The Sultan's Eyes (20 page)

‘God made man,’ said Willem. ‘Then woman. And then she —’

‘Don’t start that line of argument,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘You won’t win. You never do.’

‘I’m sorry I ever began this entire conversation,’ said Valentina. ‘It’s going to end in tears, I can see.’

‘Not as sorry as I am,’ said Willem.

I glared at him. So this was why he and Paul had kept the press for themselves. This was why he had planned, all along, to set up shop back in Amsterdam one day.

‘I thought you’d changed,’ I said.

He held my gaze for a heartbeat, then closed his eyes. ‘And I thought you had.’

‘The whole world has changed,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘I have had to think about this matter a great deal myself. Watching our friends at work has helped me realise how little I knew of women before this. Women of power are unusual, I grant you. But think of Mary and Elizabeth of England, Catherine of Sweden, the Medici Queen in France, the Valide Sultan here, and so many formidable Queens Regent.’

‘A formidable woman is not the same as a great one,’ said Willem.

‘And yet a formidable man so often is.’ Valentina was looking just a little formidable herself. ‘Apparently.’

‘Women tend to shrewishness, though,’ said Willem. ‘That is well known.’

‘I’m feeling a touch shrewish myself at the moment,’ I said. ‘If this conversation continues in the same vein, I may even start screeching.’

‘Please don’t,’ said Willem with a sigh.

‘Think of this as an experiment in human nature,’ I suggested. ‘What conditions create shrewishness? Now we know.’

‘We do?’

‘Indeed. Idiocy and ignorance, resulting in utter frustration.’ My voice rose to an undignified shriek that was only partly in jest.

‘What did I do?’ Willem asked.

‘You really have no idea? That only makes it worse.’

Valentina burst out laughing, and the sound of it scattered my anger into the air.

‘As much as I love to watch you two scrapping like Venetian fishmongers,’ she said, ‘this is perhaps not the best moment to kill one another. Truce?’

It was an uneasy truce, at best. But Willem and I had rubbed along beside one another, scrapping and laughing, teasing and working, travelling and even facing death together, for so many years that any scars we inflicted on each other healed quickly.

Or so I thought.

But in the weeks that followed Paul’s arrival, I saw less of Willem. He and Paul spent hours in the workshop, preparing the press and laying in our secret supplies of paper and ink. On one hand, Willem seemed lighter, happier. On the other, he was often curt with me and preferred Paul’s company to ours. Paul needed him close by, if only to translate. I didn’t. But the tension that pulsed between us made me restless, and left me puzzling over his words, his expressions, his diffidence.

Our teasing changed — it became more barbed, more upsetting to both of us, and the others. The silences between us grew longer.

Willem still escorted me to the palace every day, although it was no longer really necessary, and vanished as soon as we arrived.

‘Where are you off to?’ I asked him once.

‘What do you care?’

‘Why do you use that tone with me?’

‘Why do you question me so?’

I sighed. ‘Will, please, let’s not fight any more.’

‘Why not? It’s what we do best.’

‘I’ve known you longer than any of my friends,’ I said.

‘Not longer than the Jonson boys.’

‘That’s different,’ I said, ‘and I hadn’t seen them for years.’

‘But you knew them before you met me.’

‘True enough. But they are not dear to me the way you are.’

‘I am?’ He looked stunned.

‘Will, how can that be a shock? After everything we’ve been through?’

‘But I thought …’ His words faltered.

‘You are more to me than anyone,’ I said. ‘A brother. A friend.’

‘That’s all?’

‘That’s everything.’

‘I see.’ He hung his head, and I watched while he scuffed his boots in the mud.

‘Will?’ I said softly.

‘What?’

‘I’m trying to mend whatever this is, between us.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘I’m trying to find out. But you need to talk to me. We need to talk to each other.’

‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to be your brother. I already have sisters, brothers, plenty of them.’

‘You’re lucky. But I have only you.’

He laughed. ‘Rubbish. You’re surrounded by people all the time. Everyone wants to be your friend.’

