The Harem Midwife by Roberta Rich Read Free Book Online

ofsurprise at the touch of its flabby, prehensile lips. Now, instinctively, she made a wide circle around its low enclosure.
    A careless worker had left a pile of bricks in the path and Mustafa took her arm to guide her. “Building, always building,” he said. “This time it is ten new kitchens with lead-domed roofs to replace those destroyed by fire last year. The ovens will be large enough to roast an entire herd of oxen.”
    Hannah said, “A sultan never dies when he is building.” She had heard the expression often and decided to try it out herself.
    Mustafa paused for a moment and turned to look at her. Had she offended him by referring, however obliquely, to the Sultan’s death? Mustafa’s face revealed nothing. This was the way of Ottomans. Venetians were direct and never shrank from telling you what they thought about family, religion, and politics. Ottomans, especially around foreigners like Hannah, kept their own counsel.
    “How many people live in the Imperial Palace?” Hannah hoped it was not a rude question.
    “Five thousand, from the Sultan to the lowliest pot scrubber in the scullery to the odalisques to the Valide herself. All must be fed.” Odalisques were taught to play instruments, to embroider, to sing and dance, to learn the erotic arts—all in the hope of one day becoming concubines for the Sultan. They were lovely girls, some purchased at the slave market near the Hippodrome, some sent as gifts for the Sultan from governors of the far-flung provinces of the Empire.
    Hannah and Mustafa skirted a small apricot tree where a peacock wearing a gold necklace roosted, crushing the young boughs with its weight. They arrived at the outer entrance to the harem, the Arabalar Kapısı, where beeswax candles flickered in onyx sconces affixed to the high walls.
    Hoping to prompt the usually voluble Mustafa to reveal more, Hannah said, “It is late. Suat had difficulty passing through the streets.”
    Mustafa offered no comment.
    Unable to restrain herself, she asked, “It must be an urgent matter for the Valide to call me out at this time of night. A birth, perhaps?”
    “Not a birth, unfortunately. I have a different task for you.” He stood in front of the Gate of Felicity, the entrance to the harem, making no move to reach for the collection of keys that dangled at his side. “Do not look so apprehensive. You will know what is required. It involves that orifice you are so familiar with.”
    At last, Mustafa took an ebony key from the chain at his waist. Even then he hesitated, looking as though he were weighing what to say, before speaking. “A new slave girl has arrived,” he ventured, as he fitted the key into the lock and gave it a turn. “This girl you are about to meet is the Valide’s gift to her son. Leah is—how to put it—rebellious? She is a tough little thing, filthy and evil-tempered. You must excuse her appearance. We have not managed to tame her sufficiently to bathe her or comb the knots from her hair.”
    This was very odd. The harem had scores of slave girls to wash, scrub and render presentable any new arrivals,even intractable peasants. In any case, most girls from the slave market were only too happy to find themselves in this earthly paradise of marble and gold cloth and jewels and savoury foods. Why would Hannah be called to help with such a matter? They walked through the Gate, passing by the open door of the guard room of the black eunuchs’ living quarters where they ate and slept when not on duty guarding the ladies of the harem.
    “What is it you wish me to do?” Hannah asked as they walked through the courtyard, the mosque of the black eunuchs on her left.
    Mustafa made no reply.
    “If she is so difficult, why was she purchased?” As soon as the remark passed her lips, Hannah realized it was not only far too direct but also a criticism of Mustafa, who had no doubt purchased the slave girl on behalf of the Valide. Isaac often cautioned her to be more