When Peresto opened her eyes, she could see nothing. Jolted, she told herself this was as it should be, morning had not yet broken, although a tiny ray of light seeped through the glitch of the damask curtains. She relaxed and closed her eyes. Next door, servants tip-toed in silk slippers as they prepared her clothes. A parrot in the covered gilded cage sighed or shifted position in its sleep. Too soon, there would be light. Her sleep had been getting lighter and more fragmented in recent years – a gradual decline which, on days like today, made her feel swollen with fatigue. The burden of responsibility, perhaps. It had been safer to be the wife of an Ottoman Sultan than the step-mother of an unwanted heir. Or maybe it was just age.

The clear, melodic voice of the muezzin travelled through the air from the minaret of the Suleymavni mosque. She mumbled the prayer with him, "Allah is most great. I testify that there is no God but Allah." On impulse, she added, "Oh Allah, if you know that Hamid should live, bless this day for me. If you know that he should die, do what you must and decree for me whatever is good and make me satisfied with it."

She stared into the gloom. The Valide still hadn't gotten wind in the last week of Hamid's reckless adventure or Jurad's death. She'd planted her version of events and the Valide had not questioned it. So why could she not rid herself of this sense of foreboding?

An odalisque entered carrying a candle. With a burning taper, she lit the gas lamps, and one by one they came on with a pleasing popping sound. The strengthening light illuminated the sky-blue silk-on-silk Hereke carpet, a large single piece which covered the whole floor in the sparsely decorated room. Time to rise.

Helped by her Mistress of the Robes, Peresto slipped into a loose-fitting, morning dress. The Mother of the Maids approached and fell into a deep curtsey.

"Urgent news?"

"Mustafa brings a message, Your Highness."

Trailing a maid who was still trying to close the last few buttons of her dress, Peresto entered the salon where Mustafa waited for her. With a few gestures, he signalled that he brought good news. Grand Vizier Nedim had been dismissed, and the Sultan was due to reinstate Midhat Pasha.

She signalled her question: "As Grand Vizier?"

Mustafa shrugged. All he knew for sure was that Midhat Pasha had returned from exile at the request of the Sultan, and the appointment ceremony would start at noon today in the throne room.

Extraordinary news. The Sultan had yielded to the softa's demands. He was scared; by giving in to them he hoped to nip a rebellion in the bud. The fool.

"Find out what ministerial post he's to be given. And if he's not made Grand Vizier, who will be?"

Mustafa nodded.

Seconds passed. She didn't consider how Midhat's return to power might benefit Hamid. Instead, she wondered anxiously: had the Sultan consulted his mother on Nedim's dismissal? Not likely. For an instant, she visualised the Valide in her salon, screaming, breaking things, furious like a wounded lioness at the news of her son's public display of weakness. No, the old witch had not been consulted.

Ambassador Ignatieff, this must be his doing. The Sultan was too impotent to make such an important decision alone. Ignatieff was virtually the only person these days to be admitted into the presence of the Sultan. But why would Ignatieff advise the Sultan to bring back Midhat, who was no friend to the Russians, when the current Grand Vizier was Ignatieff's lackey?

Brushing aside the question, she reminded herself that Midhat's return to government was a gift from heaven. Grand Vizier Nedim was ignorant and corrupted by Ambassador Ignatieff, and he disliked her as much as she did him, so he was of no use to her. Midhat Pasha, on the other hand, she knew well, because he had loyally served Medjid. Despite not always agreeing on political matters, they had mutual respect. He was knowledgeable and competent, and, like her, prioritised the empire's needs. His wife, Surur, was also a friend with whom Peresto had secretly corresponded during the family's exile.

The fog that had lately covered everything in her soul lifted as she made her way to her study. It was her habit to start the day in silence, to focus her mind. Also, she had a breathtaking view from there of the sun rising over the Bosphorus. Outside, the blue mist of dawn lifted. She liked to sit by her desk and consider the start of every new day. Yesterday had withered away during the winter of the night; sunrise signalled triumph over darkness and the return of spring. The certainty of this cyclical pattern felt comforting.

