Siege

by Jack Hight

  Yes, Halil was glad that he had found Isa. Thanks to his efforts, Murad would soon be dead and Mehmed on the throne. He would be much easier to control than his father, and if he were not, then there was always Sitt Hatun. Halil knew that the sultan's wife was a proud woman and resented her low status next to Mehmed's new kadin, Gulbehar. Halil had offered her a position of power and respect as mother of the reigning sultan. All he asked in return was that she lie with him so that the prince that was born to her, the prince who would be sultan after Halil eliminated Mehmed, would in fact be Halil's son. Sitt Hatun would have what she wanted, and Halil would be regent and the father of the empire. Sitt Hatun had not accepted his offer yet, but that, Halil hoped, was only a matter of time. Sitt Hatun sat beside the carp pool in the harem garden, daydreaming as her maidservant Cicek read aloud to her from a book of poetry. The morning air in the garden was warm and relaxing, scented with the perfume of thousands of flowers. Sitt Hatun trailed her hand in the water and felt the carp nibble gently at her fingers. She closed her eyes and exhaled. The months since Mehmed left for Manisa had been peaceful, despite Gulbehar's frequent slights. And lately, Sitt Hatun had hardly seen Gulbehar, who had kept to her apartments since the birth of her son, Bayezid.

  At times like this, Sitt Hatun could almost convince herself that the harem was what the common people thought it to be: darus-saade, the place of happiness. Sitt Hatun, however, knew better. The harem was indeed a place of unparalleled luxury, but it was also rife with treachery and intrigue. It was a world apart, set aside from the rest of the palace grounds. It had its own gardens, its own mosque, its own kitchen and laundries. The harem even had its own people; except for the wives of the sultan and their offspring, none of the inhabitants of the harem was a Turk, for according to law, Muslims could not be made slaves. The women of the harem were sent by foreign rulers eager to establish good relations with the sultan, or else they were captured in war or taken as tribute from neighbouring peoples. They were Greek, Bosnian, Wallachian, Bulgarian, Russian, Polish, Italian and even French. The eunuchs were much the same; they were mostly taken as prisoners of war or rounded up in the devshirme, which exacted a tribute of children from all non-Muslims living within the Ottoman Empire.

  Friendships rarely lasted amongst this mixed assortment of peoples, not with so many strange tongues and cultures lumped together, joined only by their desire to rise within the ranks of the harem, from slave-girl jariye to odalisque at the court of one of the sultan's favourites, to concubine and perhaps even to wife or kadin. Everybody spied on everybody, eager to commit small betrayals in return for power. Sitt Hatun's one friend, her ally in this pit of vipers, was her cousin and childhood companion, Cicek. After Cicek's parents died, she and Sitt Hatun had grown up together. They had become inseparable, and when Sitt Hatun had married Mehmed, Cicek had chosen to join her in the harem, even though it meant the loss of her freedom. Now, Cicek was Sitt Hatun's constant companion.

  'My Lady.' It was Cicek. She had stopped reading and was gently shaking Sitt Hatun's shoulder. 'My Lady!' she whispered again. 'Yilan is in the garden.' Sitt Hatun opened her eyes and sat up. Yilan: the snake. It was what she and Cicek called Gulbehar, on account of her venomous tongue and the sinuous, swaying way she walked — like the undulating body of a charmed cobra. Sitt Hatun located her on the portico at the other end of the garden, her head held high as she stepped on to the lawn. Behind her came no less than ten odalisques, each dressed in red silk caftans embroidered with swirling patterns in gold — greater finery than Sitt Hatun herself could afford. But they looked drab beside Gulbehar, who was dressed like a princess from the Arabian Nights. She wore a tight, sleeveless silk robe of the deepest red, embroidered with gold and pearls. On her bare arms hung dozens of jewelled bracelets, and her long blonde hair was woven around a diadem of bright gold, set with diamonds. Certainly, Gulbehar did not lack for wealth; Mehmed showered her with gifts. But Sitt Hatun had never before seen her dressed so ostentatiously. She looked more like the wife of Sultan Murad than the kadin of a prince, even of the crown prince.

  'Greetings, sister,' Gulbehar said. Her Turkish was laced with a strong Albanian accent, yet another thing that Sitt Hatun hated about her. 'It is such a lovely day. I thought that I would join you.' Gulbehar motioned to her servants, and they placed cushions on the ground near Sitt Hatun. Gulbehar sat, and two more servants stepped forward to fan her.

