The Kadin - Bertrice Small [65]
Selim turned to his captain of the guard. “Go to the house of the merchant Razi Abu and fetch him, his wives, and all his children here. On your way, escort the lady Cervi to the small anteroom off the court, where she may wait in privacy.”
While the court buzzed in anticipation, Selim turned slightly and spoke softly. “Cyra, see the woman is fed. She looks as if she has been starving.”
“Yes, my lord. And perhaps I might give her some clothing. Her garments are in rags.”
“Good girl,” he answered.
Cyra left her hiding place and hurried to the harem. Arslan was dispatched to bring Cervi, who came trembling before the prince’s wife.
“Do not be frightened,” Cyra told the woman kindly.
Cervi had no time to be afraid, for she was whisked into the harem bath, scrubbed, and massaged by Cyra’s own slaves. Then she was fed a delicious meal of hot rice pilaf, lamb kebabs, honey and almond cakes and, finally, dressed in clean, fresh clothes. Then, taking the woman’s hand, Cyra hurried her out of the women’s quarters and through the halls of the palace to the hidden chamber behind Selim’s throne.
“You will not be called until your husband has stated his case, but here we may listen and observe.”
The merchant had not yet arrived, and Selim was judging another case. It involved a jeweler who had several shops in Constantinople but lived on a large estate within Selim’s province. The man was protesting his taxes.
“But, Highness, I am a citizen of Naples.”
“Do you own land there?”
“No, my lord.”
“Do you have any business there?”
“No, my lord.”
“Do you pay taxes there?”
The jeweler hesitated, but Selim looked at him sternly.
“No, my lord.”
“When were you last there?”
“I was born there, my lord. My parents brought me to Constantinople when I was two.”
“And when were you last there?”
“Not since I was two.”
The crowded court rocked with laughter.
“So,” said Selim, “you have not seen the place of your birth since you were two. You neither own land, nor do business, nor pay taxes there. Yet you claim to be a citizen of Naples. Do you speak the tongue?”
“Badly, my lord,” the jeweler said, shuffling his feet nervously.
“By Allah!” roared Selim. “You are a fraud! Now listen to me, Carlo Giovanni. The Koran states that those who follow not the religion of truth must pay both a head tax and a land tax. Until his death three years ago, your father paid both these taxes for his family. You are a non-Muslim living in a Muslim country. You are allowed all the privileges of its citizens, including the right to worship Allah freely in your own manner without harassment. But as a non-Muslim, you must pay your taxes! I could have you stripped of your shops and other properties, but I shall be merciful. You must pay your back taxes in full, plus a fine of three thousand gold dinars, which you will personally distribute, under my eye, to the poor of this province. And do not whine that you cannot afford it, for I know you can. If it comes to my ear again, however, that you have tried to cheat the government, I shall regret my leniency and deal harshly not only with you but with your entire family.”
White-faced with relief, the jeweler kissed the hem of the prince’s robe and hurried from the court. He had barely fled when the door opened to admit the captain of the guard, who escorted Razi Abu and his household.
“The hussy!” hissed Cervi. “She wears my dowry jewels.”
Selim watched Razi Abu arrogantly approach his throne. He was a small, portly man with eyes like black currants. He was dressed in the finest brocade, and his white silk turban held a sapphire the size of a peach pit, His well-trimmed beard smelled heavily of scented oil, and his pudgy fingers were heavy with rings. He was, to the casual observer, the picture of respectability; but Selim, looking more closely, saw the small, broken blue veins along his nose which indicated a secret drinker. The merchant’s bow was inadequate.
“Do you know why you are called here?” questioned the prince.
“No, my lord.”
“The lady Cervi, whom you divorced,