by Zia Wesley
“Mademoiselle, I trust you rested well?” he asked as he entered the garden.
She smiled demurely. “Yes, thank you. Quite well, sir.”
“And your hunger and thirst have been quenched?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He raised his heavily penciled brows and inquired, “No needs unmet? No unhappiness this morning?”
“None, sir, thank you. Yet I do have some questions.”
“Ah, well then,” he said settling himself on a divan facing her. “I am happy to answer any questions you may have.”
“There were three women in the bathing pool this morning and they were quite rude to me. They seemed terribly angry and upset and I can think of nothing I did to incur their wrath.”
“My wives,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “They are not accustomed to the presence of strange women in their midst. Especially ones that stay in the men’s quarter, I am sure.”
Three wives? Aimée thought and asked aloud, “In the men’s quarter?”
“Yes, my house, in fact all of our houses, are divided into men’s and women’s quarters. The men may enter the women’s but the women may not enter the men’s.”
“Really? How odd.”
“Oh, no, it is proscribed by the Quran. Quite usual here, I assure you.”
“Then why am I in the men’s quarters?”
“Well,” he thought for a moment. “You are neither a member of my family nor of anyone else’s family here, neither married nor betrothed. You are also, according to our Quran, an infidel. You therefore, do not fall within the rulings of the Quran, and I may house you anywhere I wish.” He leaned towards her conspiratorially. “I imagine that my wives would dislike this arrangement intensely as they are spoiled, vicious harpies whose company I rarely seek.”
Aimée was surprised to hear him speak of his wives in this manner, but thought it best to let the remark pass. “Then may I assume I will not be discomforted by them again?”
Baba’s face broke into a smile and he shrewdly reappraised the young woman. “Well, well. You are feeling better today aren’t you? Fear not, Mademoiselle, they shall not bother you again.”
Aimée smiled and nodded. “Thank you. I also have other concerns that I would like to voice, if I may.”
“By all means.”
“Please hear me out. I have given some thought to your comments of last night and fear that if I am delivered into the Sultan’s... palace, where I understand neither the language nor customs, as happened with your wives, I will perish.”
“Of course, Mademoiselle, I see your point. Language and customs are easily learned. I speak five different languages myself and shall hire an excellent tutor for you while you are here. I promise you shall know enough of both before you arrive. I will also arrange for a person of great importance to guide you in all that you will need to know within the seraglio.”
“Within the seraglio,” she mused aloud.
“Yes, my dear, you shall never be alone, and living in a state of luxury of which you cannot even conceive. My own meager estates are poor by comparison. You will be pampered and cared for like a queen.”
The words of Euphemia David came to her. “Two queens in my house today.” She felt excitement like a fluttering in her chest. “And why, sir, do you believe this has been chosen as my fate?”
“Kismet, Mademoiselle. It is written that it be so.”
“Kismet?”
“Absolutely. Fate. Do you not realize that the men who captured you could have used you cruelly then sold you to a brothel or murdered you? Instead, you were given into my hands, and I will give you into the Sultan’s... the Sultan’s, my dear. It is clearly Allah’s will,” Baba said with an air of finality.
Her eyes filled with tears that escaped and slowly rolled down her cheeks. They dropped onto the bodice of the blue silk caftan, where they left little round stains. The words seemed to seal her fate, confirming that everything that had happened in her life had led her to this moment. This was the fate that had been predicted for her long ago, and somewhere deep inside she must have always known. A feeling of calm came over her, and she lifted her head to look into Baba’s eyes.
“It has been written, sir. In a very odd manner, I also know that it has.”
A smile spread across Baba’s face. “You are a precious little flower. My only regret is that once you enter the seraglio I may never again behold your extraordinary beauty.”
“Oh, but surely you will when you visit the Sultan,” she said.
