Abdullah gave a nod. The eunuch guards released the woman, salaamed, and went about their duties. Abdullah turned, making his obeisance to the Lady Fatima. “Me deed is done,” he intoned.
“It is well,” the Lady Fatima replied, and she dismissed him with a brief wave of her hand.
The instant Abdullah’s broad back was out of sight, the other women of the harem crowded about Mariyah. She was lifted and carried off down the second corridor to the right.
Julia watched them bear the woman away, her mind filled with distress. Aboard the Algerian felucca, Bayezid Reis had ordered forty lashes of the kurbash for Rud and O’Toole. Had they been administered? She did not know. In her weak state, shut away in her tiny cubicle, she had been set apart from the rest of the ship, with the exception of the Arab physician. She hated Rudyard Thorpe, she told herself, despised him for his betrayal, and yet, she cringed at the thought of such punishment being visited upon his broad, muscular back. Forty lashes, and no one to care if the skin was marred by scars. How had he and O’Toole survived? Had they?
Behind her, the Lady Fatima spoke. “The others will care for Mariyah. If it pleases you, I would be most honored to have you accompany me to my humble quarters.”
Though it was phrased as a request, Julia did not make the mistake of refusing the invitation. “The honor is mine,” she replied, and followed behind the woman and her maid.
The apartment of the Lady Fatima consisted of three magnificent rooms opening out onto a private garden. Unlike the relative bareness of the other chambers of the harem, these were filled with a multitude of articles, the accumulation of a lifetime. There were the usual couches, piled high with cushions, and tiled walls. In addition, there were carved wooden screens, and arabesque window and door, openings draped with damask, cloth-of-gold, and silver lace. Brass lamps chased with gold hung from the ceiling and stood upon intricately wrought stands, gold and silver vessels were clustered here and there for water, juice, oil, and ointments. There were carved chests of sandalwood and ivory in sizes from the merest trinket box to enormous wardrobes higher than Julia’s head. And, there was the treasure — enormous tapestries sewn with gold and silver thread as well as many-hued silk, ivory elephants with gold-tipped tusks, alabaster drinking vessels and perfume jars, enamelware trays and bowls with gold and silver rims and flowing designs of birds, camels, and stylized flowers, peacocks in bronze, and statuettes of green and pink jade. In the corners were bales of silks and brocades and bundles of carpets. Scattered over a low table, as though the lady had been disturbed while counting over them, were fabulous gemstones — emeralds, diamonds, opals, pigeon’s-blood rubies, jacinths, amethysts, aquamarines, and smooth, shining pearls. It was a trove of jewels fit for a king’s ransom, or a queens’ safety.
The serving woman moved unhurriedly to put away the gems. Her mistress seated herself upon a divan and indicated a satin cushion nearby for Julia that would place her on a slightly lower level. The older woman gave an order, probably for refreshments, then turned to Julia.
“You are bewildered,” she said. “You have found yourself the object of malice for no apparent reason. You have been reviled, attacked, hurt, caught in a maelstrom of events you do not understand.”
“This is so,” Julia answered as the woman paused expectantly.
“It is well for you to know why you are the target of such enmity. I, the first and only surviving wife of the grand and illustrious dey of Algiers, will make the reasons known to you. Ten years ago, at the age of fourteen, Mariyah was chosen to warm the bed of the dey. She was tender and young then, and for a time, she was able to fan the embers of his dying ardor. Then, the times when she was called to his bed grew further and further apart. The dey of Algiers is not a young man. He nears his seventy fourth year. The last time he sent for Mariyah was during the moon of Ramadan over three years ago. Still, in that time, he has sent forth for no one else, and since Mariyah was the last to feel the thrust of his desire she has been, from that time, the reigning favorite. Having held the position for so long, both by her own efforts and by default, she now believes she has a right to it. She has forgotten that she was raised so high only by the will of her lord the dey. Your arrival was a severe shock to her. She feared that you would usurp her place. She decided to do away with you before you became a threat, or at least make you so aware of her power that you would not dare try to supplant her among the other women, regardless of the status you attained elsewhere.”
