Tears of Pearl (6 page)

“She was a proud girl and knew she hadn’t mastered the language. It came as no surprise that she would avoid showcasing a weakness.”

“Did she come to find a comfortable place here?”

“Eventually. As she got older, she began to enjoy the politics of the harem, and she did everything in her power to catch the notice of my son.”

“Was she successful?”

“She was an accomplished artist, though a terrible musician. She could speak French fluently—something the sultan finds enchanting—and wrote maudlin poetry.”

“Did he favor her at all?” I asked.

“He might have come to. But I kept her from him. The sultan cannot risk having children like her. It would threaten the very empire.”

I opened my mouth to protest, having read scores of stories about the cages, as they were called, in which the crown princes grew up, not allowed to learn anything that might make them competent rulers—competence would threaten the sultan, compromise his political stability. This was a dynasty in which rulers for centuries had murdered their own brothers upon ascending to the throne in an attempt to secure their own positions. The immature behavior of a traumatized child paled in comparison.

“You are skeptical, I see,” she said.

“I admit to feeling that it stretches credulity, but I’ve no reason to doubt your veracity.”

“It is essential the sultan know that he can depend upon my judgment. I have in front of me scores of girls when you include the slaves in the harem as well as the wives and concubines. I choose for him the best. Ceyden was not that. You may not agree with my decision, but your opinion of the matter is irrelevant.”

“Quite right. Please do not think I am questioning your actions.” Alienating her would not benefit me in the least. “Did Ceyden know her situation was hopeless?”

Perestu shrugged. “I did not deliberately hide my feelings from her. But her persistence knew no bounds. The day she died she brought me a scarf embroidered with the most intricate detail I’ve ever seen—flowers and birds all in gold and silver thread against a red background. I collect such things.”

“Did you feel she was insincere in her affection for you?”

“Affection? Her generosity was entirely self-serving, but there was a charm about her, a certain naïveté. She did not understand the art of bribery.”

“Did she try to influence anyone else?”

“She had a friendship with Jemal that grew too close.”

“I met him at Topkap?. Does he work at both palaces?”

“He was sent to Topkap? because of Ceyden. As I said, they’d become too close.”

“Who forced him to move?”

“I am valide sultan,” she said, smiling. “No one in the harem balks at my orders. It is as if they are law.”

“Why did Ceyden’s friendship with Jemal concern you?”

“Because I didn’t trust either of them.” I opened my mouth to ask why, but she did not let me speak. “And for now that is all there is to be said on the topic. It does not, I assure you, have any bearing on the matter at hand.”

“Did Ceyden make any other attempts to circumvent you?”

“There would be no point.”

“The sultan never makes a selection on his own?”

“He could, of course, but petty amusement is far from his top priority. He has an empire to run, Lady Emily. He already has children and their mothers to contend with.”

I tried to squelch the judgment rising through me. Children and their mothers, yet still in need of petty amusement? For a moment, I wished I could return to my romanticized view of the harem. Candor, I decided, was my only option. “Perestu, forgive me. This is all so very foreign. I cannot imagine sharing my husband.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Only a few months.”

“A short time, and you are very young. But this is not relevant.”

“I suppose not. I’m only trying to better understand Ceyden’s situation.”

“The harem is a world of its own. She wanted to climb to the top of it. I would not let her.”

“Are you glad she’s dead?”

“Her existence made no difference to me. It was, occasionally, amusing to watch her unschooled attempts at seduction.”

“I thought you said she wasn’t close to the sultan?”

“No, only to Jemal. She loved him.”

“But the eunuchs . . .” I was now full in territory that repelled, fascinated, and confused me.

“Are not true men,” she finished for me. “Quite right, but some of them are men enough.”

A thousand questions leapt to my lips, but I could not bring myself to ask a single one. “I didn’t—”

“You are unused to this sort of openness. Such subjects are not forbidden to women here, Lady Emily. Ceyden was not entirely incapable of using her charms, limited though they were, to her advantage.”

“Could Jemal wield influence with the sultan?”

“He would like to think he can influence me.”

“Is he right?”

“Sometimes,” she said.

“Who was watching Roxelana and me in the park? One of the guards?”

