Feathers in the Wind: The Cygnets

by Camille Anthony

  Selim waved the Bey to silence and back to his seat. “I will allow no soothing to abate my righteous anger. Those cursed eunuchs are worse than women! I decreed that none should speak of this, and yet someone has set my command at naught. The eunuchs gabble and babble in all my business and feel themselves immune from my ire.” His eyes narrowed in deliberation. “They need a sharp reminder that my word is law. Perhaps I should cut out their tongues as well as their—"

  Jamal raised a negligent finger, interrupting. “Before you sharply remind them, or cut off any extra appendages, could you respond to my question?"

  Selim's eyes shot daggers at the younger, more muscular version of himself. Despite his son's attempts to conceal his agitation, Selim knew Jamal was experiencing a very real anger. “Take care,” Selim warned. “I shall not forgive your upbringing much more,” Selim snapped peevishly at his only son. “The women are for you. Have I not declared, several times, my express desire that you marry?"

  "You have, Sir. Just as I have told you—"

  Selim held up an imperious hand to halt Jamal's impassioned protest. “Yes, yes, I know you have no wish to marry at this time. You have said so on many occasions. However, you are residing in my Kingdom, and my expressed desires are law. I am your father. It is your duty to obey my will where it does not conflict with your religion or your duty to your English monarch. Is this not so?"

  The sultan's voice dripped sarcasm and something else. Jealousy? Yearning? Jamal couldn't discern which emotion he had heard so fleetingly. His resigned nod of consent was Selim's cue to continue

  "You have objected to the women I made available to you on the grounds that they were not of your religious, social or educational status and upbringing. I have magnanimously decided that, on these issues, your points were valid. I have now provided you with two women to choose between. Both females are English ladies; virgins of standard education and sensibilities. Both are beautiful, though in different styles. I had planned to present them to you for your selection later this evening. Now, I am not in the mood. I intend to deal sharply with the palace gossips after which I shall take care of some lingering divan business this afternoon. I will send Tubal to inform you of when we will view the women."

  Recognizing a royal dismissal, Emil rose and bowed, waiting for Jamal to do the same, then both exited through the doors held widely open by two trembling eunuchs who had heard the imperial comments and were so overcome with fear they could barely stand erect.

  Once outside the doors, Jamal stopped the Bey with a hand on his arm. “Am I mistaken in thinking that your recent trip to England had something to do with this situation?"

  "No, effendi,” Emil replied quietly. “You are not mistaken. It was my privilege to obey my Sultan in this, as in all things. I spent quite some time with all three of the young females. If you wish, I will tell you something of them.” Jamal's confused frown did not go unnoticed.

  "But I speak of three when the Sultan mentioned only two.” Emil paused for a moment, debating within himself for a moment before deciding to reveal all. “There are indeed three women. One recently attempted suicide and sustained untold damage to her faculties. It is not known to what extent she is mentally impaired, or if she will ever regain use of her mind. At this time, she is no longer a candidate for your consideration. I, and the Sultan, suspect gross mismanagement of the women led to the tragic event for I came to know each woman, and I would have said their spirits were too strong to break under the stress of being incarcerated in the harem."

  Jamal gestured towards the hallway that led to his quarters. “I would like to hear more. Would you honor me by accepting a coffee in my rooms where we can continue this conversation?"

  Emil graciously assented. He liked this gavür effendi—this heathen prince. He was sorry their dinner had ended so abruptly, yet there was no swaying the Sultan when his anger was high. It was better to remove oneself from the path of destruction and wait until the Great One was calm once more. Grabbing at this chance to further his knowledge of Jamal, he followed the tall, broad-shouldered man down the wide corridor to the men's section of the Seraglio. To his left was the hallway that opened onto the Black eunuch's quarters and barracks. The loud commotion coming through the thin walls told Emil that the inhabitants had already heard the threats uttered by the Sultan. He smothered a sighing laugh, cutting his glance sideways at his companion only to find Jamal's gaze directed toward himself.

