Siege

Chapter 6

SEPTEMBER 1449: MANISA

Mehmed guided his horse out from the cool shade of the forest and on to the baked dust of the road leading to Manisa, the city of princes. Behind him came the hunting party: horsemen, a pack of hounds with tongues lolling after the day's long chase, and the two deer that they had run down in the forests of Mount Sipylus. Mehmed and his party were on the lower slopes of the mountain now, but were still much higher than the city, which spread out on the plain before them, a maze of twisting streets and dusty bazaars broken only by the towering height of the main mosque and by the brilliant green gardens and cool white walls of the newly built palace. The caravanserai on the outskirts of town was crowded with merchants, guards and wandering camels, all taking their ease before continuing the trek to Smyrna or Constantinople. The whole — caravanserai and city alike — was baked by a brilliant late summer sun sitting in a pure blue sky, and heat rose from the ground below, causing the city to shimmer and shift like some fabulous mirage. It was a magnificent sight, but Mehmed gave the city only a glance before spurring his horse down the road at a gallop. The heat from the city was engulfing him already, and he was eager to reach the cool comforts of the palace.

There was no formal business waiting for Mehmed at the palace, which was not a surprise. Although he governed the province of Sarakhan from the palace in Manisa, there was little to do in the way of ruling other than to police and tax the caravanserai, and Mehmed left that task to the able eunuchs who administered the city. He spent his days hunting, practising swordplay and reading. He read mostly military texts — accounts of battles, writings of famous generals, books of strategy — but he was currently reading an account of Constantinople written in the thirteenth century by a Russian visitor to the Greek court. Upon reaching his suites, Mehmed bathed, changed into cool, cotton robes and took the book into the gardens.

Cushions were laid out for him under a lemon tree, and there he reclined, reading amidst the pleasant scent of lemons. He was attended by three gedikli — beautiful female slaves, trained from youth to serve him — who fanned him and fed him honeyed dates and wine, but Mehmed's attention was entirely taken up with his book. The Russian author, named Alexandre, described the city in detail, and Mehmed took careful notes as he read, filling a battered old scroll with sketches and ideas. The current section discussed the numerous underground passages in and out of the city — a topic of particular interest to Mehmed — and as he read, his mind drifted, turning to stratagems and plans of attack against the great city. If he could only find those passages, then he might sneak his troops into the city by night and have them open the gates. Or, perhaps he could fill the passages with gunpowder, and thus bring down the walls above them. But Constantinople was only a dream for now. In distant Manisa, Mehmed had little news of the court in Edirne and even less influence there. I cannot even command my own kadin, he reflected bitterly, much less an army.

Murad had insisted that Mehmed leave Gulbehar behind at the Royal Harem in Edirne. Mehmed missed her, but even more he regretted having been absent for the birth of his son, Bayezid. The boy was still only a babe — too young to be poisoned against his father — but nevertheless, Mehmed would rather have kept him near. Murad had made it clear that he disapproved of both Gulbehar and Bayezid, and Mehmed feared that his father might take advantage of Mehmed's absence to eliminate them. There was no sense in dwelling on the matter, though; he would have to be patient. And, in the meantime, there were his gedikli to keep him occupied. The girl holding the fan was particularly exquisite. She had a broad, oval face and red hair. Mehmed thought she looked Russian and would thus offer a perfect compliment to his book. He made a note in the margin to tell his haznedar, the keeper of the calendar of royal nights, to schedule the girl.

A black eunuch approached Mehmed across the garden. He was from Abyssinia, clean-shaven and rather heavy-set. Like most black eunuchs, he was also a sandali. Before they reached puberty, the sandali had their testicles and penis removed with a single cut of a razor, a wooden tube set in their urethra, and the wound cauterized with boiling oil. Afterwards, they were buried up to the chin in a mound of fresh manure and fed only milk for one week. If they survived, which they did surprisingly often, they were taken into service at the royal court. This particular sandali was named Salim, and as he drew closer, Mehmed saw that his brow was knit in irritation.

Salim bowed low before Mehmed, and spoke in a high, distraught voice. 'Forgive me for disturbing you, most gracious Lord,' he said. 'There is a man to see you, a merchant from one of the caravans. He must be very wealthy, for he bribed every guard and eunuch in sight to obtain an audience with me.' Mehmed smiled at this, for the man had no doubt bribed Salim as well. 'I told him that Your Excellency is occupied, but he insists upon seeing you. He says that you know him. He introduced himself as Isa of Attalia.'

