Evil in a Mask

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘Even so, he is hedged about by the age-old traditions that must be observed by a Sultan if he wishes to retain his throne. To start with, he dare not offend the Janissaries. As you no doubt know, they were originally a corps formed from Circassians taken when very young from their mothers and reared as professional soldiers to form the Sultan’s bodyguard. But, with the passing of time, they have become an army a hundred thousand strong. Formidable bodies of them have been sent to support the rule of Turkish Pashas in rebellious provinces, but at least ten thousand of them are retained here to garrison the Seraglio, and many of them now are Turks who refuse to obey the old ordinances forbidding Janissaries to take wives or drink alcohol.

  ‘When the Sultan issues a firman to which they object, they carry their soup kettles out from their quarters and beat furiously upon them. It is one of the most sinister and frightening noises I have ever heard; and, unless the Sultan retracts his order, he risks death at their hands.’

  Sebastiani paused for a moment to take a mouthful of wine. ‘But it is not only the Janissaries to whom the Sultans in the past hundred years have become subservient. Their policy has been controlled very largely by the will of a woman. Do not mistake me, I do not mean that they become enslaved by the charms of a favourite wife or concubine. Naturally, they are influenced in minor domestic matters, such as the allocation of the best apartments, the bestowal of jewels and so on by a Kadin or one of the hundreds of odalisques who may have captured their affections; but while a Sultan can have as many women as he chooses to share his bed, he can have only one mother.

  ‘A Sultan’s mother is known as the Sultan Validé. To have attained this unique status against fanatical competition, it is obvious that such women must be exceptionally strong-willed and intelligent. In consequence, once her son has ascended the throne, her power is almost unlimited. In consultation with the Kizler Aga—the Chief of the Black Eunuchs, who is known by us as Son Altesse Noire—they rule the harem absolutely. Nothing can be done without the Sultan Validé’s consent. Moreover, her power extends far beyond the Seraglio. She is regarded with veneration as the protectress of all the veiled women in the Turkish Empire. No war is entered upon without her consent. Every matter of international relationship is submitted to her, and no Sultan yet has dared openly to reject his mother’s counsel.’

  Sitting back, Sebastiani gave a sad smile, and added, ‘Messieurs, in this we are favoured by the gods. The present Sultan Validé was born Aimée Dubucq de Rivery, a French woman and a cousin of our Empress. For many years she has served the cause of France devotedly. She is the mother of Prince Mahmoud, who, it is certain, will succeed; and on the death of the Sultan’s mother, in 1805, she was raised by Selim to the Veiled Crown.

  ‘Brief as my time has been as Ambassador—only a matter of ten months—my … my beloved Fanny won her affection and became her constant companion. Alas, you are now bereft of my wife’s help, and such as I could give you. Even so, you may count upon it that the Sultan Validé will welcome you warmly and do her utmost to aid you in your mission.’

  About the restricted power of Sultans and the organisation of the Seraglio Roger already knew, owing to his long affair with Zanthé. The one thing he had been anxious to learn was whether Aimée was still alive and now the reigning Sultan Validé. Upon that his decidedly nebulous plans had been based; so he was much relieved to hear that no harm had befallen her.

  He was amused to think how amazed the assembled company would have been had he revealed to them how his own life had been changed by Bonaparte’s decision clandestinely to abandon his army in Egypt in ’99. With the greatest secrecy he had made his plans and, without informing any but a few of his personal staff, had them accompany him aboard a frigate overnight. Zanthé, believing herself abandoned, had later married Achilles Sarodopulous, the son of an immensely wealthy banker, who lived in Alexandria. Otherwise Roger might have claimed the Sultan Validé as his mother-in-law.

  Sebastiani went on to say that he had that afternoon sent a request to the Grand Vizier to present the Mission to the Sultan; but he thought it unlikely that they would be granted an audience for some days. In the meantime, although they were free to go out into the city, they must not do so unaccompanied. It was customary for European merchants in Constantinople to go about in Oriental dress, as anyone wearing Western clothes, being a rare sight, always attracted attention and crowds formed round them, which could prove most embarrassing. He was, therefore, attaching to each officer a Turkish Janissary, as they could be hired for such a purpose. These Janissaries would act as guides and, by a few sharp words, ensure the unimpeded progress of their charges.

