The Blessing Stone

by Barbara Wood

  Although she lived in a kind of prison, it was a prison with its own form of freedom, for as long as she stayed within the walls of the seraglio Katharina was free to go where she wished. The endless corridors with their magnificent stone pillars and fountains, the marble benches and exotic gazebos, the gardens where musicians played endlessly, the sudden, unexpected plazas where jugglers and dancers entertained, the mazes of apartments and baths were all like a self-contained city of imponderable luxury, leaving its pampered inmates wanting for nothing. The whole precinct was filled with a delightful citrus scent as all marble columns and walls were washed down daily in lemon juice to make them shine. But there was one place Katharina was forbidden to go: a beautiful arched colonnade called the Pearl Gate. This led, she was cautioned, to the private apartments of the Sultana Safiya, the sultan’s favorite concubine, and only those under invitation may enter.

  There was always something exciting going on in the palace, whether it was a religious holiday with music and feasting, or a party honoring someone’s birthday, or a festival venerating the sultan, with parades and trumpets and visiting entertainers. Within the Imperial Harem, the most exciting moments were when a girl was selected for the sultan’s bed. Although the women of the palace, from lowest slave to the sultana, were all the sultan’s personal possessions to do with as he wished, few women ever actually saw him. That was why there were so few children in the harem: just little girls who had been fathered by the sultan. Three boy babies had died in infancy, leaving only one living son to the sultan, by a concubine whom Katharina had never seen. Such women as did get pregnant (usually by a guard or a visitor who had managed to sneak in) were put to death. Girls entered these walls as virgins and lived out their lives without knowing a man’s touch. Therefore when the sultan chose a girl to come to his bed (and no one quite knew how the selection was made since he never visited the harem), the days of preparation were among the liveliest of celebrations, with much excitement and gossip and speculation surrounding the event as the lucky candidate was bathed and massaged and clothed in the finest garments and jewels, treated like a queen and given whispered hints on how to please the sultan. The next morning, excitement continued to run high as everyone anticipated the gifts the girl would receive, speculating on the generosity of the sultan, everyone genuinely happy for her, celebrating her good fortune and eager to hear how the night went. Although the girl would never be called to the sultan’s bedroom again, she was nonetheless a special person now for she had been chosen, and her elevated status in the harem was secured.

  Another favorite entertainment among the women was riding in little boats on an enormous indoor pool, knocking turbans off the eunuchs’ heads and seeing which team could knock the turbans farthest out onto the water. There were endless diversions with pet monkeys, parrots, and trained pigeons that wore little pearl anklets and performed tricks; eternal hours spent over backgammon games and chess; never-ending afternoons trying on dresses and veils, slippers and jewelry; brushing each other’s hair, or experimenting with cosmetics, mixing perfumes, trying this cream or that, and tweezing imagined hairs from anywhere on the body.

  Gossip, too, was a mainstay of the harem, as the concubines and their servants gobbled up rumors the way they did candied fruits: who was sleeping with whom (Jamila and Sarah), who had broken whose heart (that witch Farida and poor little Yasmin), who was jockeying for favors with Sultana Safiya, who was getting fat, who was getting old. The main topic for weeks had been the scandalous love affair between Mariam and one of the African eunuchs—when they were caught both had been beheaded, their corpses strung up on the Imperial Gate as a warning to the others.

  The main pastime, however, it seemed to Katharina, was simply to while away the hours doing nothing. A great deal of this nonactivity was spent in the baths—washing, being massaged, having body hair removed. The women lounged in the saunas for hours, snacking on fruit and drinks while they gossiped. There were no tubs in these baths, for the Turks suspected that evil jinn lurked in standing water, so the women sat on marble benches and were soaped and scrubbed by slaves. Katharina was astonished at their lack of modesty, for these women wore not a stitch but lay about naked or paraded back and forth to show off firm breasts and buttocks. Since these sensuous women were so seldom in the arms of a virile male—the eunuchs being generally of no interest—they sought sexual pleasure with one another and frequently formed passionate romantic attachments that lead to violent jealousies and hatreds.

