The Aviary Gate (23 page)

‘You, you – and you.' She pointed peremptorily to the Serb and two of the older Albanians. ‘Come with me. One of you will pour the coffee, the other two will bring the basin and napkins for him to wash his hands. Then you will come and stand behind me, and wait for my instructions. Prepare yourselves, quickly now.' She clapped her hands. ‘And you –' swinging round suddenly, she let her sharp gaze fall upon Safiye, ‘you come with me.'

‘But shan't I dress first?'

‘No need.'

Safiye followed Esther to a small room which led off from the large first-storey reception room where Esther showed off her wares to visiting traders. It was separated from the main room by a screen, through which Safiye could see, but not be seen.

‘I want you to sit here. And when I tell you to, you will sing for me. But no matter what is said, you must not come out, you must not show yourself. Do you understand?'

‘Yes, Signora.'

Through the screen Safiye could see the trader reclining upon Esther's embroidered cushions. He was a wiry little man with a seafarer's weather-beaten face, but his cloak, Safiye noticed, was lined with the most sumptuous fur she had ever seen.

‘I hear that you may have something for me – something special,' the trader said.

‘Indeed I do.'

Esther raised her hand and signalled to the Serb girl to step forwards. She sang two songs, accompanying herself on a lute.

‘Very pretty,' the man remarked without enthusiasm when she had finished. ‘I congratulate you, Signora Esther. But are you sure you have nothing else?' His eyes roamed around the room, to the other two girls now standing demurely behind their mistress.

‘Well …' Esther seemed to hesitate. ‘As a matter of fact, since it is you, Yusuf Bey,' she said with exaggerated politeness, ‘there
is
something else that I think may interest you.'

She clicked her fingers and, as she had been bidden, Safiye began to sing. When she had finished there was a long silence.

The trader, when he spoke at last, was blunt. ‘May I see her?'

Esther Nasi smiled at him and took a sip of coffee, replacing the cup, so tiny she could have used it as a thimble, carefully on its saucer. On her wrists the golden bangles whispered softly. ‘No.'

The man was visibly taken aback. ‘Why ever not?'

‘Because she is not for sale.'

‘Not for sale?'

‘I have my reasons.'

‘She has some defect? A harelip, or a birthmark?'

‘A defect in one of my girls?' Esther smiled complacently, sinking her teeth into one of her favourite rose-petal-flavoured sweets. ‘You know me better than that, I think.'

‘She is too old then?'

‘Ha, ha!' Esther sucked the fine white sugar dust from her fingers. Her black Byzantine eyes flashed witheringly.

‘May I see her at least?'

‘No.'

And no matter what arguments he used, Esther refused to allow him to see Safiye, or even to hear her sing again, insisting that she was not for sale.

After that, whenever the traders came Esther followed the same strategy. She hid Safiye behind a screen so that she could be heard but not seen, and insisted that she was not for sale. As the mystery spread, so Safiye's fame grew. Rumours abounded: she was said to be a Venetian princess, the illegitimate daughter of the Pope, even Esther Nasi's own child.

Six months went by, and Yusuf Bey arrived for his summer visit. He found Esther Nasi fatter than ever, strands of grey peppering her once pure onyx locks.

‘So, Signora Esther
effendi
, are you ready to sell to me yet?'

Popping a honeyed pastry between her lips, Esther settled her huge bulk comfortably into the cushions of her divan. ‘No, not yet.'

The trader considered her for some moments in silence.

‘If I might be permitted an observation,' he said after a while, ‘you have so cleverly arranged things that any one of us will buy her from you, sight unseen, probably for more than ten times what you paid for her. In our business you are held in the highest possible esteem, Signora. But don't you think we might all get a little bored with this game?'

Selecting another pastry for herself, Esther seemed unperturbed. ‘Believe me, Yusuf Bey, I know what I am doing.' She licked the flakes from her fingers. ‘You'll see. It'll be worth the wait.'

‘So you will sell her then?' Esther regarded him consideringly for a moment. ‘This is a prize worth waiting for. What can you offer me in return?'