Julia signified her understanding. “I have not yet expressed my gratitude for your kind intervention, O great lady.”
“Do not thank me, my child. I am not immune to the soul wrenchings of jealousy. You gave me the opportunity to see a sentence carried out that I have long wished to order, that of watching stripes laid on the back of that she-dog Mariyah. Though my position as first wife of the dey cannot be taken from me, I have seen myself replaced in his affections many times. The dey married his permitted three other women, one of whom died in childbirth, one of whom was beheaded for passing letters to a former love, and one of whom went mad in the confinement of the harem and was returned to her father in her own country. There have been concubines without number, women who were favored for a night or a week, a month, or, less often, for a year. And yet, none of their number has given me so much humiliation, none has deliberately made me feel so old and ugly, as Mariyah. Such a thing need not have been. In a harem, there are always envy, greed, and jealous feelings. And yet, there is also companionship, cooperation, and much aid and comfort from one woman to another. This is necessary because all know that the happiness and continuation of their lives depends on the whim of a single man. But I go on too much. These things you will discover for yourself in the weeks to come.”
The serving woman appeared with tiny cups of thick, sweet Turkish coffee, a dish of figs, a platter of almond cakes, and a fresh blouse to replace Julia’s, which had been tom by the women. Except for the grounds, which settled to the bottom of the cup, the coffee was not a great deal different from the brew Julia had known from childhood in New Orleans. She drank it with relish while the servant fussed over her scratches, cleaning them and applying a soothing salve to the deepest nail gouges before helping her into the blouse of aqua silk.
“Eat, my child,” the Lady Fatima said. “You are much too thin to tempt a Mussulman. They like round curves on their women, and soft thighs to support their hard masculinity.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “However, often an older man will be appalled at climbing to the top of such a mountain of flesh.”
An old man of seventy-four, toothless no doubt, stooped, fumbling. Julia swallowed hard upon the sickness at the back of her throat.
“Do not, be distressed,” the Lady Fatima said, noting her repugnance. “The dey is not a well man. If he is capable of mounting so much as his horse, then my spies have misinformed me and should have their tongues torn out. He likes the company of women and values them for their tenderness and sensitivity as well as enjoying their beauty, but he cannot bear petty meanness or stupidity — hence Mariyah’s banishment once he was unable to possess her. Occasionally, he sends for me for the sake of conversation. Still, though he values what he is pleased to call my wisdom, we have long since plumbed the depths of each other’s minds, and can no longer look forward to the thrill of discovery.”
Julia said nothing, her mind busy with what she had been told, sifting through it for the hidden meaning she was sure was there. Was the other woman trying to tell her she had nothing to fear, or was she saying she would be expected to do mental acrobatics to amuse the dey? Something tugged at her memory, something at variance with what Lady Fatima had told her. She could not drag it to the full focus of her attention, however.
The Lady Fatima paused while she took up a fig and peeled it with care. She popped fruit into her mouth, dipped her fingers into a water bowl, and dried them on a linen cloth. Abruptly, she said, “You were not chosen by the dey.”
Julia looked
up quickly from her coffee cap. The memory she had unsuccessfully sought now presented itself. Two men behind a screen discussing her as though she were not there. One had been Ismael, the physician; the other had not sounded aged, far from it. “I see,” she answered with a slight lift of her chin. “Then, who did send me here?’“
“For me to answer that, you must first understand something of the situation here. Algeria is a vassal state of the Ottoman Turkish Empire. The dey is nominated to his high position by the officers of the Turkish militia, the Janissaries, and he must divide his allegiance between them and the sultan of Constantinople. The throne is his for life. However, if he is stupid, if he displeases either faction, his life may not be long. By this, you may judge the wisdom and diplomacy of the present dey, who has held the office for more than a quarter of a century. Mehemet Dey has been well loved and much respected, but he has made a great mistake in the man whom he has selected to support as his heir. Like all men who gain great power, he wishes to pass it to those of his own blood — in this case, Kemal, his grandson. At present, he is directing all his energies toward this end. He ignores the fact that this young man is unworthy, that he is weak, unprincipled, and forever at the mercy of his emotions. The dey cannot be brought to see that there are other men more capable ready to hand. For instance, his own nephew, Ali Pasha.”
