But now it struck him that he was taking a considerable risk. To carry any weight with her he must declare himself to be Colonel de Chevalier de Breuc, a member of Napoleon’s personal staff, and pretend that he had been commissioned by the Empress Josephine to bring her a present.
It was just possible that she had learned from her daughter, Zanthé, what had befallen her in Cairo. Roger had saved her from being raped by a dozen drunken soldiers, then sold by them for a few francs a time to scores of their comrades. But the fact remained that, having rescued her, and knowing her to be married, he had ravished her himself, although ignorant of the fact that she was still a virgin. If the Sultan Validé knew only the latter part of that story and realised that it was Roger who had deflowered her daughter, she might even order him to be castrated.
8
The Veiled Crown
As Roger followed the Kapi Aga across the Second Court, he barely glanced to his left at the row of ten huge kitchens, each with a tall chimney, or at the stables and Hall of the Dewan, surmounted by a short, square tower and steeple, on his right. His mind was occupied by very uneasy thoughts and, as the eunuch walked with a slow waddle, there was ample time for Roger to contemplate the highly dangerous situation in which he had landed himself.
He had last seen Zanthé and her husband at the first reception Napoleon had given in the Tuileries after being elected First Consul. That they were then in Paris was due to Achilles Sarodopulous’ having been sent by his father to open a branch of the family bank in the French capital. In view of his past relations with Zanthé, Roger had thought it only fair to Achilles who, while he was in Egypt had proved a good friend to him, to refrain from seeking them out on his subsequent visits to Paris—much as he would have liked to see Zanthé’s little son of whom he knew himself to be the father; but, as far as he was aware, they were still in Paris.
If so, it was most unlikely that Zanthé had made the long journey to Constantinople to see her mother and told her all that had befallen her in Egypt. There was, too, the fact that having renounced Islam and become a Christian of the Orthodox Greek Church, in order to marry Achilles, Zanthé had raised another bar between herself and her family.
But there remained the possibility that mother and daughter continued to correspond. If so, Zanthé might have given her mother an account of the months she had spent in Egypt and Syria. Roger endeavoured to still his uneasiness by the thought that, if she had, she would not have revealed in a letter the fact that she had been the mistress of a French officer. But of that he could not be certain, and this doubt now became uppermost in his mind.
He was not given to panicking, but for a moment he felt that, in seeking an audience with the Sultan Validé, he had taken an absurd risk to achieve what, at best, could prove only a gain of no great importance. But it was now too late to turn back; so he continued to follow the ponderous footsteps of the Chief of the White Eunuchs and, by a great effort of will, forced himself to recall instead all he had heard from Zanthé and, more recently, Achmet about the Seraglio.
It was not, as most people believed, simply a rambling palace consisting of many buildings in which the Sultan maintained several hundred women for his pleasure. On the contrary, it housed twenty thousand people, two-thirds of whom were troops, and over a thousand cooks. The Harëmlik, as it was properly called, was a comparatively small part of it.
By far the greater number of buildings formed the Selámlik, which was occupied by the guards, eunuchs, ministers and other functionaries, artists, artisans, dwarfs and jugglers. It contained a big military school, over a dozen mosques, ten kitchens, two hospitals, many Turkish baths, several swimming pools, store-rooms, sports fields, a library in which were a quarter of a million manuscripts, prisons, treasuries, stabling for three thousand horses and a score of workshops in which hundreds of men were constantly employed as goldsmiths, weavers, engravers, tile-makers, swordsmiths, upholsterers, potters, carpenters, and in a dozen other crafts.
All these people in the Selámlik worked under the supervision of the White Eunuchs, while the Black Eunuchs were entrusted with the guardianship of the women’s quarters.
The great majority of the women lived in a big building, having three floors, and a wide, central corridor overlooked from balconies on the two upper floors. Each odalisque had a chamber to herself; so in that, it was not unlikely a nunnery, except that instead of austere cells, the rooms were luxuriously furnished. The Kadins and temporary favourites had separate suites, with even richer furnishings, and all enjoyed the use of spacious gardens, the many pavilions in them, numerous baths, ball-courts and the terraces from which there was a lovely view over the Sea of Marmora.
