“Nay, come here, child,” Nur Banu called to her when she saw her dilemma.
The girl went at once, like a mouse scurrying to the safety of its hole, and sat submissive at her mistress’s knee.
Nur Banu reached out, lifted up the heavy hair, and laid the back of her hand against the girl’s white marble cheek. “Supplant one addiction with another,” Nur Banu murmured.
The girl looked up with bewilderment and tears in her black eyes. “Excuse me, lady?” she asked, and I knew she could hardly put two words of Turkish together as yet.
Nur Banu smiled into those eyes. “You’ll do perfectly, my dear. Just perfectly.” And she planted a tender kiss on that alabaster brow.
Even so, I don’t think the girl quite knew what all the business meant. All she did understand was that the hands that fed and clothed her, that had come now to be like those of her lost mother, they were pleased with her. That was enough. She leaned up against her mistress’s knees and purred in gratitude.
XXIII
Esmikhan and I saw no reason—indeed, it would have been rude of us—to leave Nur Banu’s party with Safiye. Then, as the afternoon progressed and the lilies lost their scent with too much smelling, we noticed several curious activities. First, one of Sofia’s eunuchs (not Ghazanfer, a new khadim) came and murmured something to one of Nur Banu’s, who passed the word on to his lady.
Nur Banu smiled, stroked her pet girl’s hair, then called the Fig to her. The Quince was not present—I could never escape the thought that this was because my lady had come. But the Fig pursed her lips as if at something sour and then turned a little of her mentor’s green. Nur Banu gave the apprentice a whiplash look. The Fig bowed and left with Safiye’s eunuch.
They seemed totally disconnected events at the time, and nothing for us to worry about. But when, at our own leisure, we finally did return home, we found Safiye there—and in labor, in imminent danger of miscarriage.
“You’ve brought this on yourself, haven’t you?” The Fig, laying out her simples on a low table, hardly offered sympathy.
And Safiye was hardly subdued. “I? It’s that demon’s dam of a mistress you’ve got. She’s the cause.”
“No. I know. A little powdered fern, a little iris root—it’s the oldest trick in the book. Girls have been ridding themselves of the fruit of illegal love with that since time began. By Allah, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mother Eve herself brought those plants with her from Eden, they’re so useful, so divine.”
“You think I want to lose my baby?”
“Of course. How else will you ever compete with Nur Banu’s little Hungarian?”
“By Allah, two live princes are worth much more than one not even lusted for yet.”
“Very well. Let me have a look at you and see what we can do.”
“Don’t you dare touch me.”
“Do you want to save this baby or not?”
“Not by your hands.”
“What’s this?”
Safiye shot the Fig a withering glance. The midwife got the message, whatever it was, and looked sidelong at Esmikhan, fearing she might have understood, too. She was more cautious with her next words.
“You’ve always trusted mc before.”
“You’re in her employ.” I wasn’t sure who that “her” was. “She’d like nothing better than that I lose it—and maybe other things while we’re at It.
“Didn’t the Quince give you a fine, strong son? Without even a stretch mark, by Allah.”
“That was then. Now—”
“Why did you send for me, then? The lilies were so nice—”
“I didn’t send for you. It’s that new eunuch. He got in a panic and didn’t do as I told him. I’ll see he’s punished. Ghazanfer wouldn’t have made such a mistake.”
“So where is Ghazanfer?”
“Away. On other business,” Safiye answered laconically. “Ghazanfer wouldn’t—”
She interrupted herself to press her eves together and pant heavily for a moment or two—the first such interruption we’d seen since we’d entered the room. I found myself disbelieving that distress. Even at six months, Safiye was as tight as with her first. Quince or no, I said to myself, she’s not going to lose it.
Esmikhan was much more trusting. “Please, Safiye, dear,” she said, sitting at her friend’s side and taking her hand. “Let the midwife look at you at least.”
“Esmikhan, if you’re a decent hostess, you will take that pagan woman out of this room this instant.”
“Safiye, please—” Esmikhan knew what it was like to lose a child.
“Esmikhan—” Safiye was vicious.
“Perhaps, madam,” Esmikhan said quietly to the midwife, “if you’d be so good. Just for a moment. While I talk to her and try to make her see—
“And you don’t need to be polite to her, either,” Safiye snapped. “What has she ever done for you?”
“Safiye, how can you say such a thing? After all—”
“You can’t even walk any more, thanks to the Quince.”
“Safiye, I was almost dead. At least I am still alive. And I have my precious Gul Ruh, thanks to Allah and the Quince.”
“Yes? Well, what about the others?”
“Please, Safiye. Don’t speak of what is Allah’s will.”
“Allah’s will? Was it Allah’s will?”
“Yes, of course.” Esmikhan was truly shocked—and the most horrible thought Safiye’s words could conjure hadn’t even crossed her mind. It was merely the suggestion that something could happen in this world that was not Allah’s will which appalled her.
“Hhm.” Safiye sniffed skeptically, but then turned her concentration to her distress once more.
“It’s all right, Esmikhan Sultan,” the Fig said with a sniff of her own and began repacking her supplies. “You don’t need to ask. I’m ready and willing to go.”
Still Esmikhan was so distressed that such unpleasantness had happened under her roof that she made the supreme effort and personally saw the midwife out of the room with only one of my assistants to take her arm.
I watched them go, then I turned back to Safiye. My mind was unsettled by things that had been
