Kneeling down, Roger produced the gold candlesticks and, with little cries of pleasure, Aimeé examined their delicate filigree work. Then she asked after Josephine and her two children by her first husband, the Vicomte de Beauharnais.
Roger was able to report that Eugene continued to be devoted to his stepfather, the Emperor, and, although still very young for such responsibility, was proving an excellent Viceroy for Napoleon as King of Italy. About Eugene’s sister, Hortense, he could not give such good tidings. Against her will and that of her husband, Louis, one of Napoleon’s younger brothers, they had been forced to marry and become King and Queen of Holland. Hortense was a sensible young woman and, despite her loveless marriage, putting a good face on matters, so had become very popular with her subjects. Louis, on the other hand, had turned out to be a vain and stupid neurotic. He was wasting Holland’s resources by fabulous extravagance, opposed his great brother’s wishes with childish petulance and, as a King, could hardly have been a greater failure.
Of Josephine, Roger spoke guardedly. ‘She is greatly beloved. As a born aristocrat with traditions, tact and charm, she has made an invaluable contribution to the establishment in Paris of a new royal Court, of a splendour far surpassing that of Versailles in Louis XVI’s day. Kings, Princes, Grand Dukes and nobles of aristocratic lineage come reluctantly, driven by their countries’ necessity, to seek the goodwill of the middle-class Corsican usurper who now dominates Europe. They have arrived expecting among themselves cynically to mock the pretensions of this parvenu Emperor. They have gone away impressed with his swift, clear-seeing mentality and delighted by the gracious reception of them by his Empress.
‘Yet,’ Roger went on, ‘one trouble remains. Napoleon desperately desires an heir. He has now been married to Josephine for eleven years. Despite the fact that she had two children by her first marriage, she has failed to give him one.’
Aimée’s blue eyes held Roger’s intently as she asked, ‘Do they still sleep together?’
He nodded. ‘At times, yes. For years past the Emperor has had a succession of mistresses; but he retains a strong affection for his wife. There are occasions when his campaigns necessitate his leaving her for many months, as is the case at present; but when they are living at the Tuileries, or St. Cloud, on most nights he goes to her room.’
‘Then, unless he is impotent, it is a scurvy trick of fate that my poor cousin should fail to become enceinte. But tell me of this present campaign and the object of General Gardane’s mission to the Sultan.’
Roger related the salient facts of the defeat of Prussia, the battles of Jena and Auerstädt, then he said, ‘The Muscovites are proving more stubborn enemies than any that the Emperor has so far encountered. His object in sending General Gardane on this mission is to persuade Turkey and Persia to attack the Czar vigorously in the south, and so draw off Russian forces that would otherwise be employed against him in the north.’
With an unhappy look, Aimée replied, ‘Turkey is already honouring her alliance with France by waging war against the Russians in Moldavia, and naturally we should like to assist Napoleon further. But it would be difficult to strengthen our army there with sufficient reinforcements to carry out a successful offensive.’
‘Why so, Madame?’ Roger enquired; although, from what Talleyrand had told him, he already guessed what her answer would probably be.
It came swiftly and with pent-up bitterness. ‘Because our worst enemies are within our own gates. Unlike his predecessors for many generations, the Sultan Selim was not kept in a gilded cage and denied all knowledge of the world until he succeeded his uncle. On the contrary, he received a liberal education. For that, I am proud to say, I was mainly responsible. We are much of an age and, for many years, have been to each other as brother and sister. My son, the Prince Mahmoud, too, instead of being regarded by him as a possible conspirator who might plan his assassination in order to seize his throne, enjoys complete liberty and is beloved by him. Both have imbibed from me the vision of a new and happier Turkey. In this age Turkey can no longer afford to remain isolated. Her only hope of survival lies in gaining the friendship and respect of the great nations in the West. To achieve that, she must accept the civilisation of the West, and abolish the barbarous customs that for centuries have disgraced her in the eyes of Christian Europe. Believing me right in this, the Sultan Selim has introduced many reforms. But reforms always arouse opposition in reactionaries; and we are cursed with many such.’
