Evil in a Mask (27 page)

To take his mind off Aimée Roger thought, as he often did, of his beloved Georgina. She was the great love of his life, and no other woman could ever supplant her. Time and again he had pressed her to marry him, but she had proved adamant in her refusal. She always maintained that it was only because they were separated, often for many months and sometimes even for years, by his work as a secret agent on the Continent, that the flame of their desire for each other had never flickered, and that each time they did come together for a while it was with the same wild, joyous, utterly satisfying passion that they had known in their teens.

He fell asleep still thinking of her, and she came to him in a dream. So strong was the bond between them that there had been several occasions when he had been in acute danger and her voice had come clearly to him, telling what to do to save himself.

Now he could see her bending over him. He felt her soft kiss linger on his lips. Then she said, ‘Roger, dear heart. Tomorrow
you will receive an invitation. Take it, and you will have no regrets.'

When he woke in the morning, he remembered his dream as clearly as though she had come to his room in the flesh. The dream puzzled him greatly, because in his present situation the last thing he expected to receive was an invitation. Then he put the matter from his mind, had breakfast, spent half an hour in the Hamam and dressed.

It was shortly before midday that a herald emerged from the camp the Janissaries had made opposite the main gate of the castle, and demanded its submission in the name of the Sultan Mustapha IV.

The Pasha replied from the battlements above the great gate that he knew no Sultan other than His Imperial Majesty Selim III; and that in his name he would defend Rumeli Hisar to the death against all comers.

The herald retired, then returned ten minutes later, to state that His Imperial Master Mustapha IV desired to preserve his subjects from unnecessary bloodshed. So would the Pasha or some responsible person come out and parley with him?

Prince Mahmoud was standing on the steps that led up to the battlements above the great gate, and he said to the Pasha, ‘Tell the man that, provided none of Prince Mustapha's troops are within four hundred yards of the gate when it is opened, I will do so.'

The Pasha pleaded with him to be allowed to go himself, insisting that if the Prince went out alone, he would certainly be assassinated. But Mahmoud refused to be moved, and said, ‘Your cannon are already trained upon the Janissaries' encampment. Give orders to your men that, should they see me shot down, they are to fire. Such a volley might well kill Mustapha and so save our Sultan. You know the ancient prophecy that, when the last Prince of the House of Osmanli dies, the end of the Turkish Empire will follow. If both Mustapha and I are dead, they will not dare harm His Imperial Majesty.'

‘So be it then, my Prince,' the Pasha submitted. Turning, he shouted the terms to the herald, who agreed them; then
he and Mahmoud descended the stone staircase together and ordered the great gate to be unbarred.

Roger and the Kizler Aga had been standing nearby on the battlements, so they had heard the whole transaction. Now they watched the Janissaries withdraw and Prince Mahmoud leave the castle. A small group of men came forward to meet him, but did not approach beyond the stipulated limit.

The gunners held their lighted matches ready to apply them to the touch-holes of the cannons should the Prince be attacked. But, after a few minutes, it seemed that the rebels, at least for the present, had no intention of harming him. At a distance of a quarter of a mile it was not possible to see the expressions of the faces of the group or guess from their gestures how their discussion was going; but it seemed to be interminable.

At least half an hour went by before Mahmoud bowed to the others, turned and started back towards the castle. Roger, the Pasha and the Kizler Aga were all so intensely anxious to hear what had passed that they went out to meet him.

He greeted them with a smile, and said, ‘The lives of all of us are safe. I have made a pact with Prince Mustapha. I refused his demand that our Lord Selim should publicly abdicate; but agreed that we should become his prisoners in the Seraglio. We are to be treated with respect, and enjoy the same comforts and semi-liberty as he and his mother have been allowed during the past few years. Tomorrow morning we are to return to the Seraglio in one of the Imperial barges, with a fitting escort and the homage due to Princes of the House of Osmanli.'

Roger frowned. ‘In the circumstances, the terms are generous. Prince, and I'd congratulate you were I certain that Mustapha would honour them. But dare you trust him? Once he has you all in his power, isn't it highly probable that he will murder you?'

