‘Of course. But what of you?’ Sitt Hatun asked. ‘Does
Yilan
treat you well?’
‘I have seen nothing of her,’ Cicek replied, her voice tired. ‘She has placed me among the lowest
jariye
. I spend my days embroidering and doing laundry. I am not allowed to wait on Gülbehar.’ There were tears in Cicek’s eyes, and Sitt Hatun could tell that she was sparing her the worst. ‘I must go, My Lady.’
Sitt Hatun embraced Cicek, and they clung to one another. ‘Thank you, my friend,’ Sitt Hatun whispered. ‘Now go, and may Allah protect you.’
Cicek left, and seconds later a Polish girl no older than fifteen entered. She wore the same scarlet and gold robes that Sitt Hatun had seen on Gülbehar’s
odalisques
in the garden. This meant that she was a member of Gülbehar’s inner household. The girl was beautiful, in her own way. She was long and thin, as if she had been stretched. Her slender arms ended in graceful fingers. Her neck was elongated, and her blonde hair hung nearly to her waist. Her wide eyes were blue, innocent and afraid. She bowed low when she saw Sitt Hatun and did not rise.
‘Stand up, girl,’ Sitt Hatun ordered, but gently. ‘What is it that you have to tell me? Speak freely. You need fear no spies here.’
The girl remained silent, and Sitt Hatun feared she would not speak. But, then she opened her mouth, and the words gushed forth in a torrent. ‘Please protect me, My Lady,’ the girl began. ‘Cicek has told me so many good things about you. She said that I could trust you. Still, I would not ask your protection, but I know that you hate Gülbehar. She would kill me if she knew I had come to you, but I will die anyway without your help. I
will tell you my secret, but first, promise to protect me.’
‘Protect you from what? From Gülbehar?’ The girl nodded vigorously. ‘And why should Gülbehar wish you any harm?’ The servant girl blushed and lowered her eyes. ‘Have you stolen from her?’
‘Of course not, My Lady,’ the girl protested. ‘She is jealous of me.’
‘Jealous? I see.’ Sitt Hatun was not surprised to hear it. She had experienced Gülbehar’s jealousy first hand. But if she was jealous, then it could only mean that this girl had come between Gülbehar and a lover. Who? Surely not Mehmed, far away in Manisa. Sitt Hatun suspected that she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from the girl. ‘Do not fear,’ Sitt Hatun told her. ‘I will protect you. Now, tell me why Gülbehar would be jealous of an
odalisque
?’
‘Because I am
gözde
,’ the girl replied, blushing. To be
gözde
meant literally to be ‘in the eye’ of the sultan. It meant that Murad had taken note of the girl, and perhaps even ordered his
haznedar
to schedule a night with her.
‘And how did you, a servant of Gülbehar, come to be
gözde
?’
‘Murad visits Gülbehar’s apartments to be with her,’ the girl said, her cheeks burning and her eyes fixed on the floor. ‘Gülbehar makes us wear masks so that we will not catch Murad’s eye, but he took note of me nonetheless. It was not my fault. I did nothing, and yet a friend has told me that the
haznedar
has placed my name on the calendar of royal nights. Gülbehar is a jealous woman. If I lie with the sultan, she will have me killed. My friend tells me that I am scheduled for next week.’
‘And what would you have me do?’ Sitt Hatun asked. ‘I have no power with the
haznedar
. Once a name is written, it is beyond my power to change it.’
‘Take me into your household,’ the girl said. ‘I was there in the garden when Gülbehar took Cicek from you. She offered you a servant to replace Cicek. Ask for me. She cannot refuse you.’
Sitt Hatun was inclined to grant the girl’s request. It was the least she could do in return for the information the girl had given
her. When Sitt Hatun told Mehmed that his beloved Gülbehar was unfaithful – and with his father no less! – then Mehmed would surely reward her. Perhaps he would even lie with her. But then again, this girl could be lying. She could be a spy sent by Gülbehar. Even if she did speak the truth, Sitt Hatun would need more than this girl’s word if she were to accuse Gülbehar.
‘I will take you into my household, but first I need proof of what you say,’ Sitt Hatun told her.
The girl produced a golden chain, from which dangled a huge ruby that flashed a brilliant red, like the final blaze of the setting sun. There was no mistaking the gem. It was the
kumru kalp
, the dove’s heart, and Sitt Hatun had never seen Murad without it. ‘Murad gave it to Gülbehar. I took it from her quarters. Do you believe me now?’ the girl asked.
‘I believe you, girl, but I need to see this with my own eyes. When will the sultan next visit Gülbehar?’
