SERAGLIO

by Colin Falconer

  Hürrem had ventured onto the balcony of her apartment very early that morning. Muomi heard her singing, an old song she had learned from her father, or so she said. It was cold and Muomi went to bring her back inside. Hürrem cried out just as she reached her and fell in her arms. Hürrem's handmaidens ran to assist her but by the time they laid her on the divan she was already unconscious, her breathing ragged in her chest.

  Galata

  Ludovici received an urgent summons to meet Abbas at the Jewish house. He hurried to meet him there but for the first time in their entire acquaintance, Abbas was late.

  When he finally arrived, there was no particular sign of an emergency. After the usual pleasantries he examined the pastries on the silver plate in front of him and selected one, ate it, then belched daintily into a silk handkerchief he produced from the abundant folds of his robe.

  'I received your message,' Ludovici said. 'You said it was important.'

  'You have lived with Muslims all these years and still you have not learned the simple art of patience.'

  'And probably never shall.'

  'Yes, Ludovici, the matter is urgent, but urgent in hours not in minutes. I hoped to savour our meeting today. It will probably be our last.'

  'Why, what has happened?'

  'The Lady Hürrem, the Laughing One, is dying.'

  'You are sure? It's not just another of her stratagems?'

  'She has been suffering her malady for many months now. This morning she collapsed and they have taken her to her bed. She has the smell of death about her. I know it well. There is no mistaking it.'

  'But how does this affect me, Abbas?'

  'It is Julia! You must send her away from Stamboul. Now! In the sight of God I swear she lives under the sword while she is in this city. I know you have land in Cyprus. Take her there with you.'

  'But her offence was nearly thirty years ago! Suleiman must have forgotten about her by now. I will not give up everything I have built here to run from shadows.'

  'He may have forgotten but once he knows she is still alive he will be bound by pride and by duty to punish both her and me. Do you think he will hesitate to give such an order? He will send his chaush for her into the Comunità Magnifica if he has to. He is hardly afraid of the bailo of Venice.'

  'Why would she do this?'

  'To stop me murdering her. I would have done it, too! Hürrem has put everything down in her own hand and she has sworn that it will be delivered to the Grand Vizier upon her death, regardless of the cause.' He reached over and took Ludovici's arm. 'Have you not had enough? You can retire from affairs a rich man now. Does your money matter so much to you? You must choose - your precious ships and warehouses - or Julia.' Abbas coughed, a wet, hacking sound coming from his chest. He brought the handkerchief to his lips and when he took it away Ludovici noticed a watery red stain. 'I beg your pardon. Someday this cough troubles me more than others.'

  Ludovici nodded. 'All right, I will do as you ask. But you must do one favour for me.'

  'If it is within my power.'

  'My caramusalis may enter or leave the Dardanelles as they wish. They are never searched. My baksheesh to Rüstem is handsome payment for this privilege. Any passengers I wished to take on board would be guaranteed safe passage.' Now it was his turn; he put a hand on his old friend's shoulder. 'You come too. If Hürrem betrays Julia to Suleiman she betrays you as well. Get away from here now. Come with me and Julia to Cyprus. At least you can live out your last few years in peace.'

  'Peace? Does such a thing exist?'

  'Please, Abbas. Tomorrow at dawn, at Galata. One of my caramusalis will be there, you will see the Venetian lion flying from its stern - but it will fly upside down. The captain will have his orders. Just get on board and hurry below out of sight.'

  'I will think it over.'

  'No! I do not want you to think! I want you to promise me that you will be there. As much as you wish for Julia's safety, I wish for yours.'

  'Thank you,' he murmured. He coughed again. He clapped his hands and immediately the deaf-mutes were at his side, lifting him to his feet. When it was done he clung to them, wheezing from the effort.

  'Promise me,' Ludovici repeated. 'Tomorrow at dawn.'

  'Very well,' Abbas said.

  'I will not say goodbye. We will see each other in the morning. Yes?'

