Bedazzled

by Bertrice Small

  The merchant was at last cowed, and bowed to the dey before turning abruptly and leaving the audience chamber.

  The woman, Fatima, however, fell to her knees, and kissed the dey’s slipper. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, tears running down her worn face.

  “Do not commit your husband’s sin of greed when you seek your own shelter, lady,” he warned her. “The sword of justice cuts both ways. ”

  “Yes, my lord,” she said, scrambling to her feet and backing away from his presence.

  India was absolutely fascinated. For a few moments, she had almost forgotten to ply her fan so the dey would not become overheated. She had thought El Sinut a place where women counted for little, but if she understood it correctly, women were protected under the laws of Islam. Caynan Reis had been kind, firm, and very fair in his handling of the matter of the woman, Fatima, and the merchant, Ali Akbar. The other cases brought before Caynan Reis that day were not half as interesting, but he judged them all with utmost equitableness, it seemed to her.

  In midafternoon the dey called a halt to the proceedings and dismissed the remaining people from the audience hall. He had heard almost all of the cases on his secretary’s scroll, and would hear the others first the following week. He arose, removing his turban and handing it to India. Then he strode from the chamber. Almost flinging her fan at an attending slave, India hurried after him.

  “I am hungry,” he told her. “Go to the kitchens and fetch me something to eat, India,” he said as they entered his apartment.

  “Yes, my lord,” she said, putting the small turban upon a table. “Is there anything in particular that you desire?”

  “Just food,” he told her.

  “I can find my way,” India told Baba Hassan, and she ran out.

  “You will need help,” Abu told her in a conciliatory tone when she told him that the dey desired food. “He eats his main meal now in midafternoon, and then naps in the heat of the day. I will send several kitchen slaves with you to carry the food.”

  “What will you give him?” India asked, curious.

  “He is not a heavy eater,” Abu said. “I will send a roasted chicken, a bowl of saffroned rice with raisins, a dish of olives, some sliced cucumbers in oil, and bread and fruit.” As he spoke, he piled the trays with the items he named, signaling several little kitchen maids to take up the trays and handing India a decanter. “This is a lemon sherbet for the dey to slake his thirst. You may carry it, and the silver goblet.”

  “The dey does not drink wine?” India asked.

  “Wine is forbidden by the prophet, although there are some in Barbary who do not obey the prophet.” Abu finished darkly.

  India thanked the more cooperative cook, and led her party of serving girls back to the dey’s apartment. The sun being high now, however, this meal was taken indoors, and when he had finished eating, he again instructed India to eat from his leftovers when she had stripped him of his garments, sponged him with rose water, and helped him to his couch to rest. This is ridiculous, she thought to herself, but silently followed Caynan Reis’s orders. When he lay, apparently dozing, she crept to the table, and, seating herself, began to eat. Abu was not stingy with the food, and she was quickly satisfied. Afterward she carried the trays, one at a time, back to the kitchen. When she returned to the dey’s apartments at last, Baba Hassan was awaiting her.

  “The dey will sleep until just before sunset, girl,” he told her. “You are permitted to rest also now that your duties are completed.”

  “Where am I to sleep?” she asked him.

  The chief eunuch went to a small cupboard, and drew out a narrow mattress he proceeded to unroll. “This will be yours. You are to place it outside of the dey’s bedchamber, and sleep there unless he instructs you otherwise. He will call you when he desires your service. When he arises, you will find a silk kaftan for him in the cedar cabinet. He has no guests this evening.”

  She was to sleep on a mat outside Caynan Reis’s bedchamber door? It was absolutely ridiculous! But at least she was comfortable, India thought. She was not chained to an oar, seated upon a hard wooden bench on Aruj Agha’s galley. Silently India spread the mat Baba Hassan had given her before the dey’s bedchamber door and lay down upon it. Soundlessly she wept. This was what her pride had brought her to, and if Adrian died, it would surely be all her fault.

