A Love for All Time (47 page)

Now she realized that she was in great danger if the sultan planned to give her away to another, and here was Jinji so delighted that she was to be the first woman into the new harem of this prince! Her heart began to hammer, and for a moment her breath failed her. Then she considered the possibility that the man might be elderly, or perhaps he would be able to be reasoned with and she could explain to him that her family would pay a great ransom for her safe return. A ransom that would buy him women who were willing and anxious to gain his favor as she was not. He had to listen to her! He had to listen to reason! How could she yield herself to another man? She was Conn’s wife, and her husband loved her even as she loved him. How could she return to him with the sin of adultery standing between them? But if she was forced was it adultery? She didn’t know. She simply didn’t know.

Jinji was still babbling on, unaware of her distress. “And my lady, the sultan’s bas kadin has requested that you come to see her when you have finished in the baths. This is a great honor, and the only greater one you might receive is if the sultan’s mother wanted to speak with you, but of course, such a thing is not possible. Still in all we are most fortunate, you and I. I do believe that you have been born beneath a very fortuitous star. Did the great Osman say anything to you about this? You told me little of your natal chart.”

Do not panic, she told herself. Do not be fearful of this situation. If you lose control then all will be lost. Answer his questions calmly, and do not let him see your fear. Fear can be a weapon used against you, Aidan reminded herself. “Osman did say,” she replied coolly, “that I should not remain long in the sultan’s house.”

“Aiii! He knew! He saw! Tell me, my lady, what else he saw. Will you become the prince’s favorite?”

“That he did not tell me,” she replied unable to help smiling even in the midst of her fear. Jinji was so openly ambitious.

“You will capture the prince’s heart, I know it,” said the young eunuch. “I can feel it in my bones! Our fortune is made, my dearest mistress! Our fortune is made!”

Aidan thought it better to say nothing further to Jinji for he was obviously devoted to his advancement, and to share with him the hopes of her ransom from this captivity would be foolish. He would, of course, do anything in his power to prevent her release. When she had made her arrangements with the prince she would temper the faithful eunuch’s disappointment with the suggestion that he would have several new beauties from which to mold a favorite for the prince. She suspected that he would, upon reflection, enjoy that.

The masseuse had finished her work, and she whispered in a musical voice to Aidan, “You are ready, my lady, to be dressed.”

“I will take care of my mistress,” said Jinji, self-importantly.

“Of course,” said the masseuse politely. “Fresh clothing has been brought for the lady, and if you will both follow me I shall show you.” She led them from the baths into another room where several women, and their various attendants were dressing. Opening a cabinet that was built into the wall she extracted from it a pair of pale blue silk trousers, a matching gauze blouse, and a little sleeveless bolero of deep blue silk embroidered with red and gold threads, and edged in gold fringe. There was also a narrow belt of polished brass links that looked like gold from which hung bits of ruby-colored glass beads, a small cap made from cloth of gold, and a pair of matching slippers. These she handed to Jinji, and then with a polite bow she returned to the baths.

“I doubt,” said Jinji somewhat scornfully, “that these are the garments that you are expected to wear tonight. They are not nearly grand enough for a sultan’s reception.”

“What of the clothing that was made for me in Algiers?” asked Aidan.

“It is pretty enough,” came the reply, “and it is certainly of the best materials for the dey would not have dared send you with garments that were not the finest. But it is mostly caftans, the dey wishing to display you in the costume of his province. He fully expected that you would be clothed properly by the sultan’s household once you gained the sultan’s favor. Although you will be garbed beautifully I do not think you will be given a wardrobe other than what you have with you.” He lowered his voice. “Sultan Murad is said to love to collect gold, but not to disburse it. He is not a miser, but he is known for his avarice as well as for his lust.” As he spoke he reached into the pocket of his voluminous trousers, and drew forth a small brush with which he succeeded in untangling Aidan’s wet and tangled hair. “There,” he said as he finished, “now we may go before the bas kadin with pride,” and he was off with Aidan behind him.

