Odalisque (15 page)

‘You have been chosen by the Valide Zara as a suitable mate for her son, Zar Boaz.’ He watched carefully as her gaze darkened slightly. Good, she was nervous. There was no other giveaway sign, which only served to intrigue Salmeo more.

He waited and when she said no more but fixed him with a stare instead, he continued. ‘I must check that you are a virgin, Ana.’

‘Reminding you of my young age is not enough, presumably.’

He almost clapped at that. He did appreciate her spirit. Most of the girls usually broke down at this point.

‘No,’ he answered. ‘It is not enough. It must be personally verified by myself.’

‘Or what?’

‘Or you cannot join the harem.’

‘That’s perfectly acceptable to me.’

Now Salmeo did allow the broad smile to break across his wide face and reveal the cavernous gap in his front teeth. His tongue flicked into and out of the hole like a snake tasting vibrations in the air.

He saw the girl’s flinch of disgust, fed on it.

‘Ana, pay attention,’ he warned softly. ‘You cannot break the promise that has been made to
the Valide. Money has exchanged hands, agreements have been reached, and you yourself have made a bargain with the Zar’s mother. There is no higher commitment you could make.’

‘Other than with the Zar himself,’ she qualified.

And he nodded, impressed by her steadfast manner. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But this means you cannot leave the harem—’

‘But you just said that unless you affirm my virginity I cannot join the harem, which suggests there is a lawful way to leave it,’ she argued.

He put his meaty hand to his lips to stifle the chuckle. ‘You did not let me finish, child. There is most certainly a legitimate way—as you describe—to leave the harem before you join it.’ He paused before saying quietly: ‘You may leave it dead. Your throat slit or your head severed or perhaps you prefer drowning, which is certainly the less messy but presumably more uncomfortable method available for our use on the women. You may most definitely leave the harem in a velvet death sack.’

‘I see,’ she answered and held his gaze. ‘Then proceed.’

‘Good.’ He clapped his hands and seated himself behind an ornate desk. A side door opened and a small man entered carrying a salver of water. Another followed bearing a tiny jar of oil, a pot of soap paste and linens. In silence the Grand Master Eunuch allowed his
hands to be washed. It was done with reverence by the first slave after the second had tipped some oil into the water. His hands were then lathered with the soap paste and rinsed before Salmeo held them out to be meticulously dried.

They bowed and departed having not uttered a word. To their backs the chief said, ‘Send in the ferris.’

Now Ana watched a third person enter. He was a tall slave bearing a tray set with a small clay bowl.

‘Undress now, Ana,’ Salmeo began, saw her open her mouth to contradict and added, ‘or he will do it for you.’ Salmeo nodded at the slave.

She didn’t look at the man but regarded Salmeo instead, their glares locking. The Grand Master Eunuch felt disquieted that it was he who capitulated first. ‘Assist her!’ he barked.

‘Don’t touch me,’ Ana cautioned. ‘I shall do it.’

She lifted the sheath over her head and stood naked before Salmeo, defiance in her glare, hate in her heart and fear tingling through her body as she watched him dig into the pot. When he withdrew his finger she noticed that it contained a thick, sticky substance.

‘This sap of ferris will make it easier on you,’ he said, and he took his time smearing the gluey white paste over a couple of his pudgy fingers.

Fright took hold within Ana. She could guess where those hideous fingers would probe. She
glanced at the hand with the long nail painted red and wondered what that signified, but her thoughts fled back immediately to what was to come.

The Grand Master Eunuch sighed and slowly lifted himself to his full, intimidating height.

‘Ana,’ he began and noted by the scowl how she despised hearing her name uttered by him. ‘I know this sounds difficult but you will make it far easier on yourself if you can relax.’

She could not. Her body began to shiver involuntarily as he approached.

He could see her fear at last and although it made him gloat inside, he masked his expression into one of concern, ignoring the pulsating sensation that rushed through his body towards his groin and lay there as an angry, bitter, unanswered need. ‘You must trust me. It will be over quickly if you do not struggle.’