  Chapter 9

  India awoke hot and headachy. Rising, she rolled up her sleeping mat and tucked it back in its cupboard. Then, going to a carafe upon the table, she poured herself a goblet of water. It was warm, but at least it relieved her thirst, and her head began to ache less. Opening the door to the dey’s bedchamber, she saw that he still slept, lying quietly upon his aide, his long form just slightly curved. She left the door open to allow the air to circulate, what breeze there was, and walked out into the garden.

  It was a walled enclosure, in the center of which was a round tiled fountain with a bronze flower spray in its middle. India sat upon the wide lip of the fountain, for it was cooler there, and the faint mist of the spray was very refreshing. The small, square tiles were sea blue. interspersed with white, and there were pale yellow water lilies in the fountain. Dipping her hand in the water, she startled a fat goldfish, and laughed softly as it skittered away.

  The air about her was perfumed with flowers. There were pink damask roses in bloom, and other flowers she recognized. Hollyhocks in white, cream, yellow, and purple stood tall with their fig-shaped leaves at the back of the beds which were edged with blue campanula. There were scarlet martagon lilies in a half-shaded part of the garden, the four-foot stalks holding between eight and ten pendulous flowers, orange-red in color, with their edges turned up like Turk’s caps. In a sunnier area there were yellow Caucasian lilies, sweetly scented and graceful. There were small- to medium-height trees in great blue-and-white porcelain tubs with large trumpet-shaped flowers of pink, red, and yellow, with very prominent yellow stamens with red stigmas that she didn’t recognize. Sniffing one, she found they had no fragrance at all, but they were very dramatic and beautiful flowers. There was a greenery with thick leaves she didn’t recognize, and cedar trees standing tall and graceful.

  She could hear bird song, but could see no birds. There were brightly colored butterflies, and bumblebees wending their way amid the flowers. For a brief moment she could almost imagine she was somewhere else. Anywhere else but El Sinut. She started as his hand fell upon her shoulder.

  “Do you find my gardens pleasant, India?” the dey asked her.

  She jumped to her feet. “Is it all right that I came into it, my lord? Perhaps I should have asked you first.” Her golden eyes were wide with her apprehension.

  “You are my body slave, and the gardens are available to you as long as your duties are done, India. You do not have to be afraid of me because you came into the garden. Do you like it?” His hand moved away from her shoulder.

  “Aye, it is beautiful, and so peaceful. I almost forgot for a moment where I was, my lord,” she said candidly.

  He smiled faintly. “Do you play chess?” he asked her.

  “Aye, I do,” she answered him.

  “Then fetch me a fresh kaftan from the dressing cupboard, India, and we will play a game here in the garden. I will get the board and the pieces. Do you play well? None of the harem women play well.”

  “I play very well,” she said, and then, “Must you always walk about naked, my lord?” Her cheeks were pink.

  He chuckled. “In this heat it is more comfortable, India, but as I respect your modesty, I have asked for a garment. Were you one of my harem women I should not bother, nor would it matter to them. Does not the holy book say that man was created in God’s image?”

  “I somehow do not think of God as looking as you do, my lord,” India told him pithily, and then went to fetch his kaftan.

  Behind her he chuckled again. The wench had spirit, and was by far the most interesting female he had come across in years. He knew his chief eunuch, B
aba Hassan, and the lady Azura had hopes that he would find a woman he liked enough to wed and have children by. His harem women were kept infertile by means of a special sherbet made for exactly that purpose, for he had made it very clear from the moment he became dey that he wanted no children who others might use against him in a powerful struggle for El Sinut. It was a volatile world in which he lived, and ruled. There were always plots swirling about. Particularly as the central government in Istanbul had not been as strong in recent years as it had been in the past. Still, he might take a wife eventually, but not have children. India had possibilities. She was English, as he was, although at this point in time he had no intention of telling her that. They communicated quite well in French. And she was a nobleman’s daughter as he was a nobleman’s son.

