“ ‘If only you were my son,’ he whispered, in my ear. ‘You would have far more than a palace.’
“Then he raised his hand, a sign that he spoke publicly and the Royal Scribes sharpened their quills and took down his words.
“ ‘I speak as your Sultan—this Princess is the rose of the Ottoman Empire and whoever follows me shall show her the same favor as I do or suffer my curse from the grave.’
“My cousin Selim dropped his head at the words, as if the Prophet himself had spoken, and my half brother Mahmud locked eyes with me, with a fit of trembling. He was only a very young boy and my father’s thundering decree had frightened him, especially as he had always been afraid of djinns and efrits.
“My father set me down to play with the other children, gesturing to my mother that he was finished with the audience. He showered the children with gold coins, thrown carelessly to the floor. We ran about snatching the coins and colliding with the knees of the stately adults, which made us silly with mirth. I caught Sophie’s hand and we ran and hid in the trees, giggling and dropping nuts onto the eunuchs’ turbans.
“Even though now I had my own palace, my mother and I spent little time there. I preferred living at Topkapi, in my Royal Apartments. My mother, though proud of my new home on the Bosphorus, loathed time away from the Sultan and the Serail. I suspect she thought her absence from the Serail as being not unlike banishment to the Palace of Tears with the harem women no longer in favor.
“For Sophie and me, the Topkapi was our own special world. I was the Sultan’s pet and Sophie was mine. Together we would race through the corridors and courtyards—sometimes escaping the endless surveillance of the servants. We would explore every corner, finding hidden passageways, some so dusty that we knew no one had ventured there for years. We found our way to places we knew we should not be—and we held our breath in fear of discovery and the unpleasant consequences that would be certain to follow. These were special times—just for Sophie and me.
“We loved to play in our ‘throne room,’ a tiny clear space deep at the heart of a huge bush that grew in the gardens of our courtyard. We had discovered it during a game of hide and seek and we went there often to be alone with each other.
“In the loam we uncovered miraculous glowworms in the deep earth. The glowworms pulsed blue light, and if you squeezed them, the luminous liquid would color your hand with magical light that glowed in the dark. We would scare the old kadins and eunuchs, waving our hands in the darkness of the Serail corridors, making the old Valide scream witlessly of peri spirits haunting Topkapi.
“We would smother our mouths with the harem cushions, to keep from laughing aloud and being discovered.
“One day we were there, digging for buried Byzantine treasure with golden spoons we had pilfered from our dinner trays. A eunuch had been beaten for their disappearance—no one would dare accuse the Sultan’s favorite daughter. But the golden spoons bent and warped. They were useless for digging.
“Sophie began scrabbling at the earth like a dog, until her fingers hit an old rotted plank. Together, we dug with our hennaed hands, packing black earth under our fingernails, until we had uncovered a trapdoor and pulled it open.
“The hole beneath was deep and dark and the ladder leading down looked ready to collapse. It took several days before we were ready to descend, every night saving candle stubs to use to illuminate the dark tunnel when we finally set out on our adventure.
“ ‘Let me go first!’ squealed Sophie, lowering her foot gingerly onto the top rung of the rotted wooden ladder.
“ ‘No!’ I insisted. ‘I am the Ottoman. I will lead the way.’
“I pulled her up by the starched collar of her blouse—she was light as a hummingbird. She cursed me in a peasant tongue as she lay sprawled in the tangle of underbrush.
“ ‘Stop your barbaric babble!,’ I commanded. ‘You’ll have the Solaks here in seconds!’
“This was the only way to quiet her. She knew my threats were harmless, but the idea of the guards seizing her made her plunge her dirty fingers in her mouth in fear.
“I closed my eyes in the darkness as I descended the ladder, not daring to light my candle until my foot felt the damp earth at the bottom. Rats scuttled away from the light, baring their yellow teeth from the edges of the rotting timbers that lined the corridor. Sophie was right behind me, her eyes wide and wary, though I could see not a trace of fear. Again and again, she pressed against me trying to squeeze ahead.
