It was the interview between Murad and Safiye. His voice was hot with anger.
“What, I would like to know, is the infidel attraction here in Constantinople? Why do you put me off? Why must you stay here? What do you do all day that you couldn’t do in Magnesia?
“I know you are as disappointed as I am that the hay-cart rebellion was not successful. But, my prince, you must trust that I am working towards the same end in more and different ways...”
“Forget rebellion. It is too dangerous, for you, for our son. Besides, what do I care to be Sultan—if I can’t have you there beside me.”
“You could marry...”
Murad snapped off her last word like a pinnacle of glass. “I have promised my mother.”
“And even a son makes no difference to you.”
“He seems to make no damned bit of difference to you.”
“Why, I care for our child...”
I heard a child whimper, and I knew little Muhammed must be in there as well, his first experience with his father—like being set in a pen with a charging bull.
“Go on, sweetheart. Go to your Mama.”
It was another woman’s voice and I knew that little Muhammed’s nurse was also present. A gentle, plump woman with a husband and family of her own in Magnesia, she had been given the little prince to suckle from birth. This had given Safiye plenty of time for the pursuits she hadn’t divulged to Murad—following events in the Divan, and sending her eunuch out to bring in the latest word from the quayside, the barracks, the Mufti’s palace. But it also meant that the child clung to this woman rather than to his mother, especially now, with that raging bull in the room. Muhammed whimpered again as Safiye tried, clumsily, to show off her mothering skills.
“Yes, I can tell how devoted you are to him,” Murad spat sarcastically. “He goes to you like a bee to honey.”
The argument grew fiercer.
“There is nothing wrong with Magnesia,” Murad declared. “I’ll have you recall that I was born and raised there.”
“Ah, yes. How often I have listened to your mother speak of those delightful days with her little Murad. Why don’t you take her down there with you this time so she can mother you to her heart’s content.”
“Magnesia is a nice town for a boy to grow up in. No dirt, no crowds, not like Constantinople.”
“I should die of boredom.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, I should die of boredom. It’s so quiet there that you’ve forgotten how to hear.”
“Boredom? You would be bored with me there?”
“You said it. I didn’t.”
“What’s the matter? I’m not good enough for you? I am the heir to the throne of Othman! I bore you?”
“I didn’t say anything.” Her tone was not as innocent as her words.
“By Allah, have you been unfaithful?”
“That would be a nice trick. Here, behind these walls, crawling with dour eunuchs and your mother everywhere I turn.”
“I heard tales when I was a child in the harem. I know it is sometimes done, sneaking lovers in in laundry baskets.”
“If I had a lover, he would have more dignity than to go creeping around in laundry baskets. No, my lord, I have not had a lover, though I must say several nice plates of cool green cucumbers have caught my eye. I’ve thought of helping myself to a better ...”
“Why, you whore! You bought-and-paid-for whore!”
There was a shocked little gasp from the nurse. She called the baby to her and must have tried to cover his ears.
Safiye laughed. “Well, what are you going to do about it? Eh? What are you going to do? I am the mother of your firstborn son. You are stuck with me. What are you going to do, kill the precious little bastard?”
Another moan from the nurse, “Allah forbid!”
“No, no. But I can have another woman. I can have any damned woman in this harem. In this country. In this world.”
“Hell if I care. Have as many as you like.”
“You wouldn’t care?”
“I am still the mother of your firstborn son. I am still the one who taught you how to use that little old cock of yours.”
“I’ll show you, you bitch! Anyone in the whole damned world. I could have this woman here, right now.”
“What? Our old nurse?”
“Damn it, yes! I can! I will!”
“Master! Master!” The nurse cried out in shock, then in true pain.
I shifted my feet and looked anxiously down the hall to my colleagues. One was sitting on the floor, exhausted by his sickness, and the other was rubbing his temples. The one on the floor suddenly got up and ran out of the hall to empty his stomach someplace else. They heard nothing and, caught up in their own suffering, cared less. Besides, it was none of our business what went on in the mabein, once we had screened those who went in.
I stood and listened. I heard the nurse’s sobs and moaning pleas, “Master. No, master, please...”
I listened to the child whimpering for the comfort of her bosom. I heard Safiye trying to hush him in vain, then her mocking laugh, “Just look at your father, my lion. He’s like a pi-dog in the streets.”
“Bitch!” Murad shouted.
The door to the room burst open and the nurse, looking like a dead thing, a rat half-cat-eaten and rotted a week, threw herself out of the room and down the hall into the safety of the harem without a glance at me. Her jacket was misbuttoned and her shalvar twisted on awkwardly, but she didn’t care.
“You’re not the only one,” Murad repeated. “I can