“Forgive me,” Julia said, when the woman paused. “I assume the grandson, Kemal, is also your grandson?”
“Not so. Kemal is the grandson of the dey’s second wife, the woman who died in childbirth. Her son, born on that occasion, lived to sire another as fat and as greedy as both himself and his mother. If the woman had not stuffed herself until she was as round as a barrel, she might not have died. The son was also a glutton. One feast of Ramadan he consumed the better part of a whole sheep by himself. His intestines burst and he died, though not before he had gotten a son off a poor flattened slip of a slave girl. No, never say such a worthless one is a relation of mine. My children, a magnificent son and a daughter more beautiful than the moon, died in a cholera epidemic with many others in the harem. I do not champion Ali Pasha because he is of my blood either, for he is not. He is the eldest son of the only brother of the dey, a man felled by an assassin’s knife. I champion him because I enjoy the intrigue, the flexing of my scant power, but most of all because he has shown himself possessed of those virtues necessary for a ruler — strength of character, an ability to inspire and lead men, and a sense of justice. If you could know him, an impossibility now that you have entered the confines of the harem, I believe you, too, would come to admire him.”
“Perhaps, I would,” Julia agreed. “And yet, if he is all you say he is, surely he will bring himself to the attention of the Janissaries.”
“Of course, but will that be enough? The will of the dey is strong not only because he is an honored ruler, but because of the love the people, and the men of the military, have for him. When he is dead, they will wish to show their love and respect, and how better to do so than to follow his will and nominate Kemal as the new dey?”
“What can be done to prevent it?”
“Several things. Kemal could be exposed as the greedy fool that he is, and those nearest the dey can sing the praises of Ali Pasha. It is for this last purpose that you were chosen.”
“You overwhelm me,” Julia said. “I see no reason for Mehemet Dey to take an interest in me, much less come to value me to the point of listening to my counsel.”
“I think you underestimate yourself. We have had good reports of you from Ismael the physician.”
“I see,” Julia said for lack of anything better.
“Do you? I would like to think so, for it would go far in proving Ismael right. The Arab physician, you understand, is a friend of Ali Pasha, and there is binding loyalty between them. He had occasion to travel to the Canary Islands, there to meet a colleague who had important information to impart to him concerning the many fevers which ravage the northern coast of Africa. He took passage on the ship of Bayezid Reis, the ship which took you and your two male companions aboard. Despite your illness and the hardship through which you had passed, he was impressed with your beauty and intelligence. He knew that Ali Pasha had toyed with the idea of introducing a new favorite into his uncle’s harem, had even sent out a request for unusual women in his uncle’s name, but despaired of a mere physical attraction with which to snare his interest. He was intrigued by an intimation that you had known and spoken to Napoleon of France, for he knew that this man exercises a great fascination on the mind of Mehemet Dey. For these reasons, he did his utmost to heal you and assure that you would be granted an audience. So, it came to pass that you were observed in your bath, and while draped and veiled, viewed by Ali Pasha. Other than an excess of modesty and pride, he had no fault to find with you.”
“And so, I was brought into the harem?”
The Lady Fatima inclined her head. “In due time, when you are prepared, you shall be brought to the attention of the dey, and it shall be your duty and your delight to become his consort of the mind — and all else that he may desire.”
Julia, remembering Mariyah writhing under the strokes of the kurbash, recognized that there could be but one answer. “I shall do my best to be worthy of your faith and goodness.”