Isa. Mehmed did indeed know a man of that name, but he had thought him dead for many years now. When Mehmed was still a child, still third in line to the throne, there had been a doctor of Asian origin named Isa who came to live in his household at Manisa. Isa knew much about herbs, both beneficent and poisonous, and in return for sizeable fees, he had poisoned Mehmed's two older brothers. Afterwards, Mehmed and his mother had concluded that Isa was a liability. Mehmed had dismissed him from his household and then sent a detachment of janissaries to track him down and kill him. The janissaries had reported Isa's death, and Mehmed had put them to death in turn. He had supposed that all knowledge of Isa had died with them. Yet here was a merchant, some six years later, claiming to be this same man.

'Show the man to my private audience chamber,' Mehmed ordered. 'Be certain that he is not armed. I wish to meet with this Isa alone. Only Ulu is to be present.' Salim bowed and hurried away.

Mehmed dismissed the gedikli and walked to his suites. Before entering his private audience chamber, he stepped into a small adjoining room and peered through a spyhole. There was Ulu, standing grim and stern next to Mehmed's throne, and there, in the middle of the chamber, stood the very same Isa that Mehmed had known as a child. Indeed, the man seemed hardly to have aged at all, even though he must now be near fifty. His gentle, yellow face was still smooth, his head shaved clean and he had the same lively, slanted eyes that Mehmed remembered so well. Mehmed observed Isa for a few minutes — he insisted on making all visitors wait for an audience — but he learned nothing from the man's impassive face. The Asian was carrying some sort of package: perhaps the reason for his presence lay there. After a last glance, Mehmed entered the audience chamber and seated himself on the throne.

Isa bowed low, his forehead touching the ground. 'You may rise,' Mehmed said, filling his young voice with as much authority as he could muster. He wanted Isa to understand from the start that he was a man now, not the boy that Isa had known years ago. 'It pleases me to see that you are well, Isa. I had feared that you were dead these many years.'

'Many thanks for your generous welcome. I am delighted to see that the years have treated you well,' Isa began. 'As for thinking me dead: I do not wonder that you thought so. I am certain that the janissaries you sent to murder me were quite persuasive when they returned.'

'They told me you were dead,' Mehmed said. 'Were they still alive, I would have them put to death. Did you bribe them?'

'No. There was no need. I entered a tavern, and your janissaries lay in wait for me outside. I sent the tavern owner out with drink, to ease their wait. When I came out, I told them that the drink had been poisoned, and that they would only have the antidote if they did exactly as I said. They were to return and tell you that I had been killed. After that, I would have the antidote delivered to them. Of course, they were not poisoned at all, but that hardly mattered. I knew that you would have them put to death as soon as they reported back.'

'I see.' Mehmed was impressed. Isa would have to be handled with care. 'And what brings you to my palace after so many years?'

'I come on behalf of another, bearing a gift and an offer,' Isa said and unwrapped his burden, revealing a finely crafted mahogany box the size of a large book. He stepped forward and held the box out for Mehmed. Mehmed reached for the box, but then hesitated.

'Gifts from you often prove poisonous, Isa. Perhaps I should refuse this one.'

'It is only a box,' Isa said. 'But if you wish to refuse it, that is your choice.'

'And what of the offer you spoke of?'

'The offer and the gift are one and the same. You must accept the gift before I can reveal the offer.'

'Very well,' Mehmed said and took the box. Then he reconsidered and handed it back to Isa. 'You open it,' he ordered. Isa gently opened the lid. It swung back on hinges to reveal a brilliant, crystal vial containing an amber liquid. Isa presented the opened box again, and Mehmed took it. He held the vial up to the light. 'What is it? Poison?'

'A very powerful poison, and untraceable,' Isa said. 'It acts on contact with the skin and can kill in a matter of hours. Swallowed in small doses, the poison works more slowly. Depending on the strength of the victim, death can take days, or even months.'

'On whose behalf have you brought me this mighty poison?' Mehmed asked. 'And what would they have me do with it?'

'A friend from Edirne has sent it. I can tell you no more. As for its use, I wonder that you have not divined it already. After all, we both know that you are not afraid to call on poison when necessary to clear your path to the throne.'

'Are you suggesting that I would assassinate my own father?' Mehmed asked, his voice rising. 'I will have your head for this, Isa. Ulu,' he barked, and the burly janissary stepped forward, drawing his long, curved yatagan.

Isa did not so much as blink. 'If you kill me, then you will die before the day is out,' he said in a calm voice. Ulu hesitated, his sword hanging in the air.

'Ulu, desist,' Mehmed ordered. 'What do you mean, I will die?'

