Chapter 54

Chapter 54

W ITHIN the privacy of her bedchamber or his, the grand vizier insisted that his second wife be completely naked. Her tawny gold hair was pulled back and braided in one large braid, the hair mixed with jeweled ribbons. She was permitted to wear her thin gold and silver bracelets and anklets. She was expected to serve him unquestioningly in all his desires. She did so, quietly aware that this was the key to her survival. Outwardly sweet and calm, Cat raged inwardly at every humiliation. This sudden thrusting of her person into an age where women counted less than horses was a terrible shock.

When Cicalazade Pasha desired Incili, all the other slaves were instantly dismissed from his presence. He particularly enjoyed having her serve him in his bath. There she was expected to join him in the warm water, gently bathing his entire body with sweet soaps. Afterwards they rubbed one another's bodies with scented oils. These sessions generally ended as one might expect.

Cat, far from flattered, could not help but feel denigrated by the vizier's unquenchable desire. The fact of his keeping her nude was offensive, as well as a blatant invitation to his lust. He was insatiable, often taking her three and four times in a single night. Only her indomitable spirit and her passionate desire to escape kept Cat unbroken.

Most important to Cat was her friendship with Lateefa Sultan. The knowledge that they were cousins descended from Selim I and that their great-grandmothers had been the best of friends invited their own friendship. Lateefa told Cat stories she had heard from her grandmother, Guzel, stories of Guzel's childhood. Then the wives and children of Prince Selim lived above the shores of the Black Sea in a palace known as the Moonlight Serai. There was a feeling of love to these stories. Respect for Cyra Hafise was also evident in them.

"I wish I had known her," said Lateefa. "Grandmother Guzel and her sister, my Aunt Hale, always spoke of her with such love. She treated them as she treated her own daughter, Nilufer Sultan."

"I knew her," said Cat. "She died when 1 was a child of four, but I remember a beautiful and imperious old lady whose many grandchildren, grandnieces and grandnephews always deferred to her. In the great hall of Glenkirk Castle there is a large portrait of her, painted just before she came to Turkey. It was always difficult for me to reconcile the painting of that beautiful, proud young girl with the imperious, elegant old woman."

Lateefa's eyes sparkled mischievously, and she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Our religion forbids the painting of the human form but Firousi Kadin was an artist of some talent. She painted many little portraits of the family, and when she died she passed them on to her daughter, my grandmother Guzel, who passed them on to me. Come—I will show you!" She clapped her hands and said to the slave who answered her summons, "Fetch the red lacquer chest at the bottom of the large brassbound cedar chest."

When the small chest was carefully placed in her lap, Lateefa opened it reverently. The box was divided into several trays. Lateefa gently lifted a piece of velvet from the top tray, revealing six oval miniatures. There were two men and four women. Cat recognized her own great-grandmother and her best friend, Firousi Kadin, whose great-granddaughter Lateefa was her image.

The princess smiled. "Beautiful, weren't they? The Chinese is Zuleika Kadin, Selim I's third wife. The tempestous-looking girl with the amber-gold eyes is Sarina Kadin, his fourth wife. The younger of the men is Sultan Suleiman, Cyra's eldest son. The older man is Sultan Selim I."

Cat stared at these people and at their offspring, whose miniatures were hidden in the subsequent trays. She was particularly enchanted with the chubby-cheeked toddler whom she learned was Prince Karim—her grandfather, Charles Leslie, the first Earl of Sithean! Born and raised a Scot, Cat had never even considered this small part of her heritage, yet there was no denying that her maternal grandfather had been born an Ottoman prince even if he had lived most of his life as a Scot. She had just as much right to the title "Sultan" after her name as Lateefa had, though no one would ever know that fact.

"It is so strange," said Cat, "for me to realize that some of these people are also my ancestors."

"Knowing it, dearest Incili, can you not be happy with us?"

Cat sighed patiently. Her cousin was such a child. "Lateefa," she said quietly, "I am no child as Cyra was when she came to this land. Behind me are my second husband, for whom I defied my own king, and my nine children. I cannot simply dismiss these people from my heart. I do not love Cica. I love my true husband, Lord Bothwell.

"You, who do love the vizier, and have been his wife for so many years, should want only the best for him. Help me to escape, my cousin! Help me to return to my own lord! How would you feel if you were stolen from Cica, and forced to be wife to another? Do you know that the vizier always keeps me naked in his presence? That I am allowed to wear only ribbons and baubles?"

