The Panther and The Pearl

by Doreen Owens Malek

“How would he have gotten it?” Achmed asked.

  “Perhaps he received it as a bribe,” Turhan suggested. “It’s very valuable, isn’t it?”

  “A bribe from whom?” Kalid said impatiently. “If it was stolen anyone could have given it to him.”

  “I know who had it last,” Memtaz piped up quickly.

  All eyes turned to her.

  “Fatma,” she said.

  Kalid looked at her and they all saw the impact of that piece of information in his face.

  “And there’s something else,” Memtaz said. “Some time ago Fatma offered my mistress a dish of raspberry sherbet in the tepidarium. I told her not to eat it and Sarah pretended to drop it, smashing the dish.”

  Kalid studied her, realizing with horror that the olive compote may not have been Fatma’s first attempt on Sarah’s life. The sugary syrup of the sherbet would have disguised the bitterness of the arsenic just as well as olives.

  “You should have informed me!” Achmed said sternly. “All such incidents should be reported at once. We could have tested the sherbet on an animal to see if it was poisoned.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Kalid said wearily. “Memtaz, you did well in telling Sarah not to eat the dessert. Go and rest in the bedchamber with your mistress. If your loyalty to Sarah caused you to shirk your duty to the khislar I will not fault you for it.”

  Memtaz left as Achmed folded his arms disgustedly.

  “Don’t pout, my friend,” Kalid said to him. “I need you for what’s to come.” He sat back and said softly, “Fatma. I should have guessed it, I suppose, but I thought she was too much in love with herself to risk her life this way. She had to know that it would be death for her if she were caught.”

  “Jealousy does strange things,” Turhan said.

  Kalid sat forward again. “Get Murad back in here,” he said quietly to the khislar. “And bring Fatma from the harem. Now.”

  The pasha and Turhan Aga exchanged glances as Achmed strode briskly from the room.

  “So she should make a complete recovery,” Kalid said to the doctor, who nodded.

  “She’s out of danger now,” Shakoz said. “ I will administer a purgative once she’s strong enough to tolerate it and that will eliminate the rest of the poison from her system.”

  “Can I see her now?” Kalid asked.

  “Not yet. She should rest. Soon, perhaps this evening.”

  Kalid nodded. “Thank you, doctor. You may go back to your patient.”

  Once the doctor left Kalid looked at his grandmother and said, “I want a public execution, to take place tomorrow.”

  They were sitting in the inner chamber of his apartment; Sarah and Memtaz were in the next room. Kosem raised her pipe to her lips and said, “Has the cook confessed?”

  Kalid nodded. “To looking the other way as Fatma doctored the dish of olives.”

  “And what does Fatma say?”

  “She screams and cries and denies everything. She is a coward and will die like one.”

  Kosem sighed. “I wish you had awakened me when this first happened. I had many experiences dealing with poisons when I was a young girl. The harem then was a very dangerous place, not like it is now, all games and sweets and smoking the nargileh, with just the occasional incident like this one to liven things up a bit. In the old days favorites fell like leaves from trees and rivals were eliminated with one tainted cup of coffee.”

  “The harem was dangerous enough for Sarah. And I thought you needed your sleep. You’re always telling me you’re going to die any minute.”

  Kosem made a disgusted sound. “You picked a strange time to start paying attention to me.” She puffed on her pipe reflectively. “Are the prisoners both in the dungeon?”

  “Murad is chained in the dungeon. Fatma is confined in the storeroom of the Bird House.”

  “What kind of execution do you have planned?”

  “I’d like to kill them both with my bare hands,” he said, in a tone that left no doubt that he meant it.

  “But of course you won’t do that,” Kosem said, watching his face anxiously. Would she be able to control him, convince him that his government would lose all appearance of civilization if he carried out these executions? The Western powers might recall their embassies, the Sultan would be infuriated that his pasha had usurped the power of personal execution, a right that traditionally was the Sultan’s alone. It would be a disaster beyond all reason.