'Did you think that I would walk into your palace without taking precautions? The box you are holding is coated with the same poison that is in the flask. You should already be feeling its effects — a drying of your throat, a sudden tendency to sweat.' Mehmed gulped and wiped sweat from his forehead. Isa continued. 'Yes, I held the box too, so we are both poisoned. But there is an antidote. If it is administered soon, we may both live.'

'How do I know that you are not lying?'

'You do not.'

'Give me the antidote,' Mehmed ordered.

'I do not have it with me,' Isa said. 'It is in my tent at the caravanserai. Only I know where it is kept, or, indeed, what it even looks like.'

'Go then, and hurry,' Mehmed said. 'Ulu, do not let him out of your sight. If you make one false move, Isa, I swear that Ulu will kill you.'

'I understand. You should know that I have more than a hundred men in my service at the caravanserai. I will give the antidote to Ulu, but if he or anyone else makes an attempt on my life, then he will die, and you will never see the antidote.'

'Understood. Ulu will allow no harm to come to you.'

'Very well,' Isa said. 'Many thanks for this audience, Prince Mehmed. Your friend in Edirne will be most disappointed that you did not accept his offer, but I was told that you are to keep his gift regardless. May it profit you.' Isa bowed, and followed by Ulu, left the audience chamber.

Mehmed remained on his throne, clutching the box. Who was this mysterious friend in Edirne who wanted his father dead? And did they really think that Mehmed would be fool enough to accept their offer? Had he actually been poisoned or was this all a game on Isa's part? Mehmed shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He would have spies follow Isa. In the meantime, there was this box and the poison it carried.

Mehmed rose from the throne and passed into his private chambers. He opened a cabinet on the wall, revealing a copy of the Koran in a golden case. He removed the Koran and reached into the back of the cabinet, pressing a hidden latch. The back of the cabinet swung open, revealing a small space containing stacks of gold coins, several bottles of wine and various private papers. Mehmed placed the box inside and then closed the hidden compartment and replaced the Koran. No, he would not be fool enough to poison his father. But, he would keep the poison all the same. One day, perhaps, it would prove useful.

SEPTEMBER 1449: EDIRNE

Halil stood behind a beaded curtain, his arms crossed and his fingers drumming impatiently as he waited for Isa to arrive. Halil had little time to himself, and any absence from the palace of more than an hour was sure to be noticed. He had already been waiting for Isa here, in the back rooms of the rug merchant Farzam's shop, for over fifteen minutes, and he could not wait much longer. To pass the time, he had been imagining devious means of punishing Isa for his tardiness — scalding his eyes with hot irons, drawing his fingernails, dipping his toes in acid. Halil was on the point of leaving and ordering one of these cruel tortures carried out when Isa stepped into the room across the curtain, slapping his clothes to remove the layers of dust that had settled on them during the long ride from Manisa. Isa looked tired and worn, but he did not look afraid. That was good: it meant that he must have succeeded. Halil stepped through the beaded curtain.

'You are late, and you have been followed,' Halil snapped. 'Mehmed's spies were seen riding behind you as you entered town. No doubt they are waiting outside even now. If they see us together, it will mean my head.'

'My apologies, Halil,' Isa replied. 'I had no idea that I was followed, else I would never have led the men here.'

'I am sure,' Halil muttered. 'But no matter. You will leave first, from the front, and I will use the hidden door. There is little danger that Mehmed's spies will see me. For your family's sake, I hope that they do not.' Isa's jaw clenched at this, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. 'I trust your journey was a success,' Halil continued. 'The Greek monk seems to have received his drug. My spies in Constantinople report that the empress-mother has taken ill.'

'Yes, I delivered the drug into his hands myself.'

'And what of Mehmed? How did he respond to my proposal?'

'Much as you anticipated: he refused your offer, but he kept the poison.'

'Very good,' Halil replied, stroking his beard. 'Mehmed will use the poison against his father soon enough. I will see to that. You have done well, Isa. Here is your reward.' Halil tossed Isa a small silk bag. He opened it and poured half a dozen small diamonds into his hand. 'I trust it is adequate?'

'Yes,' Isa said. 'It will do.'

'Good. You are free to go.'

Isa made no move to leave. 'And what of my family?' he demanded. 'You said that you would release them if I did what you asked of me.'

'And I will,' Halil said. 'I will release them when you have done all that I ask of you. For now, however, you may see them. You know the house where they are kept. The guards have been told to expect you. You will have one hour, and you will be searched before you enter.'