Lateefa flushed a delicate rose. Her voice was a whisper. "I did not know, Incili. He has ever been the sensualist. 'Tis why I never minded when he gathered a large harem. The others sated his appetite, so that after our children were bora I was relatively free of his demands. I do not enjoy such things. Do you?"

"Only with my true lord, and then very much. Each time I must pretend to submit to our lord Cica it pains me. I feel less a real woman, more a doll, a thing."

Lateefa nodded, and then confided to Cat, "Once several years ago, Cica and my cousin, Sultan Mohammed, had a contest to see how many virgins they could take within the period of one day. Mohammed won, deflowering twenty-four helpless girls. Cica, however, was but one behind him, so they decided the real winner would be he who had impregnated the most girls. The sultan won with sixteen ripe maidens. Only nine of Cica's girls bore children.

"Lateefa, please!" Cat protested. "Let us visit Esther Kira tomorrow. I must plan my escape or I shall go mad. And see if our friend Hammid can find some tempting young charmers to divert Cica from my bed—even if only occasionally!"

The princess nodded sympathetically, and on the following day the vizier's two wives honored the Kira house with a visit. There Cat was able to write a brief note to Francis, assuring him of her safety, her love for him, and her desire to be speedily reunited with him. She saw the note dispatched, and then, turning to Esther, she asked, "Have you come up with a plan for my escape yet Esther Kira?"

"Possibly, but your husband will have to come to Istanbul to aid us in our plan." She looked to Lateefa. "Go into the garden, my child. When Cicalazade Pasha asks you if you know how Incili escaped, I should prefer you to answer honestly that you do not know."

The princess nodded her agreement and gratitude, and left them alone. "I would," the old woman continued, "have your husband come to us traveling the same route you will return by. If it is familiar to him it will be easier later. Your pursuers will not expect you to travel overland. So you will do just that, at least partway.

"You will leave by small boat, and go down the Sea of Marmara through the Dardanelles into the Aegean Sea. Once there you will cross to the island of Lemnos, and from there to Thessaly. You will enter the Peneus River at its mouth, and travel upstream to its source in the mountains. When you can go no farther on the Peneus you will continue on foot across the hills to the Aous River, where a second boat will await you. You will then sail it all the way downstream into the Adriatic Sea, and cross over to Italy. Both these rivers run through sparsely populated areas, and except for two small towns on the Peneus you should encounter no one. There is always danger of recapture, however, for you travel exclusively within the boundaries of the Ottoman Empire until you land in Italy. If you are caught it will mean death."

"Better death with Bothwell than life with Cicalazade Pasha," said Cat fiercely. "When, Esther Kira? When?"

The old woman shook her head. "I never expected to meet another like Cyra Hafise. What do they feed you in that wild land of your birth, Incili, that makes its women so determined?"

Cat smiled slowly, the smile lighting her face with savage joy. "They feed us freedom, Esther Kira. Large doses of pure freedom, self-reliance, and independence! Now … when? When will I be able to shake the dust of this land from my slippers?"

"Patience, child! First we must smuggle your husband and his man into Constantinople. Then we must keep them hidden here, and wait for the right moment When it arrives you must come at once, bringing nothing but your servant What you need we will supply."

"You will tell me when he is safely here, Esther?"

"No, my child, I will not. If you knew you could not play the part of the vizier's loving second wife. I will contact you when it is time to make good your escape."

Cat felt the tears prick at her eyelids, and she swallowed back the lump in her throat. "You are right," she admitted. "I would not endanger him." Then a thought struck her. "Esther, where did my great-grandmother live when her son became sultan?"

"In the Eski Serai, the old palace. But it is in disrepair, and damaged by fire. No one has lived there since the time of Selim II. Why do you ask?"

"Are the rooms in which my great-grandmother lived still there?"

"Yes, child. The rooms were sealed by order of her son at the time of her ‘official' death. Twenty-four years ago there was a terrible fire in the Eski Serai, but her apartments were in the Forest Court, separated from the rest of the harem, and the fire never reached there."

"I would go there, Esther Kira! In the rush of her secret departure, Cyra Hafise left something behind that was very precious to her. I know where it is, and I want it!"

