Evil in a Mask

by Dennis Wheatley

  The Pasha and Son Altesse Noire were also evidently of that opinion, for they were laughing and clapping one another on the back.

  Selim’s virtual dethronement could not be taken as cause for a celebration. Nevertheless, an atmosphere of subdued gaiety permeated the castle for the remainder of the day. The fear of imminent death had been lifted, not only from the Imperial party, but from the whole garrison.

  Late in the evening, Aimée sent for Roger. To his surprise he found her alone. She greeted him with a smile. ‘So it is all over. I am sure my prayers to the Holy Virgin must have helped; but it is to you we owe our lives.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, Madame. It is to the courage and statesmanlike handling of the situation this morning by your son.’

  She smiled again. ‘I am very proud of him. He will make a great Sultan.’

  Roger hesitated. ‘Is there … is there really much chance now of his ever ascending the throne?’

  ‘Most certainly he will. Did you never hear the prophecy that was made to me when I was a young girl in Martinique? It was that I would become a Queen and that my son would rule gloriously over a mighty Empire.’

  ‘I earnestly pray, Madame, that the second half of that prophecy may also come true. But, with regard to yourself, I am deeply distressed. The thought of your becoming a prisoner has harrowed me all day.’

  ‘Please let it do so no longer,’ she said gently. ‘It means only my removal from one prison to another. The so-called “cage” in the Seraglio is a beautiful pavilion with numerous rooms and its own garden. All that we have been through was caused only by the jealousy of Prince Mustapha’s mother. She envied me my position. Now that she has it, she will be content. And Mustapha is by no means ill-disposed towards me personally. I am sure he will allow me to keep all the things I treasure. I’ll have my books, my needlework and my flowers.’

  ‘Oh, chére Madame! You cannot imagine how relieved I am to hear this.’

  ‘I am most touched that you should have been so concerned for me. My one regret is that our friendship cannot continue. Tomorrow morning we shall see the last of each other.’ Aimée paused for a moment, then went on. ‘Alas, there is little I can do to reward you for your devotion. But there is one small matter that I could arrange to give you pleasure.’

  Roger threw out his hands. ‘Madame, I protest. I need no reward. It has been a joy to be of service to you.’

  ‘I am glad; but shall persist with my idea. From what Zanthé told me, you are not only a brave but very virile and amorous man. And one, too, who would not demean himself to lie with any but a beautiful and well-born girl—such, for example, as my little Fatima.’

  Roger stared at her nonplussed, as she continued. ‘It must have become obvious to you that she regards you as a demigod. And she is no virgin, as for a year she was a concubine to one of the young Princes who died not long ago. You have but to say the word and, given my permission, she will come running to sleep with you tonight.’

  ‘Madame, I … I …’ Roger stammered.

  Aimée threw back her head, and laughed. ‘Cher Chevalier. Why be so bashful? Men of your kind do not frequent brothels, so must be starved of women when in the East. And Fatima passed her tests in the Seraglio “School of Love”, so I guarantee you there is nothing she will not do to please you. But there is one condition. All must take place in complete darkness, in order to conform with Turkish observances.’

  With a puzzled frown, Roger asked, ‘Pray tell me, Madame, what is the reason for such a strange custom?’

  ‘You would naturally wish to kiss your bed-fellow,’ Aimeé replied. ‘Therefore, she must dispense with her veil. Of course, when a couple are married, no such problem arises. But Turkish females are very different from Europeans. As I have learned from many Turkish ladies of my acquaintance when, as sometimes happens, they are left for a while alone with an attractive friend of their husband’s; they will permit many liberties, but should the man lift their veil, they would take it as a deadly insult. That is why, should you wish me to send Fatima to you, I require your word of honour that you will have the shutters of the windows of your room closed, the curtains drawn, and in no circumstances endeavour to look upon her unveiled face.’