“We’ve covered quite enough for today.” She gave me a narrow smile and left the room.

I spent the rest of the afternoon interviewing slaves and concubines, many of them stunning Circassians, the stuff of harem legend in Western tales. These women, brought from the Caucusus Mountains to be sold in Constantinople, were treasured for their beauty—pale, luminous skin, mesmerizing bright eyes, and lustrous hair, blond or dark. Everyone to whom I spoke agreed Ceyden had done whatever she could to gain Abdül Hamit’s notice, but her lack of success in doing so kept her from threatening the positions, or desired positions, of her compatriots. The similarities not only in substance but in verbiage of what they told me made it apparent that someone had coached them, and well. Only a handful of them spoke much English, so Perestu translated for the rest. I had no idea whether she accurately reported to me what they said.

“Jemal must be subjected to extensive questioning,” I said to Colin as we sat on the balcony outside our bedroom that evening. The view stretched nearly to Topkap? in the south, the hills of the city piling on top of one another as they rose from the Bosphorus. Houses and buildings formed a dense tapestry above the waterline, flat and peaked roofs obstructing all but more roofs behind them, as if each were vying for a superior view. Far to the north was the Black Sea, and a steady stream of ships—barges, feluccas, caïques, and yawls—moved towards it, well out of our sight. “As for the women, it’s all too well organized, too orchestrated. I can’t decide whether they’re hiding something or just afraid.”

“Afraid?” Colin asked.

“Whoever killed Ceyden could strike again. Perhaps the girls are afraid of drawing attention to themselves.”

“They’d be better served by allowing you to gather as much information as possible. How else will this man ever be stopped?”

“How can you be sure it’s a man?”

“It’s difficult to strangle someone,” Colin said. “More likely that a man would have the strength for it. I don’t know that a woman could do such a thing with her bare hands.”

“Hideous.” Not wanting to dwell on the details, I mentally flipped through the catalog of women to whom I’d spoken and determined that each was far too delicate to pull off the task. “So we need a man in the harem.”

“I’d say they could use several men in the harem.”

“You’re dreadful, and I’m going to ignore you.” I let my eyes rest on his just long enough to fill my head with all sorts of visions about which I could do nothing at the moment.

“What of the other women?” Colin asked. “Did Ceyden have any particular friends?”

“None who will admit to it.”

“They undoubtedly want to distance themselves from her, regardless. Avoid any guilt by association.”

“Guilt?” I asked. “Ceyden is the victim in all this.”

“True. But the status of these women depends entirely on their relationship with Perestu, and the sultan, if they’re lucky enough to have won his favor. The reputation of her friends may have been tarnished by Ceyden’s violent death.”

I frowned. “Yes, but why not admit the relationship to me? Surely Perestu already knows. She keeps careful track of everything that happens in the harem.”

“A harem that shelters no secrets?” He drew on his cigar. “I’d be thoroughly disappointed if I could bring myself to believe it even for an instant.”

“Did you learn anything of use today?”

“I went back to Ç?ra
an and spoke to Murat. Excellent prison, the palace.”

“And is the former sultan discontented?” I asked.

“He did not seem so,” Colin said. “Spends much of his time listening to music and watching plays. Enjoys his children. The stress of ruling did not agree with him. That does not, however, mean that those around him would not prefer to take a more active role in the government.”

“Could they be plotting a coup?”

“It’s unlikely. The sultan has a spy in the household—the chief black eunuch in Murat’s harem. He’s as thorough a man as I’ve ever met and isn’t likely to miss something on that scale.”

“What about something smaller?” I asked. “A plan that looks on the surface like nothing more than standard harem politics?”

“The discontent I felt comes from the men around Murat.”

“You’ve not been in the harem.”

“No, but the chief eunuch was adamant about there being no trouble there, and I believe him. Those women stand no chance at advancement, and there’s surprisingly little intrigue other than petty gossip.”

“You’re certain?”

“I shall continue to press him for information, but my own efforts will be focused elsewhere in the palace.” He rolled the cigar between the tips of his fingers. “And what about you? Will you search for concubines who were close to Ceyden?”

