The Blue Hour

Chapter 19: Peresto

When Peresto opened her eyes she could see nothing. Jolted, she told herself that it was as it should be, morning had not yet broken although a tiny ray of light seeped through the glitch of the damask curtains. She relaxed and closed her eyes.

Next door, servants tip-toed in silk slippers as they prepared her clothes. A parrot in the covered gilded cage sighed or shifted position in its sleep. Too soon, there would be light. Her sleep had been getting lighter and more fragmented, a gradual decline which, on days like today, made her feel swollen with fatigue. The burden of responsibility perhaps; it was safer to be the wife of an Ottoman Sultan than the step-mother of an unwanted heir. Or maybe it was just age.

The clear, melodic voice of the muezzin travelled through the air from the minaret of the Suleymavni mosque. She mumbled the prayer with him: "Allah is most great. I testify that there is no God but Allah." On impulse, she added: "Oh Allah, if you know that Hamid should live, bless this day for me. If you know that he should die, do what you must and decree for me whatever is good and make me satisfied with it."

She stared into the gloom. The Valide had not got wind of Hamid's reckless adventure or Jurad's death. She had planted her version of events and the Valide had not questioned it. Why could she not rid herself of this sense of foreboding?

An odalisque entered carrying a candle. With a burning taper she lit the gas lamps, one by one they came on with a pleasing popping sound. The strengthening light illuminated the sky-blue silk-on-silk Hereke carpet, a large single piece which covered the whole floor in the sparsely decorated room. Time to rise.

Helped by her Mistress of the Robes, Peresto slipped into a loose fitting dress. The Mother of the Maids approached and fell into a deep curtsey.

"Urgent news?"

"Mustafa brings a message, Your Highness."

Trailing a maid who was still trying to close the last few buttons of her loose fitting morning dress, Peresto entered the salon where Mustafa waited for her. With a few gestures he signalled that he brought good news. The Sultan would reinstate Midhat Pasha.

She signalled her question: "As Grand Vizier?"

Mustafa shrugged. All he knew for sure was Midhat Pasha had returned from exile at the request of the Sultan and that the appointment ceremony would start at noon in the throne room.

Extraordinary news. The Sultan had ceded to the softa' demands. He was scared; by giving in to the their demands, he hoped to nip a rebellion in the bud. The fool.

"Find out what ministerial post he gets. And if he's not made Grand Vizier, who is?"

Mustafa nodded.

Seconds passed. She did not consider how Midhat's return to power might benefit her. Instead, she wondered anxiously: had the Sultan consulted his mother on the dismissal? Not likely. For an instant, she visualised the Valide in her salon, screaming, breaking things, furious like a wounded lioness at the news of her son's public display of weakness. No, the old witch had not been consulted.

Ambassador Ignatieff, this must be his doing, the Sultan was too impotent to make such an important decision alone. Ignatieff was virtually the only person, these days, to be admitted into the presence of the Sultan. Why would Ignatieff advise the Sultan to dismiss his Grand Vizier, when the man was Ignatieff's lackey?

Brushing aside the question, she reminded herself that Midhat's return to government was a gift from heaven. Grand Vizier Nedim was gone. He was ignorant and corrupted by Ambassador Ignatieff, and he disliked her as much as she him so he was of no use to her. Midhat Pasha, on the other hand, she knew well because he had loyally served Medjid. Even if they had not always seen eye to eye on affairs of state, there was mutual respect, he was learned and capable, and, like her, he put the needs of the empire first. His wife, Surur, was a friend with whom Peresto had secretly corresponded during the family's exile.