Mahmoud shook his head. ‘Nay. He swore it upon the Koran before witnesses. Did he break his word, the Mullahs would denounce him from every pulpit in Islam, and his body
would be thrown to the dogs by his own household troops for having disgraced the supreme office of Caliph.'

The Pasha and
Son Altesse Noire
were also evidently of that opinion, for they were laughing and clapping one another on the back.

Selim's virtual dethronement could not be taken as cause for a celebration. Nevertheless, an atmosphere of subdued gaiety permeated the castle for the remainder of the day. The fear of imminent death had been lifted, not only from the Imperial party, but from the whole garrison.

Late in the evening, Aimée sent for Roger. To his surprise he found her alone. She greeted him with a smile. ‘So it is all over. I am sure my prayers to the Holy Virgin must have helped; but it is to you we owe our lives.'

He shook his head. ‘No, Madame. It is to the courage and statesmanlike handling of the situation this morning by your son.'

She smiled again. ‘I am very proud of him. He will make a great Sultan.'

Roger hesitated. ‘Is there … is there really much chance now of his ever ascending the throne?'

‘Most certainly he will. Did you never hear the prophecy that was made to me when I was a young girl in Martinique? It was that I would become a Queen and that my son would rule gloriously over a mighty Empire.'

‘I earnestly pray, Madame, that the second half of that prophecy may also come true. But, with regard to yourself, I am deeply distressed. The thought of your becoming a prisoner has harrowed me all day.'

‘Please let it do so no longer,' she said gently. ‘It means only my removal from one prison to another. The so-called “cage” in the Seraglio is a beautiful pavilion with numerous rooms and its own garden. All that we have been through was caused only by the jealousy of Prince Mustapha's mother. She envied me my position. Now that she has it, she will be content. And Mustapha is by no means ill-disposed towards me personally. I am sure he will allow me to keep all the things I treasure. I'll have my books, my needlework and my flowers.'

‘Oh,
chére Madame
! You cannot imagine how relieved I am to hear this.'

‘I am most touched that you should have been so concerned for me. My one regret is that our friendship cannot continue. Tomorrow morning we shall see the last of each other.' Aimée paused for a moment, then went on. ‘Alas, there is little I can do to reward you for your devotion. But there is one small matter that I could arrange to give you pleasure.'

Roger threw out his hands. ‘Madame, I protest. I need no reward. It has been a joy to be of service to you.'

‘I am glad; but shall persist with my idea. From what Zanthé told me, you are not only a brave but very virile and amorous man. And one, too, who would not demean himself to lie with any but a beautiful and well-born girl—such, for example, as my little Fatima.'

Roger stared at her nonplussed, as she continued. ‘It must have become obvious to you that she regards you as a demigod. And she is no virgin, as for a year she was a concubine to one of the young Princes who died not long ago. You have but to say the word and, given my permission, she will come running to sleep with you tonight.'

‘Madame, I … I …' Roger stammered.

Aimée threw back her head, and laughed. ‘
Cher Chevalier
. Why be so bashful? Men of your kind do not frequent brothels, so must be starved of women when in the East. And Fatima passed her tests in the Seraglio “School of Love”, so I guarantee you there is nothing she will not do to please you. But there is one condition. All must take place in complete darkness, in order to conform with Turkish observances.'

With a puzzled frown, Roger asked, ‘Pray tell me, Madame, what is the reason for such a strange custom?'

‘You would naturally wish to kiss your bed-fellow,' Aimeé replied. ‘Therefore, she must dispense with her veil. Of course, when a couple are married, no such problem arises. But Turkish females are very different from Europeans. As I have learned from many Turkish ladies of my acquaintance when, as sometimes happens, they are left for a while alone with an attractive friend of their husband's; they will permit many
liberties, but should the man lift their veil, they would take it as a deadly insult. That is why, should you wish me to send Fatima to you, I require your word of honour that you will have the shutters of the windows of your room closed, the curtains drawn, and in no circumstances endeavour to look upon her unveiled face.'