  If she was a trifle overproud she could be gently tamed. Much of her haughtiness stemmed from her youth and inexperience, and, he had not a doubt, fear. She was vulnerable, and he could easily see how Adrian had convinced her to elope with him. Although he knew she would probably never admit it, probably she had already been having second thoughts in the matter, and was not unhappy her English cousin, the captain, had found them out. It saved her the embarrassment of admitting her error in judgment. She would have gone home protesting, but in her heart she would have been relieved the decision had been taken out of her hands. If her family had disliked him before Adrian and India eloped, they would dislike him far more now that their daughter was a captive in Barbary. He chuckled a third time. Particularly if they learned she had gone from the frying pan directly into the flame.

  India came running with his kaftan. It was a comfortable cotton garment striped in deep blue and its own natural color. The sleeves were wide, and the neckline open to his navel. Without a word she flung it over his head, yanking it down so quickly he barely had time to fit his arms through the armholes.

  “Does my naked form disturb you so much, India, that you must cover it as fast as you can?” he teased her.

  “I am not used to such things,” she replied. “You have not the chessboard. Tell me where it is and I shall get it.”

  “It is in the chest in my day room,” he told her, smiling. Yes, she has possibilities. She was already learning to treat him with respect before others, while being a bit more at ease with him in private. She was so beautiful, indeed dazzling, with her creamy skin, her dark curls, and those fascinating golden eyes. He had never in his life seen eyes like India’s. She would take time to woo and win, although she would never realize he was wooing her. She would come to him, for only if she did could she be truly happy with her decision in having done so. She would be acknowledging a parting from her former life when that day came, and India was certainly not ready yet to do that.

  She brought the board with its carved red-and-white marble pieces, and they set it up on a low table upon the terrace, seating themselves upon large pillowsl To his pleasure she played extremely well, almost beating him, and when he said, “Checkmate,” she frowned.

  “Where did I make my mistake?” she wondered aloud, and it was then he realized that she had indeed been playing to win. It surprised him almost as much as it delighted him. His harem women would have allowed him to win, if indeed they could even play with him. He showed her her error. “I won’t do that again,” she promised him.

  She took the second game, and he the third. The light was now almost gone from the garden, and the night insects were beginning to hum their songs. He had not enjoyed himself so much in years. “Come,” he said, rising, and then pulling her to her feet. “Are you hungry? It is my habit to eat only bread and fruit in the evening.”

  “I will fetch it,” she said, and hurried off.

  When she returned, he invited her to eat with him in the cool garden. When they had sated themselves with grapes, melon, and warmed flat bread, Baba Hassan appeared.

  “I must instruct the girl in preparing your clothing for the morrow, my lord,” he said.

  “Take her,” the dey replied. “I am content with my company.”

  “Tomorrow,” the head eunuch said as he led her off, “the dey must meet with the chief engineer for the city. The great aqueduct that brings fresh water into the town from the mountains is in need of repair. His clothing can be simple.” Baba Hassan brought India into a large, enclosed room. About the chamber were silver bars that stretched from one wall to another, and upon the bars were hung hundreds of garments. “These racks,” the eunuch said, waving his hand, “are his more elaborate garments. The others have the simpler robes.” Bending, he flung open a brass-bound cedar trunk. “You will find his pantaloons, sashes, and shirts in these trunks. The slippers are on the shelves here. The dey’s jewelry is kept in a large case in his bedchamber. His taste is simple, you will find.”

  “How are these things kept clean and fresh?” India asked. “This climate is so warm he must certainly need to change his garments each day, Baba Hassan. Am I expected to do his laundry? Let me warn you I have absolutely no experience in such matters.”

  The head eunuch chortled. “No, girl, we have laundresses aplenty.” He pointed to a large reed basket. “Bring the dey’s used garments here each evening when you come to choose the clothing you will put in the cedar cabinet for the following day. This basket is for the discards. A servant will bring them to the laundresses to wash. Now here is the cabinet in which you will place his fresh garments, girl. It opens on two sides, and on the other side you will find the dressing room in the baths. Each evening before you go to bed, choose the proper clothing for the morrow. I will inform you what sort of garments will be needed. Now, let us begin. What would you choose tomorrow for the dey?”