  Next morning, the Janissary allotted to Roger reported to him. All Turks retained a tuft of hair on the tops of their heads, otherwise the majority of them allowed only their beards to grow; but the Janissaries were forbidden to have beards. Instead, they had very long moustaches which, in some cases, drooped down to their chests. Roger’s man was clad in a long, blue cloth coat, an undercoat with hanging sleeves and a big turban, through which was thrust a twelve-inch-long soup spoon—that being an ancient custom of the regiment. Above it sprouted a plume of bird-of-paradise feathers. From his girdle there hung a scimitar, a dagger and a small hatchet. His boots were black, which Roger later learned showed him to be of the lowest rank, the higher one wearing yellow and the highest red. To the casual glance he appeared a colourful and fierce figure; but Roger noted that his eyes were mild and that he was far from young. He announced himself with a deep salaam as Achmet Zuhayr and declared that ‘Allah willing—blessed be his name and that of his Prophet’—he would protect Roger from all thieves, pickpockets, casters of evil spells and diseased women.

  Regarding it as unlikely that if he spoke with ease to Achmet the surprisingly sudden improvement in his Turkish would get back to any member of the mission, Roger thanked him, talked to him for a while about the city, then said he would like to be shown round Pera.

  During the long journey down from Finckenstein, as le brave Breuc was one of the legendary figures of the Grande Armée, his friendship had been eagerly sought, particularly by the younger members of the mission, and he had spent many pleasant evenings with them, talking of the Emperor’s early campaigns. In consequence, he had feared that he might have considerable difficulty in freeing himself from their company when the mission arrived in Constantinople; but, fortunately, they were in the rented houses and none of the senior officers staying in the Embassy was about when Roger and Achmet came downstairs.

  For an hour they strolled through the maze of steep, twisting streets. Roger duly admired the famous White Tower, built centuries earlier by the Genoese, the view across the Golden Horn to Stamboul, and that across the Bosphorus to the Asiatic side; then he told Achmet that he wished to buy Balkan clothes, possibly to wear now and then while in Constantinople and, in any case, to take back to France as a souvenir of his visit. Achmet replied that the best value in all things was to be found in the Grand Bazaar.

  The Golden Horn was spanned by a long row of caiques lashed together and overlaid with a road of boards, a section in the centre being easily detached so that, from time to time, it could be moved to allow the passage of water traffic. As Roger crossed this bridge of boats, he was interested to see that, while the Pera shore was almost hidden by a forest of masts rising from scores of closely-packed ships, showing the enormous trade carried on by Constantinople with other ports in the Mediterranean, only a few heavily-gilded barges were moored on the Stamboul side. They were, Achmet told him, the Sultan’s pleasure boats, in which at times he took some of his ladies of the harem on trips to his other palaces further up the Bosphorus, across in Scutari, or down to the islands beyond the point, in the Marmora. On the shore there were two large pavilions. Beyond them stood the tall, crenellated wall that enclosed the Sultan’s huge private domain. Above it could be seen many acres of gardens sloping up to the massed buildings forming the Topkapi Palace.

  Having cr
ossed the Galata bridge, they passed the splendid Fatima Mosque and the Tomb of Suliman the Magnificent, then entered a warren of narrow ways crowded with dark-robed, veiled women, street vendors and men selling bread rings on sticks, until they reached the Grand Bazaar.

  It consisted of a covered area in which, according to Achmet, there were over a thousand shops. The walkways were criss-cross parallels, with no signs to differentiate one from another, and Achmet confessed that even he might well get lost in them. Every conceivable item of Eastern food, clothes, furniture, apparel and objets d’art could be brought there: perfumes, spices, jewels, weapons, cooking utensils and imported goods from China, Persia, India, Africa and Europe.