“Enemies, my darling man, are even more fascinating than friends, don’t you think? I want to find out who despised her.” I rose from my chair and stood in front of him. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

“Not that I can think of,” he said.

“The sun’s set. Shall we go inside?”

“The lights of Constantinople aren’t enough to amuse you?”

“I adore the lights,” I said. “But I much prefer you in the dark.”

6

“Her Excellency cannot see you now.” The smile on Jemal’s face as he met me at the arched doorway that stood at the entrance to the harem at Topkap? was undoubtedly meant to irritate. “You’re too early.”

“Which is precisely what I wanted,” I said, pulling down on the bottom of the jacket I wore, smoothing it over my fine wool corselet skirt. “I came now so as to have the opportunity to speak to you.”

“I’m sure we have very little to say to each other.”

“Tell me about your friendship with Ceyden.”

“We were the most casual sort of acquaintances,” he said. “And that only because our positions forced us to cross paths regularly.”

“Why, Jemal, must you make this difficult? I know that you were sent here to be kept away from her.”

“I was sent here because the sultan felt my talents better suited to Topkap?.”

“That’s not what Perestu told me.”

“She does not have quite so much power as she likes to think,” he said. “It’s presumptuous to assume she’d even know what my mission is here.”

“What is it?”

“Confidential.”

“And it has nothing to do with Ceyden?”

“If it did, why would I still be here after her death?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” I said. “Perhaps you could enlighten me.”

“I do not approve of what you are doing, Lady Emily. There is nothing to be gained. Ceyden is dead and cannot be helped.”

“Should she have no justice?”

“Sometimes justice brings only a worse pain.”

“So we should seek solace in lies and half-truths instead?” I asked.

“I cannot have you drawing attention to my mistress.”

“Does she have something to hide?”

“I suggested no such thing. I know only the risks of one’s actions being misinterpreted. Leave Bezime out of your game.”

“This isn’t a game, Jemal,” I said. “How could solving Ceyden’s murder threaten her?”

“Digging into any court controversy can threaten her. It’s not so long ago that the concubines of former sultans were drowned in the Bosphorus instead of being allowed a comfortable retirement.”

“Abdül Hamit would never do such a thing to a woman he looked on once almost as a mother.”

“But he stopped feeling that way for her, did he not? And why was that?”

“I couldn’t begin to tell you.”

He stood and began to pace in front of the doorway, the movement having a dizzying eff ect on me. “She is cut from all decisions, all events of importance. Is that not a precarious position?”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “A lonely one, but not dangerous.”

“She was closer to Ceyden than anyone else, raised her like a daughter. Groomed her to please the sultan.”

“Only to have her efforts thwarted by Perestu.”

“Precisely.”

“But isn’t that typical court behavior? Are not all the concubines competing for favor? It’s hardly surprising that the valide sultan would refuse to aid the cause of the one woman who might have had the position she occupies. Perestu must know full well that the sultan could have named Bezime valide.”

“I have said too much. It would be best for us all if you would cease your questions.”

“Please—” A door in the corridor swung open, Bezime standing, arms crossed, on the other side.

“Go, Jemal,” she said. “I will handle this.”

The eunuch bowed deeply to her before disappearing. Bezime beckoned for me to come in, closing the door behind me with only the slightest click as the latch caught the edge of the frame.

“Come,” she said. “I will take you to where it is safe to speak.”

We wound our way through narrow corridors and series after series of connected rooms, until we were outside of the harem, in a courtyard. Then through an ornate gate, another courtyard, and into a tiled pavilion. She sat in the center of a low divan covered with buttery smooth crimson silk that ran the length of the wall and motioned for me to join her. Despite the sun streaking through the open windows, candles flickered in the tiled nooks that lined the walls, illuminating nothing but the space immediately around them.

“I must ask you about Jemal. He says—”

“I cannot speak of him right now.” Her voice was a shredded whisper. “I’m being threatened.”

“Th reatened?”

She did not reply, but removed a small package from the folds of her skirt. With gentle hands, she untied the frayed purple bow wrapped around it, letting the well-worn fabric fall away from the object it encased, a dark blue velvet bag. From within that, she took a thin white cord. “Bowstrings like this were for uncountable years used by the
bostanji
, the sultan’s most trusted guards and executioners. It was with these that anyone who threatened his throne—especially members of his family—was killed.”

