It lay naked and face-up, the cardinal’s immense paunch bulging over his genitals. His skin was pale and grey. Dozens of bloody stab wounds pierced it. And the exposed bones of his jaws and teeth pointed up at the stone ceiling.
My teacher circumnavigated the slab, peering at the body curiously without the slightest appearance of discomfort. He glanced over at me. ‘Are you all right?’
I nodded even though I was utterly horrified.
Mr Ascham touched one of the stab wounds, as if checking to make sure it was real. Then he casually picked up one of the dead cardinal’s hands and looked at both sides of it with no more care or enthusiasm than a woman at a fruit stall assessing a bruised apple. He let the hand fall back onto the stone slab with a dull slap before he checked the other one. Both hands were pudgy and pale, wet and grey, and as far as I could tell, completely unremarkable.
Now my teacher came to the corpse’s mutilated head.
He bent over the cardinal’s exposed jawbone and looked at it closely. I couldn’t conceive how he could get so close to something so foul and yet still be so calm. I half expected the corpse to leap up and bite him.
He peered inside the cardinal’s skinless mouth—and here my teacher emitted a grunt of discovery.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘The cardinal’s gums and tongue are covered in a rash, a rather aggressive rash. The tongue is greatly swollen, too.’ At this point, to my great disgust and horror, Mr Ascham reached into the dead man’s ghastly mouth with his index finger and poked around inside it.
‘How very interesting,’ he said casually. ‘The entire underside of his tongue is covered in a black residue. The good cardinal, it appears, indulged in regular opium use.’
Then my teacher did something even more peculiar: he pushed down sharply and firmly on the corpse’s chest, peering intently at the dead cardinal’s mouth as he did so.
‘What are you—?’ I began.
He held up a finger, and pumped the chest a few more times.
When at last he stopped, he said thoughtfully, ‘No water.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘No water in his lungs,’ he said. ‘Which means he was not breathing when he was thrown into the pool. He was dead already.’
Mr Ascham pursed his lips. Then he straightened. ‘Come, Bess, we’re done here. It was beneficial to see the body so close to the time of the murder but we will learn no more tonight. Let us return to our lodgings and get some sleep, for tomorrow promises to be a busy day.’
AFTER DARK IN THE SULTAN’S PALACE
WE RETURNED TO OUR QUARTERS. There my teacher bade me good night and retired to his room. He closed the heavy curtain that served as a door but I could see the light of a candle in there and heard the scratching of a quill for some time thereafter—he was writing down his thoughts while they were fresh in his mind.
I myself was both fatigued and invigorated by the evening’s events. I went into the room I shared with Elsie and hurried to her bed to wake her and tell her about the awful things I had seen.
Her bed was still empty. I had forgotten about the late-night gathering hosted by the Crown Prince that she had crept away to attend earlier.
I didn’t pause to think about Elsie for long. My weariness was suddenly quite profound. I folded into my bed and was asleep within a minute.
I was shaken awake by a most excited Elsie.
‘Oh, Bessie, Bessie, you won’t believe the wonders I have seen!’
I sat up. I didn’t know how long I had been asleep. It was still dark outside, but judging by the soft glow on the horizon I gathered it was closer to dawn than to midnight. Elsie had been out a very long time.
‘What? Where?’ I whispered weakly.
‘Why, at the party in the Crown Prince’s quarters, silly,’ she said. ‘Oh, Bessie, how could I possibly sleep—this place is so wondrous. Sultans, princes, artists, champion chess players, wrestlers, fireworks and now a scandalous murder. After I slipped out of here, I went directly over to the Harem, where I told the guards the password—that I was a privileged friend of the Crown Prince’s—and thus I was granted entry and escorted to his rooms.
‘Oh, my . . .’ she sighed dramatically. ‘You cannot imagine what I beheld there. Dionysian does not even begin to describe it. The Crown Prince’s quarters were simply lavish: a broad chamber composed of cushioned lounges and cosy side-booths. And the whole place was veiled in a haze of incense and smoke from ganja-weed pipes. Somewhere a lyre played. Olive-oil lamps illuminated the chamber in a dim golden glow that allowed for fleeting glimpses of what was taking place.’