‘You exaggerate,’ I said. ‘But is it wrong to want people around me?’

‘Only some people.’

‘You don’t understand. You have a family.’

‘In Amsterdam! On the other side of Europe.’

‘But they’re alive,’ I said. ‘You can go back there, if you want, any time. I have nobody. Nowhere. You are my family now, you and the
signora
and Al-Qasim and Luis — the family I found.’

‘That’s what I want, to be your family,’ he said.

‘Well, then.’ I took his hand. ‘At least we agree on one thing.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think it’s the same thing.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing.’ He let go a huge breath, as if he had been holding it in for ages. ‘I’d better go. I have work to do.’

‘Will it be better now?’ I asked.

‘Yes, Isabella. Everything is much clearer.’

He squeezed my hand, and walked off along the dappled pathway to the palace kitchens.

Words flowed more easily between us from that day, and I was glad I had talked to him, although I wasn’t sure exactly what had shifted. But something had, and we both made an effort to be more careful with one another. After all, there was a great deal to do and any tension between us affected the others as well.

Our workshop was prepared, our plans were in place, and the press was in readiness for a new edition of
The Sum of All Knowledge
. Al-Qasim wrote a coded message to Luis asking him to send the engraved picture plates. Until they arrived, we’d agreed to work on the opening chapters. It was a big project, but a familiar one, and Willem had argued it would be a good test for our new operations while not taxing our brains too much, as the editing was already done.

It was to be followed by my Greek and Latin edition of Hypatia’s lost
Astronomica
, if Al-Qasim and I could just stop going over and over the pages and tweaking our translations and formulae.

But Paul seemed displeased. He adjusted the press, rearranged all his type drawers twice, and sent Willem off in search of new lanterns. Finally, Valentina stamped her foot and said the press was as ready as it would ever be, and Paul reluctantly agreed to start the composition the next day.

We gathered at the workshop after dark, like some secret convocation. Paul pointed out the desk where he would set the type. He had moved it, once again, to the other side of the room. Valentina nodded her approval. Willem showed us his ingenious hiding places for the paper and the moving parts of the press: a shelf full of boxes that slid aside on tiny wheels to reveal a storeroom, a tool chest with a false lid, two enormous empty oil vats that appeared to be sealed tight. When we weren’t there, the place would look just like a half-empty warehouse to anyone snooping around.

‘Are you sure you weren’t followed here?’ Willem asked me more than once.

‘I’m absolutely certain,’ I said.

‘Pfft. You were followed halfway across Europe once and you didn’t even notice.’

‘Neither did you.’

‘I never thought —’

The workshop door creaked open slowly. We all stood as if frozen.

‘Good evening, everyone,’ said Justinian Jonson. ‘I thought I might find you here.’

Al-Qasim spoke first. ‘Master Jonson, what brings you out so late in the evening?’

‘You do, of course,’ said Justinian. ‘All of you.’

‘Who is this?’ Paul asked Willem, but he looked too surprised to answer.

‘How charming,’ said Valentina. ‘We were just —’

‘There’s no need to pretend,’ said Justinian. ‘I know all about it.’

I didn’t have to look around me to know that the others were all standing there, stunned.

‘How?’ I asked.

‘There are few secrets in Constantinople, for those who seek them out,’ Justinian said. ‘As you should know by now.’

‘God in heaven,’ said Valentina. ‘We are doomed.’ She sank down on the bench.

‘Please don’t be alarmed,’ Justinian said. ‘I’m sure you are quite safe.’

‘Who is this?’ Paul demanded more loudly.

‘But if you know we’re here, who else does?’ said Al-Qasim.

‘Your father?’ I said. ‘The Ambassador?’

‘Not yet, and not if I can help it.’

‘That’s something, at least,’ said Al-Qasim.

‘Then what are you doing here?’ Willem advanced on Justinian and glared at him. ‘What do you want of us?’

‘I’d like to help you,’ said Justinian. ‘That’s all.’

