Chapter Eleven
The next morning, Omar Hassan met the Dey in the hall outside the audience chamber where a crowd had already gathered for the day’s business. This hall, leading from Jamil’s apartments, was empty except for the two Nubian bodyguards who were never far from Jamil’s side.
“A moment, Jamil.”
Omar had the privilege of using the Dey’s name at all times, though he did so only in private.
He had known Jamil Reshid since he was born, had taken an active interest in his upbringing even before he was removed from the harem, and was totally in agreement with the Divan, Jamil’s council of advisors, that Barikah had never known such prosperity as under Jamil’s rule.
His father, Mustafa, had been a good ruler, beloved of his people, but he had lacked Jamil’s diplomacy and shrewdness in dealing with Barikah’s foreign element, as well as with the consuls of the many foreign governments represented here.
Barikah enjoyed peace under Jamil, not so under his father’s and older brother’s rule.
Of all Mustafa’s many children, Jamil and his brother Kasim had been Omar’s favorites, each showing at an early age a keen intelligence, but more important in the Grand Vizier’s opinion, a sense of honor and justice.
They had been their father’s favorites, too, which was perhaps why his firstborn, Mahmud, whom he had all but ignored, had grown up with a grasping, vindictive nature that had earned him the title of “tyrant” during his short rule.
But by Allah’s will, Mahmud had died without issue, and to Barikah’s benefit, Jamil had been next in line.
He made a fine ruler, in character as well as in appearance, which not a single one of his concubines could find fault with.
From his father he had his exceptional height and coal-black hair tucked away right now under a white turban, but visible in a full beard, the pride of most Muslims. He had his mother’s high cheekbones and brow, his father’s strong chin and aquiline nose.
But the eyes were strictly Lalla Rahine’s, not the eyes of a Turk or an Arab, eyes that gave Jamil the look of a European and put foreign diplomats at ease.
It was only recently that Jamil had stopped receiving diplomats, and all urgent business was conducted only once a week now, anything else to be handled by Omar.
It showed the depth of Jamil’s wisdom that he willingly delegated his power at this time, for his frustration over the continued restrictions placed on him for his own protection had him on a short fuse, which grew shorter with each passing day.
He was the first to realize that his easygoing temperament had taken a turn for the worse, which affected his judgment and made it too easy for him to make the wrong decisions or offend someone he shouldn’t.
“Skulking about in hallways now, Omar?” Jamil asked as he reached him.
The older man chuckled. “It does seem so.”
“What is it, then?”
“Nothing important,” Omar admitted. “I just thought you might want to consider purchasing another slave for the harem.”
Jamil frowned. “My ears deceive me, correct? You are not suggesting—”
“Hear me out, my lord.” Omar stepped back so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck to look up at Jamil.
That was the only reason that he kept his distance, for he loved Jamil as he did his own sons and liked to think the feeling was mutual.
It certainly wasn’t that he was intimidated by one of Jamil’s frowns.
“I know you feel you have too many women already, but I was not actually thinking of this one for you.”
A dark brow shot up, and a grin appeared to lighten Jamil’s stern expression. “You wish me to purchase you a woman and hide her in my harem? Are your wives giving you trouble again, old friend?”
Omar laughed outright. “No, my lord, not for me. I was thinking of someone else who might make use of her. I am given to believe she is English, which is why I thought of it. She was secreted into the city last night and delivered to Hamid Sharif. The fact that he tried his best to conceal her can only mean she is either so ugly he is ashamed to have her seen, or so beautiful he is afraid to have her seen. You will recall that the last beauty he proudly had paraded through the streets nearly caused a riot. The reason I mention it now is he may not offer her to you this time, having become discouraged after you have turned him down so many times in recent months. If you want to buy her, I may have to contact him, and it should be done before he has a chance to sell her.”
Jamil considered this news for only a moment before he slowly shook his head.
“No, I don’t think so, Omar. It was good of you to think of it, but I prefer not to prepare ahead in this instance, as there may be nothing to prepare for.
Our ‘someone else’ has not arrived yet, nor might he ever.
And the last thing I want to do is disturb my women with a new acquisition when they are already displeased with me. ”
Omar refrained from commenting on that. He simply nodded his acceptance and salaamed, indicating he would detain the Dey no longer.
What could he have said that wouldn’t have reminded Jamil of his own shortcomings?
At least the Dey was not pretending an ignorance of the havoc his foul disposition caused in the palace.
He was fully aware that his slaves walked in fear of him, his guards drew lots now to see who would not have to show up for duty each day, and his concubines complained constantly of his neglect, or, as the case might be, his favor.
Omar knew that Jamil strived for control, and when he failed to achieve it, his anger only grew worse.
The situation had just gone on too long.
Jamil’s patience was at an end. His temper exploded now at the least provocation, and although he regretted the punishments he ordered and most times cut them short as his reason returned, they still occurred frequently.
Omar sighed and followed the Dey into the audience chamber.
Waiting there to speak with Jamil was a servant of Hamid Sharif’s whom Omar recognized.
Here was a prime excuse for Jamil to lose his temper this morning: having to deal with the same issue twice, since Omar had little doubt that the servant was here because of Hamid’s newest acquisition.
He should not even have been allowed in, for his was certainly not urgent business.
But this was Omar’s fault for not being present to screen today’s visitors, leaving the duty in the hands of Jamil’s harried clerk instead.
Quickly, he signaled to Hamid’s man and took him out into an antechamber, giving him no chance to state his business. “The Dey does not require any new slaves for his household or his harem.”
“But, my lord—”
“Yes?”
The tone was such that the man lowered his eyes humbly to the floor. One did not argue with the Dey’s chief minister.
“Forgive me, my lord. You understand, my master did not wish to offend yours by not offering to him the fairest jewel that has ever come into his possession.”
“Ever?” Omar was amused.
“It is so, my lord. I have seen her myself.”
“Then my regret is no greater than yours. English, isn’t she?”
The man’s eyes widened as he nodded, but he should have known the palace spies would have ferreted out this information, probably the moment the girl arrived.
If it was not palace spies, then it was spies of the foreign consuls, who liked to keep abreast of things.
Very few secrets were kept in Barikah, which was why no one could understand why the head of the man behind the attempts on the Dey’s life had not long since rotted away hanging on the palace gate.
“You may tell your master that we appreciate his offering this jewel to the Dey first,” Omar continued.
“His thoughtfulness will be remembered. And although the Dey has not bought any new slaves for some time, that does not mean he will not in future. But come to me next time. The Dey cannot be bothered with such trifles.”
It was a shame, Omar thought later, that Jamil scorned the collection of women for the sake of prestige.
Most Turks who could afford it filled their harems to overflowing.
Three or four hundred concubines were not unheard of for someone as wealthy as Jamil, yet he possessed less than fifty women, and half of these had been given as gifts or were purchased by Lalla Rahine in her efforts to please her son by providing him with variety when he stopped doing so himself.
He had not been pleased, and had finally forbidden her to make any more purchases.
It was not that Jamil did not like variety or love women.
What he didn’t like was to see women go to waste, and that was certainly what happened to the majority of women in a large harem.
There could only be so many favorites, and the rest, though they might catch the master’s eye occasionally, spent their days in bored idleness with nothing to look forward to, and their nights alone.
That this should concern Jamil was amazing, but it did.
He had felt this way even before the rumors started circulating that he was in love with his first wife, the kadine Sheelah.
He was a man unique to his culture for the belief that every woman in his harem should feel herself cherished by her master.
And he wore himself out ensuring that none of his women were ignored for any great length of time, which was why the thought of even one more woman added to the ranks appalled him.
But it was still a shame, for someone new at this time could serve to take Jamil’s mind off his troubles and, in turn, ease what was becoming a formidable temper. But you couldn’t tell Jamil that.
What was needed was a day spent away from the palace, for being confined to the palace was Jamil’s main frustration.
But the Divan would never agree. It was simply too dangerous, the one thing the assassins were undoubtedly waiting for.
What was truly needed was for the many messages they had sent out to bear fruit.