Baba laughed. “Oh no, my dear. Once you belong to the Sultan, no man may ever lay eyes upon you again. It is ‘haram.’ Actually, once a Muslim woman is married, no man but her husband may gaze upon her. You see, the very nature of the word for where women live is ‘harem,’ forbidden. But, there are ways in which we may communicate. You will learn more of this in time. Meanwhile, you will be my special guest until your ship has been made ready.”
“My ship?”
“Of course, my pet. How else will you get to Istanbul? It is a very long journey to cross the Mediterranean Sea. We must go past Crete, and then sail for many more weeks up the Aegean to the city. With good wind it should take about fifteen weeks. So it must be a special ship—a ship to take a treasure to her new home. Shall we choose the appointments together? Would you like that?” Baba clapped his hands together like an excited child.
“Appointments? Do you mean, for my cabin?”
Baba laughed. “Your staterooms, my sweet. The entire ship will be yours, filled with handmaidens and slaves and tribute,” he said, popping a sugar-covered almond into his mouth. Then as if noticing her attire for the first time, he added, “I like the way your eyes match that blue silk—like deep, azure pools. I think that we shall use many lengths of azure-colored silk to cover the walls and divans of your new ship.”
Aimée was astounded. She could hardly believe that she sat in this strange place with this very strange man, unafraid and actually filled with eager anticipation of the even stranger life that she would enter. Wasn’t life turning out to be extraordinary for a girl who had had so little adventure or prospects up to now? Her heart actually seemed to be beating faster and harder, and she felt more alive than she ever had.
They sat this way, facing each other, each smiling with excitement and anticipation.
Aimée smiled because she truly believed that her fate had been met. Why else would she have come to this exotic, wonderful place? Why else would she be filled with excitement? Her destiny had just been shown to her, and seemed to hold more possibilities than she had ever imagined.
Baba smiled because he had secured the final aspect of his plan. It would be so much more pleasant to have her cooperation. In fact, he thought she looked quite different, more assured perhaps. He smiled because he knew the Sultan would be so happy with his new little concubine that Baba would be greatly elevated in his eyes. Should Aimée become a favorite, she would have the ear of the Sultan and her wishes would become his commands. Yes, there were many advantages a Dey could enjoy were he in favor with Sultan Abdul Hamid. Moreover, Baba held one specific desire above all else. When he died, he wished his oldest son, Rahim, to inherit his position as the Dey of Al Djazāir. Baba had been positioning Rahim for many years. What better insurance than a favorite concubine, who could whisper influential pillow talk? The exotic little beauty installed within the harem could provide the most direct route to the ear of the Sultan. But was he investing too much hope in this little girl? He must be certain to make her irresistible. He would need to pay his old friend the Kizlar Agasi [chief eunuch] exceptionally well for his influence this time. The Kizlar Agasi was getting on in years and would need plenty of insurance to afford his own retirement.
These thoughts sped through Baba’s mind as he gazed into the girl’s extraordinary eyes. He smiled at the possibilities they held, and sighed. “Ah, sweet Marie-Marthé.”
“Kind sir,” the girl replied, “those close to me hav
e always called me Aimée.”
Chapter 20
At fifty years old, Baba Mohammed Ben Osman had successfully arranged his life very much to his liking. Being the appointed ruler of Algiers made him its wealthiest inhabitant due to the spoils seized by his pirate fleet, augmented by the tribute paid by local merchants and Pashas. His nine sons each captained a ship belonging to his extensive fleet of sixty-two vessels, a fleet that had served three sultans alongside the Turkish navy in more than eleven wars. He lived in magnificent palatial surroundings, and since all of his wives were well past childbearing years, was no longer expected to provide them with the husbandly duties he found so repugnant. No doubt his rejection and lack of attention accounted for their unpleasant dispositions, but none dared complain, as he was the absolute ruler of his own empire as well as the port of Algiers. His position allowed him to amass great wealth to purchase, build or own anything he so desired, including a small “harem” of exotic young men. He had a particular fondness for Persian dancing boys and when they grew up, those who had found their way into Baba’s heart were placed in advantageous positions on his ships. It seemed to work well for all involved. In his twilight years, he derived great pleasure by surrounding himself with beauty of all kinds: artifacts, antiques, jewels and fine rugs. Few things pleased him more than rearranging an entire room just to show off a new acquisition.
