Sofia
falling into another fit. Finally, first she and then I collapsed to the cushions of the divan and rolled and laughed and cried until we were spent.***
“Good night, my lady.”
How long had we lain thus side by side until a chill brought me to myself? Selim’s daughter had laughed herself into an immobile exhaustion. She didn’t reply. Perhaps she even slept. I shivered again in the autumn chill that had crept into the room. I found a quilt and tossed it over her sleeping form. Her little hennaed feet curled up under it in gratitude, but her breath came deeply now. She slept.
It was good for Esmikhan Sultan to laugh. As a bride, she must have been under a lot of tension, and would come under more.
But it was also good for me. I hadn’t allowed myself to laugh since I’d slept in Husayn’s guest room so very long ago.
I’d been afraid it might hurt my mutilation. I found now that it did not.
XL
We moved through the autumn hills that were thick with the acrid smell of asphodel like smoke to the flame-orange turn of the leaves. The bridal train was more glorious than I had dared to hope. The master had meant to send only his old black retainer, Ali, and myself. He was too busy with duties of state at the moment, though he promised he would travel a day’s journey out of Constantinople to meet us.
At the last minute, some word of conscience, perhaps from the Sultan himself, had reminded Sokolli Pasha that this was a princess of the blood he was marrying, not just any old peasant. For duty’s sake, he had increased our numbers to thirty out of the capital. Our escort, however, was not composed of musicians, mimes, acrobats, and other merrymakers common to wedding parties, but a squadron of janissaries. It was as if our charge were a chest of taxes in pure gold traveling through a land of barbarians rather than a bride crossing the very bosom of the Turkish homeland.
Now, on our return, Prince Murad himself was in the company. The most trustworthy harem gossip told me this was Safiye’s doing. Nur Banu and most of her suite were retreating from the mountains for the winter, as they always did. A skeletal harem only would be left to see to the needs of Selim during these cold months, and Safiye had no desire to be part of the powerless dregs. Yet now she could not be permitted to leave Murad’s side. Her only alternative was to convince the young prince to convince the sandjak and his father that he should winter in Constantinople, too. This Safiye accomplished in ways known not to the daylight disputations of the divan, but only to the secret nights of lovers.
Whatever the gossips said, I could not help but think that part of Murad’s purpose in making this journey was that he did not really trust me with the honor of his women. I could feel his suspicion like whiplash on my back every time I approached one of the curtained sedans. I did notice, however, that he was rather careless of my dealings with his sister, so I suspect he was more jealous of the curt Italian Safiye and I exchanged and the tension of a past he could feel between us than he was of Esmikhan’s virginity.
For her own purposes, Safiye handled this very well. Though my mistress barraged her with messages and tidbits of gossip all day long, sent on my feet and through my tongue, Safiye initiated nothing in response. All of her attention went elsewhere—via other eunuchs to the prince, who rode on his horse at the head of the column.
On our third noonday halt, I returned once again empty-handed to Esmikhan.
“What says Safiye?” my lady rose to ask.
“She said nothing, only took the message through her grille in silence.”
“She will not come and join me. Again.”
The hurt in Esmikhan’s voice was deep. She sat down once more, but found no comfort on the cushions her maids had fluffed up for her under an oak gone crimson and making the ground rough with its dropping fruit. Her maids tried to tempt her with dainties from the kerchiefs full of lunch, but they made the mistake of offering a little Turkish bonnet first.
“Safiye’s favorite,” Esmikhan sighed, and pleaded no appetite after that.
“Lady, Safiye is busy with her love,” one of the maids coaxed. “Soon you’ll have enough love of your own to keep you as busy as she is. Think of that. Think forward to your husband-to-be and do not be sad.”
The other girls murmured their agreement with these sentiments, but Esmikhan avoided their words and, while trying to avoid their circle of eyes as well, her gaze fell on me. I had not been dismissed and stood clumsily by, wondering if I should dismiss myself. The sudden excitement that beamed through the clouds of tears in her velvet brown eyes momentarily increased my apprehension. But when she saw me, Esmikhan suddenly let out a little laugh. Forced though it was, it was nonetheless an echo of our laughter three nights ago in her room in Kutahiya.
“Abdullah,” she said.
“Lady, I am at your service.” She held out her hand and insisted I take it in mine. Her hand was soft and warm. “You shall come and sit here on the cushions, Abdullah, right by me, and tell me everything there is to tell.”
“Lady?”
“Tell me all you can about Sokolli Pasha, who is to be my husband.”
“My lady, I’m afraid I do not know much at all.”
“Surely you have met him?”
“Yes,” I replied. “But only once.”
“See? That is once more than anyone else I know. All these silly women mean either to terrify me or to placate me with their false rumors. But they have never even seen him and I refuse to believe them. I will believe only you, Abdullah, so you must tell the truth. They say Sokolli Pasha is old.