Unlike Judaism and the Counter-Remonstrant version of Calvinism he’d known in Amsterdam, Bektashi doctrine was much more tolerant and pantheistic. Many of its rituals seemed similar to Christian ones and unlike more mainstream adherents of Islam, they allowed the eating of pork, drank wine, and incorporated dancing as part of their faith. But the most appealing part of their doctrine, especially after what he had experienced in Grantville, was their attitude toward the education of women.
What had Haci Bektash said?
“Mustafa, what was that quote by Haci Bektash you told me about?”
Mustafa smiled. “Which one? There are hundreds.”
“The one about the education of women.”
“Ah. ‘Educate your women,’ Haci Bektash said. ‘A nation that does not educate its women cannot progress.’ ”
Sampson nodded. “That’s it. And in the thirteenth century yet. I was just thinking what the rabbis of Amsterdam or Salonica would think about that.”
“Probably recoil in horror at the thought.”
But could he give up his Judaism so easily? What would his mother say? His father?
Sampson shuddered. They would not understand. If he converted to Islam, he would be dead to them. He did not care about his mother. They had been estranged for years. But his father…
He sighed.
“I don’t know, Mustafa. My heart feels torn in two. I was born a Jew. But I have no faith. Bektashi doctrine excites me. It feels right. But…”
Sampson put his head in his hands.
After a minute he felt Mustafa’s arm around his shoulders.
“Come with me. I know what you need.”
“What?”
“Mohammed once said, ‘if your heart is perplexed with sorrow, go seek consolation at the graves of holy men.’ I have a friend who is the hodja at the Casimiye mosque. He will let us pray for guidance at the crypt of Saint Casim, he who once was known as Saint Demetrios. Perhaps he will even build an amulet for you that will help you make your decision. Come.”
“What good will this do?”
Mustafa shrugged. “It cannot hurt. And many people have been helped by praying at the crypt of Saint Casim, including my father. Have faith, my friend.”
The chapel containing the crypt of Saint Casim was dark and cool.
“Your name?” asked the hodja.
“Sampson.”
“Sampson,” the religious teacher repeated, holding the knot in the candle flame. “It does not burn. That is good.” Again he held the knot in the flame.
“The name of your father and your mother?”
“Jonathan is my father. Rebecca my mother.”
Again the hodja held the sacred knot in the flame, then placed it in a small packet along with one of the silver coins Sampson had given him. He added a few bits of soil from the tomb and handed it to Sampson.
“This will ease your anxiety and help you make your decision. Carry it close to your heart for a week.”
Outside the mosque, Sampson shook his head.
“Just superstition.”
Mustafa smiled. “Is it?”
Wasn’t it?
For whatever reason, Sampson felt better once he put the amulet inside his vest pocket. Close to the heart, Sampson. Keep it close to the heart.
Yusuf Bey motioned the slave girl away and turned toward Ebu Said.
“An excellent meal, as always, milk-brother. But enough. What news from the Red Tower?”
“Excellent news, Yusuf. There was only one man captured who knew anything about your relationship with the rebel fighters. He has quite mysteriously strangled himself before he could be interrogated. A mystery that I, as Kadi, must investigate, of course.” Ebu Said laughed. “At least we may get something out of this disaster.”
“And a disaster it was,” Yusuf said. “Melek Ahmed has used this incident to increase his grip on the city. The landowners’ advisory council is backing him fully on his proposal for a city police force. They have also acquiesced to his use of prisoners to sweep the streets and clean up the filth. Sanitation measures, he says.”
Ebu Said nodded. “We have lost this round, Yusuf. But a fight does not end with a single blow. We have just begun.”
We have, have we? Yusuf thought. Perhaps his milk-brother had. But he was already feeling the pressures from the other landowners, especially Evrenos Bey’s friends and relatives. And a banker must be careful of his reputation or he will soon have no customers, especially with the Jews eager to lend money. One more disaster and he would have to cut his losses.
“So?” He asked aloud, “what do you have planned next?”
“I think it is time to drive a wedge between Melek Ahmed Pasha and the Jews who seem so eager to help fund him. If we can show that he cannot protect them, they will complain to Istanbul. Let me tell you about the upcoming wedding of Hannalica Castro.”
Yusuf Bey leaned toward Ebu Said.
The applause and cries of welcome echoed around the courtyard of Don Diego’s house as Hannalica Castro walked through the gate.
“She doesn’t seem as happy as I thought she would be,” Sampson said.
Lara smiled at him. The courtyard was crowded with the friends and relatives of the Castro family and Sampson, Lina, and Lara were standing at the back near the door to the kitchen.
“I know why,” Lara said. “Hannalica hates being immersed in water. She almost drowned when she was three. But the ceremony at the baths requires she submit to the tebila, the triple immersion ordained by rabbinical prescription.”
“And if Dona Gazela forgot to cut one of her nails, she’d have to do the immersion again,” Lina said. She bumped into Sampson.
Sampson felt his face flush when Lina’s breast pressed against his arm.
She’s doing that on purpose! Be calm, Sampson. What was the phrase they used in Grantville? Deep, cleansing breaths.
“But I know another reason she’s unhappy,” Lara said.
“ Pelador? ” Lina said.
“Exactly.” Lara saw him looking at her and touched her eyebrows.
“The absence of eyebrows is considered a sign of beauty among the Jewish women of Salonica, Senor Gideon. Pelador, a depilatory paste, adheres to the skin and can be removed only with a great deal of force. Quite painful, I am told.”
“Good,” Lina said. “She deserves it after the way she’s treated us the past few days. She’s been horrible!”
“She’s been scared witless,” Lara said. “She’s fifteen. About to leave her home and become the wife of Hayyim Molho, future rabbi of the Aragon congregation. And before the night is done she will be a virgin no more. You can only lose your virginity once, little sister, as you well know.”
Lina bumped into Sampson again. “Sorry, Senor Gideon, it is so crowded in the courtyard.”
Sampson looked around. There was no one within three feet of them.
“Of course, Lina. I understand perfectly.” Her hand pressed into his and gave it a brief squeeze.
Well well, Sampson thought. Perhaps I will have as interesting a night as Hannalica.
“So what is your role with the wedding, Senor Gideon?” Lara asked, watching Hannalica and her entourage enter the house. “You did not attend the groom at the baths.”
“True,” Sampson said. He patted the pistol under his coat. “I’m a guard for the wedding party, at Don Issac’s request. There have been rumors that bandits would attempt to kidnap Hannalica. Since I am a Franco protected by Ottoman regulations for foreign delegations, I am one of the few Jews in Salonica permitted to carry a firearm.”
“How exciting,” Lina murmured. “You must come back after the wedding and tell me what happened.”
“It will be quite late, Lina. First the wedding, then la tadrada, which lasts three or four hours. By the time I get home I am sure you’ll be asleep.”
Lina leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “Perhaps not, Senor Gideon.”
“Lina! Stop embarrassing him.”
Lina jerked away from Sampson.