“Eventually, the passage angled upward and narrowed. The walls that now pressed close against us were no longer dirt. They were smooth stones. At last, I spied a tiny point of light ahead of us in the darkness.
“I hurried forward, with Sophie close behind. The passageway ended at a blank wall. The point of light was a hole, barely the size of my finger. I pressed my eye to the hole and found myself looking down into my father’s bed chamber.
“I was struck with horror at the sight before me: my father, naked, crouched on all fours over a raven-haired beauty from our harem, the seductive, empty-headed Aygul.
“My father’s pale skin sagged at his abdomen and the folds of his buttocks were like the wrinkles of the elephant in our Topkapi zoo. The Head Eunuch stood over him with a golden platter and linen towel.
“ ‘May I attend you now, O Sultan?’ whispered the eunuch.
“My father rocked back, his buttocks sitting on his spindly legs, his organ slipping out withered and spent from between Aygul’s thighs.
“A few drops of thick liquid dripped from his penis onto the golden plate, which the eunuch had quickly extended. The eunuch motioned and a page appeared with a bowl of water, rose petals floating delicately against the glass.
“My father grunted as the eunuch dipped his sponge into the water and gently cleansed my father’s body.
“Aygul raised her hips in an arc, desperately trying to conserve my father’s seed so as to conceive an Ottoman prince.
“I forced myself away from the hole in the wall, desperate not to have seen the sight that was seared in my mind’s eye.
“ ‘What did you see?’ Sophie whispered.
“ ‘Nothing that you need to view,’ I answered. ‘Do not question me again about it, or I shall have you beaten.’
“Silently we made our way back to the gardens adjacent to the Serail, hearing Emerald call us to prayer.”
“Now listen carefully, janissary, for I am telling you secrets of the harem that no man should know. The baths of the Serail were a place for congregation and gossip. The women spent hour upon hour in the hamam, relaxing in the steamy rooms or cooling in the tepidarium. They brought their favorite servants to comb their hair and massage their bodies with scented oils. There were hampers of delicacies to snack on and pets to amuse us during the long, idle hours.
“But it was not all pleasure in the hamam. The Valide herself made sure that we obeyed the holy word of the Koran and tradition in our ablutions. Our attendants scrupulously removed all body hair on a weekly basis. The Valide’s cane would poke at a concubine to have her lift an arm or expose her private parts to assure there was not a strand of hair that had gone unplucked.
“As I attended the depilatory rooms, I wished that Sophie could join me. But young as she was, she had not the slightest sign of puberty. She was growing taller, but her body remained that of a child. As the Sultan had ordered, her thin hips were learning to swivel and dance to Persian and Ottoman songs of love, but the women laughed to see a slight child imitate the moves of a woman.
“When I returned from the baths, Sophie begged me to let her stroke my clear skin, pink and hairless.
“ ‘Your skin is as soft as a newborn,’ she marveled. ‘I, too, shall attend the hamam and have my hairs removed and be like my sister Esma.’
“I laughed and pinched her cheek. ‘You are still a child, Sophie! You won’t be a woman for years to come! Isn’t that right, Mother?’
“I turned to engage m
y mother in this joke, but she furrowed her brows and turned away from me, focusing on her embroidery. The distraction caused her to prick herself with the sharp needle and she pressed a large red teardrop of blood from her middle finger, staining the white linen.
“It was about this time that I began to learn the secrets of the Serail. As a child I was blind to the intrigue and gossip, preferring to run wild in the gardens and climb the plane trees in the courtyards. But as I grew older, my mother felt it was time I understood politics and she slowly revealed the world of the harem to me, day by day.
“I had not realized the serious purpose of the call from the Head Eunuch that the Royal Sultan was approaching. I knew as a toddler that my mother would scoop me up when she heard that call and hurry to our apartments where we were confined until the Sultan had left the Serail. I had imagined that he inspected the quarters, making sure that all was safe and comfortable for his harem.
“Now I learned that these visits were to see his concubines or wives in their quarters.
“ ‘What does my father do there?’ I asked. ‘Might we go and visit?’