Ana backed away only to feel the unyielding body of the slave who had moved behind her. Now there was nowhere to flee.

The Grand Master Eunuch would normally have the girls held down by another but he wanted Ana all to himself. Wanted to feel the heat of her through his silks, experience her fear as her trembling body touched his, see the anger nonetheless in those clear, bright eyes. He wanted her humiliation to be complete and provoked by his touch alone.

He arranged himself opposite her on a cushioned bench, his glistening fingers held in the air. ‘Lay her across me,’ he ordered the slave, who proceeded to lift Ana without much effort.

Salmeo expected the usual screams and pleas, wanted them, but all he got was a groan, deep and angry but one resigned to its fate. He smiled inwardly. This girl was definitely going to give Herezah some grief. He couldn’t wait for the sparks that would fly when these two spirited personalities clashed.

The long-limbed girl was laid across his expansive lap. ‘Go now,’ he dismissed the slave. He turned his attention back to the girl. ‘Now remember what I said. This goes much easier if you find a way to loosen all the tension in your body, especially here,’ he said, touching the rise of her pubis. ‘Open your legs, child,’ he added firmly.

‘I hate you, Salmeo.’

‘Everyone does,’ he said, and grinned as he pushed his finger into Ana, feeling for the hymen that he already knew would be intact.

Pez found the knifers with Kett’s seemingly limp body hung between them. The boy’s toes trailed now and then, but with their whispered encouragement he found the wherewithal to stagger in a slow circle.

Pez skipped into the room and circled the strange trio. He cackled, pointing towards the
bulk of bandage between the boy’s legs and then holding his own crotch in mock sympathy. He continued his merry way around the perimeter of the room, singing now. He did a somersault or two before arriving to stare deeply into the stricken, exhausted face of Kett. Pez moved backwards in time with the trio’s rhythmic pace forwards.

‘Will he die?’ he chirped in a singsong voice.

One of the men shook his head. ‘He will survive now that he’s endured this far, I’m sure.’

‘Hsst!’ the other warned. ‘Not until he makes water must we assume.’

‘Kett, Kett, Kett,’ the dwarf sang into the boy’s face and then worked the name into a strange rhyme. All the time he stared hard, waiting for the slave to register.

Finally, painfully, Kett opened his eyes to slits. They were bloodshot, as were his lips, which were bloody from biting them hard when the cut was made.

‘The drug is wearing off,’ one of the knifers whispered. ‘He’ll start to cry out soon.’

The other nodded. ‘How long to go?’

‘Another fifty revolutions of the chamber at least, or until we hear the third bell.’

‘Leave us, Pez, you’re not helping him,’ one said.

‘But I like him,’ Pez replied. They both looked at the dwarf, baffled, and then ignored him again, vaguely irritated by his presence as he waddled
backwards in time with their steps. ‘We are friends aren’t we, Kett?’ he said into the boy’s face.

The boy winced and then muttered something neither of the supporters heard but the dwarf did and it frightened him.

‘I am the raven,’ Kett slurred, then his eyes closed and he returned to his dazed stumble.

Jumo was relieved to see the familiar figure and distinctive lope of Lazar arrive at the Spur’s house in the early hours of the morning. The man he had waited for all night arrived tired and distracted.

There was no greeting. ‘You shouldn’t have waited up, Jumo. You know you don’t have to wait on me.’

‘I have left a carafe of wine on the verandah.’

Jumo left the Spur to brood alone staring out to the Faranel and presumed he would remain there for what was left of this night. He was right; the next morning he found the chair empty but with a discarded blanket lying across it and a second carafe of undiluted wine nearby.

Lazar emerged minutes later looking freshened and clean-shaven but drawn as if sleep had eluded him. His eyes possessed a haunted quality too that Jumo had not seen before. Something was brewing. He had known this man too long not to be able to read the signs. It would be best, then, to give him the news now.

