by Zia Wesley
Chapter 15
April, 1802
Nakshidil reclined on an ornate divan beneath a gold cupola in the magnificent private garden that had formerly belonged to the Circassian Kadine. Three years had passed since her friend’s untimely death, and she was finally beginning to feel comfortable in the older woman’s apartments as well as her position. One of her hands rested in her lap, cradling the pile of diamonds that gathered there from the long strand that wound around her neck—the only priceless rope that remained after the murder of her friend. Selim had wanted her to have it, and now she worked the stones like a rosary, silently repeating the prayer to the Blessed Virgin. She did not remember when reciting the rosary had become a part of her life again, but it brought her great comfort in difficult times, of which there seemed to be many of late.
The war with France in Egypt had been disruptive, despite the ultimate Ottoman victory. It appeared that General Bonaparte truly cared more for his excavations and explorations than for conquering. After losing critical battles at Abū Qīr Bay, Rosetta and Acre to the combined English and Turkish forces, Napoleon secretly fled Egypt and sailed home to France.
In fact, it was France itself he truly wished to conquer and rule—and that is exactly what he did. Rose had written to say that upon his return in early November, her husband had dissolved The Directory as well as the Council of Five Hundred in an unopposed coup d’état that took only three days. Then, less than a month later, on Christmas Eve, he announced the formation of a new Consulate of the French Republic, a three-man legislature headed by himself as First Consul. Selim pronounced the move as “brilliant—a peaceful coup that will put an end to the Revolution once and for all and, unlike the former kings, Napoleon is a hero and man of the people.”
“It seems that everyone in France supports him,” Nakshidil said after carefully reading every article in every French newspaper they had received in their last shipment. “Did you know that he brought the wonders of Egypt for all of France to see?” she asked Selim. “The Louvre has already begun to exhibit the treasures. They include,” she said reading from one paper, “‘precious papyrus scrolls, statuary, a variety of items of blown glass, gold and copper jewelry, preserved human mummies in burial cases and a mysterious stone of unknown origin—a large block of black basalt, precisely carved with unintelligible ancient inscriptions—excised from an ancient stone wall near the town of Rosetta, twenty kilometers east of Abū Qīr Bay.’ How extraordinary! I wish I could see them.”
“I wish I could have made him pay for them,” Selim responded. “He puts his plunder on display and they say that we are the barbarians.”
“I had not thought of it in that way,” she said quietly.
“Of course not my love, because in your heart, you still think like a French woman.”
She instantly realized he was right. “And do you not still enjoy that sometimes?” She teased.
“As often as you care to share it, my Aimée,” he responded.
“In that case, I command you to reveal yourself to me now,” she said unfastening the ties of her gown to expose her breasts. “Hold yourself for me,” she said with a smile, sliding her silk pantaloons off and spreading her legs wide. In three years, they still had not tired of this game. She held her nether lips open for him to see as he strained to release his hardening penis from his pants. “Make it very hard,” she said, “so I can ride it.”
Afterwards, when they were both beginning to breathe normally again he said, “I never would have guessed you’d become aroused by reading a list of artifacts.”
~ ~ ~
When Selim received news that Napoleon’s book, Description de l’Égypte had been published, he asked Pierre Ruffin to secure a copy for him. The volume contained the first of eight hundred engravings rendered by the artists who accompanied Napoleon on his Egyptian mission. The remainder of the engravings would ultimately fill twenty-two more volumes.
By early February, following Napoleon’s ascension to power, the books became so popular that printings barely kept pace with the demand of sales. All things Egyptian began to permeate Parisian society, from furniture to fashion, makeup and hairstyles, jewelry and art.
Napoleon’s men had personally transported the artifacts to France. And the enthusiastic reception of the astounding items completely overshadowed the military defeat, which went virtually unnoticed. He and his expedition were heralded like returning heroes for being the first Europeans to witness and record the wonders of the ancient world. Napoleon had found more archaeological treasure than he ever dreamed possible: the pyramids, the sphinx, the tombs and temples of Philae, Dendera, Luxor and the Valley of the Kings. Now all of it was on exhibit at the Louvre.