  The young prince controlled his own desire to laugh when he saw the way Emil struggled with the mirth that threatened to overcome him any moment. “There seems to be some disquiet among the hairless this evening,” he commented, tongue-in-cheek. “Perhaps I should warn my man to lay low until this thing blows over.” Emil halted abruptly causing Jamal to pause and inquire what was wrong.

  "Though you were jesting, the Sultan was entirely serious in his threats,” Emil pointed out soberly. You should indeed tell your eunuch to keep to your rooms.” He nodded back towards the eunuch's hall. “They know their peril. That panic you hear is in response to real danger. Consider ... it will not take the Sultan long to realize that your eunuch had to be one of the main gossip-spreaders. How else did you come to hear this information so quickly after your return?"

  Jamal no longer felt the urge to laugh. “I have been here for better than two years, yet I still have difficulty believing the barbaric things I see. I'm sorry,” he exclaimed, witnessing the closed, distant look that came to Emil's proud face. “Perhaps barbaric was the wrong choice of words. I know how civilized your people can be, yet you have to realize many things occur in this country that belies that very claim."

  "Ours is an old land with many old ways. Some of them are changing. But slowly, slowly. And I saw many barbaric occurrences in your own country, effendi. Perhaps there is need and room for both our peoples to advance?"

  "You are correct, of course,” Jamal conceded thoughtfully. “I apologize. I meant no offense, Emil. I hope you did not take my words of censure personally for I have the highest respect for you."

  "So do I hold you in the greatest regard, Emir.” Emil bowed. “Let us speak of other things,” he suggested prudently. “I heard you brought in three ounce cubs. How did you come by them?"

  "Sheer chance, I assure you.” Jamal followed the Bey's lead, moving on to discuss other topics until they reached his apartments.

  A shaky, subdued Seuliman met them at the portal and Jamal knew he had already heard of the Sultan's rage. After ordering a pot of the thick black, heavily sugared Turkish coffee and a tray of honeyed pastries, Jamal settled himself comfortably on one of the low sofas—throwing off several of the over-stuffed pillows to do so—and gestured for Emil to make himself at home. When Seuliman returned with the refreshments laid out on a wheeled table, Jamal dismissed him, but warned him to remain in the suite, thereby avoiding the danger of falling prey to the Sultan's decree. The two men watched as the frazzled eunuch served them, smiles curving their lips.

  Once his servant exited the room, retiring to his own small room in the apartment suite, determined to wait out the Sultan's anger, they returned to their earlier conversation. “Now, then...” Jamal turned to Emil, ready to hear about the women that were even now awaiting their fate at the hands of his capricious father. “Tell me everything you know about these ladies..."

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Selim III brought his hands together sharply. Tubal, who had been waiting for just such summons, hurried into the presence of his Lord and master bowing before the ornate throne resting upon a raised dais. The look on the Sultan's face was cold and severe. Anger roiled close to the surface and Jubal trembled. The potentate was not in the habit of controlling his wrath. Indeed, he was more likely to indulge his rage to an outlandish degree.

  I grow too old for this. Tubal thought, sighing deeply and shaking his wooly-grey head. The next few minutes would be fraught with danger, however softly he trod. Still, he was used to soothing this wounded tiger. It
took only a little distraction, a little intrigue and ... a lot of luck.

  "I was just coming to you when you called, O Great One.” The old eunuch belted out waving a heavy parchment in the air like an unfurled banner. “Just see what that inept Agasi has sent you. The nerve of him! The insolence."

  Selim's well-shaped brows drew together into a fiercer frown. “What is it you are ranting on about, Tubal? Must you shout as though everyone were as hard of hearing as yourself?"

  Tubal paused in mid-step, a hurt look bathing his wrinkled features.

  "Oh, bring the thing here and do not dare to sulk.” Selim snapped. He softened his tones guiltily, seeing he'd again hurt his personal servant's feelings. “Do not pout old man. You know I mean nothing by it."

  Tubal sniffed. Indeed, he did. If Selim loved anyone, it was Tubal, who had cared for him since before his incarceration in the Kafes at age seven. Tubal was the closest thing to a father Selim had ever known. For that reason, whenever he thought about it, Selim avoided hurting or upsetting the crusty old eunuch.