Isa left without another word. Halil was glad that he had found him. When Mehmed's oldest brother, Ahmet, had been poisoned, Halil had of course looked into the matter. After several years and many, many bribes, he had traced the source of the poison to Isa, then a servant in Mehmed's household, but not before Mehmed's other brother, Ala ed-Din, had also been killed. Shortly thereafter, Isa had disappeared. Halil had thought him dead until last year when, in search of a particularly rare poison, he had visited a caravanserai outside of Edirne. He was led into the tent of one of the merchants, a man who went by the name of Amir, and was surprised to find himself face to face with Isa. Isa had been living as the prosperous merchant Amir for years, always moving with the caravan, at first staying far from the major Turkish cities. But time had dulled his sense of fear, and for some years he had been following caravans to Edirne and even to Manisa, where Mehmed lived. No one recognized him, and Isa had grown more and more confident. He returned to his earlier calling as a dealer in potions and poisons. Three years ago he had felt secure enough to marry, and now he already had two children. Halil had taken Isa's family into his protection — meaning that if Isa did not do exactly as Halil said, they would be killed. Isa was a strong man. He had not even blinked when Halil told him that he knew that it was he who had poisoned Prince Ahmet, nor had he shown any sign of fear at threats of torture or death. He did, however, have a surprising weakness for his family. After Halil had them seized, Isa had proved most cooperative.

Yes, Halil was glad that he had found Isa. Thanks to his efforts, Murad would soon be dead and Mehmed on the throne. He would be much easier to control than his father, and if he were not, then there was always Sitt Hatun. Halil knew that the sultan's wife was a proud woman and resented her low status next to Mehmed's new kadin, Gulbehar. Halil had offered her a position of power and respect as mother of the reigning sultan. All he asked in return was that she lie with him so that the prince that was born to her, the prince who would be sultan after Halil eliminated Mehmed, would in fact be Halil's son. Sitt Hatun would have what she wanted, and Halil would be regent and the father of the empire. Sitt Hatun had not accepted his offer yet, but that, Halil hoped, was only a matter of time. Sitt Hatun sat beside the carp pool in the harem garden, daydreaming as her maidservant Cicek read aloud to her from a book of poetry. The morning air in the garden was warm and relaxing, scented with the perfume of thousands of flowers. Sitt Hatun trailed her hand in the water and felt the carp nibble gently at her fingers. She closed her eyes and exhaled. The months since Mehmed left for Manisa had been peaceful, despite Gulbehar's frequent slights. And lately, Sitt Hatun had hardly seen Gulbehar, who had kept to her apartments since the birth of her son, Bayezid.

At times like this, Sitt Hatun could almost convince herself that the harem was what the common people thought it to be: darus-saade, the place of happiness. Sitt Hatun, however, knew better. The harem was indeed a place of unparalleled luxury, but it was also rife with treachery and intrigue. It was a world apart, set aside from the rest of the palace grounds. It had its own gardens, its own mosque, its own kitchen and laundries. The harem even had its own people; except for the wives of the sultan and their offspring, none of the inhabitants of the harem was a Turk, for according to law, Muslims could not be made slaves. The women of the harem were sent by foreign rulers eager to establish good relations with the sultan, or else they were captured in war or taken as tribute from neighbouring peoples. They were Greek, Bosnian, Wallachian, Bulgarian, Russian, Polish, Italian and even French. The eunuchs were much the same; they were mostly taken as prisoners of war or rounded up in the devshirme, which exacted a tribute of children from all non-Muslims living within the Ottoman Empire.

Friendships rarely lasted amongst this mixed assortment of peoples, not with so many strange tongues and cultures lumped together, joined only by their desire to rise within the ranks of the harem, from slave-girl jariye to odalisque at the court of one of the sultan's favourites, to concubine and perhaps even to wife or kadin. Everybody spied on everybody, eager to commit small betrayals in return for power. Sitt Hatun's one friend, her ally in this pit of vipers, was her cousin and childhood companion, Cicek. After Cicek's parents died, she and Sitt Hatun had grown up together. They had become inseparable, and when Sitt Hatun had married Mehmed, Cicek had chosen to join her in the harem, even though it meant the loss of her freedom. Now, Cicek was Sitt Hatun's constant companion.

