The Harem Midwife (30 page)

MATTEO HAD BEEN
plucked from the earth. Nowhere in the crowds outside the Hippodrome could they find him. Hannah and Isaac entered the stadium, the oval race course built centuries ago by the Romans for horse and chariot races. Ancient monuments still remained in the middle of the track: the Obelisk of Thutmosis III, hauled all the way from Egypt, as well as the Serpent Column, both of them taller than the mast of a ship.

The noise of the firecrackers in the arena was so overwhelming that at first Hannah did not hear the voice behind her. But then it came again, high-pitched and insistent. She felt a tug on her sleeve. It was Mustafa shouting
above the clip-clopping of a cavalcade of solemn-faced Janissaries on horseback.

“Hannah! I thought it was you. Come with me. The Valide will be delighted to see you … and to meet your husband.” He turned to Isaac and bowed slightly. “You must join the Valide in the Royal Kiosk.”

“It is a great honour, Mustafa,” Hannah said, breathlessly. “But we cannot.”

Isaac explained. “Our son has disappeared. We fear he has been kidnapped.”

Mustafa looked alarmed but did not ask for more information. Instead, he said, “All the more reason to see the Valide.”

Hannah and Isaac exchanged looks. He was right. If anyone could help them now, the Valide could.

Mustafa took Hannah by the arm and Isaac followed close behind. They hurried through the crowds toward the far end of the Hippodrome, where the Royal Kiosk had been erected high above the open field so that the Sultan and the royal family could preside over the entire event. “You can see everything from the Royal Kiosk—the acrobats, the wrestlers, the magnificent floats of the goldsmiths and arrowsmiths. The Kiosk is so high, you might even be able to spot your little boy,” Mustafa said.

Mustafa, Hannah, and Isaac climbed the stairs of the Kiosk, ascending higher and higher above the crowds and confusion of the parade.

When they reached the top, Hannah felt dizzy and held on to Isaac’s arm. It was as though she were a swallow
looking down from far above onto a miniature city below. Surrounding the Royal Kiosk were
nahils
, gigantic artificial trees made from a framework of balsa wood and decorated with fruits and flowers, human and animal figures, even models of ships, all of which were fashioned from beeswax. Some
nahils
stood as high as the minarets of Hagia Sofia. Private homes had been demolished to make way for these imposing structures as they were carried aloft through the streets by a hundred Janissaries.

Sultan Murat III was seated on a gold cushion at the front of the Royal Kiosk. He watched the parade as the one thousand and one guilds of Constantinople marched past. He did not notice Hannah and Isaac entering because he was busy throwing gold coins to his pages and the other young men passing below. The Sultan looked no more handsome than he had the night of Leah’s make-believe couching, but he seemed to be making an effort to appear benign, rather like a fierce grandfather trying not to frighten timid grandchildren. God forgive her for this thought, but his large middle draped in a girdle of diamonds reminded Hannah of the elephants in Venice that Christians decked out for Lent celebrations.

Near him sat the Valide, veiled, her shoulders not touching the back of her gilded throne. She wore a shimmering red kaftan, which made her black hair look even darker and richer. On her hand was a ruby the size of a sheep’s eyeball. Safiye sat on the Sultan’s left with little Ayşe on her lap. Safiye touched her husband’s hand, but he brushed it off on the pretense of reaching for a glass of sour-cherry
sherbet offered by the Superintendent of Sherbets, a portly man who in spite of the unseasonably hot weather was wearing a great deal of silk and fur and velvet.

The smell of roasting meat drifted up from the ovens in the square below. During the celebrations, the palace fed the public twenty roasted oxen a day. Before the oxen were cooked, live foxes, jackals, and wolves were sewn into the oxen and then released in front of the crowds. When they bounded out from the carcasses, the spectacle caused much hilarity and more than a little panic in the crowds.