‘The new young prince at Manisa.'

‘What of him?'

‘The Sultan Suleiman is getting old, he can't last many more years. His son Selim, who is his heir, they say is a drunkard, but Suleiman has a grandson by Selim who is said to be a more likely prince. Although the grandson is very young still, he has recently been appointed provincial governor of Manisa. In Constantinople this is taken as a sign not just of great favour, but of great political importance, for in all likelihood it will be this prince, Murad, who will be chosen to succeed his father.

Murad is still young, but not too young to have his own household in Manisa. His cousin, Princess Humashah, sent her
kira
to me, with the request that I find suitable slave girls – concubines of the highest possible quality – whom she can bestow on her cousin as a gift.' He paused. ‘I think the princess would be very grateful indeed for a prize like this.' He took a small sip of coffee. ‘How old is she?'

‘Thirteen.'

‘The prince is sixteen.'

Esther Nasi considered Yusuf Bey's proposal for what he thought to be an unnecessarily long amount of time.

‘I have to confess, the girl is getting restless,' she said eventually. ‘And between ourselves I doubt there is much more I can teach her.'

‘She has had her courses?'

‘Six months ago now.'

‘And you have taught her
everything
…'

‘She knows how to please a man, if that's what you mean.' Esther brushed away the question impatiently. ‘I taught her myself. You traders – if
I
might now be permitted an observation – have such crude ideas about all that.'

‘She is beautiful, then?'

‘Beautiful? Ah, Yusuf Bey, my friend,' she leant towards him, and as she did so, the trader saw two tears, the size and translucency of pearls, fall from Esther Nasi's eyes, ‘as beautiful as a witch.'

As she always knew she would, Esther sold Safiye of the beautiful voice to Yusuf Bey for three hundred ducats, more than ten times what she paid for her. And in Constantinople, Yusuf Bey sold her for nearly ten times that again to the Princess Humashah, who thought it money well spent.

As for Safiye, she made the journey to Constantinople, and from there to Manisa, a gift to the sixteen-year-old future Sultan. With her were two other gifts of slaves, the finest that the Princess Humashah's imperial purse could buy.

One, whom the girl Safiye would learn to call Cariye Mihrimah, was a child about the same age as Safiye herself. The other was a young black eunuch called Hassan.

‘But the princess has given you all another name,' Safiye could remember the slave traders saying to her. ‘From now on you will be called the Nightingales. The Nightingales of Manisa.'

Late that afternoon there came a knock at Celia's door. A black servant girl, elegantly dressed, and wearing many gold chains around her neck and ankles, stood before her. She said nothing when she saw Celia, but smiled and beckoned her to follow. When Celia asked where she was taking her, or who had sent her, she merely shook her head and refused to speak.

They passed through the courtyard, and then some antechambers which flanked the Valide's bathrooms, and along several corridors though which Celia had never ventured before. After some time they came to a small door in a wall. The girl opened it, and Celia saw that it led to a flight of steps. Although they passed several people – some of them merely servants, but one or two high-ranking harem officials – they showed no surprise when they saw the girl. No one questioned her, or asked where she was going. They merely bowed respectfully to Celia, and with lowered eyes allowed the two girls to pass silently by.

At the bottom of the stairs they emerged from another doorway into the palace gardens. The girl took a pathway that led first down a series of terraces, and then turned sharply to the right, skirting along the periphery of the palace walls. Eventually they came out in a small clearing.

‘Oh!' Suddenly Celia saw where they were. In the middle of the clearing was a marble pavilion. Beyond it, on one side, the city of Constantinople lay stretched out before them; on the other, like a distant blue dream, the sea.

For the first time now, the girl gave a signal to Celia in the silent language of the palace: a signal instructing her that she should now go forwards on her own.
Who?
Celia signed back to her, but the girl gave her one last shy smile, turned and walked swiftly away.

