The Panther and The Pearl (6 page)

“My father would have you unbind you hair,” Roxalena said, her eyes directing Sarah to obey without objection.

Sarah removed the pins from her chignon, wondering if she would be required to disrobe next. Then she bent and shook out her hair, throwing her head back to loosen the tresses. When her gaze settled on Kalid, he was leaning forward, regarding her fixedly.

“Will they want to count my teeth?” she asked Roxalena sarcastically in English, unable to stop herself.

Roxalena shook her head violently, her eyes round as saucers, her expression apprehensive.

Sarah settled for running her fingers through her hair luxuriously, eyeing Kalid Shah defiantly.

When he spoke she jumped; it was as if a beautiful statue in the room had come to life and talked.

“Pasha Kalid asks why you have come to the Topkapi harem,” Roxalena said cautiously.
 

“Doesn’t he know?” Sarah countered, watching his face.

“Answer the question,” Roxalena hissed.

“I have come to teach you English and to learn something of Ottoman culture,” Sarah replied obediently.

Roxalena murmured a Turkish translation.

Kalid spoke again, his voice low and modulated.

“Pasha Kalid marvels that your husband would allow you to come so far alone and undertake such a mission,” Roxalena said.

“Tell him that I have no husband, and that I do what I like,” Sarah said firmly. She watched Kalid’s reaction as Roxalena translated her statement. His lips never moved, but she could have sworn she saw a smile in his eyes.

The Sultan said something abruptly, waving his hand in a gesture of dismissal.

“We are free to go,” Roxalena said, rising and bowing to the two men. Sarah did the same. The princess and her tutor left the room and the door was closed behind them by a servant.

“What is her name again, the American woman?” Kalid said to the Sultan, as soon as the women were gone.

The Sultan turned to look at him.

“Sarah Woolcott,” he replied.

“I want her,” Kalid said flatly.

The Sultan smiled.
 

“Did you see him?” Roxalena exulted, laughing delightedly. “His tongue was hanging out like that of a parched dog! Oh, that I should live to witness it. The great Pasha Kalid pining for a woman! I can die happy now.”

“What are you talking about?” Sarah asked in irritation, still smarting from the humiliating interview. She lay down on the plush divan in Roxalena’s apartment and rested her head on a satin pillow.
 

“He is besotted with you!” Roxalena said, grinning. “If my father hadn’t gotten bored when he did Kalid would have stripped you to the skin and filled his eyes to brimming with your beauty.”

“Not without a fight, he wouldn’t,” Sarah replied grimly, settling the pillow under her head more comfortably and sighing.

Roxalena chuckled, enjoying herself immensely. “I always knew that someone would come along...” She looked at Sarah, a measuring expression in her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean someone who would strip him of that indifference and make him...”

Sarah waited.

“Hot,” Roxalena concluded. “Who knew it would be you?” She lifted the diadem from her hair and handed it to a waiting servant, dissolving into chuckles again.

“Roxalena, I’m glad you find all of this so amusing, but being paraded in front of your father and his guest like a fatted calf...”

“What’s that?” Roxalena inquired, removing her earbobs and sitting next to Sarah on the divan.

“Never mind,” Sarah said.

“My father was only accommodating his visitor,” Roxalena went on, as if Sarah hadn’t spoken. “Kalid saw you in the crowd and wanted to get a better look at you. He requested that you be brought into the antechamber so that he might examine you.”

“That he did,” Sarah said dryly.
 

Shirza appeared in the doorway, carrying an elaborately carved wooden tray.

“What is it?” Roxalena asked her.

“A gift for Miss Sarah from my lord the Pasha of Bursa,” Shirza recited ceremoniously, kneeling and proffering the tray.

Roxalena giggled and elbowed Sarah in the ribs.

“Please,” Sarah said, closing her eyes.

“Bring it in here,” Roxalena said eagerly, eyeing the tray’s contents avariciously.

Shirza entered and placed the tray on a table inlaid with ivory, setting it in front of the divan.

