I had never heard Ghazanfer speak so harshly, nor yet so truly against his mistress and I wondered at it. He was a changed man since his failure to rescue Mitra. But I wondered more at the words that followed.
“Safiye has passed her zenith now. Not that she isn’t as physically strong as ever, but time never waits and always brings up other generations in one’s stead. I see this. She sees it, too, though she is loath to admit it, even to herself. She will fight it—even the mere admission—to the end. She is the Queen Mother, yet she dare not sleep in the Queen Mother’s chambers. One night she sleeps here, another night there, taking only her most trusted maids with her, telling no one beforehand where to find her. Is that a woman at the zenith of her power?”
“So that is why I couldn’t find her that night?”
“Of course. I do happen to know she wasn’t sleeping anywhere that night—that night when your lady’s passing took the last of what was good and gentle from this place and left us all the weaker for it. That was when the Sultan had just announced he planned to go into battle in Hungary himself this year instead of trusting the army to Ibrahim Pasha alone. That front, as you know, was left a shambles by last year’s rebellion and neglect. Your late master, may he rest in peace, was wont to say, ‘Grand Viziers may turn and flee, but when the Padishah himself leads Allah’s armies, there is no turning back nor defeat.’
“The presence of a powerful head is, of course, what this Empire needs,” I suggested.
“Yes, needs, oh, so painfully. And yet Safiye is loath to let her son go. On the frontier, she thinks, too many hearts and hands can come between Muhammed and herself. She must stay behind in the harem, and too much policy may be decided without her.
“Our young Sultan, you may know, is much enamored of his position, both of its pomp and of its duties. He would not be swayed this time. And so she determined on a plot to make him see how much he was needed here at home. She sent troops devoted to her throughout the Empire with orders to massacre all Christians.”
“The Christians!” I exclaimed. “But she...”
“Yes, she herself was raised as one and has often taken their part in the past. But such devotions are merely the pawns of power to her. Even were she not a Christian born, is it not women’s place, in their own weakness, to protect other underlings? Fortunately for all of us, Muslims and Christians alike, the mother of the Crown Prince got wind of this plot. And she did not forget her Greek upbringing, much less her own humanity. Her pleas and tears, though outward signs of weakness, were strong enough to turn our Sultan’s heart against his mother. He thwarted Safiye by sending warning of his own to all the Christian communities, prohibiting Christians from entering places where the assassins were, until the threat should pass. He has also sent out a firmen that any man in his pay found guilty of such atrocities against a minority wall surely be put to death. Well, as you can see, the massacre never took place and Muhammed has marched north with the armies as planned.
“The upshot of all of this is that Safiye has realized that though she rules the harem as a general his army, there are some things terror and might have no strength over. She fears poison and the dagger and so she sleeps here and there like a gypsy within her own walls. But that is only because those are methods she uses. She has not yet learned even to put a name to the devices that in the end will be her defeat. They will defeat her because she thinks they are harmless. And I wonder who will be at her bedside when they come.”
The green eyes grew cloudy and looked away. “Somehow,” Ghazanfer said, “I fear I may be the only one.”
LXIX
I saw Ghazanfer one more time. I had been living with Gul Ruh for several years and had endured the hospitality but uselessness as long as I could. I’d found ever more occupation for the long hours with the dervishes, but that year it occurred to me that rather than sitting and waiting for my friend Hajji to appear, I should go in search of him myself. I determined, with that Rajab’s march, to join the rest of the pilgrims on the road to Mecca. Ghazanfer Agha had heard of my plans and came to wish me Allah’s good favor.
“It is in my power as kapu aghasi,” he suggested, “to have you assigned to the brotherhood of khuddam guarding the holy places. That place of greatest honor in the world.”
“Thank you, but I am not certain yet I will want to stay in Mecca or Medina.”
A burst of childish laughter came from the harem. Ghazanfer turned his green eyes towards the sound. “Yes,” he said. “I can see there is much to draw you back again.”
“And I have never been what one could call a truly converted Muslim.”
“No. It is Allah’s will that you are a Seeker. But just in case...”
Without further word he drew a thick legal parchment from his bosom. Curious, I unfolded it. I discerned quickly the formal seals of Sultan and kapu aghasi, then read enough below them of praise connected with my own name to blur my eyes with tears. I folded the paper and placed it in my
