The Aviary Gate (14 page)

‘After everything you have taught me – please, no thanks,' Paul said.

‘Expensive things, books.' Carew said without rancour. ‘But Secretary Pindar is rich; I've heard it said that his years in Venice have made him richer even than our own ambassador.' He glanced at Paul, suddenly cheerful again. ‘He can afford it.'

‘It's a beautiful thing,' Jamal examined the book, stroking the leather binding with his fingers. He opened the book carefully and glanced at the title page. ‘In Latin, of course.'

‘I had it bound for you in London, I knew you would want the original,' Paul said. ‘The embassy has a scribe here, a Spanish Jew,' he added. ‘I've arranged for him to transcribe it for you.'

‘Mendoza? Yes, I know him,' Jamal nodded. ‘He'll do a good job. This Copernicus, his ideas are still very controversial in your country, I think?'

‘Our churchmen don't love him, that's for sure. He's been dead many years, of course, and its only now that his ideas are starting to gain support. A heliocentric view of the heavens, some call it,' Paul said. ‘And others call it plain heresy.'

‘You Europeans,' Jamal smiled, ‘so set in your ways.'

‘When I was a boy they told me the moon was made of blue cheese,' Carew put in cheerfully, ‘but I wouldn't go to the stake over it.'

‘In our tradition there is no such conflict,' Jamal was turning the pages of the book thoughtfully. ‘The Qu'ran simply says: “It is He who made the sun a shining radiance and the moon a light, determining phases for it so that you might know the number of years and how to calculate them; he explains his signs to those who understand.”' With his eyes closed, he repeated the suras. ‘“In the succession of night and day, and in what God created in the heavens and earth, there are truly signs for those who are aware of him.”' Jamal put the book down. ‘What it means is this: that the movements
of the stars and the planets must be studied seriously, in order to discover the true nature of the universe.'

‘That is not what the
ulema
said when they destroyed your observatory.'

‘Ah, that, yes. But that was a long time ago,' the astronomer sighed. ‘I believe that we do God's work.'

As if anxious to bring the conversation to a close, he rose to his feet. ‘Would you care to see my observatory? It is not much, but I have a new instrument, Paul, which I know would interest you.'

The astronomer led them through a curtain to the right of the room where they had been sitting and up a spiral staircase. At the top they found themselves in a small octagonal room. Windows opened out on all eight sides, covered by louvred shutters, each of which could be separately opened or closed at will.

‘You see, wherever the moon rises, I can find her,' Jamal explained. ‘The tower isn't very high, but it is surprising what a clear view you get from here, not just of the skies.'

Leaning on the window Paul could see the roofs of the Galata houses spread out before him: the shingles of their roofs, worn to a patina of soft grey, gleamed in the sunlight. The distant cry of a water-carrier came to him faintly, and in the muddy alleyway below he watched the robed forms of two women walking past, their faces veiled so that only their eyes were visible through a slit of cloth.

He turned back into the room, marvelling, as he did every time he came here, at its chaste beauty. Beneath each window was a simple whitewashed niche on which Jamal had arranged his instruments. Paul went over to them, picking each one up in turn.

‘This is an astrolabe.' He showed Carew a brass disc covered in an elaborate grid of lines and overlaid with several movable dials, each one minutely engraved with Arabic numerals.

Jamal took it from him. ‘Astronomers use this for many purposes,' he explained, ‘but principally it is an instrument for finding and interpreting information from the stars.' Dangling the disc between two fingers, he held it up to one eye. ‘You can find the time by the position of the stars; and the position of the stars from the time.'

Jamal picked up another instrument, a smaller brass tablet engraved with a similar web of lines and inscriptions. ‘This is what we call a quadrant. It's just like an astrolabe, but folded into quarters. We
use it to find the times for our daily prayers. See here,' he pointed to the Arabic inscriptions, ‘this one is made for the latitude of Cairo, this one for Damascus, this other for Granada, where my family once came from.'

He passed it to Carew, who took it and held it up between his fingers.

‘Now I know why Paul's been coming here. Instruments! You're as mad for them as he is. It's quite a collection you've got here.'