  So much tedium and languishing and lack of purpose filled Katharina with a vague uneasiness. These women had all been brought here against their will yet now they seemed satisfied, happy even, as if their hearts and memories had been numbed. They were leading lives that were a kind of pleasant death and Katharina feared that if she spent long enough in this enchanted place, she too would succumb to its magic. And this must never happen. She had made a deathbed promise to find her father. And she owed her life to Adriano.

  Haunted by visions of what might be happening to him at that moment, Katharina was consumed with guilt over the luxurious life she was leading. Every morning, with the first of the day’s five prayers, she reminded herself that on the island, Adriano had not given up on her. So now she was not going to give up on him. One way or another, she would repay the debt.

  He was there again, the disfigured eunuch, watching her. Katharina was certain now that it was no accident. After weeks of encountering him in odd places, she was convinced he was following her. And it frightened her.

  After eight months in the Imperial Harem, Katharina had managed by wit and cunning to keep herself from getting drawn into the myriad tangled relationships, crushes and jealousies, politics and conspiracies, plots and counterplots that constantly seethed between the cliques and rival groups. Pecking order was crucial, and it changed and shifted like sand dunes, with concubines rising or descending within the harem hierarchy, gaining favor with the majority, or losing it upon a whim. Only the Sultana Safiya, the sultan’s favorite, remained above it all, and Katharina had yet to even glimpse this lofty personage. While others had tried to draw Katharina into their various factions, she managed to stay neutral, and after a while they respected her for this, for they knew they could trust her and depend upon her honesty. She had also managed to stay in favor with her temperamental mistresses—of the Silk, of the Thread, of the Slippers—and while she had not exactly made any friends in the harem, neither had she made enemies.

  But the eunuchs were another matter, and even after eight months of trying to adapt to this impossible world that was unlike the world outside, she still could not fathom the strange creatures who guarded the women.

  The harem was overseen exclusively by black eunuchs who were purposely ugly or deformed in order to discourage any romantic interest on the part of the women. Captured in Africa as youths, they were castrated along the way, usually in a desert where the hot sand was the only remedy against the high incidence of fatal hemorrhage, the operation being so extensive: for a eunuch to qualify for the Imperial Harem he had to have undergone complete removal of the penis and testicles (resulting in the need to urinate through a pipe that the eunuch kept concealed in his turban). Eunuchs could rise to great power and themselves have a staff of servants and slaves; they could be formidable enemies if one fell out of favor with them. Which was why Katharina was worried about this one that was clearly following her around and spying on her. To whom was he reporting, and why?

  Her suspicions were answered late one night when she was awakened in her bed in the dormitory by a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth. It was not unusual for girls to mysteriously disappear and never be heard from again—the gossip was always about infractions, disfavor, jealousy. Where these luckless girls vanished to no one ever knew, and no one dared try to find out. Katharina was carried from the dormitory while girls watched under the pretense of sleep, fearful that even being witnesses could bring this same fate upon themselves.

  But
once outside in the moonlight, the eunuch put her down and gestured for her to be silent, indicating that she follow him.

  He took her to an apartment in a special wing of the harem, where only the most highly favored ladies lived, and Katharina was astounded at the sumptuousness of it. This inner sanctum was grander than anything she had seen so far, with its rich carpets and tapestries, pillow-strewn divans and gold furnishings. Whoever lived here had wealth and power.

  And then Katharina saw her—a young woman not much older than herself, slender and lovely, dressed in shimmering silks of crimson and vermilion, all edged in gold. “God’s peace,” the young woman said with a smile. “Please remove your veil.”

  Katharina did so, exposing her long hair that was bound up in intricate braids around her head.

  “And your hat,” came the second order, although it was more of a request, and Katharina removed the little boxlike silk hat that covered the crown of her head. The concubine studied her for a moment, then she broke into a pleasant laugh. “You look as if you are wearing a yellow skull cap!”