Age mellowed the old pirate, although he had been truly terrifying in his youth. He now used deliberate rumors, rather than deeds, to carefully nurture his public persona and inspire terror. This clever ruse discouraged any who might think to challenge his authority or position.
The only item left for him to acquire was the Sultan’s appointment for one of his sons, the one who would take his place as Dey of Algiers. He wished to secure this appointment while he was still alive in case the old Sultan, Abdul Hamid, did not live long enough himself to designate the inheritor. If that were the case, the appointment would fall to the heir and new Sultan, Selim. He needed an influential ally with access to the Sultan’s ear, and he hoped that would be Aimée. Aimée’s influence might need to extend beyond the current regime, and he hoped she would be irresistible enough to bring that about. She would need to tread very carefully to captivate two hearts without incurring the wrath of either, and he believed that to be within her ability.
With this in mind, the next six weeks were filled with preparations to ready the ship that would take Aimée to Istanbul. Merchants called at Baba’s house throughout the day, delivering samples of fabrics, furniture and all of the furnishings needed to transform the little ship into a vessel suitable for the Sultan’s new concubine. Cabinetmakers arrived with samples of exotic woods, weavers with stacks of carpets and upholsterers with bolts of expensive silk brocades. In accordance with Turkish tradition, Aimée appeared completely covered when meeting with the merchants, and often she chose from the items they delivered without meeting the tradesmen personally.
Aimée required outfitting as well as her ship, so haberdashers, shoe makers and dressmakers brought silks and linens, tassels and trimmings, feathers, leathers and exotic fur pelts. Aimée felt more comfortable in Middle Eastern–style clothes than she ever had in Parisian fashions, gladly trading the confinement of corsets, waist cinchers, bustles and tight shoes for loosely fitting silks and soft kid slippers. Soon, the huge carved wardrobes in Aimée’s room overflowed with custom-made items perfectly tailored to her petite frame.
Each night during dinner, Aimée and Baba discussed the choices they had made that day, and each morning they awakened to more purveyors and more choices. All of her fears and reservations quickly vanished amid the sumptuous and festive atmosphere of her new life. How could the staid, austere convent ever compare to the luxurious trappings that now surrounded her? More importantly, she felt accepted and valued exactly as she was. For the first time in her life someone adored her without preaching and teaching her how she must change.
She spent two hours each day bathing and being massaged, and true to Baba’s word, the other women of his household never again bothered her. On days when they all shared the bathing pool, the wives remained within their own group. Knowing the purpose she was to serve made them even more jealous, but Baba had warned them well.
In a fortunate stroke of luck, Baba discovered that one of his friends had a French-speaking daughter (the result of a now-deceased French-speaking wife), and arranged for the young woman to instruct Aimée in Turkish.
Each day, pupil and teacher met for three hours of tutoring. Moreover, as well as learning the language, Aimée absorbed information about Turkish culture. The young woman, whose name was Mira, proved helpful in answering many of the questions on Aimée’s list. She explained the practice of eating with only the right hand—the left was used exclusively for attending to one’s needs in the toilet.
Aimée felt sure that she would continue to adapt to the new culture because thus far, nothing had been repugnant to her. She loved the food, the clothing, the baths, the exotic fragrant oils used on the body and the incense burning in every room. The strange-sounding music intrigued her. Baba often hired musicians to play after dinner, and once he had danced for her, gracefully undulating his immense body and waving a bright silk handkerchief around his turbaned head. The sensuality of the culture appealed to the Creole part of her nature, a part that had never been encouraged or nurtured.