~ ~ ~
When Aimée asked Rose if the canal he sought had been found, she replied that he had indeed “found incontrovertible proof of the ancient canal linking the Mediterranean to the Red Sea. The attending experts agreed that the remains of the canal’s construction were over one thousand years old and, very possibly, many times older, as it appeared to have been previously reconstructed. Unfortunately, his chief engineer, Monsieur Jacques-Marie Le Pére, estimated the Red Sea to be thirty feet higher than the Mediterranean. This difference in height would necessitate building an impossibly costly system of locks entailing ten or more years of construction. But it was exciting and gratifying to learn that the canal did exist as he believed.”
~ ~ ~
As the new century began in Paris, Napoleon’s exploits were all anyone cared to discuss, and his wife, Josephine, became first lady of the New French Republic. After signing the treaty of Amiens, which provided a brief respite from the ongoing war between France and Great Britain, Napoleon focused on rebuilding his beloved country. It was during this time of relative peace that he quietly returned the Egyptian territories he had been occupying. This allowed Selim to refocus his attention at home and continue to build his new army. Nine thousand troops, highly trained in Western warfare, openly moved into barracks overlooking the Golden Horn. Selim’s new army had become a reality. The Janissaries continued to refuse to recognize or train with the new “infidel” soldiers, and the seeds of revolution spread in earnest throughout the Empire. Fundamentalist factions from as far away as Egypt and Syria began to unite against Sultan Selim III, and no one understood the portent of that union better than he. It would not take long before the rebellious forces joined with the Janissaries and he feared that together they would have the power to overthrow the throne.
~ ~ ~
The war between their empires had left a gap in Rose and Aimée’s correspondence and after more than a year, a letter finally arrived from France.
February 26, 1802
My dearest, dearest,
Can you ever forgive my long silence? I only hope you may as no one more than you will understand the import of my current life. I am Consort of the Republic of France, wife of the First Consul, ruler of France! Who but you, dear cousin, might ever have believed that all of Madame David’s words would indeed come to pass? It may have been forethought on her part to not warn us of the war between our two empires, yet, it passed without either of our houses suffering personal loss, and seems not to have left any scars here in France, as I hope is also true with you. Please tell me this is so.
I have had the great fortune to see with my own eyes the magnificent renditions of many amazing wonders of your land which appears to be as you have always indicated, more sophisticated than our own. I now understand more fully your devotion to your new home. How happy you must truly be to live amongst such art and beauty.
How is your son, Mahmud? Eugène returned to Paris almost three years ago after suffering a minor wound, and is now a Brigadier General in the Army of Italy. I am sorry to say that he rarely visits Paris. Hortense recently married my brother in law, Louis-Napoleon, who I pray will make a good match despite the discrepancy in years between them. He is old enough to be her father but has excellent prospects, as you ma
y imagine, and Hortense is already with child. I am to be a grand-mère!
I am most excited to tell you that Bonaparte has appointed an old friend from Corsica, Baron Horace François Bastien Sébastiani, as our first official ambassador to the Ottoman Empire. He will arrive soon with his wife, Fanny, a personal friend of mine whom I know you will enjoy meeting. I have sent a small gift for you with her and hope you will receive them both with pleasure.
I pray you forgive my long silence and my husband’s transgressions and that we may continue our correspondence once again. Despite distance and war and empires, I shall always remain your loving and devoted cousin,
Rose / Josephine
Aimée closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Oh, Rose, she thought, of course I’ll always love you. When she opened her eyes, her son stood before her and she was no longer the young girl on Martinique.
“Mother, have you acted upon my wishes?” he asked.
She had been caught off guard by Mahmud’s request, had almost laughed aloud in response and was unable to answer immediately.
“Mother?” Mahmud said without hiding his annoyance. “I come to you in respect of your position as Valide Sultana. It is only fitting that you should bring a choice of appropriate women before me. I am nineteen years old, after all.”