“Who would send you such a thing?”

“It must have come from Y?ld?z,” she said, stretching the string in her hands, then laying it flat on the table in front of us. “No one elsewhere would presume to use such a thing.”

“When did you receive it?”

“Not twenty minutes ago.”

“Who at Y?ld?z would wish you harm?”

“That is no simple question to answer. Perestu, I suppose, is an obvious suspect.”

“How so?”

“I used to be valide sultan. Perhaps that threatens her.”

“Forgive me, but you’re not any longer—surely she feels her role is secure.”

“I’m still able to communicate directly with the sultan. She may not like that, particularly as she knows it is not difficult for a woman skilled in the mysterious arts to wield a certain amount of control over a man so full of fear.”

I sat silent, skeptical of her claim of control, particularly as she’d been sent to Topkap? as an elegant banishment.

“You don’t believe me?” she asked.

“What sort of official power did you have before coming here but after Perestu had been named valide sultan?”

“I had no title, if that’s what you mean. But it is unusual for any concubine to be allowed to stay in the harem after her sultan no longer rules. I had the respect of every resident of the palace.”

“Why did you come here?”

“I had no choice. Perestu wanted me to go.”

“Which makes her an unlikely candidate to have sent the bowstring. She’s got you where she wants you.” I touched the silk, my fingers flinching at its cool smoothness. “Have you heard of anyone else receiving such a thing?”

“Never.”

“Could it have to do with your connection to Ceyden?”

“You think the killer wants me next?”

“I don’t know. Would there be a reason for him to?”

“Ceyden and I were close, as you already know. I did all I could when she was young to educate her, to train her to be everything that might please the sultan. She was a smart girl—eager to learn. Took to languages with no effort, except English. Her voice always had a seductive lilt to it—perhaps a hint of her lost British accent.”

“I never thought of a British accent as seductive,” I said.

“Here.” She passed me her pipe. “You have not thought it so because to you it has nothing of the exotic. The ordinary cannot be inspiring.”

“It is this knowledge, I imagine, that brought you to the center of attention in the harem.” Surprised by its sweet taste, I drew smoke deep into my lungs—too deep—and was overwhelmed with a burst of coughing. Bezime laughed.

“You are unskilled in this art.”

“Smoking? Yes,” I said, still stuttering with continued coughs.

“Yes, that too.” She took back the
çubuk
. “But I refer to the exotic. Seeking it, finding it, capturing it.”

“We were talking about Ceyden.”

“If you insist, we can return to that subject.”

“I’m afraid we must.”

“Then your lesson in the exotic must wait for another day. Your husband would not be pleased to know your priorities.”

“Oh, he’s perfectly pleased.”

“You answer too fast,” she said. “But I will allow you your misguided thoughts.”

“I’m not sure I should thank you,” I said, and watched her force a thin stream of silver smoke through lips stretched wide in a smile. “Back to Ceyden, though. Perestu made it exceedingly clear that she kept the girl away from the sultan. Am I correct to suspect you helped her gain access to him?”

“I did.”

“And it caused a rift between you and Perestu?”

She shrugged. “There are so many rifts. We all fought for our survival in the harem.”

“But what of your stories of freedom?”

“I was free to fight for it. Concubines who are successful must be able to charm both the sultan and the women around them. It is only once you’ve reached a high enough status—given birth to the sultan’s child—that the necessity of alliance begins to fade. I do not think there is a man alive who would not have wanted Ceyden. But the other girls hated her.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No. I saw in her a brightness that appealed to me. And I was already old, had gained everything I wanted, stood to lose nothing by playing.”

“Playing?”

“I wanted to see if I could circumvent Perestu and elevate Ceyden’s status. Sadly, it did not work.”

“When were you sent away from the harem?”

“Shortly after Ceyden spent the night with the sultan. Perestu did not appreciate my endeavor.”

“Perestu seems to think Ceyden has never so much as spoken to Abdül Hamit.”

Bezime laughed. “Well, perhaps they didn’t speak.” The scent of her tobacco filled the room. “But they did spend a night together.”

