As Hamid listened to Peresto's gentle voice, loathing filled his heart. He thought that if she approached, he might attack, spit in her face, drag her by the hair, kick her down the stairs, so he turned on his heel and followed a eunuch to the selamlik. In his head, Peresto's words echoed: be strong, my lion. Or was it his mother's voice which spread like vapour through the hidden pathways of his consciousness?

Greeting him at the door of his selamlik office, Midhat said: "I am sorry that we should meet again under such difficult circumstances." They sat by the desk, and Midhat again elaborated on the dismal state of the empire.

"Effendi, we've gone through this once already," Hamid said, unable to mask his impatience. "I need no reminding of the fact that the empire has problems, the most pressing one, it seems to me, being the Russian ultimatum. What do you want from me?"

Midhat Pasha looked up sharply. "Of course, forgive me, my Lord. They have given us forty-eight hours. I want to make it absolutely clear that we are in no state to fight the Russians alone."

"So it's true, the British won't send their fleet?"

Midhat lowered his gaze.

"Sir Elliot personally reassured me that Britain would stand by us. You heard him yourself, you were there."

"He has assured me that they will stand by the empire, but there are conditions. The Queen will send her fleet to Besika Bay, if the Sultan introduces a constitution," Midhat said languidly.

There was a moment's silence. Hamid pressed his lips together in anger. He had been certain that when they met in William's library, Sir Elliot was bluffing. And yet here they were now. He felt overwhelmed and helpless, and he felt the future of the dynasty, his own brittle future, crumble under his feet. But in the pit of his belly, he also felt a growing fury.

"Blackmail," he said coldly.

"Your Highness," Midhat began. "What Sir Elliot means to say is that Britain will stand by the empire - not the dynasty. It's to do with British domestic politics - "

Unable to speak, Hamid abruptly looked away.

Midhat fixed his gaze on his hands and continued. "Sir Elliot feels that the dynasty is a liability. That without the dynasty, perceptions can be changed, and the Empire saved."

Hamid gave Midhat an icy glance, but inside, he trembled. "A liability. Surely, you told Sir Elliot that the islamic empire and the dynasty are inseparable? That it is not for Sir Elliot or the Queen, for that matter, to question the will of Allah."

Midhat rose, walked to the fireplace where he poked in the fire, then returned to the chair, and, with a deep sigh, sat down again. "Your Highness, in forty-eight hours we are at war with Russia, a devastating war which we will lose. In less than a week, the Tsar will be in Stamboul - unless the British intervene. Sir Elliot has stated his terms - "

"The British are bluffing, they will never abandon the Empire to the Russians."

Midhat looked pained. "Forty-eight hours," he said in a low voice.

Hamid felt his face drain of colour; all the signs he had refused to see, warnings of calamity and disaster, the dark forebodings he would not accept, the prophecies, the omens.

"This is what must happen," Midhat said more forcefully. "A doctor will pronounce the Sultan unfit to rule. With the full support of the Ministers, the army and the Ulema, you, my Lord, will depose your brother. Then you will sign this draft constitution." He pushed a document across the desk, and said solemnly: "Your Highness, it is within your power to preserve - to save - the Empire."

Hamid stood abruptly, and to steady himself, held the back of the chair. "Effendi, if you believe that I will overthrow my brother to appease British public opinion, if you believe that I will betray my forefathers, betray my people, my brothers and sisters, you are mistaken. The only reason I have returned to the palace, is to speak with Sultan Murad to get him to come to his senses -"

"It's too late for that," Midhat said, interrupting him.

"How dare you - " Hamid choked on his own words. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and barked: "Open."

Midhat Pasha rushed to the door. With a deep bow, he handed Hamid the draft constitution. "For your signature. You will find me here, Your Highness."

Hamid felt a sharp twinge in his back and stood upright. His instinct was to refuse the document, instead he tore it out of Midhat's hand. It smelled of betrayal in his hand. He could hear his ancestors howl and tear at their hair.

He fled to the selamlik garden. The cool night air enveloped him, and his gaze was drawn to the star-littered sky above. To calm his pounding heart, he tried to count them, but when moments later, he entered his bleak apartment, anger and hatred still pulsed through his body. The same blind rage that had overwhelmed him when he was last there, when Murad turned on him. A rage which birthed a dark version of himself, a shadowy figure who filled his chest with violent turmoil, as if his body might burst with hatred.

For a long while he sat motionless on his bed with a silk sheet over his head, inside the rosewater smelling darkness. A vulgar voice he recognised as his own, harped on: you damned weakling, you piece of shit, you think you can manipulate me, you don't know what you are dealing with. He addressed them all, Murad, Midhat Pasha, Peresto, all the useless ministers, Sir Elliot, the Queen, the Tsar. Damn them.

Obsessively, he recalled the details of his situation and the options he had to consider, the hope, the despair over the future he faced. He thought about what he had to do. Then he thought of how much he loved Flora, of the baby growing in her womb, and of how the veins in his neck throbbed. Time passed. His breathing grew more regular and fatigue set in. He hadn't eaten since the previous day, dried fruit on the ride back with Flora from the monastery. His brain was foggy from the fasting, he felt slightly nauseated and overwhelmed by the concern for her and the baby, which sent his heart racing again.

He threw off the sheet, and, with a cry, leapt to his feet. Restless, he paced the floor, soaked in a sticky sweat which made him shiver with cold. Like a distant moan, voices of muezzins undulated through the air from the palace mosque and from mosques in the city. Trust in Allah, Peresto had said. If only he could, how much easier it would be not to doubt. Flora had told him once that she felt abandoned by God. "I want to believe," she had said with a nervous laugh. "Maybe I'm doing it wrong, maybe I have to try harder." He felt the same. All his life, he had gone through the motions, but whenever he tried to communicate with God, there was just silence and utter loneliness, and he blamed himself.

His teeth chattered from cold. He opened the trunk which Hifsi had packed for him and tore through it in search for warm clothes. His eye fell on Midhat's draft constitution, he had thrown it on the floor next to the trunk. If only he could sort it out, if only he could see the path. When he had read every word, he closed his eyes.

What was Flora doing now? He needed fresh air and wanted to get out into the garden, but all he could do was to crawl across the floor and sit, slumped against the wall.

__________________________

Author's note

The novel highlights the significant influence of foreign powers, particularly Britain, on the political and economic affairs of the Ottoman Empire. The importance of the British public's perception of the Sultan, and the potential for a Russian attack to intervene on behalf of Ottoman Christians, underscore the complex international context facing the dynasty.

One such area of European influence was the capitulations which had been in place since the 16th century. In the novel I don't describe them in detail, but one of the characters refers to them when she says that the European traders and investors are sucking them dry.

The capitulations were a series of treaties and agreements that granted special privileges to foreign powers and their traders within Ottoman territory, exempting them from local prosecution, local taxation, local conscription, and the searching of their domicile. Foreign nationals were subject to their own country's laws and courts, rather than under Ottoman jurisdiction. This system created a complex web of legal and economic privileges that favoured European powers and their commercial interests.

The Ottoman government's limited ability to impose tariffs and taxes on foreign trade ultimately eroded its economic autonomy and political control, by hampering free trade, stifling domestic industries, and undermining the Empire's ability to assert its authority.