Garden of Venus by Eva Stachniak

will pay for your fornication,’ she said. ‘You will kneel at their coffins and then where will your whores be?’ She will call the Janissaries, if she but spots a Greek woman entering the mission building.
    ‘Dou-Dou, you are slowing me down,’ Mana says. They are coming back from the market, their baskets heavy with meat and fruit. As always, people stare at them as they pass. The men look at them with longing and often stop them, asking for directions or pretending they have mistaken them for someone else. Women’s eyes are curious, assessing their beauty as if it were a threat, a challenge.
    ‘Come on, girl, we don’t have all day.’
    A black man who stops them is a eunuch. Not an ordinary eunuch either, but a eunuch from the Sultan’s court. His robes are woven with gold and silver and mazanne blue. The face under the burgundy fez is smooth, layers of fat testifying to the richness of his table. His voice is soft and warm. Having lived his life among women, he knows how to calm their fears.
    ‘Beautiful ladies,’ he says and smiles, flashing his teeth. As white as hers, Sophie thinks.
    The Ottoman Princess, the Sultan’s daughter, has ordered him to stop them. He was summoned by his mistress, told to drop all he was doing, and go after them. Go after two Christian women who have caught the Princess’s eye.
    Sophie’s eyes travel upwards, toward the palace windows. She cannot see anyone there. Perhaps it is the Sultan himself who has seen her. Perhaps, with one look of His eyes, her life has changed forever.
    ‘Follow me. We mustn’t make the Princess wait.’
    ‘Are you sure you are not taking us for someone else,’ Mana asks the eunuch, but the black man laughs. His mistress’s mind is an open book to him. They should not doubt their luck. The heavy baskets can be left with the servants who can take them to their home. ‘Just tell me where you live,’ he says.
    ‘We’ll take them on our way back,’ Mana says sharply. ‘Ourselves!’
    Is there is a note of fear in Mana’s voice? Unease? Anger as she clasps her daughter’s hand in a firm grip as if she wanted them to turn away and run? But how can a Christian woman refuse an Ottoman princess? How can a Greek say
no
to a Turkish master?
    Dou-Dou does not want to notice Mana’s fear. Her mind flutters with delicious visions of glittering jewels, gauzy dresses and garden paths bathing in sweet, dappled shade. She can feel the harsh impatience of her mother’s hand, the reluctance of her steps. She wants to laugh and assure her Mana there is nothing to worry about. She is ready. When her chance comes, she will know what to do.
    They follow the black eunuch past the palace gate, past the first courtyard filled with cool shade, fragrant with the jessamines and honeysuckles that coil around tree trunks, past the giant clay vases filled with blooming roses. The big courtyard is bustling with life. Two tall grooms hold Arabian horses, snow white, with the legs of dancers. A short, fat man in a leather apron is rolling a big wooden barrel. A young man is whistling a merry tune, trailing Dou-Dou with his eyes until the eunuch’s look stops him.
    Inside the Seraglio the sweet perfume of the jessamines penetrates the gilded sashes easily. A white marble fountain releases the stream of water that falls into four basins below. The sound is pleasing. By this fountain, the eunuch leaves them. ‘The Princess shall send for you,’ he says, lifting Dou-Dou’s head with his index finger and looking straight into her eyes.
    ‘Beautiful,’ he murmurs. ‘These eyes will shame the light of the moon.’
    When they are left alone, Sophie looks around. The tiles on the floor are cool to the touch. She would have liked to take her shoes off and step on them with bare feet, but Mana’s eyes stop her. The walls are covered withtiles of different patterns. Most of them have blue, and gold in them, and the colours mingle in her eyes and shimmer. The thick stained