I picked up the bowstring from the low table before us, fingering the soft cords. “If Perestu knows that, would it spur her to exact revenge on you?”

“If she’s bored enough,” Bezime said. “There’s no better distraction from ennui than eliminating one’s former rivals.”

“I’m getting no candor from the concubines at Y?ld?z. What must I do to change this? How can I make them trust me?”

“It’s impossible to force trust. There is, however, something you could try to earn it, but it may scare you too much.”

“I never back down from a challenge.”

She laughed. “Then tell Perestu you want to go to the
hamam
at Y?ld?z. You will find the women more likely to trust you if you bathe with them.”

“Bathe with them?”

“It is our tradition. Everyone goes to the baths at least once a week—I told you I worked in one before the sultan found me. There is no better place to find out all the gossip, all the truth. Perestu will allow it because she will believe the experience will do nothing but horrify you.”

“Horrify me?” She couldn’t have been more right, but I had grown almost fond of bluffing people. “It sounds perfectly pleasant. I shall arrange to go as soon as possible.”

The moment I left Topkap?, I directed my boatman to take me up the Bosphorus past Dolmabahçe to the dock closest to Y?ld?z, my stomach turning itself over and into knots. I clutched the side of the boat, the rough wood pressing hard against the bones in my hands, the faint fishy smell coming from the water tormenting me. Looking at the horizon, which Colin had insisted would help ward off seasickness, had the effect only of making me long to stand on the land at which I gazed. A man at the quay steadied me with a strong hand as I stepped off the rocking vessel, and I sat on a nearby bench, too queasy to walk to the palace. An obliging tree shaded me, and I stared across at the houses lining the Asian shore.

I was alarmed in no small way. I’d always considered myself of hearty constitution—seasickness was not something from which I’d previously suffered, although I’d not before been on small boats in such rough waters. More concerning—terrifying, in fact—was the thought that it might not be seasickness at all. Could I have already entered that phase of married life in which a lady’s existence was forever altered in the most dramatic fashion? I bit my lip too hard and tasted salt on my tongue. Not that it would be a bad thing. It was inevitable, after all, and the inconvenience wouldn’t be interminable. Nonetheless, I was filled with ambivalence and something darker, a thing I was not yet willing to face. I pulled myself up from the bench and started up the hill towards Y?ld?z, not wanting to be late for the appointment I’d scheduled to see the sultan.

The palace was not like most traditional royal houses. Instead of one massive building, it was formed by groupings of pavilions and kiosks overlooking a lake, all surrounded by high walls. Green lawns and well-tended gardens shared the grounds with more rugged wooded patches, and the scent of orange blossoms greeted me as I reached the gate.

The guards recognized me from my previous visit, and I was led into a formal reception room in the center of which stood a table big enough to seat twenty in comfort. It drew me in at once, and I reached out to touch the smooth, inlaid surface, feeling the thread-thin grooves between tortoiseshell and oak, mother-of-pearl and ebony. I had traced the entire circumference of the piece and still no one had come to me. I crossed to a window and pulled open the shutter, looking at the woods that stretched below me, dark evergreens blocking all but lacy cutouts of light.

“Lady Emily?” A eunuch poked his head around the open door. “His Imperial Majesty will see you.”

He took me through corridor after corridor until we were outside, standing before a small building in which we found Abdül Hamit II, bent over a bench, rubbing a piece of sandpaper on a chair that lay on its back before him. He was not tall, though not strikingly short, but slim. Piercing dark eyes and a large, aquiline nose stood out from his black hair and neatly trimmed beard. His face was heavy with fatigue.

“It is my greatest pleasure to see you, Lady Emily,” he said, bursting with youthful energy that I’d not expected from a man his age. His voice, however, was quiet in its exuberance, low, almost like a song. “My thanks to you for coming all this way.” He swept his hand in front of his chest, gesturing to the space around him. “What do you think of my work?”

The room swam with the clean smell of fresh wood. Along the walls stood cabinets, tables, chairs, and chests piled one in front of the other, all, I assumed, made by the sultan’s own hands. “It’s exquisite,” I said, forgetting myself and walking away from him to inspect a tall bookcase fashioned from golden-stained cherry.