  Roger was in a quandary. Face to face with Aimée as he was, Fatima meant nothing to him. Yet she was a pretty girl, with a lovely figure, and it was a considerable time since he had slept with a woman. It then occurred to him that, in any case, it would be churlish to refuse this obviously kindly-intended offer; so he bowed and said:

  ‘Madame, I am deeply grateful to you for your thought for me as a man who for a considerable time past has not enjoyed nature’s blessings. If Fatima is willing, I shall be delighted to receive her—and I feel confident I can promise to give her an enjoyable night.’

  Aimée smiled. ‘I am sure you will, mon cher Chevalier. I will not bid you good-bye now, but in the morning before I am taken away to my new prison.’

  Having kissed her hand, Roger withdrew; still wondering at the breadth of this extraordinary woman’s mind—that in the midst of her own troubles she should have thought about providing pleasure for a friend who had stood by her when she was in danger. Then he recalled the dream in which his beloved Georgina had appeared to him. This must be the invitation that she had urged him to accept. And he had nearly refused it, because the radiance of Aimée had made him so indifferent to Fatima’s attractions. With a smile he thought, ‘I’ve never yet questioned Georgina’s advice. And, after all, Fatima is a graduate of that famous “School of Love”. Maybe she can teach me something, though I doubt it. Anyhow, a night with a girl will make me feel a real man again.’

  Going to his room he slowly undressed, closed the shutters, drew the curtains, then got into bed. For a while he laboured a little to read two of the stories in a Turkish edition of the Thousand and One Nights. Rolling up the scroll, he blew out the bedside lamp.

  The room was now in Stygian blackness. He could not see his hand before his face. Patiently he lay there for what seemed a very long time. At last he heard the door open, but not even a ray of light came in, as the lamps in the corridor had been put out.

  The door closed. His heart began to hammer with anticipation. He caught the swish of a silk garment as it slid from his visitor’s shoulders to the floor. Next moment she had pulled back the bed-clothes, and wriggled in beside him.

  He drew her to him, and ran his hand lightly over her hair. It was not crinkly as he remembered, but very fine and silky. Leaning over, he kissed her on the mouth. It was not full-lipped, but very soft, and she moved it gently, touching his tongue with hers. As their kiss ended, she gave a low laugh and said:

  ‘I’ve cheated you, haven’t I? You’ve got an old woman who has fallen in love with a wonderful man.’

  He had known it a moment before. It was not Fatima that he held naked in his arms, but the Veiled Crown of Turkey, who was yet to change the destiny of a great nation: the remarkable woman whom the Grand Turk had chosen to honour above all others in his vast Empire—Naksh the Beautiful.

  11

  The Road to Isfahan

  On June 7th General Gardane’s mission, and Roger with it, left Constantinople. The intelligence sources serving the French Embassy were good. Within a few days of the coup d’état, the General had learned that the new Sultan, Mustapha IV, and his mother, as a natural corollary of their opposition to Aimée who led the pro-French party, had long been in secret communication with the British and the Russians. Therefore, there was now not the least chance of Gardane’s mission succeeding in Turkey.

  He had, therefore, decided to take his whole party on as soon as possible to Persia. By the land route, its capital, Isfahan, was some fifteen hundred miles from Constantinople; but a good part of the journey could be done by sea, and in a vessel there was no necessity for horses to be rested while their tired riders slept in a camp or inn. Ships proceeded on their way day and night. So, although the distance to Antioch by sea was a
thousand miles, and they would then still have to travel another thousand miles overland, Gardane felt that, during the summer weather, unless the winds proved unusually contrary for that season, they would save several days and themselves much exertion if they went as far as they could by ship.

  For the purpose he chartered a brigantine with a hold large enough to stable their horses, and confined—but by the standard of the times, adequate—quarters for the personnel.

  When in mid-morning, with the sun blazing down out of a brassy blue sky, they set sail and rounded Seraglio Point into the Sea of Marmora, Roger, leaning over the stern rail, looked back at the terraced gardens and innumerable kiosks that made up the Topkapi Palace.

