by Roberta Rich
CHAPTER 26
The Hippodrome Constantinople
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.”
“Yet another party claiming this unfortunate boy? And what exactly do you mean by that?” asked the Valide, her face tight with disapproval.
“Foscari asked me to verify the boy’s identity. And I have. I have proof that he is indeed the heir to the di Padovani fortune. Foscari and I plan to take him together to Venice.”
Grazia called Matteo to her side, and the boy immediately ran to her and hugged her skirts. She reached into Matteo’s pocket and pulled out his blanket, which she held up for all to see. “This is the boy’s blanket. He has had it since birth. And this,” she said, pointing out the crest in the middle, “is the di Padovani coat of arms.”
“You see, Your Highness? Just as I claimed,” Foscari said.
Grazia eyed Foscari suspiciously. “But Foscari is not the protector he pretends to be,” she said. “After he is appointed guardian and appropriates the di Padovani estate, he plans to kill the child!”
Hannah felt as though a knife were lodged in her heart. Kill Matteo? The boy loosened his grip on his aunt’s skirts and ran into her arms. Hannah held him tight. He smelled of soap and sugar.
The Valide looked at Grazia. “I do not know who you are, but I do know Foscari. For years, he has kept me informed of various matters going on in the city. He is a man of … shall we say … flexible principles. But I do not believe him capable of harming a child.”
“He stole Matteo from me this morning when I was showing the boy the sights of the parade! I searched high and low for them. I went to the embassy and asked for Ambassador Foscari, only to learn that there was no such man. I even went to the docks, thinking he had put the boy on board the Medusa. I had almost given up hope of finding him when I spotted him here, near the tightrope act.”
The Valide shook her head. “Really, Foscari? So you are an ambassador now?”
Foscari said nothing.
“I suppose that ridiculous nose of yours serves some purpose?”
Foscari put a hand to his face and touched the silver appendage.
“Take it off,” the Valide ordered.
“But Your Highness—”
“Now!”
Foscari inserted a finger under a corner of the right nostril and then the left. He gave an abrupt tug and off it came. Hannah looked away, afraid to see a stump suppurating with pus or at the very least a badly mangled lump of cartilage. She took a moment to compose herself, and then raised her eyes.
His nose was a perfectly ordinary appendage, typically Venetian—long and thin with flared nostrils. Without the silver beak, his bare face looked almost indec
ent. He looked like an entirely different man. That, she supposed, was the whole point.
The Valide said, “I assume once you boarded that ship you were going to remove that monstrosity so no one would connect you with the abduction of a child from the Jewish Quarter of Constantinople?”
Foscari stood silently, his shoulders squared. He gripped the silver nose in his hand.
Grazia said, “He is an abductor of children, Your Highness! And a thief. He stole my hundred ducats.”
“I am no more a thief of ducats than I am a thief of children!” Foscari retorted. “This woman extracted from me a promise to give her the di Padovani villa outside Venice in exchange for her help. And she is no more Grazia Levy than I am an ambassador. She is a pretty Christian housemaid with loose morals and a greedy nature. She is also the murderer of one Leon Levy, brother to Isaac. May I have the pleasure of introducing …. Francesca?”
Dear God, thought Hannah. Now it made sense. Grazia often stumbled over the Shabbat prayers that should have been second nature to her. Hannah had attributed that to the fact Grazia was a convert. But Grazia did not even know the details of her own wedding. And she had never acted as a widow—there had been not a trace of grief in her words or attitude whenever her husband’s name came up. Long ago, Hannah had thought that Grazia was not who she claimed to be, but the idea was so preposterous she had put it out of her mind. How could she have been so naive?
Isaac’s voice was cold with rage. “You are not my sister-in-law? You sailed from Rome for the sole purpose of fleecing me, of taking my house, of becoming my wife, of kidnapping my son? And you killed my brother?” Isaac made a move toward Grazia, but the Valide held up a slender arm, which stopped him in his tracks.
“I think I have heard enough,” the Valide said, and turned to address Foscari first. “You have booked passage on the Medusa?”
Foscari nodded.
“For you and for this imposter?” The Valide nodded in Cesca’s direction. Cesca started to protest but the Valide silenced her.
The Valide said to Mustafa, “Send my Janissaries to escort these scoundrels to their ship. I have no authority to detain this woman for a crime committed on Venetian soil, but I shall inform the Venetian authorities that one of their most cunning citizens is on her way back home. I am sure she will be greeted with all the welcome she deserves.” She turned to Foscari. “And as for you, ‘Ambassador Foscari,’ allow me to thank you for your service to me over the past years. I see now that your loyalty knows no bounds. Truly, I wish you a good voyage on the storm-tossed seas. It is a dangerous trip, so do be careful.”
There was an implied threat in the Valide’s words. Hannah was grateful it had not been directed to her.
“Sometimes,” the Valide said, looking at the Janissaries standing near the tightrope acrobats, “people have a way of slipping off ships and returning to stir up more trouble.”
“I shall see that does not occur, Your Highness,” said Mustafa, “if I have to buy her passage with my own money.”
“And the boy?” asked Foscari. “He should come with me.”
“The boy remains here,” snapped the Valide.
Not for the first time that afternoon, Hannah felt relief. She hoped it would last. She prayed she would remain Matteo’s mother. She prayed Isaac would remain his father. She longed to see Matteo grow to be a man.
The nearby Janissaries came forward and led Foscari and Cesca away.
“Wait a moment,” the Valide ordered, and everyone stopped.