“My mother smiled wryly. ‘These audiences are quite private, my child. Your father would be furious if you were to appear. A woman, even a royal princess, only sees the Sultan upon his request.’
“I also learned that the eunuchs were not as chaste as the Sultan would have wished. I once watched a fat concubine being pressed against a column in the hamam by a eunuch. They were in the shadows of the cooling room and were not aware they were being observed.
“I studied the anatomy of the eunuch very carefully. I had examined the tiny male parts of my little cousins, fascinated. They were so minute and harmless. Nothing like the wrinkled penis of my father that I had spied on that day with Sophie.
“The Ethiopian eunuch, though, had an enormous penis, the scars of his castration were a milky pink against his skin. Still his organ was erect and he pushed it again and again between the concubine’s thighs.
“The eunuch appeared to enjoy himself and the concubine whispered words of encouragement and joy. Together they rubbed their moist bodies against one another until a rivulet ran down the woman’s thighs.
“I sought out my mother to discuss this. Her hand flew to her mouth and she laughed.
“ ‘I have heard of this eunuch,’ she said. ‘They say that despite his castration he can make love like a bull. You are certain of what you saw?’
“ ‘Of course,’ I answered, irritated that she would question my veracity. For me, so young and innocent, my observations were scientific and I considered myself a young scholar. Besides, though I could never confess to her, this was not my first, but second encounter with lovemaking.
“The next day the hamam was full of mirth and the fat concubine left the baths early, blushing with embarrassment. Not a week later she was married off to an old Pasha and left the Serail for good, though I heard she made complaints about his sexual abilities in comparison with the eunuch’s and was soon divorced.
“Sophie begged me to tell her the story of the eunuch and the woman in detail. Her eyes widened as I told her about the length and width of the man’s penis and how he had shoved it over and over into the woman’s thighs.
“ ‘But why would she endure this?’ she said, making a face like an old wrinkled fig.
“ ‘She appeared pleased,’ I said, reflecting. ‘She even encouraged him.’
“ ‘It cannot be!’
“ ‘Sophie!’
“She raced away and climbed one of the highest plane trees in the interior courtyard, into branches so thin that even I was afraid to follow. I paced around it, looking up at her.
“ ‘Come down, Sophie!’
“ ‘Not until you admit you are a liar.’
“ ‘I am not a liar,’ I shouted up to her through the leaves. ‘I am an Ottoman princess and sworn to truth and the code according to the Koran.’
“ ‘It is only the Muslims who would behave in such a disgusting manner,’ she said. She looked out over the Bosphorus and then turned her head north towards her homeland. ‘I know that our men would never behave in this way. I have seen my brother naked and never did his penis grow. All Ottomans are beasts, savage and filthy.’
“I realized that we could be overheard easily and hissed up at her. ‘I command you as your Princess Esma Sultan to descend from this tree immediately. If you do not, I will call one of the Solaks to fetch you. He will handle you roughly, that I can promise.’
“Sophie’s eyes widened at this threat. Except in games, I had never threatened her, but she was well aware I was the Sultan’s favorite child. The thought of a man touching her horrified her and she began to shake, making the leaves around her tremble.
“She slowly descended, branch by branch, until she lowered herself onto the cobblestones of the courtyard. Her eyes looked at her bare feet, for she had removed her slippers to climb the tree.
“ ‘And here are your slippers, you silly girl!’ I said, throwing them at her. ‘It is you infidels who are ignorant fools!’ One of the red silk slippers caught her in the cheek, and her hand flew to her face.
“Her eyes flooded with tears and I rushed to embrace her. ‘Do not cry, little sister,’ I said, my hand stroking her blond hair. ‘I did not mean to hurt you.’
“ ‘It is not the slippers that sting,’ said Sophie. ‘It is the beastliness of men and the helplessness of women.’
“I considered this, looking at the wall around the Serail and envying her the view she had just enjoyed of the Bosphorus beyond it.
“ ‘I know!’ I said, and pushed her from my arms so that I could see her flushed face and swollen eyes. ‘I know what I will do! I will ask my father to release you from the Serail and you shall come with me to live in my new palace!’