“Bursa perfume, made for the house of Shah’s women alone, blended of the essence of jasmine and rosemary, sandalwood and ambergris,” Shirza said, indicating a carved crystal bottle. It was decorated with cobalt flowers and capped with a silver stopper.

Roxalena nodded approvingly. “Very costly,” she said.

“A jeweled hairpin, for a lady with such wealth of tresses will surely have need of it,” Shirza went on, indicating a golden bodkin, such as Oriental women used to skewer a bun, displayed on a white linen napkin. It was studded with diamond chips and featured a pigeon’s blood ruby at its rounded crest.

“Tasteful,” Roxalena said.

“And coffee from Yemen, specially prepared,” Shirza concluded. “Kalid Shah instructs that it is for the palate of Miss Sarah alone, as it is his special gift to her.” Shirza poured the dark, steaming liquid from the
jezve
into an enameled cup which already contained a quarter inch of froth. She handed the cup to Sarah.

“Well, drink it,” Roxalena said, smiling. “It would be an insult not to do so.”

Sarah drained the small cup, grimacing at the bitter taste. She would never get used to Turkish coffee.

Shirza waited expectantly.

“Have you nothing to say to the sender of these offerings?” Roxalena asked Sarah, wide eyed with innocence. “It would be very bad manners not to respond to such lavish presents.”

“Tell Kalid Shah I thank him very much for his courtesy,” Sarah said tightly.

“That is all?” Roxalena asked.

“That is all.”

Shirza bowed and left the room.

“Kalid will be disappointed,” Roxalena said gravely.

“What would he expect me to say?” Sarah asked, yawning.

“That you will join him in his chamber for a night of passion?” Roxalena suggested.
 

“Very funny. To tell you the truth, my first instinct was to send it all back, but I realize that such an act would not be in accordance with your customs.”

“Certainly not,” Roxalena said, shocked. She watched as Sarah rose and then staggered slightly.

“Whew, I must be more tired than I thought,” Sarah said, passing a hand over her eyes. “I’d better go to bed.”

“What about all this?” Roxalena asked, indicating the tray.

“Keep it for me. In the morning we’ll try the c’s and g’s again.”

Roxalena made a face.

“Good night,” Sarah said in Turkish.

“Good night,” Roxalena said in English.

In the hall the eunuchs who accompanied the harem women everywhere fell into step beside Sarah and followed her to her room. By the time she approached her couch she was so dizzy that she sat down harder than she had intended. Then she found she could not get up again to undress.

What on earth was wrong with her? She lay back on the cushions, the light from the long tapers burning in the sconces blurring when she looked at it.

She closed her eyes. Time for a little rest. Then she would get up and find out what was going on.
 

When Sarah woke it was several seconds before she realized that she was not in her room at the Topkapi harem. The divan was covered in different fabric, a rose brocade, and the walls were pink sandstone, hung with lighter tapestries than the white walls of the Sultan’s palace. She sat up abruptly, alarmed, and a bolt of agony shot through her head at the movement, making her groan. She held her head for several seconds, waiting for the wave of pain to recede.
 

Then Sarah realized she was not alone, and she blinked rapidly, trying to bring the figure sitting at her side into focus. When her vision cleared she saw a diminutive woman, who could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty, attired in a simple muslin gown. She brought her hands together and bowed deeply from the waist.

“I am Memtaz,” this person said. “I have been assigned to you because I speak English, as does my master.”

“Where am I?” Sarah gasped.

“At Orchid Palace, the home of Pasha Kalid Shah. He has bought you from the Sultan at an enormous price and you are now his property. Come, you must prepare yourself to see him.”

Chapter 3

The khislar stepped aside to admit Roxalena to her father’s presence. She bowed low and performed the customary obeisance, waiting for the Sultan to command her to rise.

“Well?” the Sultan said abruptly, helping himself to a piece of halvah from a silver salver held by a slave at his side. Behind him two Nubians stood waving elaborate feathered fans rhythmically, stirring the draperies of the throne room.
 