Roger was in a quandary. Face to face with Aimée as he was, Fatima meant nothing to him. Yet she was a pretty girl, with a lovely figure, and it was a considerable time since he had slept with a woman. It then occurred to him that, in any case, it would be churlish to refuse this obviously kindly-intended offer; so he bowed and said:

‘Madame, I am deeply grateful to you for your thought for me as a man who for a considerable time past has not enjoyed nature's blessings. If Fatima is willing, I shall be delighted to receive her—and I feel confident I can promise to give her an enjoyable night.'

Aimée smiled. ‘I am sure you will,
mon cher Chevalier
. I will not bid you good-bye now, but in the morning before I am taken away to my new prison.'

Having kissed her hand, Roger withdrew; still wondering at the breadth of this extraordinary woman's mind—that in the midst of her own troubles she should have thought about providing pleasure for a friend who had stood by her when she was in danger. Then he recalled the dream in which his beloved Georgina had appeared to him. This must be the invitation that she had urged him to accept. And he had nearly refused it, because the radiance of Aimée had made him so indifferent to Fatima's attractions. With a smile he thought, ‘I've never yet questioned Georgina's advice. And, after all, Fatima is a graduate of that famous “School of Love”. Maybe she can teach me something, though I doubt it. Anyhow, a night with a girl will make me feel a real man again.'

Going to his room he slowly undressed, closed the shutters, drew the curtains, then got into bed. For a while he laboured a little to read two of the stories in a Turkish edition of the
Thousand and One Nights
. Rolling up the scroll, he blew out the bedside lamp.

The room was now in Stygian blackness. He could not see his hand before his face. Patiently he lay there for what seemed a very long time. At last he heard the door open, but not even a ray of light came in, as the lamps in the corridor had been put out.

The door closed. His heart began to hammer with anticipation. He caught the swish of a silk garment as it slid from his visitor's shoulders to the floor. Next moment she had pulled back the bed-clothes, and wriggled in beside him.

He drew her to him, and ran his hand lightly over her hair. It was not crinkly as he remembered, but very fine and silky. Leaning over, he kissed her on the mouth. It was not full-lipped, but very soft, and she moved it gently, touching his tongue with hers. As their kiss ended, she gave a low laugh and said:

‘I've cheated you, haven't I? You've got an old woman who has fallen in love with a wonderful man.'

He had known it a moment before. It was not Fatima that he held naked in his arms, but the Veiled Crown of Turkey, who was yet to change the destiny of a great nation: the remarkable woman whom the Grand Turk had chosen to honour above all others in his vast Empire—
Naksh
the Beautiful.

On June 7th General Gardane's mission, and Roger with it, left Constantinople. The intelligence sources serving the French Embassy were good. Within a few days of the
coup d'état
, the General had learned that the new Sultan, Mustapha IV, and his mother, as a natural corollary of their opposition to Aimée who led the pro-French party, had long been in secret communication with the British and the Russians. Therefore, there was now not the least chance of Gardane's mission succeeding in Turkey.

He had, therefore, decided to take his whole party on as soon as possible to Persia. By the land route, its capital, Isfahan, was some fifteen hundred miles from Constantinople; but a good part of the journey could be done by sea, and in a vessel there was no necessity for horses to be rested while their tired riders slept in a camp or inn. Ships proceeded on their way day and night. So, although the distance to Antioch by sea was a thousand miles, and they would then still have to travel another thousand miles overland, Gardane felt that, during the summer weather, unless the winds proved unusually contrary for that season, they would save several days and themselves much exertion if they went as far as they could by ship.

For the purpose he chartered a brigantine with a hold large enough to stable their horses, and confined—but by the standard of the times, adequate—quarters for the personnel.

When in mid-morning, with the sun blazing down out of a brassy blue sky, they set sail and rounded Seraglio Point into the Sea of Marmora, Roger, leaning over the stern rail,
looked back at the terraced gardens and innumerable kiosks that made up the Topkapi Palace.