It did not take very long for the odalisques who tended to the Haseki Hürrem Sultan to take a keen interest in the most unusual boy their mistress was spending an ever increasing amount of time with. They curiosity led to a desire to learn all they could about him. It began innocently enough one day when Paolo was met at the Carriage Gate by a young fair-haired girl instead of the black eunuch. “I shall take you to the Haseki Hürrem,” the girl declared brightly in Turkish with an accent that betrayed her Hungarian origins. “I am called Ceren,” she informed Paolo as they made their way through the Harem. Having become fascinated by the manner with which slaves were named, he could not help but compare the girl’s name, which in Turkish meant gazelle. Graced with a slim, graceful figure, made all the more obvious by the litheness with which she moved. He could easily see how she had earned that moniker.

At first Ceren did nothing more than meet Paolo at the Carriage Gate, lead him to the room where he was either free to study on his own or spend time with the Haseki Hürrem Sultan when she was not otherwise occupied. With an ever increasing frequency which Paolo did not take note of, the same girl appeared as if by magic whenever there was the need to tend to a minor errant for the Haseki Hürrem while he was there, bring refreshments or fetching a book that was not readily at hand. Both the girl’s cheerful nature, pleasing demeanor, and openness soon led to brief, spirited exchanges between the two as she was escorting Paolo about the haram, during which she referred to him using the same moniker Roxelana did, Alev Yanan Saç, or, more often than not, simply Alev.

Whereas Paolo was always on his guard when in the presence of the Haseki Hürrem Sultan, reminding himself constantly of the great game she and the Grand Vizier were engaged in which he was but minor player, the time he spent with Ceren was most enjoyable. She was quickly becoming something he had not had in a very long time, a friend, a person he enjoyed being with who was not interested in using him to further some personal or political agenda. What little time they did have together, mostly when she was leading him to and fro, was spent engaging in light banter, touching upon seemingly trivial matters of no great importance and gossip that was, none-the-less, of great interest to Paolo, for they acted as a counterweight to the great issues and topics Roxelana dwelt on when he was with her.

That he was being skillfully steered onto a carefully plotted course by the graceful fair-haired young Hungarian girl never dawned upon Paolo. Not even when she started taking him to a room where she and other odalisques gathered when not needed rather than taking him straight back to the Carriage Gate at the end of the day did he suspect there was more at play than a simple desire on Ceren’s part to spend more time with him chatting.

At first Paolo felt apprehensive and decidedly ill at ease in the presence of Ceren and other women who served the needs of the Haseki Hürrem. While he did not know where, exactly, he belonged within the highly regulated structure that governed life within the Topkapi Palace, he suspected it was not where Ceren was taking him. What kept him from refusing to follow along the path the enchanting Hungarian girl was ever so skillfully leading him along was twofold.

Foremost was a very human need to emotionally and spiritually connect with someone, a need she was ever so carefully cultivating without truly appreciating what she was doing or taking the time to consider the consequences of her actions. Not that it would have mattered if she had, for Paolo eagerly embraced her friendship. It was unlike any he had ever had before. On those rare occasions when he took the time to reflect upon his growing relationship with the girl, the boy who did not know his parents found he was unable to keep from seizing every chance to enjoy a friendship he was fast beginning to cherish that came his way.

Yet just as important as this was, the opportunity to spend time with females who were not much older than he, studying their ways and manners with the same focused attention to detail he applied to the texts Haseki Hürrem enticed him with was irresistible for a boy with a voracious appetite for knowledge. There was nothing untoward or unseemly about this curiosity. The years he spent cloistered away in a monastery, isolated from women and their ways all but made this desire to learn all he could about them while he could inevitable. Surprisingly absent was the idea of treating Ceren, or any of the women he came in contact with as Brother Dominic had with him was, to Paolo, repulsive for a child who had come to believe love as depicted by the poets was but a fantasy, a cruel stratagem used to lure naïve young girls into engaging in brutal acts no different than those he had experienced at the hands of a man who claimed to be a devoted servant of God.

Well aware of the power she had over the Italian boy all within the Harem had taken to calling Alev, and with a skill that mimicked that which she saw other girls using to endear themselves to Haseki Hürrem, Ceren took to enticing and beguiling him. Her reason for doing so began innocently enough. Like all young girls coming of age, she wished to practice the charms she would need to use in order to advance her position both in the Harem and, God willing, the Sultan himself just as Haseki Hürrem had. It was her mistress, a woman who prided herself in seizing ever opportunity that came her way, who turned Ceren’s budding friendship with Paolo and the girl’s wish to put her feminine wiles to the test to her advantage.

Relying on the same beguiling subtleness with which she had used to seduce the Sultan and achieve influence within the Empire that was, for a woman, unheard of, Haseki Hürrem encouraged Ceren to foster a closer, more caring relationship with Paolo. She was wise enough to leave it up to the young Hungarian girl as to how she would do so. Not that Ceren had any need for detailed instructions. Already fascinated by the solemn Italian boy, a child so very different than anyone she had ever known, Ceren eagerly took up this challenge.

“I have been told you have a beautiful singing voice,” she declared one afternoon as she was leading him to the room where the odalisques gathered.

Unable to help himself, Paolo blushed, more out of shame than modesty, for in his eyes his voice was a curse that had led to his castration, an act that condemned him to a life that would always be separate and apart from others.

Taking advantage of what she took to be a sudden bout of shyness, Ceren latched onto Paolo’s arm, slowed her pace, and turned to face him. Leaning forward until her lips were but inches from his ear, she cooed wistfully. “I would love to hear it.”

Already unnerved the girl’s behavior and her proximity, Paolo to agree, if for no other reason than to move past this most awkward moment. “Yes, if it would please you,” he stuttered as his cheeks burned with an intensity that betrayed his discomfort.

Pleased with herself for reasons he could not fathom, Ceren smiled brightly. “This will be great fun,” she exclaimed gaily as she tugged at his arm and quickened her pace, all but dragging him on.

Having come to view singing as a cruse that had led Brother Dominic to mutilate him in a manner that still haunted him at night, Paolo was far less enthusiastic than his friend. It was a feeling he clung to until he saw the effect he was having on the gathering of odalisques Ceren had hurriedly assembled to listen to the songs Tilki had taught him that the Haseki Hürrem had never heard. Seated upon satin cushions or languidly draped across plush divans, each and every one of the young girls listened attentively to Paolo as he sang.

When he was finished with the song, one that spoke of a young peasant girl who was bidding her family and former life farewell forever, the girls erupted in a chorus of pleasing oohs and aahs before imploring him to sing another. Caught up in the moment, and not wishing to disappoint his friend who had taken to appealing to him with her enchanting eyes, he gave into their piteous pleas and sang another song, then another, and another until, without knowing it, the sun had settled in the west and night had fallen.

Only when he realized the shadows had grown long and one of the girls had felt the need to light a candle did Paolo realized he had far overstayed his visit. Leaping to his feet, he frantically took to glancing about the room as if trying to determine how best to escape. “I must go,” he blurted to Ceren.

Doing her best to appear to be as caught off guard by the lateness of the hour as Paolo was, Ceren blinked, then gave her head a quick shake as she turned her gaze toward a window behind Paolo. “The sun has already set,” she exclaimed doing her best to sound as if she was as startled by this sudden realization as Paolo was. “The gate will be closed.”

Stunned, Paolo stared at her for the longest time before he was able to find his voice and asked how he would get back to his own apartment.

“You can’t,” one of the older girls replied with a knowing snicker as her eyes darted from Paolo, to Ceren, and then back to him. “It would seem you have no choice but to stay here, with us.” The urge to add, ‘where you belong,’ was tempered by an appreciation that revelation was one the Haseki Hürrem Sultan would wish to make known to a boy they all knew as Alev herself when she saw fit to do so.

Like a cat creping cautiously into a room it had not been in before, Paolo eased into the outer chamber of the Haseki Hürrem Sultan’s personal apartments, a place he had visited before, but not dressed as he was at the moment. As difficult as it had been to make himself comfortable in the small apartment Ceren had led him to the night before, the manner with which she had treated him that very morning was as puzzling as it was disconcerting.

Upon entering the room where he’d spent a sleepless night, Ceren clapped her hands. “Come,” she chirped brightly. “We must bath and dress for the day.”

The word ‘We’ rang in Paolo’s ear like a warning bell. Not knowing if it had been nothing more than a slip of the girl’s tongue, or if she really meant she and he were going to bath together was a question still running through his mind when Ceren held up a silk robe and ordered him to remove the dressing gown she had given him the night before to sleep in. “If we do not hurry, we shall be late. The Haseki Hürrem Sultan wishes to see you this morning.”

Paolo’s concern turned to shock, for he had never before been brought to the Harem in the morning, a time of day that had been set aside for his religious education. Even more disconcerting was a sudden realization that the Haseki Hürrem knew he was there, in the Harem. Did she know he had been there all night, he wondered? She had to, he concluded as he Ceren stepped up before him and placed a gentle hand against his smooth, unblemished cheek her eyes met his. “There is no need to be shy,” she cooed in a soothing manner he had become accustomed to. “You are among friends.”

