‘What does that mean?’
‘I am getting wet thinking about it. It means that you will fall in love and marry and, if I have read these lines correctly, our fates and our sexual juices will mingle, for I am the lucky woman you will marry and make your queen!’
Orkhan emitted a barking laugh.
‘No it is true,’ she insisted. ‘Your fortune follows the mouth of the fortune-teller. But, if you do not believe me, you can see for yourself. Just as Destiny has written upon your cock, so will my fate be written on my cunt. The science of vulvascopy is very ancient. Is it not said that round the cunt of every woman is written the names of the men who are destined to enter it? Come on, come and have a good look!’ she urged, as she wriggled about.
With some difficulty she pulled the dress up over her hips. Then she lay back upon the cushions and spread her legs. Intrigued despite himself, he lowered his face between her plump thighs.
‘My fortune will be written on the folds closest to the clitoris. Hurry up and tell me, am I not going to be your queen?’ Her voice, no longer that of wheedling petitioner, had turned imperious.
Unlike Anadil, Perizade was not clean shaven between the legs. Orkhan gazed at the folds of the vulva, uncertain what it was that he was looking for. The fancy entered his head that he was gazing on an oracular mouth. It seemed to him to be whispering indistinctly, summoning him to approach closer. Almost swooning, he did find himself moving in closer. He thought that it was as if the strange mouth did indeed have the power to command him. Then, at the very last moment, he remembered the Vizier’s warning about not letting the viper sup at the Tavern of the Perfume-Makers and he pulled away.
‘What did you do that for, you silly man?’ Perizade’s voice was shrill. ‘I want to know my fortune. But I know I’m destined to be your queen.’
Orkhan made no reply, but knelt and gazed at Perizade’s breasts and hips. His memory of Anadil was of a girl whose flesh was young and healthy, yet in a sense devoid of life. But Perizade’s soft heavy body was different. It seemed to speak to him of lived experience — of so many meals eaten, carpets sat upon, men embraced — and, because of this, it was infinitely desirable. He had to have her now, no matter how much he might regret it later. (He was quite certain that he would regret it.) Once again he moved towards her and placed a hand on one of her thighs.
‘What are you doing?’ She tried ineffectively to pull the dress back down over her hips.
‘I want you, Perizade.’
‘This is not what was meant to happen!’
‘This is your destiny,’ replied Orkhan.
It was after all the one-eyed man and not the viper who forced his way through the door of the Tavern of the Perfume-Makers. He pressed down hard upon the washerwoman, not caring how he hurt her. She was stony-faced and sweaty. She made no moves to help him, but her body quivered under his thrusts like a mattress filled with water. Perizade was silently weeping. She did not want to submit, but in the end she did and, at the last moment, she put her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
Orkhan lay for a long time on top of her, kissing and licking the tears from her cheeks. When, finally he did withdraw and rolled over to lie beside her, he fell instantly into a heavy post-coital doze. He awoke to a kind of nightmare, in which some immovable weight, some monstrous creature perhaps, was squatting on his face, so that he was unable to breathe. Then he realised that this was no dream, but that Perizade was indeed sitting on his face. He could dimly hear her crooning with pleasure. In a thrice, he threw her off and pushed her onto the floor. But, though he had swiftly dealt with the incubus, it was not before the viper, possessed of a will of its own, had once again drunk in the Tavern of the Perfume-Makers.
With her dress still hitched up above her hips, Perizade knelt at his feet once more, but she was smug in her prostration,
‘Now that you have acquired a taste for me I know that you will forgive Anadil and make me your queen.’
‘Witch! You are mistaken. You will share her fate.’ And pulling his robe around him, Orkhan rushed out of the pavilion.
Chapter Four
PARROT IN A CAGE
The sky was by now an inky blue and continued to darken. A mute who stood outside the door of the pavilion, seeing Orkhan emerge, pointed towards a path, indicating that he should follow it. The shingled path was lined on both sides by a series of lacquer and silk screens topped by flambeaux. As he walked, the wailing of Perizade grew faint behind him and he began to hear the sound of running water and, further away, women’s voices and the beating of a tambourine. It was cooler now and the arrival of evening released unfamiliar perfumes. Orkhan walked slowly, alert to every sound and movement, for he now sensed that the paradise he walked in was a poisoned one. At last, he came out from between the screens into a large circular space framed by chenars and cypresses. At the centre was a dried-up fountain and on its sculpted edge sat a stunted figure.
Orkhan addressed the Vizier peremptorily,
‘Arrest that wretched woman in the pavilion. I do not want to see her again — or anyone like her.’
‘To serve the Sultan is all our joy,’ replied the Vizier, but he did not move.
Orkhan looked sharply at the Vizier,
‘And where are the ministers? Should not some of them be here by now?’
‘Some of the ministers were indeed here before now, oh my master, but, since you were entertaining that woman, it seemed inappropriate to admit them to your presence, so I sent them tiptoeing away. They are, of course, greatly looking forward to transacting government business on some future occasion. But Perizade did not please you? We can easily find another woman. My wife is a hunchback like me. I could lend her to you. You would find her a challenge, I am… ’
Orkhan gestured him to be quiet. They gazed at one another. Then, after a long silence, Orkhan spoke,
‘No ministers have been here really, have they?’
‘No.’
‘And no ministers are coming, are they — ever?’
‘No.’
‘And you have not arrested Anadil?’
‘No.’
‘And you will not arrest Perizade either?’
‘No,’ the Vizier was looking a little uncomfortable. ‘I am the Sultan’s slave and I hoped for the best, so I did not want him to hear what would have displeased him.’
‘Well then, you have failed, for I am most displeased. You are no longer my Vizier. Before I have you arrested, you will explain yourself.’ But, even as he heard himself speak, Orkhan knew that his words were empty and the Vizier now turned scornful,
‘You cannot arrest me! I think that you must be living in some blood-boltered dream of your own, going around giving orders: “Arrest this person!”, “Arrest that person!” “Execute this person!”. The world you find yourself in is not like that, nor is it in your powers to dismiss me as Vizier.’
Orkhan sat down heavily beside the Vizier.
‘So, tell me what is the world really like? I think it is time for you to tell me what will please me not.’
‘Oh my master, you may think that you rule as Sultan over an empire of men… but here in the Harem, you actually live on sufferance in a republic of women. There was a time — a hundred years ago perhaps — when the Sultan ruled over the Harem and the Palace, as he did over the Empire. Then the fitna of the women occurred. You should know about this word, fitna. It has entered our language from the Arabic. It means discord, revolution, sedition, but it also means temptation or seduction. It has other meanings too. It means a trial, burning, and melting, rapture, madness and possession. Finally, fitna also means woman. A hundred years ago, women used their seductive powers to stage a revolution in the Palace and they used beguilement, artifice and drugs to enslave the man who was then Sultan. Ever since that time, the woman who holds the rank of Valide Sultan has controlled everything. The eunuchs, the mutes and the slave girls all move to her command — and only her command.’