‘A messenger arrived not long ago, master.’

‘New orders?’

Jumo heard hope in his friend’s voice and he knew how much Lazar must want to escape Percheron. ‘He was sent from the palace…from the Grand Master Eunuch’s office.’ He watched Lazar’s temple pulse. Knew that sign well.

‘And?’

Nothing to be gained by hedging. ‘It’s Ana. She has gone.’

‘Gone?’

Jumo nodded. ‘Through the night.’

Lazar looked at him, pain fleeting across his face. It seemed such an impossible claim. No-one escaped the harem. The palace would expect him to find her, of course, not just because he had brought her to the harem but because he was the Spur and in charge of all security. ‘Any clues?’

‘They think she slipped away disguised as a black eunuch.’

Lazar, turning to move away, swung around now and regarded Jumo with a hint of bemusement. ‘They jest!’

‘Apparently not,’ and Jumo couldn’t help a small smirk himself. ‘They believe she wore a black jamoosh and blacked the area around her eyes with ash from a brazier.’

Lazar couldn’t help but admire Ana all the more for her wonderful defiance of the most sacred rules, but the amusement died quickly
when he grasped the import of her rash actions. ‘They’ll punish her, of course.’

Jumo nodded. ‘I would say so. The Valide will want to for the spectacle of it and Salmeo will have to in order to reinforce his authority.’

‘We must find her first.’

The Valide had spent a restless night. She had slipped between her silken sheets with a sense of triumph the previous evening. Everything, she decided, was coming together nicely. She had both the fat eunuch and the fool Vizier eating out of her hands. She was confident that Boaz’s harem would be one of the finest ever assembled and the goatherd’s adopted daughter was a prize jewel amongst a veritable collection of precious gems. The girls were stunning but there was something extraordinary about this one. She felt sure Ana would be one of those who would produce an heir; Boaz would pick her as soon as he was ready to lie with a woman, for Ana’s looks were too startling to ignore. However, she would have to be careful that this one did not steal her son’s heart entirely. Herezah wasn’t ready for a power struggle.

Boaz was going to need careful handling. She needed to find challenging diversions for him so he would feel important, useful whilst not meddling with the day-to-day running of what was clearly now her realm.

‘I’ve waited too long for this,’ she had muttered as she sipped on the citrus infusion she
insisted on taking every morning. A lot of the other women had allowed themselves to run to fat in the harem, especially those who had never caught the attention of Joreb. He may have lain with them once or twice, but he soon sorted his favourites from those he was not interested in, and although these estranged women remained pampered and primped they were largely ignored. With no future other than slothfulness available to them, it wasn’t long before their lives diminished into a continuing indulgence of food and mind-altering confections to dull their frustrations.

Herezah had not had cause for the same frustrations and thus she took great care with her body’s appearance—no, her frustrations were born out of ambition and impatience. Now that she had in her grasp what she had dreamed of for so long, she was not going to let it go—not even to the son who made it all possible. Boaz was young, he had plenty of wild oats to sow and energy to burn off in playful pursuits. He did not need the serious burden of running a realm she could so easily handle for him. She was going to make everything as easy as possible for him, and she reasoned that this new era in their lives was going to give them a wonderful new and close relationship.

After her tea she rose, her mind still battling with the question of Ana and what to do with her. She decided that the best way to handle the
child was to put her own claim on her. Mark her as the Valide’s own slave. Then she could break and control the girl before she became available for the Zar’s needs. How clever that she might turn the new odalisque into one of her own agents. Herezah could spy on Boaz via Ana, plant ideas into his mind through his favourite lover, control him fully, especially if he chose Ana to be one of his wives. She hugged herself. What a good day this was.

Before she could take her morning exercise the news had come, delivered personally by Salmeo. When he was announced she knew it had to be something of importance. She had him admitted but did not offer him a seat—he was interrupting her morning routine after all.

