Love Wild and Fair (62 page)

“And how do you think she feels?” asked the old woman.

“In public she is quite reserved, but obedient. How she behaves in the privacy of her bedchamber I do not know. She has made no effort to make friends with anyone, and will be served only by her own servant, who came with her. The other women of the harem are fearfully jealous of her. She is extravagantly beautiful, Esther. She even makes me a little jealous.”

Esther Kira smiled a little smile of remembrance. “Her great-grandmother,” she said, “was the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. Her hair was the most fantastic red-gold, and her eyes were green-gold! Sultan Selim worshipped her and, strangely, his other three wives loved her too. Ahhh, my child! Those were the good days! Sultan Selim’s four kadins were unselfish women, devoted to the preservation of the dynasty and the empire. Not like those creatures living in the Yeni Serai today who scheme for themselves alone.

“It began, you know, with that wicked Khurrem, and continues right down to the sultan’s own mother, Safiye, who today fights with not only her son’s favorite, but her grandson’s as well! The sultans were once strong, and great warriors even as your own husband, Cicalazade Pasha. It is wicked wives and mothers who have ruined them!” the old woman finished passionately.

As her words died, the door to the apartment opened and a woman entered. She nodded pleasantly to the princess, saying, “Good afternoon, Lateefa Sultan. I have come at your request, and I thank you for including me in your party.” Then the green eyes settled on Esther Kira, widened for a moment, and then grew puzzled. The visitor said softly, “But it cannot be.”

“But it is!” the old woman chortled triumphantly. “I am one hundred and eight years old, great-granddaughter of Cyra Hafise. She must have described me very well if you recognize me.”

“You are really Esther Kira?”

“Yes, child, I am. And Lateefa Sultan is your cousin, for she is the great-granddaughter of my lady Cyra’s dearest friend, Firousi Kadin, who was your mutual great-grandfather’s second wife. Come, my daughters, you must be friends—as they were.”

The two younger woman looked at each other for a moment, and then Lateefa held out her hands to Cat “Come, Incili. If I am to help you we should be friends, and trust one another.”

Cat took the two hands in her own. “I have been very frightened,” she said. “Now I no longer need be, knowing that I have friends. Thank you, Lateefa, and you also, Esther Kira.”

“Ah, child,” said Esther Kira, “how much like my lady Cyra you are when you smile. But otherwise, I should not know you.”

“They say I look like my great-grandmother’s mother,” she replied.

The three women sat down around a low table, and the old lady leaned forward. “Your husband, my dear, is still safe in Naples, though restraining him and your captain-at-arms has not been easy. If you will please write and reassure him I will see that the letter is safely delivered. We have yet to come up with a plan for your escape. But be patient We will.”

“My tiring woman was captured with me, Esther, and she must return with me. I cannot leave her behind.”

Esther Kira shrugged philosophically. “One is impossible, two is only slightly more impossible.”

Suddenly the doors flew open and Cicalazade Pasha strode into their midst Lateefa and Cat rose quickly and bowed prettily. “Esther Kira!” boomed the vizier. “They told me you had ventured out, old friend. What brings you to my house?”

“I came to see the new beauty who has won your crusty heart, my lord. And Lateefa Sultan tells me the rumors in the city are true. You have taken a second wife. I have spent a pleasant time this afternoon being cosseted by your wives and having a good gossip.”

The vizier beamed and put a possessive arm about each of the two young women. “The sultan himself would envy me my luck, eh, Esther? Is my Lateefa not sweet?” The princess gazed adoringly at her husband, who glanced fondly but briefly at her before turning hungry eyes on Cat. “And is my Incili not a rare and perfect jewel?”

Esther Kira saw the steel in the smile Cat turned on Cicalazade Pasha, and the tenseness of her body. This woman is a survivor, she thought to herself. We will get her safely to her husband.

She signaled to a slave, who helped her to her feet. “I must go, my dears. It has been a lovely visit.” She turned to the vizier. “You will let your wives come to visit with me, will you not, my lord?”

“Of course, Esther, of course! In fact, I believe my Incili would enjoy being able to visit in the city. She chafes at confinement, don’t you, my dove?”

“A bit, my lord Cica,” came the soft-spoken reply.