Roger nodded gravely. ‘Indeed, Madame, it is common knowledge that certain powerful Pashas in the Balkan lands have repudiated His Imperial Majesty’s authority and that the rebel leader Kara George has provoked a rebellion in Servia that is proving difficult to suppress.’
‘Since you are aware of that, you will appreciate that it could prove disastrous for us to denude our provinces further of troops that remain loyal to us, in order to despatch them against the Russians.’ For a moment Aimée paused, then went on: ‘Fortunately, the Pasha of Rustchuk, a Bulgarian named Baraiktar, and our greatest General, is entirely to be relied upon. I feel confident that, given a little time, he will restore our situation up on the Danube. I have, too, the full backing of Son Altesse Noire and of the Grand Mufti, Vely-Zadé. But for you fully to understand our position I must confide in you that the Sultan, although a man of enlightened mind and charming disposition, has not the strength of character needed to dominate the situation here. And it is here in Constantinople that our real danger lies.’
‘You fear a conspiracy in the Seraglio to assassinate him?’ Roger asked with swift concern.
She refilled their glasses, drank a little of the wine and said thoughtfully, ‘I have no evidence that one is actually brewing; but it has long been a menace, my fear of which has much increased in recent times. I owe my position to the protection of a clever and most lovable woman, a Circassian Kadin who was the mother of my late husband and thus became the Sultan Validé. She died in October 1805. As Selim’s mother was already dead, he gave me the status of Sultan Validé; although I am not so in fact and shall never be until my son, Mahmoud, succeeds to the throne. To the succession he has a rival, Prince Mustapha, the son of another of the Sultan Abdul Hamid’s Kadins. She is an evil woman and has twice attempted to have my son poisoned. But on both occasions my devotion to the Blessed Virgin caused Her to intervene and save his life.’
Roger looked up in surprise. ‘Can it be, Madame, that you have remained a Christian?’
Her big, blue eyes widened. ‘But of course, Monsieur. Naturally, many endeavours were made to persuade me to become a Muslim, but nothing would ever induce me to abandon the true Faith.’
More than ever Roger admired the extraordinary strength of will that animated this frail, beautiful woman as, shaking back her long golden hair, sparkling with diamonds, she went on.
‘The increased danger to our lives from a palace conspiracy now lies in the discontent of the Janissaries. For many reigns past, here in the Seraglio, their power has exceeded that of the Sultans. Selim has endeavoured to break it by forming a new corps of Turkish-born soldiers called the Nizam-i-jedad. Not unnaturally, the Janissaries, who are mostly Circassians, became jealous of this new bodyguard. To placate them Selim, against my advice, embodied a considerable number of the younger Janissaries into the Nizam-i-jedad; and that, I believe, has resulted in undermining their loyalty to him. The evil Kadin of whom I spoke, although her son is technically a prisoner, has much influence with these malcontent, reactionary troops. It needs only a spark to set off a revolt that would lead to a blood bath, place Prince Mustapha on the throne and secure for his mother her lifelong ambition to become Sultan Validé.’
After a moment, Roger said, ‘Madame, I pray you accept my devotion. If there is any way in which I can serve you, or assist in your protection, you have only to command me.’
She gave him a sad smile. ‘Alas, there is naught you could do to aid me should my fears be realised. But, now that my dear friend Fanny
de Sebastiani is dead and her handsome husband so grieved by her loss that he is abandoning us, it will be a great comfort to me to have here a brave French gentleman to whom I can talk unreservedly. I pray you, Monsieur le Chevalier, to come often to see me. I will give orders that any of these greedy eunuchs who demand a bribe to announce your presence, shall be bastinadoed every week for a month.’
Crossing the room to the door through which Fatima had disappeared, Aimée recalled the girl, then jerked the bell rope. Roger reassumed his most deferential manner and began to take his leave. Yussif, the eunuch who had brought the champagne, arrived and escorted him from the ‘Presence’ back to the Gate of Felicity.
As he passed through it, Roger happened to look to his left, and his glance fell upon a sight that, his mind being so fully occupied, he had not noticed on entering the gate. It was a pile of human skulls: some with the flesh still on them and being devoured by a swarm of big bluebottles. Inwardly he shuddered at this evidence of the barbarities that the courageous Aimée was striving to abolish. Having caught his expression of disgust, Yussif grinned at him and said in Turkish:
‘Those are the heads of the men that the Janissaries believe to have been traitors to them. They are placed there as a warning to others.’