The old lady's eyes sparkled. "I will take you there myself, child. I have not seen the Eski Serai since the great fire, and I have not been in Cyra Hafise's apartments in over fifty years. Once more before I die I would revisit my youth. Go into the garden and fetch Lateefa Sultan. We will never get away from the overvigilant Osman without her. Do you mind if she comes with us?"

"Not as long as she will agree that, should I find what I seek, it is mine." "She will agree."

When Lateefa Sultan heard of what Cat and old Esther Kira planned she clapped her hands enthusiastically. "I have never been in the Eski Serai," she told them. "My grandmother lived outside it after her marriage, and my father was born in Guzel's house, not the palace."

"Who was your mother?" asked Cat.

"My mother was Aisha Sultan, the daughter of Cyra Hafise's only daughter, Nilufer, sister to your grandfather."

"Then we are doubly related," said Cat, surprised. "Why did you not tell me? What I seek could rightfully belong to you as a great-grandchild of Cyra Hafise."

"No, my cousin. Whatever you seek, you have the stronger claim, since you descend through the male line while I descend from the female. The right is yours, and besides—" the lovely turquoise eyes twinkled—"I somehow think Cyra would want you to have whatever it is. You are surely more like her than I am. Now let us go and fend off the diligent Osman so our visit may be a private one."

In the courtyard of the house, Esther Kira settled herself comfortably in her own large litter while the bearers stood ready. In the second litter Cat sat listening while Lateefa ordered their chaperon to remain behind.

"Master Kira is supplying us with a dozen guards," she told the eunuch. "Esther Kira and I would show Incili where my great-grandmother lived. There is no need for you to go. Stay and continue your visit with your friend, Ali."

Torn between duty and the very pleasant time he was having with the Kira family's head eunuch, Osman hesitated. As he did so, Cat slid from the litter, her leaf-green eyes narrowing dangerously above her gossamer veil.

"Insect!" she hissed at him. "How dare you disobey my lady Lateefa Sultan? If you do not return inside the house this instant I shall tell my lord Cica of your insolence towards his first wife. He will have you beaten to death for your rudeness!" And taming her back on him she smiled wickedly at Lateefa, who was struggling to hold back her laughter. The frightened eunuch turned ashen and then fled into the house.

As the two women settled themselves into the litter, Lateefa chuckled softly. "You may have been born a Scot, my Western cousin, but there is Ottoman in you. And it shows!"

"When the enemy hesitates, Lateefa, never give him a chance to regroup either his thoughts or his forces. 'Tis an old highland battle tactic."

The two litters were swiftly carried through the noisy streets until, as the noise began to fade, Cat could feel the bearers straining uphill. Finally they stopped. Leaning over, Lateefa drew the curtains aside. Stepping out, she offered a hand to Cat, who quickly joined her cousin.

Before them stood the fire-racked ruins of the once-great palace which had long ago crowned one of Constantinople's seven hills. Below them, sparkling in all its late-afternoon glory, was the Golden Horn. They saw the city itself and, off in the distance, both the Yeni Serai and the blue Bosporus. For a moment the three women stood transfixed, then Esther Kira said, "Come, my children, and I will show you the Forest Court where the great Cyra Hafise once lived." She signaled to two of the guards to follow them. "They can hear, but are mute," she said with a crafty smile. "They can say nothing of what they see or hear."

They followed the old woman around the crumbling walls of the Eski Serai until they came to a small iron gate overgrown with weeds. Here Esther stopped and said to their escort, "Cut the growth just enough so that we may pass, but not enough to cause notice in anyone else passing by."

"What if the gate is locked?" asked Lateefa.

"It should be, my dear, but I was entrusted with a key which will—after all these years—probably still work." So saying, she stepped forward and carefully tried the cobwebbed lock. After a moment of jiggling the cranky lock turned with a creeking noise. The rusted hinges protesting, the gate slowly opened. "Remain here," Esther commanded their mutes, and then she walked slowly into what had once been the garden of Cyra Hafise. The area was waist-high in ferns, weeds, and autumn flowers. They overran the once neat boundaries of their original beds and the mossy brick walks. The garden had been carefully tended until the fire of 1574. But now the hedges—untrimmed these last twenty-four years—stood like high green walls along the gravel paths. To the amazement of the three women, the fountains were still operable, and filled with not only water lilies gone wild, but enormous goldfish as well.

"Where does the water come from?" asked Cat.