‘Speak,’ she commanded, more than enjoying her new authority over the one who had inflicted humiliation upon her in years gone by.

‘Valide,’ he began as she reached for her steaming cup of kerrosh, which she took in its most bitter form. No sweetening for Herezah. ‘One of the new acquisitions has escaped the harem during the night.’

If he thought the Zar’s mother might overreact he was very wrong. In wonder he watched Herezah’s unveiled face display no outward signs of anger. She paused in her sipping of the kerrosh and then delicately reached her long arm to place the porcelain cup back on the tray. Herezah, for all her failings, was a naturally elegant woman. It
was little wonder that Joreb, a lover of the finer things in life, had fallen for her dark beauty and exceptional grace.

‘Ana?’ she asked, almost as though she were expecting this news.

He nodded and his scar appeared more livid for the shame he was obviously feeling.

She spoke chillingly softly. ‘How can this happen, Salmeo? I belong to the harem. I know that what you’re suggesting is impossible.’

‘Nothing’s impossible, Valide,’ he tried but at her instantly furious glare sighed. ‘Normally, yes. We are, however, not dealing with a normal child, if you’ll permit my saying so, Valide.’

‘How so?’

‘She has intelligence and, I might add, defiance enough for ten odalisques.’

Herezah smirked. ‘I think you’re right. How did she escape?’ She was intrigued that any girl could find a way out of the harem; almost jealous in fact.

This was not difficult to answer but it was horribly embarrassing for him. He tried to hold the Valide’s keen gaze but he soon found himself looking elsewhere. ‘After completing her Test of Virtue, she was left alone momentarily to gather her composure and reclothe herself. She took that opportunity to steal some garments and blacken her face. We discovered a jamoosh was missing and the grate of the brazier had fallen to the ground. She used ash on herself apparently.’
He shrugged. ‘There were black smudges on my walls and she had thrown…’ He hesitated.

‘Thrown what?’

‘She had smashed the clay pot of ferris and placed it into the burning embers.’

Herezah gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Oh, such spirit. She hates you early, Salmeo.’

‘I am used to it, Valide,’ he said softly and fought the urge this time to look away from her sardonic smile. ‘She loosened some fretwork and escaped through my courtyard.’

‘Why wasn’t I informed immediately?’

Again he hesitated. ‘I thought she would be found more swiftly, Valide.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘I sent a message to the Spur at dawn.’

Her eyes flashed at his name ‘Why, because she was his bargain?’

‘Because he argued for her release. I think the Spur is fond of the child. He looked bereft when she relinquished her freedom for the slave’s life.’ He enjoyed making her lips thin at the mention that Lazar may yet feel affection…and for someone else.

She did not rise to the bait. ‘I saw it too. What does it mean, Salmeo?’

He moved his huge shoulders in a shrug. ‘I cannot tell,’ he lied. ‘The Spur has always been one so devoid of connection to others that I can’t reason this link.’

‘Can you not?’ He shook his great head. ‘I
would say that our young odalisque has touched the man of ice, warmed his frozen heart.’

His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips. ‘Do you know this for sure?’

‘Call it female intuition. He argued too passionately not to be involved with the girl somehow.’

Salmeo was impressed with Herezah, for it obviously grieved her to admit this. ‘You are perceptive, Valide.’

She dismissed the compliment with a wave of her hand. ‘So what of the child?’

‘She will be found within the hour, I promise. She could not get far at night—she was barefoot, I believe. She is too recognisable and, I suspect, tired, hungry and already regretting her wild adventure.’

Herezah didn’t necessarily agree with his summary but she understood he needed to regain some face. ‘You must ensure word of this does not get about. We must not allow our girls to have any notion that escape will be tolerated. It was not even dared in my time,’ she said, quietly irritated that she had not thought to try.

‘No-one will know, Valide.’

‘She must be punished, of course.’

