The Aviary Gate by Katie Hickman Page B

relax. Cariye Lala’s ministrations were rough sometimes, but she had not meant to hurt Celia in the way that some of the other senior mistresses sometimes did, with their sly pinches and hair-pullings at the smallest infringement of the rules. A kind of passive indifference to her fate had taken hold of her. Cariye Lala’s slow but matter-of-fact ways had a soothing effect. It was restful not to have to think.
    It was, then, with only a faint sense of unease that she allowed her lips and then her nipples to be coloured with rose-tinted powder, an unease that did not lessen when she felt Cariye Lala slide one of her hands deftly between the tops of her thighs. A finger parted the lips of her sex, probed expertly, and then pushed inside.
    With a cry Celia leapt to her feet as if she had been bitten. The vessel of
ot
at their feet spun across the floor, shattering against the wall. ‘Get away from me!’
    Backing into the far corner of the room, she found herself in an unlit alcove, the third of the interconnecting rooms in the Valide’s hammam. Except for the shadows there was nothing here with which to cover her nakedness. Somewhere above her came the sound ofrunning water. Celia crouched down with her back against the wall. A droplet of something warm and dark trickled down the inside of her thigh.
    Cariye Lala made no attempt to follow her. Celia saw her laugh and shake her head. Then she turned to the servant and by hand-signing, the customary language of all the palace servants, issued a swift instruction.
    â€˜You can come out now.’ For a moment Cariye Lala stood in the doorway to the little alcove, a small figure, hands on hips. ‘Don’t be afraid.’
    In the darkness, Celia felt as if her heart was going to leap from her chest. But the old woman’s voice was not angry.
    â€˜It was this, foolish child, look,’ she held out a tiny cedar wood box traced with silver filigree. ‘Perfume.’ She sniffed the contents of the box. ‘The Valide herself sent it for you.’
    â€˜Go away!’ Celia felt her eyes beginning to smart.
    â€˜Tsk!
’ Cariye Lala clicked her tongue against her teeth impatiently. ‘It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ She cocked her head to one side; her eyes sparkled like a little old blackbird. ‘Look – for you, I use only this finger.’
    She held up her hands, and Celia saw that the nails of all her fingers were long and curved. Only the index finger of her right hand, which she was bending slowly backwards and forwards, was short and neat. ‘Think yourself lucky. The others don’t always trim theirs.’
    Celia allowed herself to be coaxed back into the second room. There was no fight left in her now. A chemise of lawn-cambric, so fine it was almost transparent, was put on her. Cariye Lala talked away, sometimes to herself, sometimes to Celia, admonishing and soothing at the same time. ‘What kind of a fuss is this, there is nothing to fear. He’s only a man after all. And look how beautiful the skin is, just as they said, white as cream, without a flaw. Pleasure, what pleasure to be had here. But we mustn’t be so afraid, no, no, not good, not good at all.’
    For the moment she made no attempt to touch Celia again. Instead, from amongst the jars at her disposal, she picked out two more small boxes; one silver, the other gold. Taking them to where the diffused daylight fell most brightly in the centre of the room she opened them both, scrutinising their contents carefully.
    â€˜Hmm, hmm … Hot? Or warm?’ Celia heard her say to herself. She watched as Cariye Lala held out both boxes in the palm of one hand, and then, spreading out the fingers of the other hand, moved them from side to side over the two boxes as if she were divining for water. ‘Warm? Or hot?’ She looked at Celia speculatively. ‘No, not the itch,’ she shook her head, her voice almost