  Katharina blushed. All the girls teased her about it. They loved hearing her tale of disguising herself as a boy, and dyeing her hair to make herself look Egyptian. But what was even more hilarious was that now that her hair had partially grown out, the first few inches were her natural golden color while the longer tresses were still muddy brown.

  “My eunuch told me you were blond,” the young woman said. She held out her hand. “Please sit. Be comfortable.” Then she gestured to servants to pour coffee into tiny cups and that Katharina still found undrinkable.

  “I have been watching you,” her mysterious hostess said. “Or rather, my eunuch has been watching you and he has been reporting to me.” She daintily sipped her drink. “You have not joined any clique. There is not a concubine who can, as the saying goes, claim to have you in her pocket. This says something of your character, for some of them can be most persuasive when recruiting minions. You are your own person, which is rare in the harem.”

  She spoke Arabic, which Katharina had grown proficient in over the months; she was able to understand her hostess and make herself understood. “What does the sultana wish of me?” she said. Katharina knew that the Ottoman sultans had ceased bothering with marriage and that there hadn’t been a wife in this dynasty for centuries. Favorite concubines, however, could rise to special status, and for lack of a better title, the current favorite was given the honorific of sultana.

  The young woman corrected her: “I am not the sultana. But I am the sultan’s second favorite woman. My name is Asmahan and I have brought you here to ask a favor of you.”

  Katharina was immediately on her guard. “A favor, Lady?”

  Asmahan spoke in a soft, mellifluous voice. “I was kidnapped eight years ago from my home in Samarkand and sold to the sultan’s house. Like you, I became a prisoner in the harem, to spend the rest of my days here. But I was lucky—I was chosen to spend a night with the sultan. As you know, such women are elevated in status, even though they never see him again. But in my case, God be praised, I became pregnant. For nine months I was pampered and cosseted and watched as everyone waited to see if I was going to produce a boy or a girl. If it was a girl, she would be raised in the harem and groomed for a future political marriage. But if it was a boy…”

  Katharina had already heard the sultan had a son by a favorite concubine. Asmahan was the envy of the whole harem. “The sultan must be very happy,” Katharina said, for lack of anything else to say, and wondering what favor this powerful woman could possibly ask of her.

  “Yes. He dotes upon our son. Bulbul is often collected and taken to the sultan’s apartment for days at a time.” Another thoughtful sip of the strong brew.

  Katharina waited.

  Asmahan leaned forward and her voice grew tense. “The sultana is also pregnant. Surely you knew this.”

  Katharina wanted to say that a robin didn’t lay an egg in the palace without every single one of its thousand inhabitants knowing it. “I had heard,” she said. Sultana Safiya, the most powerful woman in the Ottoman Empire because she alone was called back repeatedly to the sultan’s bed.

  “It isn’t her first pregnancy,” Asmahan went on in a voice barely above a whisper. Katharina imagined a thousand unseen eyes watching them, a hundred ears listening behind the drapes. “The other pregnancies ended in miscarriages, or she gave birth to daughters. But the astrologers say that this time it is a son. Do you know what has happened to other women who got pregnant by the sultan?”

  Katharina had heard stories. One poor creature, only weeks ago, was in her fifth month of pregnancy when she was summoned to Sultana Safiya’s apartment never to be seen again. The rumors were that Safiya had kicked the girl in the stomach, causing a massive miscarriage that had ended the lives of both mother and child.

  “By various methods the sultana has managed to keep the way clear for her own child. I was lucky—and smart. When my time neared, I asked the sultan to have his personal physicians at hand. Safiya could not touch me or my baby. I know she hates my son. But even she has not had the brazenness to try to remove him. But once she gives birth to a son, then she can legally remove mine.”

  “She will kill him?” Katharina said.

  “Wish that were so! But a worse fate awaits my little Bulbul if the sultana gives birth to a son.” Asmahan glanced around, even though they were alone in the luxurious chamber. “There is within this palace a room called the Cage. It is a very small room at the end of a long corridor. The doors and windows are sealed off so there is no access to the outer world. There live Turkish princes who are not allowed to inherit the throne. They are raised in complete isolation by deaf mutes, and after many years they usually go mad.”

