Evil in a Mask (24 page)

Beyond the Gate of Felicity they could see into the pavilion where there stood the wide, golden throne with its lustrous bands of flashing gems; but it was unoccupied. The sun was blazing down from a cloudless sky. Already the Frenchmen, in their tight-fitting uniforms, were sweating profusely. Five minutes passed, ten. They continued to stand rigidly to attention. The strain was terrible. Rivulets of perspiration were running down their faces, and General Gardane was praying that none of his officers would disgrace him by fainting.

Roger was praying that this delay in the proceedings was due only to the Oriental habit of seeking to impress visitors by keeping them waiting; and not that, after all, Selim was dead or a prisoner, this show having been put on to conceal it and that shortly they would be informed that he had been taken suddenly ill, so could not receive them.

Two minutes later, he was relieved of his fears. There came another blast of trumpets, then a herald cried in a loud voice:

‘Behold and tremble. Here cometh the Caliph of Islam; the Commander of the Faithful; the Padishah of Padishahs; the Lord of the Barbary States; the Shadow of Allah upon Earth.'

With stately step, Selim emerged from between pearl-embroidered curtains at the back of the throne room. In spite of the heat, from his shoulders there hung to the ground an enormous ermine stole. His scimitar sheath and its hilt, his belt, breast and hands positively blazed with jewels. From an enormous diamond in the centre of his turban there rose a gently-waving aigrette. It was the largest jewel that Roger had ever seen. He had been told its history. It was known as the Spoon Diamond, because two children had found it on the seashore and had given it to a spoon-seller in exchange for two wooden spoons. The spoon-seller had sold it to a jeweller for a single piece of gold. The jeweller had had it cut and sold it to the then reigning Sultan for a fortune.

The Sultan Selim was followed by a small, elderly, wizened man, wearing a dark robe and a flat turban the size of a small cartwheel—obviously the Grand Vizier. After him came a huge Negro in a tall, conical hat, whom Roger knew to be
Son Altesse Noire
.

Selim took his place, cross-legged on the wide divan; the other two sat down on low stools on either side of him. Meanwhile everyone else present had gone down on their knees, the Turks touching the ground with their foreheads.

The herald shouted, ‘The Descendant of the Prophet—blessed be his name—permits that you raise your eyes.' Everyone looked up, but remained kneeling. The ‘three tail' Bashaw who had been kneeling between Sebastiani and Gardane, took each of them by an arm, raised them to their feet and, as if supporting them lest they faint at the tremendous honour done them, led them forward through the Gate of Felicity to the step up to the throne.

Again all three of them knelt. Selim, without a trace of animation on his features, extended the first finger of his right hand, upon which blazed an emerald the size of a pigeon's egg? to Gardane. The General kissed it and said in Turkish:

‘Most gracious Majesty of divine descent, I humbly crave to present to you a letter from my illustrious master, and your faithful ally, the Emperor of the French.'

Unsmiling, Selim made no reply as Gardane proffered the gem-studded casket containing Napoleon's letter. Then, after a moment, with a gesture that almost conveyed contempt, Selim waved his heavily beringed hand in the direction of the Grand Vizier, and said, ‘My Minister will give consideration to this matter, and inform me upon it.'

As Gardane handed the casket to the Grand Vizier, Selim uncrossed his legs, came to his feet and, raising his hand, said in a loud voice: ‘May Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate—blessed be his name and that of his Prophet—have you all in His holy keeping.' Then, without another glance at anyone, his black-bearded head held high, he strode out through the curtains at the back of the pavilion, followed by his Grand Vizier and the Kizler Agar.

The troops came to their feet. Orders were shouted by their officers, and they presented arms as the French mission marched back through the Second Court, remounted their horses outside it, then at the First Gate took leave of the ‘three tail' Bashaw. Limp and gasping from the heat, they recrossed the bridge of boats and, half an hour later, lay on their beds endeavouring to recover from the ordeal to which the audience with the Sultan had subjected them.