  Abbas forced a smile. 'The start of a new day.' He went downstairs and Ludovici watched him get into his carriage. He hesitated, halfway inside and looked up at the widow. 'Ludovici,' he called up. 'If I am not there, say goodbye to Julia for me!' And then he was gone.

  Topkapi Saraya.

  'Muomi,' Hürrem whispered. The gediçli put her ear close to Hürrem's lips to catch the words.

  'Yes, My Lady.'

  'Revenge.'

  'Yes, My Lady.'

  'I am dying now … but afterwards Suleiman … will come to you.'

  'What am I to tell him?'

  'Whatever hurts him … the most.'

  Muomi smiled. 'Yes, My Lady.'

  Chapter 53

  Pera

  Julia had never seen Ludovici like this. He seemed defeated. He stroked his gold and silver beard, slumped in his chair.

  She waited patiently for him to speak. What could be wrong? she wondered. And then she decided: it must be Abbas, and it was bad news.

  'I am sending you away,' he said suddenly.

  'My Lord?'

  'I should have done this years ago. It is for your own safety.'

  She was overcome by a wave of indignation. Was she still just another man's pawn, to be pushed around the Mediterranean at whim? 'How can I be in danger?'

  'The Sultan may soon know you are here.'

  'But surely that was all years ag-'

  'Abbas is certain of it. It is not forgotten. Shortly the Grand Vizier will know of it and Suleiman will be forced to act. These people do not forget disobedience, Julia. Ever.'

  'Where do you want me to go?'

  'I have estates at Cyprus. You will be looked after.'

  Julia imagined another lonely villa, some vines, a few servants, perhaps a few books and embroidery to occupy her. A monastery for all purposes. A monastery with wine. The prospect was intolerable.

  She realized she would miss him if she went. She would miss his warmth beside her in the bed, his strength, the certainty of his friendship. I do not want to be without him now, she thought. At very last he has become a choice, and not a fact of life. 'You wish me to leave you?' she said.

  'No, that is the last thing that I want.'

  'Very well, then. I shall not go.'

  'You do not understand-'

  'I understand perfectly. I just do not wish to leave you.'

  He stared at her, bewildered. 'Why?'

  'Perhaps I have grown fond of you.' Her lips creased to a tight, sad smile. 'Is that so hard to believe?'

  'Yes it is. At least I never expected to hear it from you.'

  'If you will come with me, then I will go. If you will not, then I will stay here. I am decided.'

  'I could make you go.'

  'No, you wouldn't do that. It's not in your nature.'

  ***

  Ludovici stood up and went to the window. Corpo di Dio! He had waited so long for her passion that this one moment of calm acceptance had taken him completely by surprise. He did not know what to say or do. He had been resigned to finally giving up something he thought he could never have. Now this.

  'I do not know what to say.'

  Her skirts rustled on the marble as she came to stand behind him. 'What will you do?'

  'Do you mean what you say?' he asked her.

  'Of course. I should have said it to you long ago.'

  'Then I shall join you in Cyprus. I will leave the running of my business in the hands of my undermerchant. I will let him cheat me shamelessly in my absence while I shall grow grapes and turn brown and wrinkled in the sun.' He smiled. 'Perhaps the Venetian renegade has proved his point to the Republic.
I should like to be happy instead of just rich.'

  He remembered her as the first time he had seen her with Abbas, in the church of Santa Maria dei Miracoli. The vision in velvet, as Abbas had once described her. She was no longer an angel, was flawed by age and by sin. But he loved her, as always had done. And finally she wanted him back. That would always be enough.

  He would like to have kissed her, but instead he reached out for her hand and felt her fingers entwine with his. He had never been as happy in his whole life.

  Chapter 54

  Abdullah Ali Osman, Suleiman's private physician, was an unhappy man. Suleiman surveyed him from the divan, his face ferocious with despair.

  'You must prescribe for her. If she dies, I shall make you responsible. You will enjoy an uninterrupted view of the next sunrise from the walls of the Ba'ab-i-Humayün.'