‘We don’t need your assistance,’ said Willem. ‘We have all the people, all the skills, we need.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Valentina, recovering from her momentary collapse. ‘What we do not have is a diplomat.’

‘That’s me.’ Justinian put one hand on his chest, just like Al-Qasim, and bowed.

‘He could be useful,’ Valentina said in Venetian.

Justinian blinked as he tried to make out her meaning. ‘You’ll need contacts if you’re going to smuggle books into England,’ he said. ‘I can help with that.’

‘He knows everything,’ said Valentina. ‘We might as well put him to work.’

‘I don’t think any of your contacts will be of use to us,’ said Willem. ‘We need smugglers, men of the river, and booksellers who aren’t afraid to sell a few titles under the table.’

‘Then I repeat: that can be my role,’ said Justinian.

‘You’ve never met a smuggler in your life,’ said Willem. ‘I’ll
wager you order all your books by mail from one those fancy gentlemen’s libraries.’

‘I assure you,’ said Justinian, ‘if it’s illegal activity you’re after, then I’m your man.’

‘You?’ said Willem with a laugh.

Justinian’s eyes clouded over like a summer storm.

‘I wouldn’t have thought of you as the criminal type,’ I said.

‘You have no idea.’

‘At the very least,’ said Valentina, ‘Master Jonson can help ensure our secrecy. If he knows about our plans, I wonder who else might suspect.’

‘Does anyone at the palace know?’ I asked.

Justinian shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Did you follow us?’ asked Willem.

‘Yes, I’m afraid I did. Just once, a week or so ago. It wasn’t intentional. I was out walking and I saw you, Isabella, duck in through that door.’

Willem swung around to face me. ‘See?’

‘Then I asked myself what you would want with a warehouse on the docks,’ Justinian said. ‘Of course, knowing your history as I do, there’s only one possible answer to that question. So I hunted around for news. A word here and a whisper there. I heard from a merchant who heard from a shipping agent who heard from someone in the crew of the ship that brought your friend here. I guessed the rest. But if the crew knows, then the customs officials will be aware of the contents of your crates. And if they weren’t bribed enough, they will talk.’

‘Then we must stop them,’ said Valentina.

‘I’ll deal with them, if you will allow me,’ said Justinian.

‘You would do this for us?’ said Willem. ‘Why?’

‘Like you, sir, I am bored.’

‘That’s all this is to you,’ said Willem, ‘some kind of game to keep you occupied?’

‘Not at all,’ said Justinian. ‘If you carry out the kind of work I expect from you, it’s a matter of life or death, truth or ignorance, knowledge or darkness. That’s why I’m here. I don’t know what it is that you’re printing, but I’m sure you wouldn’t take the risk if it wasn’t important.’

Willem’s glare softened a little. ‘Offer the customs men one gold ducat each,’ he said. ‘Not a copper more.’

‘I will see to it,’ said Justinian. He bowed and took his leave.

‘Who,’ Paul shouted, ‘was that?’

‘A friend,’ I said. ‘I think.’

‘I hope he is,’ Paul said.

‘He is a very resourceful young man,’ said Al-Qasim.

I stared at the door. ‘So it would seem.’

‘You should have told us, Isabella,’ said Valentina. ‘We would have been more on our guard.’

‘I had no idea,’ I said. ‘I’ve known Justinian only as a foolish boy, and more recently as a bitter young man.’

‘Justinian isn’t the bitter one,’ said Willem. ‘You are.’

He couldn’t have shocked me more if he’d hit me.

‘I beg your pardon?’

But Valentina nodded. ‘I’m sorry to say that my unusually perceptive colleague is right, Isabella.’

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ said Willem. ‘Justinian Jonson is no friend of mine. But I watch you together and sometimes I can’t help feeling sorry for him.’

‘What?’ It came out sounding more like a seagull’s cry than I’d intended.

‘He is annoying, I grant you,’ said Willem. ‘All philosophical and pampered and —’

‘Willem.’ Valentina tapped a warning on his arm.

