The Legacy of Grazia dei Rossi (6 page)

After delivering the rhetorical flourish, the prince went on in the same composed tone he had adopted at the beginning of the conversation. “That is why my brothers and I must die. But since it is against the law to shed the blood of princes, we will not be beheaded. Each one of us will be strangled with a silken bow string.”

The bizarre logic behind this final bit of protocol only exacerbated Danilo’s dismay. He tightened his hold on the boy’s shoulder as if to shield him from his fate. Then, realizing he must offer some kind of verbal consolation, he said, “I don’t think the pain of the circumcision is as bad as they say and I know you will not cry out, Mehmet. I am certain of it.”

The reassurance sounded hollow in his ears. But, sure enough, on the day of the circumcision ceremony, everyone commented favorably on the extraordinary forbearance of Prince Mehmet, who did not make a single sound when the knife cut his foreskin.

4

HALCYON DAYS

The festival of the royal circumcisions so dreaded by young Mehmet turned out to be a fateful occasion for Danilo as well. In the week after the circumcisions, the
Kapi Agasi
made one of his rare appearances in the little school on the edge of the harem garden to announce the news. Now that the present cohort of boys had passed the bar of circumcision, it was time to make way for the next class in the Princes School. The crown prince, Mustafa, would be sent directly to an outlying province as an apprentice governor, accompanied by his mother and a covey of
lalas.
The lesser princes, raised from infancy by their mothers in the harem, would now be assigned places in one of the Sultan’s elite schools for pages, there to be groomed for leadership in an all-male society by eunuchs.

For the boys’ sisters and female cousins, little would change. The girls would continue to be educated in the harem, never again to be seen unveiled even by their male cousins. No more
calcio
, no more racing on horseback. Once a young girl entered the state of womanhood, she was immured behind the walls of her father’s harem until she married into her mother-in-law’s harem. From the day Saida’s fellow students entered the class, the Valide Sultan, ever watchful for her granddaughter’s well-being, began to notice subtle changes in the girl. It seemed that day by day, the fire that put the sparkle in Saida’s flashing eyes and the color in her cheeks was being slowly doused by her new routine.

The princess was of course still permitted her daily ride, but now she rode alone accompanied at a respectful distance by a groom — no brothers or cousins to challenge her at the jumps or chase her around the race course. Yet she was still far too young, in the Valide’s judgment, to be married off.

Educating boys and girls together until puberty, as the Greeks did, had appeared to be a hugely successful experiment in producing future Ottoman leaders. But seeing a free and educated girl suddenly thrust into a life with no future until she was rescued by marriage now loomed as a serious challenge to her doting guardian.

A pious woman, Lady Hafsa visited the mosque to enlist Allah’s help in solving her dilemma. Two days later — whether by divine intervention or sheer chance — the help she needed presented itself in the form of the Sultan’s concubine, Hürrem, who had begun her life at court as a gift from the Grand Vizier to the Sultan, purchased by him at the Istanbul slave market. She now had risen to the status of Second
Kadin,
a
Mother of Princes, by providing the Sultan with a son. The First
Kadin
, Rose of Spring, mother of the Sultan’s first-born male, Prince Mustafa, had failed to produce a second male heir to guarantee the succession. Given the high rate of child mortality, Hürrem’s boy was wildly celebrated as a savior of the Ottoman dynasty and earned her the title of Second
Kadin
.

So when Hürrem appeared at the Valide’s door tearful and in need of solace in the days following the circumcision of her older son, the concubine was greeted warmly by Lady Hafsa. This was not the first time the Second
Kadin
had sought counsel from the Valide. Soon after the birth of her son Mehmet, she had begun to cultivate the boy’s grandmother. Never aggressively, always respectful of protocol, always careful to request an appointment before she crossed the long hallway that divided the Valide Sultan’s suite from the rest of the harem. And always bearing gifts — a special cream to whiten the aging skin, a sleeping draught to bring sweet dreams to the Valide’s sleepless nights. Full of news of the great world, Hürrem was sure to bring along gossip collected from the Jewish peddler women from whom she bought her laces and ribbons and lotions and potions.

At first Saida resented the interloper. Since childhood, her grandmother’s attention had been fixed on her. Now she had to share it. But as time went on, she began to look forward to Hürrem’s visits. She even began to ask Hürrem to beg small favors for her from her father, the Sultan. Not that she was afraid of him. But, as Hürrem so often reminded the Lady Hafsa and Saida, bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, the beloved Sultan ought not to be burdened with their small concerns, least of all by the ones who loved him most.

“Allow me to see what I can do,” Hürrem would say, “before we trouble the great Padishah. Poor man, he carries such a heavy weight.” Their duty, after all, was to lighten his load, he being the source of light in their lives and in the whole world. Even the Valide Sultan, the mother he revered, bowed and kissed his hand when he entered her rooms. And she addressed him as “my lion.”

Their mutual adoration of this man had bound the three women together. Over time, Saida lost most of the jealousy she bore her father’s favorite
Kadin
; and the Valide Sultan gave up some of her pride of place. Lady Hürrem had managed to smile her way into their hearts, a very shrewd preparation for the day when she might need the help of one or both of them.

Today being such a day, Hürrem was now familiar enough to make a direct appeal to the Valide Sultan. Ever respectful of protocol, she first apologized profusely for disturbing the lady and made certain to assure the Valide that what she was seeking was simply the advice of a wise woman. Then she got to the point: a rumor she had picked up while bathing in the
hamam
. Only a whiff of scandal. Nevertheless, most disturbing. By now, she had their undivided attention.

“I have heard a story.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Perhaps it is not true. But if it is . . .”

