THE VALIDE HAD ordered Hannah to be present tonight and so she must be.
In Venice, delicate orchids from New Spain were pollinated with a slender bamboo reed and a steady hand. In North Afrika, the lustful stallions of the Arabs required calming stable companions when they serviced their mares—a placid ewe, for example, or a shaggy herding dog. So why should the joining together of Leah and the Sultan—a man who cared nothing for the niceties of human discourse, a man who might crush her under his weight—not require the same solicitous attention?
It was a sad irony that Hannah was being summoned to witness the Sultan’s couching when she and Isaac had not so much as glanced at each other since the Rabbi’s order. You could drive a horse cart through the middle of our marriage bed, she thought.
Was it Hannah’s imagination or was Isaac casting covetous looks at Grazia? He had a month to raise the dowry money or Grazia would be his wife. Was he scrambling to find her money, or was he secretly pleased with the arrangement, watching calmly as Grazia cut out the pattern for her wedding dress—a dress Hannah had refused to have anything to do with.
Through her bedroom window, Hannah heard the rumble of the carriage on the cobblestones. She looked out as the Valide’s personal carriage with its lacquer burnished to a dazzling blaze of gold, drawn by the bay mare, driven by Suat, appeared in front of her house. The ostrich plumes on the mare’s head drooped in the summer heat; her sides were flecked with sweat. If only Hannah did not have to step into that carriage.
Hannah went to the cassone where she kept her best dress. Please God, she prayed, help me to forge a truce with Isaac no matter how fragile. Let him believe that I am merely having tea with Mustafa and not witnessing Leah’s coupling. Hannah had never before lied to Isaac, but their relationship was so fraught with tension, she could not bear to add more. A plan had come to her earlier that morning. She had gone to the apothecary’s and made a purchase, which rested in her linen bag next to a partridge egg.
She slipped on her dress and fastened her yaşmak around her face. Slinging her bag on her shoulder, she walked along the hall, past Matteo’s room. She peeked in, watching for a moment as he and Grazia played a game of noughts and crosses. She did not say goodbye to Isaac as she normally would, and he in turn did not see her out the door.
She climbed inside the carriage and off she went. A town crier had assembled a crowd on a street corner and was shouting out the latest comings and goings of the Sultan, the number of dead from plague and pestilence, and the arrival of the latest ships in port. Soon the carriage was gliding along the shore of Seraglio Point. It was sunset and the city never looked more beautiful than when the last rays of the sun played hide-and-seek with the waves of the Bosporus.
The carriage passed through the Imperial Gate guarded by Janissaries. The Example Stones flanked the gate, displaying the latest heads of executed subjects who had offended the Sultan. Hannah tried not to stare at the empty, gaping mouths with the bloody stumps where their tongues had been cut out. When the carriage came to a halt in the Second Courtyard, she alighted without waiting for Suat to help her down. Because she was well known to the eunuch guards at the entrance to the harem, she was admitted without difficulty.
Hannah entered the Harem and walked through the Romanesque arches leading to the baths. Sulphurous vapour filled the air. There were at least a hundred girls in various stages of undress, refreshing themselves with sweetmeats and sherbet or ladling perfumed water over each other. Hannah had once been invited to enjoy herself in the hamam, scrubbed by a bath attendant and then immersed in the steaming pool. She now knew how it felt to be a potato boiling in a pot.
Near the pools, she noticed Mustafa. He wore a long, black shift over his large, formless torso and a white turban. He smiled and waved a greeting, wobbling toward her slowly, so as not to slip on the tile floor. He enveloped her in a moist embrace. It was rather like being hugged by a well-mannered, perfumed bear.
“Afterward, you will have a glass of tea with me and a gossip, I hope?”
Hannah knew she would want to flee the palace as soon as she could, but she appreciated the kindness of his offer. “I would be delighted.”
Mustafa’s golden quill glimmered against his white turban. Hannah followed him down the corridor to the Chamber of the Eunuchs, where he paused at the doorway. “What an honour for you. So few outside the palace are privileged to witness such an event. Allow me a moment to change my clothes and fetch my Book of Couchings.” Soon he was back at her side, with a heavy red volume tucked under his arm. When he noticed her glancing at it, he said, “Sadly, this is a book with many blank pages.”
They were turning and turning again through a maze of corridors. Hannah lost all sense of direction and could not tell whether she walked east or west, north or south.
“Later—and I will not attract the attention of the Evil Eye by saying out loud what we are all hoping for—I will record the event in the Book, and we will both place our initials next to it as official witnesses.” He patted his chest where his blue sapphire hung, large as a pigeon’s egg. The gem was embedded in mother-of-pearl, held in place by a net of fine gold wires, creating a lifelike impression of a huge, staring eyeball. It was meant to represent the blue eye of the Greek barbarian, which Muslims believed could ward off the Evil Eye.
“Let us fetch Leah from her chamber.”
If only Hannah could persuade Leah to follow her instructions, perhaps there was a chance to save her.
Mustafa clasped Hannah’s upper arm. Whether to steady himself or comfort her, she did not know. “Do not look so alarmed, Hannah. Leah’s first meeting with the Sultan will be a simple affair—no ladies-in-waiting, no Grand Vizier, no Valide—just us four. The Sultan may merely wish to speak to her. If he wishes more, he will toss a handkerchief at her feet to signify his desire.”
