‘She deserves nothing less than death. Anadil will be arrested and these follies are now at an end.’
There were cries of dismay from the floor.
‘So no one may laugh and Anadil must die, in order that you can keep your miserable self-pride!’ the Valide Sultan cried out. She was not smiling now. ‘A beautiful woman in her youth is to be slain to protect my prince’s sulks!’
Orkhan did not trouble to reply. He hurried out of the door and angrily confronted the Vizier who was waiting anxiously.
‘Wretched slave, I thought I had told you to arrest Anadil.’
‘Alas, my Sultan, I am indeed a wretched slave, for I have had the eunuchs search high and low for her, but they have not been able to find her.’
‘She has been in the pavilion playing silly games with the other concubines. Arrest her now — and I want the Valide Sultan escorted to her chambers and placed under close confinement. She is to communicate with no one.’
‘I will lose no time in carrying out your commands. I go like an arrow shot from your bowstring. I become the words of your commands floating on the breath of your will, for the fulfilment of your will is the height of all our desires. Would you like to proceed to the council chamber now?’
The Vizier tugged at Orkhan’s sleeve. As they walked away from the porcelain pavilion, the Vizier continued to speak in a low mutter — as if he were speaking to himself,
‘There are gates which should never be entered. There are certain keys for which there are no locks. There are hidden places within the women’s quarters which are not safe for a man. There are certain passageways into which a man should not stick his nose. This palace has doors which can take a man out of this world… But you tell me that the viper has not entered the Tavern. That at least is good.’
‘Speak plainly or keep silent,’ Orkhan commanded.
The Vizier looked hard at Orkhan.
‘Well, I see that I will have to be plain with you. You must understand that the festering idleness of the Harem girls engenders wicked thoughts, so that they do all sorts of things that they should not. Flowers of evil grow in a bed of boredom. One of the concubines’ wickedest tricks is that they smear an addictive paste between their thighs, so that a man having put his face where he should not and having tasted the drugged potion which is on offer at the Tavern of the Perfume-Makers, soon becomes addicted. That man will end up begging for more, kneeling before them with his tongue hanging out. Nothing will seem more important to him than to be allowed to have another taste. So the girls of the Harem can turn their master into their slave. It is all part of this abominable Prayer-Cushion business.’
‘What Prayer-Cushion business?’
‘Ah, here we are at the council chamber! The ministers will surely be coming along shortly. As your Vizier, I advise you to ask not about what concerns you not, lest you hear what pleases you not.’
The council chamber turned out to be a spacious wooden kiosk on a low hill in the Palace’s garden. Its interior was painted with scenes of hunting, picnicking and flirtation. Though pleasant, the place hardly seemed suitable for the transaction of government business. The Vizier, possibly anxious not to be interrogated further about any prayer-cushions, having made a hasty obeisance, hurried away. Orkhan seated himself on one of the low, cushioned benches in the kiosk and waited.
He had not waited long before someone entered. It was not a minister, but a woman, who came wriggling on her belly across the floor, making her way towards him. This time it was not Anadil, for the waggling rump, sheathed in a tight black robe belonged to an older and bulkier woman. She did not raise her head or say anything, but once she had reached the bench on which he was sitting, she set to work, licking his feet and sucking at his toes. Occasionally she moaned, whether from pleasure or disgust was not clear.
Orkhan was so surprised that for a while he allowed her to have her way with his feet before he recollected himself and pulled them away.
‘Go away, you foolish woman!’ he told her. ‘I am not in the mood for your Harem games. This is a place for business, not pleasure. Get out before the ministers arrive.’
‘But, oh my master, I am here on business. I am the first of the Sultan’s petitioners. I prostrate myself utterly before you, for I have come to beg for mercy for my mistress, Anadil. My name is Perizade, which means the Fairy-Born.’
And only now did she raise her head. Orkhan found himself gazing on a tear-stained, pudgy face. Perizade’s nose was slightly hooked and her lips were thick. Her heavy breasts pressed tight against the black sheath. As Orkhan gazed on them, she too looked down on them and smiled.
‘I abase myself utterly. I am yours to do with as you please. I am the Sultan’s prayer-cushion. Do with me as you will. Please forgive Anadil. Unless you forgive my mistress, she will be angry with me.’
‘You are mistaken. She will be dead rather than angry.’
Perizade thought about this. But she looked unconvinced,
‘But you must give mercy to Anadil.’
‘“Must” is not a word to be used to sultans. Anadil is my slave and I shall deal with her as I choose.’
‘It is true that Anadil is your slave, but she is a slave of her body first. It is the same with all of us. From the moment of our birth we, all of us, find ourselves swimming in a great ocean of desire, whose sexual tides carry us to unfamiliar shores, whether we will or no.’
Orkhan snorted at her words, but Perizade continued,
‘It is certain that none of us are free. We are all driven by Destiny. Destiny is a mad scribe, who writes our stories on our bodies. It writes upon our skins, covering them with a script of lines, spots, veins, freckles, and swellings.’
‘So, Perizade, you are a philosopher?’ Orkhan was amused in spite of himself.
‘I am a washerwoman, Oh Sultan. I wash the clothes of Anadil and the other concubines. She is young and you are young. If she was foolish last night, it was only a child’s game and that was perhaps the only fun she will ever have. You are a sultan and we are your slaves, but we are all humans as well. Anadil is not a toy to be torn apart and discarded when she does not please you. Think again. Spare my mistress and I will grant you anything you desire.’
‘How can you, a washerwoman to slaves, give the Sultan anything he does not already have?’
‘I can give you good fortune.’
‘What? You are a lucky slave or something?’
‘Or something. I tell fortunes. I am a phallomancer.’ She licked her lips in a suggestive fashion and continued,
‘Show me your cock and I will tell you your fortune,’ and, rising from her kneeling posture, she stood over Orkhan, so that her breasts hung over his face and she tugged urgently at his robe. Orkhan, who was curious about his fortune, did not resist. Having uncovered his cock, which stiffened instantly, she set to licking it.
‘This helps to bring the veins out,’ she explained, before reapplying her mouth to its divinatory work.
Her mouth worked its way from base to tip. She gave the tip a special tongue-lashing. Then, holding the swollen cock between thumb and forefinger, she drew back to contemplate her work.
‘Sultan or shop-keeper, they are all pretty much alike at first sight. There are just tiny differences in the veins for the fortune-teller to work with.’ She ran a tracking finger down his cock. ‘This line, for example, is your heart line, and over here your line of procreation… Taste is also part of it,’ she confided. ‘I should say that you are a kind man, only you have not had enough tenderness. Ah, that is unusual! Your line of Destiny crosses both the line of Mars and the girdle of Venus. How interesting!’