  For the past week he had thought of little else than Aimée. He was reassured that, apart from some quite unforeseeable happening, no harm would befall her. She had been relieved of her many duties and responsibilities, her beloved son and her dear friend, the deposed Sultan Selim, were with her and as safe from danger as she was. She would have their company, her books, embroidery and garden; but it seemed tragic that such a woman should be condemned to live the life of a nun.

  Among the first words she had said to him on that night they had slept together were, ‘I’m an old woman.’ By Eastern standards, at forty-three, she was; but in fact she was old neither in spirit nor body. She was that rarest of beings, a beautiful European who had been taught by Oriental experts the ways in which to arouse a man’s virility again and again, and to give herself each time with delirious enjoyment. Since her husband’s death, conditions in the harem had made it impossible for her to take a lover, even if she had desired one of the few men who were occasionally permitted to visit her in her apartments. Now, she was fated to resume that life of chastity for good, and to remain a prisoner until she died.

  That, at least, was what Roger feared would be her fate, although her unshakeable belief that her son, Prince Mahmoud, would one day rule gloriously did give a ray of hope that unforeseeable circumstances might yet restore her to the position of Sultan Validé.

  Before leaving Constantinople, Roger had carried out his orders by writing a long despatch for Napoleon’s private eye. In it he praised Gardane for having done everything possible to carry out the Emperor’s wishes. Then he gave an account of how he, personally, had penetrated the Seraglio and gained the friendship of the Sultan Validé by representing himself to be an envoy sent by the Empress Josephine. He implied that the mission would have succeeded in its object had Aimée had her way; but the revolt of the Janissaries had brought to naught all hope of Turkey’s sending additional forces against the Russians.

  Having completed his report he sent Achmet out to find a sea-captain or merchant of good standing, who would shortly be sailing to Italy. After Achmet had produced three men who would be setting out from Constantinople within the next ten days, Roger settled on the third—a Venetian who was taking a cargo of coffee to Venice. To him he gave fifty gold pieces and the despatch, with the assurance that he would be well rewarded on delivering it safely. His missive was addressed to His Imperial Highness, Prince Eugene de Beauharnais, Viceroy of Italy, the Royal Palace, Milan. Inside the cover he put a note that read:

  From Your Highness’ old friend who had the pleasure of presenting you with your first pair of pistols. That, he knew, would identify the sender to Eugene, whom he had first met as a boy of fifteen.

  In the outer cover was an inner one, enclosing the despatch, inscribed, Urgent! To be forwarded by fast courier to Marshal Berthier, Prince de Neufchatel and he had little doubt that, provided the Venetian merchant was not shipwrecked, or Beauharnais’ courier came to grief, his report would reach Napoleon with the minimum of delay.

  The Emperor was not going to be pleased with the information it conveyed, but at least Gardane would be excused his failure and Roger maintain his reputation as active and resourceful in the Emperor’s interests.

  Sailing on, the brigantine passed through the Dardanelles, then clove Homer’s ‘wine-dark seas’ that creamed on the shores of the Aegean islands. They called at Rhodes to take on fresh provisions and, while they were being loaded, visited and marvelled at the Crusaders’ vast castle. It was a city in itself, enclosed in three miles of wall, which were in some places a hundred feet in height, and so broad that three coaches abreast could have been driven along its top.

  The wind held fair and on June 21st they landed at Selucca Peria, the port of Antioch. In the ancient Syrian city—the first Bishopric of the Christian world, but for many centuries past under either Arab or Turkish rule—they spent two nights, while Gardane’s Quartermaster made preparations for their onward journey.

  They were to take the famous Silk Road, which began there and ended four thousand miles away at the city of Chang-an in China. From time immemorial it had been the tenuous link between East and West. Merchandise had certainly passed along it for over two thousand years. Cleopatra had worn silk, and for several centuries, from her day onward, the traffic had been considerable. This was due to the whole of central Asia being under the domination of four mighty, stable Empires: that of Rome in the West; adjoining it Parthia—of which Persia then formed only a small part; beyond Parthia another vast territory ruled by the Great Kushan; and finally China, under the Han dynasty.

