that point. “But where did you tell your father you got that name?” he asked.
“I told him Birro was an Egyptian warrior at the time of Ramses the Second.”
“And he believed it?”
“My father knows nothing about ancient Egypt,” she sniffed.
He shook his head, overcome by the combination of her duplicity and her candor. “Do me a good turn, will you, Princess? If you ever stop being my friend, let me know. Because I wouldn’t have a chance against you as an enemy.”
The very word wiped the mischief off her face. Her eyes widened. Her tone softened. “But I could never be your enemy. You are the love of my life.” She said this quietly, without touching him and yet with a piercing gaze that fixed the words in his heart more securely than an embrace.
These times on Kinali had a strange quality. Short though they were — a few hours at best — there was no haste about them, no pressure to snatch at each moment as if it might be their last. They simply took up where they had left off months before as if only days or hours had gone by; as if theirs was one long, unbroken courtship; as if each kiss, each touch only reached farther into their hearts to reveal a new depth of passion. And, when time crept up on them, no matter how many hours they had managed to steal, it always seemed as if hardly a moment had passed.
A shrill signal from the Kinali shore announced the arrival of the Sultan’s caique. Their time was up.
Still, she did not release him from her gaze but put her hands on his shoulders to draw them closer together. “I would give all my treasure to see you ride at the hippodrome,” she told him. “But since I cannot, this will watch over you in my stead and keep you from harm.” In one swift move, she looped a chain around his neck and dropped something small and cold on his chest. Then she was gone, and he was left to make his way to the waiting caiquethat would ferry him back to the Grand Vizier’s dock.
All the way home he was conscious of the disk pressing against his naked chest but something in him resisted taking it out and looking at it. Not until he was in bed in his dormitory did he finally reach under his quilt and hold it up to the light. It was a deep blue eyeball embedded in a white orb — the traditional talisman against evil that hung in every Turkish household. But, unlike those common amulets, this one had a clear, bright blue sapphire gem mounted at its center.
As he peered into the crystalline depths of the jewel, thoughts of the future invaded his mind . How long can I have her? How long before we get caught? You promised, he reminded himself, never to think of the future. Not even in dreams. If you must dream , he told himself, dream of the gerit. The gerit . . . Bucephalus . . .
Now, for the first time in this long night, he remembered that, in his haste to obey Narcissus’s summons, he had failed to make his nightly visit to the stables.Tossing aside his covers, he threw on a cloak and made his way in the dawning light to the Sultan’s stables in the Second Court. To be sure, Bucephalus was awake, waiting patiently for his master’s good-night caress.
“You waited up for me. You are a good old horse.” He took the horse’s majestic head in his hands and looked into the soft, sleepy eyes. “The truth is, once I got her note, I lost my senses. That’s how it is with women. They’re not like we are. They beguile you.”
Absentmindedly, he reached over for a handful of feed and held it out. And Bucephalus, either because he had a forgiving nature or because he was feeling peckish, accepted the peace offering, then lay down on his bed of hay and was soon fast asleep.
By now, the sun was up. A weary Danilo trudged back to his bed vowing to put all other thoughts out of his mind and concentrate on preparing himself for the upcoming contest. The empty pallets all around him gave evidence that most of the pages in his oda were still out carousing the stews of
“I told him Birro was an Egyptian warrior at the time of Ramses the Second.”
“And he believed it?”
“My father knows nothing about ancient Egypt,” she sniffed.
He shook his head, overcome by the combination of her duplicity and her candor. “Do me a good turn, will you, Princess? If you ever stop being my friend, let me know. Because I wouldn’t have a chance against you as an enemy.”
The very word wiped the mischief off her face. Her eyes widened. Her tone softened. “But I could never be your enemy. You are the love of my life.” She said this quietly, without touching him and yet with a piercing gaze that fixed the words in his heart more securely than an embrace.
These times on Kinali had a strange quality. Short though they were — a few hours at best — there was no haste about them, no pressure to snatch at each moment as if it might be their last. They simply took up where they had left off months before as if only days or hours had gone by; as if theirs was one long, unbroken courtship; as if each kiss, each touch only reached farther into their hearts to reveal a new depth of passion. And, when time crept up on them, no matter how many hours they had managed to steal, it always seemed as if hardly a moment had passed.
A shrill signal from the Kinali shore announced the arrival of the Sultan’s caique. Their time was up.
Still, she did not release him from her gaze but put her hands on his shoulders to draw them closer together. “I would give all my treasure to see you ride at the hippodrome,” she told him. “But since I cannot, this will watch over you in my stead and keep you from harm.” In one swift move, she looped a chain around his neck and dropped something small and cold on his chest. Then she was gone, and he was left to make his way to the waiting caiquethat would ferry him back to the Grand Vizier’s dock.
All the way home he was conscious of the disk pressing against his naked chest but something in him resisted taking it out and looking at it. Not until he was in bed in his dormitory did he finally reach under his quilt and hold it up to the light. It was a deep blue eyeball embedded in a white orb — the traditional talisman against evil that hung in every Turkish household. But, unlike those common amulets, this one had a clear, bright blue sapphire gem mounted at its center.
As he peered into the crystalline depths of the jewel, thoughts of the future invaded his mind . How long can I have her? How long before we get caught? You promised, he reminded himself, never to think of the future. Not even in dreams. If you must dream , he told himself, dream of the gerit. The gerit . . . Bucephalus . . .
Now, for the first time in this long night, he remembered that, in his haste to obey Narcissus’s summons, he had failed to make his nightly visit to the stables.Tossing aside his covers, he threw on a cloak and made his way in the dawning light to the Sultan’s stables in the Second Court. To be sure, Bucephalus was awake, waiting patiently for his master’s good-night caress.
“You waited up for me. You are a good old horse.” He took the horse’s majestic head in his hands and looked into the soft, sleepy eyes. “The truth is, once I got her note, I lost my senses. That’s how it is with women. They’re not like we are. They beguile you.”
Absentmindedly, he reached over for a handful of feed and held it out. And Bucephalus, either because he had a forgiving nature or because he was feeling peckish, accepted the peace offering, then lay down on his bed of hay and was soon fast asleep.
By now, the sun was up. A weary Danilo trudged back to his bed vowing to put all other thoughts out of his mind and concentrate on preparing himself for the upcoming contest. The empty pallets all around him gave evidence that most of the pages in his oda were still out carousing the stews of
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