The Aviary Gate (26 page)

Was it a consolation, the fact that she was not alone?

As before she was taken with all ceremony to the Sultan's chamber. Only this time there was another with her: another who was also
gözde
. The two of them, with their scented thighs and their unripe breasts, made their way with their attendants across the Valide's courtyard, to join the waiting band of eunuchs.

Celia followed the procession down the Golden Corridor to the Sultan's chamber, but here there was yet another surprise. This time they did not stay in the chamber itself, but were led beyond it to a small anteroom which gave out on to what Celia imagined must be the Sultan's private courtyard. Two eunuchs struggled ahead with a large object, a low table or dais, which they placed in the centre of the room, and then covered carefully with a carpet.

At the head of the main procession was the Chief Black Eunuch's deputy, Suleiman Aga. Whereas last time, in her drugged state, Celia saw almost nothing, and afterwards could remember still less, this time she was in a state of heightened awareness. Even by the standards of the palace eunuchs, Suleiman Aga – with his gargoyle face and his pendulous pudding of a stomach – was grotesque. She saw how, as he took the chemise from her shoulders, Suleiman Aga's eyes ran over her naked breasts; felt his hands, soft and damp as
uncooked dough, on her arms. His cheeks were somehow both plump and sunken, hairless as a baby's; his mouth hung slackly, revealing unnaturally pink gums and tongue. He was so close to her now that she could actually smell him; the rankness of old skin and the odour of recently eaten meat clung to his person. Celia felt her mouth fill with bile.

The two girls were arranged together on the dais, and then with one bald instruction not to move from that position, Suleiman Aga and the eunuchs were gone, and they were left alone.

At first Celia did not recognise the creature sitting naked beside her. She was thin, positively skinny compared to Celia's well-nourished body, with a small pointed face and the high sliding cheekbones of a Circassian, but – Celia saw with some surprise – she was not beautiful at all. Her face was aggressively plain, her skin coarse and of such paleness that she seemed sapped of colour, like a plant that had grown in a cellar or beneath stones. But it was her eyes that were the most striking thing about her. They were the very palest brown, so pale they were almost golden, fringed with sandy lashes.

When she saw Celia gazing at her, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What are you looking at?' Her tone was so insolent that Celia felt as if she had been slapped. Then she remembered.

‘Wait a minute, I know where I've see you before,' Celia said, ‘this afternoon, with the Haseki. You're one of Gulay Haseki's servants, one of the ones that brought us fruit.' How could she have forgotten that face? There was something about the girl, something unformed, almost feral, that had made Celia recoil even then.

‘Well, I'm not her servant any more.'

‘You mean you are not one of
Haseki Sultan's
servants any more,' Celia corrected her coldly.

For a long moment the girl stared back at Celia with her steady insolent gaze. She gave a shrug. ‘That fool,' was all she said.

Celia was too amazed to speak. The harem insisted on such decorum of behaviour and language that even in the few months she had been here, Celia had learnt to regard any departure from its extravagant habits of
politesse
, even in the most informal of situations, as a shocking breach of etiquette.

Although the evening had seemed warm enough earlier, now it was very cool, almost cold, in the little antechamber. She felt herself
shiver. She looked through the archway, back into the Sultan's chamber, but everything was as before and the candlelit room was silent, the ceiling full of empty shadows.

‘You look different.' Celia turned to the girl again.

‘Oh?' The girl gave a sarcastic snort. ‘So do you.'

This time she did not even bother to look at Celia, but arched her back luxuriously, seeming quite at home in her nakedness.

‘What's your name?'

‘You'll learn that soon enough.'

‘I am Kaya. Kaya
Kadin
, to you,' Celia went on evenly, not taking her eyes off the girl. Then she said curiously, ‘How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?'

‘How should I know?' The girl shrugged. ‘Younger than the Haseki – but she's old now, more than twenty. Younger than you too. That's what he likes isn't it? Young flesh.'

‘Maybe.' Celia was still gazing at her thoughtfully. ‘And maybe not.'