“Then I will tell Hammid you both have my permission to shop and visit in the city whenever you want—provided, of course, that you go in a closed litter, and are chaperoned.” Though he spoke to them both he saw only Cat. “Come, Incili,” he said, “I desire your presence.” He looked again at Esther. “You honor my house, my friend. Thank you for coming. Lateefa will arrange a proper escort for you. Come, Incili!” And he and Cat were gone.

Alone, Lateefa said softly, “You see how he is, Esther? He is wild for her. He will spend the rest of this afternoon, the evening, and the entire night in her company. Only a summons from the sultan will move him from her side.”

“She does not love him, my princess. She endures the Situation so that she may survive and escape. She is made of the same steel as Cyra Hafise. I see determination in her eyes, and the same firm set of the mouth as my dear lady had.”

Lateefa sighed. “She is so very beautiful. It is no wonder Cica loves her.”

“Beauty, pash!” snorted the old woman. “Beauty is a flower that fades quickly, my child. If the vizier loves her only for her beauty then he is a fool. Like her great-grandmother, Incili is a many-faceted woman. Besides, you are the image of Firousi Kadin, my dear, and she was considered as lovely as Cyra Hafise. Now, child, I really must go. Help me to my litter.”

And leaning on Lateefa Sultan, Esther Kira made her way out of the courtyard.

W
ITHIN the privacy of her bedchamber or his, the grand vizier insisted that his second wife be completely naked. Her tawny gold hair was pulled back and braided in one large braid, the hair mixed with jeweled ribbons. She was permitted to wear her thin gold and silver bracelets and anklets. She was expected to serve him unquestioningly in all his desires. She did so, quietly aware that this was the key to her survival. Outwardly sweet and calm, Cat raged inwardly at every humiliation. This sudden thrusting of her person into an age where women counted less than horses was a terrible shock.

When Cicalazade Pasha desired Incili, all the other slaves were instantly dismissed from his presence. He particularly enjoyed having her serve him in his bath. There she was expected to join him in the warm water, gently bathing his entire body with sweet soaps. Afterwards they rubbed one another’s bodies with scented oils. These sessions generally ended as one might expect.

Cat, far from flattered, could not help but feel denigrated by the vizier’s unquenchable desire. The fact of his keeping her nude was offensive, as well as a blatant invitation to his lust. He was insatiable, often taking her three and four times in a single night. Only her indomitable spirit and her passionate desire to escape kept Cat unbroken.

Most important to Cat was her friendship with Lateefa Sultan. The knowledge that they were cousins descended from Selim I and that their great-grandmothers had been the best of friends invited their own friendship. Lateefa told Cat stories she had heard from her grandmother, Guzel, stories of Guzel’s childhood. Then the wives and children of Prince Selim lived above the shores of the Black Sea in a palace known as the Moonlight Serai. There was a feeling of love to these stories. Respect for Cyra Hafise was also evident in them.

“I wish I had known her,” said Lateefa. “Grandmother Guzel and her sister, my Aunt Hale, always spoke of her with such love. She treated them as she treated her own daughter, Nilufer Sultan.”

“I knew her,” said Cat. “She died when 1 was a child of four, but I remember a beautiful and imperious old lady whose many grandchildren, grandnieces and grandnephews always deferred to her. In the great hall of Glenkirk Castle there is a large portrait of her, painted just before she came to Turkey. It was always difficult for me to reconcile the painting of that beautiful, proud young girl with the imperious, elegant old woman.”

Lateefa’s eyes sparkled mischievously, and she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Our religion forbids the painting of the human form but Firousi Kadin was an artist of some talent. She painted many little portraits of the family, and when she died she passed them on to her daughter, my grandmother Guzel, who passed them on to me. Come—I will show you!” She clapped her hands and said to the slave who answered her summons, “Fetch the red lacquer chest at the bottom of the large brassbound cedar chest.”

When the small chest was carefully placed in her lap, Lateefa opened it reverently. The box was divided into several trays. Lateefa gently lifted a piece of velvet from the top tray, revealing six oval miniatures. There were two men and four women. Cat recognized her own great-grandmother and her best friend, Firousi Kadin, whose great-granddaughter Lateefa was her image.