Roger brought his mind back with a jerk from these deliberate musings on all he had heard of the Topkapi Palace, for they had reached the Gate of Felicity, which gave entrance to the Third Court. This was guarded by both White and Black Eunuchs, and the Kapi Aga said in his high-pitched voice to a huge Negro, ‘This is the Greek merchant of whom I spoke to you yesterday.’ Then, without a glance at Roger, he waddled away.
The Negro was richly dressed in an ermine pelisse, jewelled ear-rings dangled from the lobes of his ears and there were several valuable rings on his big fingers. It was obvious to Roger that he was a person of importance and, in fact, he proved to be Son Altesse Noire, the Kizler Aga, Chief of the Black Eunuchs. Making low obeisance, Roger contrived to drop the silk net purse containing the twenty-five gold pieces. Quickly he picked it up and handed it to the Negro, as though it was he who had dropped it. Two rows of pearly white teeth appeared between the black man’s red lips as he smiled with amusement at this subtle way of giving him his bribe. ‘All is arranged,’ he said in a little, reedy voice. ‘Come with me.’
Passing through the Gate of Felicity, they entered the Third Court. Facing the gate and only a few yards from it there was a magnificent pavilion, in the centre of which, raised on legs, there stood an eight-foot-long and four-feet-deep gold divan, flashing with precious stones. Casually waving a hand towards it, the eunuch said, ‘The throne upon which the Commander of the Faithful, Allah’s Shadow on Earth, gives audience to distinguished visitors. It was made from eighty thousand gold ducats captured from the Venetians. He has another studded with twenty-five thousand pearls.’
Turning left, they walked some way across the court, then entered a maze of narrow passages. On coming to one that was broader than the others, the big Negro, who evidently took pleasure in showing his domain to those privileged to enter it, said, ‘This is the Golden Road. Along it, faint from exaltation, are carried such odalisques as our Imperial master has deigned to cast his handkerchief to, signifying that he desires them to be brought to his bed.’
Through an archway on the far side of the Golden Road, they came to a spacious courtyard, lined with orange, apricot and pomegranate trees growing in large tubs. Crossing it to a low doorway, the eunuch told Roger to wait there, then went in.
Two minutes later he emerged, and bowed. ‘Her Sublimity the Veiled Crown, consents to receive you.’ Roger returned the bow and, his heart beating a little faster, walked through the low porch.
Beyond it there was a small hall then, behind a heavy curtain that the eunuch held aside, a big room, the sight of which caused Roger to catch his breath in amazement. It was no Eastern reception room with divans round the walls, silk Persian mats of fine design, and small, ebony tables inlaid with ivory. He might have stepped back twenty years in time, to find himself again in one of the smaller salons at Versailles.
The furniture was Louis XVI, the carpet Aubusson, the satinwood cabinets filled with Meissen and Sèvres porcelain, while on the walls hung charming paintings by Bouchard Fragonard and Vigé le Brun.
At the far end of the room there were two women, and there could be no mistaking the one who had created this oasis of a bygone France in the heart of an Eastern harem. She was, Roger knew, forty-three years old, but did not look it. The veil she wore looped from ear to ear was
so diaphanous that through it Roger could discern her lower features: a rosebud mouth above a firm chin. Her face was a little on the plump side, her blue eyes enormous, and golden hair on which she wore a little, round pillbox hat, swept back from her fine forehead. Here and there, among her golden tresses, sparkled diamonds, dangling from almost invisible tiny gold chains. It was no cause for wonder that, on entering the harem, instead of being given the name of Jasmine, Sweet-breath, Pearl of the Dawn or some such soubriquet, she had become known simply as Naksh—the Beautiful One.
She was seated in an elbow chair with, across her knees, a canvas of petit-paint, on which she had been working. Beside her, on a low stool sat a younger, dark-haired woman, more heavily veiled but, judging from her fine eyes and flawless skin, also beautiful.
Bowing low with every step, Roger advanced towards the First Lady of the Turkish world, then laid the casket at her feet and remained kneeling there. To his surprise and sudden perturbation, she spoke to him in Greek.