Aimée learned that the Turks were extremely colorful and creative in their art, music, dance, clothing, architecture and food. Although writing was rarely used for anything other than religious purposes, there existed a rich oral tradition of folk tales, history and medicine. Their culture was older and more sophisticated than that of the French, who despite believing otherwise, were barely civilized by the middle of the eighteenth century. Ironically, Aimée grew up believing that cultures such as the Turkish were barbarous when, in fact, Europeans were backward in comparison. The French did not even have indoor plumbing, while the Turks enjoyed flushing toilets, hot and cold running water and heated indoor pools. What’s more, all Turkish cities and towns offered communal public baths for those who could not afford their own. While the French covered their dirty bodies and hair with perfume, powders and elaborate wigs, the Turks practiced impeccable cleanliness. French women ruined their skin by covering it with thick, heavy makeup while Turkish women used rich plant oils to enhance healthy complexions, and simply highlighted their eyes with kohl. The practice of removing body hair also served the purpose of eliminating body odor. Overall, the Turks were a much cleaner society.
Aimée remembered her visits to Paris as an assault on her sense of smell. She had never adjusted to the foul odor that permeated the entire city, polluting even the interiors of fine homes. The fragrant air in Baba’s home was perfumed by the flowers cultivated in the interior gardens and by exotic incense, the inside being as fresh as the outside.
However, the Turks did seem backward in some ways. Since multiple wives were the custom, with four allowed by the Quran (along with an unlimited number of concubines), multiple children naturally followed. Since education was considered inappropriate for females, most women could neither read nor write. However, their sophisticated knowledge in medicinal arts and herbal lore was verbally passed from generation to generation.
Some of the cultural contradictions also puzzled Aimée. One evening at dinner, she asked Baba some very personal questions.
“Baba, how many wives do you have?”
“Well, I am a wealthy man and could afford as many women as I choose, but I only have four because, to tell you the truth, I much prefer the company of young men.”
Aimée was perplexed. She looked around the room as if an explanation might suddenly appear, and tried to comprehend what Baba had said. The concept of men preferring men was an unfamiliar one. She had not yet learned that Turkish society (and many other old societies) silently accepted men’s intimate sexual relationships with one other. Perhaps this stemmed from forbidden
premarital relations between men and women, so that young men formed relationships with other young men. It was presumed that young women simply chose to remain chaste.
Baba continued. “Of course, one must have wives to sire children, and mine have given me many. But in the boudoir young men are so much more visually appealing, don’t you agree?”
She had no idea how to respond. In an attempt to be polite, she replied, “More appealing. I suppose so.” She must remember to add this to her list of questions for Mira.
“How many children do you have, exactly?” she asked.
“Nine sons, each the captain of his own ship,” he said proudly. Three with prices on their heads almost equal to mine. He smiled to himself.
“Goodness. You must be very proud. No daughters?”
“Oh, yes,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Many daughters, all married, and grandchildren. I do not know how many.”
Aimée tried to imagine what it must be like to have a family so large that you could not keep track of them all. They continued eating in silence until Aimée began to wonder again about the trip to Istanbul.
“Baba, when my ship is ready, will you be sailing all the way to Istanbul with me?”
“Of course, my pet. My presence will guarantee your safe passage, and I will personally deliver you into the hands of the Kizlar Agasi. A gift as precious as yourself could not be treated with any less dignity.”
“Will I live with this Kizlar Agasi as I live here with you? And when will I go to the Sultan?”
“Live with the Kizlar Agasi?” he laughed. “No, no my sweet. You will live in the harem with all of the other odalisques—the women belonging to the Sultan. The Kizlar Agasi and his men protect and serve the harem. He is the most important person in the Sultan’s employ, and you must make him your ally. He is in charge of the harem, and it is he who will bring you to the Sultan. Remember this dear one, make the Kizlar Agasi your friend and you will need no others.”