him with glory. The strongest will and the wisest head will govern Islam-with or without the Sultan. Only thus can Islam rule the whole world and the Prophet’s promise find fulfilment. Peace be with him.”
I looked at him with growing suspicion, never having seen him so carried away by his own words, and I could not but feel that for all his seeming candor he did not mean to reveal more than suited his own schemes.
“But,” I began doubtfully. “But-”
I found no more to say, and there we left it. In the meantime I had my safe house on the Bosphorus, and in revulsion from a troublous world I slipped into indifference, drifting passively with the tide in the knowledge that were I to muster all my strength and resolution I could not alter the preordained course of events.
The fright I had had reminded me that my fortune and possessions were but a loan of which a defeat or a whim of the Sultan might deprive me at any time. Fortune had come too easily for me to believe that it could last, and thus it was that I took to visiting the great mosque where, beneath the celestial dome and surrounded by the Emperor Justinian’s porphyry pillars, I would spend hours of quiet meditation.
Returning home one day I witnessed a curious incident. Stillness reigned in the garden and no slaves were to be seen, but when I stepped softly indoors so as not to disturb Giulia’s customary midday rest, I heard Alberto’s hoarse shout on the floor above, and Giulia’s voice quivering with rage. I hurried up the stairs and as I drew aside the curtain I heard a sharp slap and a scream of pain. I stepped in to see Giulia bending sideways in fear, with tears streaming down her face. She held both hands to her cheeks, which were red from the blow, while Alberto stood before her with feet apart and hand uplifted, like an angry master chastising his slave. I stood petrified and incredulous, never having seen Giulia so meek and helpless. But perceiving that Alberto had really dared to strike her, I was filled with blinding rage and looked about for a weapon with which to slay this insolent slave. At sight of me they both started, and Alberto’s face from being black with fury now turned ashy pale. I lifted a costly Chinese vase, meaning to bring it down on his head, but Giulia sprang between us, crying, “No, no, Michael! Don’t smash that vase-it was a present from Sultana Khurrem. And this is all my fault. Alberto is innocent and meant no harm. It was I who angered him.”
As I stared at her she took the vase from my hands and set it down carefully upon the floor. At first I thought I must have had a touch of the sun, so preposterous did it seem that Giulia of all people should permit a slave to strike her in the face, and then defend his action. We stood all three staring at one another. Then Alberto’s face relaxed and with a meaning look at Giulia he turned and hurried out, ignoring my call to him to return. Giulia threw herself at me, stopped my mouth with her hand, and with tears still running down her swollen cheek she panted, “Are you out of your mind or drunk, Michael, to behave so? Let me at least explain. I should never forgive you if you wronged Alberto through a misunderstanding, for he’s the best servant I ever had, and quite innocent.”
“But,” I said, rather flustered, “he’ll get away before I can catch him. I mean to give him a hundred good lashes on the soles of his feet and send him down to the bazaar to be sold. We cannot keep a raving madman in the house.”
Giulia seemed ill at ease, and said, “You don’t understand, Michael, and you’d better be quiet. It’s I who owe Alberto an apology; I lost my temper and struck him for some trifle that I’ve already forgotten-and don’t stand there staring like an idiot! You madden me. If my face is swollen it’s from toothache and I was on my way to the Seraglio dentist when you came in and interfered-slinking in to spy on me, though God knows I’ve nothing to hide. But if you lay a finger on Alberto I shall go to the cadi and in the presence of witnesses declare myself divorced. Alberto has suffered enough from your bad temper, though he’s a proud, sensitive man and not baseborn like you.”
At this I flew into a passion and seizing her by the wrists I shook her and shouted, “Are you really a witch, then, Giulia-a devil in human shape? For my own sake I would not believe it, but even the strongest pitcher can go to the well too often. Never do I want to think ill of you, for I love you still. But to let a slave strike you and go unpunished is unnatural. I don’t know you. Who are you, and what have you to do with that miserable wretch?”
Giulia burst into violent weeping; she flung her arms about my neck and stroked my cheek with her hair. Then with downcast eyes she said faintly, “Ah, Michael, I’m only a foolish woman and of course you know best. But let us go into our room to talk it over. It’s not fit that our slaves should hear us quarreling.”
She grasped my hand and I followed her unresisting to our bedchamber where, having dried her tears, she began abstractedly to undress.
“You can talk while I change my clothes. I must go to the dentist and cannot show myself at the Seraglio in this old rag. But you may go on talking and reproach me to your heart’s content for being so bad a wife to you.”
As she spoke she removed everything but the thin shift that she wore next her skin, and took out one gown after another to decide which best became her. Truth to tell it was long since she had accorded me the joys of marriage, and was most often assailed by a violent headache when I approached her. Therefore when I beheld her naked in the clear light of day I was spellbound by her alluring white skin, the soft curves of her limbs, and the golden hair curling freely over her bosom.
She noticed that I was staring at her, and sighed plaintively, “Ah, Michael, you’ve only one thought in your head! Don’t glare at me so.”
She crossed her arms over her breast and looked sideways at me with those strange eyes that in my unreason I could not forbear loving. My ears sang, my body glowed, and in a tremulous voice I begged her to wear the green velvet gown embroidered with pearls. She took it up, then let it fall again and instead chose a white and yellow