The Valide, a woman not given to touching any being less exalted than herself, reached out to pat the other woman on the shoulder.

“What is this rumor, Hürrem?” she asked gently.

Silence. A sigh.

“We cannot help you if you do not tell us.”

“Oh, Lady, I am so ashamed. I fear it is all my fault for being so slow to learn. Although I do try . . .”

“To learn?”

“To learn my letters so that I can write to my exalted lord in my own hand and read the letters he sends to me. As it is, I must trust the scribe who writes my words down and who reads the Padishah’s letters to me. I cannot believe this scribe would betray me, and yet there is this rumor . . .” She dabbed at her eyes with a gold-embroidered handkerchief. “I am told that my letters are being hawked in the bazaar.”

“Sold? For money?” Even the imperturbable Valide was perturbed.

“Copies of them.”

“But who would do such a thing?”

“Who indeed?” Hürrem echoed. “My scribe came to me from the Grand Vizier’s school. He was handpicked. It cannot be him. But if not . . .” Her voice trailed off. Then, suddenly, she turned and focused her gaze directly on Saida. “Is there no one I can trust?”

At that moment the solution to all of Hürrem’s problems became clear to the Valide.

“Saida will help you,” she announced, pleased with herself, turning to the girl. “Did I not tell you that your studies would find good use someday, my darling child?” Then, back to Hürrem, “Some members of the court were against training a girl in anything except embroidery and sherbet-making. But I prevailed on my son, my lion, to allow Saida to join her brothers in their studies. To her credit, she is today the most literate princess in the world and has memorized most of the Koran, which brings her father great joy. Now she is able to do him another service, to save him from the breath of scandal. As you know, she often helps me to write my letters, and now she will help you.”

So it was settled. Henceforth Saida would pay a daily visit to Hürrem’s quarters to read aloud the letters the Sultan wrote to her when he was on campaign and to transcribe Hürrem’s answers. She would also translate the poems the Sultan dedicated to his Second
Kadin
, written under the pseudonym
Muhabbi
or
He Who Loves
, which he composed in Persian — his choice of language for poetizing. A happy arrangement for all. A scandal avoided. The beloved Padishah protected; Hürrem rescued. The wise grandmother had saved the day.

Yet several months later Saida was beginning to sense something too easy in the Valide’s solution. A practiced survivor by the age of twelve, the princess had cultivated a nose for intrigue. Experience in the harem had taught her that life did not unfold with the ease of her entree into Hürrem’s household service unless someone behind the scenes was pulling the strings. Yet months of daily attendance had revealed to Saida no hidden reason for her inclusion in Hürrem’s retinue, except the Second
Kadin
’s immediate need for a trustworthy secretary. Nothing more.

When the princess arrived at Hürrem’s suite, she was always greeted warmly and respectfully. Her accomplishments were highly praised. And she was thanked often and promised rewards for service in the future. Saida, the Second
Kadin
said, had saved her from a very serious threat to the happiness she shared with her adored Padishah, whom she treasured more than her own life. As the lady put it, “His letters keep me alive. Without the reminder that he will return to me, I would expire of grief.”

Through her letters as well as her conversation, Saida had come to know Hürrem as a natural hyperbolizer — guilty of the odd lapse of taste, perhaps, but that was hardly proof of insincerity, the girl told herself. Besides, there were certain advantages to the princess’s new status as a confidante of the favorite: the opportunities to witness momentous events such as her father’s triumphal procession when he returned from his annual campaign. Outings through the streets that the cloistered women of the harem were never offered. And Hürrem’s constant assurance that the orphan girl now not only had a grandmother to look out for her, but had found a second mother — herself, the Second
Kadin
.
At least
, Saida thought,
until Hürrem’s own daughter, Mihrimah, is old enough to do for her what I now do.

But Saida had schooled herself to accept each day’s bounty without too much thought for what the future might bring. Even if it was not her nature, her faith told her that her fate lay in Allah’s hands. And much as she longed for the old days of wild horse rides and secret meetings on the island of Kinali, she was resigned to making the best of her new life.

As for the boys, Danilo was not the only one in the room to feel a chill when the
Kapi
informed the students that this would be their final class in the Harem School. Like him, most of the students had not, until that moment, given much thought to their future. Some day, of course, they would grow up and leave the harem. Some day. But tomorrow? Danilo turned for reassurance as he often did to his seat mate, Princess Saida. But in vain. For the first time he was met with hooded lids and a turning away of the head.

That gesture told him better than words that she was no longer his royal playmate, that she was as lost to him as any legendary princess locked up in any tower.

Danilo was no stranger to loss. He had learned to keep his grief at bay by filling his days with activities. But he had no defense against thrusts of memory that came upon him unexpectedly and left him feeling that a piece of himself was missing. The doors of childhood were closing on him, and the future loomed up dark, lonely, and hopeless.

As he stood at the harem gates, waiting for his groom to take him home from school to the Doctor’s House for the last time, thinking he had never been so miserable in his entire life, who should emerge to bid him farewell but Prince Mehmet. The little prince had come to say goodbye since they were unlikely to meet again soon. Mehmet himself had given up all hope of graduating from the Harem School with the current crop.

“My marksmanship, my mastery of language, my deportment, even the fact that I did not cry out at my circumcision — of all those things that I thought would recommend me for the Sultan’s School for Pages — none of them avail against my young age,” he reported sadly. “I am to be left behind. I am not old enough and must wait for the next cohort, unlike you, Danilo, who will certainly be selected as a page in one of the Sultan’s schools, maybe in the Sultan’s own school in Topkapi Palace.”