That night, at dinner in the Embassy, Sebastiani said to Gardane: ‘General, I have remained on here only because I felt it my duty to accompany you on your presentation to the Sultan. I am positively haunted by the thought that my beloved Fanny's death was due to my having brought her to this city of dirt and disease. In my wretched state I can no longer be of any assistance to you here, and I have learned that a ship is leaving for the Piraeus tomorrow; so I am sailing in her. I have made the necessary arrangements for my staff to carry on all diplomatic duties. It remains only for me to wish you success in your mission.'

When they had condoled with him, he went on, ‘You must not be discouraged by the coldness of the Sultan's reception. The aloofness he displayed is no more than tradition leads his people to expect from him. In private he is a very pleasant man, and he is highly intelligent. But you must not expect to receive any reply to the Emperor's letter for some days. The probability is that one day next week you will be sent for to discuss it with his Ministers. Even then, no decision will be given. You may have to wait another week or more before you are again summoned to receive a formal answer.'

During that afternoon Gardane had received a missive from Ibraham Pasha, the ‘three tail' General who had conducted them into the presence that morning. It was an invitation for them to cross the Bosphorus with him next day and dine at his villa in the hills above Scutari.

As Roger had received no summons from Aimée, he was glad of this opportunity to spend a day in the company of his brother officers; for he feared that if he went off on his own too often Gardane might begin to wonder what he was up to.

Ibraham Pasha was a fat, jolly man. He spoke French fairly fluently and brought with him two other officers, both of whom had visited Paris in pre-Revolution days. The party crossed the Straits in a large barge and on the Asiatic side found grooms and horses waiting for them. They then rode through the town and, for about five miles, up a winding track that took them to the flat, grassy top of a mountain. From it there was a splendid view of the Turkish capital. The sun glinted on the domes and minarets of the many mosques in both Stamboul and Pera; and the blue waters below were dotted with the scores of vessels large and small sailing under a light wind along the three channels formed by the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn.

Having rested there for a while, they rode down to the Pasha's villa, which proved to be a small palace with a lovely garden. Like the majority of highly-placed or wealthy Turks, he observed the Koran's prohibition against alcohol only in public; so the excellent meal he had provided for them was made doubly agreeable by a plentiful supply of very palatable Greek wine. In the cool of the evening, they returned to Pera, having had a thoroughly enjoyable time.

The next day being the Mohammedan Sabbath, Roger did not go to the Palace, but on the Saturday afternoon he again presented himself. Aimée received him with obvious pleasure and he spent over two hours with her and the gazelle-like Fatima, who also asked him many questions about the countries in which he had travelled. With some amusement, he noticed that she could not keep her eyes off him, so he had obviously made a conquest. But charming as she was, and twenty years younger than Aimée, to his mind she was just a pretty girl and could not hold a candle to the radiant, golden beauty of her mistress.

As he was taking his leave, Aimée told him that next day the Sultan intended to visit Kizel, an island in the Sea of Marmora, just outside the entrance to the Bosphorus, and invited him to accompany them; so he was able to look forward to another day in the company of this extraordinary and fascinating woman.

Since the death of his wife the unhappy Sebastiani had refused all invitations and invited no-one to the Embassy; but on Gardane's arrival he had felt it his duty to arrange a reception. So that night, in spite of the fact that the Ambassador had already left, the big salons of the Embassy were lit with hundreds of candles and an entertainment given for some two hundred guests. All the other foreign Ambassadors in Constantinople, with the senior members of their staffs, were present, and scores of important Turkish functionaries. Many of the latter were eager to return hospitality.' So Gardane and his officers were assured of a pleasant time during the remainder of their stay in Constantinople. But Roger, wishing to keep himself free, politely declined such invitations as he was given, on the plea that he suffered from an intermittent fever and feared that for the next week or so a bout of it that he felt coming on would prevent him from keeping any engagements.

On the Sunday morning, again dressed as a Greek merchant, he accompanied the Imperial party to Kizel. The day followed the pattern of that when they had gone up the Bosphorus to Rumeli Hisar, except that, instead of the entertainment being held in a grim old castle, they enjoyed the May sunshine on a broad terrace in front of a small palace.

