The Harem Midwife (22 page)

AS SHE FOLLOWED
Mustafa’s swaying backside to the Valide’s apartments, Hannah thought her life was unravelling as surely as a knitted cap snagged on thorns. All she wished was to be anywhere else in the world rather than in the Imperial Palace about to face the wrath of the Valide. She slowed her pace as they approached the royal apartments. If the Valide offered Hannah a glass of white sherbet made from vanilla beans and camel’s milk frozen with snow from Mount Olympus, Hannah would sigh with relief. But if the sherbet was crimson, it was an altogether different matter. Red was the colour of death.

Mustafa raised his hand to knock on the Valide’s door. Hannah heard two female voices—one shrill and angry, the other low and mocking. The door was opened from within by a servant. Hannah caught a glimpse of Safiye retreating from the room through the doors leading into the garden.

Hannah followed Mustafa’s lead and dropped to her knees. Eyes downcast, she tried to crawl as etiquette demanded in the direction of the Valide, who was pacing in front of her divan. She occasionally caught a glimpse of Nurbanu but because her eyes were fixed mostly on the ground, she could not read the Valide’s expression. All Hannah heard was breathing and royal footsteps tapping the marble floor. She was vaguely aware of Mustafa withdrawing from the room. She crawled on. After what felt like an eternity, Hannah found herself at the Valide’s feet. A slim hand covered in rings reached down and took Hannah’s.

“How are you, Hannah?” The Valide spoke in the Venetian dialect.

Hannah risked meeting the Valide’s eye. There was a glow to the older woman’s skin that made her look younger than the last time Hannah had seen her. “I am well, Your Highness.”

“You are not only the best midwife in the Empire but a breaker of spells. Soon I will be rocking a royal cradle, thanks to you.”

There was no need to wonder how the Valide knew of Leah’s pregnancy. The harem was filled with her informers and no doubt many had noticed the girl’s blossoming belly. But the Valide’s praise was merely a temporary reprieve.
How long would it be until she realized the baby was not the Sultan’s?

The Valide Nurbanu rearranged herself on the divan. A tiny white dog with an aquamarine collar jumped into her lap and licked her hand. “As my father, the governor of Páros, used to say, ‘A house with children is a bazaar; without them, it is a cemetery.’” It was an old Venetian proverb.

The Valide spoke matter-of-factly, but Hannah could not help thinking of the bloody history of the Ottomans who, at each accession of a new sultan, filled the Imperial mausoleum with royal princes no older than Matteo.

The Valide bent down and offered Hannah a glass of white sherbet. Hannah felt herself breathe again.

“Rise, Hannah.”

Hannah rose from her uncomfortable crouch and took a seat on the divan. “I am delighted to have been of assistance.” When fortune smiles, even temporarily, it is wise to say as little as possible.

“Safiye is quite beside herself,” the Valide commented.

“Oh? I am sorry to hear that.”

“It is of no importance. Our little shepherdess, Leah, has become a favourite of mine. I have been tutoring her—in Osmanlica, embroidery, poetry, and the playing of the lute.”

“And she has proved to be an apt pupil?”

“A very bright girl. And imaginative as well. You saw how she seduced my son?”

“I was present at the couching, along with Mustafa.”

“Leah was as handsome as the most beautiful of the fauns of Constantinople,” said the Valide. “Do you know
there is hardly a Janissary in the entire city who does not have his favourite dancing boy?” She looked at Hannah with amusement. “It is common here, my dear, more common than in Venice.”

Not for the first time, Hannah had no idea what to say.

“The shepherdess may be a stringy little thing, but she has ignited the Sultan’s passions by her very novelty.”

The Valide was silent for a moment.

Was she playing with Hannah, waiting for her to disclose something? Testing her loyalty? It was a dangerous game Hannah found herself playing. And she was so ill-suited to it.

