the room to feel a chill when the Kapi informed the students that this would be their final class in the Harem School. Like him, most of the students had not, until that moment, given much thought to their future. Some day, of course, they would grow up and leave the harem. Some day. But tomorrow? Danilo turned for reassurance as he often did to his seat mate, Princess Saida. But in vain. For the first time he was met with hooded lids and a turning away of the head.
That gesture told him better than words that she was no longer his royal playmate, that she was as lost to him as any legendary princess locked up in any tower.
Danilo was no stranger to loss. He had learned to keep his grief at bay by filling his days with activities. But he had no defense against thrusts of memory that came upon him unexpectedly and left him feeling that a piece of himself was missing. The doors of childhood were closing on him, and the future loomed up dark, lonely, and hopeless.
As he stood at the harem gates, waiting for his groom to take him home from school to the Doctor’s House for the last time, thinking he had never been so miserable in his entire life, who should emerge to bid him farewell but Prince Mehmet. The little prince had come to say goodbye since they were unlikely to meet again soon. Mehmet himself had given up all hope of graduating from the Harem School with the current crop.
“My marksmanship, my mastery of language, my deportment, even the fact that I did not cry out at my circumcision — of all those things that I thought would recommend me for the Sultan’s School for Pages — none of them avail against my young age,” he reported sadly. “I am to be left behind. I am not old enough and must wait for the next cohort, unlike you, Danilo, who will certainly be selected as a page in one of the Sultan’s schools, maybe in the Sultan’s own school in Topkapi Palace.”
It was a thought, much less a hope, that Danilo had not allowed himself. Under the Sultan’s eye in his School for Pages, a limitless future awaited those who could earn it. Judged strictly on the basis of their ability, students who survived a severe weeding-out process would end up finally in the highest class, the Fourth Oda, whose members served the Sultan personally: dressing and barbering him, guarding him, and sleeping in his private quarters. They were also put in the way of his notice, his favor, and, not the least consideration for Danilo, his horses and his stables.
But Mehmet had it all wrong.
“Believe it or not, Mehmet,” Danilo explained, “it’s even more hopeless for me than for you. You may be held back this year, but you will eventually have your chance. Whereas I will never be chosen for the Palace School because I am a Jew. Despite the Sultan’s favors to my race, no Jew has ever gained acceptance to his school.”
“But think of this, Danilo: the personal intervention of the Sultan surmounts all barriers.”
When Danilo looked askance at this smart response, Mehmet added, “Remember, the Sultan’s physician has the Sultan’s ear. Talk to your father. But be quick. I hear most of the places in the First Oda have already been filled.”
With that slight encouragement, Prince Mehmet brought a ray of light to the dismal landscape of Danilo’s hopes. Perhaps he did have a slim chance. According to Ottoman law, the Sultan’s will did prevail over custom. His father did have the Sultan’s ear. And the Sultan did have the power to secure a place for him in the School for Pages. . . if he would.
But Judah del Medigo had other plans for his son. He had already approached a Sephardic family in Balat with whom Danilo could complete the preparation for his bar mitzvahwhile his father was off on campaign. During the winter when there was no military action, Danilo would remain at home in the Doctor’s House being tutored by his father in mathematics, astronomy, Latin, and Greek. This would prepare him for a European
Learning to Kill: Stories