The Aviary Gate (30 page)

The Haseki was right: whispers, rumours, surmise. We thrive on it because there's nothing else, Celia thought. Earlier the atmosphere in the Great Chamber had been like an audience waiting for a play to begin, at the Curtain or even the new Rose theatre in London where her father had taken her sometimes. But this – Celia shivered, glancing across at the glittering mannequin, remote and motionless beneath the Sultan's gilded canopy – this was more like bear-baiting than a play.

A thought occurred to her. She turned to Gulbahar.

‘Where does the Sultan's old favourite sit? I'm not sure I've ever seen her.'

‘Do you mean Handan Kadin? The mother of Prince Ahmet?'

‘Yes, Handan. I think that's her name.'

‘She never comes here.' Gulbahar shrugged. ‘Not now. I don't think anyone sees her, except for the Valide.'

Somewhere out of sight now came the sound of the acrobat troupe warming up: a distant roll of drums, the plaintive sound of a reed-pipe. At that moment another hush, a silence deeper and more profound than before, descended on the room. Everyone rose to their feet. Not another murmur was heard as the doors at either end of the chamber were flung open. From the harem entrance on one side of the chamber came the Valide Sultan, while from the opposite side the Sultan himself now entered. They met in the middle of the chamber for the Sultan to greet his mother, then they took their respective seats.

It was then that Celia saw Hanza. She had slipped in almost unnoticed behind the Valide and came to take up her place beside Celia. Around her thin neck was a jewelled necklace and a pair of matching pear-shaped diamonds glittered in her ears: the spoils – Celia guessed – of her afternoon's work. Against Hanza's pale little face they took on an improbable, almost tawdry look, like so many trinkets bought at the bazaar. Her expression was so venomous that Celia's greeting curdled on her tongue.

Now that everyone had taken their final places, with a drum roll the entertainment began. The musicians came in first and settled themselves on a piece of matting on the floor; one woman struck a
pair of cymbals, another rattled a tambourine, a third played the reed-pipe, while the fourth carried two small drums. Following immediately behind them, shouting and ululating, the troupe of tumblers came leaping into the room, strange, barbarous-looking creatures, with oily black hair hanging loose to their shoulders. They wore short brightly coloured fitted jackets which left their shoulders and arms bare, and a strange trouser-like garment made from fine lawn cotton on their legs, voluminous around the buttocks and thighs, close fitting from the ankles to the knees. Some walked on their hands, others threw themselves backwards, arching their spines into strange crab-like shapes; yet others spun round in cartwheels.

The youngest of the tumblers were two little girls no more than six or seven years old. The eldest, who was also the leader of the troupe, was a stout barrel-chested woman who wore a red bandana across her forehead. At a signal from the drums she squared her shoulders, and on to her, one by one, leapt the other women, until six of them were balanced astride her in a pyramid. The cymbals crashed. The legs of the woman in the red bandana trembled, but somehow she walked three steps across the room. The drums sounded again and the two little girls flew to her, leaping up the pyramid, climbing like monkeys to the very top of the human tree. The cymbals crashed again; the acrobats held out their arms, and at this signal, their leader took three more steps towards the Sultan's throne. Her skin glistened, the veins in her great bull's neck bulged with the exertion, but she held her ground. Another drum roll, and one by one the women leapt from her again as effortlessly as they had climbed up, landing soundlessly on their feet as if they were no heavier than rose petals. From nowhere the two little girls produced two red roses which on bended knees they laid at the Sultan's feet.

The evening wore on. The acrobatics were followed in quick succession by feats of balancing, juggling and contortionism. The women, young and old, sat spellbound by the spectacle. Even Hassan Aga, slack-mouthed with concentration, lay quite still on his cushions. Only Celia could not concentrate. With so many women crammed together and the heat of the candles, the chamber had become so airless that Celia felt as if she were suffocating; but she dared not get up, dared not draw attention to herself by such a blatant
breach of etiquette, by anything that might hint at her inner anguish. She put her hand to her chest, felt the comforting outline of the key on its chain against her breast. Willed herself to act the part of the unseeing, unknowing
cariye
she had been just a few days previously. Not much longer, sweetheart, I promise, feverishly she tried to conjure the sound of Paul's voice, not much longer now.