  Their first call was on a money-changer. Roger had transferred a handful of gold Napoleons from his money belt to his breeches pocket. Casually he put them on the counter. Achmet did the bargaining and, after ten minutes of mingled persuasion and abuse, secured what Roger thought was probably a fairly reasonable rate of exchange. They then proceeded to do their shopping. First they bought a large, cylindrical woven basket to contain their purchases; then, item by item, packed into it a complete outfit of rich clothes such as were worn by Balkan noblemen and wealthy merchants.

  When they got back to Roger’s room at the Embassy, he put his hand in his pocket, smiled at Achmet and suddenly cried, ‘Catch.’ As he spoke he threw Achmet a gold coin and added, ‘That is your pay for today.’

  Achmet caught the coin, looked at it and gasped with stupefaction. It was more than he could have earned in a month. Almost tongue-tied with gratitude, he stammered his thanks and protested his eternal devotion to such a generous master.

  With a gesture Roger silenced him and said in a quiet, firm voice, ‘I have things to do in this city, which do not concern His Excellency the Ambassador or any of the officers with whom I arrived here. Serve me faithfully and say no word to your fellow Janissaries of where I go and you shall receive another gold piece every day. But I give you warning. I have powerful friends inside the Seraglio. Should it come to my ears that you have spoken of my doings, those friends of mine will see to it that your tongue is torn out.’

  Having paused to let his words sink in, Roger went on. ‘Now, take this basket containing the apparel I have bought. Go over again to Stamboul and rent for me there a room in the dwelling of a discreet man, where I can change into Balkan costume without his talking of the matter to his neighbours. Here,’ he added, producing two more gold coins and handing them to Achmet, ‘is money that you are to give him as an advance payment for the accommodation and his discretion.’

  Salaaming, Achmet took the coins, picked up the basket and, with further expressions of his willingness to do as he was bid, bowed himself out of the room.

  From midday on, it had become very hot, so Roger stripped to his underclothes, lay down on his bed and, for a couple of hours, enjoyed a siesta. Late in the afternoon the welcome breeze from the north-west, which is a feature of Constantinople’s climate, began to blow, making the city much cooler. Getting up, Roger dressed and went down to see the secretary who acted as the Embassy’s treasurer. His trip to Vienna, buying the pair of gold candlesticks and his purchases that morning had nearly run him out of ready money; so he presented his draft and drew in Turkish gold the equivalent of two hundred Napoleons.

  Next morning, Achmet reported that he had secured for Roger a room over the shop of a tailor, who made uniforms for the Janissaries, was an old friend and could be relied on not to talk.

  However, as it happened, that day, May 16th, was a Friday, and Roger felt that the Mahommedan Sabbath was not at all a suitable day to undertake the project he had in mind. So, joining a number of his fellow officers, he went with them on an expedition up the Bosphorus.

  On the Saturday morning, soon after he had breakfasted, he set off with Achmet and again crossed the Golden Horn. Arriving at the tailor’s shop, he had a brief talk with the man, implying that he was engaged in a clandestine love affair.

  He then produced from what Ahmet, with popping eyes, now assumed to be his inexhaustible supply of gold, three more pieces, which the tailor gratefully accepted, promising on the Koran to say no word about his new tenant’s activities.

  In the room upstairs, with Achmet’s help, Roger changed into the Eastern clothes; then, telling Achmet to await his return, he went out.

  Unremarked by the crowds of turbaned men and veiled women, he made his way up to the gate in the high wall that gives entrance to the Topkapi Palace. In its great First Court, the public were admitted, although only high officials were allowed to ride and a rule of silence was enforced by the presence of numerous halberdiers. Crossing the Court, Roger came to a second gate, called the Ortakapi. This was guarded by some fifty Janissaries, one of whom, wearing yellow boots, came forward and asked Roger’s business.

  ‘I am,’ Roger replied, ‘a Greek merchant, and my principle trade is with Venice. When I was there some weeks ago, I chanced to become acquainted with a French officer of high rank. He was on his way to Constantinople with a gift from the Emperor of the French to—Allah preserve her and blessed be his name and that of his Prophet—our beloved Sultan Validé. The poor man was stricken of a fever which carried him off; but before he died, knowing that I was returning here, he asked me to act for him and deliver the present to Her Imperial Majesty.’