Carew picked up another device about the same size as the astrolabe and scrutinised the workmanship.

‘That one is an altitude sundial,' Jamal told him.

‘
Carolus Whitwell Sculpsit
,' Carew read out. ‘Well, well, I know Charlie Whitwell – the mapmaker, his shop's near St Clements. If I could have a penny for every pound Pindar has spent there I'd be a rich man.'

He examined the sundial again. The signs of the zodiac, separated by scrolls and flowers, were engraved around the edges.

‘You find them beautiful too, I can tell,' Jamal said. ‘And you are quite right, it was a love of instruments such as these that first brought Paul and I together. In fact, it was Paul who found many of them for me. Had them sent to me, mostly from Europe, but as your quick eyes have noticed, quite a few of them are from London, some of the best ones, in fact.'

‘It was Jamal who taught me how to use the compendium,' Paul said. ‘Especially the nocturnal; I always had trouble with that.'

‘And you can read the time by the stars now quite as well as any astronomer.' Jamal turned to Carew again. ‘These are the basic instruments that I work with. But here are some other things, look.'

He pointed to a little brass case containing a lodestone, a pair of globe dividers, a pair of bronze globes and a miniature armillary sphere.

‘I haven't seen one of these before,' Paul said. He picked up a circular brass box and showed it to Jamal.

‘Ah, yes, this is what I wanted to show you. This is a
qibla
indicator,' he turned to Carew to explain, ‘with this we can always discover the direction of Mecca. It includes a compass, and look,' he opened the box and showed them a list of inscriptions on the inside of the lid, ‘here is a list of places, together with the compass directions to Mecca.' He turned to Paul again. ‘A thing of beauty, is it not?'

Just then there was a sound of knocking on the outside door below. A few moments later the boy came in, and whispered something discreetly to his master.

‘Just a few moments, please gentlemen,' Jamal excused himself. ‘It seems I have another visitor, but this won't take long.'

When he was gone, Carew turned to Paul. ‘This is all very well, but when are you going to ask him?'

‘All in good time – you can't rush these things, you Barbary Ape.'

‘Well, all right, but I hope you know what you're doing.'

Carew picked up one of the brass astrolabes. Holding it up to one eye he positioned the alidade, squinting through the tiny aperture, as he had seen Jamal do. On a table were various parchments covered in grids of strange-looking figures and symbols, various sectors, rules and pens for drawing were scattered in amongst calligraphy brushes and pots of ink, some sheets of gold leaf, pots of finely ground minerals, red and blue and green.

‘A regular wizard, your friend Jamal.' Carew's quick gaze took it all in. ‘Are you sure it's just mathematics he teaches?' He picked up one of the pots and sniffed it. ‘You know, I still can't see why he should help us.' Putting the pot down he picked up a piece of parchment, a chart covered in figures, and held it this way and that, trying to make sense of it.

‘It's an ephemeris. Jamal calls them
zij
. Paul said. ‘They're tables by which astronomers predict the movement of the stars. And I'd put it down before you tear it.'

But Carew was in no mood to be deflected. ‘You haven't answered my question. Is he part of your intelligencing? Does he have a code number – like the Sultan, and the Grand Vizier – for Fog to put in his letters?'

‘Not exactly.' Paul gave Carew an appraising look. ‘It's as I've already told you, I've known Jamal since I first came to Constantinople. We had an arrangement: he taught me astronomy—'

‘and in return you helped him make a new collection of instruments.'

‘You're so sharp, Carew, you'll cut yourself one day.'

‘Oh come on, Paul. Charlie Whitwell's sundial? I was with you when you bought it, remember? And I know what it cost – more than an astronomy lesson, that's for sure.'

‘It was a fair exchange.
Quid pro quo
.'

‘Don't think you can fob me off with fancy Latin. Sounds like intelligencing to me.'

‘When you know Jamal better, you'll understand. Call it … a meeting of minds. If anything, I consider myself to be the gainer.'

‘If you say so, Secretary Pindar.' Carew picked up one of the astrolabes again, putting his finger through the ring at the top and testing its weight. ‘But these are expensive gifts.'