‘What was taking place there?’ I asked.
‘The first thing I saw was the silhouette of a couple, a woman kneeling astride a man, the two of them moving to a slow rhythm that caused the man to throw his head back in pleasure and the woman to grip his shoulders to contain her own delight. It was fornication, Bessie, right there out in the open!’
‘Goodness me,’ I said.
‘I ventured further into the dim chamber,’ Elsie said. ‘There was subtle movement all around me, half-seen shadows in the golden mist: caressing and kissing, heaving and sliding. It wasn’t the rushed rutting I have seen back in England, designed for quick and base pleasure—it was smooth and gentle; mutual pleasure, happily given and willingly received.
‘The sweet smoke all around me meant that I could only see one or two pairings at a time, but as I penetrated deeper into the chamber, I realised that there were couplings everywhere: young people, perhaps twenty of them, all naked, all frolicking in some way or another. In one corner, I glimpsed a chess player kissing the breasts of a young woman; in another, a great oiled wrestler occupied a tiny servant girl, making her pant pleasurably; in a third, two young Turkish men kissed each other tenderly.’
‘Two men kissing?’ I gasped. I had heard the occasional comment back in England about men who enjoyed the company of other men, but it had never made much sense to me. It seemed very peculiar. My father would sometimes insult two men by saying they were in love with each other and everyone present would laugh. And he would often call one earl a ‘dirty sodomite’. But I had never actually imagined two men kissing tenderly.
Elsie went on. ‘Then the haze parted and I spotted our new friend Zubaida lying on a lounge, half-naked, smoking an opium pipe as she surveyed the delightful scene. After she took an inhalation of the pipe, she caressed herself, drawing a finger from the tip of one of her nipples down the length of her stomach until it ended inside her, and with her senses heightened by the magic of the poppy seed, she pleasured herself. My!’
My eyes almost popped out of my head as I listened.
Elsie said, ‘Not far from Zubaida, above that theatre of hedonism, up on the largest chaise of all, was Crown Prince Selim who was himself being pleasured by a slave girl while he casually smoked an opium pipe.
‘I went over to Zubaida.
‘“Ah, Lady Elsie . . .’ she said languidly. “You came! Find a—mmm—partner and—enjoy yourself.”
‘I gazed around this chamber of pleasure and threw off my gown, joining them in their nakedness. I won’t lie to you, Bessie, I have enjoyed congress with men before and it is just the most sublime thing, intoxicating, almost addictive, really. I confess I have mounted quite a few gentlemen back in England, even some married ones. Indeed, the married ones seem to exert themselves with the most vigour of all.’
I listened in stunned silence, completely absorbed. Elsie had never spoken to me about such topics. At the time I felt she was confiding in me, but now I believe she just needed someone to tell about her nocturnal adventure, and in far away Constantinople I was the closest thing Elsie had to a confidante.
She went on. ‘So I strolled around that hazy chamber, completely nude, like a woman in a market, assessing the wares on offer. And I was not the only such observer. At one point, I found myself standing on a small balcony beside the young Austrian girl, Helena, the virgin who was
to be presented as a gift to the Sultan: she was flanked by two stern-looking eunuchs, watching the scene. I guessed that as a virgin who would one day pleasure the Sultan, she’d been sent to observe the gathering—chaperoned by the sexless eunuchs—and thus learn the various techniques of pleasuring a man.
‘Oh, it was just divine, Bessie! The smell of the incense, the shadows writhing in the candlelit mist. I assessed the delicious prospects on offer and settled on a cluster of three wrestlers, glistening with oil from their earlier exhibition matches, who sat in a booth in a corner, chatting with two girls and sipping wine.
‘One of these wrestlers caught my eye. He was a gorgeous man, with a square jaw, huge chest and bulging arms. He looked me up and down, then nodded approvingly.’
‘My goodness, Elsie, what did you do?’ I leaned forward.
‘What do you think I did?’ Elsie said tartly. ‘I winked at him, then guided him over to an empty bed of cushions and let him occupy me beautifully for the next two hours. He took me in every way, Bessie, every way, but his massive body always moved with a gentleness, a slowness that was designed to heighten the extraordinary pleasure of our copulation. My body just thrilled at his ministrations.’