‘Tonight.’
‘Then tonight you will show me.’
‘But that is impossible,’ the girl stammered. ‘I could never sneak you into Gülbehar’s apartments. Certainly not while Murad was there.’
‘If you cannot bring me with you, then there is only one solution,’ Sitt Hatun said. ‘What is your name, girl?’
‘Anna, My Lady.’
‘Anna, take off your clothes.’
Dressed in Anna’s clothes, Sitt Hatun hurried through the palace and slipped inside Gülbehar’s apartments. Although she wore the mask that Anna had given her, Sitt Hatun did not want to take any chances. Her disguise might fool the casual observer, but her clothes – clearly too long in the arms and legs – would not stand up to close scrutiny. She dreaded what would happen if she were found out. It would be easy enough for Gülbehar to have her murdered and then claim ignorance. When a woman left her place within the harem, she had very few protections indeed.
Sitt Hatun entered her old apartments, now Gülbehar’s, and took the servants’ passage that left the entrance room and skirted a reception room covered in pillows and filled with the smoke of a
hookah
. She came out of the passage into the interior garden, bathed in golden light that shone through the open roof. Moving quickly to the far corner of the room, she slipped behind a potted palm and gently pressed one of the cool tiles on the wall, triggering a hidden door. Sitt Hatun slipped through and into another servants’ passageway, this one leading past Gülbehar’s bedroom and to the apartment’s private kitchen.
The passage was dark, save for the pinpricks of light that shone through the wall from small spyholes. They were there so that servants could watch their mistress and respond instantly to her every whim. No one stood at the peepholes now. No doubt Gülbehar kept this passageway empty during her meetings with Murad. Sitt Hatun put her eye to one of the holes and saw Gülbehar’s candlelit bedroom before her. Gülbehar had made many changes. The glory of the room still lay in the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows that ran along two sides, showing a spectacular view of the imperial palace stretching away to the river. But the windows were half-hidden now behind screens of woven gold. The rest of the walls were covered with silk tapestries, shimmering with gold and silver thread. The tile floor was now covered with deep rugs. Altogether, the décor gave the impression of a richly decorated tent, an impression that was contradicted only by the enormous bed that dominated the centre of the room. The bed, hung with yellow silk curtains, was easily ten feet wide. And there, nude on the bed, were Gülbehar and Murad.
Gülbehar lay on her back, her head hanging over the edge of the bed so that Sitt Hatun could see her face, contorted in ecstasy. Gülbehar’s long legs were wrapped around the waist of Murad, who lay atop her, grunting as he thrust. Gülbehar cried out in Albanian as he moved faster and faster. Finally, Murad moaned with pleasure and collapsed. After a moment, he rolled off and stood. A long scar marked his right shoulder, and there were
several more on his thin legs. His sunken chest and large belly were covered with fine grey hair. Gülbehar remained on the bed, naked and covered in sweat, while he began to dress.
‘Must you go so soon?’ Gülbehar pouted.
‘Ibrahim Bey is making trouble again in Karamania. I must write to the loyal beys there,’ he told her. ‘I spend too much time in your quarters as it is. Even loyal tongues will wag if the price is right. Mehmed is a rash young man. He must not know about us.’
Gülbehar rose and helped Murad to tie the sash around his caftan. ‘Mehmed is nothing,’ she purred. ‘You are the sultan, and you have another heir now – my son.’
The sound of approaching footsteps drew Sitt Hatun’s attention from the room. She looked away from the spyhole and saw a light approaching down the passageway from the kitchen. She quickly retreated in the other direction, out into the garden. There was no place to hide, so she passed through it and into the reception room, where she came face to face with Murad. Immediately, Sitt Hatun bowed low, keeping her face to the floor. She backed away, but Murad gestured for her to stop.
‘Stand up straight, girl,’ he commanded. Sitt Hatun did as she was told. She could see a gleam in Murad’s eyes. Was that recognition or simply desire? ‘I haven’t seen you here before,’ Murad continued after looking Sitt Hatun up and down. ‘Are you new to Gülbehar’s court?’
Sitt Hatun nodded and mumbled in a
basso profundo
that she hoped adequately disguised her voice, ‘I must attend to her, My Lord.’ She moved to go, but Murad took her arm, holding her back.
‘You certainly are in a hurry,’ Murad laughed. ‘You should not be so eager to escape the honour of the sultan’s gaze.’ He turned Sitt Hatun toward him, stroking her arm. ‘Take your mask off, girl. Let me see your face.’
