The Kadin (10 page)

“Yes, I know the plan, Hadji Bey. But you know that the succession goes to the eldest living male in our family. Ahmed is my father’s heir.”

“Your father’s heir was your older brother.”

“Mustafa died at two of a chill.”

“He became violently ill after visiting Besma one afternoon. The sweets he returned with and offered your mother were suspect The child suffered horribly and by morning was dead. Your mother was ill for several days. However, when she recovered, she was quite prostrate with grief. I was newly agha then, but I suspected poison from the start I took the remaining candies and fed them to a dog. He died. When I told your mother, her grief became hatred toward Besma, who was now mother of the heir.”

“Why did my mother not expose Besma?”

“She did, but your father would not listen. After some months of solitude to recover from her agony, she appeared before your father again and, still being his favorite, was welcomed back. You were born of that reunion. Fortunately for Besma, your father now had two sons—one by his third kadin, Safiye—and the witch knew her Ahmed would be safe since your mother couldn’t discreetly dispose of two children. However, your mother had determined from before your conception that you would take Mustafa’s place.

“That
is why you have been educated so carefully, and that is why, when she knew she was dying, your mother begged your return from Magnesia. You have been so carefully guarded all your life that even your father does not know you well. She wanted him to see and know you so that he might possibly alter the succession.

“She knew you must be more in the public eye so the people might get to know you, and the Janissaries might see the great difference between you and your brothers. You are a good man, an excellent soldier, and a devout Muslim. Add to this several sons, and you are the perfect candidate for sultan.

“When the time comes for Bajazet to join his ancestors in Paradise, you must act swiftly. Before the sultan’s last breath, your brothers, their mothers, and all loyal to them must die. You will then be sultan, and your mother and brother will be avenged!”

Silence engulfed the room as Hadji Bey finished speaking. Lady Refet anxiously watched her nephew for a reaction. Walking out on the balcony, Selim gazed over the slumbering city of Constantinople, its lights dimmed, its quiet broken only by the occasional barking of stray dogs baying at the full moon. Below him the waters of the Golden Horn flowed swiftly.

“They will all be strangled, placed in weighted sacks, and thrown into the straits,” he said grimly. “All except Besma. I will personally toss the bitch to the dogs.”

Hadji Bey smiled slowly. ‘It will take many years, my lord. Like the Prophet’s cat, yon must cultivate great patience. If our plans become known, you are a dead man.”

“I will not fail my mother, Hadji Bey—nor you, my old friend. I understand that many lives are involved.”

The hour is late,” said Lady Refet “I think we had best get some sleep. We have a three-day journey ahead of us.”

They rose, and the agha, bidding them goodnight slipped out through a secret door behind the tapestries.

“Sleep well, dearest nephew,” said Lady Refet “I will return to guard your doves.”

“And you, dear aunt sleep well, also.” He escorted her to the door and watched as the eunuch guarding his harem passed her through into the next apartment.

Closing the doors to his own rooms, Selim clapped his hands for his body servant The slave divested him of his finery, and then, placing a soft wool garment over his master’s shoulders, slipped out.

Standing once again on the balcony, the prince studied the night sky. It was clear and filled to overflowing with bright stars. Breathing slowly, he allowed peace to fill his soul. He was now firmly aware where his destiny would take him, and he knew what role he must play to fulfill that destiny. He would be good Prince Selim, devoted to his father, his half-brother Ahmed, and his family. He would be unobtrusive but always known, and he would appear to be content with his portion. And then, when the right moment came, he would strike and take it all The empire would be his. The others were not fit to rule!

Iron had entered his soul. Turning from the night he reentered his room, lay down upon his couch, and fell into a deep, healthy sleep.

11

T
HE MORNING
brought a clear blue sky and bright sun. A fresh, clean breeze wafted across the city, bringing with it the scent of early autumn flowers and ripe fruit. The crowded streets were in a holiday mood, for all Constantinople knew of yesterday’s events within the Eski Serai. Today Prince Selim and his household would depart the palace for their own province.