Better to say nothing. Hannah waited for the Valide to reveal what was on her mind. There was a reason why the royal mother’s subjects approached her with such caution. It amused the Valide to feign delight, then order a subject’s head chopped off with one swift blow of the executioner’s axe. Hannah had heard a story from Ezster that once, when the Valide was a young woman, a celebrated artist from Venice came to the palace to paint a mural—a scene of John the Baptist decapitated, and Salome, in triumph, holding his severed head aloft on a silver salver. The Valide, displeased with the way the painter portrayed John the Baptist, ordered one of her slaves beheaded on the spot so that the artist might render John the Baptist’s more realistically. The Valide was unpredictable in her capacity for both generosity and cruelty.

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am that Leah is with child,” the Valide said after a time. “I have a gift for her. I
am going to give her my necklace.” The Valide patted her gold necklace set with diamonds, long enough to reach the ground had she been standing.

“She will be delighted, Your Highness.”

“You will, of course, attend to the girl when she gives birth?”

“I would be honoured.”

“I trust no one but you.”

“You have only to send for me.”

The Valide looked intently at Hannah for what felt like an eternity, then she said, “That is all. You may go.”

Hannah bowed and in an awkward crabwalk backed out of the room, catching her heel on the edge of a carpet. The white dog yipped at her heels as she left and a slave closed the door behind her. She leaned against the corridor wall for a moment and pressed her back against the cool stone. She had escaped with her head still connected to her shoulders—for now. But if Leah remained in the palace and gave birth, the truth would be known and they would all be killed—Hannah, Leah, and her baby.

Hannah found her way out of the labyrinth of the Valide’s apartments, through her private garden, through the steaming hamam where Mustafa loomed, a length of white silk cloth wound around his waist. His black toes curled over the white marble rim of the baths, his hairless pillow of a chest glistening with steam. He waved goodbye, watching her as she walked past.

The harem was the most heavily guarded fortification in the Ottoman Empire. Hannah racked her brain. Was
there a way to make Leah disappear? No one had ever escaped, but a plan, a bold and perhaps disastrous plan, was taking shape in Hannah’s mind. It might work, but it required a confederate. There was only one friend in the world whom Hannah could trust—Ezster.

HER VISIT TO
the
mikvah
was one of the few times during the month when Hannah enjoyed a respite from the daily routine of looking after Matteo, cooking—Zephra could not always be trusted to obey the strict laws of
Kashrut
—and helping Isaac in the work shop. Hannah, face covered in deference to Mohammedan custom, walked along the street toward the ritual baths behind the synagogue to meet with Ezster. She thought of the worrying events of the day before. She could confide in Ezster, who had always been a faithful and true friend.

Hannah stepped over a pile of camel dung and dodged
a vendor selling felt slippers and confectioners selling sugary
lokum
. Hannah hoped to hear Fikret the donkey’s little hooves striking the paving stones and see Tova, Ezster’s daughter, so big with child that she would waddle as she led the animal along the street. They were nowhere to be seen. She entered the
mikvah
.

The air grew clammy as she descended the narrow staircase to the underground baths. This was a meeting place where the mothers of young men eyed young girls with a view to finding brides. Women with marriageable daughters loudly praised their girls’ beauty and cooking skills and hinted at substantial dowries. The baths were carved from stone and fed by pure spring water. Four pillars supported a canopy of bedrock. There were three pools in the main chamber and a smaller, private bathing pool reserved for the wealthiest women.

Hannah hesitated before entering the main chamber, which was square with a vaulted ceiling. The attendant handed her a towel and a comb. The air was a mixture of soap, the musky smell of old stone and water, and the scent of candles. From farther within the
mikvah
, the echoing voices of women drifted toward her. Pray that one of the voices was Ezster.