Not understanding Greek, he was temporarily dumbfounded. But, swiftly recovering himself, he came to his feet, forced a smile and said in French:
‘Your Imperial Majesty has forced me to a confession that I was about to make. I am no Greek merchant who agreed to deliver this present to you on behalf of a French officer who died in Venice. I am that officer Colonel le Chevalier de Breuc.’
With a sudden frown, her eyes holding his, she asked, ‘Why this fiction, Monsieur, and why are you in Eastern dress?’
‘May it please Your Majesty, I have accompanied the mission headed by General Gardane, sent by the Emperor Napoleon to His Imperial Majesty the Sultan. But I am only attached to it. I come to you as the personal representative of your illustrious cousin, the Empress Josephine. My colleagues are unaware of that and, had I come to the Seraglio in uniform, it is certain they would have learned of it. That would have been difficult to explain. Hence the disguise.’
Still unsmiling, she replied, ‘you are then, Monsieur le Chevalier, as I had been led to suppose, a man of resource.’
Roger’s heart missed a beat. Again he forced a smile and said, ‘As a member of the Emperor’s personal staff, I have had the good fortune to achieve some notoriety in the Grande Armée, and it seems that Your Majesty has heard talk of that.’
Instead of replying, she turned to the girl beside her and said, ‘Fatima, I wish to speak to this gentleman alone.’
Putting aside her work, the girl made a low obeisance and slipped out through a door at the side of the room.
Turning back to Roger, the golden-haired Venus said in a level voice, ‘Yes, Monsieur de Breuc, I have certainly heard of you. Moreover, those blue eyes and long lashes of yours tell me what I have long suspected. No Greek banker could have given them to his child. You are the father of my grandson. Can you deny it?’
The second she mentioned his blue eyes, Roger’s swift brain had leaped to it that the cat was out of the bag. Obviously Zanthé had informed her mother of how a French officer had carried her off in Cairo, and had named him as her seducer. By coming to the Seraglio, he had voluntarily and idiotically put his head into a hornet’s nest. Within a few minutes now he might be handed over to the eunuchs to be strangled with a bow-string.
Knowing himself cornered and escape impossible, he took a wild gamble. It could come off only if Naksh—the Beautiful One—reacted as a woman. If she maintained the aloofness proper to her station as the First Lady of a mighty Empire, he would be utterly lost. Drawing himself up to his full height, he said, ‘Sublimity, my life is in your hands. For the joy the Princess Zanthé gave me I will go to my death willingly. I have only one regret. That it was her and not you that I had in my bed both in Cairo and in Acre. For you are even more beautiful than your daughter.’
He saw her cheeks flush beneath the diaphanous veil. Her big eyes narrowed and she snapped, ‘Monsieur! To think of me in such a situation is sacrilege. For what you have just said, a fitting punishment is that I should have your flesh torn from your body, piece by piece, with red-hot pincers.’
Inwardly Roger quailed. Yet, with the courage of desperation, he managed to sneer, ‘A decision one might expect from a blood-lusting Turk, but not from a French lady of aristocratic birth.’
She gave a slight shrug and replied, ‘It is true that the Turks are a cruel and bloodthirsty people. But there is a saying, “When in Rome …” You will know the rest. You are now in Constantinople. By Turkish standards, you have addressed me as though I were a woman in a brothel. It so happens that I am not only an Empress, but for over twenty years I have been a Turk.’
Standing up, she put out a hand, grasped a silken rope ending in a large tassel, and gave it a swift jerk. A bell clanged hollowly somewhere in the distance.
Situated as he was, in the depths of this vast palace, with its hundreds of rooms, mazes of corridors and thousands of guards, Roger knew that there was not the faintest possibility of fighting his way out. He had not even a sword with which to kill a few eunuchs before they killed him, as no visitor was allowed to enter the Palace armed. By seizing the back of the nearest chair, he could use its legs to fend off an attack; but for no more than a few moments, as the legs were thin and would snap off at the first heavy impact.
Yet, if he were doomed to die, there was one thing he could do which might bring him a quick death and escape from torture. Taking one step forward, he seized the Sultan Validé in his arms.