The more enterprising householders along the route of exit had sold seats in their windows and on their balconies and roofs. Those fortunate enough to have bought the places would have a fine view of the procession.

A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowds as the Main Gate of the Eski Serai slowly began to swing open. Necks stretched, vying for the first look at what was to come. It was a company of Janissaries in their red-and-green clothing, astride glossy brown horses and brandishing metal-tipped whips at the crowds to keep them back.

Next came Ali Hamid, the sultan’s crier, resplendent in orange silk pantaloons and vest, his silver-and-orange-striped cloak spread over the shining bay flanks of his mount, and an orange plumed turban upon his head He advanced his horse several paces out from the gate, stopped, and held up a hand A hush fell over the spectators.

“Behold,” he intoned in a deep, strong voice, “behold, o people of Constantinople, behold the loving kindness of our great sultan, Bajazet, the loyal servant of Allah upon this earth—may he live forever. Today his son Prince Selim, child of the sultan’s beloved late wife, Kiusem, leaves his father’s house in great honor. Look upon him, o people of Constantinople, and see the greatness of a parent’s love. Learn from the example of our great sultan, Bajazet.

“Behold, Constantinople, the six virgin damsels, each one more lovely than the dawn, that our prince takes with him. A gift from his sire, selected from the very harem of his father. His own free choice. Who among you has ever heard or known of such true generosity?”

A hum of approval ran through the vast gathering.

“See, o people of Constantinople, the many gifts sent from those who fear and respect our power and greatness. These gifts are to honor our lord’s youngest son. Look upon this spectacle well, and in the winter of your years tell your grandchildren of the greatness of our mighty sultan, Bajazet beloved son of Mohammed the Conqueror of Constantinople.”

The sultan’s crier moved his horse onward, stopping every few minutes to repeat his words. Behind him came the caravan bearing the fabled gifts. Flanking it were the prince’s household slaves.

A figure mounted upon a night-black stallion appeared framed in the vast gate. The crowds surged forward for a better look at its rider. The Janissaries forced them back.

‘It’s the prince,” shouted a voice in the mass. The crowd took up the cry. “Selim! Selim! Selim!” they chanted.

Urging his stallion forward, the prince rode into their midst He sat well upon his mount a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. He was dressed in white and gold. Jewels sparkled upon his hands, and an enormous blood-red ruby glittered in his turban. The people crowded about him, defying the Janissaries’ whips, touching his soft, golden-leather boots, drinking in his youth and charm.

The captain of the Janissaries pushed his horse to the prince’s side. “Sir, you will be injured. Let my men disperse this vermin.”

“I have a better way than whips, captain.” Selim reached into a pouch on his saddle and drew out a fistful of coins, which he flung to the excited mob. It parted, and he rode on, occasionally reaching again into the pouch and tossing more coins, to the delight of the scrambling men and women.

Selim was followed by the Pygmy eunuchs, dressed in their new uniforms of yellow and green. Behind them came Lady Refet in a silver-and-gold palanquin carried by four oiled black slaves. She was followed by six camels, all white, which carried upon their backs gold-colored howdahs hung with violet silks. Within each rested a member of Selim’s harem. The crowds murmured their imaginations taking flight at their glimpse of the heavily veiled figures.

The procession slowly wended its way through the narrow streets, down the hill into the main city, and along the broad avenues. The day was growing warm, and Cyra, swathed in all her veils, began to wish with impatience that this Oriental pageant, of which she was such a small part, would end Two hours after passing through the Main Gate of the Eski Serai, they went through the eastern gates of the city. Almost at once, the procession picked up momentum.

In late afternoon they stopped and an encampment was set up on a small hill overlooking the sea. The following morning the camp was dismantled and they moved on. In late afternoon of the third day, they reached their destination.

Set like a fine jewel amid the soft green hills above the Black Sea, the Moonlight Serai nestled shining and white. At first glance, Cyra was enchanted, but as her camel trotted down the dusty drive, she noticed the neglect surrounding her. Tall poplars lined the roadway, but the land surrounding them was thickly overgrown. As they arrived at the palace itself, she was doubly shocked to find buildings so lovely from a distance in a sad state of disrepair. Clearly, the Moonlight Serai had neither been used nor cared for in many years. Her camel knelt, and the Pygmy eunuch assigned to her helped her out of the howdah. She ran to Lady Refet.