Hannah stopped in a small antechamber to prepare herself to enter the main pool. She removed the pins from her dark hair, which cascaded around her face. She ran a comb through it, careful to untangle all knots and snarls. She cleaned her fingernails and toenails with a small, pointed stick. Each month as she performed these
ablutions, she grew warm and languorous in spite of the cold of the baths, thinking of what would happen that night in bed. How different it must be for Christian husbands and wives who were free to couple at any time, even—she could hardly bear to think of it—during a woman’s unclean time. She was not purifying herself for God, but for Isaac, who she hoped would eagerly be waiting for her return as he used to, even though their relationship since Grazia’s arrival had been strained, even in the bedchamber.

The attendant handed Hannah soap and a washbasin. Hannah lathered herself while the attendant poured water over her. Gooseflesh rose on her arms and legs. She looked down at her flat stomach and small breasts—the body of a woman who had never borne a child and perhaps never would. A wave of jealousy passed over Hannah as she thought of Grazia. Hannah had at first been envious of her sister-in-law’s beauty, hurt by the way Isaac stared at her. Now Grazia was about to become his lawful wife unless he raised her money in time. Was Isaac’s lack of ardour in the bedchamber related to his feelings for Grazia? Had they coupled without her knowledge? No, it could not be. She was being foolish. Isaac had always been the most loyal of husbands. He had never given her any reason to doubt him.

Hannah’s bare feet slapped the stone floor as she padded toward the bathing pool to join the other women. This was where the purest water entered the
mikvah
—rainwater captured through a special series of pipes. As she drew closer,
she could hear the hearty guffaw of someone she recognized. It had been so long since she herself had laughed with such ease. There were Ezster and Tova, shivering on the edge of the pool, about to lower themselves in.

Because Tova was so self-conscious about her face, she wore her
yaşmak
even in the presence of other women. Poor girl. Before she contracted smallpox, Tova had been so beautiful that when she danced at her wedding, there was not a soul in the room, male or female, young or old, who did not fall in love with her. Even the dog scratching his fleas in the corner, hind leg moving in time to the music, raised its head to watch Tova spin and kick and toss her heels as the musicians sawed away on their fiddles. But now, her face was pocked and scarred, though her almond-shaped eyes remained lovely.

“Hannah!” Tova cried as she approached.

Hannah greeted the mother and daughter, kissing each of them in turn.

Ezster said, “
Nu
, Hannah, you are well? Business is good?”

“Yes,” said Hannah, giving the white mound of Tova’s belly a pat.

Jewish law requires that the entire body be in contact with the water. Tova quickly removed her veil, immersed herself in the pool, got out, and replaced her veil, which clung wetly to her cheeks. Hannah allowed herself to sink to the bottom until every part of her was submerged. This is what it must feel like to be a baby floating in its mother’s womb, she thought. After a few moments, she surfaced and stepped out of the pool to sit on the edge, dangling her legs in the water.

“Will you be at the palace soon, Ezster, selling your needles and trinkets and telling your wonderful stories to the harem?” Hannah asked.

“Of course, I have more stories than a rooster has tail feathers. If I cannot remember them, I make them up.”

Tova poked her mother. “You provide those girls with more titillation than the Sultan. When you open your mouth to talk, even the birds in the garden are still.”

“You will accompany your mother to the harem?” Hannah asked.

“I will. Who can turn down a chance to gossip with the ladies?”

Tova would not be going to the harem for much longer. Her belly was high, well above the umbilicus—pointed, which often signified a boy. Another fortnight at the most before she sent for Hannah to steady her on the birthing stool. Hannah must put her plan into action without delay.

“You will give birth to a healthy boy, may God be listening,” said Hannah.

Tova and Ezster stared at her, shocked. What a foolish, reckless thing to say aloud!

Tova was the first to recover. She kissed her thumb and looked up. “Hannah did not say that, and if she did say it, she did not mean it, and if she did mean it, she was mistaken, and because she is mistaken, she is sorry. And because she is sorry, it is as though she had never spoken at all. And because she did not speak, there is nothing to discuss.”