  It was a plausible story and, after a moment’s consideration, the Janissary said, ‘It is by no means easy to obtain an audience with the Sultan Validé.’

  Roger smiled. ‘I appreciate that.’ Then he slipped two gold coins into the man’s hand, and added, ‘But I promised to deliver this present personally, and I am sure Her Imperial Majesty would be happy to receive it. Please see what you can do for me.’

  The Janissary shrugged, led Roger into a small room on the left, under the arch of the gate, and said, ‘Wait here.’

  It was over an hour before the Janissary returned. With him he brought a hugely fat, sullen-faced man with many chins, dressed in rich fur robes and wearing a two-foot-high conical hat. Roger guessed him to be the Kapi Aga, Chief of the White Eunuchs who, many years earlier, had been degraded from charge of the harem to that of the Selámlek—those parts of the palace in which men were allowed—and who performed the functions of porters, teachers to the pages and other duties, according to their degree. To this high official Roger made a low obeisance and repeated his story.

  The eunuch eyed Roger coldly, made a negative motion with his head which caused the fat flesh below his chin to wobble, and replied, ‘Her Sublimity the Veiled Crown does not receive persons of your sort. Give me the present from the French Sultana of whom you speak and I will lay it at the feet of Her Imperial Majesty.’

  Roger salaamed again and said earnestly, ‘Effendi, I swore an oath on the Koran to this dying Frenchman that I would personally deliver the present to Our Lady Protectress of all Veiled Women. I pray you, grant me a word alone.’

  With a swift gesture, the Kapi Aga dismissed the Janissary. When he had left the room, Roger produced a string purse that he had ready. It held twenty-five gold pieces. Handing it to the monstrous creature facing him, he said, ‘your Excellency must support many charities. Permit me to offer this humble contribution.’

  The small, pursed-up mouth in the great, flabby mask of fat crumpled into the semblance of a smile. Tossing the heavy purse gently in his beringed hand, he said, ‘Such contributions from rich merchants are welcome. Be here tomorrow at the same time. Bring with you two purses of gold of the same weight. I promise nothing. But the black swine who now order all things beyond the Gate of Felicity are greedy and must be won over to grant your application. The blessing of Allah—blessed be his name and that of his Prophet—be upon you.’

  In the room over the tailor’s shop Roger changed back into uniform, then returned with Achmet to the French Embassy. To penetrate the Seraglio was costing him a lot of money, but he had anticipated that it would, and he was not unsatisfied with the progres
s he had so far made.

  Next day, he again presented himself at the First Gate, this time carrying a handsome, round-lidded casket he had had Ahmet buy for him, containing the gold candlesticks. Pressing another couple of gold pieces into the Janissary’s hand, he asked him to inform the Kapi Aga of his presence. A quarter of an hour later, the Chief of the White Eunuchs came into the waiting room. After salutations had been exchanged, Roger handed over the two purses of gold. The Kapi Aga pocketed one, but returned the other, saying. ‘That you will give to the tall, black eunuch at the Gate of Felicity. I have arranged matters, and he will escort you to the apartments of Her Sublimity, the Wearer of the Veiled Crown.’

  Beckoning Roger to follow, the white eunuch waddled out of the room and led the way into the Second Court: a great, open space divided by a central avenue of cypresses, on either side of which were beds of several thousand roses in bloom.

  As Roger followed, it suddenly struck him that he might be behaving with incredible foolhardiness. He could perfectly well have remained at the French Embassy and passed his time innocently sightseeing. But, being the man he was, he had been tempted into seeking this audience with the Sultan Validé.

  By talking with her, he hoped to achieve one of two things. He could imply that the Emperor would have no great difficulty in defeating the Czar unaided; therefore, in view of the unrest in Turkey’s European provinces, she would be wise to keep her garrisons there at full strength rather than reduce them to send more troops against the Russians. Thus he could help the Allied cause. On the other hand if, owing to her devotion to France, she was set upon providing troops, he could later increase his standing with Napoleon by leading him to believe that Gardane’s mission would have failed had not he, Roger, held private conversations with the Sultana.