  "You have managed to tweak my interest as I know you meant to,” Selim told the old servant. “And for Allah's sake, do not mist up like a black rain cloud. Who else will I yell at, if not you?"

  "The Sovereign of the East and the West need not bother his head over such a lowly one as I,” Tubal intoned solemnly. “Surely the Master of the Two Continents and the Two Seas has more on his mind than an old, used-up relic such as this humble servant. Never mind that it was this gray beard you tugged on in your infancy, or this tired boney lap you napped upon in your youth ... why, the Koran says—"

  "Now there, I draw the line and so should you!” Selim shook an admonishing finger at Tubal, an unwilling, reluctant smile coming to his well-turned lips. “Do not dare to quote scripture to me, you old reprobate. Are you not he who instructed me in my youth, to take all that I read with a grain of common sense? Especially the Koran?"

  Tubal drew himself up righteously. “I admit it. I was a young infidel. But my gray hairs have brought me wisdom. Allah grant you the same, oh King of Kings."

  This was the third time Tubal had salted his sentences with his master's obscure titles. Used only during high holy days, or official visits, their presence in Tubal's mouth let Selim know the servant considered himself insulted.

  The Sultan grimaced. “If you do not cease to trouble me, I will have you included in the order I have issued having all palace eunuchs whipped with ten lashes. I tire of placating you.” He held his hand out. “Now, bring me that message and get me something to drink. I'm thirsty."

  Tubal slapped the parchment into his master's outstretched hand harrumphing loudly to show how little he fretted over Selim's threat. He stomped over to a low table holding an assortment of nuts and candied figs along with several containers of liquid refreshments. He poured fruit juice into a tall goblet. The juice had been cooled by resting the pitcher in a bed of ice, ice that had been brought down at great expense and manpower from the snow-covered heights of Mount Ararat by an ice caravan., Tubal presented the juice to the Sultan who was busy reading the note sent by the Kislar Agasi.

  Selim looked up from the parchment, absentmindedly took the goblet Tubal extended, and then went back to perusing the message. Finally, he snapped the heavy paper together. “Since when does the Agasi send such a request on to me?” he mused, not waiting for an answer. “This seems so minor ... why could he not deal with it himself?” He fixed his gaze on the age-bent man before him and asked, tapping the parchment, “What does this mean, Tubal?"

  Tubal hesitated for maximum effect. “The Agasi was ... upset over his reprimand of the other day and does not wish to chance angering you again."

  Selim raised his eyebrows. A moment later, they twitched together in a fierce frown. “The Kislar Agasi forgets who he is ... and whom he serves.” He thought for a while, absently drumming his slim, long nailed fingers against the wide wooden arm of his throne. “See to it that the Agasi receives the same ten lashes as all the other eunuchs."

  "Sire.” Tubal was taken aback. The Agasi was usually exempt from the consequences that befell the lesser eunuchs, those with no rank or recourse from the fractious whims of their master. Tubal sighed. Selim must really be annoyed to upset the status quo by ordering a whipping administered to the third most important man in the empire. “Master—” he began.

  But Selim shook his head silently denying Tubal the opportunity to voice his concerns. He tapped the rolled scroll in Tubal's hands, explaining, “He calls the girl Simsiyah Gül; Black Rose. There being no Mistress at the moment, the girl does right in petitioning him. He thinks to shirk his duty, at the same time he thinks to use my anger at this insult to teach the girl a lesson. He oversteps his bounds. I will not tolerate such from him.” His fierce look returned for a moment. “I will not tolerate such from anyone."

  Tubal was impressed. He rarely saw Selim express such insight and restraint. “It shall be as you desire,” he said, bowing as Selim rose and moved towards the massive, open double doors.

  As Selim quit the room, he tossed over his shoulder, “I might as well see what new trouble the Kislar Agasi has bestirred now. I will see the girl after the morning divan,” he ordered, and forgot it immediately, relying on Tubal set up the appointment and remind him to attend, just as he had done for over forty years.