'My Lady.' It was Cicek. She had stopped reading and was gently shaking Sitt Hatun's shoulder. 'My Lady!' she whispered again. 'Yilan is in the garden.' Sitt Hatun opened her eyes and sat up. Yilan: the snake. It was what she and Cicek called Gulbehar, on account of her venomous tongue and the sinuous, swaying way she walked — like the undulating body of a charmed cobra. Sitt Hatun located her on the portico at the other end of the garden, her head held high as she stepped on to the lawn. Behind her came no less than ten odalisques, each dressed in red silk caftans embroidered with swirling patterns in gold — greater finery than Sitt Hatun herself could afford. But they looked drab beside Gulbehar, who was dressed like a princess from the Arabian Nights. She wore a tight, sleeveless silk robe of the deepest red, embroidered with gold and pearls. On her bare arms hung dozens of jewelled bracelets, and her long blonde hair was woven around a diadem of bright gold, set with diamonds. Certainly, Gulbehar did not lack for wealth; Mehmed showered her with gifts. But Sitt Hatun had never before seen her dressed so ostentatiously. She looked more like the wife of Sultan Murad than the kadin of a prince, even of the crown prince.

'Greetings, sister,' Gulbehar said. Her Turkish was laced with a strong Albanian accent, yet another thing that Sitt Hatun hated about her. 'It is such a lovely day. I thought that I would join you.' Gulbehar motioned to her servants, and they placed cushions on the ground near Sitt Hatun. Gulbehar sat, and two more servants stepped forward to fan her.

'I am pleased to see you,' Sitt Hatun lied. 'I have seen little of you since our husband left. You have not been feeling ill, I hope.'

'No, I have not been ill,' Gulbehar said and smiled to herself. What did that smile mean? Sitt Hatun wondered. 'Little Bayezid has kept me busy, that is all.'

The words were like a slap. Bayezid was Gulbehar's pride and joy, as well as her favourite tool for torturing Sitt Hatun. It was because of Bayezid that Gulbehar enjoyed the title of bas haseki — mother of the heir — and the privileges that went with it. It was because of Bayezid that Sitt Hatun was wife in name only.

'Yes, your son must be quite a handful,' Sitt Hatun said. 'Do the doctors still fear that he is an idiot?' Gulbehar flushed crimson. Bayezid had been dropped when he was still a newborn, and although he had shown no adverse effects, there was a persistent palace rumour that his wits were addled. It was a silly rumour, but it was the best that Sitt Hatun could do.

'No,' Gulbehar replied. 'He is well. In fact, he looks more like his father every day.' As if on cue, the unseen Bayezid began bawling, his loud cries descending from Gulbehar's quarters and echoing throughout the gardens. 'Such a strong voice, like his father's,' she said. 'I suppose that he should be seen to.'

Sitt Hatun nodded, hoping that she might soon be rid of Gulbehar. 'Yes, no doubt he cries for his mother.'

'No doubt,' Gulbehar agreed. She looked around, as if she were searching for something. 'But all of my servants are busy. No matter. You,' she called, pointing to Cicek. 'Bring me my child.' Sitt Hatun's eyes widened. To order another's servants was to take charge of them, but surely Gulbehar would not dare to steal away Sitt Hatun's favourite. Murad would never allow it.

Cicek did not move. 'Do you hear me, girl? Bring me my son,' Gulbehar repeated. Cicek looked to Sitt Hatun, who nodded and looked away as Cicek rose and left. 'You do not mind, do you, sister?' Gulbehar asked Sitt Hatun. 'I will send you a replacement tomorrow. Anyone you wish.'

But this was too much for Sitt Hatun. 'I do not need a replacement,' she spat back as she rose to her feet. 'The Sultan will not permit this.' Sitt Hatun hurried away to her apartments, struggling to hold back her tears. 'This cannot be,' she repeated to herself again and again. Murad will not allow it. He cannot.

But Murad did allow it. In response to Sitt Hatun's angry plea that Cicek be returned to her, he told her that harem politics were not his affair and ordered her to take one of Gulbehar's odalisques in exchange. Sitt Hatun stormed away, furious. She was too angry to even think about letting one of Gulbehar's women, no doubt a spy, into her household. She shut herself in her bedroom and took up her sitar, picking out a nursery song from her childhood in an effort to calm herself. But peace would not come, only fat tears that splashed silently on the finished wood of the sitar. She had no friends in her household now. She was alone.

Alone perhaps, but she was not weak. Sitt Hatun set the sitar aside and angrily wiped the tears from her eyes. She could not afford to indulge in sorrow. She did not have the money or the servants that were showered on Gulbehar. But she had her wits, and she would have to use them. Gulbehar had taken Cicek, but perhaps Sitt Hatun could turn this to her own advantage. Cicek would always be faithful to her, and a spy in Gulbehar's household could prove useful. Very useful, if Sitt Hatun's growing suspicions concerning Gulbehar's sudden wealth proved accurate. Sitt Hatun thought once more of Gulbehar's strange half-smile. Perhaps she would now be able to solve the riddle behind that smile. A week passed before Sitt Hatun saw Cicek again. Returning from evening prayers in the harem mosque, she found Cicek in her bedroom, waiting for her. Sitt Hatun moved to embrace her, but Cicek motioned for her to stop.

'I must be quick, My Lady,' Cicek whispered. 'If Yilan learns that I have come to visit you, then there will be trouble for us both.' Sitt Hatun nodded. 'There is a girl outside waiting to speak to you, an odalisque from Gulbehar's household. She has asked for your protection in return for information about Gulbehar. She will not tell me her secret, but I believe that it is important. Will you speak to her?'

'Of course. But what of you?' Sitt Hatun asked. 'Does Yilan treat you well?'

'I have seen nothing of her,' Cicek replied, her voice tired. 'She has placed me among the lowest jariye. I spend my days embroidering and doing laundry. I am not allowed to wait on Gulbehar.' There were tears in Cicek's eyes, and Sitt Hatun could tell that she was sparing her the worst. 'I must go, My Lady.'

Sitt Hatun embraced Cicek, and they clung to one another. 'Thank you, my friend,' Sitt Hatun whispered. 'Now go, and may Allah protect you.'

Cicek left, and seconds later a Polish girl no older than fifteen entered. She wore the same scarlet and gold robes that Sitt Hatun had seen on Gulbehar's odalisques in the garden. This meant that she was a member of Gulbehar's inner household. The girl was beautiful, in her own way. She was long and thin, as if she had been stretched. Her slender arms ended in graceful fingers. Her neck was elongated, and her blonde hair hung nearly to her waist. Her wide eyes were blue, innocent and afraid. She bowed low when she saw Sitt Hatun and did not rise.

'Stand up, girl,' Sitt Hatun ordered, but gently. 'What is it that you have to tell me? Speak freely. You need fear no spies here.'

The girl remained silent, and Sitt Hatun feared she would not speak. But, then she opened her mouth, and the words gushed forth in a torrent. 'Please protect me, My Lady,' the girl began. 'Cicek has told me so many good things about you. She said that I could trust you. Still, I would not ask your protection, but I know that you hate Gulbehar. She would kill me if she knew I had come to you, but I will die anyway without your help. I will tell you my secret, but first, promise to protect me.'

'Protect you from what? From Gulbehar?' The girl nodded vigorously. 'And why should Gulbehar wish you any harm?' The servant girl blushed and lowered her eyes. 'Have you stolen from her?'

'Of course not, My Lady,' the girl protested. 'She is jealous of me.'

'Jealous? I see.' Sitt Hatun was not surprised to hear it. She had experienced Gulbehar's jealousy first hand. But if she was jealous, then it could only mean that this girl had come between Gulbehar and a lover. Who? Surely not Mehmed, far away in Manisa. Sitt Hatun suspected that she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from the girl. 'Do not fear,' Sitt Hatun told her. 'I will protect you. Now, tell me why Gulbehar would be jealous of an odalisque?'

'Because I am gozde,' the girl replied, blushing. To be gozde meant literally to be 'in the eye' of the sultan. It meant that Murad had taken note of the girl, and perhaps even ordered his haznedar to schedule a night with her.

'And how did you, a servant of Gulbehar, come to be gozde?'

'Murad visits Gulbehar's apartments to be with her,' the girl said, her cheeks burning and her eyes fixed on the floor. 'Gulbehar makes us wear masks so that we will not catch Murad's eye, but he took note of me nonetheless. It was not my fault. I did nothing, and yet a friend has told me that the haznedar has placed my name on the calendar of royal nights. Gulbehar is a jealous woman. If I lie with the sultan, she will have me killed. My friend tells me that I am scheduled for next week.'

'And what would you have me do?' Sitt Hatun asked. 'I have no power with the haznedar. Once a name is written, it is beyond my power to change it.'

'Take me into your household,' the girl said. 'I was there in the garden when Gulbehar took Cicek from you. She offered you a servant to replace Cicek. Ask for me. She cannot refuse you.'

Sitt Hatun was inclined to grant the girl's request. It was the least she could do in return for the information the girl had given her. When Sitt Hatun told Mehmed that his beloved Gulbehar was unfaithful — and with his father no less! — then Mehmed would surely reward her. Perhaps he would even lie with her. But then again, this girl could be lying. She could be a spy sent by Gulbehar. Even if she did speak the truth, Sitt Hatun would need more than this girl's word if she were to accuse Gulbehar.