“Are we expected to live here?” she asked.

The sultan’s generosity has obviously not extended beyond Constantinople,” the older woman said dryly.

“It is appalling. We cannot possibly five here,” cried Cyra. “Something must be done at once!”

“Indeed we cannot” said a masculine voice.

They turned to face the prince.

“Your temper matches your hair,” he laughed

Cyra flushed. “Forgive your humble slave this outburst my lord and master,” she began.

“You are neither humble nor slavish, Cyra.”

She paled.

“But,” he continued, “I prefer it that way. In the future, I expect all of you to address me as a man, not some court demigod. However, your respect for me as your master should not diminisk I will never be ruled by a woman.” He turned to his aunt “I know nothing of these household matters. What must be done here to make my palace habitable? Will you take charge for me?”

“Dear boy, I cannot I know very little. You forget that your mother and I entered the harem when we were only nine years of age. We were trained from the first to be gediklis, not household servants, but Cyra has been trained in these things in her country. Let her take charge. I will oversee all she does, as my knowledge of our customs is greater.”

“Very well,” said Selim. “I suppose, however, that the first thing we should do is set up the tents so we may be comfortable. Cyra, send a message to Hadji Bey informing him of our plight.”

“Yes, my lord.” She turned and, pointing at a slave, said, “Can you ride?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Saddle one of the Moorish geldings and then come to me. I will have a note for you to take directly to Hadji Bey.”

The slave ran off to do as he was bidden.

“Lady Refet will you write for me? My written Turkish is not yet perfected.”

“Of course, my dear. What shall I say?”

“Tell Hadji Bey what we have found. That we need men to repair the buildings, the water pipes, the kitchens and baths. We need gardeners for the grounds, furnishings for the palace, and many more household slaves. Tell him it must be done within the month. That we are camped here like savage nomads.”

Lady Refet called to her maid to bring parchment and pens. As she wrote, Cyra walked over to the other girls.

“Well, my sisters, this is a fine mess we find ourselves in today.”

“I notice you were quick to offer a solution to our lord,” sneered Sarina. “Why should you be in charge?”

“It was Lady Refet who offered my services to our master. Oh, Sarina, let us not quarrel. There is so much to be done. Have you ever run a large household? If so, I will be happy to turn over my responsibility to you. Do you want it?”

“No.”

“Well, then, I must shoulder the burden. Before I came to the seraglio, I helped my grandmother to run my father’s castle. Were I not here, I should now be running my own. We must all help so that when our lord returns he will be pleased.”

Sarina turned away. “My father was a gardener in the house of a great lord,” she said. “I know much about plants and their care.”

“Wonderful! Then you must take over the rebuilding of the gardens. Turks love their gardens, and the prince is no exception. Will you do it?”

“Yes,” replied the Spanish girl. “I could do it.”

Cyra put an arm about Sarina’s shoulders. “Then, sister, the gardens are your responsibility—and your domain.”

The Spaniard gave her a little smile. “See that the palace is as beautiful inside as my gardens will be without,” she said.

Cyra looked startled. Then, seeing that the girl was teasing, she grinned back. They burst into laughter.

When the note had been dispatched to the capital, there was nothing for the prince’s maidens to do. Cyra asked permission of Lady Refet to explore the grounds a bit It was granted, and she strolled off.

She quickly saw that with work the property could be magnificent. Set on the cliffs high above the Black Sea, it had both fields and wooded areas. Wandering among the trees, she heard the bubbling of a spring and, following the sound, found a clear, sandy-bottomed pool that was filled by a little waterfall at one end, flowing out and down the cliffs between two small rocky hillocks at the other end. The banks surrounding the pool were thickly carpeted with moss, and the warm sunlight filtered through the trees. Kneeling, she dipped her hand into the water. It was invitingly cool, and Cyra was hot and dusty from the journey.

