This was simply meant to be a formality. A small requirement. A modest ceremony. Instead, they are watched by hundreds of pairs of eyes
The great chamber is decked with flowers, winding around the pillars and cascading down the walls so that even the mosaics are covered in tulips and hyacinths and carnations and roses, pink and white and yellow.
The odalisques march inside in pairs, and Bilhah’s heart quickens when she sees the mass of women assembled. A half-holiday has been declared, and instead of their usual duties, the entire women’s palace has come to see them declare their allegiance to Islam.
They are led to the front of the room. They stand, facing the crowd. The imam and the Sufi sage, dressed in robes embroidered with silver, stand at right angles, so that they face both the odalisques and the crowd. In the corner next to the entrance, a woman plucks the tanbur. Bilhah tries to follow the tune, but the notes seem to come at random and she cannot make sense of the rhythm.
The fragrance of the flowers is heavy. Bilhah’s head begins to ache and though she breathes deeply, it is hard to find air.
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