‘I find it difficult to believe that His Imperial Majesty the Sultan approves of this,’ Roger remarked.
The eunuch shrugged. ‘That is not for me to judge, Effendi. But those of us who are the loyal servants of Her Sublimity the Sultan Validé never know the day when we may find ourselves hung by the neck from the great elm in the First Court.’ With a bow, he added, ‘May Allah the Merciful, the Compassionate, have you in his keeping, Effendi.’ Then he handed Roger over to one of the White Eunuchs who saw him out of the Palace.
In the room over the tailor’s shop Roger changed back into uniform, then recrossed the Golden Horn with Achmet. Thinking matters over, he was well content with the situation of Turkey as Aimée had disclosed it to him. Had matters been otherwise and the Turks likely to accede to Napoleon’s request that they should launch an offensive across the Danube, he had intended himself to reveal what Talleyrand had told him of the Sultan’s waning authority in the Balkans and, posing as the confidential messenger of Josephine, tell Aimée that the Emperor was fully capable of defeating the Czar without Turkish help; so the Sultan would be most ill advised to jeopardise further his own position by sending another army against the Russians. But it had proved unnecessary to do that. Whatever promises the Sultan might make to General Gardane, it was clear that he could not carry them out.
As Aimée corresponded with Josephine, it was quite on the cards that she would mention Roger’s visit; so he was much relieved that he would not later have to explain away having given her advice contrary to French interests. She would, no doubt, send her thanks for the candlesticks, but that did not worry him. In due course he would tell Josephine that he had made the gift in her name, believing that his having done so would please her. And he felt certain that it would.
About Aimée’s own position he was considerably worried; but, in spite of her invitation, he did not wish to give her the impression that he was taking advantage of her friendliness, so he decided against paying her another visit until the Monday. That morning, having changed again in the room over the tailor’s shop into the costume of a Greek merchant, he made his way to the Palace. This time he was received very differently. The Kapi Aga was brought at once to the waiting room in the great gate, and enquired solicitously as to Roger’s health. A messenger was despatched to the Kizler Aga and, after a brief wait, the visitor was conducted across the court to the Gate of Felicity. There Yussif met him with smiles and bows, then took him through the maze of corridors to the Sultan Validé’s apartments.
With her on this occasion, besides the slim, doe-eyed Fatima, were two men. The elder had a long, thin nose, heavily-lidded eyes, a thin moustache and a very full, black beard. He was dressed simply, in a loose silk robe, but above his lofty forehead rose a large white turban, in the centre of which flashed a huge diamond. The younger had a heavier moustache, but a less full beard, and arched black eyebrows above eyes that were as large and lustrous as Aimée’s, although dark brown. Instantly, Roger realised that he was in the presence of the Sultan and Aimée’s son Prince Mahmoud.
As he went down on his knees, Aimée curtsied to the Sultan and said in French, ‘Permit me, Sire, to present to you a brave French officer, the friend and confidant of my cousin the Empress Josephine: Colonel le Chevalier de Breuc.’
Roger’s hands were clasped, with his head bowed over them. To his ears there came the voice of Selim, speaking in heavily-accented and bad but understandable French. ‘Welcome to our Court, Monsieur. Rise and be seated. Here in this blessed haven from pomp, anxiety and toil, provided by our beloved Naksh, we do not stand on ceremony.’
Coming to his feet Roger smiled, bowed and said, ‘your gracious Majesty honours me beyond my deserts.’
Then Aimée waved a hand towards the younger man: ‘My son, Prince Mahmoud.’
Again Roger bowed. Smiling at him, the young Prince picked up a bottle of champagne, poured a glass, handed it to him, and said in fluent French almost entirely free of accent, ‘One of the many joys my mother has brought us. Because one believes in God, one does not have to deny oneself the blessings he has bestowed on man.’