She smiled broadly. Would she always think of him as her little boy? “Of course, Mahmud. You are quite correct. It is certainly time. Please forgive me for not making the suggestion sooner myself. You have spoken of this with your uncle?”
“Yes. It was he that suggested I make the request directly to you, as was proper.”
She could not stifle her grin, and bowed her head to cough artificially into her hand, stalling for a moment to control herself. “Of course,” she said again. “Allow me a few days to think about this properly and to query my ladies. I promise we shall find you several appropriate... (she almost said ‘girls’) young women.”
“They need not be too young, Mother,” he said. “And I would prefer a woman who is not a virgin, if you think that appropriate, of course. Uncle has suggested that a young woman with some experience might be preferable.”
“By all means, Mahmud. I shall do my best and make arrangements as quickly as possible. Have you any other preferences I might consider?”
He thought for a moment and answered in a serious tone. “I would like her to be pleasing to look upon and perhaps a graceful dancer.”
“Good for you. A comely dancer is always a pleasure to behold. I promise to bear all your requests in mind when making my choices.” And mine as well, she thought. She must be intelligent and clever, worthy of holding counsel for a ruler of empires.
After he left, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her little boy was already a young man, and that meant she was no longer a young woman. But she still felt like one. How was that possible at thirty-nine years? She mostly sensed the passage of time in events that faded a little more each year: her childhood, the years in the convent, her sojourn in Paris, Mr. Braugham, her abduction, the old Sultan and dear, dear Baba, the only ghost from her past who was still in her life.
In fact, the recent discontent fomented by the Janissaries had once again necessitated the arrival of Baba’s fleet to their harbor. A new sinister plot seemed to be brewing. During the previous week, the Kizlar Agasi reported hundreds of cartoon drawings scrawled on walls throughout the city. The crude pictures depicted the Sultan as a eunuch. Simultaneously, fundamentalist factions within the Divan had circulated rumors of Selim’s impotency. The combination of the two caused quite an uproar and the first open opposition to Selim. Everyone in the palace feared the Janissaries might revolt and if they did, they would outnumber Selim’s army by ten thousand men or more.
All the palace guards were on alert, even Cavus Hamza, who clung to the shadows like a spider waiting for the right moment to pounce.
Chapter 16
March 1805
Fannie Bastien, the French Ambassador’s wife who now regularly visited Nakshidil, sat quietly in an Empire-style chair, her arms resting on the carved and gilded wings of a swan. Upholstered in peach-colored jacquard silk, the chair had recently arrived from Paris along with several others. It was a flawless example of the Egyptian designs that flooded the markets of Paris in recent years. The young woman always welcomed the moments she was not engaged in conversation with the Sultana, as it gave her freedom to observe details of the magnificent apartments. The low oval table on which trays of coffee were served was her favorite—a solid slab of precious lapis lazuli polished so highly one could almost see one’s reflection in the surface. In France, the stone was so rare it was only seen in tiny pea-sized bits set into rings or ear bobs. At the moment, the table reflected a soft, amber glow from elegantly sculpted alabaster oil sconces that graced the walls. The walls themselves were extraordinary, made of intricately carved fragrant cedar wood. One wall had two tall windows framing French doors leading to the private garden. Priceless works of art, beautiful enough to rival the treasures Napoleon had brought back from Egypt, occupied every surface. Following each of her visits, the Ambassador’s wife meticulously recorded not only the details of their conversations, but also descriptions and illustrations of clothing, jewelry, furniture, objects d’art and food. The pages of one small leather-bound journal had already been filled.
When Nakshidil finished reading the letter Fannie had brought, an expression of incredulity spread across her face. She rested the letter in her lap and whispered to herself, “Empress of France? Mon dieu, it is true.”
“Yes, Your Grace, quite true, I assure you,” Fannie replied.
