Shadow of God

by Anthony Goodman

He moved from his bed and put on a heavy robe over his sleeping clothes. He summoned his servant and sent him ahead to announce his arrival at the harem. Then he waited for word that his mother, Hafiza, was ready to receive him. Of all the people who wielded power in the Topkapi Palace, few came close to the Sultan Valideh, the Queen Mother. The Sultan Valideh ruled the harem, to be sure. But, her influence went far beyond its bounds. As the mother of the Sultan, she was his confidante and advisor. She was the one person on Earth he could trust with anything, any thought.

  The Chief Black Eunuch arrived and bowed before Suleiman. He was a huge man, well muscled, as well as obese. He wore a scarlet-red caftan, completely edged with white ermine. His turban of white silk was almost three feet high. In his golden cummerbund, he wore a jeweled dagger in a gold and jeweled scabbard. The Black Eunuch had complete responsibility for the conduct of the harem, and even the power of life and death when it came to harem discipline. He had been in his position since the days of Selim, and nobody with a shred of sense would cross him.

  All the eunuchs of the palace—white and black—had suffered the terrible pain and indignity of surgical procedures that made them suitably safe as harem guards. The closer to the Sultan’s women the guard might be, the more severe the surgery. Ordinary slaves who merely attended the harem as servants underwent castration. Guards who might need to spend the night in the harem had their penis removed as well as an extra precaution against despoiling the Sultan’s treasures. These surgical procedures were extraordinarily painful and dangerous as well. Most of those selected for the position of eunuch died as a result of profuse bleeding or severe infections. Of those who survived, many felt that death would have been preferable. To be the person selected as the Sultan’s Chief Black Eunuch was a mixed blessing, for the price of such power was considerable.

  The eunuch bowed to Suleiman, and turned in silence to lead his master to the quarters of the Sultan Valideh. They left the Inner House and proceeded through the secret passageway to the harem. There, over two hundred women were quartered as slaves in luxury for the personal use of the Sultan. The Turks had learned polygamy from the Arabs, and many of the Sultans spent huge amounts of money and time in the maintenance of the harem. While his great grand father had felt the need for a harem with over nine hundred women, for Suleiman the traditions of polygamy were an anathema. He was relatively modest in his activities there. Among his two hundred slaves, many were merely children, and others were older women—perhaps twenty-five years old—who would be married off to Palace widowers in search of mothers for their own children.

  Suleiman followed the Black Eunuch into his mother’s elaborately ornate quarters. In the large marble-walled room, the Queen Mother lived a life of unparalleled opulence. Her quarters were guarded by twenty black eunuchs, and she was attended day and night by a staff of more than fifty serving women. Her rooms were adjoined by a heated marble bath chamber, and gave out onto an enclosed garden, where flowers and trees were tended by her own gardeners. Most of the harem girls lived three or four to a room, in small cubicles, and attended by about fifteen servants per room.

  When Suleiman entered the chamber, Hafiza was seated on the divan, and was dressed and washed as if this were a mid-afternoon visit, rather than so late in the night. Her eyelids were darkened with kohl and her nails painted reddish brown with al Hanna. Her skin was hairless, for each day the servants meticulously plucked and scraped each body hair. Hafiza’s servants spent many hours of every day and every night washing and scrubbing her face and body. Her skin was oiled and massaged, and delicate scents from the Far East were applied to her hair.

  As soon as the Sultan entered, the servants backed out of the room, leaving the two alone.

  “I’m sorry to disturb your sleep, Mother. I thank you for receiving me at so late an hour.” He bent over and kissed Hafiza on her forehead, and she in turn touched him lightly upon his cheek with her fingertips. Suleiman was comforted by the familiar scents of his childhood.

  “It’s nothing, my son. I’m here for you always.” Hafiza, now forty-two, was aging with a grace and vitality that went with her high station. “What is troubling your sleep, my son, that you are up and about so late?”

