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“The outbreak is waning!” Doctor Nuri began, addressing British consul George Cunningham in a measured tone. “The state of Mingheria now expects His Majesty’s government to lift the blockade and send medical supplies and additional doctors in assistance.”

“The blockade is the reason the island’s independence endures,” said the consul. “If the European warships were to leave, Abdul Hamid would not hesitate to punish the presumptuous rebels who slaughtered his new governor and dared speak of revolution. The Sultan would be the first to send either the Mahmudiye or the Orhaniye over and have them bomb Arkaz with the new Krupp guns he has just had them fitted with in Marseille.”

“Then he would land soldiers in Kalar Cove and take full control,” said the Minister of Scrutinia, joining the conversation. “Is His Majesty’s government prepared to stand and watch as the Bloody Sultan butchers the people of Mingheria?”

“According to international law, the island of Mingheria remains a possession of the Ottoman Empire.”

“Yet your warships surround the island, and sink any boat that tries to leave. Is that in accordance with international law?” Everyone in the room was reminded that beneath his amiable exterior, reminiscent of someone’s benevolent, pot-bellied uncle, the soft-spoken Minister of Scrutinia was a tough negotiator indeed.

“It is in accordance with international law, as this blockade has been established at the behest of the Ottoman Empire,” the British consul replied.

“Then His Majesty’s government must recognize the new state of Mingheria. The people of Mingheria would be honored if the United Kingdom and Prime Minister Gascoyne-Cecil’s government were the first to formally acknowledge their existence. If the United Kingdom recognizes the state of Mingheria, Abdul Hamid will not be able to bombard Arkaz. But if Istanbul were to undertake an operation of this sort, you and the other consuls would also be attacked. In fact the consuls would probably be the first to die, as was the case in Thessaloniki.”

“Our own lives, our own interests are immaterial!” said Monsieur George. “I am ready to do anything I can for this island. But like everyone else here, I find myself cut off from the world.”

“I am sure you of all people could easily predict what kind of offer the British government might be willing to accept, and what the Mingherian state would need to do in order to secure Britain’s protection against the Ottoman Empire. Should you not have an answer at the ready, you may of course come back to us with a written response in the next couple of days.”

“We know you have already been communicating with the British government!” was the unspoken message in the Minister of Scrutinia’s tone. But this contention was false.

Everyone in the room had assumed the British consul would accept the suggestion and request some time to prepare a response in writing. But instead the consul shared his thoughts straightaway.

“All of His Majesty’s governments, no matter the party in power, have been perturbed over the past twenty-five years by Abdul Hamid’s aspirations to gather the world’s Muslims under a single political union and challenge British authority. By now about half the foreign office has understood that Abdul Hamid’s Pan-Islamist politics are destined to fail. They can sense that far from joining forces, Muslims throughout the world are separating into their own groups—Arabs, Albanians, Kurds, Circassians, Turks, Mingherians—and growing further and further apart, so that the idea of an Islamic union is nothing but an illusion, a kind of masquerade. Unfortunately the British government is still headed today by anti-Muslim politicians like the former conservative prime minister Gladstone.” Consul George paused after this remark and turned to look at the Queen. “The torment Abdul Hamid has subjected your sisters, your family, and your father to is well known. Your uncle has inflicted the same treatment upon the Young Turks, the opposition, the Bulgarians, the Serbs, the Rumelian Greeks, the Armenians, and the Mingherians. If Her Majesty the Queen, a member of the Ottoman royal family, were to openly denounce Abdul Hamid’s oppressive ways and his Islamist politics, I expect it would not just be the British but the French and the Germans too who would be roused into offering the island and its noble people their protection against the Ottoman sultan.”

“I agree with the consul,” said the Minister of Scrutinia. “But with this blockade still in place, the question is how to find a journalist who will carry her words to Europe. If she were to speak to Greek reporters and Cretian or Athenian newspapers, that would give the wrong impression.”

“There are more than enough newspapers in London and Paris that would be interested in the particulars of an Ottoman sultan’s daughter’s life in captivity with her father and sisters,” said Consul George. “The Queen’s coronation was widely reported by the international press.”

