The hawk-like stare with which he fixed me had disarmed many a more deadly schemer, but I was prepared and met it with an ease which did not betray my lady.
“When one is young,” I said, carefully balancing pith with calm, “one thinks oneself capable of everything. If there is one thing I have learned in your absence, my lord, it is to dispel this youthful exuberance or at least to temper it with more caution.”
Sokolli Pasha gave another ragged burst of laughter and said, “You know at twenty what I am only just beginning to learn at sixty. While on campaign this year, I decided I really must get someone to help me keep my accounts, and you will soon have to go through such a fellow with requests like this. Until then, I myself will say, certainly, buy all the khuddam you need. Make this the best-guarded harem in the Empire if you please. My only stipulation is, buy only fellows you can control, for I would hate to lose you as head eunuch, and I don’t care what anybody says about your youth.”
“Thank you, my uncle.”
“And why don’t you buy a likely-looking boy or two—just cut. I know the market will be glutted with them soon, just arriving with the army from our last campaign. Allah knows I don’t allow it among my soldiers, but He also knows I can’t be everywhere at once. You’ll be able to get some very good bargains and then train them exactly as you wish. Having had no training yourself, I’m sure you’ll make the best of instructors. Somewhere the tradition of a decent Ottoman household must be carried on. The Almighty knows we must stop looking to the Grand Serai for an example.”
My master sighed and shook his head once again at the new Sultan duty compelled him to sustain against his better judgment. “You mentioned this mother of Murad’s son might have had something to do with this rebellion?”
“My uncle, I am sure of it.”
“I suppose that is something I will never know, the archivists will never know. Only you, khadim, can say. And the mysteries of the harem are never spoken of in public.”
“No, master.”
Then a new thought came to him which I noticed had a profound effect. The normally severe lines in his face grew softer and more round—from fear? was my first impression.
“I say, Abdullah,” he mused. “How fares the princess, my wife?”
“Her health is well, praise Allah.”
“The child...? There was a child?”
“Died just after birth, sir, early this spring you will recall.”
“Yes, I assumed as much when I didn’t hear. Or did I hear?”
“I think, sir, you did.”
“They would have told me if I’d had a son. How many is that now? Two we’ve buried?”
“Three, sir.”
“Well, it is Allah’s will, as they say.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Do you suppose, Abdullah,” he hesitated. “Do you suppose she would see me this evening?”
I saw little creases of white at the corners of my master’s mouth, and I suddenly got an inkling of how helpless he felt. Being surrounded and sorely outnumbered by the enemy could never have reduced him as much as this. Three days spent as hostage to his own rebellious men was nothing compared to having to face a woman, to have to think of endearments, consolations on the death of the child—things foreign to his tongue. He would be clumsy, he knew it, and that foreknowledge would make it worse.
“Sir,” I said gently, “she has been waiting for you these four days, throughout the rebellion, with naught in her heart but a prayer for your safe and speedy return to her.”
I hoped my tone would recall some ancient romance he might once have heard to help him slide into the mood, but, alas, I doubt there was anything there to recall.
Sokolli Pasha smiled a smile that was timid and clumsy in the strange, new, softer lines of his face. “Tell your mistress,” he cleared his throat of dryness. “Tell your mistress, my master Selim’s daughter, I beg she may see me tonight.”
“I shall indeed, lord Pasha,” I said. “She will be most grateful.” Then I bowed farewell as quickly as possible, for I hated to see such discomfort.
Esmikhan nodded when I relayed the message to her in the harem. She had been listening to all our conversation through the grille—before which she still stood in deep thought.
“My husband has begun to dye the gray in his beard,” she commented.
“Has he?” I asked. “I didn’t notice.”
“Yes. It’s dyed with henna and has a reddish cast to it that it didn’t have before.”
“I suppose that is to make the soldiers think he is still strong and in his vigor,” I said, for it had certainly made the right impression during the rebellion. I remembered the figure he had cut while urging his horse through the ranks turning into the chaos of a riot before the hay cart and I thought I must certainly tell Esmikhan all I had seen of her husband’s magnificence someday when there was more time.
“I suppose it is for the soldiers.” She nodded. That it was therefore no flattery to her went unstated.
Esmikhan stood yet another moment at the grille, and I knew without following them where her eyes still lingered. Above the head of her husband, bent purposely now over some new firman, my lady’s eyes and heart were trained on the branch of apple tree stuck in the old Chinese vase.
XXXIV
When all was calm in the capital, the new Sultan’s harem was sent for, and Nur Banu soon installed herself permanently in the haremlik and private gardens of the Grand