While they were on their way back, Selim told Roger that on the following day his Grand Vizier would receive the French mission, to discuss the Emperor Napoleon's letter; but Roger: was concerned to see that the Sultan seemed more gloomy and ill at ease than ever. And when they landed on the shore below the Seraglio, the reason for his depression was made plain. Again his temporary absence from the Palace had provided an opportunity for the Janissaries to hold meetings and discuss their pretended grievances. For the second time there came to Roger's ears that sinister sound of kettle-beating.

After another anxious night, he accompanied Gardane and two other senior officers of the mission across the Golden Horn. They were received as before by Ibraham Pasha, with ceremony, but the number of troops paraded was considerably
less. The Pasha conducted them into the Second Court, but instead of proceeding to the Gate of Felicity, he turned half left, heading for a large building above which, squat and square, rose the only steeple of the Palace. It was, Roger knew, the Hall of the Dewan. Before entering it he cast a glance over his shoulder and saw that there were several new bloody severed heads on the pile of skulls.

Inside the Hall of the Dewan, they were courteously greeted by the wizened-faced Grand Vizier, and several other Ministers. Then everyone present took places cross-legged on the cushioned divans with which the room was furnished. Before each place there stood a hookah with, attached to it, a long tube with an ivory mouthpiece, by which the smoke could be drawn through a glass vase filled with rose water. Roger at once took up his mouthpiece and drew in a breath of fragrant smoke; his compatriots followed his example and the Turks, too, began smoking.

While compliments were exchanged, thick, sweet coffee was served in small cups inserted in gold holders. When the white eunuchs who acted as waiters had withdrawn, the business in hand was gradually approached. High up on one side of the room there was a grille that jutted out slightly, screening a small balcony. Behind it, from time to time, slight movements could be seen and Roger had learned that, concealed in this indoor gazebo, the Sultan listened to all debates of importance held by his chief Ministers.

It was, therefore, no surprise to him that, after nearly three hours of beating about the bush, the Grand Vizier said that he and his colleagues must consult further in private—his real meaning being that he must ask the wishes of his master.

Next day Roger again went to the Palace in disguise. This time he was kept waiting for nearly an hour before Aimée received him; but when she did she explained that she had been detained because she had been in consultation with Selim's
Kadins
about certain new regulations governing the conduct of the ordinary women of the harem.

Their talk happened to turn to French literature, upon which she took him through to another room which was a
library. He was amazed to see that it contained hundreds of beautifully-bound volumes imported by her from France. Among them were many works on botany, natural history and philosophy, including those of the Encyclopædists. He had realised that she was well read, but not that she was so learned.

Like her boudoir, the
décor
of the room
was Louis Seize
, but with one exception. In the middle of one wall there was a huge, brick, open fireplace. Seeing him look at it, she said:

‘Alas, they would not allow me to do away with that hideous chimney. This building is very old, and they said that if they attempted to take it out the roof covering the whole of my apartments would fall in.'

A little later he asked her about the state of the Janissaries and she replied, ‘They are a constant anxiety to us. Every time now that Selim leaves the Palace for any length of time they become mutinous and, although Ibraham Pasha is a good, honest man, he has not the strength of will to control them. Selim, too, lacks the ruthlessness to reduce them to obedience once and for all. Occasionally he has a few of them thrown into prison, but generally appeases them with concessions. Prince Mustapha and his mother are, of course, prisoners in the fine pavilion that we term “the cage”; but I haven't a doubt that they are in secret communication with the Janissaries' leaders and inciting them to make trouble for us. In previous reigns that evil woman and her son would long since have been strangled. But Selim is too kind-hearted. Perhaps my influence on him is to blame for that. Yet, as long as they live, our own lives will not be safe.'

It was Fatima who suggested that her mistress should invite Roger to a small, private supper party she was giving on the coming Thursday. After a moment's hesitation, Aimée said: