The Panther and The Pearl Read online

  Sarah’s throat closed in horror at her situation. She had been sold, sold, for God’s sake, to a man who aroused such conflicting feelings in her that the very thought of seeing him again brought her to the verge of tears. Sarah lay back on the couch and looked above the red tiled roof of the carriage house at the sapphire night sky, thinking back to the series of events that had brought her to this unexpected pass, in this dangerous and exotic place.

  Chapter 1

  Constantinople

  Capital, Ottoman Empire

  July, 1885

  “So you are curious about harem life?” James Woolcott said, smiling, taking a sip of his iced drink.

  “Of course,” Sarah replied. “Who wouldn’t be?” His first cousin, she shared his last name and the same passion for travel; they had been raised together in Massachusetts by James’ father, Sarah’s uncle, like brother and sister.

  “Really, James, you should not spend Sarah’s vacation with us discussing the immoral practices of these lewd foreigners,” Beatrice said stiffly, rising to set her glass next to the silver pitcher on the table. She removed her lace handkerchief from the sleeve of her blue silk afternoon dress and dabbed at her temples with it. Her skirt, which was draped up to show a pleated, striped underpanel, rustled as she sat again and fingered the trailing wisps of her chignon.

  “I’m afraid you are the foreigner here, my dear, and immorality is merely a matter of perspective,” her husband replied, winking broadly at Sarah.

  They were sitting on the second floor terrace of the Woolcott home in the European section of the city, within view of the Bosporous Bridge, trying to catch a breeze from the water. Below them the bustle of the market, the creaking of carriage wheels and clopping of horses’ hooves and the cries of the vendors, was muted but still audible.

  Beatrice picked up a folding fan, its handle inlaid with ivory, from the arm of her rattan chair and began to waft it vigorously.

  “Is there any more ice?” she asked her husband.

  “Not until the next delivery at the end of the week,” he replied. James looked at Sarah. “The ice is brought from snow pits on Mount Olympus, but the trip is very long and arduous and so the ice is scarce and extremely expensive.”

  “But it helps to make these roasting summer days bearable. I have never gotten used to the heat, my dear,” Beatrice said to Sarah, her freckled face scarlet. “I’m sure it’s a bother for you, too.”

  “Actually, after twenty years of New England winters, I find the balmy climate a nice change,” Sarah said. “The train trip from Paris on the Orient Express gave me plenty of time to adjust to the weather.”

  “I think Sarah is already in love with the east, Bea, and don’t change the subject,” James observed. “We were discussing Sultan Hammid’s harem.”

  “I wasn’t,” Beatrice replied darkly, fanning herself even more vigorously.

  “Is there more than one?” Sarah asked.

  “Oh, yes. Each of the regional princes, or pashas, has a harem, but Sultan Abdul Hammid’s is the largest. It is called the Grand Seraglio, sometimes known as the Sublime Porte, said to contain the most beautiful women in the entire world. Hammid’s agents scour the Egyptian slave markets and deal with the Barbary pirates selling captives in order to acquire the most succulent ladies for their master.”

  Beatrice made a disgusted sound, annoyed at Sarah’s obvious fascination.

  “Where is the seraglio?” Sarah asked.

  “Deep within Hammid’s palace, Topkapi, built on the isthmus between the Sea of Marmara and the Golden Horn.”

  “What lovely names,” Sarah murmured.

  “Turkish is a remarkably expressive language, very moving in its images,” James remarked.

  “I prefer English,” Beatrice said.

  “Yes, my dear, I know you do, but unfortunately I cannot operate a rug exporting business from Boston Common,” James said briskly, setting his sweating glass on the table. “You might adopt Sarah’s attitude and look upon our time here as a learning experience rather than as a sentence to purgatory.”

  “It’s hot enough to be purgatory,” Beatrice murmured. She adjusted the waist of her fitted bodice, wincing as the whalebone corset pinched her flesh.

  “So the Sultan is the chief ruler of the Empire?” Sarah asked.

  James nodded. “He is the padishah, or king pasha, and all the lesser pashas, though in command of their own districts, are his subjects. And the Sultan rules with an iron hand, he is an absolute monarch. To thwart his will means death.”

  “These people here have no rights, not as we know them in the west,” Beatrice interjected, shuddering. “It’s very frightening.”

  “But how can the Sultan sleep with all those women in the harem?” Sarah asked. Her blue eyes were wide.

  James burst out laughing. “I see which subject interests you the most! The answer is he doesn’t, only one at a time, and he has his favorite mistresses, as well as kadins, or wives, up to four by law. But the women are all available to him at any time. Their lives consist mostly of waiting, keeping themselves ready to please and entertain should they be called.”

  “Despicable practice,” Beatrice muttered.

  “And do they stay there always?” Sarah asked.

  “Unless they are given away to one of the pashas, married off, or sold,” James replied, smoothing his neat blond hair, the same pale gold as Sarah’s.

  “And the people here just accept this system?” Sarah said.

  “Oh, there are always insurrections, but so far no one has been able to unify the tribes scattered throughout the empire against the Sultan. And of course the bedouins are constantly fighting with everybody.”

  “Bedouins?”

  “Desert gypsies, Arabs, mortal foes of the Turks. They dwell in tents and live by selling whatever comes their way. They are always staging raids on the outlying districts, traveling caravans, that sort of thing. They resent any attempt to rule them and consider themselves subject to no one.”

  “It’s all so...” Sarah groped for a word.

  “Uncivilized?” Beatrice supplied, bobbing her head so that her earrings, marcasite studded beads dangling from silver wires, danced with the motion.

  “Very different from teaching American history at the Southport School,” Sarah finished lamely.

  “Would you like to get inside the palace to see the seraglio?” James asked Sarah suddenly.

  Beatrice stared at him. “You told me visitors were never allowed inside the harem,” she said.

  “That is traditionally true, but Sultan Hammid is a despot, he can change his mind at a whim. It so happens that I have heard he’s looking for a western tutor for his daughter, Princess Roxalena. Roxalena is the Princess Sultana, Hammid’s oldest daughter, very spoiled, I’m told, but supposedly very bright. She’s immensely curious about life outside the Empire. Your cultural opposite, Sarah, an eastern sister.”

  “So?” Sarah said, interested.

  “Well. Roxalena was betrothed at birth to some friend of her father’s, a caliph in Damascus, but that fellow was killed in a skirmish a few years ago. Then there was some talk of her marrying the Pasha of Bursa, a chap called Kalid Shah, whom I’ve never seen but who is said to be quite the young fellow in these parts, the local equivalent of a dashing cavalier. But that didn’t happen for some reason, and Roxalena is now sixteen, almost past marrying age. I suspect the Sultan is indulging her in order to get her assent to marrying his choice, sort of a parting gift, if you will. He seems unwilling to force her, which is amazing when you consider how women are usually treated here, but then, people indulge their children and I assume the Sultan is no exception.”

  “You are quite well versed in the local lore,” Sarah observed.

  “I have to be. My business depends upon my ability to shift with the wind, and to do that I have to know what’s going on.”

  “James, you are not seriously suggesting that Sarah go into the Sultan’s harem and tutor that girl,
” Beatrice said, horrified.

  “Why not? Her teaching credentials make her the perfect choice, and she would be doing me an immense favor. I operate my business here at Hammid’s sufferance and it wouldn’t hurt to ingratiate myself by supplying him with the tutor he’s seeking. He would be indebted to me and Sarah would be able to satisfy her own curiosity at the same time. You don’t have to be back for the school term until mid-September, right, Sarah?”

  “But how could I communicate with my pupil?” Sarah asked. “I don’t speak Turkish, not more than a few words and phrases.”

  “The Princess Sultana speaks some English. There were missionaries in the palace when she was small child, before her father banished them for stirring up unacceptable ideas. Either age has made him more lenient or he’s desperate to marry the girl off. Anyway, one of your tasks would be to make her more proficient in the language.”