“No, no,” Nakshidil laughed. “I did not doubt the veracity. I meant... something else. It is of no importance,” she said dismissively. “Mon dieu,” she repeated, “Rose is Napoleon’s Empress.” Her mind immediately began replaying the scene of the two young girls sitting on the earthen floor of the old obeah woman’s hut. “Two queens!” they had shrieked. “Two queens,” she said aloud.
“To be sure, Your Grace, a Sultana and an Empress,” Fanny said. “Two cousins and two queens.”
“You must forgive me, Madame,” Nakshidil said, shaking her head and laughing softly. “I was thinking of another time and place.” She signaled a serving girl who waited quietly in the far corner of the room. Within moments, the girl entered carrying a tray with coffee service and an ebony bowl of gold-dipped almonds that she placed on the lapis table.
“Would you like some fruits or sweets?” Nakshidil asked, “or perhaps a glass of champagne? Yes! That is exactly what this occasion calls for.” She barely raised one finger to the serving girl, who immediately left.
“Oh, I would dearly love to see her,” Nakshidil mused.
“Would a journey to France not be possible, your grace?”
“Quite possible, Madame, but I would not choose to make such a trip. At my age, I have too many comforts that could not be met, and I am needed here now more than ever. But let’s not discuss such things at a moment like this. Let us rather celebrate the very good fortune of my dearest cousin.”
The servant reappeared with a gold tray bearing an open bottle of French champagne and two crystal glasses that she rested on an ornately carved sideboard. She expertly poured two glasses, handed one to each woman, and then retired into the shadows.
Nakshidil raised her glass aloft. “To the Empress Josephine Bonaparte. May she be blessed with health and happiness.”
The women drank their toast. Then Fannie added, “and bear many sons.”
Nakshidil paused a moment with her glass raised before drinking. She carefully read the expression on her friend’s face and saw no sarcasm in it. Perhaps she did not know Rose’s age. Frenchwomen were very secretive about such things, and Fannie could not have been more than twenty-five years herself. Might Rose bear another child? If she were able, why had she not in the last eight years of her marriage? They were both mature women of forty-one now.
“Yes, God
willing,” Nakshidil added with a smile. Whatever god may pay attention to such things, she thought.
Later that day, she wrote a letter to Rose.
March 1, 1805
My dearest, darling cousin,
I am thrilled to learn of your extreme good fortune, and bow deeply to the new Empress of France. How I wish I were there to see for myself, but perhaps it is best I am not, as I remember well my appalling lack of success amongst Parisian society. Mon dieu, I am happy to be able to laugh at that terrible episode now—my failure was surely kismet. But you, my dear, you are an Empress!
Thank you so much for sending Madame Sébastiani to me. You cannot imagine how wonderful it is to speak French with a Frenchwoman after more than twenty years. I did not realize how much I had missed it and how good it makes me feel. She is delightful and visits often. Today, after reading your wonderful news, we drank a toast to your good health and fortune.
Your happy news and all the talk of France made me quite melancholy, an emotion I rarely allow myself to indulge as it only brings unhappiness. Did not Madame David mention something to this effect, that we would miss our carefree lives on Martinique? I remember those years so vaguely now that it makes me feel quite old. But today I realized how fully I embrace my life here and how I have come to feel at home here also—so much that I choose not to leave, even for a visit to see you.
Mahmud and Sultan Selim are both quite well despite the current unrest in our territories that has begun to spread its poison to our shores. It is not the first time we have faced such adversity, but seems to me more violent than in the past. I fear we may also face a revolution and I take some comfort in how well the French have survived theirs—although not without paying a price. There is an old saying in which I find solace—all things change. And so it is with this life, my dear Yeyette.
Yet, I remain as ever, your loving cousin,
Aimée
~ ~ ~
Two months later, Nakshidil would remember that day she had toasted the health of her cousin as the beginning of the end of a long period of contentment. “Josephine” was secure in her position as the most important woman in France, her eminence now mirrored Nakshidil’s own, and the prophecy had been fulfilled. One of the things she still vividly recalled was how cavalier Rose had been about the final words of the prediction: “You will die miserable and alone.” We all die alone, she thought. Rose must have known that then.