The princess smiled. “Beautiful, weren’t they? The Chinese is Zuleika Kadin, Selim I’s third wife. The tempestous-looking girl with the amber-gold eyes is Sarina Kadin, his fourth wife. The younger of the men is Sultan Suleiman, Cyra’s eldest son. The older man is Sultan Selim I.”

Cat stared at these people and at their offspring, whose miniatures were hidden in the subsequent trays. She was particularly enchanted with the chubby-cheeked toddler whom she learned was Prince Karim—her grandfather, Charles Leslie, the first Earl of Sithean! Born and raised a Scot, Cat had never even considered this small part of her heritage, yet there was no denying that her maternal grandfather had been born an Ottoman prince even if he had lived most of his life as a Scot. She had just as much right to the title “Sultan” after her name as Lateefa had, though no one would ever know that fact.

“It is so strange,” said Cat, “for me to realize that some of these people are also
my
ancestors.”

“Knowing it, dearest Incili, can you not be happy with us?”

Cat sighed patiently. Her cousin was such a child. “Lateefa,” she said quietly, “I am no child as Cyra was when she came to this land. Behind me are my second husband, for whom I defied my own king, and my nine children. I cannot simply dismiss these people from my heart. I do not love Cica. I love my true husband, Lord Bothwell.

“You, who do love the vizier, and have been his wife for so many years, should want only the best for him. Help me to escape, my cousin! Help me to return to my own lord! How would
you
feel if you were stolen from Cica, and forced to be wife to another? Do you know that the vizier always keeps me naked in his presence? That I am allowed to wear only ribbons and baubles?”

Lateefa flushed a delicate rose. Her voice was a whisper. “I did not know, Incili. He has ever been the sensualist. ’Tis why I never minded when he gathered a large harem. The others sated his appetite, so that after our children were bora I was relatively free of his demands. I do not enjoy such things. Do you?”

“Only with my true lord, and then very much. Each time I must pretend to submit to our lord Cica it pains me. I feel less a real woman, more a doll, a thing.”

Lateefa nodded, and then confided to Cat, “Once several years ago, Cica and my cousin, Sultan Mohammed, had a contest to see how many virgins they could take within the period of one day. Mohammed won, deflowering twenty-four helpless girls. Cica, however, was but one behind him, so they decided the real winner would be he who had impregnated the most girls. The sultan won with sixteen ripe maidens. Only nine of Cica’s girls bore children.

“Lateefa, please!” Cat protested. “Let us visit Esther Kira tomorrow. I must plan my escape or I shall go mad. And see if our friend Hammid can find some tempting young charmers to divert Cica from my bed—even if only occasionally!”

The princess nodded sympathetically, and on the following day the vizier’s two wives honored the Kira house with a visit. There Cat was able to write a brief note to Francis, assuring him of her safety, her love for him, and her desire to be speedily reunited with him. She saw the note dispatched, and then, turning to Esther, she asked, “Have you come up with a plan for my escape yet Esther Kira?”

“Possibly, but your husband will have to come to Istanbul to aid us in our plan.” She looked to Lateefa. “Go into the garden, my child. When Cicalazade Pasha asks you if you know how Incili escaped, I should prefer you to answer honestly that you do not know.”

The princess nodded her agreement and gratitude, and left them alone. “I would,” the old woman continued, “have your husband come to us traveling the same route you will return by. If it is familiar to him it will be easier later. Your pursuers will not expect you to travel overland. So you will do just that, at least partway.

“You will leave by small boat, and go down the Sea of Marmara through the Dardanelles into the Aegean Sea. Once there you will cross to the island of Lemnos, and from there to Thessaly. You will enter the Peneus River at its mouth, and travel upstream to its source in the mountains. When you can go no farther on the Peneus you will continue on foot across the hills to the Aous River, where a second boat will await you. You will then sail it all the way downstream into the Adriatic Sea, and cross over to Italy. Both these rivers run through sparsely populated areas, and except for two small towns on the Peneus you should encounter no one. There is always danger of recapture, however, for you travel exclusively within the boundaries of the Ottoman Empire until you land in Italy. If you are caught it will mean death.”

“Better death with Bothwell than life with Cicalazade Pasha,” said Cat fiercely. “When, Esther Kira? When?”