All thoughts of what was about to transpire disappeared as he returned Ceren’s gaze, one that told him nothing leading up to this moment had been an accident. The girl before him, a person whom he had assumed had been nothing more than a kindred spirit, was but another player in the great game he had become a part of.

The look on the Haseki Hürrem Sultan’s face when she entered the room and saw him told Paolo all he needed to know. She seemed to be pleased to see him standing there dressed in a manner that was no different than her other odalisques.

The Haseki Hürrem Sultan was more than pleased as she studied Alev. From the scent of the same floral fragrance many of her odalisques preferred, to the delicate manner with which Alev’s eyes were lined and lips colored was most becoming. His appearance, as well as his shy, submissive demeanor confirmed a supposition that had taken root not longer after she had met the most unusual boy before her. Yes, she told herself as she took a seat on a divan and indicated with a pat of her hand the lovely creature dressed in ornately embroidered trousers and chemise of the finest linen was to take a seat next to her.

Obediently, Paolo stepped up before the Haseki Hürrem Sultan, who had taken up the same book she had had him reading from the day before, and stopped. With his head bowed low and his gaze averted in a vain effort to hide his shame, he simply stood there waiting for her to look up at him again.

When she did and saw the child’s expression, the Haseki Hürrem set the book on her lap aside. “You are troubled by this?’ she asked as if surprised by his hesitancy.

Lifting his eyes without raising his head, Paolo gazed into the woman’s eyes before asking the question that had been swirling about in his head all morning. “Why?”

The child’s plaintive tone and downcast expression demanded a serious answer, one the Haseki Hürrem was prepared to render with a question of her own. “Tell me, where do you belong?” she asked him while regarding him with a penetrating gaze.

Not know what was behind her question, Paolo took a moment to weigh his response before replying with one he hoped was safe. “I am but an instrument of Allah, the most merciful. My life is in his hands.”

The Haseki Hürrem was not at all disappointed in child’s answer, for it showed he was able to think under circumstances that would have rattled a lesser being. After taking a moment to stifle a smirk, she once more asked him the same question. “Where do you belong?”

Having failed to satisfy the woman before him with a stock reply that would have brought a smile to the face of the imam who was responsible for his religious education, Paolo decided to go with the obvious. “I belong with my tutor, in the apartments set aside for the boys being trained to serve the Sultan.”

This time Roxelana made no effort to check her smile as she reached out and took Paolo’s hands in hers. Rising from the divan she had been seated upon, she guided him toward a mirror on the far side of the room. Maneuvering him about until he was standing before it and she, behind him with her hands on his shoulders, the Haseki Hürrem asked him the same question for a third time. “Where do you belong?”

This time Paolo thought long and hard before he answered as he took his time to study the image he saw in the mirror as he reflected upon a question he had often asked himself, the very same one the Haseki Hürrem Sultan had put to him. Where did he belong?

Only when she judged she had given the child sufficient time to dwell on her question did she return to the divan, child in hand. Once seated, she peered up into Paolo’s downcast eyes. “I expect by now you have come to the conclusion you will never be anything more than a pawn the Grand Vizier sends forth to draw me out and to those who serve him, an oddity, someone they do not see as an equal despite the promise you have amply demonstrated to all who have bothered to take the time to engage you in conversation.”

The Haseki Hürrem Sultan’s words struck Paolo with a forcefulness that caused him to look up into her eyes. Perhaps for the first time he came to appreciate she not only understood the great game in which he was but a piece, being moved back and forth between her and the Grand Vizier, she knew of the underlying tensions that existed between him and the other boys who resented the preferential treatment he was being showed with, treatment they felt was not only unwarranted, but wasted on someone who was as flawed as he was. While he had little doubt he could survive shuttling back and forth between the twin pillars of power that stood at the center of the Ottoman Empire, providing information to each about the activities and intentions of the other, it was a game that was as odious and stressful to him as it was dangerous. Besides, Paolo concluded, simply seeking to survive in a world bereft of roots or the sense that those around him cared for him as a person held little hope or the promise of a better day.

Coming to his feet, he walked back to the mirror the Haseki Hürrem had stood him before and took to carefully studying his image. Was this so bad, he asked himself? Would giving himself over to the wishes of the Haseki Hürrem Sultan be intolerable? No, he finally concluded as he thought back to where he had come from and of parents whose names he didn’t even know.

Drawing in a deep breath, Alev, for he now knew it was she, and not a forlorn little boy who had once sought refuge in a library, that held the key to his future.

Coming about briskly, Alev made her way back to the divan, settled down next to the Haseki Hürrem Sultan, and took up the book she had set aside. Opening to where she had left off the day before, Alev began to read, keenly aware of the self satisfied smile on the Haseki Hürrem Sultan’s face.