"It is pumped underground from one of the old Byzantine or Roman aqueducts. This was originally an imperial palace when Mohammed the Conqueror took the city from the Byzantines. Ah, there is the Forest Court of Cyra Hafise."

Cat shivered suddenly. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected to be in Istanbul, let alone in the very palace from which her great-grandmother—that imperious old woman—had secretly ruled an empire. This was one of the places where Cyra had been young, beautiful, and very much loved by a great sultan. Cat had never before thought of Cyra in this way, the memory of the old woman being too strong. Awestruck, she followed Lateefa as Esther Kira opened a door into the building and stepped through into a dust-covered, cobweb-laden room.

All was still. Cat shivered again, feeling about her the ghosts of the past. Beside her Esther Kira stood lost in memory.

As Cat's eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, they sought and quickly found the tile fireplace wall. Walking over to it, she carefully looked for the thistle tile mentioned by her son. Finding it, she gently pressed the tile, and it fell into her hand. Without a moment's hesitation she reached into the opening, smiling as her fingers found and curled about a hard object in a soft, rotting velvet bag. Drawing it forth, she opened the bag, drew the pendant out, and triumphantly held it high. "Do your old eyes recognize this, Esther Kira?" And she danced over to the old woman, holding the pendant out to her.

Esther Kira nodded and smiled with remembrance. "The pendant made by Selim I himself to celebrate the birth of his first child, Sultan Suleiman! Look on the back. Here is his tugra. Why did she not take it with her, Incili? She prized it above all her jewels."

"In the rush of departure, young Ruth missed it. They did not even realize it was not among her things until they reached Scotland. My eldest son gave me a copy of the pendant this New Year's. Since I am here, I thought I should like to retrieve the original. I would like you to keep it for me, Esther, or better yet send it to the Kira bank in Rome for me. When I escape I should not like to be encumbered with such a valuable jewel."

"You are wise to trust me with it, Incili. If it were found among your things it would be difficult to explain. I will wager that the vizier does not give you enough pin money to account for such an expensive toy!"

"Let me see it," asked Lateefa softly. And she reverently took it from the old woman's gnarled hands. "It is beautiful! How much he loved her. He placed her above all women. How wonderful to be loved like that! So few of us ever are." Sighing, she handed the pendant back to Esther Kira, who returned it to its bag and placed the bag in a pocket somewhere within her voluminous robes.

For a few minutes longer the women wandered about the imperial apartments of the long-dead Sultan Valide, Cyra Hafise. Cat could not shake the feeling that she was intruding. Replacing the thistle tile, she regretted that she had not thought to ask Susan along. Susan's grandmother, Ruth, had spent her early years in this very palace.

Finally Esther led them back out through the garden again to their litters. As they returned to the Kira house, both Cat and Lateefa were strangely silent. In the courtyard of the house they hugged the old lady and thanked her profusely for the tour as Osman stood fussily by, wanting to hurry them but not daring to do so. Returning to the vizier's palace, they talked softly of the secrets they shared, bound even more closely by the afternoon.

Cicalazade Pasha awaited them impatiently. His eyes were narrow, his expression sulky, and they should have been warned. But both Lateefa and Cat were happy, exhilarated by their outing.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "I returned from the Yeni Serai to find my house deserted."

"We have been visiting Esther Kira, my lord," said Lateefa merrily. "She took us to the old Eski Serai, and we showed Incili where the great Cyra Hafise once lived. It was a delightful afternoon, and we thank you for giving us your permission to go."

"I have spent the afternoon devoid of companionship," complained the vizier.

"My lord Cica," teased Lateefa, smiling winningly up at him, "you have the most famous harem in the empire—next to my cousin, the sultan. I cannot believe that you were bored other than by choice."

Without warning the vizier's hand shot out and slapped Lateefa's face. Astounded, she gasped, her eyes filling with tears. Shocked, for he had never been known to beat his wife, the slaves stood impassive, scarcely breathing. But Cat flew at the vizier, furiously beating on his chest. "Don't you dare touch her!" she raged at him. "She did nought to you! You are unkind and unfair!"

Truly frightened now, Lateefa tried to pull Cat away. "No! No! Incili, you must beg my lord Cica's pardon," and she attempted to draw Cat down to her knees.

Cat turned from the vizier and gently touched Lateefa's cheek. A handprint showed white against the red. "Never! He had no right to slap you."

