The palanquin was carried by eight slaves, all coal-black and dressed in baggy scarlet pantaloons. Their feet, the soles of which were toughened by their work, were bare as were their chests. They were not, however, oiled, as was fashionable for blacks, nor did they wear jeweled collars about their necks to advertise their owner's wealth.
As the procession left the docks and began to wend its way through the city, Skye was assailed by a thousand memories triggered by the sights she could just see through the gauzy draperies; by the sounds of the busy city; by the smells of the vendors' stalls. For a moment she lay back, and of all her experiences of this city the one she suddenly remembered was her return to Algiers from her wedding trip with Khalid. They had both been dressed all in white, and their sleek black hunting panthers, leashed but still impressive, had loped elegantly along by their sides. He had ridden his great white stallion, she a dainty golden mare with a long, white-blond mane and tail that he had given her. She sighed. How simple her life as his wife had been; but still she could not regret all the times since. Osman would have said that it was her fate.
Osman. She visualized in her mind this man who had turned her world so topsy-turvy with a simple message. He had not, as she remembered, been a tall man; rather, he had been of medium height and build; really quite unimpressive a person until you looked into his eyes, for Osman's eyes saw what other people did not see. They saw beyond the everyday and into the heart and soul. They saw beyond today, and even, she had always suspected, past tomorrow. They were strange and yet wonderful golden-brown eyes that had always shone kindly upon her. Looking at Osman's bald head and bland moon-round face, few realized the power bebind those eyes. Khalid had seen it, and had always been the astrologer's friend.
When she and Khalid had been married he had given each of the six men he had invited as wedding guests a slave girl. She remembered how she and Khalid had chosen each of the six girls to suit the personality of a guest. She had chosen for Osman a lovely dark-blond girl of French extraction named Alima. The astrologer had shortly afterward made Alima his wife, and she knew that they now had several children. It pleased her to think that Osman and Alima were happy, and they must be, for he had taken no other wives, and had no harem of concubines.
Suddenly the palanquin was set down, the draperies drawn aside, and a hand extended to aid her in getting out; and as the hand drew her up she looked into the smiling face of Osman the astrologer.
"Welcome, my daughter," he said, and looking into his eyes at that moment, she knew that her quest was not a vain one.
"Osman," she began, but he put his hand up to stop her.
"I know you are anxious, Skye, my daughter, but first I would settle you. A few more minutes will not matter now that you are here." He turned to Robbie, who had dismounted his horse. "Welcome again, Captain. It does my heart good to see you here." Then Osman led them both into his house, the house in which she had lived with Khalid.
Skye let her eyes dart about the square entry hall, and it all looked the same as the night she had left it. For a brief second she expected to see Khalid come through from the gardens, his white robes swirling about his tall figure. She walked through the entry into the beautiful gardens beyond, and stood looking, feeling the tears fill her blue eyes, dimming her vision momentarily before spilling down her cheeks. The orange and lemon trees were larger, fuller; the pines taller. The T-shaped pool with its spraying fountains and border of roses was as lovely as ever. On one of the white marble benches near the house a woman sat surrounded by several children. Seeing Skye, she rose and came toward her.
"My lady Skye? Is it truly you?" Alima, the wife of Osman, stood before her. Seeing Skye's tears, Alima put her arms about her mentor. "It has been as happy a house for Osman and me as it was for you and the lord Khalid. It is a good place, and I gladly welcome you back to it."
The sudden sadness passed, and Skye drew away from Alima, saying, "When I learned I must return to Algiers I knew the first moments would be hard. It is over now, Alima, and I thank you for your gracious welcome."
"Let me show you to the rooms I have set aside for you. They overlook this garden, for I know how much you loved it." With quiet assurance Alima led Skye back into the house and upstairs to two lovely airy rooms in a different wing of the house than she had lived in with Khalid. Already two silent slave girls were unpacking her small trunk. A third hurried forward bearing a silver basin filled with rosewater for the lady to wash away the dust of her travel. When Skye had done so Alima led her back downstairs into Osman's library, where the astrologer and Robbie waited for her. Having brought Skye to her husband, Alima quietly departed.
Skye knew that Osman expected her to remain calm, and so she seated herself upon the floor cushions and patiently accepted a tiny cup of boiling Turkish coffee before looking expectantly toward him.
The astrologer looked back calmly, his powerful gaze instilling in her a strange sense of peace. Then he began to speak. "In the city of Fez I have two nephews, the sons of my late sister, Lilitu, who was the wife of a vastly wealthy merchant. The elder of my nephews is named Kedar, and he inherited his father's wealth and business when my brother-in-law, Omar, died. Kedar was a man grown when my sister bore her younger son. His name is Hamal, and my sister died giving birth to the boy. Omar had recently been killed when a spirited new horse had thrown him and broken his neck. He had not, however, changed his will. He was awaiting the birth of his second child to do that, for had Hamal been a female, arrangements would have been different than if he were a male.
"Kedar has always taken care of his little brother, but he has never offered to share their father's wealth. My elder nephew is a man of strong will and strong opinions. Three years ago, when Hamal was fifteen, Princess Turkhan, a daughter of Sultan Selim II, saw my young nephew. The royal princess is a most unusual woman. She came to Fez twelve years ago as wife to its wealthiest man. When he died she inherited everything, and because she is an Ottoman princess she is a law unto herself. Her father is obviously delighted to have her off his hands, and no one has control of her.
"In Fez she is respected for her good words and her generosity to the poor. She is powerful by virtue of her family, and by virtue of her wealth. As you know, my daughter, this is an unusual thing in the Muslim world; but no one dares criticize her way of living, though it is most shocking. Princess Turkhan keeps a harem of men for her pleasure, as a man might keep a harem of women. Fez is a holy city, and the mullahs are appalled, but they can do nothing, for she is too important and too powerful. When she saw Hamal she wanted him, and after finding out who he was, she went to my elder nephew.
"Kedar was within his rights, of course, but to this day I am shocked at what he did. He sold his younger brother to the princess-for a very fancy price, I might add. When he told me I was very angry, but, as he explained it to me, the boy is handsome and charming, though not particularly bright. Kedar did not believe that Hamal could ever take his place in the family business, and so he did what he believed was the best thing for him. As much as I disapproved of the act, I am forced to admit it was the wisest course for the boy. Princess Turkhan has adored him, cossetted him, and spoiled him from the beginning.
Then several months ago the princess acquired a new male slave, a man who has resisted her from the moment she laid eyes upon him, and can only be kept under control by means of opiates. The princess is fascinated and intrigued by this man who will not have her. She will do anything to possess his body and soul, but to date she has been unsuccessful. Oh, she can force him, but it is not the same as his surrender to her love would be. My nephew, Hamal, says that she is making herself quite sick over the new slave.