The Harem Midwife by Roberta Rich Read Free Book Online Page A

circumspect in her dealings with those in the harem.
    “Meet her,” Mustafa said, “and you shall have your answer.”
    They arrived at the inner gate of the harem, which was framed with a black-and-white stone arch and gold calligraphy adorned with quotes from the Qur’an. Mustafa’s slow gait and the way he nervously felt for the clanging keys on his girdle betrayed his uncharacteristic anxiety. Hannah tried to see past the gate but saw only a yawning maw of blackness. Many slave girls had passed through these portals, but none had left—at least not alive. There were only two ways to depart: in the mourning shroud of the dead, or in a burlap sack snugly tied at the neck andweighted down with river stones, to be hurled into the Bosporus by the palace death squad, the deaf mutes. Just as the eunuchs in the harem had had their private parts cut off, the deaf mutes had been rendered deaf by spikes rammed in their ears and mute by having their tongues cut out. In the dark of the night, these thuggish brutes drew silken cords around tender young throats, thrust their bodies into sacks and tipped them into the waters.
    Mustafa’s torch sizzled and spit shadows against the walls of the corridor. Trying to see past him was like trying to see past a giant, swaying cart rumbling down a narrow, rutted road. He wobbled in his pattens. They were crafted of inlaid silver and mother-of-pearl. They reminded Hannah of
chopine
, the high, elegant shoes the grand ladies of Venice favoured to keep them elevated from the mud of the streets. Her own feet, in leather slippers turned up at the toes, made a shushing noise on the hard marble, a counterpoint to his staccato clatter.
    Mustafa addressed her in a hushed tone. “She will not speak, nor eat. She does nothing but sob and moan and act as though she had arrived in the worst prison in the world instead of heaven on earth.” He put a hand out to steady himself against the wall. “You remember Nilia, the Nubian slave girl who works in the baths? This vixen you are about to meet scratched Nilia’s face when she tried to bathe her.”
    There were robust eunuchs to hold the girls for the sometimes harsh beauty procedures, or discipline them when they violated one of the many rules of the harem. Why not use one of them? Hannah twisted the velvet pouch around herneck. The ceiling felt lower, the air mustier, and the walls closer. When would Mustafa disclose her task?
    Suddenly Mustafa’s torch burned out, but he continued walking. His voice seemed to come from far ahead of her. “Before we waste any more time on this girl, I must know for certain whether she is a virgin. Otherwise, I will be only too happy to sell her to the Arab brothel-keeper down by the docks. Let
him
try to civilize her.”
    Hannah leaned to one side, feeling Mustafa’s presence only because of the shift in the air and the sound of his fumbling with the enormous ring of keys. She heard him insert a key into the lock of a small door. She heard the creak of rusty hinges and felt the cold metal of the door as she groped her way in behind him.
    Fate has a way of making us accomplices to evil, Hannah thought, while Mustafa struck at a tinderbox and lit a candle in a wall sconce which lent a flickering light. Pinpricks of light drew attention to the golden quill jutting from his turban and the gemstone on his thumb.
    I have learned my lesson, Hannah thought. I want no part of whatever cruel scenario is about to unfold. She remembered another night long ago in Venice and what had flowed from her reckless decision to disobey her rabbi and accompany the Conte, her son Matteo’s natural father, to his home. She and Isaac were not, in fact, Matteo’s real parents, though they kept this a secret from everyone in Constantinople. On that night, the Conte’s gondola took her to the palazzo on the Grand Canal where the screams of Matteo’s mother greeted her. Hannah had been calledto help the Conte’s wife give birth. And she