The Kadin (19 page)

“I do, and I have heard men in the streets call you worse. Beware, my kadin! Selim and his family are under my personal protection. If any harm should come to them, I would strangle you myself and leave your worthless corpse for the dogs.”

The woman whitened, and discretion finally overtook her. Throwing the sultan a venomous look, she fled his presence.

24

T
HE SPRTNO OF
1509, which had begun so promisingly, gave way to strange May weather. On the morning of the ninth, the yellow sky reflected its image into a dun-colored sea. The wind was quiet, and for several hours there had been no bird song to break the monotony of the stillness. It was several minutes before noon.

The slaves in the Moonlight Serai scuttled fearfully back and forth, to and from their tasks. It had been thus for several days, and the nights had been no better. No breeze sprang up at sunset to cool the rooms after the heat of the day, and a fiery moon glared down, turning the shining white marble of the jewellike palace to a blood red.

Suddenly, a low rumble came across the hills from Constantinople. It increased in volume and intensity until it exploded in a roaring wind that bent the trees to the ground and tore across the water. The earth heaved and moaned like a tortured animal. The palace and its outbuildings shook to their foundations.

The slaves flung themselves to the ground, walling in terror. Small fissures opened in the ground. They widened, inhaling whatever stood in their path, and abruptly closed again, crushing their prey.

Cyra was sitting in her salon playing chess with Suleiman when the first shock hit Leaping to her feet she cried out “Suleiman! Quickly! The children! Bring them here!”

The boy ran from the room, only to run into Marian, who was entering her mistress’s apartments carrying Sarina’s wailing fourteen-month-old daughter, MihriChan, and trailed by seven older children, two of whom held the littlest by the hand.

“Marian! Bless your common sense!”

“And where else would I bring them, madam? We cannot count on those worthless slaves. They are too busy hiding themselves.”

The palace rocked again, and the littlest children began to cry. As the shock subsided, Lady Refet, Sarina, Zuleika, and Firousi rushed into the room, and the children, who had been huddling together, scattered to their mothers.

Nilufer, Cyra’s six-year-old daughter, wandered out into her mother’s gardens. “Mama,” she called, “why is the sea running away?”

Hurrying to the child’s side, Cyra gazed past her dainty pointing finger and saw the waters slowly receding into the bay. She was staring in amazement when Zuleika’s voice broke in. “I saw the same phenomenon once in China. The waters will return shortly in one large wave.”

“Will it come as high as the palace?”

“I think so. Hurry! We must get to Selim’s tower observatory!” Each grasping Nulifer by a hand, Zuleika and Cyra ran with her back to the salon, and, quickly gathering their families and what slaves they could find, they fled, half running, half falling in their fear, across the palace lawns to the prince’s tower. Gasping for breath, they stumbled up the stairs to the safety of the top. Once there, the slaves and some of the children collapsed in relief, but the kadins and the older princes gazed from the parapet at the scene below them.

The sea had stopped receding and, gathering into an enormous mass, now flung itself toward the shore, easily clearing the clifftop on which the palace stood, and swirled through the vast estate.

“My gardens,” moaned Sarina. “The salt will destroy everything, and the roses just coming into bloom!”

Cyra suppressed a giggle. They had survived an earthquake and barely escaped from a tidal wave, and Sarina thought only of her gardens.

“The waters will quickly recede, and we can flush the gardens and fields with fresh water,” said Zuleika soothingly.

And the waters did recede, cascading over the cliff like a giant waterfall, leaving in their wake struggling fish and small crustaceans that scuttled across the gardens. The earth rocked again, a clap of thunder rent the air as the sky turned black as night, and the rain gushed down in torrents.

“Zala,” said Lady Refet, “light some lamps so we may at least see.”

The trembling girl obeyed, but even the flickering lights could not dispel the air of disaster that hung over them. The tremors continued, softer now, but threatening still. Suddenly a slave began to scream hysterically.

The young princes looked at her in disgust. The younger children were simply wide-eyed. Cyra quickly stepped up to the girl and slapped her sharply. “Stop it this instant, Ferilze. It is a bad earthquake, and that is all” The bas-kadin’s voice was firm and assured, but her heart trembled and her mind repeated the same things over and over.

