Evil in a Mask rb-9

by Dennis Wheatley

  The Negro was richly dressed in an ermine pelisse, jewelled ear-rings dangled from the lobes of his cars 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 Sevres porcelain, while on the walls hung charming paintings by Bouchard Fragonard and Vige 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-point, 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 Armee, 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 Zanthe 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 Zanthe 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 Valide 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 Aimee 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. Aimee 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. Aimee 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. Zanthe 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 Zanthe into my bed in Cairo, I had good cause to fear that you meant to exact vengeance on me.'

  Aimee 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,' Aimee 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 cousin has sent me.'

  Kneeling down, Roger produced the gold candlesticks* and, with little cries of pleasure, Aimee 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

  *The two candlesticks may be seen today by visitors to the Topkapi Palace, Istanbul.

  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.'

  Aimee’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 Auerstadt, 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, Aimee 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 b
e 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 Serbia 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 Aimee 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-Zade. 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.'