‘They weren't all gifts,' Paul said. ‘I gave him Whitwell's sundial, and one of the astrolabes. But the others he paid for himself.'

Carew looked around the simple room. ‘Then he really must be a wizard.'

‘Jamal?' Paul laughed. ‘I don't think so.'

Carew gave Paul a sharp look. ‘But he'll help us, all the same.'

At that moment both Jamal and his servant came back in. The astronomer was dressed for the street, wearing a travelling robe over his indoor clothes.

‘My friends,' he looked apologetically at them, ‘I'm afraid I have been called away. Something … unexpected.' He seemed tired suddenly. ‘But please, stay. Look at anything you like. My boy here,' he put his hand tenderly on the child's head, ‘my boy will take care of you.'

Just as he was about to go, Jamal turned back to them briefly. ‘You are quite well, Paul?'

‘Of course. Why do you ask?'

‘You seem … restless. But I see that I am wrong.' And with that he smiled, and was gone.

After Jamal had left the room there was a pause.

‘Well, don't say I didn't tell you so.'

‘Don't worry, he'll come back.'

Paul moved over to one of the latticed windows, where he stood, staring thoughtfully down over the rooftops. As he watched, in the alleyway below he caught sight of Jamal emerging from the house. With him was a woman, unveiled, but wearing the characteristic black robes of a Jewess.

‘Wait a moment, I'm sure I know that woman from somewhere.' Carew, who had come to stand next to him, had seen her too.

‘Yes, you do,' Paul said, ‘everyone knows her.'

‘The Malchi woman?'

‘Esperanza Malchi,' Paul drew back from the window slightly so that he would not be seen, ‘the Valide's
kira
, a sort of agent or messenger woman. Now there's someone with access to the Sultan's harem …' He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘She was with the Valide the day I went to present her with the Queen's gifts.'

‘What d'you think she wants with Jamal?'

Paul did not answer. He watched as the Jewess walked on ahead of Jamal, making her way with a strange undulating walk down the narrow street. She had the air, it occurred to him, of one who is accustomed to being followed. From his pocket he took out his compendium, weighing it nervously in his palm.

Behind him he heard Carew say, ‘And supposing Jamal does find out for you that an English woman – that Celia – is really there. What's your plan then, Pindar?'

‘If Celia is alive?' With a trembling hand Paul brought the compendium to his lips. ‘We get her out, of course.'

‘I had a feeling you might say that.' Carew watched Esperanza and Jamal as they disappeared from sight. ‘This,' he said with satisfaction, ‘is going to be more interesting than I thought.'

Hassan Aga awoke to the sound of voices.

‘Does he speak? What does he say?'

He knew at once that it was Safiye who spoke. What was she doing in this dark place? But before he could discover an answer, something happened to amaze Hassan Aga still further: a man's voice answered her. A man, inside the harem? It wasn't possible …

‘I can't … it is not clear.' He was aware of the second figure bending, as if listening, towards him. ‘A dream. Or a hallucination. Quite natural under the circumstances.'

‘He is still alive then.' Safiye again. ‘Can he hear us?'

‘It is very hard to say. It is his body that is paralysed. But his spirit …' The man placed the tips of his fingers softly beneath Hassan Aga's nostrils, feeling for his breath. ‘Yes,' he confirmed, ‘his spirit lives.'

‘Is there anything that can be done?'

The man hesitated. ‘I am not a physician—'

‘I know that,' she said impatiently. ‘I have brought you here because you have … other powers. We – I – want to know if he will live. I must know what his fate is to be.'

‘I cannot tell you that without preparing the charts, and that will take time. But perhaps—' there was a short pause, then the man said softly, ‘perhaps if I examined him?'

‘Do what is necessary, and without fear. Anything at all, you understand. You know you always have my blessing.'

Hassan Aga could hear the sound of a lamp being lit, and the light was brought close. There was a sharp intake of breath.

‘In the name of God, the merciful, the compassionate,' in his soft voice the man stammered out a
besmele
. ‘Who could do such a thing?'