Where was Selim? He had been in Constantinople for a week. Was he still there? Was he safe? How had the quake been in the capital? She knew she must quiet these questions in her mind and tend to the business of keeping their lord’s household calm and operational.

The sky began to lighten, and the rain stopped. Suddenly it was a perfect May afternoon, A fresh breeze blew down from the mountains, and the sun shone cheerily from the clear blue sky.

Cyra fell to her knees, and the others followed suit “There is no god but Allah, and Mohammed is His Prophet Praise to thee, o Allah, who has safely brought us through this danger,” she said, then rose to her feet “I think we can safely say the worst is over. Let us return to the palace.”

On trembling legs Prince Selim’s household descended the twisting stairs of the tower and slowly walked across the sodden lawns to the Moonlight Serai.

The main porch of the palace showed a large crack. Cyra bent to inspect it. “It isn’t deep,” she noted. “It can be repaired.”

In the main court Cyra took a lambskin-covered gold stick and hit the large gong several times. The earth trembled slightly as if in reply. Silently they waited, and then slowly the slaves began to creep out of their hiding places.

The bas-kadin made mental notes. Only two were missing. “Is anyone hurt?” she asked. “Where are Shem and Latife?”

The chief eunuch bustled forward with his usual annoying self-importance. Cyra deflated it quickly, her voice cutting.

“Where were you during the danger? We women had to see to the household while you hid your overstuffed carcass, Allah knows where—probably in the storage cellars. Two slaves are missing. What do you know of this?”

The chief eunuch began to bluster, “As head of my lord Selim’s household—”

“As head of my lord Selim’s household, it was your duty to see first to our safety,” snapped Cyra. “You did not Go to your quarters.”

The eunuch drew his short frame to its full height. “Miserable woman,” he squeaked, “who are you to speak to me thus?”

The other slaves gasped. Cyra answered slowly, deliberately, “I am our lord’s bas-kadin and the mother of an imperial heir. Now go to your quarters, Ali. You are tired and obviously in shock.”

Mortified, the small, fat man brushed past the other slaves. When he was gone, a farm slave came hesitantly forward. “Madam, when the quake struck, I saw Shem run to the pastures to free the master’s horses. I do not know what happened to him after that.”

“I do,” said another slave. “He reached the pastures and freed the horses, but a large crack opened in the earth. He fell in, and it closed again before I could help him.”

Another slave spoke up. “Latife is dead, I think, my lady. A hanging lamp came loose and fell on her head. She lies in the hallway between the harem and the prince’s quarters.”

Cyra quietly directed slaves to put the shaken household back in order. She sent other slaves to see whether the unfortunate Latife had indeed been killed. She had not Sarina gathered up her gardeners and rushed off to inspect her precious gardens.

The high walls surrounding the prince’s estate had been completely destroyed; there were several large fissures that had not closed on the grounds, and the fields were completely torn up. However, all the buildings had remained standing, except two sheds. There were some large cracks, but no serious damage. The slaves, save Shem, were all alive, as well as the farm animals and the prince’s horses. This happy news was delivered to Cyra and Lady Refet by the eunuch Anber. Cyra looked at this dark man, who reminded her so much of Hadji Bey and who was Hadji Bey’s protégé.

“Where were you during the quake, Anber?”

“I gathered as many of the household slaves as I could and led them to safety, my lady kadin.”

“Are you loyal to our master, Anber?”

“I would do all within my power to protect him, madam.”

“I think we shall soon have a need of a new chief eunuch.”

A smile split the ebony face.

“How sad it will be to lose our good Ali.”

“I hear and obey, my lady.”

“It must be a completely natural death, Anber.”

“Perhaps a bit of poppy,” suggested Lady Refet quietly. “Sometimes the hand is apt to slip.”

They smiled at one another in complete understanding, and Anber backed slowly from the room.

“Ali will be no loss,” observed Cyra.

“He is Besma’s best spy,” replied Lady Refet “I would give my ermine-lined pelisse to see the look on her face when she learns of his sad demise.”

“I have a feeling,” whispered Cyra, “that the time of my dear lord’s triumph draws near. We must surround ourselves only with those who are loyal. We have allowed Besma’s spies their freedom for too many years.”

