The Blue Hour

Chapter 21: Peresto

The Valide was nowhere to be seen. Through a latticed balcony window, Peresto's eyes swept over the assembled men, the Ottoman dignitaries in the hall and the European dignitaries in the galleries. At the centre stood the throne on a carpet which only the Sultan could impinge on. Above hovered a chandelier, four and a half tons gifted by Queen Victoria at the inauguration of the new palace. Whenever Peresto looked at it, she imagined it crushing the golden throne beneath. Now, she did a double take and threw a questioning glance at Mustafa who shook his head. Beneath the chandelier, the throne was empty. Where was the Sultan? For weeks now, he had been invisible, barricaded in his rooms together with his young favourite, a seventeen-year-old Circassian. But to be absent from a formal ceremony, that was unheard of.

Mustafa nodded to the chair of the Grand Vizier to the left of the vacant throne. Peresto recognised the weak and malleable Mehmed Rusdi. It meant that, despite his absence, the Sultan had made his appointment. To the left of Rusdi sat Midhat Pasha, tall, strong and intellectual, and Huseyin Avni, a short military man. Both exuded confidence and purpose. They would need it. The appointment of Rusdi as Grand Vizier, signalled that the Sultan intended to continue to act without taking advice from his Ministers.

With a growing sense of unease, her eyes returned to the glaringly empty throne.

"They too are wondering" she mumbled with a nod to the European Ambassadors in the galleries.

The men moved nervously from cluster to cluster, sharing intelligence with darting glances, and - no doubt - debating the Sultan's absence. Had the empire lost its head? If so, who was in charge? All valid questions.

Her eyes swept over the men's familiar faces, and noticed that, like the Sultan, Ambassador Ignatieff, the damned snake, was conspicuously absent. She wrung her hands to warm her slender fingers.

"Did the Sultan leave his apartment this morning?"

Mustafa shrugged, and with a few signs, offered to find out.

"No, leave it," she said.

Suddenly she had the uncanny feeling of being watched. Sir Elliot, the British Ambassador, had lifted his gaze to the latticed window of the balcony, as if he knew she was there. Not long ago, she had received a desperate plea from him. It had been months since he, the representative of the Queen and the empire's closest ally, had been received by the Sultan. Something had to be done to counter Ignatieff's influence. To protect British interests - their common interests against Russian aggression - he, Sir Elliot, had to know the Sultan's mind. Could Peresto speak with the Sultan or the Valide on his behalf, perhaps even arrange an audience?

Of course she could not. It didn't mean Sir Elliot was wrong. There was cause for real concern. In the past few months alone, Abdulaziz had spent nearly a million Turkish pounds on gratifying the whims of his little favourite. Meanwhile, the empire suffered a famine, the chain of nationalist rebellions in the Balkans intensified, Christians and Muslims slaughtered each other, and the Russian Tsar assembled troops on their borders. No wonder the tensions in the city were almost palpable.

She had ignored Sir Elliot's request, not because she was unsympathetic, but because communicating with him was risky and pointless. There was nothing she could do. Now, with this unexpected development, with the appointment of a new government, and with the Sultan announcing it in absentia, she - like Sir Elliot, perhaps - sensed both urgency and opportunity.

"The Valide Pertevniyal," Mustafa whispered.

With a soft rustling of fabric and a cloud of sweet perfume, the Valide came into view, trailing the Kizlar Agha and a suite of women. They must have watched the throne room from the balcony on the opposite wall, and were now hurrying back to the harem. To search for the Sultan, no doubt. Even at a distance the Valide looked awe-inspiring: black dress, thick black hair, dark, sparkling eyes and heavy jewellery. A force of nature, nothing like the other pampered Circassian women of the harem.