‘But I think there’s something badly hurt inside him,’ Willem went on, ‘and every time he sees you, it seems to make him shrink a little.’

Valentina and I both stared, almost open-mouthed, at Willem.

‘You don’t mean it,’ I scoffed.

Valentina blinked, and blinked again.

Willem kept talking, as if we were listening politely. ‘You’re so furious all the time, Isabella. It wears a person out. Even me. But it does something else to Justinian. He takes each blow as if he deserved it, even when he doesn’t. If it was me, I’d fight back, but he can’t somehow.’ He paused. ‘Odd, really. He seems brave enough. But not around you.’

‘Will, that’s so unfair,’ I managed to say at last.

He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. But I must get to work. I’ll see you back at the house later. Don’t hold supper for me.’

Then he walked off to translate for Paul everything that had transpired.

Valentina burst into a howl of laughter. ‘That boy! He will surprise us all yet.’

Willem’s words stung, and stung repeatedly, like a hornet in high summer. I stood silently while Al-Qasim and Valentina examined the forms Paul had built to hold the set type sticks, the ink stores and drying benches.

‘I think we’re ready,’ said Valentina. ‘Don’t you, Isabella?’

‘I’m sorry — what did you say?’

She came over and examined my face closely. ‘Are you well?’

‘I’m not entirely sure,’ I said.

‘You are troubled. Is it about Master Jonson?’

My words caught in my throat. ‘Do you really think Will is right?’

‘He is, as always, a little extreme, but in many senses I wonder … My dear Isabella, forgive me, but I think Justinian brought your father’s book that day as a peace offering and you took it as an insult. I’m not sure why.’

‘He just reminds me of so much that is gone.’

‘I understand,
bella
,’ she said softly. ‘But that’s not his fault, is it?’

The next morning, I called at the embassy as early as I could. A clerk showed me into the Admiral’s office, where he and Constantine stood poring over a huge map.

‘Come in, my dear,’ the Admiral said, pulling out a chair for me. ‘Constantine, call for tea, would you?’

‘Don’t trouble yourself, sir,’ I said. ‘I’ve really come to see Justinian.’

‘I’m afraid he’s not here,’ said the Admiral. ‘Off on some errand or other. Can we help you instead?’

I folded my hands in my lap. ‘You’re very kind, sir, but no. I came to apologise to him. I think I have been unfair.’

Constantine let out a bark of laughter. ‘You think so?’

‘Now, now,’ said the Admiral. ‘That will be enough from you, my boy.’

‘But, Father —’

‘Enough.’

When the Admiral spoke to me, his voice was gentle. ‘You have been grieved, Mistress Hawkins, we know that, Justin better than any of us.’

‘That’s no excuse for my dreadful behaviour,’ I said. ‘What must you think of me? And Lady Elizabeth?’

‘The blame is not entirely yours,’ he said. ‘Both of my sons seem to go out of their way to goad you sometimes. I don’t know where they mislaid their manners.’

‘That should be obvious,’ said Constantine. ‘My manners fled on Marston Moor, when I took up arms against my own countrymen. Justin’s deserted him … I don’t know exactly when, but no doubt it was some dark night in the Tower.’

‘Whatever can you mean?’ I asked.

Admiral Jonson leaned closer and patted my hand. ‘How little you understand, Mistress Hawkins. Perhaps we should have been more forthright with you from the beginning.’

‘Is there something I should know?’

‘Yes, my dear, I think there is,’ said the Admiral. ‘After you fled London so precipitously with your father, what do you imagine happened?’

‘We went to Paris, then —’

‘Not to you, Mistress Hawkins,’ said Constantine. ‘Your own escape is infamous.’

‘Well, then?’

‘What happened to those you left behind?’ said the Admiral. ‘To my son, for example — the last person to see both you and your father.’