“The ducats, Foscari?”
Foscari reached into his pocket and pulled out a silk purse.
“Mustafa, please hand that purse to its rightful owner.”
Mustafa walked the few steps to Foscari, took the wallet, and returned to place it in Hannah’s palm.
“Isaac,” the Valide said, her tone softening as she turned to him. “I have heard that you craft tents that are as light as meringue and as red as the blood of the lamb?”
“Very poetically put, Your Highness,” said Isaac.
“I shall order a dozen of your tents for harem excursions to the Princes’ Islands.”
Isaac bowed. “It would be my pleasure to serve you.”
“And now,” the Valide said, “about this boy. About Matteo …”
Hannah held her breath, and saw a muscle twitch in Isaac’s jaw.
“I think that in the spring, you and Isaac must take the boy to Venice and see to this business of his inheritance. I will send you with a letter explaining that you and Isaac saved the child’s life and are, if not his natural parents, mostly definitely his rightful adopted parents.”
Hannah would have fallen to the ground if Isaac had not caught her in time—so great was her relief to feel Isaac’s hand clasp hers. But how was she going to explain that she could not travel in the spring?
She steadied herself and prepared to speak the truth. “Thank you so much for declaring Matteo our son,” Hannah began. “But begging a thousand pardons, Your Highness, I cannot sail in the spring.”
“Why ever not?” the Valide asked.
Hannah put her hands on her stomach. Must she tell the Valide what she had not even told Isaac? There was no other way. “Your Highness, I am with child. My confinement will be in May.”
Isaac turned to Hannah in disbelief, tears of joy in his eyes. Regardless of the Valide, Mustafa, and the many servants and subjects present, Isaac took Hannah in his arms.
From around them rose the crowd’s cheer. “Look, Mama!” Hannah felt a tug at her skirts and looked down at her beautiful boy. Matteo pointed up. The acrobats were preparing a meal on the tightrope. Midway between the Obelisk of Thutmosis III and the Serpent Column they had set up their charcoal brazier and were cooking.
Isaac put his hand on his son’s shoulder while with the other he held Hannah tight. He sniffed the air. “Circassian chicken with walnuts,” he said.
“Cooked in the full view of everyone in the Hippodrome,” the Valide added.
Hannah said, “What could be better?”
“What indeed?” said Isaac.
HISTORICAL NOTE
Many of the incidents in The Harem Midwife are true. Many of the characters are historical figures—Murat III, the Valide, Safiye, Ezster Mandali.
Ottoman history is a motherlode of dramatic events requiring little embellishment. The story of the deranged Sultan Ibraiham having his entire harem strangled for the pleasure of selecting a new one is true, though it took place in the mid-1600s. His squad of deaf-mutes strangled six hundred women and dumped them in weighted sacks into the Bosporus.
Murat III’s bewitchment by his wife, Safiye, was a source of great consternation to his mother and sister, who managed to break the Sultan’s spell with the purchase of a young slave girl. So successful was their ploy that Murat III went on to father 101 children.
The story of the Valide ordering a slave’s head cut off for the benefit of an artist is inspired by an encounter that took place between the Venetian painter Gentile Bellini and Sultan Mehmet II, who, displeased with Bellini’s depiction of John the Baptist’s decapitation, demonstrated the process on a slave.
A letter from the Valide to the ambassador complaining of the large white dogs he sent to her is paraphrased from a letter written by the Valide Nurbanu to the Venetian ambassador.
Readers will forgive me, I hope, for taking liberties with a few dates in service of the plot. Most conspicuously, the famous Circumcision Parade for Mehmet II took place in 1582, not 1578. Note, too, for those who have visited Istanbul, that what is referred to as the Imperial Palace in this book is now called Topkapi Palace.
GLOSSARY
aigrette:
a jewelled stickpin designed to keep the turban in place. Mustafa had an elaborate filigreed gold aigrette set with rubies and diamonds.
bahnkes:
placing heated cups on the body to draw out pain and tension. The cups are heated with a candle.
bimah:
&nb
sp; a raised platform in a synagogue from which the Torah is read.
Bismillah:
an Arabic phrase meaning “in the name of God, the most compassionate.”
börek:
a family of pastries made of a thin flaky dough known as phyllo, with varying fillings.
brokhe:
a Jewish blessing.
buzkashi:
literally “goat grabbing.” A game played on horseback, the object being to wrestle the headless carcass of a goat or a calf from the opposing team and race with it to the goal post. The game is played in countries such as Afghanistan, Uzbekistan, and Turkestan.
cara:
a term of affection in Italian, meaning “dear.”
cassone:
a chest, which may be rich and showy or very simple.
catarrh:
a persistent inflammation of the mucus membranes.
chopine:
high, treacherous shoes worn by Venetian women of fashion, designed to keep them elevated from the mud of the streets. The height of the chopine was emblematic of the social standing of the wearer; the higher the shoes, the higher the woman’s status.
cioppà:
a Venetian term for loose-fitting dress.
djinns:
tiny demons made of fire that tormented and interfered in everyday life, causing endless misfortune.
dolma:
grape leaves stuffed with ground meat, rice, or herbs.
gagliarda:
an athletic and popular Renaissance dance.
gözde:
a girl in the eye of the sultan.
halizah:
a ceremony to dissolve a levirate marriage, for example, a marriage between a widow and her brother-in-law. The widow removes the brother-in-law’s shoe, a specially made sandal, and he is released from the obligation to marry her.