Authors: Kelly Gardiner
‘I see.’ I didn’t really. The idea of a man with many wives or concubines was beyond everything I had known before. ‘Forgive me, Your Majesty.’
‘There is nothing to forgive. You are trying to understand. You may ask me anything, just as we ask you to tell us all about your world.’
‘Thank you.’
Three women brushed past us in the opposite direction, all dressed like Ay
e, although their clothes were not quite so fine.
‘I understood,’ I said, ‘that normally the Sultan’s mother would take the title of Valide Sultan?’
‘Usually, yes.’ Now Ay
e’s voice did drop to a whisper. ‘But our grandmother refused to give up the title and, to be honest, nobody
has the power to take it from her. Not while Mehmed is still so young. When he is older, he may be able to stand up to her, but not now, not yet.’
‘And if I may ask, where is your mother?’
‘Somewhere at the bottom of the Bosphorus,’ said Ay
e. ‘Like many of my father’s
kadins
.’
My breath caught in the back of my throat. ‘I beg your pardon, Your Majesty.’
She shrugged. ‘I choose not to remember it. Or her. It is safer. Now. We are nearly there. Compose yourself, and attempt to maintain an air of calm, no matter what my grandmother says.’
I sighed. ‘That’s not my forté.’
Ay
e grinned. ‘I wish sometimes our places and our temperaments were switched, you and I.’
‘Don’t wish that on me,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t last a day in here.’
‘Many have not.’
‘Is that supposed to be encouraging?’
‘Smile. Be serene. Do what I do.’
‘I obey,’ I said.
‘Here we are.’
The guards led us through a deserted courtyard overlooked by dozens of windows, and into a small salon. There, on a low couch and surrounded by women of all ages, sat the Queen Regent of the Ottoman Empire.
I followed Ay
e’s example and fell to my knees, my hands stretched out in front and my forehead touching the tiled floor.
‘Sit up, sit up.’ The Valide Sultan’s voice crackled across the room. ‘Let me see this famous philosopher of yours.’
I raised my head, sat back on my feet, just as Ay
e did, and looked up. The Valide Sultan was older than I’d expected, her
greying hair tucked back behind her ears. She wore many layers of silk and velvet edged with gold. An enormous man stood just behind her left shoulder, dressed as richly as she was. Even his slippers were trimmed with gold thread. I guessed he must be the Kislar Agha, chief of the Black Eunuchs and governor of the harem.
The Valide Sultan wasn’t veiled — none of the women were here, safely out of the public gaze. Even Ay
e unhooked the veil across her mouth and let it fall down onto her shoulder. I followed suit.
‘You may stand,’ the Valide Sultan said after a few moments. ‘Both of you.’
I got slowly to my feet, not very gracefully, while Ay
e managed to rise in one fluid movement. The Valide Sultan didn’t take her eyes off me.
‘I do not approve of you,’ she said. ‘Not at all.’
I bowed my head. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘My grandson is too young to make decisions.’
I didn’t dare say anything. I was no courtier, but in my short time in the palace I’d learned that it was best to be silent if you didn’t know the expected answer to any statement.
The Valide Sultan sighed, as if the role of Queen Regent was too great a burden to bear. ‘But he is wilful. He insists on your attendance.’
‘Your Majesty would rather I did not come?’
‘I would, that is true. But it cannot be. The Sultan has instructed the
kapici
to grant you entrance, and I cannot appear to overrule him. Not at the moment.’
‘I see.’
‘If I could, I would.’
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘But at least you can rest assured that your grandchildren are reading and learning.’
‘That is what worries me,’ she said.
I glanced up. She had enormous dark brown eyes, but they were not warm — quite the opposite. At that moment they looked like two cannon barrels, pointed right at my head.
‘What is it that you are reading to him?’ she asked. ‘None of your controversial rubbish, I trust?’
‘A few of the classics from my tradition and yours,’ I said. ‘Cicero, Herodotus, Pliny. Believe me, these are not radical ideas.’
The Kislar Agha laced his fingers together in front of his chest. ‘You more than anyone should know, Mistress Hawkins,’ he said, ‘that all learning, any book, has the potential to be dangerous to a young mind. Empires can be shattered by one book, one idea. That is why you are hiding here, after all.’
‘That’s true. But the books I read to the Sultan are from his own library, many of them chosen by the sultans of the past.’
‘Half of them insane.’ The Valide Sultan waved a hand. On each finger she wore more rings of precious stones and gold than I had ever seen in my life. ‘And this business of the forgotten library?’
I took a deep breath. ‘The Sultan has graciously given us permission to investigate it, and to read to him the works that we find there.’
‘Of that I do approve,’ said the Valide Sultan. ‘My late husband was very fond of his library and all those odd pieces of parchment.’
‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’
‘He was a poet, you know. He wrote me such beautiful songs when we were young.’
‘So I have heard, Your Majesty.’
‘It may be that my grandson takes after him with all this bookishness,’ she said.
‘Better that he studies war craft,’ said the Kislar Agha. ‘Or hunting.’
‘There is time enough for that,’ said the Valide Sultan. ‘Besides, it is much better than him taking after his father.’
I bowed my head. It never ceased to amaze me how openly people in the palace discussed the dead sultan’s shortcomings.
‘But you will read him none of your English nonsense,’ she said. ‘None of your father’s works, in particular.’
It wasn’t a question. It was an order.
‘If you say so, Your Majesty.’
There was no need, I thought, to mention that the Sultan already had his own copy of
Discourse on Liberty
.
‘Do not bring your poison here,’ said the Kislar Agha.
‘There is no poison, I promise.’
‘We do not sanction your printed books,’ he said. ‘They are a blight upon the civilised world. That is our express order.’
‘With respect, you cannot expect me to agree with you on that,’ I said.