“‘I thought,’ Helen put in a little suspiciously, ‘that you said your father was Italian. How did he come to be in the Crescent Guard?’
“‘Yes, madam.’ Turgut nodded over his cup. ‘My maternal grandfather, actually, was a very active member of the Guard and he could not endure for the line to die with him, but he had only a daughter. When he saw that the Empire would end forever in his lifetime -’
“‘Your mother!’ Helen exclaimed.
“‘Yes, my dear.’ Turgut’s smile was wistful. ‘You are not the only one here who can claim a remarkable mother. As I think I told you, she was one of the best-educated women of her time in our country-one of the only splendidly educated ones, actually-and my grandfather spared nothing to pour into her all his knowledge and ambition, and to prepare her for service in the Guard. She became interested in engineering when that was still a new science here, and after her induction to the Guard, he allowed her to go to Rome to study-he had friends there. She was proficient in very advanced mathematics and could read in four languages, including Greek and Arabic.’ He said something in Turkish to his wife and Selim, and they both nodded agreement. ”She could ride as well as any cavalryman of the sultans’ and-although very few people knew this-shoot like one, also.‘ He almost winked at Helen, and I remembered her little gun-where did she keep it, anyway? ’She learned from my grandfather a great deal about the lore of the vampire and how to protect the living from his evil strategies. Her picture is there, if you would like to see her.‘
“He got up and brought it to us from a carved table in the corner, putting it very gently into Helen’s hand. It was a striking image, with that marvelous delicate clarity of photographic portraits from early in the century. The lady sitting for her lengthy exposure in an Istanbul studio looked patient and composed, but her photographer, under his great black cloth, had captured something like amusement in her eyes. The sepia of her skin was flawless above her dark dress. Her face was Turgut’s, but fine of nose and chin where his was heavy, opening like a crisp flower on the stem of her slender throat-the visage of an Ottoman princess. Her hair, under an elaborate plumed hat, was piled up in dark clouds. Her eyes met mine with that glint of humor, and I regretted suddenly the years that separated us.
“Turgut took the little frame fondly into his own hand again. ‘My grandfather chose with wisdom when he broke the tradition and made her a member of the Guard. It was she who found some scattered pieces of our archive in other libraries and brought them back to the collection. When I was five she killed a wolf at our summer cottage, and when I was eleven she taught me to ride and shoot. My father was devoted to her, although she frightened him with her fearlessness-he always said he had followed her back to Turkey from Rome to talk her out of too much bravery. Like the most trustworthy wives of the members of our Guard, my father knew about her membership and he worried constantly about her safety. He is over there -’ He pointed to a portrait in oils that I had noticed earlier, where it hung by the windows. The man looking out of it was a solid, comfortable, quaint person in a dark suit, with black eyes and hair and a soft expression; Turgut had told us that his father had been a historian of the Italian Renaissance, but I could easily imagine the man in the portrait playing marbles with his young son while his wife tended to the boy’s more serious education.
“Helen stirred beside me, stretching her legs discreetly. ‘You said your grandfather was an active member of the Crescent Guard. What does that mean? What are your activities?’
“Turgut shook his head regretfully. ‘That, madam fellow, I cannot tell even you two in detail. Some things must remain secret. We have told you this much because you asked-you almost guessed-and because we would like you to have complete faith in our assistance. It is very much to the benefit of the Guard that you should go into Bulgaria, and go as soon as possible. Today the Guard is small-there are only a few of us left.’ He sighed. ‘I, for one, alas, have no son-or daughter-to whom to pass my trust, although Mr. Aksoy is raising his nephew in our traditions. But you may believe that all the power of Ottoman determination will go with you, in one way or another.’
“I resisted the urge to groan aloud again. I could have argued with Helen, perhaps, but arguing with the secret might of the Ottoman Empire was beyond me. Turgut raised a finger. ‘I must give you one warning, and a very serious one, my friends. We have put into your hands a secret that has been kept with care-and with success, we believe-for five hundred years. We have no reason to think that our ancient foe knows it, although he surely hates and fears our city as he did in his lifetime. In the charter of the Guard, His Magnificence laid down his rule. Anyone who betrays the secret of the Guard to our enemies will be punished by immediate execution. This has never occurred, to my knowledge. But I ask you to be careful, for your own sakes as well as ours.’
“There was no hint of malice or threat in his voice, only a grave depth, and I heard in it the implacable loyalty that had made his sultan conqueror of the Great City, the previously impregnable, arrogant city of the Byzantines. When he had said, ‘We work for the sultan,’ he had meant exactly that, even if he himself had been born half a millennium after Mehmed’s death. The sun was sinking lower outside the parlor windows, and a rosy light reached Turgut’s big face, suddenly ennobling it. I thought for a moment how fascinated Rossi would have been by Turgut, how he would have seen in him living history, and I wondered what questions-questions I could not even begin to formulate myself-Rossi might have asked him.
“It was Helen, however, who said the right thing. Rising to her feet so that we all rose with her, she gave her hand to Turgut. ‘We are honored by what you have told us,’ she said, looking proudly into his face. ‘We will guard your secret and the wishes of the sultan with our lives.’ Turgut kissed her hand, clearly moved, and Selim Aksoy bowed to her. There seemed no need for me to add anything; setting aside for the moment her people’s traditional hatred of their Ottoman oppressors, she had spoken for both of us.
“‘We might have stood that way all day, looking wordlessly at one another as the twilight fell, if Turgut’s telephone had not suddenly given a screech. He bowed his excuses and went across the room to answer it, and Mrs. Bora began to load the remains of our meal onto a brass tray. Turgut listened to his caller for a few minutes, spoke in some agitation, and then replaced the receiver abruptly. He turned to Selim and addressed him in rapid Turkish, and Selim quickly put on his shabby jacket.
“‘Has something happened?’ I asked.
“‘Yes, alas.’ Turgut smote his chest with a punishing hand. ‘It is the librarian, Mr. Erozan. The man I left to watch him went out for a moment, and he called now to say that my friend has been attacked again. Erozan is unconscious and the man is going for a doctor. This is very serious. It is the third attack, and just at sunset.’
“Shocked, I reached for my jacket, too, and Helen slipped on her shoes, although Mrs. Bora put a pleading hand on her arm. Turgut kissed his wife, and as we hurried out, I turned once to see her standing pale and frightened at the door to the apartment.”