“Next time your Papa gets angry. Next time, you must use your mind to build a wall around yourself, one brick and another and another”

IT is midafternoon by the time Bilhah reaches for the letter: that space in the afternoon when time folds into a plump pillow and invites you to rest your head. She yawns and turns the letter over. The seal on the letter is familiar: a great splash of red wax embossed with that mythical creature, a phoenix rising from a flame.

Bilhah stares at it a moment, tiredness forgotten. She knows exactly where this letter is from. In the Room of Words in Istanbul, she was never the one who broke the seal, but always, before she started to read, she would piece together the two ends of the parchment and rub her finger over the symbol stamped into the wax.

She breaks open the seal. It is that parchment, the goat parchment. Finely rendered, but still slightly rough and uneven. And the familiar handwriting: close and cramped, each letter finely formed, but shaken off the pen in haste, so that they lack beauty.

To the Honorable Sir Abraham Castro

Bilhah looks up and rubs her eyes. It is hot in the work tent. Maybe she should go and get some fresh air. But if she does, invariably one of Castro’s cronies notices and gives her another five tasks. Instead, she closes her eyes, just for a moment. She is back in the imperial palace, with Yasemin by her side. She misses Yasemin. The woman was wise, she knew the art and craft of words, and also of the palace. She knew what words to whisper into which ears, when to nod and when to object. Bilhah misses her.

The handwriting is addressed this time not to Hurrem Sultan, and there is no talk about sheep and blankets. This one is about money, and it is addressed to Abraham Castro. Well, she will add it to his pile of correspondence. Though first she must read it and summarize it.

I have considered your report and in particular, the question of thieves and bandits in the city, brought there both by the new plenty that pours into the place, and also by the sheer number of anonymous workers. Verily, as you write, in a town where everyone knows each other, there is no place for thieves. But the moment you bring in a man who has never known your grandmother, then you are at risk for every kind of mischief.

My suggestion to you is that you set up groups of men who shall patrol the city through the night. Let them wear a distinctive uniform, so that all will know that they are your men, and as such, will begin to further fear from your authority. It follows, that they will abide by your word.

I have sent you ample means to fund this, including the cost of uniforms, scabbards, and two horses, for although most of the brigade shall be on foot, two horsemen should also be employed, both for their swiftness and also for the sound of the horses’ trot through the city, which shall act as a warning sign.

Bilhah pauses and looks up. They have heard about the bandits. It is one of the reasons why the wall must be built with every regard for speed: as soon as it has been erected and guards are posted at each tower, then the city will be safe again.