  Ali Osman touched his forehead to the rug. 'As you say, my Lord.' God help me in my sorrow!

  A little while later a guard of eunuchs, their yataghans drawn, escorted him through the oak and iron gate into the silent sanctuary of the Harem. They passed hushed and cloistered courtyards and climbed a flight of narrow steps to the apartment of the Hasseki Hürrem.

  He did not even spare a glance at the blue and white Ming vases or the gilt mirrors or the jewelled censers that hung from the vaulted dome like fruit. Fear had turned his eyes inward. O that God had spared him to be alive in another time, when the Sultan did not love his women so much!

  A double line of eunuchs lined the pathway so that he could see nothing beyond them, but he knew she was there; her presence, the hush that surrounded her, dominated the room. The guards who had accompanied him from the Hall of Audience stopped and allowed him to walk ahead.

  Nothing was said and he wondered what he should do.

  Suddenly a hand appeared from behind the human barrier, pale and limp, the wrist supported by the plump ebony fingers of another eunuch. Probably the Kislar Aghasi, he decided. This was all he would be allowed to examine.

  He took the hand reverently for he understood that he was the only other whole man, aside from the Sultan himself, who had ever been allowed to touch her since she had entered the Harem. It was an old woman's hand now, of course, with liver blotches, and the skin was flaccid. Nothing to excite the desire.

  He felt for the pulsing of the blood, gauged the temperature of the skin that would tell him a little of her internal organs. He pinched the nails, testing for the quickness of the blood.

  Her heart beats very slowly, he thought. Her body cools in readiness for death.

  He must hurry, prepare an elixir to revive her organs and her vital humours. He had no wish to watch the sunrise from the main gate, no matter how splendid the view.

  ***

  'Has the old fool gone?' Hürrem whispered.

  'Yes, he is gone,' Abbas said. The guards filed out of the room and they were left alone. Strange how much he had hated her yet now he admired the courage with which she faced her death. If only he had the same strength.

  'I would not trust him … to pare my toenails.'

  'No, My Lady.'

  The whites of her eyes were no longer white; they were stained with yellow and sunken deep into her head. No elixir in the world is going to save her now, Abbas decided.

  Her lips cracked into a smile. 'So you are going to see me … dead, after all my Abbas. That … must please you.'

  'Indeed it does.'

  'Your candour is so refreshing … they all tell me I am … going to recover.'

  'I should say they are greatly mistaken.'

  Hürrem turned her eyes on him, slowly and painfully. 'I have one more … errand for you.'

  'I hardly think you are in a position to command me anymore, My Lady.'

  'You want the … letter?'

  Abbas controlled himself with difficulty. 'Make your peace with God. The affairs of the world will soon no longer concern you.'

  She laughed; her laughter degenerated into a fit of coughing that left her desperately weak for a long time. But finally, when she recovered she said: 'You are right, my Abbas. Muomi … has the letter. She … has my command upon my death … to deliver it to … you.'

  'There really was such a letter?'

  'Of course. I never make … empty threats.'

  'Who was your spy?'

  'Ludovici had a eunuch … Hyacinth. It's a pretty … name.'

  'Another eunuch?'

  'A delicious … irony, don't you think? Don't look like that. I am not a … vindictive woman. Take the letter as my parting … gift. Go in peace … my Abbas.'

  Oh rot in hell, he thought.

  He rose to leave. Tonight, he was sure, the witch would die. And at dawn he would be on a caramusali, gliding across the Marmara Deniz and finally, finally free.

  She whispered: 'Do you not hate them … these Turks?'

  Had she really said that? He leaned closer to her, nose twitching at the stink of corruption. 'My Lady?'

  'What they have done .. to me. To you … Do you not … hate them?'

  'My bones ache with it.'

  Hürrem closed her eyes. The effort of speaking was tiring her. 'They have made me a … slave, and made you a … joke.' Well, Abbas thought, even in death she does not choose delicacy over candour. 'Do you not want … some measure … of vengeance?'

  'What does my Lady foresee?'