She had absolutely no idea where they were, but Jinji certainly seemed to know exactly where he was going. She followed him from the baths into a large tiled corridor, and as quickly into another wide, tiled hallway through a doorway and into a series of narrower passages, the last of which he told her was called the Corridor of the Kadins. There Jinji stopped before a large carved door, and knocked deferentially. The guards on either side of the door ignored him. A pretty slavegirl opened the door, and Jinji said to her, “The lady Marjallah has been asked to attend upon the bas kadin.”

The slavegirl stepped back to allow them admittance to the apartments of the bas kadin, and moving into the room Aidan was amazed. Both in Algiers, and here today in the Yeni Serai all she had seen of a harem had been the baths and the tiny room where she had been kept. She had wondered to herself if this was all that there was to a harem, simply baths and tiny cubicles where its inhabitants were kept. Now she knew she had been greatly mistaken. Perhaps women of no importance were kept in those little rooms, but here was an apartment of spacious size, and gracious decor. Large windows looked out upon a planted garden from one wall, allowing in the afternoon sunshine. The room’s walls were of decorated wooden panels, each one painted with a stylized tree in a gilded pot, and surrounded by colorful flowers of rainbow hues. The ceiling was composed of yellow and blue Italian tiles, and on one wall was a tiled fireplace with a tall conical hood of beaten copper. Upon the wooden floors were fine wool rugs woven in hues of soft rose, dark blue, and cream.

The furniture consisted of low tables of ebony and mother of pearl inlaid together to form elegant geometric designs, comfortable seating of low upholstered pieces, and silken pillows. The lamps, hanging, standing, and those that simply sat upon tables were of polished silver, copper, or ruby glass. There were arrangements of flowers everywhere, and to Aidan’s surprise there were also several cats, one of which wound itself about her legs in a friendly fashion. She bent down, and patted the silky creature which had long white fur, and was of a breed she had never seen.

“Arslan likes you,” said a musical voice, and Aidan stood to face a beautiful woman. She bowed politely for this was obviously a woman of rank, and there was no need for rudeness. The woman, who was petite with a full bosom, slowly looked Aidan over, and with such careful scrutiny that it brought a flush to Aidan’s cheeks. The woman laughed softly seeing it, and reaching out patted Aidan’s hand in a gesture of conciliation. “Forgive me for staring so hard,” she said, “but I still cannot decide why it is the valideh is having my lord Murad give you to Prince Javid Khan. You really are lovely, but how unmannerly of me. I have not introduced myself. I am Safiye Kadin, the mother of Prince Memhet, the sultan’s heir.” She spoke accented French.

Aidan curtsied, although she felt the gesture awkward in her trousers.

“How prettily you do that,” said Safiye. “I have not seen a curtsy since I was a child in Venice. I am a Venetian, you know. Come let us seat ourselves, and you will tell me how you came to be here. Besma, fetch us refreshments,” she ordered a hovering slavegirl, and then drew Aidan over to sit down upon a pillow-strewn divan. “I know that they call you Marjallah, but what was your other name? Mine was Giulietta Lucrezia Fiora Maria Baffo. I actually think that I like Safiye better. It is simpler.” She smiled in a friendly fashion at Aidan.

“I am Aidan St. Michael, and I am English. Until my marriage I served the queen as a maid of honor.” Her silvery eyes filled with tears. “I want to go home,” she said, and despite her best efforts several tears rolled down her face, but she quickly brushed them away.

“I felt the same way when I first came here,” said Safiye, “but then I gained the great love of my lord Murad, and it no longer mattered.”

“I want to go home,” Aidan repeated. “I want to go back to my husband, madame. If you love your lord then surely you must understand how I feel! I was stolen from my family by a wicked relation, who when he failed in his attempt to have my husband murdered so he might marry me and steal my wealth, kidnapped me, and saw me sold into slavery for his own profit! I should not be here!”

“But nevertheless you are,” said Safrye, “and it will be so much easier for you if you simply accept what has happened, and begin your life anew. You have no other choice, Marjallah.”

“There is death,” said Aidan softly. “If I cannot return to my husband, Conn, then I should rather be dead!”

The bas kadin was only four years Aidan’s senior, but she had lived in the harem for more than half her life. There were indeed women who chose suicide over enslavement, but it was not necessarily the brave choice. “It takes more courage to live, Marjallah,” she said, “and I have always heard that the English were a brave people.”

