Free The Drowning Guard: A Novel of the Ottoman Empire by Linda Lafferty Page B

Serbo-Croat, fingers digging feverishly at the straw ticking of his cot, sweat trickling across his temples.
    “Wake up, Giant,” said the guard, shaking Postivich’s shoulders. “You are wanted in Esma Sultan’s palace. Immediately.”
    Postivich’s eyes flew open and he lunged violently, his massive hands grabbing for the guard’s throat. The guard smacked him hard in the forehead with the hilt of his sword and Postivich fell back onto his cot, grunting in pain.
    “You are not an easy man to wake,” grumbled the guard, pulling his tunic straight again on his shoulders. “Next time I’ll protect myself with the sharp blade of my sword.”

    “You summoned me, Princess?” said the doctor, his face blue in the candlelight of the royal chamber. His hair curled up in grey wisps under his turban.
    “I wish to speak to you in private, doctor,” said the Princess. “Guard, see that all my court stands at least ten paces from my closed door. Fatiya—close the windows and latch them. Then let the water run to all the fountains.”
    The doctor watched the handmaiden hurry from one window to another, shuttering the audience room.
    “Bezm-i Alem. Stay at my side. The rest of you, out of my bedchamber,” said Esma Sultan.
    When the door had closed behind them, Esma Sultan addressed the doctor.
    “You told me that if I were a Christian of your Church, I would need to seek confession and absolution from a priest.”
    The old man sighed, closing his eyes in resignation. “Yes, Your Highness. But you rebuked me for my error. You are of course of the Holy Muslim faith. I was foolish to mention—”
    “No,” said the Princess, waving her hand. “I am interested. Your faith and the prophet Jesus was a step towards the perfect word of Mohammed.” She cleared her throat and reached for a glass of lemon-scented barley water.
    “We value the primitive but crucial stepping stones you placed before us to pave the road to the True Faith. Jesus was a valuable prophet and earns high regard in the Koran. But I am curious about your priests. Does it really soothe the worshippers tormented by demons, these confessions to a stranger?”
    “In most cases, the priest is known to the worshipper. But it is true that a Christian can go to a priest he does not know and confess in order to obtain absolution. A cleansing of sins is extended by the power of the Church and Jesus Christ.”
    The water began to trickle through the nickel pipes and spill into the fountains.
    The Princess nodded, considering.
    “And there is relief in speaking of such things that worry the soul?”
    The old man nodded. “Yes. Absolutely.” The doctor’s watery eyes studied her as she contemplated her fingertips. He dared not speak too hastily.
    “Doctor, I shall consider these things you have told me.”
    “Princess,” began the doctor, “if I can help you in any way, perhaps bring the Prelate of the Ecumenical Church here—”
    “Silence!” screamed the Princess, her hands flying to her neck. She darted a look at the door. “Old man! Do you really presume I would let the leader of the infidels attend me?”
    “Forgive me,” stuttered the doctor. “I thought—”
    The Princess’s eyes bulged and she began to gag.
    “It’s that stench again.”
    The doctor remained silent, observing her.
    “You are dismissed, doctor. I shall consider your prescription. But never mention your pagan church in my presence again!”
    “Your Highness,” he said, and he rose to leave her chamber and return to his warm bed at Topkapi.

    The Greek physician’s words ran through Bezm-i Alem’s mind all night. In a dream she saw the clarity of his counsel, the depths of his reason. To speak aloud of the atrocities, those that weighed so heavy on her mistress’s mind and kept herhostage from sleep, this might indeed be the cure for her illness. God or her Allah or simply the clear night air would hear the words she spoke and chase away the djinns of the dead, may