  “There is enough in my mind to keep me awake for the rest of my life. I hardly know whom to trust. It seems to me that everyone around me, everyone except you, could have something to gain from me. And, thus, their counsel might be tainted by their greed. I don’t know who is my friend and who is not.” He decided not to mention his worries about Ibrahim, because he knew his mother would lecture him again. She was not happy that his childhood friend had risen so high in the ranks of the imperial household. She feared that Ibrahim would rise still further under the reign of Suleiman, and the thought did not sit well with her. She had always looked upon Ibrahim as nothing more than an educated playmate to keep her son company.

  “This is the burden inherent in being Sultan of the House of Osman. Were you the head of a smaller state, your burdens would be less. But, as you command the mightiest empire on Earth, your burden is the heaviest on Earth as well. Your mistrust is proportional to the burden.”

  “Was it so with Selim? Did he awaken at night with terrible indecision? Did he haunt the corridors of the palace as I do now?”

  “Your father was Selim. He was Selim Yavuz, the Grim. Selim, the Terrible. Selim, the Protector of the Faithful. He had so many titles. But, my son, he was Selim and you are Suleiman. I think you are well named, for the Solomon of the Book was very wise, as you are.

  “Never was a son so different from his father. If I had not bore you, myself, I would wonder who your father really was.” Suleiman looked uncomfortable, and shifted on the divan. Hafiza moved and sat next to him. “Do not lose any sleep over that question. Your father was Selim. Of that there is no doubt. But you are made of different stuff, and you must not fear to be the man you are. Do not try to be Selim. You will fail. I know you went to Belgrade to show the people and the world that the House of Osman rests in strong, decisive hands. And to show the Janissaries that you are not Bayazid.”

  She placed her hand on top of his and gently tightened her grip. In all the world, only she and Suleiman’s consorts had the privilege of touching him this way. She thought of how the rules that surrounded him and protected him were the very rules that isolated him from ordinary human kindness. “But, you must be true to yourself. You are a lawyer. A poet. A lover of the arts. A goldsmith. You are gifted at crafts and at hunting. And you are kind and just.” Suleiman nodded, but did not respond. “Yes,” she continued, “I know you are given to some outbursts of anger and rage. Perhaps that is where you and your father share the same blood. But, where he would strike out and kill for the slightest reason, you restrain your anger, or recant after reflecting upon it. There is the difference between you.”

  “What was it like for you, Mother? You lived with him, as I did not. I barely remember him save for a few days here and there, between the wars and my going off to Manisa.”

  “It was much like that for me as well. He was away fighting during most of our life together. I stayed at the Old Palace and took care of you when you were little. I saw him between military campaigns. But, I did see a different man than you did. And I saw some things that nobody else saw.”

  “Such as…?”

  “He was always good to me, and I think he loved me well enough. I am one of the few people in this palace who is not a captured slave. That’s unusual, don’t you think? You know I was a princess before he found me. A Tartar princess at that. My father was Mengli Giray, the Khan of a large and powerful army. He was your grandfather as much as Bayazid was, though no one would dare say that out loud. And so the blood of Genghis Khan also runs in your veins. My life was good before your father took me as his bride. And it was good afterward.”

  “And how did he treat you here in the harem? I have heard that he took many of the odalisques to his bed. Did that not hurt you?”

  “M
y son, that is the way of our Sultans. That you do not follow in the footsteps of your father or your great-grandfather in that regard is of no consequence. It is your choice, and I think at least the Kadin, your First Woman, Gülbehar, the Flower of Spring, may give thanks to Allah for that. It’s too bad that Gülbehar has not learned to read,” she said as an afterthought. “She would love the poems you have written. She keeps them in a silk brocade bag, as her own treasure.”

  Suleiman nodded and said, “Yes, I think she would.”

  “You know,” she went on, “I always was amused at the way the Sultan has to follow the rules and traditions that an ordinary man is not bound by. Why, the ritual Selim followed just to spend the night with a woman was hardly worth the trouble. He would have to arrange on the day before to send for the Black Eunuch, and tell him of his desire. For the next day! A girl would have to be chosen to ‘Walk the Golden Way’ with the Sultan. The girls would be bathed and dressed and lined up in the main courtyard of the harem, while Selim walked before them. Sometimes on horseback—since he was the only one allowed on horseback beyond the Bab-i-Salam, the Gate of Salutation.