  'I am pleased to see you,' Sitt Hatun lied. 'I have seen little of you since our husband left. You have not been feeling ill, I hope.'

  'No, I have not been ill,' Gulbehar said and smiled to herself. What did that smile mean? Sitt Hatun wondered. 'Little Bayezid has kept me busy, that is all.'

  The words were like a slap. Bayezid was Gulbehar's pride and joy, as well as her favourite tool for torturing Sitt Hatun. It was because of Bayezid that Gulbehar enjoyed the title of bas haseki — mother of the heir — and the privileges that went with it. It was because of Bayezid that Sitt Hatun was wife in name only.

  'Yes, your son must be quite a handful,' Sitt Hatun said. 'Do the doctors still fear that he is an idiot?' Gulbehar flushed crimson. Bayezid had been dropped when he was still a newborn, and although he had shown no adverse effects, there was a persistent palace rumour that his wits were addled. It was a silly rumour, but it was the best that Sitt Hatun could do.

  'No,' Gulbehar replied. 'He is well. In fact, he looks more like his father every day.' As if on cue, the unseen Bayezid began bawling, his loud cries descending from Gulbehar's quarters and echoing throughout the gardens. 'Such a strong voice, like his father's,' she said. 'I suppose that he should be seen to.'

  Sitt Hatun nodded, hoping that she might soon be rid of Gulbehar. 'Yes, no doubt he cries for his mother.'

  'No doubt,' Gulbehar agreed. She looked around, as if she were searching for something. 'But all of my servants are busy. No matter. You,' she called, pointing to Cicek. 'Bring me my child.' Sitt Hatun's eyes widened. To order another's servants was to take charge of them, but surely Gulbehar would not dare to steal away Sitt Hatun's favourite. Murad would never allow it.

  Cicek did not move. 'Do you hear me, girl? Bring me my son,' Gulbehar repeated. Cicek looked to Sitt Hatun, who nodded and looked away as Cicek rose and left. 'You do not mind, do you, sister?' Gulbehar asked Sitt Hatun. 'I will send you a replacement tomorrow. Anyone you wish.'

  But this was too much for Sitt Hatun. 'I do not need a replacement,' she spat back as she rose to her feet. 'The Sultan will not permit this.' Sitt Hatun hurried away to her apartments, struggling to hold back her tears. 'This cannot be,' she repeated to herself again and again. Murad will not allow it. He cannot.

  But Murad did allow it. In response to Sitt Hatun's angry plea that Cicek be returned to her, he told her that harem politics were not his affair and ordered her to take one of Gulbehar's odalisques in exchange. Sitt Hatun stormed away, furious. She was too angry to even think about letting one of Gulbehar's women, no doubt a spy, into her household. She shut herself in her bedroom and took up her sitar, picking out a nursery song from her childhood in an effort to calm herself. But peace would not come, only fat tears that splashed silently on the finished wood of the sitar. She had no friends in her household now. She was alone.

  Alone perhaps, but she was not weak. Sitt Hatun set the sitar aside and angrily wiped the tears from her eyes. She could not afford to indulge in sorrow. She did not have the money or the servants that were showered on Gulbehar. But she had her wits, and she would have to use them. Gulbehar had taken Cicek, but perhaps Sitt Hatun could turn this to her own advantage. Cicek would always be faithful to her, and a spy in Gulbehar's household could prove useful. Very useful, if Sitt Hatun's growing suspicions concerning Gulbehar's sudden wealth proved accurate. Sitt Hatun thought once more of Gulbehar's strange half-smile. Perhaps she would now be able to solve the riddle behind that smile. A week passed before Sitt Hatun saw Cicek again. Returning from evening prayers in the harem mosque, she found Cicek
in her bedroom, waiting for her. Sitt Hatun moved to embrace her, but Cicek motioned for her to stop.

  'I must be quick, My Lady,' Cicek whispered. 'If Yilan learns that I have come to visit you, then there will be trouble for us both.' Sitt Hatun nodded. 'There is a girl outside waiting to speak to you, an odalisque from Gulbehar's household. She has asked for your protection in return for information about Gulbehar. She will not tell me her secret, but I believe that it is important. Will you speak to her?'