“But her marriage to the sheikh was not.”

“That is because they could tell it was only a marriage of convenience,” said the consul. “I am sure Her Majesty the Queen will be glad of the opportunity to express her truest feelings on her cruel and dictatorial uncle Abdul Hamid. Her words will be shaped by her disapprobation of autocratic rulers—a sentiment she has been paying the price for every day of her life. Robert Gascoyne-Cecil’s government will understand this sentiment, and there will be people within it who will wish to protect this beautiful island against Abdul Hamid.”

The history pages of Istanbul journals and newspapers like Orhun and Tanrıdağ, which would greet Hitler’s conquests in the Balkans forty-two years later with such enthusiasm, have portrayed Consul George’s well-meaning proposal as part of some kind of vast and diabolical anti-Turkish conspiracy. (Their theory is that the Ottoman Empire lost its Arab territories because of one spy—Lawrence of Arabia—and the little island of Mingheria through the machinations of another spy—Consul George.) But the consensus among the participants in this historic meeting at the Chief Minister’s office that morning of the twenty-fourth of September 1901 was that allowing a European country to establish a mandate or a protectorate over their island would offer some form of security against attacks by Abdul Hamid or other foreign rulers, and with this in mind, they all watched out of the corner of their eyes to see what their queen would say.

“I will decide myself how to articulate my feelings against my uncle!” said Princess Pakize, with a determination that filled her husband with love and pride. “But first I must ponder the matter and determine what would be most beneficial to the people of Mingheria.”

CHAPTER 77

Queen Pakize’s words seemed to convince all the men gathered in the Chief Minister’s office that she would indeed issue a statement criticizing Abdul Hamid. As this was the only hope any of them had for the island’s political future, we would argue that their conviction in this regard also served to fortify the feeling of renewed optimism that had begun to establish itself upon the island. But as it turned out, Princess Pakize would never speak publicly against Abdul Hamid or his policies—not with any “foreign” newspapers, nor with any Mingherian or Turkish journalists.

“All you need to do is tell the things you’ve already told me to some reporter from Europe,” Doctor Nuri had once remarked.

“I fear that would be rather unbecoming!” the Queen had replied. Her eyes were wide open, imbuing her face with an expression of utmost innocence. “Those conversations with my sisters and my father are my most precious, most private memories. Must I tell the whole world about them only because my uncle happened to be cruel to us? I wish I knew what my father would say about all this.”

“You are a queen now. This is a matter of international diplomacy.”

“I am not a queen because I want to be, but only to help quarantine measures hold, end the outbreak, and save people’s lives,” Princess Pakize had replied. Then she had begun to cry, and as he held her in his arms and stroked her auburn hair, her husband had reminded her that since there were no new ships coming to the island anyway, there were no journalists who could interview her either.

Readers of her correspondence with her sister Hatice through to the end of that September will discover how difficult the Queen was finding it to decide what she was going to say about Abdul Hamid, and will be just as surprised as she was to realize that the time she had spent with her father, her mother, and her sisters in the Çırağan Palace had been the best days of her life. Even after she became queen of Mingheria, Princess Pakize—who was twenty-one years old when the plague broke out—still missed her old life in the palace, playing the piano with her father, reading novels with her sisters, laughing with the elderly harem ladies, and running around from room to room. She would quietly cry about it sometimes, making sure her husband didn’t see her tears.

As these feelings of melancholy and longing intensified, there were times when the Queen didn’t even want to get out of bed, let alone the guesthouse. But meanwhile the plague was retreating, people were beginning to step outside, and the swaying of the fishing boats and all the other vessels in the harbor (like those that belonged to the army, or the rowboat at the Maiden’s Tower, which could be glimpsed from the guesthouse window) seemed to be shaking the city awake from its slumber, just like the autumn’s first stormy, southwesterly lodos winds, and the passage of warm, kelp-scented breezes.