Mustafa rushed ahead, approached the Valide, and whispered something in her ear. The Valide turned. She nodded at Hannah and Isaac and beckoned them forward. Thankfully, in the small confines of the Royal Kiosk, subjects were not required to drop to their knees and crawl.

“How lovely to see you, Hannah,” the Valide said.

How difficult to read the thoughts of a face hidden behind a veil, even a veil as diaphanous as a silk moth’s wing. The Sultan, to Hannah’s relief, continued to take no notice of them. Hannah took the Valide’s hand, kissed it, and pressed it to her forehead.

“I am delighted to see you. And this, Your Highness,” she said, turning to Isaac, “is my husband.”

“I have heard a great deal about you, Isaac. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Isaac bowed low but knew well enough not to take her hand, nor did she offer it.

“Mustafa tells me you have lost your son in the crowds, Hannah.”

Hannah looked gratefully at Mustafa, who was standing, dignified and silent, behind the Valide’s throne.

“We are so worried. I have no idea where to find him.” She was afraid to say the worst—that she feared Grazia had taken him with her on a ship bound for Venice.

“I shall help you search for him.”

How exactly would she be able to help? There were so many people in the Hippodrome, it would be like searching for a gold coin in a sack of wheat.

“The Kiosk is heaped high with gifts of every description—crystal, Chinese porcelain, Syrian damask, Indian muslin—all thanks to the Sultan’s viziers, Kurdish beys, and foreign ambassadors. Somewhere in this pile of trinkets is a spy glass.” She turned to Kübra, who was standing in the corner. “Would you find it? The one from the Venetian ambassador?”

Kübra disappeared with a bow and a moment later returned carrying a long, cylindrical brass instrument that would have looked more at home on the deck of a brigantine than in the delicate hands of the Valide.

“Try it,” the Valide said, passing it to Hannah. “You hold this end to one eye and close your other eye.”

Isaac stood at her elbow, anxious. Hannah did as instructed. As if by magic, all things in the distance appeared closer and sharper.

Gradually her eyes grew accustomed to the strange magnification, which was like peering through a goblet of water held up to light. She saw a troupe of wrestlers rolling on the ground, their bodies slick with oil. She saw dancers and
fire-breathers and a man leading a string of zebras tied together like black and white beads on a necklace. She saw the carpenters’ float—watched as the joiners erected a small wooden house on the immense wagon.

And then, stretched high between the Obelisk of Thutmosis III and the Serpent Column, she saw a thick hemp cord. Two acrobats wearing thin, leather-soled shoes walked along the taut cord, starting from opposite ends, intending, Hannah surmised, to meet in the middle. One of the tightrope walkers carried on his back a charcoal brazier. An audience had gathered underneath them, clapping delightedly. It seemed that as part of their act the acrobats planned to cook a meal while balancing on the tightrope.

Hannah felt a rush of excitement. Was it possible that Matteo had seen the tightrope walkers and even now was watching them? Hannah was certain—this is where she would find Grazia and Matteo.

“Your Highness, I have a feeling you may have helped us find our son. May my husband and I be excused?”

“Of course you may,” the Valide said. “Good luck, Hannah.”

Hannah raced for the stairs, realizing even in her state of panic how rude it was to turn her back on the Valise. She called over her shoulder, “Come, Isaac!”

HANNAH AND ISAAC
nearly tripped and fell in their haste to get down the stairs. At the bottom they dove into the crowd and elbowed their way to the tightrope acrobats. Just as Hannah had suspected, there was Matteo! “Isaac, there he is!” she cried as she made her way to him. Hannah thought her heart would leap from her chest from the joy of seeing his chubby cheeks and blue eyes. But Matteo was holding the hand of a strange man with a silver nose. When he saw his mother, he tried to twist out of the man’s grasp, but was held tight.

Isaac shouted to the man, “What are you doing with my son?”

The man’s face was turning red with the exertion of hanging on to the child. “I hardly think he is yours.”

Isaac grabbed Matteo’s free arm but still the man wouldn’t release his other. Matteo began to scream and kick.

“Papa! Papa!”

