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are in motion as we speak. I expect the authorities in Ancona will give her up in the next day or so. The Pope won’t risk going up against the Sultan. My goodness, the girl looks as though she is going to faint…Come! You’ve had a long journey.” He took Reyna’s hand and helped her mount the step leading into a chariot manned by two muscular Africans. “You’ll be taken to your temporary quarters in Ortakoy,” he continued. “A full staff awaits you there and is prepared to attend to all your needs.”
    “We cannot thank you enough,” said José.
    “Just get some rest,” the doctor replied. “In the morning, you’ll be presented to the Sultan. Now, I’ll excuse myself. I have some business to attend to back at the palace.”
    Reyna reached for the doctor’s hand and bowed to kiss the large emerald on his finger.
    “Please don’t thank me.” He reached for her dirty cheek. “It’s only natural. Why shouldn’t I help if I can?”
    “Not everyone would.”
    “I am a close personal friend of the Sultan. He would do almost anything to help any member of my family.”
    “Family?” Reyna questioned.
    “Well, it’s only a matter of months at this point.”
    Stunned, Reyna and José said nothing.
    “Why, hasn’t your aunt told you?”
    “She has not,” José replied frostily.
    “I’m sure she intended to tell you both. Reyna is promised to my eldest son. I thought you both knew. It’s been agreed upon for many years now. A thousand apologies. I can see you are exhausted from your journey. I won’t keep you a moment longer. Welcome to Istanbul!”
     
    Neither José nor Reyna uttered a word as the carriage made its way beneath the Cyprus trees, along the hilly streets of Istanbul. At every turn, glistening domes and spiked minarets thrust skyward from mosques throughout the city. They passed tall, wooden houses with latticed windows and breezy, second-story patios overlooking narrow alleys and vaulted walkways.
    Finally, they arrived at a small stucco villa nestled up against the edge of the Bosphorus River. Pink, red, and blue wild flowers blossomed from shrubs all about the secluded property. Without a word, they retired to separate quarters, where they were stripped of their tattered rags and bathed in lavender scented water. At sundown, they dined in separate quarters, over fresh fish and steamed vegetables served on silver trays by their handsome attendants. That evening, they both lay awake, tossing and turning in the plush pillows and silken fabrics lining their beds. For weeks, they had slept side by side. He’d grown accustomed to her soft body tucked against his torso. She’d grown accustomed to the warmth of his breath on the nape of her neck. Until this night, they’d slept upon thin mattresses stationed in cramped barracks smelling of must and perspiration.
    In bedchambers situated at opposite ends of the villa, Reyna and José lay awake that night, each wondering what the other was thinking. They worried the same worries and longed the same longings, to be tucked away side by side like spoons, in the musty hull of a stinking merchant ship.
     
    In the morning, José was escorted through the winding streets of Istanbul past the enormous mosque to the gates of the Topkapi. The palace was situated on a bulging peninsula overlooking the place where the Marmara Sea met the Golden Horn. Unlike the grand, singular structures of European palaces in Portugal and Spain, the Sultan’s residence was more of a fortified city, a labyrinth of covered pavilions, disparate quarters and conjoined apartments.
    The carriage passed a majestic Byzantine church before making its way through the imperial gates into the first courtyard. The vaulted passage of the Gates of Salutation was an intimidating structure, with two watch towers separated by crenel tips that shown like pitchfork spikes along the horizon. José passed through these gates as though he were walking into the lion’s den. He closed his