Roger was surprised at the paleness of the faces of the two Turks, particularly that of the Sultan which, against his black beard, was actually pallid. But, after a moment he recalled having been told that customs forbade any Turkish Prince from ever taking a wife of Turkish blood. All the young girls bought or kidnapped to become inmates of the harem came from distant parts of the Empire with, occasionally, an Italian or Spaniard who, like Aimée, had been captured by Corsairs. The great majority of the odalisques from whom the Sultans chose their four wives were, on account of their outstanding beauty, fair-skinned Circassians. As a result, after many generations, the Osmanli Princes were in fact Turks only by upbringing.
For over an hour they talked freely and, at times, gaily; the lovely young Fatima often joining in as though she were one of the family. Roger gave a lively description of the splendid Court Napoleon had created since he had made himself an Emperor, and of the Kings, Princes and Grand Dukes who attended it to fawn upon him. He told them about the latest fashions in Paris, and gave an account of Napoleon’s triumphant Prussian campaign. But he refrained from telling them of his narrow escape from death at Eylau, and that for two months he had been a prisoner, leading them to suppose that it was during that time Josephine had heard that he was to accompany General Gardane’s mission to Constantinople and sent him the candlesticks to take, as a token of her enduring affection for her cousin.
At the mention of Gardane, the Sultan said, ‘I intend to receive him on Wednesday. Tomorrow we make an expedition up the Bosphorus to Rumeli Hisar. You must come with us. Now I have to attend to business.’
As he stood up, Roger gave thanks for the honour done him and bowed profoundly. Aimée extended her hand for him to kiss and said, ‘Be here at nine o’clock, Monsieur; and, of course, in the same costume. I have already explained to His Majesty the reason for your wearing Balkan dress.’
Prince Mahmoud then smiled at him and asked, ‘Would it interest you to see my work?’
‘Indeed it would, Your Highness,’ Roger replied, although he was distinctly puzzled by this invitation. As they followed the Sultan from the room, the young man enlightened him.
‘Perhaps, Monsieur, you are not aware of it, but by tradition every Osmanli Prince has to learn a trade. I chose that of a professional writer, and derive much pleasure from calligraphy.’
After crossing several courts, they reached the Prince’s quarters, and he led Roger into a spacious, well-lit studio. It contained not only specimens of beautiful writing on vellum, but also a number of drawing boards several square feet in size, upon which verses from the Koran had been inscrib
ed. With charming modesty, the Prince explained that the quality of his work had become so esteemed that he was now commissioned to create these designs which would later be carved in stone by other craftsmen, then gilded to decorate new mosques.
While Roger was admiring these works of art, coffee and sweet cakes were brought; then, when they had partaken of these refreshments, the Prince courteously saw his guest out through the Gate of Felicity.
When Roger returned the following morning, he was led by the Kapi Aga through another maze of passages, then down through a garden gay with flowers, but shaded by many tall cypresses, to the great wall and a gate in it that gave on to the shore of the Golden Horn. Outside the wall stood two large, lofty pavilions from which there was a splendid view across the water of the shipping moored at the wharfs of Pera and the tiers of buildings rising steeply beyond the ship masts. Further along, towards Seraglio Point, were the boat-houses and, at the end of a jetty in front of one of them, lay a great, gilded barge. It was already manned by two score oarsmen.
Roger had made certain of arriving in good time, so a quarter of an hour elapsed while he stood on the foreshore. Then he heard a babble of laughing, girlish voices and turned to see that a bevy of veiled odalisques, escorted by black eunuchs, had emerged from the gate. Eyeing him with interest and chattering among themselves, the girls remained standing near him for a few minutes. Aimée—more heavily veiled than when Roger had seen her in her own apartments—accompanied by Fatima and Yussif, was the next to arrive on the scene. The chattering ceased, everyone made obeisance then, having greeted Roger most affably, Aimée led the way on board.
The stern of the caique was shaded by a great, silk canopy edged with gold braid and pearls. On a raised platform centrally beneath it stood a broad divan with many cushions. Grouped about it were a number of stools and on these the ladies settled themselves. To the stools there was one exception—a low-backed, comfortable, padded chair on the right of the divan. Aimée sat down in it and signed to Roger to take the stool nearest her.
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