It was possible that the eunuchs might succeed in dragging him, while still alive, away from her; but he was very strong and meant to cling to her as a drowning man would to a floating spar. All the odds were, he thought, that, horrified at the sight of such sacrilege, they would lose their heads, think only of freeing their mistress and frantically stab him in the back.
As he clasped Aimée to him, she gave a gasp of amazement, then cried, ‘Are you mad? Let me go!’
Death might be round the corner, but he was enjoying himself now. Smiling down into her lovely face, he said, ‘No, Naksh. Holding you in my arms while I die will give me a foretaste of heaven. And, when your eunuchs stab at me, I mean to swing round; so we may even die together.’
At that moment they both caught the sound of the outer door being closed, then footsteps crossing the small hall. Aimée had been striving to free herself. Suddenly her struggles ceased. She went quite rigid and, in a voice that was perfectly controlled, but sharp and commanding, she cried loudly:
‘Yussif! Bring champagne. At once! Immediately!’
The footfalls halted and receded. Aimée gave a great sigh and, for a moment, let her head fall forward to rest on Roger’s shoulder. Then, looking up at him, she breathed, ‘What an escape! Had Yussif glimpsed you embracing me, even I, with all my power, could not have saved your life. To start with, they would have put a cord round your testicles and hung you by it from a beam; then bastinadoed you daily until your wretched body gave up the ghost.’
‘But …’ stammered Roger, ‘but you were going to have me killed in any case.’
‘You imbecile!’ she retorted. ‘Is it likely that I, a Frenchwoman, would have a French officer sent to me by my cousin Josephine harmed? But life is dull here, and it was an opportunity for a little amusement. When I pulled that bell-rope it was to order champagne. Then, when it arrived, we would have laughed together.’
Roger made a wry grimace. ‘A dangerous form of amusement, Madame. It might have resulted in the death of both of us.’
She nodded. ‘I realise that now. I should have before. Zanthé told me that you were the very devil of a man. And, indeed you are! But for God’s sake, let me go now. If Yussif finds us like this when he brings the wine, all I could wish you would be a speedy death.’
As Roger released her and again assumed a most respectful attitude, he said, ‘I appreciate that while you would have received the Empress Josephine’s envoy most kindly, you can hardly be surprised that when it became apparent to me that you realised I was the man who had dragged Zanthé
into my bed in Cairo, I had good cause to fear that you meant to exact vengeance on me.’
Aimée suddenly threw back her golden head and laughed. ‘On the contrary, both she and I have much to thank you for. She came on a visit to me here eighteen months ago, and confided to me all that had passed between you. Some man had to be the first to lie with her, and that it happened to be le brave Breuc rather than her old husband, the Pasha, who cared only for boys, was her good fortune. Think, too, of the ghastly fate that would have befallen her had you not rescued her from that gang of ruffians who waylaid her.’
Happily now, Roger smiled and was about to reply; but, at that moment the eunuch, Yussif, brought in an ice bucket in which reposed a bottle of champagne, and poured the wine; salaaming many times he retreated backwards and closed the door behind him.
‘I hope you like champagne,’ Aimée remarked. ‘I have a passion for it. It was I who introduced the wine to the Sultan’s Court, and both the Sultan, Selim, and my son, Mahmoud, who is now twenty-two, delight in it.’
‘I, too,’ Roger declared, raising his glass to her before he drank, ‘but in England …’ He paused suddenly, covered his faux pas and, with a smile went on. ‘My mother was an Englishwoman who married a French citizen of Strasbourg, so I am bi-lingual. Several times I have carried out secret missions in England for the Emperor. As I was about to say, in England the real thing is expensive and difficult to come by. They have a law that no wine may be taken into the country in any vessel containing less than a gallon. It is aimed at preventing people smuggling in single bottles. But in cask—even a small one—champagne is no more than a very mildly effervescent wine. The English can obtain champagne as we know it only when smuggled in; so it is extremely costly.’
She nodded. ‘Poor people. But they have all sorts of silly customs that deprive them of half the joy of life.’ Glancing at the casket at her feet, she added, ‘Show me now, please, the present that my dear cousing has sent me.’
Evil in a Mask Page 16