Other than herself there was only one other person that Celia could see who was not utterly absorbed by the acrobat troupe. Hanza had eyes only for the Sultan. Or at least that was what Celia thought at first. Then she realised that it was not the Sultan Hanza was staring at. It was the Haseki.

Hanza was staring at Gulay Haseki with such intensity that Celia was amazed the favourite did not feel the force of those strange pale eyes upon her. If she did she gave no sign. Gulay was watching the performance as intently as everyone else, or so it seemed. After some moments of watching her closely Celia noticed that every so often her gaze would dart towards the Valide's divan, and then back again, as if she were looking for someone.

‘She looks well, don't you think?' Celia could not resist whispering to Hanza. ‘The Haseki, I mean.'

‘What's she still doing there?' Hanza gave a small cat-like sneeze. She seemed consumed by some intense emotion: rage, disappointment? It was hard to tell.

‘And where else should she be?' Celia was enjoying the girl's discomfiture. She had the key now, she thought with triumph; Hanza couldn't touch her. ‘Do you think it should be you sitting there? You're a fool – worse than a fool – if you think that.'

But Hanza gave no reply.

The strongwoman in the red bandana now took to the floor on her own. Various props were lined up in front of her: a large pot of the kind used for storing oil, some logs of wood, a row of cannonballs of various sizes, some of them attached to chains. Tying leather straps around her wrists and then a thick leather harness around her waist, she began to juggle with the logs of wood, balancing them on her head, then on her forehead, then on her chin, and even on her teeth.

The Sultan bent down to say something in the Haseki's ear, making her turn to him with a smile. How can she bear it, Celia thought? At a distance he seemed so very ordinary, for all his jewels and finery,
with his speckled skin and his fat paunch, and large blond beard. Beside her Celia felt Hanza shiver.

The strongwoman was now juggling with two of the cannonballs, heaving them up into the air with hands calloused like old leather. Droplets of sweat from her brow flew into the air; Celia could see them glisten as they caught the candlelight. The Sultan turned to the Haseki again, and this time he offered her one of the red roses that had been laid at his feet. The other he sent over to the Valide Sultan. Celia waited for Hanza's reaction, but none came. It was some minutes before she realised that the place next to her was empty. Hanza had gone.

Where did she go?
Celia signalled to Gulbahar.

‘Hanza? I don't know.' Gulbahar whispered. ‘She went out a few minutes ago. Good riddance to her. I only hope, for her sake, the Valide didn't see her.'

Celia put her hand to her throat; she could hardly breathe.

‘Are you all right,
kadin?
' Gulbahar put a hand on Celia's arm. ‘You look strange.'

‘I'm all right. Just … it's a little hot in here, that's all.' Celia tried to steady her breath. Then, before she could stop herself, she said, ‘I have a bad feeling about that one, Gulbahar.'

‘That little snake in the grass?' Gulbahar's lip curled. ‘Don't worry, we all have a bad feeling about
her
.'

‘It's more than just a feeling.' Celia glanced around, trying to see which way Hanza might have gone. ‘She means mischief, Gulbahar, I know she does.'

‘Oh, what can she do?' Gulbahar shrugged dismissively. ‘Mark my words, she'll be in trouble enough already for going off without permission. She's terrified of the Valide – I know, I've seen them together,' Gulbahar gave a dry laugh, ‘like a rabbit and a snake. Don't worry, she wouldn't dare try anything. Just enjoy the entertainment, Kaya.'

The Valide, of course! Surely she must be the key to all this? Someone had certainly given Hanza ideas about how easy it would be for her to replace the Haseki in the Sultan's attentions, ideas that would have seemed completely absurd to anyone else. Who else could have been that persuasive? And I should know, Celia thought. After all, she tried the same thing on me only a few days ago.

She looked towards the Valide and was surprised, once again, by how small she was in the flesh. Safiye Sultan was seated on her divan, her slender body curled against the cushions, one foot tucked beneath her, chin propped on a delicate wrist. The robe she wore that evening was of the richest red damask with a gold embroidered bodice, and she wore many jewels; her long hair was twisted and plaited through with gold chains strung with pearls. How dazzling she was, and how dangerous. More than a match for Hanza.