  “But, usually he would just walk in front of the line,” and she laughed, “pretending faint interest. He would greet each girl casually with the Black Eunuch walking three paces behind him. He would banter with the girls, and when he found one he liked, he would take a silk handkerchief from his robes and place it upon her shoulder.”

  Hafiza pantomimed the parade, playing the parts of the Sultan, the Black Eunuch, and the girls. Suleiman suppressed his laughter, but he could not help smiling at her story. He had always loved his mother’s storytelling. “A handkerchief! Really!” she said. “Then, as if they were merely out to take the afternoon air, and as if the girls were just another row of trees in the garden—or should I say a row of roses—he and the Eunuch walked on together and admired the wild animals. They would feed the peacocks and chase the ostrich. Sometimes an elephant was there to amuse them. Or a leopard.” Hafiza was gaining momentum, and Suleiman had almost forgotten why he had come to the harem.

  “Later—perhaps he has lost the urge by then, I imagine; it is so late after all—he goes to his bed, and tells the servant to bring the girl to him, that she might return his handkerchief. The eunuch brings the girl and the handkerchief—praise Allah that he gets his handkerchief back!—and the Eunuch is dismissed until it is time to return the girl to the harem.” She giggled again, and said, “Yes, praise Allah for the handkerchief. The next day the girl is sent a dress and a few aspers. A gold dress if she has made him very happy. And maybe an extra maid or two to wait upon her. Then he will stay in the serai for several days, perhaps sending for more girls if he wishes, until he either returns to me or back to war.”

  She paused, realizing that she may have gone too far in making fun of a custom that her son, too, might continue. Then she thought, But, I am the Sultan Valideh, and I can say what I will. I am not afraid to offend the Sultan. He is still but my son. Suleiman became serious. He was feeling the pain and shame that his mother must have felt. “And didn’t this hurt you, Mother?”

  “My son, it is not easy for a mother to talk of this to her child. But, your father is dead, and you are a grown man now, with your own Kadin. You are the Sultan.” She thought for a moment, hard pressed to reveal more emotions to her son. In the harem, the women sought each other for comfort and advice. They were so completely cut off from the rest of the world that they formed a tight bond of friendship with each other. Though they were competing for the Sultan’s attention, there was an undeniable sisterhood of great strength. And though they lived lives of idle luxury, the emotional price they paid was very high. “So, yes, I will say it. I loved your father. But, I did not welcome his presence in my bed.”

  Ottoman Sultans did not marry their women. There was no ceremony to bind them together as there was for the ordinary Muslim. The Kadin could be displaced by another woman at any time. The greatest security came only to the woman who conceived the Sultan’s favorite son, thus becoming the Sultan Valideh.

  “He may have written love poems or war poems to me.” Hafiza said, “but, he was not kind, nor gentle, nor considerate of my feelings when he came to my bed. So, for me it was of no consequence if he stayed many nights in the harem with one of the girls. That was just so many nights he was not here with me. As long as I was the Kadin, I bore what I had to. I was seventeen when I gave birth to you, but I became the Sultan Valideh, and my position became secure because my son was the heir to the throne. I don’t know if there were other women who bore the Sultan’s child, and if there were, I don’t know what became of them. Perhaps your great-grandfather’s law intervened. I’m sorry if this hurts you, my son. But, it is the truth.”

  Suleiman, again, was quiet while he pondered his mother’s words. It had not been thoughts of the Sultan and the harem that had been keeping him awake. Now there was much more to roil the waters of his mind. He had come to speak to his mother of affairs of state. Now he was mired in the sensuality of the harem. Of his father. Worse yet, of his mother!