“ ‘What?’ said Sophie, rubbing her eyes.
“ ‘You and I will live in the palace and we shall have no men to encumber us. We shall choose companions to visit us and I shall have my own Serail.’
“ ‘Women do not have Serails. They are a man’s domain, even I know this. Do not tease me.’
“ ‘Listen to me, Sophie. I shall have my own harem and women will live a life of joy within my palace walls. I have studied the Koran and there is nothing that forbids a woman from having a Serail, I am quite sure of it. I shall speak to my father on Friday, before we attend the noon prayers.
“ ‘It shall be wonderful! I will have my own harem and the finest library in all of my father’s Empire. I shall fill the palace with terrariums, aquariums, telescopes, and books. It shall be a refuge for us women and a place of knowledge and study. The only men we have will be there to serve us!’
“ ‘And horses?’ ”
“ ‘I shall have my own stable that will exceed any in Constantinople.’ ”
There was the faintest edge of light in the sky outside the windows of the palace. Esma Sultan took a breath and looked sharply at Postivich.
“You laugh at me, Kapikulu,” said the Princess. “You have the barbaric gall to mock an Ottoman Sultaness, you Serbian animal!”
“I have not laughed,” said Ivan Postivich. “I just cannot imagine an Ottoman princess as innocent as you say.”
“You are laughing inside—two ignorant girls, how could they not understand that men are the more powerful sex with their magnificent weapon, made holy in Allah’s eyes by their circumcision.”
The giant said nothing.
“That is the view of a man. You have forgotten that I was raised in a harem, where caresses and intimate touch were restricted to other women. Your hands have touched your own genitals so much, you glory in their wonder. Why should a Princess, the Sultan’s favorite daughter, elect to flee such an honor?”
Esma Sultan rang for Nazip to bring tobacco and opium. The slave girl mixed the tar-like black drug into the tobacco and packed the bowl. She inhaled first, as someone must test anything that would pass an Otto
man’s lips.
After a few moments, she passed the pipe to her mistress and another slave lit it.
Esma Sultan drew deeply on the pipe and closed her eyes.
“So did you succeed in rescuing the young Sophie from the horrors of men?” asked Postivich.
“After a fashion,” replied the Sultaness, her eyelids drooping. “Leave me, Biscuit. I think sleep will claim me after all.”
The huge man stiffened at hearing the hateful nickname from his first days at Topkapi.
“Come back tomorrow and I will tell you more of the story.”
Chapter 7
When Ivan Postivich left the Princess, it was still an hour before sunrise. He could hear the crickets sear the night with their passionate hum—a frenetic energy that was infectious even for those whom sleep had evaded.
He felt no need for his bed as yet. Instead, he walked the fragrant gardens of the palace.
He had thought he would have heard tales of horror by now—the depravities and sins of the Princess who sought to comfort herself in confession, feigning contrition. Instead her stories were almost innocent and allowed him a glimpse of a sensitive, spoiled child who was favored above all others by the Sultan Abdulhamid.
When would she tell him of the seduction and murder of her Christian lovers? What did the story of a servant girl, enslaved and educated in the Royal Serail have to do with her murderous deeds? Her tales seemed unrelated to the deaths of so many men.
As if an Ottoman princess could ever be innocent—or youthful innocence mattered now. He was tired of girlish tales, told by a murderess.
He wondered idly if there had been incestuous love between the ruling Mahmud II and his half sister Esma, even though Islamic law strictly forbade it. Perhaps it was simply the love of his father, Abdulhamid, for Esma Sultan that had persuaded Mahmud to adore her and indulge her every wish.
And if the Sultan Mahmud II had ever loved her erotically, Ivan wondered if he still did. The Princess was certainly older than any of his wives or the young boys he kept as lovers. Still, Postivich could sense something powerful and compelling that made Esma Sultan attractive, not simply as a woman, but as a ruler. He understood that Mahmud recognized that and was attracted by his sister’s regal bearing and her favored standing with their father.
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