“Will she find favour, do you think?”
“Desire between men and women is a mystery not even husband and wife can explain.”
Mustafa was right. Often Hannah would gaze at Isaac, as he tightened bolts on the loom, for example—pliers, pincers, and hammers dangling at his waist—and would be seized by a longing so strong she had no power to resist. She would brush her breasts against him as if by accident, his eyes would follow her for a second, and soon they would be upstairs, wrapped in each other’s arms. The same tools dangling from any other man’s waist, even if Hannah had imbibed the strongest of love potions, would have no effect. Was it so for the Sultan?
“May I see Leah in private before she goes to the Sultan?” She tried to think of a reason that would satisfy his curiosity. “I must give her some idea of what to expect. It would not do to have her frightened.”
“Who better to act as her confidante? You managed to coax her down from the window ledge. She has been docile as a lamb ever since.”
Leah was tough—a mountain girl raised on rocky soil, fed on the watery soup of poverty, rendered an orphan by her enemies—but she deserved more time to remain a child. With any luck, the Sultan would simply smile at her and wave her away as he had done to so many other girls. But if he declined Leah’s company, there would be no grateful smile from the Valide for Hannah and no purse heavy with ducats. And Leah would be shipped to the brothels by the docks—a terrible fate for any girl.
Once more Hannah found herself following Mustafa’s swaying form, down the corridors of the Imperial Harem.
Mustafa knocked, then opened the door of Leah’s room. “We have little time.” To her relief, Mustafa looked only once through the doorway at Leah before shambling away. “Ring for me when you are ready and I will escort you to the Sultan’s room.”
Hannah entered the room and closed the door behind her. Involuntarily, she glanced toward the window ledge, remembering Leah crouched like an animal, spitting down at Mustafa. Now, Leah stood beside her sleeping mattress and rubbed her eyes, looking rather like Matteo when he awoke from a nap.
“Shalom aleichem,” said Hannah.
“Aleichem shalom,” Leah said in reply, kissing Hannah’s hand and then pressing it to her forehead.
Hannah stared at the girl, refusing to believe her eyes. Thank God Mustafa had not lingered. Leah was dressed in a costume such as a dancing boy in a public tavern might wear. Instead of harem trousers held up with an embroidered sash and a tunic of fine silk print, Leah wore a şhalvar—loose pantaloons—and a silk shirt with a length of fabric around her waist. In each hand she held a pair of tiny cymbals.
Leah’s hair, smooth and glossy, short by palace standards, was slicked back close to her head. She was clean now and smelled of cloves and cinnamon, spices much prized for their powers of seduction. Her skin was whiter too. Her slave must have been busy with lemon and lye creams, bleaching potions and depilatories. No doubt, her slave had removed the hair between her legs and hennaed her private parts. A thin stripe of kohl lined her huge green eyes.
“Why in God’s name are you dressed like that?” Hannah asked.
Leah spoke quietly, careful to point her feet away from Hannah. “I bribed one of the eunuchs to bring me this costume favoured by the köcheks.”
The köcheks, the “fauns of Constantinople” as they were known by the Janissaries, were boys who danced in provocative dress for the pleasure of other men. They were much loved by rough soldiers, who gave them amorous names such as “Pretty Blossom” and “Golden Love Arrow.”
“Whatever for?” Hannah asked.
“The idea came to me when I overheard some of the Janissaries talking. They spoke of a terrible brawl, which broke out in Pera between two factions of Janissaries fighting over a dancing boy. So fiercely was the boy desired by both sides that fifty soldiers died in the fray.”
“Surely you do not think that the Sultan has the same tastes as a coarse Janissary?” Hannah had heard rumours of some of the Sultan’s unusual proclivities—but young boys?
“The Sultan has not responded to the voluptuous beauties of the harem. It is time to try a different tactic. What might excite a soldier might excite a Sultan.” Leah smoothed her hair in a self-conscious gesture that saddened Hannah more than the girl’s words. “I will accept my fate. If I please the Sultan, I will be safe at last.”
It broke Hannah’s heart to hear her talk so, resigned to a future no child should be forced to accept. She held Leah’s hand. “Please, change out of those clothes before Mustafa returns. I have a plan to help you avoid the Sultan’s intentions.”
“You do not understand. I must seduce him.”
Her words were spoken with such obstinacy and squaring of the shoulders that Hannah knew something was wrong. “What has changed you so?” asked Hannah.
Leah did not answer, but looked away, fussing with the folds of her şhalvar.
Hannah stroked the girl’s hair, studying her rounded cheeks and green eyes. “I have something that will help you.” She reached into her bag and held out a gold-foiled pill.
Leah looked at it. “I have no need of opium.”
“You are a child. There is still a chance you can remain one a little longer.” Hannah picked up the opium pill and tucked it in the pocket of the girl’s şhalvar. Hannah fished something else out of her bag—a tiny, speckled partridge egg. Hannah took Leah’s hand and placed the egg in her palm. “May you have strength,” she said, and she whispered to Leah instructions on how to use the peculiar egg.
For the first time that evening, Leah looked like the feisty mountain girl Hannah had first met on the window ledge, spitting at Mustafa, the third-most powerful man in the Empire.
“Do you really think I can deceive the Sultan with such a ruse?” Leah asked, a new energy in her green eyes.
“Dear girl,” said Hannah, “of course you can.”