  “Thank you, Mother,” he said as he gently touched her cheek, “but no more of this. This is not why I am here. I have always valued—no, treasured—your advice. And I am in need of it now. Tomorrow, I meet the Imperial Divan to advise me as to the matter of the Knights of Rhodes. These Infidels have harassed our trade routes between Istanbul and Egypt for longer than I care to think of it. They have disrupted the trade with the East, and have stolen treasure that is ours. They kill and enslave our sailors, and capture our ships and galleys.” Hafiza watched her son grow agitated, though he maintained an outer face of control and calm. “They rule from their fortress on Rhodes and hold power over us. We are the strongest force on Earth and this handful of Christians strikes at our heart without fear or remorse

  “But, my council is divided. Some oppose a war against the knights. They point to the siege laid by Mehmet, forty-two years ago. They say that if Mehmet, the Conqueror, could not take Rhodes, then neither can we. Surely you have heard talk of this?”

  “Yes, I have. And I have no information to help you with a decision, my son. I am your loyal friend, but I cannot guide you in this. No mother wants to see her son go off to war. But, that is a woman’s point of view. If we women ruled the empire, I should think there would be fewer wars by far. A great pity we do not rule.”

  Suleiman got up and began to pace in front of his mother. She remained completely calm and silent. “Men rule the world, Mother. We govern and we go to war. Women will never rule.”

  Then he let out a long sigh, as if releasing all his frustration into the air with his breath. He turned to Hafiza and asked, “Do you believe in the prophesy of dreams?”

  “I do.”

  “Then hear this one that I dreamt last night. In the dream, you were already dead, though you still appeared to me as an apparition. You spoke to me in the dream and assured me that victory would certainly be mine; that I should join the battle.”

  “Suleiman, I don’t know what this dream means. Dreams may tell the truth, and they may deceive. If I were dead in your dream, and I am not dead in this life, then does that mean the dream is true or misleading? I have no idea. Do not decide such an issue on what may have been the result of a troubled mind at the time of sleep. Or too spicy a piece of lamb for your dinner. Go to your Divan. Take their counsel and weigh it carefully. Then make your decision and, having made it, stand by it with all your might.”

  Suleiman bowed his head, and hugged his mother. “Salaam Aleichum. Peace be upon you, Mother.”

  “And upon you, my son.”

  Suleiman sat on the divan in his Privy Chamber. He had heard a great deal about the man who now sat upon the cushions directly opposite him. “I think my father introduced you to me many years ago. On one of my brief visits to the Palace,” he said.

  Moses Hamon, now Chief Physician to Suleiman, sat on his cushions in front of the Sultan. He answered, “
Yes, Majesty. I remember it very well. You had returned from Manisa to greet your father on his return from one of his campaigns. You met us outside the city. I recall your riding a wonderful brown stallion.”

  Suleiman smiled and nodded. “Yes. Indeed, I ride him still.”

  “My caravan passed by,” Hamon continued, “and your father stopped me to present me to you. He was very proud of you. He would have been pleased to see that your ascension to Sultan was so smooth.”

  Suleiman nodded, and said, “My mother tells me you served our family well. The Sultans of the House of Osman have not wanted for excellent physicians since your family landed on our shores so long ago. When the king and queen of Spain expelled the Jews from their land, they did us a great, if inadvertent, service.”

  “You are very kind, Majesty.”

  “Inch’ Allah, I will never have need of your services,” Suleiman said with a little laugh.

  “Believe it or not, Majesty, others have said that very thing to me. Everyone wants to have a good physician and never have to use him.”

  Suleiman smiled, and said, “You have a family here in Istanbul?”

  “Yes, Majesty. My wife and son live with me when I am home, which I hope will be more frequently now. My father, Joseph, died in Damascus. He had served as Royal Physician to your Grandfather, Bayazid, and to your father as well. He accompanied Selim in the military campaign against the Mamelukes in Egypt, but died on the return journey.”

  Suleiman said, “I knew him only slightly. I was away most of the time, and he was kept close to my father’s side. But, all of the Court spoke well of him. And your son?”

  “My son is named for his grandfather, Joseph. He needs me now. There is much for me to teach him that he will not learn in school. One of the most important parts of scholarship is the process of handing it on to the next generation. As important, I think, as the practice of scholarship itself.”

  “Your people have always placed great emphasis on education, have they not?”