When, an hour later, she emerged from her study, she was ready to dress. It would take the odalisques over an hour to get her ready. For decades already, most of the high-ranking harem women wore western clothing, but Peresto preferred traditional dress. The laborious dressing ceremony and traditional clothes anchored her to the dynastic past, reminding her throughout the day of her purpose.

An odalisque removed Peresto's morning dress. Naked on the soft carpet, she lifted her gaze. Her blond person, petite, fair-skinned and confident, emanated from the full-length mirror. Her Mistress of the Robes signalled to odalisques to step forth one-by-one, a different girl for each garment. A pair of full drawers in a dusty rose-coloured damask, brocaded with silver flowers. Over this, a smock of white silk gauze edged with embroidery, transparent so it subtly revealed the shape of the bosom, with wide sleeves hanging half-way down the arm and closed at the neck with a diamond button. Then, a waistcoat fitted close to the body, with white and gold fringe and pearls for buttons. Over this, a full-length kaftan with long, straight sleeves. As each garment went on, it felt as if the burden of responsibility grew heavier. Finally, an odalisque fastened the girdle made of precious stones around her waist, a symbol of her high status, a Sultan's widow.

"Long braids today," she instructed the Coiffeur Mistress. "Decorate with pearls."

Since the death of Medjid, she'd indulged in the luxury of wearing the same robe throughout the day. It was a widow's perk to no longer have to seduce. She had other perks as well. The sea view from her apartment, for example. Not acquired because she was Medjid's widow but because when he died, his brother, Sultan Abdulaziz, had wanted her for his wife. She'd turned him down. That too was a perk, to turn down the proposal of a Sultan. Only a Sultan's widow could allow herself to do that.

When Medjid died, Peresto had expected to be shipped off with the rest of his discarded harem to the Palace-of-Tears, to make room for a new harem. Instead, Sultan Abdulaziz had offered her this apartment, which was rivalled only by that of his mother. The Valide had tolerated her son's gallant gesture because she was shrewd: keep your enemies close. Peresto lived by the same rule, as did everyone else in the Imperial harem.

A whiff of fresh rose water behind the ears, on the wrists, her skirts and slippers. The Mother of the Robes clapped her hands. The odalisques withdrew and Peresto moved into the salon.

Her personal suite, overseen by the Mother of the Maids, received her with deep curtsies. Wherever she went, the suite followed. Ten women, handpicked for their intelligence, beauty, loyalty and their potential for pleasing Hamid. She greeted each girl with a kiss and a personal question or comment; she had seen them grow up. One day, any of them could come to bear his son, new heirs to the throne. Soon perhaps, but not yet. In the olden days, it had been subversive for a prince to breed an heir to the throne. The rule was less strictly adhered to today, but for Hamid to conceive an heir in these uncertain times would be imprudent. Better to offer him barren women.

In the meantime, Peresto groomed these women for high office. The harem was a training institution and a career path for both the male and female servants of the royal family. Its inhabitants were all slaves, mostly Christian, brought there as children. After being converted to Islam, they were rigorously trained to serve. The luckiest could enter the dynasty as the mother of a prince. Or else, she might obtain a position in one of the private suites, or in the harem institution, or she could enter the Ottoman elite through marriage to a male servant of the dynasty.

Peresto's path to the top of the harem had been unusual. As the adoptive daughter of Medjid's sister, Peresto was raised a Princess and Muslim. The Koran forbids a Muslim to enslave another Muslim, therefore when Sultan Medjid had brought Peresto to his harem as his fourteen-year-old bride, she'd arrived as a free woman, not a slave. Unlike his other consorts, she hadn't worked her way up through the harem hierarchy, and had been his legal wife. She was also barren; Hamid became her adoptive son and Cemile her adoptive daughter, both gifts of love from Medjid at the death of their mothers.

The young women in the suite now whispered and giggled. Coffee was served, cigarettes or pipes were smoked. The harem hierarchy was rigid and respected, but the informal power structures and alliances were at least as important, founded on friendships, quarrels, jealousies, dreams and aspirations. Reclining on cushions, Peresto listened attentively to the chatter.

