‘They were going to lodge their favourite peris in these tiny buildings and play harems with them. But I brought in the cats, before its building was quite finished.’ Emerald sighed. ‘The peris used to piss in my eyes at night as I slept, so that I could hardly get the lids apart in the morning and I hated them as much as they hated me. Still it makes me sad to see this fine building so abandoned. I do believe that the girls were going to imprison some of the peris in these toy buildings and keep them there so that they forgot everything about the outside world. I think they were even going to use delicate little needles to make a few of the peris into eunuchs. I should like to have seen that….’
Back in the corridor, Orkhan heard Anadil whispering to Perizade,
‘Emerald’s stories are ridiculous. Still, he is a great lover… even though the business with the chocolates is a bit messy.’
The eunuch’s former sunniness had by now quite vanished. He was a sombre and silent escort for the remainder of their walk to the hammam.
Chapter Seven
WATER SPORTS
A few more steps brought them to the Imperial Laundry. Perizade went in to find Orkhan a clean robe. He caught a glimpse of vast vats and mangles and of hefty women using great wooden paddles to stir the vats. There was a stale reek of damp clothes. When Perizade re-emerged with the robe, Anadil said,
‘Say goodbye to Perizade. She has to go back to her work now.’
But Orkhan took her in his arms,
‘Do not leave me, Perizade. I need you.’
And, blushing, she whispered back,
‘I know that I am queen of your heart, for it is written on the folds of my cunt.’
And they kissed.
Anadil was furious,
‘You have to come with me! The ladies of the Harem are waiting for you. Go back to work, Perizade!’ And, as Perizade reluctantly re-entered the laundry, Anadil continued, ‘Perizade is too stupid to understand our mysteries. That is why she is a washerwoman and not a concubine. Now, it is time to clean you up.’
The laundry and the hammam were next door to one another, for they both drew on the same system of hot-water pipes. The approach to the hammam was lined by a corps of eunuchs bearing scimitars.
‘It is time you were washed and perfumed. We cannot let your mother see you looking like this.’
Emerald and the deaf mutes joined the other guards at the door of the hammam, as if the place was about to become Orkhan’s prison. Anadil took him by the hand and together they descended into the changing room. First Anadil undressed Orkhan. He hated to see how his cock stiffened in response to her delicate fingers, for by now he knew that he detested Anadil. And, as she looked into his eyes, it was clear that she knew it too, but she licked her lips and turned to press her flank against his groin, before asking him to unhook her dress.
A little black girl entered and served them wine. Anadil drew Orkhan down onto the cushions and pressed cup after cup on him, saying that he would find it easier to face what was coming if he had drunk a little.
‘First there will be an opportunity to practise the Dolorous Gaze on ordinary girls,’ she said. ‘You may look, but not touch, for in that way your desire will be intensified. We need to intensify your desire. Have some more wine and watch me.’
Like a serpent uncoiling, she rose from the cushions and began to dance. He heard the slap of her feet on the stone and the jangle of her anklets as she moved, but she seemed to dance to a music that was inaudible to ordinary mortals. Orkhan thought with regret of Perizade. He now knew that he hated Anadil, yet at the same time, as he watched Anadil dance, he was aware that she had drawn him into her thrall once more. Swivel-hipped, she came up close and stood over him and thrust her belly at his face and made its muscles roll and ripple. She turned and shook her bottom, so that its flesh seemed to shimmer before his eyes. Then she retreated and, with her head at an angle, she undulated and arched her back and rose on her toes, as if she were making love standing up to a creature made of air. She was glowing and sweating gently and her face was soft and dreamy. Then she seemed to remember Orkhan and moved in a serpentine glide towards him once more and drew her hands up over her thighs and hips. He thought that he might choke in the clouds of her bitter perfume.
‘I want to hear that you worship me,’ she said. ‘I want to hear that you will do anything I ask of you.’
Orkhan was trembling. Simultaneously, crazed and sane, he knew that some mad thing must follow her request, but at the same time, he knew that his lust for her was such that there was no power in him to refuse her anything she might ask for.
He threw himself forward to kiss her feet and, having done so, heard himself saying,
‘I worship you, Anadil. I am your slave and will do anything you require of me.’
Anadil had her hands on her hips. She had been dancing as if her life had depended on it, but now she looked coolly down on him and replied,
‘But I remember that only yesterday you were ready to have me executed. Now you have learnt something, have you not? You want me so much… As I stand here, I could urinate all over you. Would you dare stop me?’
‘If my mistress pleases… ’
‘Well as it happens, I prefer to urinate in private and I am not accustomed to pee over men. Orkhan, my business with you is all but finished. I will kiss you once more, but that will only be when you are dead. Now pick up my clothes and deliver them to one of the slaves outside, so that they can be taken off to the laundry. Then it is time for you to be washed, perfumed and massaged.’
Orkhan did as he was told. Then she took him by the hand and led him through a series of small cells, flagged and furnished in marble. The wet floors were treacherous underfoot. They passed through a slightly larger room, a tepidarium, where a couple of women lay on stone slabs sweating into their towels and from there they passed into the calidarium.
By now Orkhan was beyond surprise. The calidarium was vast and sulphorous and shafts of sunlight from the leaded widows in the roof streamed down between the clouds of steam and incense which rose from the water. Orkhan had never seen so much water before. The place was full of naked women who appeared and disappeared in those clouds. A few of the women splashed about in the water or sported round the central fountain which was fashioned in the form of a trio of entwined serpents. Another gang of women were running a race around the pool’s edge, their breasts flapping wildly as they ran. Others at the far end of the calidarium were dancing and singing as they danced. These women paid no attention to Orkhan and Anadil, but others seated and sprawled around the edge of the calidarium turned to look at them as they entered. Some hunched over the incense braziers, drinking wine or braiding each other’s hair. Bowls of cucumbers and hard-boiled eggs had been placed here and there throughout the hammam and some women picnicked on these. A couple of elderly concubines smoked long chibouk pipes. One was at work with a depilatory brush. So many naked bodies, running, sitting, lying, fondling, squatting, standing, bending, caressing, writhing, imploring — it ought to have been Paradise, yet to Orkhan, who longed to escape from it, it was more like a vision of the Last Judgement.
Then in between the surges of the women’s singing, Orkhan heard a man’s voice,
‘I would not say that my wife is ugly but… ’
It was the Vizier. Like everyone else he was naked. He stood near the edge of the pool, surrounded by a group of young concubines and he was juggling eggs and cucumbers as he continued to describe his wife.
‘…but she is an acceptable substitute for masturbation, if I concentrate and use my imagination.’
‘What is the Vizier doing here?’
‘Oh Orkhan, don’t be such a bore. Surely you must have guessed by now? He’s not the real Vizier. The real Vizier would never be allowed to set foot in the Harem. That little man is just one of the Harem’s buffoons. We appointed him to play the Vizier. He is, like most of what you have encountered, just part of our charade.’
Anadil summoned over a dark-skinned young woman.
‘This is Afsana. She invents the stories for us to play out. She gives us our roles and makes sure we know our lines.’
Afsana looked modestly down.