'I will take you into my household, but first I need proof of what you say,' Sitt Hatun told her.

The girl produced a golden chain, from which dangled a huge ruby that flashed a brilliant red, like the final blaze of the setting sun. There was no mistaking the gem. It was the kumru kalp, the dove's heart, and Sitt Hatun had never seen Murad without it. 'Murad gave it to Gulbehar. I took it from her quarters. Do you believe me now?' the girl asked.

'I believe you, girl, but I need to see this with my own eyes. When will the sultan next visit Gulbehar?'

'Tonight.'

'Then tonight you will show me.'

'But that is impossible,' the girl stammered. 'I could never sneak you into Gulbehar's apartments. Certainly not while Murad was there.'

'If you cannot bring me with you, then there is only one solution,' Sitt Hatun said. 'What is your name, girl?'

'Anna, My Lady.'

'Anna, take off your clothes.' Dressed in Anna's clothes, Sitt Hatun hurried through the palace and slipped inside Gulbehar's apartments. Although she wore the mask that Anna had given her, Sitt Hatun did not want to take any chances. Her disguise might fool the casual observer, but her clothes — clearly too long in the arms and legs — would not stand up to close scrutiny. She dreaded what would happen if she were found out. It would be easy enough for Gulbehar to have her murdered and then claim ignorance. When a woman left her place within the harem, she had very few protections indeed.

Sitt Hatun entered her old apartments, now Gulbehar's, and took the servants' passage that left the entrance room and skirted a reception room covered in pillows and filled with the smoke of a hookah. She came out of the passage into the interior garden, bathed in golden light that shone through the open roof. Moving quickly to the far corner of the room, she slipped behind a potted palm and gently pressed one of the cool tiles on the wall, triggering a hidden door. Sitt Hatun slipped through and into another servants' passageway, this one leading past Gulbehar's bedroom and to the apartment's private kitchen.

The passage was dark, save for the pinpricks of light that shone through the wall from small spyholes. They were there so that servants could watch their mistress and respond instantly to her every whim. No one stood at the peepholes now. No doubt Gulbehar kept this passageway empty during her meetings with Murad. Sitt Hatun put her eye to one of the holes and saw Gulbehar's candlelit bedroom before her. Gulbehar had made many changes. The glory of the room still lay in the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows that ran along two sides, showing a spectacular view of the imperial palace stretching away to the river. But the windows were half-hidden now behind screens of woven gold. The rest of the walls were covered with silk tapestries, shimmering with gold and silver thread. The tile floor was now covered with deep rugs. Altogether, the decor gave the impression of a richly decorated tent, an impression that was contradicted only by the enormous bed that dominated the centre of the room. The bed, hung with yellow silk curtains, was easily ten feet wide. And there, nude on the bed, were Gulbehar and Murad.

Gulbehar lay on her back, her head hanging over the edge of the bed so that Sitt Hatun could see her face, contorted in ecstasy. Gulbehar's long legs were wrapped around the waist of Murad, who lay atop her, grunting as he thrust. Gulbehar cried out in Albanian as he moved faster and faster. Finally, Murad moaned with pleasure and collapsed. After a moment, he rolled off and stood. A long scar marked his right shoulder, and there were several more on his thin legs. His sunken chest and large belly were covered with fine grey hair. Gulbehar remained on the bed, naked and covered in sweat, while he began to dress.

'Must you go so soon?' Gulbehar pouted.

'Ibrahim Bey is making trouble again in Karamania. I must write to the loyal beys there,' he told her. 'I spend too much time in your quarters as it is. Even loyal tongues will wag if the price is right. Mehmed is a rash young man. He must not know about us.'

Gulbehar rose and helped Murad to tie the sash around his caftan. 'Mehmed is nothing,' she purred. 'You are the sultan, and you have another heir now — my son.'

The sound of approaching footsteps drew Sitt Hatun's attention from the room. She looked away from the spyhole and saw a light approaching down the passageway from the kitchen. She quickly retreated in the other direction, out into the garden. There was no place to hide, so she passed through it and into the reception room, where she came face to face with Murad. Immediately, Sitt Hatun bowed low, keeping her face to the floor. She backed away, but Murad gestured for her to stop.

'Stand up straight, girl,' he commanded. Sitt Hatun did as she was told. She could see a gleam in Murad's eyes. Was that recognition or simply desire? 'I haven't seen you here before,' Murad continued after looking Sitt Hatun up and down. 'Are you new to Gulbehar's court?'