  'Of course. But what of you?' Sitt Hatun asked. 'Does Yilan treat you well?'

  'I have seen nothing of her,' Cicek replied, her voice tired. 'She has placed me among the lowest jariye. I spend my days embroidering and doing laundry. I am not allowed to wait on Gulbehar.' There were tears in Cicek's eyes, and Sitt Hatun could tell that she was sparing her the worst. 'I must go, My Lady.'

  Sitt Hatun embraced Cicek, and they clung to one another. 'Thank you, my friend,' Sitt Hatun whispered. 'Now go, and may Allah protect you.'

  Cicek left, and seconds later a Polish girl no older than fifteen entered. She wore the same scarlet and gold robes that Sitt Hatun had seen on Gulbehar's odalisques in the garden. This meant that she was a member of Gulbehar's inner household. The girl was beautiful, in her own way. She was long and thin, as if she had been stretched. Her slender arms ended in graceful fingers. Her neck was elongated, and her blonde hair hung nearly to her waist. Her wide eyes were blue, innocent and afraid. She bowed low when she saw Sitt Hatun and did not rise.

  'Stand up, girl,' Sitt Hatun ordered, but gently. 'What is it that you have to tell me? Speak freely. You need fear no spies here.'

  The girl remained silent, and Sitt Hatun feared she would not speak. But, then she opened her mouth, and the words gushed forth in a torrent. 'Please protect me, My Lady,' the girl began. 'Cicek has told me so many good things about you. She said that I could trust you. Still, I would not ask your protection, but I know that you hate Gulbehar. She would kill me if she knew I had come to you, but I will die anyway without your help. I will tell you my secret, but first, promise to protect me.'

  'Protect you from what? From Gulbehar?' The girl nodded vigorously. 'And why should Gulbehar wish you any harm?' The servant girl blushed and lowered her eyes. 'Have you stolen from her?'

  'Of course not, My Lady,' the girl protested. 'She is jealous of me.'

  'Jealous? I see.' Sitt Hatun was not surprised to hear it. She had experienced Gulbehar's jealousy first hand. But if she was jealous, then it could only mean that this girl had come between Gulbehar and a lover. Who? Surely not Mehmed, far away in Manisa. Sitt Hatun suspected that she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from the girl. 'Do not fear,' Sitt Hatun told her. 'I will protect you. Now, tell me why Gulbehar would be jealous of an odalisque?'

  'Because I am gozde,' the girl replied, blushing. To be gozde meant literally to be 'in the eye' of the sultan. It meant that Murad had taken note of the girl, and perhaps even ordered his haznedar to schedule a night with her.

  'And how did you, a servant of Gulbehar, come to be gozde?'

  'Murad visits Gulbehar's apartments to be with her,' the girl said, her cheeks burning and her eyes fixed on the floor. 'Gulbehar makes us wear masks so that we will not catch Murad's eye, but he took note of me nonetheless. It was not my fault. I did nothing, and yet a friend has told me that the haznedar has placed my name on the calendar of royal nights. Gulbehar is a jealous woman. If I lie with the sultan, she will have me killed. My friend tells me that I am scheduled for next week.'

  'And what would you have me do?' Sitt Hatun asked. 'I have no power with the haznedar. Once a name is written, it is beyond my power to change it.'

  'Take me into your household,' the girl said. 'I was there in the garden when Gulbehar took Cicek from you. She offered you a servant to replace Cicek. Ask for me. She cannot refuse you.'

  Sitt Hatun was inclined to grant the girl's request. It was the least she could do in return for the information the girl had given her. When Sitt Hatun told Mehmed that his beloved Gulbehar was unfaithful — and with his father no less! — then Mehmed would surely reward her. Perhaps he would even lie with her. But then again, this girl could be lying. She could be a spy sent by Gulbehar. Even if she did speak the truth, Sitt Hatun would need more than this girl's word if she were to accuse Gulbehar.

  'I will take you into my household, but first I need proof of what you say,' Sitt Hatun told her.

  The girl produced a golden chain, from which dangled a huge ruby that flashed a brilliant red, like the final blaze of the setting sun. There was no mistaking the gem. It was the kumru kalp, the dove's heart, and Sitt Hatun had never seen Murad without it. 'Murad gave it to Gulbehar. I took it from her quarters. Do you believe me now?' the girl asked.