  “James, I forbid it!” Bea said sharply. “Sarah came all this way to visit us, not to languish with a bunch of heathens in some glorified brothel.”

  “Sarah?” James inquired.

  “I’m thinking.”

  “You could find out the secret of the harem and write a book about it when you go home,” James said.

  “The secret of the harem?”

  “Why the women are content to stay and wait to be chosen.” James leaned closer to Sarah conspiratorially. “The reason, according to the stories I’ve heard, is that Turkish men have studied the art of pleasing a woman sexually, and once loved by one of them a lady will never voluntarily leave his bed.”

  “James, for heaven’s sake!” Beatrice said in an outraged tone, blushing furiously.

  James chuckled. “You would have to observe their customs while in the palace, adopt the Ottoman style of dress and wear the veil in the presence of men other than eunuchs, all of that, Sarah.”

  “About the eunuchs...” Sarah began.

  “I’ve had enough of this,” Bea said briskly, rising. “I’m going in to see about dinner.”

  James and Sarah looked after her.

  “I don’t think she’s very happy here, Cousin James,” Sarah observed quietly.

  James sighed. “I know. I plan to make as much money as I can for the next four or five years and then go back home, invest in a business there. I hope she can take it for that long.” He looked at Sarah. “Her chief complaint has been that there are no women like herself to talk to, that’s why your letters always cheer her. And your visiting was even better. But you’ve already been here for weeks and seen the local sights. You’ve been to the covered bazaar and the Byzantine churches and the Roman ruins. Going into the harem would be a chance for you to expand your horizons beyond what most tourists ever see. What do you say, Sarah? I can talk to the khislar whenever you want.”

  “Who is the khislar?

  “The chief black eunuch, he serves as the liaison between the harem and the outside world. He is the Sultan’s messenger and advisor, very powerful in the palace.”

  “Why would a man like that consent to become a eunuch?” Sarah asked slowly.

  “There’s usually no consent involved,” James said. “They are generally captives of war or caravan raids, even sometimes boys abducted off merchant ships. The eunuchs are always foreign, the whites usually from the Caucasus, Armenia and Georgia, the blacks from Abyssinia, Nubia and the Sudan. Their lot is forced upon them.”

  Sarah fell silent, shocked.

  “A less than charming custom, to the western mind,” James said softly. “But widespread in the east all the way to China, and completely accepted.”

  “Why do they do it?” Sarah asked.

  “The harem women are certainly safe from male servants who are unable to perform with them,” James said.

  “So everything is done for the convenience of the Sultan.”

  “Everything.”

  Sarah shivered. “I don’t know. It’s a very brutal world you describe, I’m not sure I should investigate it.”

  “So we shall have to see whether your curiosity is stronger than your fear.” James sat back and folded his hands over his waistcoat, surveying her with a slight smile on his lips. “I do not hesitate to predict that curiosity will win.”

  Beatrice appeared in the doorway. “Come inside, you two. The insects worsen at dusk, you will be eaten alive.”

  Sarah and James rose together, obeying Beatrice’s call.

  A week later Sarah and James peered out the side windows of their carriage, coughing as the wheels kicked up dust during the climb toward the Sultan’s palace. The building was huge and glitteringly white, with many wings and minarets spiraling toward the sky, the mica in the stone sparkling in the sunlight reflecting from the water below it. The road leading up to it was thronged with traffic, many of the travelers workers at Topkapi, some of them eunuchs in the palace uniform of loose shirt with baggy cotton trousers fitted at the ankle, red waist sash and black waistcoat embroidered with gold. Sarah patted her chip straw bonnet and fingered the collar of her brown lightweight summer suit nervously, then bent to dust the draped skirt where it was drawn up to reveal a cream silk ruffle.

  “Stop fussing, you look fine,” James said reassuringly.

  Sarah glanced up to see the gates of the carriage house looming before her, forty feet tall, manned on either side by halberdiers carrying a fearsome axe with a gleaming, slanted blade. And in the exact center of the closed wooden gates stood a huge black man wearing a gorgeously striped silk caftan, belted at the waist with a cloth of gold sash and with a headband of the same material worn low on his brow. He was posed with his massive arms folded across his chest and his feet, encased in knee high black boots, planted far apart.