‘I …’ Memories raced through my mind, of Justinian bowing and waving goodbye outside the prison, of his pride at finding me a ship out of London, of his face, my father’s face … ‘I didn’t …’

‘No, you didn’t think of him,’ said the Admiral. ‘Of course not. You had more pressing subjects to consider in the months following. I do understand. So you are unaware that Justin spent
several months in prison awaiting trial, was convicted of having aided your escape —’

I gasped. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It’s the truth, sad to say.’

‘But Justinian had no idea about any of that,’ I said. ‘I didn’t tell him my plans.’

‘Only you and he know that to be the truth, and he refused to pretend otherwise.’

Constantine glared at me. ‘Even under torture.’

All at once I felt as if I might fall to my knees, right there on the Admiral’s carpet.

‘You are pale, Mistress Hawkins,’ said the Admiral. ‘Perhaps some wine?’

‘Thank you.’

He motioned to Constantine, who finally tore his gaze away from my face. While he fumbled with the glasses and carafe, I struggled to control my breath, my thoughts. I failed miserably. I stood up and walked over to lean against the mantelshelf. My hand trembled as I took the glass from Constantine and held it to my lips.

The Admiral waited a few more moments, then went on. ‘Justinian has only been released into my custody recently.’

‘He was in prison all that time?’

‘Yes.’

‘But that’s years!’ I said.

‘I can tell you exactly how long it was, to the day and hour. He might be in prison still were it not for the exemplary service Constantine showed to General Cromwell and to Parliament. We secured his release only a few months ago, on condition that we left England immediately. All of us.’

I sat down again, rather hurriedly, on the nearest chair. Constantine grabbed the glass from my hand as the wine sloshed over the rim and onto the floor.

‘But it — why — that’s such an injustice!’

‘Perhaps so,’ said Admiral Jonson. ‘But the law is the law.’

I shook my head. ‘I didn’t know. Didn’t think.’

‘Of course not. How could you have known?’

‘I would have done something, written a letter to Cromwell himself,’ I said. ‘Anything. I could have told the court that I planned the whole thing myself.’

‘Justinian would never have expected it of you,’ said Constantine.

‘You asked once why Constantine worked so hard for your dispensation,’ said the Admiral. ‘The truth is, we hoped that by proving your innocence we might remove any suspicion against Justinian. How could he be your accomplice if you committed no crimes? I have already written to London to ask for a pardon.’

I jumped to my feet. ‘I must speak to him.’

‘Say nothing,’ said Admiral Jonson. ‘Please.’

Constantine took a tentative step towards me. ‘My brother made us swear we would never tell you, and but for your coming here so unexpectedly today, we would never have done so.’

‘You’ve done the right thing,’ I said. ‘I’m stunned, of course, and — oh — humbled. I was so proud of myself for arranging everything. What a fool. It never occurred to me that he’d get into trouble.’

‘Please, Mistress Hawkins, do not worry yourself. He wouldn’t wish it.’

A sudden sob wrenched itself from the pit of my belly. ‘I’m sorry. This is all such a shock.’

‘As is so much, in this new world of ours,’ said the Admiral.

He waited until my tears slowed and I regained control of my breathing. I wiped my face and looked up. Constantine stood by the window, leaning heavily on his stick, watching me.

‘But I must … I feel I should apologise to Justinian, or explain,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine how it must have been for him, locked up for so long. For nothing.’

‘He will not speak of it, even to me,’ Constantine said in a low voice. ‘Even now. We must respect that.’

I agreed, in the end, of course. It troubled me, though, then, and later that week as we sat together at an embassy supper, and for the days and weeks that followed. So many times, I opened my mouth to say something — anything — to Justinian. But I couldn’t. There was just too much to say.

I’m not even sure, now, what I felt: a strange combination of guilt, anger at those who had imprisoned both him and my father, sorrow for the lost months of his young life and the pain he’d endured, and understanding that this young man, who stared gravely across the Bosphorus, attended to great and small matters of state, offered me his seat in the embassy galleries, helped Willem lug bundles of paper around in the workshop — this man was a different creature entirely from the boy who had laughed at me all those years past, in the house by the river. Now I knew why.