Chapter 23: The Sultan’s Bed

I quickly realise my mistake and tear my gaze away from Sultan Suleiman’s eyes. I’ll be on kitchen duty for a month if the Valide ever hears about my failure to keep to the traditional ritual. Fortunately the sultan doesn’t seem to mind and I revert to the ritual by dropping to my knees in front of him and kissing the hem of his kaftan. My head remains bowed as I wait for his acknowledgement of my presence. This ritual is a sort of game. The sultan will now either instruct me to stand and share his company, or he will indicate I should leave by pushing me over with his foot. I wait nervously for his response, mindful that it was the Valide rather than the sultan who selected me to come here tonight.

“Come, Gülnihal,” says Sultan Suleiman. “Join me over here. You must be hungry.”

So far, so good. The sultan’s invitation for me to sit and eat means he intends for me to stay for a while. I’ve avoided the two most embarrassing possible outcomes of this visit ... being rejected outright, or only being used to slake the sultan’s lust. In training we were told that the Valide expects a concubine’s visit to the sultan’s bedchamber to last for at least an hour. If the duration of the visit is less than that, then the slave has failed in her duty. The concubine will always be blamed for any failure, regardless of the circumstances. The whole ritual is unfair, but so are many other aspects of harem life.

I follow Sultan Suleiman to the low table already set with an assortment of foods for a light meal. I’m so busy admiring the beautifully laid out spread that I forget the correct ritual for this situation. I’ve no excuse for my lapse. I’ve practised the ritual plenty of times, but my mind goes blank just when it matters the most. I’m forced to improvise and in doing so I find myself sat on the same cushion as the sultan. Fortunately the cushion is large enough for both of us, but I know I’ve made a mistake in being so forward. He is following the correct ritual ... I am not.

“I’m sorry, Padisha,” I murmur. “In my excitement I forgot my place. I will move.”

“No, Gülnihal,” laughs Sultan Suleiman. “Stay where you are. There is room enough for us both. We are all slaves to palace rituals. It is refreshing when someone breaks with tradition.”

“You are sultan, Padisha,” I reply. “You can ignore or change tradition by a simple command.”

“It is not as easy as that,” replies the sultan in a more serious tone. “I rule a vast empire inhabited by people of different races, cultures and religions. There isn’t even a single set of laws across my empire. Tradition is the glue which holds the empire together. Any sultan who goes against tradition faces an uphill battle from many quarters.”

“But surely changing a tradition which is only applied within the confines of the palace isn’t going to cause the empire to collapse.”

“Not the empire. No. But can you imagine the chaos within the palace if there were no set rules for my harem to follow. A woman sent to my room would not know how to prepare, or what to do when she arrives.”

“Is that important to you?” I ask. “Does every concubine need to arrive in your room having prepared herself to your precise specifications?”

“They aren’t my specifications. They were devised many years ago. My mother, and all the valides before her, have refined the rules over the years until they are what they are today.”

“So, if I had arrived here without having freshly trimmed my toe nails, you would have been horrified and sent me away?”

“Ha, ha!” laughs Sultan Suleiman. “No. I have been looking forward to your company tonight so much that I think you could have arrived wearing a flour sack and I would have been just as happy to see you.”

The sultan’s comments take me by surprise. His words imply that it was his choice that I come to his room tonight. The Valide made me believe that she alone had selected me to walk the golden path tonight. I do my best to avoid blushing at Sultan Suleiman’s admission, and I say the first thing that comes into my head.

“So you are saying my choice of dress is no better than a flour sack?”

I regret saying those words the moment they are out of my mouth. Sultan Suleiman goes quiet for a moment. To criticise the sultan is to risk his wrath ... and his wrath could lead to my execution. I’m about to offer an apology for my hasty words when the sultan replies.

“Not at all, Gülnihal,” he replies. “Your choice of dress demonstrates you innate good taste. I was merely implying that your true self cannot be hidden beneath a set of clothes. My words were ill-chosen and I apologise.”

Now I am really confused. The sultan has apologised to me ... his slave. There is nothing in my training that tells me what to do next. Which only proves that intimate encounters cannot follow a set script.

“It is I who should apologise for my outburst,” I reply. “I am flattered that you desire my company, although I don’t know what I have done to deserve your attention.”

“No apology is necessary,” replies the sultan. “Rest assured that you have come to my attention more than once. It is your courage which makes you stand out among the other women of the harem.”

“Courage?” I say in surprise. “I have never thought of myself as having courage.”

“Ah, but you do. Any hatun can ask for an audience with the Valide, but very few do. When we met in the annex to my mother’s suite you were willing to risk her anger by asking her to rescind her order regarding Hürrem. That deed alone requires a level of courage which few women possess.”