Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [103]
‘Yes. What is his name?’ said Philippa. ‘And what is he like?’
The candle shivered, starring his earrings with silver, but without lighting his eyes. ‘His nurse, the mother of Jacomo, called him Lambkin, Kuzucuyum,’ said Míkál. ‘I know no other name.’
‘He’s healthy, is he?’ said Archie; and in the dim light Míkál’s mouth sketched a quick smile.
‘Like a bullock. Hewn from sparstone, like satin, containing its light. Masked like a Schwatzen horse with yellow silk hair, chopped along the bridge of his nose. A nose; two eyes, and a mouth. He speaks English.’
‘From Jacomo’s mother?’ asked Philippa briskly. Her voice, ratting on her, split in the middle.
‘From the nurse he had left in Algiers. He is between one year and two. He walks, eats, shouts, laughs, sings, and is a proper boy-child. That is why the Commissars took him away.’
‘The Commissars!’ said Sheemy Wurmit sharply.
‘Thou knowest, then,’ said Míkál, turning. ‘The Commissars for the Levy of Children. They came here a month ago for their tribute and took him, with the rest of the levy.’
‘Why … where has he gone?’ said Philippa without any breath left at all.
‘East, to be sure: they make the Devshirmé only every four years, and children have to be gathered from Albania, Servia, Bosnia, Trebizond, Mingrelia—from every part of the Empire as well as in Greece. One in three male children, at the choice of the Deputy. That is the custom. Then …’ Míkál shrugged. ‘The least comely will till the fields in Natolia, learn Turkish and how to endure hardship: they are circumcised and become followers of Islam. Presently, they are brought to Constantinople, to the Aga of Ajémoghláns, and are taught crafts, or the art of war. The best of these may become Janissaries. The worst carry water and wood, clean the Seraglio, care for the gardens or the horses or the barges, or serve the Spahis and Janissaries themselves. He will not be one of these.’
‘What then?’ It was Archie, as Philippa’s voice failed her.
‘The good corn; the beautiful; the bright, are the Grand Sultan’s own. With three thousand hand-picked children the boy is on his way to the Topkapi Seraglio at Stamboul. For four years he will live in the harem, serving and learning, under the wisest men of the Empire. He will be taught Turkish, Persian and Arabic and the Sheriát of Islam. He will learn to run like a gazelle, to ride, to shoot, to cast the javelin, and the arts of wrestling and falconry. He will be taught music and poetry and the exercise of his senses. If he is chosen as a page, he will be adorned with delicate tints, dressed in sweet scents and in clothes of scarlet and white. In time, he may fill one of the highest offices of the land. He may become a judge, a jurist, a court official, a governor of a province. He may become Agha of the finest of troops, the Janissaries, the Bostanjis, the Spahis. He may, if he is brilliant and wise, become Grand Vizier, or supreme head of the civil and military empire under the Sultan. For thus does the Sultan rule. Through former Christians, without parents, without money, without brothers, without power, who owe all to him; and in dying, will leave it to him once again.… This child: the child of thy quest has gone to all this.… Wilt thou bring him back?’ said Míkál.
‘Yes,’ said Philippa.
‘To what?’
There was a silence. Frightened, Philippa looked at Archie, and then at Sheemy Wurmit and, instead of an answer, saw the same question reflected in two pairs of eyes. To what?
To his heritage? He was a bastard. To the world of Gabriel? But that meant hurt, deprivation, and ultimate death.
In Constantinople, or Stamboul as she must learn to call it, he would be rich, cared for, and safe. He would learn the graces his mother would never teach him, and the arts his father would