"He has every right," said Lateefa, desperately trying to stem the anger she saw burning in Cicalazade's gray-blue eyes. "He is our lord and master. We are nothing but that which he makes us, Incili."

"You can't really believe that?" pleaded Cat.

Turning, Lateefa knelt before the vizier, her head touching the toe of his outstretched boot "Forgive me my insolence, my lord, and forgive her also. She is still new to our ways, and I know she meant no harm!"

Cicalazade Pasha put a gentle hand on Lateefa's head. "I will forgive her for your sake, my dear. But she must still be punished, lest others in my house think I am a weak master." He nodded curtly to two eunuchs, who grasped Cat by the arms. "Take her to the whipping post and prepare her for punishment," he commanded.

"Oh, my lord," sobbed Lateefa, raising a tear-stained face to him, "please do not whip Incili. She is my friend!"

The vizier again nodded to a eunuch. "Take the lady Lateefa to her apartments," he said quietly. Afraid, Lateefa obeyed him.

The eunuchs dragged Cat into the center of the courtyard, where, after removing her jacket, they chained her between two posts. Her gauze blouse was ripped away entirely, baring not only her long, lovely back, but her full breasts. Slowly the vizier walked across the courtyard and stood silent beside her for what seemed an eternity. Then, cruelly grasping her tawny hair, he pulled her head back and said in a soft voice, "The punishment will be mild this time, Incili, but never defy me again—publicly or otherwise. I adore you, my jewel, but I will not be shamed. That is why I will personally mete out this chastisement. If you will beg my pardon I will cease. Otherwise you will receive the full twenty lashes." He bent his head and kissed her fiercely, laughing softly.

She bit him on the lower lip, drawing blood.

"Little bitch."

He loosed her head and she heard him walk back across the courtyard, where Osman waited with the whip. "Fool!" The vizier swore at a eunuch. "Ply the lash. I don't want her skin marked like a crocodile's!"

The suspense was terrible, and Cat felt her heart pounding with a mixture of fright and anger. The whip cracked several times as the vizier tested it, and her stomach heaved uneasily. Then she heard a sharp hiss, and the first blow touched her back. Her teeth bit into her own hp now, also drawing blood. The third blow drew a soft moan from her, the fifth a small cry. On the eighth she could bear no more. She screamed, unable to bear the cruel pain. For he was not being gentle. Her back was afire, and the pain grew worse with each blow, yet she would not beg his pardon. Finally, unable to endure any more, she fainted. But Osman was quickly there, waving a burnt feather beneath her nose, dragging her back to the terrible reality of consciousness.

"Miserable woman," he chortled, "you will not escape your punishment!"

Forcing her eyes open, she glared at him with an icy green stare. She heard Hammid's voice saying, "You are a fool to antagonize her, Osman. The lady Incili is not out of favor, nor is she likely to be. She is only disobedient" Then the chief eunuch's face came into view. "Yield to him, my daughter."

The whip bit into her burning back. "Never!" she managed to gasp as the blackness rose up to claim her again.

The eunuch shook his head, then called out, "She craves your pardon, my lord." The look on his face dared Osman to challenge his word.

"Release her," commanded Cicalazade Pasha, "and see that her back is tended to at once. I shall expect her in my bed later this evening."

They carried her to her apartments, where both Lateefa and a white-faced Susan waited. Carefully the slavewoman removed the rest of Cat's clothing, and she was placed stomach down on her bed. Her back was a mass of angry red welts, and Susan began to weep.

"How could he? How could he? No one has ever treated my lady thus! No one!"

"Do not weep, girl," said Lateefa kindly. "It looks worse than it really is. See. The lash was plied, and the skin is not broken. There will be no scars, and in a few days both the pain and the welts will be gone." Then she carefully bathed the injured back herself with cool water, and gently rubbed a pale-green cream into the welts. "It's a special salve," she told Susan, "and it will take some of the pain from the welts. Now sit by your mistress until I return."

Lateefa hurried through the corridors of the palace to her husband's apartments. "I would beg leave to speak with you alone," she said humbly. Dismissing the slaves, he motioned for her to sit by him. "I myself have cared for Incili's injuries, my lord, but she will be unavailable to you for at least two or three days. She is yet unconscious, and running a slight fever. You punished her cruelly, Cica. Had the lash not been plied you could have killed her."

