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Lysistrata means Λυσιστράτη, "Army-disbander" in Attic Greek.
Lysistrata is also one of the few surviving plays written by Aristophanes.
But most importantly, Lysistrata is my name. I am, as my name suggests, a woman who disbands armies of men. I have many methods of doing this and they all lead to death. It is my job. It is who I am. I am a calculated killer and not praising me for this talent of mine would be a sin. I design death so fashionably but never did I foresee the day when someone else would design mine.
I am the thespian and this is the tale of my short-lived legacy.
My evanescent adventure begins on a winter's evening in the Topkapi palace where a lavish feast was being held in honor of the re-elected Grand Vizier, Hadim Ali Pasha. The Ottomans took pride in making their traditional dishes as cultured as possible which was evident in everything your eyes feasted upon when you looked at the table; bowls of terine soup with chestnuts and root spinach soup lay at the two ends of the oak table, billowing with light swirls of steam. Gerdaniyye, shrimp pilak and grilled carcassian cheese with oyster mushrooms lay circling the bowls of soup as hungry hands belonging to foreign dignitaries attacked them. I am, of course, exaggerating. Any foreign dignitary who acted in such a savage manner against anything belonging to Sultan Bayezid II would be escorted out into the deadly darkness with nothing but white snow to guide his way back home. After all, they were granted the honour to sit on dining chairs in the company of the Sultan himself while the viziers had to make do with the embroidered but plump cushions on the floors...all the viziers except Hadim Ali Pasha.
"That sahte (bastard) has managed to climb into Sultan Bayezid's lap twice in the past decade and by doing what? Twirling his oak cane and whipping adolescent boys." observed Damat Ali Pasha, a fellow vizier who I had befriended during my conquest. He was leaning against the wall at the far side of the spacious room, observing the Grand Vizier with disdain. Hadim Ali Pasha was a healthy-looking man, boasting good looks but not as sun-hardened and aged as the Sultan.
Damat had turned his attention to me, raising a thick, dark eyebrow, "What are you doing, canım (dear)?"
"Designing his death." I replied, closing my eyes and entering the realm of my mind which was forbidden territory to anybody who intended to trespass.
"The usual, then."
"Evet (yes)."
Using physical assault to kill Hadim would be risky as he was broad and tall but there were other ways to make sure death called his name quietly at such an event - asphyxiation and poison to name two. Asphyxiation would require my target to be alone and my touch would need to be delicate. That particular design would take time to plan, especially if the Grand Vizier had no intention of leaving the room. Poison would be the viable recourse in such a situation - the room was crowded enough to hide the killer, the poison itself could be slipped into the food with ease and the deadly weapon merely took seconds to work its magic.
I calculated the distance between myself and a servant and that servant and Hadim. Keeping in mind the flow of the crowd as the main course was going to be served, I made my move. First, I cornered a servant who would, prior to our conversation, have been informed of any particular dietary needs. In this case, Hadim Ali Pasha preferred fish to meat. Therefore he would be served the sea bass biryan which consisted of a whole roast sea bass stuffed with walnuts and spices and served with a saffron and rosewater dressing. The walnuts was my personal touch; the last stroke of paint a painter added to his canvas before he decided his art was complete. I knew all about the Grand Vizier and the effect of nuts on his body which caused him to suffer a burdensome throat infection. It seems the servant had no idea and gladly allowed me carry out my request of "personally handing the Grand Vizier his food as it would be an honour". Turning my head hastily after receiving the platter of food, I decided a drop of the deadly killer would not be enough. Two or three perhaps would do the trick...maybe even half of the glass vial.
Nobody noticed me slip out to the arched hallway, except Damat who clasped his hands together as a sign to say thank you. I disregarded his gratitude. It had no effect on me. I was carrying out a favour for my Order, not for him. He meant as little to me as a single raindrop did to a field of crops. I would later recant that statement though.
Hadim's eyes lit up at the sight of me in my long white gown. His eyes flickered over my bodice whose beaded trim along the waist and neckline twinkled in the candlelight, synching at the waist. As soon as he analysed my body head to toe with his soft but thin eagle eyes, he bowed his head slightly and took my compliment to heart. Within minutes, he was no more. Within minutes, the atmosphere had changed. Panic ran amock the fearful dignitaries, honorary guests and the young viziers who never suspected such a tragedy to occur in the midst of a celebatory feast. As the Jannissaries escorted Sultan Bayezid and his family out through a back entrance, one of his sons, Ahmet, narrowed his eyes and smiled knowingly. Perhaps he had witnessed what I had done. He had no proof either way. Within the hour, the room was empty except for me, Damat and the dead body of Hadim.
"You are a marvelous efendim (friend), Lysistrata."
"You are welcome."
I relished the way my victim's hands were loosely clutching the neck. It showed struggle and a determination to stay alive. But that was impossible for the man once his death had been designed.
Poisoning a victim was a work of art. The poor soul's death was my masterpiece. I was an artist. The poor soul's death was a theatrical production. I was an actress.