Lady Refet reached out and took Cyra’s hand in hers. “How I bless that day seventeen years ago when you came to us. You are more Turkish than I am, and so good for Selim.”

“Loyalty and ambition are not just Turkish traits, sweet madam. They are Scots as well, and as to my being very Turkish, why should I not be? I have lived more than half my life here.”

“We have spoken only once, dear child, of the time you came to us, and it was so long ago. If it no longer pains you, will you answer a question?”

“If I can,” said Cyra.

“Were you never afraid? You, Firousi, and Zuleika were the calmest girls I ever saw enter the sultan’s seraglio. I would have expected it from Zuleika, since she is an Easterner by birth, but you and Firousi were Christian maidens.”

“The events in my life had moved so quickly that I was in shock,” replied Cyra. “The night I was auctioned on the block in Candia, I did feel fear. It was warm, and yet, stripped naked on that platform, I felt frozen. My shame lasted but a short while, though it seemed forever. Hadji Bey bought me, wrapped me in his cloak, and whisked me off to his house, where I was given clothing and the immediate company of my two friends. We vowed that night that we should be true to one another no matter what our fate brought If we were to be slaves, we would be powerful ones. After that there was no time for fear. A whole new world opened for us. A stupid woman would have wept and begged for death at her supposed shame. We chose life, and all it could bring us. Too soon do we meet with death.”

The older woman stared at the younger. “Through the ages there have been only a few women such as you, my child. How fortunate my nephew is to have you.”

As darkness fell, the slaves lit the lamps and brought the evening meal. Tremors still shook the earth gently at intervals. The two women ate silently, each content in the knowledge that the danger was past, and each lost in her own thoughts.

The moon rose pure and white in a dark velvet sky, preening itself in the now quiet sea. Night sounds—the cry of the hunting owl, a soft, sighing breeze, the chirrup of young frogs in a nearby marsh—filled the air reassuringly. Nature was regaining her composure.

The following morning, young Suleiman visited his mother’s quarters as she breakfasted. Sitting across from her and helping himself to some fruit he announced, “Mohammed and I are going to ride into Constantinople to look for father.”

“You are not” answered his mother calmly.

“But we must” cried the boy. “Father could be dead or injured! Who would care for him? Do you think that she-camel Besma would not use the earthquake as an excuse to murder my father?”

“Suleiman!” Cyra’s voice snapped a warning, “I trust your grandfather to see to your father’s safety. Besides, the sultan is at the Yeni Serai, and you know that the harem lives at the Eski Serai.” She spoke in English as she always did when she did not want the slaves to understand her. “Besides, my son, your father is probably on his way back to us by now.”

Proudly drawing himself up, the boy said “I am almost fifteen, madam, and a man. In my father’s absence I am head of this household Has he not always said so? It is my decision to take Mohammed my brother, and ride to Constantinople to look for our father.”

Two pairs of eyes, one green, the other gray-green, blazed across the table at one another.

“Do not play the Grand Turk with me, my lad” said Cyra. “You are now, and will always be, my son. Do you think your father or grandfather would forgive me if I allowed you this folly and you came to harm? You are an heir! Where is your wisdom? Would you leave this house of women and children unprotected?”

“The soldiers would protect you,” the boy replied sullenly.

“And who is to lead them should it be necessary? Am I to put on armor and ride into battle while you wander about the capital?”

The boy looked at his intensely feminine young mother, with her undressed red-gold hair loose about her shoulders, and burst out laughing.

“I fail to see what is so funny,” she said

He choked back his mirth. “Dearest bulbul, you are so pretty, yet in your anger I see in your eyes the ghost of your Scots ancestors. I can well imagine you armored and riding into battle.”

Reaching across the table, she grabbed a handful of his dark hair and yanked hard

“Ouch!” he protested struggling to escape her.

“Have you no respect for your mother?” she laughed

“I humbly beg your pardon, bulbul.”

She relinquished her hold and became serious again. “Perhaps it is time you were kept more fully informed Suleiman. You are near to a man, though it amazes me to see you so. After the quake yesterday, I sent a message to Constantinople. Hadji Bey’s pigeons are reliable under any circumstances. We should have an answer soon. Let us wait until then.”

He gave in gracefully, knowing in his heart that she was right and feeling a trifle foolish that he should have allowed his emotions to overcome his own common sense.