‘I agree,’ he said, again relieved. ‘May I make a suggestion?’

‘Go ahead,’ Herezah said, knowing how his cruel mind worked. She stood and took her half-finished cup of kerrosh to the window.

‘She should be flogged.’

Herezah did not turn from the idyllic view of gardens stretching before hen. ‘And break that beautiful skin?’

‘It will heal, she’s young enough that it won’t scar if we use an expert. Anything less would be a compromise, I fear, Valide.’

Now she laughed, deep and sly. ‘A compromise to your position, you mean. I understand, Salmeo, better than you know. But it’s fine with me. I want a physician’s opinion before it’s done, though. She must not mark.’ She turned now to emphasise her instructions and fixed him with a stare.

He nodded. ‘As you command, Valide.’

‘And her virginity?’

‘Intact.’

‘As we knew. Did she weep when you did it?’

‘Not even a tear,’ he confirmed, recalling only too well how Herezah had cried hysterically when it had been her turn many years previous. He watched the disappointment dance briefly across her face but she masked her expression in a moment.
Good,
he thought,
I can still hurt you.

‘Find her!’ she ordered.

Lazar and Jumo had started from the palace and agreed to work out in a broad sweeping arc—Jumo heading away from the city and Lazar moving deeper into it, towards the bazaar.

‘We were there together, she might head for the familiar spots I showed her.’

Jumo had nodded agreement. ‘I shall meet you by the People’s Fountain by fourth bell.’

They now stood worriedly side by side, having met as planned but with no good news.

‘Where would a child go?’ Jumo wondered aloud. ‘With her looks she would be an instant target.’

This comment only served to frustrate Lazar further and he punched the marble of the fountain. It hurt but rather than showing it he plunged his aching fist into the pocket of the long white formal jamoosh he wore.

And felt the warmth of gold. ‘Iridor,’ he muttered.

Jumo turned in query. ‘Master?’

‘Iridor! Of course.’ He began hurrying away. ‘Keep looking through the bazaar,’ he called back. ‘I have a hunch where she might be.’

Lazar suddenly felt sure he knew where Ana would have ended up. He arrived at the tiny temple having weaved his way at full pelt through the harbour streets and out onto the peninsula. He had to lean against the white wall of the holy building and suck in long, deep breaths before he bent and entered the hallowed space.

It was cool and dark as usual, except this time, kneeling next to Zafira, was another, engulfed in a black jamoosh which was far too big for her.

‘Ana,’ he said and his voice sounded loud and coarse in the silence.

Zafira opened her eyes from prayer first and turned, putting a finger to her lips. Then she stood, awkwardly, grimacing from old aches in her back and knees before she approached Lazar, a look of understanding on her kindly face. ‘As you see, another visitor,’ she whispered. ‘Troubled, like you.’

‘They’ll be turning Percheron upside down for her, Zafira.’

She nodded. ‘Give her a few more moments. She is as taken by the sculpture of Lyana as you are.’

Lazar grimaced at the delay.

‘How did you know to find her here?’ Zafira asked softly.

He shrugged. ‘I didn’t. I’ve just looked everywhere else,’ he lied. He did not want to bring Iridor into the conversation again, knowing how it had affected the priestess last time.

‘She’s been here since the early hours.’

‘How did she find it?’

‘I thought you might have told her about the temple.’ He shook his head. ‘Well, she told me all about you and how kind you’ve been.’

‘Kind?’ he mocked. ‘I sold her to the harem.’

‘And she forgives you, Lazar.’

He grunted. He did not want forgiveness. He wanted control again. ‘I have to take her.’

‘Will they punish her?’

Even though he did not reply, he could not hide the truth from the old woman.

‘You must protect her from this,’ she urged, clasping the hard muscle of his arm.

‘I have done all I can,’ he replied, his anguish obvious.

‘There is still more you can do, Spur Lazar,’ she argued and her gaze suggested she had just said something prophetic.