I will tell the others later, she thought, but first I am going to bathe by myself. It had been so long since she bad had the privacy of her own bath. Stripping her garments, she left them where they fell and, pinning her long hair up, waded into the water. Before long she was happily swimming and then leisurely floating about the pool. The late-afternoon sunlight dappled the water, and she felt freer and more relaxed than she had in months. Turning to swim back to the shore, she was horrified to see Prince Selim sitting by her clothes and regarding her with amusement. Her feet touched the bottom, and she stood regarding him, half-perplexed, half-angry.

“Come out, my little Ondine. You will shrivel your lovely skin.”

“I cannot, my lord.”

“Why not?” His face grew worried. “Do you have a cramp?”

“My lord.” She struggled, trying to find the right words. “My lord, I am not accustomed to appearing naked before a man.”

“I will change all that” He grinned at her.

“Please, my lord—” Her eyes pleaded with him, but he was not to be swayed.

“If you do not come out my little mermaid, then I shall come in.” Laughing, he removed his shirt His broad chest was smooth and tanned and well muscled.

Daring possessed her. “You will find the water quite refreshing, my lord.”

So, she wants to play, thought the prince, surprised. The little vixen! He stripped his boots and pants off, never noticing that Cyra carefully kept her eyes on his face. Plunging in, he surfaced to discover himself alone in the water—Cyra had scrambled ashore as he dove, and was frantically trying to get into her clothing. Swimming to the pool’s edge, he vaulted out. He was furious, and the look in his eyes was unmistakable.

She was naked from the waist up as he caught her to him and loosed her hair. It tumbled about their wet shoulders. Kissing her slowly and deliberately, he forced her mouth open and touched her tongue with his. She trembled violently and then went limp.

Taken aback, Selim lowered the inert girl to a mossy carpet Her dark lashes were like a smudge against her pale cheeks. He could see her heart fluttering wildly between her breasts. Confused—for he had never before been faced with a fainting woman—he wondered what to do. Her obvious helplessness had cooled his lust, and he suddenly felt strangely protective. As he reached for her cloak and covered her, her eyes opened.

“Please, my lord,” she whispered, “not like this. I am not a peasant wench to be tumbled in a wood.”

“Why did you faint?”

“I was afraid, my lord.” A little smile touched her lips. “You looked very angry.”

“I should have you beaten.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Her repentance was so sincere he could not help laughing. “You did invite me to come into the water.”

“I was thinking only of gathering my garments and fleeing you, my lord. I did not think you would chase me without your clothes.”

Her honesty perplexed him, and he heard himself say, “I have, you know, seen you naked before. You need not blush. You are quite lovely. The human body is nothing to be ashamed of. Perhaps when we know each other better you will not be so shy.”

She lowered her eyes, and for a few moments they sat in silence. Then he bent and kissed her. He felt her tremble again.

“Do not fear, little virgin. I will not ravish you,” he said gently.

“My lord—” Her voice was apologetic.

He stopped her mouth with his hand. “You were correct, my lovely Cyra. You are not a peasant wench to be tumbled in a wood. For you it will be a full moon and a scented chamber. The softness of a Persian love song, and a prince who at this moment is already in love with you. Put on your blouse and return to the encampment. I need not tell you to speak to no one of this interlude.”

After she had left him, he sat by the pool in deep thought. The sight of her slender body had aroused him terribly. Had she not swooned, he would have raped her and ruined everything. Hadji Bey had spoken to him at length about the three girls he had purchased, but always the agha had come back to Cyra. When Selim asked him why, Hadji Bey had smiled, and said only, “You are perceptive, my son. You will soon see why this maiden touches me. I will not influence you further.”

Selim had quickly discovered enough to pique his interest Her actions at his birthday fete had aroused his admiration. Her wisdom, immediate loyalty, and intelligence pleased him. In their three days of travel he had observed that she was a natural leader, yet sweet-tempered and kind to her peers. She deferred to his aunt and this afternoon he had discovered her modesty. It was more than enough to encourage his further investigation. He wanted to know more of his lovely slave than just her body, but right now it was her body that disturbed him.