The women in her suite were part of a larger, carefully spun web, which she had cast over the empire to build factional support for Hamid. They served as her links to the outside world. After a couple of years of service, she usually freed her favourites, the prettiest and the wittiest and the most loyal. Freedom, of course, came in the form of a marriage of her choosing to an influential person on the outside. She organised the marriage, offered generous dowries, oversaw the careers of their husbands, provided them with annual stipends and offered gifts and extra money on holy days. In return, the women and their husbands provided her with political support and information from outside the palace. Another harem rule to live by: scatter with one hand, gather with two.

With a clap of the hands, the Mother of Maids called for silence.

"Tell me what's so funny this morning," Peresto asked.

"Prince Yusufeddin, Princess Peresto," a girl said.

"What about him?"

No one spoke up. Finally, a girl said, "Remember when the soldiers liberated the Prince from the softa? Apparently, they found him in his carriage weeping like a baby, and..."

"And what?"

"He had soiled his pants."

A new eruption of giggles.

The image made Peresto smile inwardly: it was the more funny because they all knew Yusufeddin to be a mean bully. Mostly, she was relieved the harem gossiped about Yusufeddin rather than about Jurad's disappearance. Her handling of the situation seemed to have closed the subject. She hadn't, of course, hinted to her suite of women anything about what happened. The truth was worth money and temptation makes the traitor.

With a stern look she asked, "Is that all the news you've got for me today?"

Another girl said, "Midhat Pasha has been reinstated."

With a wave of the hand, Peresto indicated she was already informed.

The girl said, "My Lady, do you also know the Sultan has brought back Huseyin Avni from exile to be reinstated as Minister of War?"

Huseyin Avni? This was a complete surprise. A little over a year ago, the Sultan had exiled both Midhat Pasha and Huseyin Avni, accusing them of plotting against him. At the time, she had considered communicating her support to them, but she'd refrained, mostly because she distrusted Huseyin – he was a false and ambitious man. Like Midhat Pasha, Huseyin Avni was also no friend of Sultan Abdulaziz.

By bringing back his enemies into high office, the Sultan would nurture two snakes at his bosom. Was that Ignatieff's strategy? To surround the Sultan with his enemies to further isolate him? So he could feed him more ruinous advice? By ceding to the rebellious softa, he'd condoned the spreading of chaos and dissent, and weakened the heart of the empire. Whatever his reasons, Midhat's and Huseyin's tenure would be brief, the Valide would see to that.

Just before noon, Peresto made her way, with her suite trailing behind, to the throne room – through the Blue Saloon, past the rooms of the Sultan, facing inwards towards the garden, and those of the Valide facing the sea, and past the eunuchs who guarded the Gate of Felicity which led out of the harem and into the selamlik. This semi-public sphere of the palace was reserved for men only, and was where the government conducted the affairs of state. A few select women had access, but other than Mustafa, her suite did not. They would have to wait for her here, just inside the harem doors.

A narrow corridor, more like a bridge, brought her to the latticed balconies, which lined the four walls of the enormous throne room. From here, she could follow stately ceremonies without being seen by the men in the hall below. She shivered. It took three days for the central heating system to warm up the vast, marbled hall, but it always felt cold. Reading his mistress, Mustafa handed her a shawl. And Peresto looked down, eager to see what exactly would happen with the new ministerial appointments.

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Author's note

The Imperial Harem played a central role in Ottoman politics, not, as often believed in the West, through orgiastic sex, but through family politics. The Osman dynasty was hereditary, and therefore, sex was not solely a pleasurable activity, but highly political. The structure and rules of the harem largely aimed to control the outcome of the Sultan's sexual relations.

Many of the women in the Imperial Harem had some kind of relationship with the Sultan and with each other: they were the wives and concubines of the Sultan, his daughters, both male and female children, various unmarried female relatives, and, last but not least, female slave servants.

Female slave servants had prosperous careers in the harem. They were paid generous stipends and held high respect. In their different administrative functions, they managed the harem, including the training of the young women who would serve the Sultan and his mother, the Valide.

Some 19th century European observers commented that the Imperial Harem resembled a nunnery in its hierarchy, and in the enforced chastity of most of its members. It makes me think that the image of the painting Harem Scene by Eugène Guérard (19th century), might say more about the painter than about the harem it depicts.

If you want to learn more about the myths and realities of the Harem, read "The Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire" by Leslie P. Pierce.