“Let go of my son!” Isaac commanded.

“He is not your son,” the man said.

Mustafa, who had followed Isaac and Hannah, arrived on the scene huffing and trying to catch his breath. Hannah watched helplessly as her son was yanked in opposite directions, fearing his arms would be pulled from their sockets. He looked terrified and began to sob.

“Please!” Hannah yelled. “Whoever you are, let my son go!”

A crowd began to gather around them, drawn by the odd spectacle of the man with the silver nose, gleaming in the sunlight, and the little boy being used in a tug of war.

“His shoulder will be parted from his body!” Hannah cried.

“Release him now!” Isaac growled.

And just when Hannah feared the boy would be torn in two, everyone around them fell to their knees. Hannah turned to see the Valide and her entourage of eunuchs approaching, and she bowed low. The strange man and Isaac stopped pulling and stared, dumbfounded, while Matteo pulled free and ran to Hannah, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Your Highness,” said Mustafa. “What brings you here?”

“I could not help but observe this commotion from the Royal Kiosk. Nothing escapes my notice, especially”—she
held up the brass spyglass—“with this clever device. May I ask what on earth is going on?”

Hannah, Isaac, Matteo, and the silver-nosed man stood before her as Mustafa explained. “Your Highness, this man claims that this boy does not belong to Hannah and Isaac.”

“That’s correct, Your Highness,” said the silver-nosed man. “This child is the son of a nobleman in Venice. His father and mother died in the plague, and these Jewish kidnappers stole him—a Christian child—and brought him to Constantinople, where they have been raising him.”

The Valide’s eyes widened. She stared right at Hannah. “You took a Christian child and have been raising him as a Jew?”

“Your Highness,” Hannah said. “When I was in Venice, I was midwife to Matteo’s mother. Soon after his birth, she and the Conte died of the plague. But the boy’s uncles wished to kill him so they could inherit the family fortune. I protected the child and took him away. There was no one else to care for him. I brought him with me to Constantinople. This much is true. Isaac and I have raised him as our own ever since.”

“This is a dreadful state of affairs,” said the man. “It must be remedied, Your Highness. The child must return to the city of his birth and his fortune must be restored to him.”

Isaac spoke up. “Your Highness, we are the only parents that Matteo has ever known. Without my wife’s intervention, my son would have perished long ago.”

The Valide was quiet for a moment, then said, “Isaac, you may be right that the boy would have died, but that
doesn’t mean you can claim him. And you, Foscari …” She turned to the man with the silver nose. “What in the name of heaven would make you go to such great lengths to retrieve this boy?”

“My undying love for the di Padovani family,” Foscari answered.

The Valide looked dubious. “Well, this is a new side of you, Foscari. I’ve never known you to be quite so altruistic in your motives.”

Hannah saw Mustafa lower his head to hide a smile.

“With respect,” Foscari replied, “beyond my compassion for the boy and my abiding love for his deceased father and mother, there are political considerations that motivated my actions. The matter goes far beyond Matteo and his family’s estate. Tension is high between Venice and Constantinople, as you know, Your Highness. If it came to light that a Christian child had been kidnapped, brought here, and raised as a Jew, it might be enough to touch off a nasty incident.”

Had she saved Matteo from death and raised him as her own, only to have him taken by this man and used as a political pawn? It was too much for her to bear.

Suddenly, from behind her Hannah heard a familiar voice. She turned to see a figure dressed in travelling attire—a long, dark blue
pelisse
and
yaşmak
—approaching the Valide. Above her veil, the woman’s eyes shone bright and determined. She walked over to Foscari, eyeing him as though she wanted to claw at his face.

The Valide said, “And who might you be?”

“I am Grazia Levy,” she announced.

“It is customary,” said the Valide in a voice that could chill sherbet, “to bow before me.”

“I am so sorry, Your Highness,” said Grazia, dropping to her knees. “I have come to claim my nephew, Matteo, and to return to him what is rightfully his.”