  “There’s the khislar,” James said. “I believe that he is waiting for you.”

  Sarah looked at the gates and at her reception committee and felt as if she were entering a forbidden city. She glanced over at James anxiously.

  “You don’t have to go through with it,” James said, reading her expression. “I’ll just tell the khislar you’ve changed your mind.”

  Sarah squared her shoulders and sat up; she had initiated this and it would not look well for James if she backed out at the last minute and disappointed the Sultan.

  “No, James, I’ll be all right. I would appreciate it if you would accompany me to the gates.”

  They descended from the carriage and Sarah felt the khislar’s eyes on her as they approached. They examined her closely with an alert, measuring gaze that made her distinctly uncomfortable.

  “You’ve told him that I’m not destined for the usual fate in the harem,” Sarah said sharply.

  “Of course,” James said. “If you were meant for the Sultan’s pleasure he would undress you and examine you like a physician to see if you passed muster. Just let me emphasize that you are to be returned to my house in the city whenever you request it.”

  Sarah nodded.

  James had a conversation in halting Turkish with the khislar and then turned to Sarah, kissing her on the cheek.

  “Goodbye, my dear,” he said. “Enjoy yourself. I will expect to see you in a few weeks.”

  “Goodbye, James,” Sarah said, clutching the carpetbag containing her things.

  The khislar extended his hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, Sarah gave him her satchel. The gates swung open behind them at the same instant, and James’ carriage turned around in a circle to begin the downhill journey. Sarah looked after it briefly, then followed the khislar through the carriage house entrance.

  Inside the gates, it was another world. People bustled everywhere, each of them seemingly with a purpose, as Sarah trailed the khislar past several guard posts and the quarters for the halberdiers and the eunuchs into an open, cobbled courtyard. All around her workers swept the stones and toted water and carried out their tasks in slavish dedication to their assigned duties. Soldiers matched past in formation, wearing navy uniforms shining with gold buttons and topped off with red flower po
t hats.

  Sarah’s eyes roamed freely, trying to take it all in. A myriad of corridors led off from the courtyard in all directions; she would later learn that one went to the main gate, another to the school for the young princes, a third to the infirmary, a fourth to the kitchens, and so on. It was all so immense and complicated that she could hardly grasp it, and since she was the subject of much staring and covert commentary she kept her eyes on the khislar’s broad back and concentrated on getting where she was supposed to go. Directly ahead of them there was an elaborate arch decorated with lapis lazuli tile; it rose above intricately carved double doors inlaid with stones and sealed with golden handles. Parrot cages with squawking, multicolored birds flanked it and the birds flapped about as another pair of halberdiers stepped aside when the khislar gestured for them to open the doors.

  This was the harem. Sarah tried not to stare rudely, but the spectacle was overwhelming. She had never seen so many women gathered together in one place, so many lovely young women in rich, flowing, albeit scanty garments. They were everywhere, reclining on cushions, sitting on the edge of the marble pool in the center of yet another courtyard, leaning against the columns which surrounded it, bending over the second story balcony which led to the private apartments. Some of them were naked to the waist, draped in heavy gold necklaces hanging between their breasts, their ears decked with similar adornments. Some wore the traditional Turkish garments, a long gown with hanging sleeves which fitted at the back and buttoned up the front, or the trousers, very full from waist to knee, with a trim waistcoat. Some wore headdresses, others had their uncovered hair plaited into complicated styles, most were laden with sumptuous jewelry. All racial types were represented, their skins were of every color, their eyes and hair of every hue, though none that Sarah could see were as fair as herself. A quartet of blindfolded musicians played stringed instruments in one corner next to a softly splashing fountain, and small animals, pets, ran underfoot, cats and dogs and even a monkey. Low tables set upon Oriental carpets were heaped with fruit and other delicacies, and Sarah watched the monkey steal an apple and then swing out of sight to eat it.