  But Kosem knew that where Sarah was concerned Kalid did not listen to reason.

  “What does the khislar recommend?” Kosem asked.

  “Hanging for the cook, ritual drowning in the Bosporous for the woman.”

  “A sensible plan.”

  Kalid snorted and looked past her with an expression she remembered seeing on his father’s face. It convinced her that she had better speak her mind.

  “But there is a danger in killing those two, Kalid,” she said quickly.

  “What danger? It will be a pleasure.”

  “And what will Sarah think of you when she recovers and hears, as she surely will, that you executed the people who tried to kill her?” Kosem asked.

  “She will think that justice was done!”

  “Will she? Or will she think that you are a brutal tyrant? She will judge you by the standards of her own country and find you sorely lacking in humanity.”

  Kalid leaped up from his seat and began to pace the room. “And what will happen if I do nothing?” he countered. “We’ll have a poisoning every week around here, any scullery maid who resents a slight will be lacing the eggplant with strychnine!”

  “I am not suggesting that you do nothing,” Kosem said mildly. “Punishment is in order, certainly everyone will understand that. Just something less than death might be appropriate.”

  “My father would have killed them both the same day he caught them,” Kalid said.

  “That is true, but let us all hope that you are more enlightened than your father. He once hung a tailor for making him a suit of clothes that fit badly. People have come to expect more progressive behavior from you. We are only fifteen years away from the twentieth century, after all.”

  “They wanted Sarah dead. I want them to die,” he said flatly, his face set.

  “Son of my son, I know what happened when the cook Murad admitted his complicity in this matter,” Kosem said. “Rumors move faster than thieves in the night through the harem. You attacked the man and would have killed him if Achmed had not intervened and pulled you off him.”

  “Achmed should be disciplined for putting his hands on me,” Kalid said stonily.

  “What nonsense! He was quite correct and you know it. Do you want to acquire a reputation like your father’s? Everyone feared him but no one respected him. The Western powers would not send embassies here and we were regarded throughout the world as barefoot barbarians. Do you want to destroy everything that you have accomplished in the years since you took the throne with one act of savagery? And all over this American woman!”

  Kalid turned to stare at her.

  Kosem held up her hand. “Don’t look at me that way. I have grown fond of Sarah and you know this. She saved your life when you were wounded and for that alone she has my undying gratitude. But don’t let your feelings for a concubine allow you to make a bad political decision.”

  Kalid sat again and stared at the floor for a long time. Finally he said, “I could banish them both from the district, put them outside the walls of the palace with only the clothes they stand in as armor against the future.”

  Kosem turned her head, smiling secretly. Kalid was just as passionate as his father, but there was an intelligence there, a sophistication, that her son had always lacked. Did it come from Kalid’s English mother, or from his Western education, his exposure to a different way of life than that found in the pashadom? Kosem herself had never been out of the Empire, in fact she’d rarely been out of Bursa, but she could see the difference between the two men and was thank
ful for it.

  “An excellent idea,” Kosem said.

  “I could also cut the cook’s hand off and shave Fatma’s head before I banished them,” he said thoughtfully.

  Kosem closed her eyes. “And what would Sarah think of those measures?” Kosem said quietly.

  Kalid stood abruptly. “I know what I think of you!” he said. “You are a nosy, meddling old woman and I don’t know why I listen to you at all. Now go back to the harem before I lose patience with your interference.”

  Kosem left, wearing a smug expression, and as soon as the door closed behind her Kalid called for the halberdier who always stood outside his door.

  “Send the khislar to me,” he said shortly. “I have orders for the disposition of the prisoners.”

  Kalid slipped into the room where Sarah was resting, holding up his hand for silence. Memtaz looked up from her needlework and inclined her head.