On a rainy, cloudy, gloomy day at the start of October, when the number of deaths recorded fell to eleven, and the duration of the daily curfew was shortened (the Minister of Scrutinia wanted to see it lifted altogether), the meeting convened in the Outbreak Room to discuss these latest developments was attended by Queen Pakize too, whose contribution led directly to the introduction of several new measures. With some people now falling sick or even dying from malnutrition, it was decided that the villagers’ markets that had previously populated the city should be opened again, with the timing of the curfew adjusted accordingly. Although this provision would slow the decline in the city’s death rate, the optimism that now characterized the island’s political leadership did not dissipate. The representatives of the ferry companies had been arguing that the port must open again soon, and demanding to be allowed to return to their offices so that they could prepare for the return of the first ships and for the resumption of regular ferry services, both of which they claimed to be imminent. As most of these agencies were owned by the local consuls, Chief Minister Doctor Nuri was thus able to infer that it would not be long before the Great Powers’ warships left and the blockade was lifted.

“If the British and French withdraw their warships, the Mahmudiye will be here bombing Arkaz well before any ordinary ferry journeys can resume!” said the Minister of Scrutinia.

In that moment, everyone thought again that if Mingheria was to maintain its “independence,” either the blockade would have to remain in place, or the island would have to become a protectorate of one of the world’s Great Powers.

During these meetings, Princess Pakize would often try to picture what her father would do in her position. Sometimes she would imagine that she herself was her father, and as she wrote in a letter to her sister, this would help her think more comfortably, more thoroughly, and more patiently about matters of state. As she sat at her writing desk, she would rub her forehead as her father used to do, or knit her brows, or rest her head against the back of the chair and stare at the ceiling in contemplation. Whenever she did any of these things, Princess Pakize felt that she both was just like her father and could continue to be herself, a state of mind she earnestly described in one of her letters to her sister.

Princess Pakize and Doctor Nuri dutifully continued to take the armored landau to a different neighborhood of Arkaz every day. With the outbreak now receding, these excursions had now become a kind of cautious celebration. The people of Arkaz didn’t just love their queen for the bread, walnuts, prunes, and other provisions she brought them, but also because her visits seemed to have forced the plague into a retreat.

Whether they were visiting places like Turunçlar and Bayırlar, where Commander Kâmil had been especially popular, or Greek quarters like Dantela and Petalis, the occasional Mingherian flag would appear as soon as the armored landau arrived at the neighborhood square, and the women would all come to their windows to take a closer look at the Queen, lifting their children up so that she could see them too. It was said that any child the Queen touched or even smiled and waved at from afar would be blessed with good fortune. But there were all sorts of other rumors too, such as the one about her pomegranate colored headscarf, which supposedly augured a good year and meant the plague was bound to end; or that her eyes were always wet with tears even if it seemed from a distance that she was smiling; or about why her husband wasn’t handsome (a fact usually blamed on Abdul Hamid’s ill will).

The curfew was lifted from morning until the time for evening prayers. The decision to set the timings of the curfew against the call to prayer rather than the time on a clock was not—as some have claimed—a political decision influenced by religious considerations. Rather, most Muslim men on the island did not have a working pocket watch they could rely on, and had in fact been feeling somewhat disoriented ever since the Doctor and Prince Consort had banned church bells and calls to prayer again earlier in his reign. The first call to prayer to be heard on the island in thirty-five days was thus not a call to prayer at all, but a way of announcing to the city that the nighttime curfew was about to begin. Echoing between the cliffs, the call reminded everyone how quiet the port and the city streets had been for all that time. Two days later, on Friday, the fourth of October, the ban on entering mosques, churches, and other religious structures was also lifted.

The gradual return of those sounds that nobody had forgotten, but that most had probably despaired of ever hearing again, seemed to signal to everyone that their old life was slowly returning. At first, many people couldn’t even believe it was happening. The greatest delight came from hearing carriage wheels turning, their bells ringing, the clacking of their horses’ hooves. The coachmen who had died in the outbreak had been replaced by new ones who were just as kind to their horses as their predecessors had been, coaxing the animals up the steepest sloping roads with nothing but gentle words of encouragement and the occasional flick of the whip. Princess Pakize gave her sister a joyful account of how much it cheered her to hear the coachmen click their tongues or smack their lips and shout “Whoa” at their horses.