  'I believe you, girl, but I need to see this with my own eyes. When will the sultan next visit Gulbehar?'

  'Tonight.'

  'Then tonight you will show me.'

  'But that is impossible,' the girl stammered. 'I could never sneak you into Gulbehar's apartments. Certainly not while Murad was there.'

  'If you cannot bring me with you, then there is only one solution,' Sitt Hatun said. 'What is your name, girl?'

  'Anna, My Lady.'

  'Anna, take off your clothes.' Dressed in Anna's clothes, Sitt Hatun hurried through the palace and slipped inside Gulbehar's apartments. Although she wore the mask that Anna had given her, Sitt Hatun did not want to take any chances. Her disguise might fool the casual observer, but her clothes — clearly too long in the arms and legs — would not stand up to close scrutiny. She dreaded what would happen if she were found out. It would be easy enough for Gulbehar to have her murdered and then claim ignorance. When a woman left her place within the harem, she had very few protections indeed.

  Sitt Hatun entered her old apartments, now Gulbehar's, and took the servants' passage that left the entrance room and skirted a reception room covered in pillows and filled with the smoke of a hookah. She came out of the passage into the interior garden, bathed in golden light that shone through the open roof. Moving quickly to the far corner of the room, she slipped behind a potted palm and gently pressed one of the cool tiles on the wall, triggering a hidden door. Sitt Hatun slipped through and into another servants' passageway, this one leading past Gulbehar's bedroom and to the apartment's private kitchen.

  The passage was dark, save for the pinpricks of light that shone through the wall from small spyholes. They were there so that servants could watch their mistress and respond instantly to her every whim. No one stood at the peepholes now. No doubt Gulbehar kept this passageway empty during her meetings with Murad. Sitt Hatun put her eye to one of the holes and saw Gulbehar's candlelit bedroom before her. Gulbehar had made many changes. The glory of the room still lay in the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows that ran along two sides, showing a spectacular view of the imperial palace stretching away to the river. But the windows were half-hidden now behind screens of woven gold. The rest of the walls were covered with silk tapestries, shimmering with gold and silver thread. The tile floor was now covered with deep rugs. Altogether, the decor gave the impression of a richly decorated tent, an impression that was contradicted only by the enormous bed that dominated the centre of the room. The bed, hung with yellow silk curtains, was easily ten feet wide. And there, nude on the bed, were Gulbehar and Murad.

  Gulbehar lay on her back, her head hanging over the edge of the bed so that Sitt Hatun could see her face, contorted in ecstasy. Gulbehar's long legs were wrapped around the waist of Murad, who lay atop her, grunting as he thrust. Gulbehar cried out in Albanian as he moved faster and faster. Finally, Murad moaned with pleasure and collapsed. After a moment, he rolled off and stood. A long scar marked his right shoulder, and there were several more on his thin legs. His sunken chest and large belly were covered with fine grey hair. Gulbehar remained on the bed, naked and covered in sweat, while he began to dress.

  'Must you go so soon?' Gulbehar pouted.

/>   'Ibrahim Bey is making trouble again in Karamania. I must write to the loyal beys there,' he told her. 'I spend too much time in your quarters as it is. Even loyal tongues will wag if the price is right. Mehmed is a rash young man. He must not know about us.'

  Gulbehar rose and helped Murad to tie the sash around his caftan. 'Mehmed is nothing,' she purred. 'You are the sultan, and you have another heir now — my son.'

  The sound of approaching footsteps drew Sitt Hatun's attention from the room. She looked away from the spyhole and saw a light approaching down the passageway from the kitchen. She quickly retreated in the other direction, out into the garden. There was no place to hide, so she passed through it and into the reception room, where she came face to face with Murad. Immediately, Sitt Hatun bowed low, keeping her face to the floor. She backed away, but Murad gestured for her to stop.

  'Stand up straight, girl,' he commanded. Sitt Hatun did as she was told. She could see a gleam in Murad's eyes. Was that recognition or simply desire? 'I haven't seen you here before,' Murad continued after looking Sitt Hatun up and down. 'Are you new to Gulbehar's court?'

  Sitt Hatun nodded and mumbled in a basso profundo that she hoped adequately disguised her voice, 'I must attend to her, My Lord.' She moved to go, but Murad took her arm, holding her back.