I gasped again. Till then, I’d not heard sexual congress described so openly or sensually. Back home in England, such talk was repressed; it was just not done. But Elsie, quite clearly, found the act of copulation—and the memory of it—exhilarating.
‘Oh, how he could teach the men of England a thing or two about lovemaking,’ she continued. ‘And the Persian girls, too, Bessie, you won’t believe what they do! They shave the hair around their pudenda into neat little triangles or, in some cases, they shave it all off, making them completely hairless down there!’
‘My Lord . . .’ I breathed. What a bizarre thing to do.
‘I must admit,’ Elsie said, ‘it looked very sophisticated and alluring, especially with their narrow waists and curving hips. Perhaps I shall try it. In any case, at length the night drew on and the oil lamps dimmed and the crowd slowly dispersed, I among them. I left my stallion with a dainty kiss of thanks and made my way back here, but on the way, I saw something most scandalous.
‘As I was leaving the Harem, I caught sight of a robed figure—a woman, I was sure—darting down a side corridor and slipping into a curtained room. Thinking it might be a second exclusive gathering, I followed her and cautiously drew aside the curtain.
‘Oh my Lord, Bessie, inside the little room I saw the largest of all the wrestlers—the huge broad-shouldered fellow with long dark hair named Darius—making love to a woman with genuine unbridled passion. I noticed immediately that the woman was not Persian but rather had the fair skin of a European. They kissed forcefully and he held her up against the wall, her robe bunched up over her naked hips, her legs wrapped around his waist. He gripped her slim body with giant hands and I truly thought that if he wanted to, he could have snapped her in two.
‘Then she climaxed and threw her head back and I glimpsed her face, and I ducked back behind the curtains. Bessie, it was the queen! The Sultan’s wife! Coupling with the most celebrated wrestler in the realm!’
‘Goodness me . . .’
‘Needless to say, I scurried away from there and hurried back here to our rooms. Oh, Bessie, I can’t tell you how magical it all was. Magical, delightful, delicious and decadent. I’m so thrilled you brought me here! Zubaida says the Crown Prince will be hosting more gatherings during the tournament. I can’t wait to go again! Who knows, maybe I will catch the eye of Crown Prince Selim himself.’
Elsie threw herself back onto her pillow, sighing dramatically.
I did not know what to say.
I just said, ‘Elsie, are you not frightened by the murder of the cardinal last night? Do you think it wise to be venturing out into the palace after midnight?’
‘You may not understand it now, Bessie, but trust me, the pleasure I experienced tonight was worth venturing out for.’
THE TOURNAMENT BEGINS
A GLORIOUS DAY REPLACED that grim night. After we partook of a sumptuous breakfast delivered to our rooms by Pietro, the chef’s teenage son, our little party gathered in the vestibule.
‘The tournament draw is to be held in an hour,’ my teacher said. ‘Giles, your plans before then?’
‘Just to keep my mind at ease, in case I am drawn to play in the first match.’
‘Right. Elsie, please stay here with Mr Giles and give him any help or attendance he might require; we need our man to be in top form when he is called on to play. As for you, Bess, you can come with me.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘We are going to commence our investigation and we will begin by retracing the dead Cardinal Farnese’s steps last night. Which means, first of all, we shall visit his host, the Pope’s ambassador here at the Sultan’s court, Cardinal Cardoza.’
Cardinal Cardoza’s embassy was not far from our lodgings. One of only a few ambassadors granted the privilege of living inside the palace walls, he and his staff resided in the standalone structure I had seen the previous evening out on the wide lawn of the Fourth Courtyard. A white two-storey marble building, it was one of the oldest structures in the palace and looked out over the Sea of Marmara to the south. It was also very close to the shallow pool in which Cardinal Farnese’s body had been found.
As we approached the embassy with Latif, Mr Ascham moved away from my side, peering oddly at the grass. Then, instead of going straight to the structure’s front entrance, he walked in a full circle around the building, his head bent the whole time, looking intently at the ground.