Roxalena looked up, judged that it was permissible to stand, and did so. She waited.

The Sultan gestured impatiently with the sweetmeat.

“My English teacher has disappeared,” Roxalena said bluntly. She always knew when coquetry would work with her father, and this one was not one of those times.

The Sultan said nothing, merely looked bored, as if this inconsequential matter had nothing to do with him.

“I am worried about her,” Roxalena added.

“Western women should not come to this country,” the Sultan said airily. “Strange things happen to them here.”

Roxalena knew that her father had his finger on the pulse of everything that took place at the palace, but to inquire further when he clearly had no wish to discuss the matter was dangerous, for herself as well as for Sarah.

“I miss my English lessons,” Roxalena said, trying another tactic with him.

“Teachers are easily bought. I will instruct the khislar to find you another,” the Sultan said with finality. He made a dismissive sweep of his hand, indicating that the interview was concluded.

Roxalena bowed and withdrew, then scurried out of the throne room and down a side corridor. She drew her veil over her face and bent her head, taking care to stay close to the walls and avoid being noticed. As she neared the kitchen, servants bustled past her carrying covered baskets and bales of fruit and bundles of linens, intent on their tasks. Behind the main kitchen was an alley where refuse was dumped, and Roxalena opened a small metal door and stepped into it, holding a scented gauze handkerchief to her nose delicately.

Osman Bey emerged from an alcove across the way and embraced her immediately, almost lifting her off her feet.

“You got my message,” Roxalena said against his shoulder, closing her eyes and inhaling his clean masculine scent, her cheek crushed against the tunic of his uniform.

“It isn’t safe for you to come here,” Osman said. “Are you sure you weren’t seen?”

“I was very careful. This is an emergency.”

“What happened?”

“My friend Sarah, the teacher who has been giving me English lessons, has vanished from the palace.”

“Kidnapped?” Osman said, holding her off and looking down into her face.

Roxalena shrugged worriedly. “I have no idea. Of course my father knows what happened, but he won’t tell me anything. He probably had a hand in it.”

“You want me to ask some questions, see what I can learn?”

Roxalena nodded. “Please. Sarah hasn’t been in the East very long and I don’t know what will become of her. She volunteered to teach me and I feel responsible for bringing her to Topkapi.”

“Consider it done,” Osman said, and kissed her forehead tenderly. “Tomorrow night, in the boathouse?” he asked.

“Tomorrow night,” Roxalena said, squeezing his hand.

“Don’t worry. I will have some word of your friend by then,” he said reassuringly, and Roxalena slipped out of his arms, running back through the door.

It was two days before Sarah was summoned before Kalid Shah once more, and during that time Memtaz undertook to instruct her in some aspects of harem life, but Sarah proved an unwilling pupil. She stared sullenly as she looked on during the rituals of the hamman, the bathing pool—dying the hands and feet with henna, scrubbing the skin with pumice stones, washing the hair with egg yolks, and perfuming the whole body with sandalwood, ambergris, and myrrh. Sarah wasn’t interested in making herself beautiful for Kalid Shah, but just as when she was first presented to him as his captive, it was clear that she would have little choice in the matter. She sat like a statue while a coterie of slaves, under the direction of Memtaz, removed the almost invisible hair on her body with
ada
, a lemon-and-sugar paste. This was a stinging ritual which left her gasping with rage and indignation as well as pain, but when she struggled, Memtaz summoned two eunuchs to hold her down, and the process continued. When the depilation was complete, she was bathed and painted with almond to whiten her already pale skin, and rouged on cheeks and lips and nipples. Sarah stared balefully into a gilt mirror as Memtaz carefully outlined her eyes with kohl and darkened her brows with India ink, completing the process. When she stood and Memtaz added a sky blue caftan embroidered with gold thread to her tunic of cotton gauze, the Circassian slave clapped her hands delightedly.