Sitt Hatun nodded and mumbled in a basso profundo that she hoped adequately disguised her voice, 'I must attend to her, My Lord.' She moved to go, but Murad took her arm, holding her back.

'You certainly are in a hurry,' Murad laughed. 'You should not be so eager to escape the honour of the sultan's gaze.' He turned Sitt Hatun toward him, stroking her arm. 'Take your mask off, girl. Let me see your face.'

Sitt Hatun froze, her mind seeking desperately for some means of escape. She could call out, but what would be the use? She could not run, Murad was holding her arm. And now, he was touching her hair. His hand was playing with the knot that held her mask, slowly loosening it. A few seconds now and she would be revealed. Sitt Hatun closed her eyes, her breath caught in her throat.

'Murad!' It was Gulbehar, still nude and standing in the doorway to the reception room, her hands on her hips. Stepping past Sitt Hatun, she pressed herself against the sultan and purred into his ear: 'Leave my servant alone.' Murad released Sitt Hatun, and Gulbehar kissed him voraciously. Sitt Hatun slipped towards the exit.

'Stop!' Gulbehar snapped, and Sitt Hatun froze. Gulbehar's eyes narrowed as she examined Sitt Hatun. 'What is your name, girl?'

What could she say? She could not claim to be Anna. The deception would be too obvious. Only one other name came to her. 'Cicek, My Lady,' she said and bowed low, hiding her face.

'Be gone, girl,' Gulbehar ordered. 'There's work for you in the kitchen.' She paused, and then added: 'And take off those clothes. You are not an odalisque in my court!'

Sitt Hatun hurried to the harem kitchens. From there, she took a servant's passage that led to her own apartments. She collapsed on her bed, shaking as the fear that she had held inside spread throughout her body. After only a moment, though, she steeled herself, forcing herself to lie still. The danger had passed, and now was no time for weakness. What the girl Anna had told her was true. Gulbehar and Murad were lovers. Soon enough, she vowed, it would be Gulbehar who would have reason to fear. Sitt Hatun spent the next day dreaming of her revenge: how she would tell Mehmed; what Mehmed would do to Gulbehar; how she, Sitt Hatun, would mock her fallen rival. She dreamed, but she did not plan, not yet. After all, there was no hurry. She could not tell Mehmed until he returned from Manisa; there was no messenger that she would trust. And she had decided not to tell Halil. She did not need the vizier and his plan now that she had evidence of Gulbehar's infidelity. Sitt Hatun could look after herself.

That evening she sent a note to Gulbehar requesting that Anna be sent to serve her, and content with Gulbehar's reply that Anna would be sent over the next morning, Sitt Hatun lay down to sleep, looking forward to dreams of vengeance and glory. She awoke with a start at midnight to the sound of a long, terrified scream, cut suddenly short. It had been a woman's voice, and it was strangely familiar. Hearing it, Sitt Hatun's blood ran cold. She listened for a long time, but there was no further sound. Eventually she sank into a troubled sleep.

When she awoke the next morning the day was bright and fair, and the scream seemed distant and unreal — a nightmare better forgotten. Sitt Hatun allowed her odalisques to dress her, took a light breakfast of bread and olives, and then went down to the harem garden to read. She had hardly settled down when Anna arrived. From the moment that Sitt Hatun saw the girl's face, she knew that something was wrong. Anna bowed low. 'Gulbehar has sent me to serve you, My Lady. Do you find me to your liking?'

Sitt Hatun nodded. 'You shall have a place in my household. Come, we shall retire to my apartment, and I will show you where you are to live.' Once they reached Sitt Hatun's apartments, she took Anna aside in her private chamber. 'Tell me,' Sitt Hatun commanded, whispering so as not to be overheard, 'is something wrong?'

Anna nodded, her eyes downcast. 'Your friend, Cicek, is dead.'

'How? What happened?'

'Gulbehar accused Cicek of spying and thieving. Last night, men came and took her. She screamed for help, but they cut out her tongue. They tied her in a bag and threw her in the river.' Sitt Hatun could only nod her understanding as tears filled her eyes. Cicek had paid the price for her own foolishness. She dug her nails into her palms and clenched her jaw tight to prevent herself from sobbing.

'There is more,' Anna continued. 'Gulbehar is furious over the disappearance of the kumru kalp. She suspects that Cicek gave it to you, and that you know about her and Murad. You are in grave danger, My Lady. I know Gulbehar. She will not rest until you are dead.'