  'I foresee Selim … as the next Sultan.'

  'It will never happen.'

  'Who knows what will happen … Abbas? Perhaps you may still … be useful.' She tried to moisten her lips with her tongue. They were cracked and a little watery blood seeped from them. 'I have bequeathed you … to my son's service. Perhaps you can help me in this … my last endeavour.'

  She closed her eyes and in moments she was asleep. Abbas got up to leave but turned at the door and looked back. She looked such a fragile and pathetic figure. How could she ever have filled him with such dread?

  And how, too, did he find himself in such sympathy with her, at this late hour? 'I will help you,' he said. 'I will gladly do all that I can. This time you do not have to threaten me.'

  He went out, closing the door softly behind him.

  Chapter 55

  Marmara Sea

  'Why didn't he come?' Julia said.

  Ludovici leaned on the rail, watched the domes and spires of the great city fade into the violet haze of the morning, knowing he would never see them again. 'I don't know. I never really understood his reasons for doing anything.'

  'But did he not promise?'

  'He did, but then he implied that he might break it.'

  'Do you think he is still alive? You don't think she has killed him?'

  'My sources inside the Porte will tell me soon enough. If they killed him then we were right not to delay. And if he is well and chose not come …well nothing will change his mind once it is made up.'

  The water shimmered with pools of gold as the sun rose in the sky. The caramusali reached into the breeze bound for the Dardanelles. Julia remembered the last time she had been out here, that morning she first glimpsed the city that had imprisoned and liberated her. A lifetime ago!

  'I shall pray for him,' Julia said. She put her hand on his. The breeze was salt and clean. She said a silent farewell to past lovers and felt the past slough off her soul like an old and withered skin.

  Topkapi Saraya

  Hürrem was dying.

  It was obvious to him, from the moment he entered the room. She was propped up on pillows; Muomi had braided her hair with pearls and the green taplock had been pinned to her hair. She had dressed her in a kaftan of pure white silk. It was all an absurd parody of her youth and he wanted to cry aloud when he saw her. Was this some kind of cruel joke?

  He barely recognized her. The flesh had fallen away from her bones. She looked like a skull with a tight covering of translucent skin, her body shrunken and tiny like a doll's.

  Muomi and Abbas crouched by her bedside, their faces dark with dre
ad.

  'Russelana …' he whispered.

  The others moved back. Suleiman sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up her hand. It was as cold as marble. 'Don't leave me,' he whispered.

  'I am free, Suleiman.' Her voice had lost all gentleness; it sounded like metal on a rasp.

  He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. 'I love you.'

  Her mouth creased like a bow. 'You fool.'

  There was a moment of stillness.

  'Life has been … cruel to you, Suleiman. But then you have … deserved it.'

  Something inside him turned to ice. He wondered if he had heard her correctly. He bent lower over the bed. 'What are you telling me?'

  'I am telling you to … go and stew … in hell.'

  Suleiman stared at her, appalled. He dropped her hand as if she had told him she had the pestilence. He turned to the circle of faces around the bed. 'Get out! Get out all of you!'

  Muomi and the other gediçli hurried out. Only Abbas hesitated.

  'Get out!' Suleiman repeated.

  The door creaked shut behind him.

  When he turned back Hürrem was grinning; yes grinning, he thought, for it could not be called a smile. Her lips were drawn back from her teeth in a death's head vision of triumph. 'Little russelana …'

  'I am not … your little russelana. I have never … loved you. Every day of my life I have … hated you … hated you with all my soul.'

  Suleiman clutched at the fluted gold column of the canopy to steady himself. 'You are sick. I shall pay no attention to anything you say.'

  'I was your prisoner so I could … do nothing else, but submit … to you. But oh, how I have … despised you!'

  Suleiman covered his ears. 'I will not listen!'

  'Have you ever wondered why Bayezid is such a … great warrior? It is because …. he belongs to Ibrahim.'

  'No! That is impossible.'

  'You trusted him so much … you never knew what he did … after he returned from Egypt.'