  The elderly servant remained bent over until his master had completely cleared the doorway. Straightening with a sigh and taking a small wax tablet out of one of his copious, well-hidden pockets, Tubal etched in: Ten lashes to the Kislar Agasi ... Simsiyah Gül to be seen after first courts—then quickly trotted down the wide corridors after his ruler and charge. When the Sultan was in one of his excitable moods, experience had taught Tubal it was good policy to stay close at hand ... for damage control.

  Chapter Thirty

  She was to see the Sultan on the morrow.

  Merri's heart thumped erratically, fear warring with hope. She had hoped only to speak with the master of the girls. She'd been shocked when told she had gained an audience with the Sultan. Laihla had frightened them with her many stories of her master's ways; his excessive sexual appetite. They'd been regaled with tales of Selim's casual cruelties, his random outbursts of generosities coupled with the occasional eruptions of insanely grotesque rages.

  With all her heart, Merri wished she could forego this meeting, yet Seana's safety depended on her. Since the accident, the women of the harem had become coldly suspicious and fearful of Seana. Many little instances of cruelty and “accidental” incidents of injury had befallen the hapless girl whenever the other two had not been nearby to watch over her.

  Remembering these escalating occurrences, Merri knew she had to keep her appointment with the Sultan no matter what bizarre preparations it might entail. His directions didn't make any sense. The Sultan's orders were incomprehensible to Merridyth. For instance, the Sultan demanded both she and Susan bathe in the same bathing room where Seana's mishap had occurred. Additionally, they were to keep a strict schedule for the time of their bathing. Why should that be so important to the Sultan? Yet, those precise instructions had accompanied the command to present herself for an audience with the potentate.

  Merri had no answers to any of these questions but she would comply with every stipulation. She would bargain, promise, even lie if necessary. She would do whatever it took to keep Seana by her side where she and Susan could protect her.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  My boy, can you ever forgive me? Though you may not believe it, I knew you to be innocent before Emily beat me over the head with it. I confess to a moment of doubt at the trial, yet memories of you came back to prod me. I have known you all your life. Your father, Randolph was my closest friend, and I know he instilled in you the same values he cherished. While I love your mother, and always have, I would not compromise my conscious even for her. No, you are innocent, and that leads me to thinking of that last speech you gave. If you are not the tra
itor, who is? I tell you, boy, it disturbs my sleep of a night. We need to get this thing worked out. Not only must we vindicate you for justice's sake, but also because your mother refuses to wed until you can give her away ... and she insists on an English wedding. Allow me to be your ears and eyes here. If you have any leads, I will hunt them down. Let me hear from you soon, and do not forget to write to your mother. She lives for your letters. —Raeburn

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The Sultan was impatient to bestow his surprise upon his son. Halfway through a night spent in restless sleep, he awoke and sent for Tubal, never giving a thought to interrupting the elderly man's sleep. He issued two commands making sure the servant knew he was to see to their prompt execution: first was an order for the new Mistress of the harem to see that the two English women bathed in the central bathing room—the one with the viewing port incorporated in the ceiling. The second command was an early-morning summons for his son, Jamal, who was to be escorted to the entrance of the Woman's Harem, where Selim would be waiting. He wanted to see Jamal's face when he realized Simsiyah Gül and the English girl Jamal had caught sight of at his trial were one in the same...

  Selim sighed impatiently. He hated waiting. According to Emily, Jamal had been intensely attracted to this woman and had shown quite pointed signs of wishing to pursue their acquaintance. Of course, it had been supreme serendipity, or Kismet, that Selim's net had captured the girl. Yet was not that very random element of chance proof that Jamal was meant to be with the dark beauty?

  Selim knew Allah had blessed his course of action, mayhap had even been the initiator of the plan Selim had conceived all those months ago. No matter how it came about, the girl was here, soon to be reunited with his son. Selim chuckled, rubbing his hands together. Surely, Jamal would be grateful. Enough, perhaps, to finally show some filial affection toward his long-suffering parent.