An Evil Eye

83

The valide watched the leaves settle in the court. Now and then a halberdier, head lowered and tresses fanning out across his cheeks, entered the valide’s apartment to tend the fire. It burned on a hearth beneath a high canopy that curved like folds of heavy linen; it emitted little heat. Sometimes the valide watched the soldier crossing the court, his steps heavy and cautious.

“Why doesn’t someone come to sweep the leaves away?” she murmured. “That is how it always was, before.”

Tulin bowed her head over her embroidery and sighed. “You are right, my valide. Of course they should sweep. Shall I send to the guardroom?”

The valide was silent for a long time, as if she were thinking of something else. But when she spoke it was to say: “No, there’s no need, I suppose. They are letting it all wind down. And soon we shall be gone, too.”

Tulin glanced up. “Hanum?”

“I told you, dear. The Kislar aga thinks I am needed at Besiktas.”

Tulin nodded vaguely. The valide had not, in fact, told her anything; but Hyacinth had.

“The girls are getting rather out of hand. The Kislar aga is a pantaloon.”

“And you are the valide still, hanum,” Tulin said simply.

The valide smiled. “Quite right. I don’t really wish to go, but all these dreadful old women… And the change would suit you, too.” She shivered. “Do you read French?”

“I regret not, valide.”

“No, no, of course you don’t. I’ve asked you that before. You’re a good girl, but I think you were not well brought up.”

Tulin’s needle paused over a stitch. “I’m afraid you must be right, valide. I can only make chocolate.”

“Astonishing.” The valide folded her cold fingers together, businesslike. “ That you didn’t learn in Circassia.”

Tulin shook her head gently, and smiled. “I think it-it just came to me, valide.”

The valide gave a little grunt. “I’d like a glass of water.” She closed her eyes.

Tulin looked up. The cold made her mistress tired. She laid her sewing aside and quietly rearranged the pelisse. On her narrow feet the valide was wearing woolen boots.

Tulin gingerly poked the fire, so that a flame shot up. Then she opened a little tin and took out a pinch of incense, and tossed it over the logs.