Celia looked around her. It was so quiet in the garden that at first she thought she was alone. The pavilion, its white marble walls decorated with golden lettering, glowed in the sun. Somewhere, out of sight amongst the cypress trees, water played into a stone basin. Then suddenly a small movement caught her eye, and she saw that, after all, she was not alone.

There was a person waiting in the kiosk. She had her back to Celia, and had been sitting very still, looking out over the waters of the Bosphorous: the very last person that Celia had ever expected to see.

‘Dear lady, it's kind of you to come so quickly. I am honoured,
kadin
.'

‘Haseki Sultan,' Celia bowed very low to the little figure in the pavilion, ‘the honour is all mine.'

Gulay Haseki held out her hand to Celia. ‘Forgive me for not standing up – I mean no discourtesy. It's just, well, as you can see,' she pointed to her legs, which were tucked up under her, ‘it's not one of my strong days today.'

The Haseki, the Sultan's official favourite, wore a robe of pale blue, embroidered with a delicate gold motif of scrolls and flowers. On her head was a tiny cap, to which was pinned a veil of almost transparent gold tissue. Beneath the hem of her robe, Celia saw, were two small slippers, embroidered with silver and gold thread. Many jewels, as befitted her status as the second most high-ranking woman in the harem after the Valide, shone at her neck and on her fingers. But when she smiled she seemed to Celia to be almost as shy as her little mute serving maid.

‘It is true then, what they say …' Before she could stop herself, the words were out of Celia's mouth.

‘What do they say?'

‘That you are not well – but forgive me,' Celia said, ashamed by how crude her words sounded, ‘it was I who meant no discourtesy.'

‘I know that.' When she spoke the Haseki's voice was very gentle and low. ‘It's always the same, isn't it? Everything here is rumour and
surmise, whispers.' She looked out to sea, where the little boats floated like children's cut-outs on the horizon. ‘But for once it's really true. I'm not well. I shall be glad not to be part of it any more.'

‘Are you … are you going somewhere?' Celia asked.

When the Haseki turned to Celia again her eyes were very bright. ‘In a manner of speaking,
kadin
, yes; I suppose you could say that. I have asked if they will send me to the Eski Saray, the old palace. After all, that's where we will all be sent after the Sultan's death anyway.'

Although Celia had often seen Gulay Haseki before, it had almost always been on formal occasions. Then she had appeared as a distant figure, solitary and bejewelled, at the Sultan's side; an object of intense speculation amongst the other women in the harem. Now, for the first time, Celia studied her closely. Although she was older than Celia had expected, and slender to the point of thinness, her skin was still fine and very pale. It was always said there were many more beautiful girls in the harem, but Celia could now see that her face had a softness about it, and a sweetness of expression which could never have been detected from a distance. There was something about her mere presence that was restful. Her eyes were both dark and blue, the exact colour, Celia thought, of deep sea.

Then, as if bestirring herself from her daydreams, she gave the signal for Celia to sit.

‘
Kadin
– for that is what we must all call you now, is that not so? – dear lady, please, let's have no formalities here, we don't have all that much time. I have brought you here because I wanted to tell you something.'

Instinctively Celia glanced around to see who might be listening.

‘Don't worry,' the Haseki saw her look, ‘there is no one to hear us, I've made quite sure of that. I wanted you to know that I bear you no ill will.'

‘Please, Haseki Sultan …' Celia began, but before she could say any more the favourite had quickly put her finger to Celia's lips.

‘Shh, we both know what I mean.'

‘But I don't want … I've never wanted …'

‘It's not about what you want. It's about what
she
wants. We both know that. I have tried fighting her, but it's no good. She's set everyone against me, and she'll do the same to you – no, no, please,
hear what I have to say,' she said when she saw that Celia was about to protest. ‘No one – none of us – can stay close to the Sultan for long while she is Valide. It is my fate. I must accept it. Besides, look at me,' she looked down at herself with a wistful smile, ‘I've grown so thin. Why should the Sultan want to be saddled with such a bag of bones? And anyway,' she glanced up at Celia and then away again quickly, ‘I don't want to end up like Handan.'