Sofia
less progress. She enjoyed being the center of attention too much herself.But Sofia did try hard to make friends and was extremely good at that. Soon no gathering in the harem could pass without loud applause and the cry of her name. Turkish tongues from the little charwoman on turned “Sofia” into “Safiye,” meaning “the fair one,” a name that suited Baffo’s daughter as well as it suited those who gave it to her. Soon she had almost forgotten she had ever been called anything else.
Toward the middle of summer, there was great rejoicing, for the master returned victorious and tales of the Shah’s capitulation and Bayazid’s ignominious death were circled in the harem versions with great relish.
Still, Sofia—or Safiye, rather—was not quite as content as such news should have made her. Even though she had never seen the master, now a war hero, of one thing she was certain: he was a man of appetite. Besides the boys it was rumored he liked, every evening he would send word into the harem via the great white eunuch. Nur Banu would then deliberate and choose three or four of the prettiest girls to send out for his perusal. One or the other would be chosen, or perhaps a favorite would be called for again, and she would be the one honored to spend the night with the master.
Safiye watched this process closely. She came first of all to admire the incredible power Nur Banu wielded by it. The master himself, though he craved women more than food, had very little notion what went on in his own harem. He did not even know precisely how many souls it contained. “Twenty or thirty” he might say if someone had the rudeness to ask, but most had manners to avoid such topics.
Though the numbers varied, Nur Banu could have told at any moment exactly how many there were, and that it was closer to fifty. In these matters, which concerned a full half of his household, Selim was totally at the mercy of Nur Banu and what she chose to tell him. Though she herself would never share his bed again, she had perfect control over who could.
If one girl won her disfavor, she had only to send word, “Rejoice, my master, for she is with child.” When favor returned, she could just as easily say, “Alas, my master, for the girl has recently miscarried and is much desirous of your company to comfort her.”
And Selim, who included any precise notion of where babies came from among his ignorances, had to believe her.
Safiye was quick to learn that if she were to satisfy her ambition, there was no other way than through these channels. She could be the darling of the harem, but that meant nothing if she had no ties to the public world of men. Only if some daring girl could win the favor of one of the eunuchs behind her mistress’ back was there any hope of her voice being heard on the outside world without Nur Banu’s consent. And Nur Banu kept very tight reins on all the khuddam of her harem.
Safiye watched the other girls return in the mornings to gloat or show off little presents the master had given them if he’d been particularly pleased. A much rarer, but much more important event occurred when a girl found herself with child. Allah willing, it would be a son, and then her power in the outside world would be limited only by the power of that son and the devotion she could command in him. Fortunately for Nur Banu, though, there were many daughters born and her Murad had only four competitors for prince-hood, for all Selim’s lust.
Safiye was a quick and willing student of this system, its petty jealousies and little triumphs. Every evening when the eunuch would repeat the master’s desires in an undertone to Nur Banu, she would become instantly alert. When Nur Banu would turn slowly and survey the girls before her, Safiye would try to sit up straight, smooth her bodice, flutter her eyes, fold her hands gracefully in her lap—whatever that day’s musings determined had been missing from her appearance the day before.
But never once in many months was her name among those the mistress quietly murmured when her decision was reached. Never once was she among the girls who jumped instantly to their feet to scurry off to the baths with high color and high hopes to prepare themselves for the master.
At first Safiye felt it must be her newness, her ignorance, her stumbling with the Turkish tongue or with their manners. This spurred her on to evermore concentrated stud v. But soon she began to suspect that none of these was the cause at all. Sometimes she would catch Nur Banu’s eyes upon her as she played with the other girls.
She watches me as my father used to watch young colts frolic in the fields in springtime, Safiye thought. Satisfied, proud, as if she had created me herself I see no disappointment in her at all. I am clearly her favorite. When she does not wish to eat with the rest, she never fails to call me to join her alone in her room. She often draws me aside for private talks, and she laughs with delight at nearly everything I say. She gave me first choice of the new cloth we got last week — even before she took the blue silk for herself. And yet she doesn’t choose me! Why? Oh, why?
Such thoughts came to haunt Safiye more and more frequently as the everyday chatter of the harem grew more and more common to her ears, until she knew no great secrets were being told and that she could second-guess nearly everything that was said. She began to feel, for the first time since just after her arrival in the East, that she was a prisoner and a slave indeed. She managed to hide it well, but