  “But what cruelty! Why is this?”

  “There is a law under Turkish rule that the son who inherits the throne must eliminate his brothers. But the removal must take place without bloodshed. Life imprisonment in the Cage is their sentence. This will happen to my Bulbul should Safiya give the sultan a son.”

  “I do not understand, Lady. Your son is older.”

  “But I am of lower birth than Safiya. She comes from a very noble and ancient Turkish family, whereas my family are nomads—we are rich and powerful in our own country, but that does not count here. Safiya reminds the sultan of this at every opportunity, and already I see his mind changing.”

  “But how can I help you?”

  “God willing, you will take Bulbul back to my family in Samarkand.”

  Katharina drew in a sharp breath. “Samarkand! But, Lady! Why me? Of the hundreds of women within these walls—”

  “Because you are the only one who wishes to escape. I have seen in you a passion to leave this place. Something awaits you beyond these walls. Mostly, the women are happy here, as you surely have noticed. Many were kidnapped from dreary villages where they faced a life of hardship with domineering husbands. Here, they live in luxury and, within these walls at least, enjoy freedom. And those who are not happy, nonetheless are resigned to their fate. I also chose you,” she added as she lifted her arms to draw back the elaborate scarlet veil from her head and revealed golden hair, “because you are fair-skinned and blond like me. Bulbul could be your child.”

  Katharina marveled to see hair a color so like her own. Blondes were not unusual in the Imperial Harem, but since blond hair was considered a sign of weakness and lack of passion in the blood, fair-haired women went to great pains to dye their hair red.

  “I would do this for you, Lady, for you are right, I do wish to leave. But I cannot do as you ask.”

  Exquisitely painted eyebrows rose. “Why not? You do wish to leave this place, do you not?”

  “Oh yes, Lady,” Katharina said with passion. “I am searching for my family. Like you, I was separated from them long ago—I have never known my father and brothers and find in myself a deep longing to know them.”

  Asmahan nodded gravely. “To be separate
d from one’s blood relations is an unhappy thing. Which is why Bulbul must be with his kin. But why will you not do this for me?”

  “There is a man, a Christian knight, who was abducted with me and brought to Constantinople. I cannot leave without him.”

  Asmahan frowned. “A Christian knight would not last long in a Turkish city, so deeply does the hatred run. He will have been tortured and killed long since, God’s mercy upon him.”

  “But I do not know that for certain. I cannot leave until I know Adriano’s fate. And if he is alive, he must go with me.”

  Asmahan considered this. “I shall make inquiries,” she said.

  Katharina said, “May I ask one other favor, Lady? When I was brought to the palace, I had a small possession with me, a leather bag containing sentimental mementoes. This bag was taken from me. Might you be able to find it for me?”

  Asmahan frowned. “As a rule, the possessions of captives are considered too inconsequential for the sultan and his household to be concerned with and so they are given either in payment to the men who brought the captives to us, or to the poor of the city, as part of the sultan’s charity program. I shall see what I can do. It is up to God.”

  Her tone grew cautionary: “Now listen to me. This is dangerous business. There are spies everywhere. The sultana is watching me. Now that you are my friend, you are no longer safe and must watch your back at all times. Come again tomorrow night. Bring your embroidery kit.”

  Upon her next visit to Asmahan’s apartment, Katharina found Friar Pastorius’s leather pouch lying miraculously on the divan. She fell upon it and opened it at once. The miniature painting of St. Amelia was still there. And the ceramic cameo of Badendorf.

  Pressing them to her bosom, Katharina cried and said, “Bless you, Lady. You have restored my life to me.”

  Asmahan held her tongue, thinking it would be too cruel to let the girl know that so insignificant were these items that no one wanted them, not even the scavengers who came to the charity hospital for free clothing and a cup of medicinal wine. But she sympathized, for she herself would give all her gold and jewels to feel beneath her fingers but one sheepskin from her father’s vast herd. It proved the old adage that a pearl to one was a pebble to another.