She was hugging herself now, trying to get warm. Her buttocks and the tops of her legs stung with cold. ‘Why's it so freezing in here?' She slapped at the tops of her arms, which were mottled blue.

‘You mean to say you haven't noticed?' The girl went on arching her spine, back and forth, back and forth, like a circus tumbler waiting for her act.

‘Noticed what?'

‘What we're sitting on.'

Celia put her hand down to feel beneath the carpet, and brought her fingers away quickly, as if she had been burnt.

‘Ice! My God, we're sitting on a block of ice.'

Seeing the look on Celia's face, the girl smiled for the first time, bringing some animation to her hard little face.

‘Well, Miss High and Mighty, you really don't know, do you? I may not be pretty like you, but he's not going to be looking at my face, is he?' She gave Celia a look of pure malevolence. ‘Look at me, see, skin: white skin.' She leant towards Celia and her words came out like a hiss. ‘The colder the whiter. Because that's what he likes.'

Of course, Celia thought, how can I have missed it? In the candlelight the girl's skin now shone dazzlingly, the blue-white of snow. Celia looked down at her own naked body. She was so cold
now that her skin was almost transparent. She could see the blue veins running along her breasts, along the insides of her thighs, all the way to her feet. Of course!

‘It's why I was chosen,' she said aloud, ‘and the Haseki, too.'

‘Oh yes, the Valide tried with you – but you were no good. We all heard about the opium.' The girl gave a strange hoarse laugh.

‘How did you hear about that?'

The girl shrugged. ‘We all heard about it, that's all.'

‘We? I don't think so.' Celia met the girl's gaze steadily. Perhaps because of the cold she found that she was thinking very clearly now. ‘I think you mean you.
You
know something you shouldn't know.'

Another laugh, but this time Celia saw the sandy eyelashes flicker. ‘Who says I shouldn't know?'

‘How could a servant possibly know? Tell me at once,
cariye
.' Celia spoke sharply.

‘Work it out for yourself.'

‘Don't worry, I will.' Celia looked down at her hands. She was trembling, but more with anger than with cold.

‘You're cold now, Kaya
Kadin
.'

‘Yes, but not as cold as you.'

Celia saw with satisfaction that the girl's lips were almost blue. She had stopped rocking, and was hugging her knees to her chest, her whole body tensed to stop herself from shivering.

‘But he will come soon – and when he does, he will prefer me.' The girl answered.

‘What makes you so sure?' Celia was clenching her jaw now to stop her teeth from chattering.

‘Because I know what to do. I've watched him with that fool Gulay.' The girl flashed her a triumphant look. ‘Listen, there they are at the door now.'

Then, as Celia watched, the girl spread her legs, shamelessly opening the lips of her carefully plucked sex, and slipped her fingers inside. Slowly and deliberately, she pulled out a small object. The object was round and black, the same size and shape as the opium tablets that Celia had taken.

‘What's that?'

‘You'll see.' She gave another hoarse laugh. ‘You're not the only one who knows how to get tips out of Cariye Lala.'

The girl did not swallow the tablet, but placed it carefully under her tongue. Then she pushed her two middle fingers into her sex again, and smeared the juices from her body behind her ears and over her lips. All the time she was watching Celia avidly, a small smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.

‘Disgusting things, men, don't you think?' was all she said.

When the Sultan entered his chamber at last, the two of them climbed down from the freezing dais and prostrated themselves in front of him. Afterwards Celia would remember how stiff and slow her limbs had felt, and the burning rush in her toes and fingers as the blood began to flow through her veins again. She had not dared look up and so had heard, rather than seen, his displeasure.

‘What's this? I didn't ask for you.'

There was an uneasy silence.

Then: ‘Where is Gulay?'

Another silence, and then Celia heard the girl say in a steady voice. ‘Gulay Haseki is indisposed, my Sultan. She begs your forbearance. Her Majesty the Valide Sultan, who thinks ceaselessly of your pleasure and repose, has sent us to you instead.'

The hard cold floor dug into Celia's forehead and knees. She had not been given the signal to rise and so she remained as she was, her naked buttocks in the air. Long moments passed. From the corner of one eye she could see a chip in one of the tiles just beneath her nose. She watched the chipped tile for what felt like a long time. Then, when still nothing happened, she tilted her head very slightly, and saw that the girl had risen up, unbidden, and was now kneeling in front of the Sultan.