Only when he had conducted a complete circuit of the embassy did he allow Latif to take us to the main entrance. Latif knocked loudly on the ornate door.
Cardinal Cardoza’s manservant answered it. ‘Latif, good morning,’ he said. His voice was as emotionless and blank as his face. He was taller up close and I saw that he had the rough brown complexion of a Sicilian or a Sardinian. His eyes were dead.
‘Sinon,’ Latif said. ‘I have an investigator from the Sultan to see Cardinal Cardoza.’
The manservant—Sinon—threw a neutral glance at Mr Ascham and me. He pulled open the door and allowed us in. ‘Come inside, please.’
He guided us into the embassy. We entered a beautifully decorated atrium furnished with a large oak desk, some chairs and many Catholic icons mounted on the walls: crucifixes, chalices, candlesticks, all made of gold.
To our left, I saw a small chapel with rows of pews and an altar. Near its doorway, a set of stairs ascended to the building’s upper level. To my right were a couple of curtained-off guest nooks and some windows overlooking the sea: every one of them bore thick velvet drapes. The whole place exuded ecclesiastical wealth, the kind my father despised. A priest nodded to us as he left his nook and disappeared into the chapel to pray.
Fetched by Sinon, Cardinal Cardoza appeared on the stairs. ‘Hello, Latif. I was wondering if I might receive an emissary from the Sultan this morning.’
Latif said, ‘Cardinal Cardoza, this is Mr Roger Ascham from Cambridge. At the Sultan’s command, he is investigating Cardinal Farnese’s death.’
‘An English inquisitor?’ Cardoza said. ‘Intriguing.’ His eyes fell on me. ‘Tell me, do all Englishmen bring children along when they investigate hideous crimes?’
‘This is my student, Elizabeth,’ Mr Ascham said evenly. ‘When I brought her to Constantinople, I did not anticipate that I would be charged with finding a killer. She is in my charge and so must accompany me wherever I go. I hope you do not mind.’
‘Not at all.’ The cardinal’s eyes lingered on me longer than I liked before returning to face my teacher.
Mr Ascham said, ‘I would like to ask you some questions about Cardinal Farnese.’
Cardinal Cardoza nodded sadly. ‘But of course. I have hardly slept. I am still appalled and aggrieved that my visiting brother from Rome should fall foul of this beast prowling the streets of B
yzantium.’
He had deep red bags under his eyes. It looked like he had hardly slept.
My teacher said, ‘Your Grace, I am not so sure that is what happened, which is why I am trying to reconstruct the cardinal’s movements last night.’
At this, Cardinal Cardoza cocked his head. He looked at Mr Ascham with extra interest.
Mr Ascham said, ‘You and Cardinal Farnese left the banquet together, did you not?’
‘Yes, we did.’
‘And you returned here?’
‘Yes. I had arranged for separate meals to be brought here. We were planning to discuss some correspondence he had brought from Rome over dinner. But I was detained on our way out of the courtyard by some other Christian guests, Brother Raul from Spain and his patron, the famous Ignatius of Loyola, so Cardinal Farnese went ahead of me. My discussion went overlong and I was delayed by almost half an hour. When I arrived here, Cardinal Farnese was nowhere to be found.’
‘I see. Can you tell me if the cardinal was in any known danger prior to coming to Constantinople?’
‘Nothing beyond the obvious. His writings on Islam have provoked angry comments from the Sultan’s religious advisors and other Moslems, but nothing that I would call dangerous.’
‘You wouldn’t call a fatwa dangerous?’
‘That was mere posturing on the part of the Imam. None of the other Islamic scholars agreed with him, so the fatwa was never issued.’
‘Did the cardinal receive any threats of violence after his arrival here?’
‘None that I know of, beyond locals showing him the soles of their shoes.’
‘Cardinal Farnese would have informed you if he was in danger?’
‘We have been friends for many years, Mr Ascham. Since long before we were cardinals. He would have told me, yes.’
‘May I see his room?’
The cardinal’s eyes darted sideways.
‘Why would you want to do that? See his room?’
The Tournament Page 10