  Silk was then China’s wealth. The Emperors paid for their requirements with it and rich Mandarins stored rolls of it away, just as nobles and bankers in the Roman world kept their capital in bars of gold. It was also her monopoly. Its manufacture was the most jealously-guarded of all secrets, and the Chinese succeeded in keeping it for over a thousand years. Even when it did leak out, no other people succeeded in making silk of comparable quality. In Europe it was greatly prized, and Aurelian, writing in the third century A.D., tells us that in Rome the price of one pound of silk was twelve ounces of gold.

  Even so, by then there had developed a considerable commerce between East and West. China continued to send only silk, but in exchange for it received wool, myrrh, horses and Roman glass. China, too, made no attempt to enlighten the outer world with regard to the wonderful civilisation she had developed. She remained a mysterious legend, her territories only vaguely indicated on the maps. On the other hand, to her there came considerable knowledge of the peoples beyond her frontiers. Manichean, Zoroastrian and, later, Christian missionaries made their way there, and were listened to with respect. Above all, the yellow-robed priests from India and Ceylon spread their faith so successfully that Buddhism became the religion of the greater part of the Chinese people.

  With the decline and break-up of the mighty Empires, the traffic all but ceased; as the caravans had not only to face the difficulties and hardships of crossing vast deserts and ranges of great mountains, suffer gruelling heat and bitter cold, but they became a prey to bands of fierce Huns, Tartars and Tibetans. Yet great profits were the spur that continued to induce men to risk their lives and, even allowing for the heavy tolls exerted by each city through which they passed, every caravan that reached the Mediterranean made a fortune for its master.

  It was estimated that goods took some two hundred and forty days to travel the four thousand miles between the Jade Gate of Chang-an and Antioch; but no caravan made the whole journey. At points along the route, merchants met others, bargained and sold their cargoes, to be sent on by other caravans. It was for this reason that very few Western traders had ever entered China, and that, even in the thirteenth century, when Marco Polo returned from his amazing journey, few people would believe him when he told them of the marvels of the East.

  Conscious of the urgency of his mission, Gardane decided not to wait and accompany the next caravan, which would not be leaving Antioch for a week or more, but to set out at once with only his A.D.C., Roger and the few senior officers who had stayed at the Embassy in Constantinople. Of these, only the Colonel of Engineers, Couthon, was to be left behind in command of the junior officers and orderlies who would form part of the caravan and escort the sever
al score of camels needed to transport the heavier baggage of the mission, the presents for the Shah and the considerable consignment of arms destined for Persia.

  By far the worst part of the journey from Antioch was the last two-thirds; for, after leaving Samarkand, caravans had to cross the Pamir Mountains, then the terrible deserts of Takla and Sinkiang. So, although to reach Isfahan was one-fourth of it, Gardane reckoned that instead of sixty days his party should arrive in the Persian capital in under forty. Moreover, they would be travelling light, with only lead horses to carry their necessities and a supply of provisions against emergencies.

  On June 23rd they set out. The first stage was across the Syrian desert. The midday heat was unbearable, so they travelled only from early morning until about eleven o’clock, and from the late afternoon until nightfall, between times pitching camp. Their Arab guides knew the route well, so arranged their stages in a way which enabled them to make their halts in a series of oases, where there was water and fruit to be had and shade under palm trees.

  Late on the third night, they entered Palmyra. The moon being up, they were able to see the splendid Greco-Roman ruins which were all that remained of Queen Zenobia’s once-splendid capital.

  As ruler of the last city on the Silk Road before the caravans arrived at Antioch and the first before they moved on eastward, she had become fabulously wealthy from the tolls she imposed on the merchants trading between the Mediterranean and Parthia. Being an ambitious woman, she had used much of the money to create a quite formidable army, with the object of making her large oasis the capital of a powerful nation. Resenting this, in A.D. 273 the Romans had sent their legions against her, destroyed her city and taken her to Rome where, walking in golden chains, she had provided the principal spectacle in a Roman triumph.