  India’s careful choices pleased Baba Hassan. The chief engineer of El Sinut, while a valuable civil servant, was not of great importance. “The dey will not need a turban. but where are they kept?” she inquired.

  He showed her, and then said, “You are content to serve the dey in this capacity rather than as one of his harem women?”

  “I am not content to be here at all,” India replied honestly, “but as I am, I prefer being his body servant to being his whore. I only wish it were not necessary for me to be so unclothed.”

  “Clothing confers status,” the eunuch answered her. “You have no status except that which your master gives you, girl.”

  “What language do you speak here?” India asked him. “I have an ear for languages, as do most of my female relations. I would learn the language of this land. Will you teach me, Baba Hassan?”

  Her request surprised him. “We speak the Arabic tongue,” he told her. “If the dey gives his permission for you to learn our language, then the lady Azura will teach you. I will inquire tomorrow. For now we will return to the dey’s apartments. The final thing I must teach you is how to prepare the love cloths. Our master is a virile man, and requires female companionship every night.”

  “I know how to prepare love cloths,” she said, surprising him once again.

  “But you are a virgin,” he said, astounded.

  “I am,” she confirmed, “but my mother was the daughter of the Grande Mughal Akbar. She was raised in India, and when she came to England she brought her servants with her. When I began my monthly flow of blood, Rohana, one of Mama’s women, with my mother’s permission, taught me how to prepare love cloths. Mama always said that nothing spoiled a man’s pleasure more than the unseemly evidence of previous pleasure.”

  The eunuch nodded. “Your mother was correct, girl, and now I understand why your eyes are almond shaped. Your Mughal blood shows.”

  They had reached the dey’s apartments again, and, leaving her at the door, Baba Hassan said, “Since you know what to do, do it, girl.”

  India reentered the dey’s chambers. In one of the wall cupboards she found a silver ewer. She filled it with water, which she perfumed with rose oil. Next to the basin was a stack of neatly folded linen cloths. Taking a dozen, she brought them with the basin into the dey’s bedchamber and s
et them by the bed. Going back out into the garden, she found Caynan Reis observing the moon. “I have, I believe, completed my duties for the day, my lord. Is there anything I can do for you before I retire to my pallet?”

  “Go to the harem, and bring back the woman, Nila,” he told her. “She is a blonde, actually the fairest hair of them all; and most voluptuous of form. I wish her company tonight.” He looked directly at India, his dark eyes unfathomable.

  “I am to fetch your whores for you?” India was outraged.

  “You have the choice of fetching them to me, or taking their place,” he said coldly. “And do not call them whores, India. They are perfectly respectable harem women, and honored within my house. Do not pass judgment upon that which you do not understand. This is not your England. It is El Sinut. When you have brought Nila to me, you may spread your pallet outside my bedchamber door in case I have need of you in the night. You will not hear me if you are further away.”

  Turning on her heel, India ran from the room. This was the final humiliation, she thought. First she was forced to walk about half naked all day, the nipples on her breasts painted carmine to draw attention to them, except no one was supposed to look. She had waited on this arrogant dey hand and foot. Bathed him! Fetched his food! Laid out his clothing! Dressed him! And now she was expected to bring his whores to him? It was intolerable, but if she didn’t do it, who knew what he would do to her. He was such a complex man. Kind and fair to those whom he judged, yet thoughtless and cruel when he sent poor Adrian to the galleys. She didn’t understand this man, but she had quickly learned that he would brook no disobedience.

  Finding her way to the harem, she entered, looking about at the women there. They ignored her, for she was not as important as they were, being only the dey’s body slave. There were seven women from whom she might choose, and four of them were blond and voluptuous. Then Azura was at her side, murmuring softly, “Which one does he desire?”