As though to cover her nakedness the girl had flung one arm across her chest, cupping her left breast in her right hand: a gesture that was both submissive and inviting. Her breasts were large for her thin body, the broad and flat nipples now stiffened into two hard points by the cold. The Sultan said nothing, but as Celia watched he took a step towards her. As he did so the girl's lips parted slightly. ‘Ah.'

It was barely a sigh. She swayed towards him, as though unsteady on her knees, and then drew away again shyly. Her eyelids fluttered against her cheeks.

‘Don't I know you?' When the Sultan spoke at last Celia was struck by how strange it was to hear a man's voice again after all this time. ‘It's Hanza, isn't it? Little Hanza …'

The girl said nothing, but Celia could see her strange eyes glittering, dark as gold in the candlelight.

But how can he even look at you – you are so ugly, was all she could think. Yet even as she thought it, the Sultan took another step towards her.

‘Haa …' The girl breathed out, and as she did so Celia saw her draw her tongue slowly across her lips, wetting them so they glistened in the candlelight.

The room became very still suddenly. All Celia could hear was the sound of Hanza's breath and her own heart.

Still prostrated on the floor, Celia could hardly breathe, but no one spoke to her, and she did not dare to sit up unasked, so cautiously she tilted her head a little more to the side. She could see the other girl, Hanza, more closely now, see how she held her body – a body that had seemed so insubstantial, so skinny beside her own – like the most delicate bud, and the way her skin, still half blue with cold, glowed like the white roses in the dusky garden.

If she were cold, she gave no sign of it. The Sultan was gazing at her, and as he did so Hanza dared to gaze up at him at last. Their eyes met.

‘Ahh …' With a strange little sob, she twisted her head away again as if she had been struck.

‘Don't be afraid,' he said. But the idea, Celia noticed, did not seem displeasing to him. He was standing close to Hanza now, his robe hanging open and falling loosely to his sides. The more he gazed down at the girl, the more she tried to draw back from him, twisting first to the left, then to the right, like an insect on a pin.

‘Let me look at you.'

Hanza twisted away again slightly, as if to shield her nakedness from his gaze; as she did so thrusting forwards one perfectly white shoulder, stretching out her snowy neck and throat. Like a dancer, Celia thought, or a bitch submitting to a dog.

Torn between fascination and fear she closed her eyes and then quickly opened them again. What should she do now? Was she expected to go or stay? She saw him take Hanza's hand away from
her cupped breast. The girl tried to stop him, slapping and scratching at him with a flailing arm, but he caught her wrist and gripped it hard, pinning her to him, whilst with the moistened tip of a finger he slowly began to trace the outline of her nipple.

With a sigh Hanza sank towards him, lay her head submissively against his chest. He bent to kiss her neck, hesitated, snuffled at her ear.

‘Come now, into the other chamber.' His voice was thick. ‘You too, Sleepyhead.' He motioned to Celia. ‘Cover yourself, or you'll get cold.'

So he had remembered her, after all. She felt his hand touch her lightly on the cheek; the fingers soft-skinned, a cloying odour of myrrh.

The Sultan's bed was just as Celia remembered it, a canopied divan covered with drapes, damasks and cut velvets, cloths embroidered with silver and gold tulips, many of them lined with fur. In the lamplight their colours glittered like the carapaces of insects. The rest of the room, including the vast basilica-sized dome above them, lay in darkness.

Celia put one of the fur wraps around her shoulders and knelt down at the bottom of the bed. Hanza, without being asked, stretched herself out in the middle of the divan. She too found one of the fur wraps, and draped it luxuriously round her shoulders, rubbing her cheeks against the fur. She seemed completely at ease now, completely unafraid.

‘So, little Hanza, are you ready for me?'

He was kneeling on the bed in front of her now. The girl pulled the fur more closely around her shoulders and looked at him through narrowed eyes. Then, slowly and deliberately, she shook her head.