"She will be all right?" he asked anxiously, and Lateefa's heart contracted at the worry in his voice. Esther Kira is right, she thought. "I did not mean to hurt her," the vizier continued, "but she was so defiant! She would not beg my pardon until eleven lashes had been meted out."

"What did you expect, Cica?" asked Lateefa quietly. "This is no peasant girl you've taken for your second wife. This is a proud European noblewoman. She is used to speaking her mind. I am trying to teach her our ways, but it will take time. You must be patient with her."

"You like her," he said. "I am glad! I am glad that you have become friends."

"Yes, we are friends, Cica. Now, please, my lord, give her a few days to heal both her back and her spirit. She will not forgive you easily. This time I am afraid you will have to amuse yourself with your harem. You have ignored them shamefully since Incili came, and there is an outright rebellion there, my lord. Hammid can tell you."

"Very well," he acquiesced sulkily. "I give her three days. At the end of that time I expect her back in my bed, docile and obedient to my will."

Lateefa bit back the smile that threatened to burst forth. "It will be as you wish, my lord husband," she answered him quietly, and she left him to return to Cat's bedchamber.

"How is she?" she asked Susan.

"Still unconscious. A bit restless too, my lady."

"Go to your bed, Mara. Your mistress received this punishment in defense of me. It is only right that I sit with her tonight. Bring me my embroidery before you retire."

During the first few hours, Lateefa Sultan sat quietly, plying her needle. Twice she trimmed the wicks of the lamps and refilled them with scented oil. Once she rubbed the green salve into Cat's back again. Her eyes grew tired and blurred with the ache of watching the colored threads on the snow-white linen. She admired the beautiful lines of her cousin's back and buttocks, wondering if she really enjoyed a man's lovemaking as she said, or if she hated it as Lateefa did.

Within the harem there were those women who loved each other, Lateefa knew. This sort of thing was forbidden, but the eunuchs had a tendency to turn a blind eye to it, as a happy woman caused less trouble than an unhappy one. Lateefa was above the women of the harem by birth and by rank. None of them would dare approach her, and she had never approached any of them. She wondered whether a woman lover would be as rough as Cicalazade was.

Cat moaned, still unconscious, and turned over, calling, "Francis! Francis!"

Lateefa was stunned by the beauty of her cousin's breasts and torso. They were flawless and creamy. Bending over, Lateefa said softly, "Hush, Incili. It's all right now, my dear."

But Cat called again. "Francis! Francis! Oh, yes, my love! Yes!"

Lateefa could not understand the words, for they were not Turkish, but she could see from the look on her cousin's face what it was she dreamed about. It was the face of a woman being made love to by a man she adored. Cat thrashed slightly. Fearful that she would injure herself, Lateefa reached out to quiet her. Her hand brushed the unconscious woman's breast. Instantly the nipple sprang erect, and Cat moaned. Unable to help herself, Lateefa reached out and caressed the soft globe of rounded flesh, feeling a thrill as the beautiful woman on the bed strained to her touch.

Trembling, the princess rose from her chair and divested herself of her robes. She lay down on the bed next to Cat, her shaking hands caressing the naked body of her unconscious cousin, careful to avoid the sore back. Cat writhed beneath the touch. Lateefa bent her head, eagerly licking Cat's nipples. Cat moaned again, and Lateefa turned over on her stomach, her fingers teasing at her own womanhood, her hips moving against the action of her own hand until she collapsed with a great sigh of relief onto the mattress.

For a few minutes she lay there, flushed, her breath ragged. Then she rose from the bed, dressed, and picked up her embroidery. She sat back down in her chair, stunned by what she had done.

In the beginning of their marriage Cica had often made her caress him, and she had hated it. She had not hated touching Cat. Cat's skin was smooth and lovely. She dozed, to be awakened later by Susan's gentle touch.

"Let me watch now, my lady," said the girl softly. Nodding her silent thanks, Lateefa Sultan gratefully departed for her own bed, and for the shy, pretty new slavegirl she had recently acquired, who would be waiting up for her. The girl was lonely and frightened, Lateefa knew. Several times her hands had touched her mistress intimately. Blushing prettily with confusion, the girl had begged her pardon. Lateefa had thought nothing of it. Now, however, she knew that the girl would respond to her favor and her kindness, should she decide to proffer them. Cicalazade Pasha might take ten women to his bed every night. His wife Lateefa Sultan no longer intended being lonely.