Sitt Hatun froze, her mind seeking desperately for some means of escape. She could call out, but what would be the use? She
could not run, Murad was holding her arm. And now, he was touching her hair. His hand was playing with the knot that held her mask, slowly loosening it. A few seconds now and she would be revealed. Sitt Hatun closed her eyes, her breath caught in her throat.
‘Murad!’ It was Gülbehar, still nude and standing in the doorway to the reception room, her hands on her hips. Stepping past Sitt Hatun, she pressed herself against the sultan and purred into his ear: ‘Leave my servant alone.’ Murad released Sitt Hatun, and Gülbehar kissed him voraciously. Sitt Hatun slipped towards the exit.
‘Stop!’ Gülbehar snapped, and Sitt Hatun froze. Gülbehar’s eyes narrowed as she examined Sitt Hatun. ‘What is your name, girl?’
What could she say? She could not claim to be Anna. The deception would be too obvious. Only one other name came to her. ‘Cicek, My Lady,’ she said and bowed low, hiding her face.
‘Be gone, girl,’ Gülbehar ordered. ‘There’s work for you in the kitchen.’ She paused, and then added: ‘And take off those clothes. You are not an
odalisque
in my court!’
Sitt Hatun hurried to the harem kitchens. From there, she took a servant’s passage that led to her own apartments. She collapsed on her bed, shaking as the fear that she had held inside spread throughout her body. After only a moment, though, she steeled herself, forcing herself to lie still. The danger had passed, and now was no time for weakness. What the girl Anna had told her was true. Gülbehar and Murad were lovers. Soon enough, she vowed, it would be Gülbehar who would have reason to fear.
Sitt Hatun spent the next day dreaming of her revenge: how she would tell Mehmed; what Mehmed would do to Gülbehar; how she, Sitt Hatun, would mock her fallen rival. She dreamed, but she did not plan, not yet. After all, there was no hurry. She could not tell Mehmed until he returned from Manisa; there was no messenger that she would trust. And she had decided not to tell Halil. She did not need the vizier and his plan now that she had
evidence of Gülbehar’s infidelity. Sitt Hatun could look after herself.
That evening she sent a note to Gülbehar requesting that Anna be sent to serve her, and content with Gülbehar’s reply that Anna would be sent over the next morning, Sitt Hatun lay down to sleep, looking forward to dreams of vengeance and glory. She awoke with a start at midnight to the sound of a long, terrified scream, cut suddenly short. It had been a woman’s voice, and it was strangely familiar. Hearing it, Sitt Hatun’s blood ran cold. She listened for a long time, but there was no further sound. Eventually she sank into a troubled sleep.
When she awoke the next morning the day was bright and fair, and the scream seemed distant and unreal – a nightmare better forgotten. Sitt Hatun allowed her
odalisques
to dress her, took a light breakfast of bread and olives, and then went down to the harem garden to read. She had hardly settled down when Anna arrived. From the moment that Sitt Hatun saw the girl’s face, she knew that something was wrong. Anna bowed low. ‘Gülbehar has sent me to serve you, My Lady. Do you find me to your liking?’
Sitt Hatun nodded. ‘You shall have a place in my household. Come, we shall retire to my apartment, and I will show you where you are to live.’ Once they reached Sitt Hatun’s apartments, she took Anna aside in her private chamber. ‘Tell me,’ Sitt Hatun commanded, whispering so as not to be overheard, ‘is something wrong?’
Anna nodded, her eyes downcast. ‘Your friend, Cicek, is dead.’
‘How? What happened?’
‘Gülbehar accused Cicek of spying and thieving. Last night, men came and took her. She screamed for help, but they cut out her tongue. They tied her in a bag and threw her in the river.’ Sitt Hatun could only nod her understanding as tears filled her eyes. Cicek had paid the price for her own foolishness. She dug her nails into her palms and clenched her jaw tight to prevent herself from sobbing.
‘There is more,’ Anna continued. ‘Gülbehar is furious over the disappearance of the
kumru kalp
. She suspects that Cicek gave it to you, and that you know about her and Murad. You are in grave danger, My Lady. I know Gülbehar. She will not rest until you are dead.’
Chapter 7
JANUARY 1450: GENOA
T
he sun had long since set on a cold January day when Longo arrived at the
palazzo
of Signor Grimaldi to attend the feast being held in honour of the ambassadors from Constantinople. At the gate he dismounted and handed his horse over to William. He watched as the boy hurried off to the stables, no doubt eager to gamble away his few coins with the other squires. William disappeared into the stables, and Longo entered the grand hall of the
palazzo
Grimaldi.