The preparation of which the Lady Fatima had spoken included, among other things, the learning of two new languages, Moorish and Turkish. Moorish was the common language of Algiers, used in the marketplace and with the servants within the palace. Constantinople was still the heart of Islam, however, and all Moors with any pretensions to breeding or education spoke Turkish fluently. In addition, Turkish was the language employed at court and, most important, that preferred by the dey. To make certain that Julia learned the two allied tongues as quickly as possible, an older member of the harem, a Turkish woman in her mid-thirties of ample proportions and affable disposition, was sent to be Julia’s companion and share her bedchamber. Called Jawharah, she was an indefatigable talker. She was, in addition, an endless fountain of information concerning the harem, the palace, the town, and all the people who dwelled therein. Since she related all this in the two basic tongues of the Barbary Coast, Julia, with her penchant for languages, soon began to be able to understand what was going on around her and to make herself understood.
She was not surprised to discover that Mariyah was her bitter enemy. Against all logic, she blamed Julia for her beating, and whispered in corners that it was obvious that what she had suspected was true: Julia was Abdullah’s spy. She had among her followers the more discontented and desperately bored of the women. Though they never dared openly attack Julia again, they made her the butt of dozens of malicious tricks. Scorpions found their way into her slippers. A pet monkey was shut up in her chest for hours, fouling and jumbling the clothing allotted to her. Walking in the garden, she was jostled into the fish pool and came up with her hair dripping green slime. On one occasion, she became ill after eating a salad of palm hearts, and thereafter, the woman who served the wife of the dey also served Julia.
Julia was not without her own group of followers. At first, for the sake of the Lady Fatima, and then for herself alone, well over half of the women of the harem were ranged on the side of the new favorite. Though Julia had not yet been seen by the dey, this was how she was known. Her name they changed to Jullanar, after a queen in one of their favorite and most quoted books, the Arabian Nights. Though they did not know how or why it had come about, every woman in the harem realized that she was being made ready for the delectation of the dey, and each pitied or envied Jullanar according to her nature.
~ ~ ~
Winter came. The blinds of the harem were closed against the coolness and blowing rain. Charcoal braziers glowed red in the center of every room. Lessons continued for Julia. She was taught how to bow to the dey, when to kiss his hand or the hem of his garment, how to ask permission to speak or to leave him, when and where to sit in his presence, making certain h
er head was never higher than his. There were even, should the need arise, instructions in how to enter his bed. One entered humbly from the foot, progressing toward the head by degrees and only with proper encouragement.
Jawharah, a woman of many parts, expounded to Julia on a wide range of subjects. As their friendship deepened and she grew more intimate in her discourse, she revealed to Julia that she had been sold by her father at the age of thirteen to a slave dealer who had come to her native village. The caravan in which she had been traveling toward Constantinople had been attacked. The brigands had carried the female slaves out into the wasteland, where they had raped and left them. The slave dealer had tracked down his merchandise, but finding it already damaged, he had turned the girls over to the camel drivers for the remainder of the journey. At Constantinople, he had purchased the services of a physician of a certain skill who, with simple surgery, had made them new, almost impenetrable maidenheads. Lo, they were virgin once more.
Jawharah had then been sold to a rich, aged merchant. She had become his favorite concubine, having learned a few tricks from the camel drivers, which served to whet his jaded appetite. Then one day, on her way to the bathhouse, she had cast her eyes upon a young and lusty soldier. Straightaway she had discovered within herself a talent for deception. Messages were passed, and one day while visiting the bazaar, she had lost herself from her serving woman and bodyguard. She enjoyed such good sport with her soldier that another time she had bribed the attendant at the bathhouse to engage her serving woman in conversation while she slipped out a side entrance. This subterfuge did not work more than once. On the second try, she was caught and her master was informed of her conduct. The merchant wielded the kurbash himself, Jawharah said, reminiscently rubbing her broad beam, and then he had sold her to the owner of a brothel.
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