“But to become a plaything of an infidel,” Aidan protested, and Safiye was unable to contain her laughter.

“Infidel?”
she said. “Oh, Marjallah! That is so typical of the European Christian, yet I have heard even they now disagree amongst themselves, and your England is one of the chief culprits warring against the pope. The Muslims worship but one diety. Christians call him God. Muslims call him Allah, and the Jews, according to my friend, Esther Kira, call him Yahweh. Muslims are very moral people, Marjallah. They are allowed four legal wives because they believe it unfair that one poor woman be burdened with responsibilities of a household, and bearing all the children that a man usually wants. Not all Muslims take four wives, but the choice is there. Muslims often keep concubines for they feel it unfair that a man confine himself to a single woman. Is that not more honest than your European gentleman who has but one wife, and keeps a mistress or two, and then not satisfied lifts the skirt of any maiden who is willing, or who simply takes his fancy? You do not appear to me to be unintelligent, my dear. The Muslim may have different customs, but he is certainly not an infidel.”

“I beg your pardon, madame,” said Aidan, chastened, “but I would still go home. My husband lives, and can pay a very generous ransom for my return. Please help me!”

Safiye’s beautiful face puckered with genuine sympathy. “I truly wish I might,” she said, “and if you were simply a captive who had shown up in the slave markets of the Great Bazaar, I could, but you are not. You are a gift to my lord Murad from an important official of his empire. To return you to your people would be to scorn the dey’s gift, and we cannot, of course, do that. Accept your fate, Marjallah. I understand that Prince Javid Khan is a very attractive man, and he is only a few years older than my lord Murad. You are a very fortunate girl! If you make the prince happy then my lord Murad’s gift will be considered lucky for the prince, and I shall be your friend. Since you are not to remain here in the Yeni Serai we will not become rivals, and therefore I can be your friend. A woman in my position has few friends.”

Aidan sighed deeply. This was a strange sort of nightmare in which she found herself. She felt like a bug caught within an empty spider’s web. For now there was no spider to hurt her, and yet she was still caught, and unable to escape. “Will it be like that for me, too?” she asked Safiye.

“Probably,” came the honest answer. “There are always women attempting to steal your lord’s heart from you. Your only advantage is to bear him sons before the others; and in the end should you lose him to another at least you will have his children, and if you are lucky you will have his friendship and his respect. It is the most that any woman can hope for, Marjallah.” She smiled. “At least you will not have the problem I have, his mother! Here in the harem the two most powerful women are the sultan’s mother, the sultan valideh; and the mother of his heir, the bas kadin. They are usually at odds as are Nur-U-Banu and myself. For many years I held my lord’s sole attention, but Nur-U-Banu was jealous of Murad’s love for me, and sought to replace me in her son’s affections. She has succeeded to a certain extent. That problem you will not have with Prince Javid Khan. He has come to Istanbul alone but for a few trusted servants.”

At this point Besma interrupted in order to serve them with the refreshments that the bas kadin had ordered. There were exquisite goblets of delicate crystal that had been filled with a chilled, thick, sweet drink that tasted of peaches. Safiye called it sherbet. And there was a silver plate of dainty flaky pastries filled with chopped nuts, and raisins, and honey. As distressed as she was Aidan found that her appetite was totally intact, and Safiye smiled seeing her enjoyment. The bas kadin found that much to her surprise she liked the English girl, and she was very relieved to know that the sultan valideh’s only purpose in seeing that Murad give Marjallah to Prince Javid Khan was to put the Crimean ambassador in the sultan’s debt. It was important therefore that the English girl cooperate. To that end Safiye tried to reassure her.

“Life here is not so terrible,” she said. “When I first came to Istanbul I was absolutely terrified, but then I was only twelve at the time. How old are you?”

“I had my twenty-fourth birthday on the ship as we sailed from Algiers to Istanbul,” came the soft reply.

Interesting, thought Safiye, she does not look that old, and then she said, “Then you are twice the age I was when I was stolen from my family. Still fright is fright no matter your age. You will be, however, more sophisticated than I was when I came here.”