In her hand Safiye Sultan held the rose that the Sultan had sent her – a musk rose, of a red so dark it was almost black – twisting it absently between her fingers. Like everyone else she was watching the acrobat troupe, occasionally turning to address a remark to her daughter, Princess Fatma, sitting next to her. From time to time she bent down to smell the rose. Her air was carefree, but there was something about her that was – Celia searched for the right description – what? Concentrated. Watchful. You are still watching us, it occurred to Celia. Every one of us, even now. What was it that Annetta had said?
They watch and they wait, that's what they do in here
. She knew then that the Valide must have been expecting Hanza to leave.

The strongwoman had finished now and her place in the centre of the room had been taken by another member from the troupe whom Celia had not seen before: a grave-faced woman, her face whitened with chalk like a Pierrot's. Unlike the others she was not wearing trousers, but a curious robe made from brightly coloured striped material with a voluminous skirt and sleeves. Every inch was stitched over with silver spangles. When she walked she seemed to glide over the floor as if on wheels.

It was completely dark outside now and the lamps had been lit. The holiday atmosphere created by the tumblers and the strong-woman was replaced by a hush of suspense. In silence the white-faced Pierrot woman circled slowly round the room. Her robe glittered as she moved, as if it were made of ice. And as she moved objects materialised mysteriously in her wake. Feathers, flowers and pieces of fruit – pomegranates, figs and apples – were produced from the folds of robes, from behind ears and up sleeves. From each of the Valide's handmaids she took an embroidered handkerchief, pushing each one after another into her clenched fist, then pulling them out
again, magically knotted into a streaming silk rainbow. From behind the ears of one of the little princesses she found two eggs which she then threw into the air, making them vanish, then materialise again in the lap of the smallest child, in the form of two softly cheeping chicks. Bowing low before the Sultan, the magician now turned her sights upon Gulay Haseki, still sitting next to him on her cushion. The Sultan signalled his permission and the Haseki rose to her feet and stepped into the middle of the room. The musicians, who had been sitting silently all this time, now played a burst of music. There was a roll of drums and they all saw that the doors on the Valide's side of the harem were opening. Everyone turned expectantly towards them, but no, it seemed that this was not part of the act. For through the doors, who should come flying towards them all but Hanza.

Hanza, her cap awry, her face as pale as death. In her hands she held a package.

‘See!' She held it out with trembling arms. ‘It was Gulay Haseki. She did it.'

A deathly hush descended on the room. The Haseki turned pale, but she remained standing motionless next to the white-faced magician. Celia saw her reach for her bracelet of blue glass charms, as if these might somehow have the power to protect her. Safiye Sultan was sitting up now, but even she made no move.

When Hanza realised that everyone was looking at her, she suddenly appeared completely panic-stricken. She shook the package and something fell out. It landed softly on the floor. She held it up: a piece of paper with symbols and figures written all over it in blue and gold ink.

‘See! A horoscope. I found it. It was hidden in her room.'

Still no one spoke.

‘Don't you want to know who it's for? It's for
him
,' she pointed towards Hassan Aga, ‘for the Chief Black Eunuch. It's sorcery, the Devil's work! The Haseki wanted to know when he was going to die …' Hanza's voice, unnaturally shrill, echoed through the silent room. Flecks of spittle had appeared at the corners of her mouth. ‘Don't you understand? It was she who tried to kill him!'

And then, as if from nowhere, there came the sound of running feet; the metallic scrape of metal on stone. The eunuchs came flying in, their swords drawn. But who were they coming for, Hanza or
Gulay? The room erupted into noise and confusion. Everyone was shouting all at once; the children and some of the younger
kislar
cried and wailed. At the centre of the chaos, Celia saw Hanza fall to the ground. At first she thought that she had merely fainted, but then she saw that the girl had fallen into some kind of fit. Her lips had turned blue; her eyes rolled so that only the whites showed; her thin body was jerking and twitching on the tiled floor.