  Kalid sat next to Sarah and took her hand. Her eyes opened, and she smiled when she saw him.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Much better.” She blinked and then tightened the grip of her fingers on his. “Kalid, what happened to me? All that the doctor will tell me is that I’ve been sick. This much I know.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “I remember waking up in the middle of the night with terrible stomach pains. Then the rest is hazy. I remember your voice, and seeing Memtaz, and you, and the doctor. Until I woke up this morning I really didn’t know what was going on for sure.”

  “Fatma poisoned you.”

  Sarah stared up at him, absorbing the enormity of it. Then she turned her head away from him.

  “Is Fatma dead?” she asked quietly.

  “No.”

  Sarah looked back at him. “She’s not?”

  “I didn’t execute her.”

  Sarah’s gaze softened. “Why not?”

  “Maybe you have been a good influence on me.”

  Sarah laughed.

  “I don’t understand why you should be worried about her. She tried to kill you,” Kalid said.

  “I’m not worried about her. I detested her and obviously the feeling was mutual,” Sarah said in a tired voice.

  “You wouldn’t have poisoned her.”

  “I might have beat her up once or twice.”

  Kalid grinned. “So why were you concerned that she might be dead?”

  “I was concerned about you, Kalid.”

  He looked away from her thoughtfully, then nodded.

  “What have you done with her?” Sarah asked.

  “She’s been banished, along with the cook who helped her get to your food.”

  “Banished? Like the ancient Greeks? Did you stick her on a mountaintop or something?”

  “Or something.”

  Dr. Shakoz tapped on the door, which was ajar, and entered when Kalid nodded at him.

  “How is my patient?” he said cheerfully in Turkish.

  “Fine,” Sarah replied.

  “Ah, you look very well. Your color is back, your eyes are clear, and I think later you may eat something.”

  Sarah smiled. “Thank you, doctor.”

  “No, no. It is I who should be thanking you. I understand you tended the pasha when he was wounded and I was away. I owe you a great debt.”

  “I think you can consider it repaid.”

  “I would like to take Sarah out for an excursion today, doctor. Is that permissible?” Kalid asked.

  “Where?”

  “Just to the Sweet Waters.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Dr. Shakoz said amiably. “Not for too long, of course. But a change of scene can’t hurt. I’ll be back tonight to check on you again, young lady.”

  “Thank you, doctor.”

  After Shakoz left Sarah asked Kalid, “What are the Sweet Waters?”

  “What you call ‘the beach’ in the United States.”

  “Good. I love the beach.”

  “Memtaz will help you dress and I’ll have my carriage brought around to the Bird House gate at two o’clock.”

  “Do we have to have guards coming along with us?” Sarah asked.She felt a strong need to be alone with him.

  “I will drive the carriage myself,” he replied.

  Sarah smiled at him as he left, and he stopped and regarded her silently, with a strange expression on his face.

  “What is it?” Sarah asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.” He closed the door quietly behind him.

  “Oh, mistress, this is so exciting,” Memtaz said, as Sarah sat up on her couch. “The Sweet Waters is such a lovely spot, you will have a fine time. What would you like to wear?”

  “Anything simple, Memtaz.” Sarah swung her legs over the side of the sleeping couch and the room spun around her. She put her hands to her temples as Memtaz rushed to her side.

  “Are you all right, mistress?” Memtaz said anxiously.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I just haven’t walked for several days and I need to get myself...oriented.” Sarah put her feet on the floor deliberately, one at a time.

  “Perhaps you should not go,” Memtaz said.

  “I’m going,” Sarah replied firmly. “Just bring me the clothes I need and point me in the right direction.”

  “You can wear just a shift and a caftan, mistress, but you must wear the feradge over it in the carriage.”

  “Fine, fine, whatever you say.” Sarah stood gingerly and waited for the world to tilt, but it remained upright.

  So far, so good.

  By the time she was bathed and dressed her head felt like it was as thin and delicate as an eggshell, but she made her way to the door, determined to walk through the halls unaided. Memtaz followed at a discreet distance, but they both stopped short when they saw a palanquin with a striped awning standing in the corridor, flanked by four eunuchs.

  “What is this?” Sarah asked.

  “My master instructed us that you should ride in this conveyance to the Bird House gate,” one of the eunuchs replied.

  Sarah did not protest, since she already felt fatigued from her preparation for the outing. She waved to Memtaz as she was carried away in the litter, lulled by the swaying motion into a sort of peaceful lassitude. She had always resisted being transported in this way, it seemed the ultimate in Eastern excess, but today she was grateful for the ride.

  Kalid’s elaborate carriage was waiting on the cobbled walk outside the gate. He was wearing a loose jersey sweater in an ivory waffle weave with tight fitting brown trousers, looking like an Oxford rugby player. He dismissed the eunuchs, then came around to the side of the palanquin and pulled its tasseled curtain back all the way, sticking his head inside.

  “Now you look like the ikbal,” he said teasingly. Before she could protest he reached down and lifted her, slipping an arm beneath her knees and swinging her into the air. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Sarah to put her arms around his neck and let her head fall to his shoulder.

  He carried her to the coach and set her inside it gently, pulling a rug over her knees and closing the door on her side. Then he vaulted into the driver’s seat and called down to her, “Relax and enjoy the ride. It isn’t far.”

  Sarah sat back and did as she was bid, glancing out the window every so often at the passing scenery but mostly resting with her head back against the padded satin seat cushion. She was almost asleep when the carriage jolted to a halt and she looked out the window at the most beautiful expanse of beach she had ever seen.

  They were on a rise above an estuary of the Bosporous, the green field below sheltered by palms and walnut trees and leafy sycamores.A fountain splashed near the shore and a lacy white gazebo was planted all around with flowering bushes. It stood on the grassy verge where the white sand began to reflect the sunlight. Sarah was dazzled; she held her hand up to shield her eyes as Kalid opened the door of the carriage to get her.

  “How do you like it?” he asked, throwing a blanke
t over his shoulder.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Sarah replied.

  “The Sultan had the gazebo built and the fountain installed for Roxalena’s mother, Nakshedil.”

  He lifted her out of the carriage.

  “I can walk, Kalid,” she said.

  “You can walk tomorrow,” he said. “For today, you ride.”

  “You sound like me, after you were shot,” Sarah said. “When you think of it, we’ve spent quite a lot of time taking care of each other,” she added, after a long moment.

  He looked down at her as he carried her over the worn path to the beach. “When we weren’t arguing,” he said ruefully.

  Sarah nuzzled into the solid warmth of his body. Why couldn’t he always be like this? When he wasn’t trying to dominate or control her he could be so... nice.

  He reached a level spot on the sand and flung the blanket out, then set her down on it. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  He climbed up the hill and returned with a reed basket. He dumped it on the blanket and then sprawled full length next to her, sighing luxuriously. Sarah studied his long lean legs encased in the tight trousers and then looked away.

  “What’s in there?” Sarah asked, pointing to the basket.

  “Food.”

  “Oh, a picnic! I missed my last one.”

  “When was that?”

  “On the outing to the bazaar. We were supposed to have a picnic on the way back.”

  “But you, of course, had more important things to do,” he said dryly.

  “Do we have to talk about that now? It could lead to another disagreement.”

  “I’m not going to disagree with you any more,” he said, in a tone of resignation Sarah had never heard him use. She looked at him sharply, wondering what he meant.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, changing the subject. “I checked this menu with Doctor Shakoz, it’s all approved invalid food.”

  “What’s that insignia on the clasp of the basket? I’ve never seen it before,” Sarah said.

  “Oh, the animal depicted there is a leopard in the black phase. A panther, you would say in English. It’s the old Greek word for the Shah family, leontopardus.”

  “Who called you that?”

  “The Greeks who were always trying to conquer us.”