The Kadin (21 page)

“Now, listen to me, all of you,” spoke Captain Riza from the center of the main cave. “We are in mortal danger and will be safe only if you remain silent You may speak softly now, but when I give the signal, there is to be complete silence. Only those in charge may speak then, and if I hear one voice I should not I will rip the tongue from the offending one’s head Do you understand me?” His moustache bristled, and heads nodded

The torches cast a rosy glow on the sand-colored walls of the cave. The frightened group spoke in hushed whispers as the excitement of their escape and the horrible reality of their situation had its full impact on them. Each had the same thought—somewhere out in the night was a band of violent men intent on murder. They did not want to die—at least not now. And certainly not in this manner.

Prince Suleiman stood in a corner digging a spear into the ground His young face was strained and angry. He didn’t want to be penned in this rock fortress. He wanted to be outside avenging himself on those who wanted to attack him and his family. It had taken several sharp words from his mother to get him to enter the shelter; and despite the fact that Captain Riza had taken the time to explain the logic of the situation to him, his young heart seethed with anger. Suleiman took his position as Prince Selim’s eldest son and heir very seriously.

A hand fell on his shoulder. “I know, Suleiman, I want to be out there, too.” It was Mohammed, his favorite brother. The closeness of these two was amazing. Only four months separated them in age, and only four months distinguished between the heir and the second son. Yet never had the younger resented the older. “Hammed the Happy” was what the slaves called him, and he truly was. Where Suleiman was dark-haired, Mohammed was tawny. Suleiman’s gray-green eyes crackled with authority, but he was a somewhat shy young man. Mohammed’s dark-blue eyes sparkled with laughter, and all would have admitted that he was the extrovert of the family. An imperial Ottoman prince by birth, but somehow more touchable and nearer to the common man than the rest of his kin.

Selim’s children had grown up as no children of the Ottoman family ever had or ever would again. So strong was the bond of friendship among the prince’s four kadins, and so well had the first three kept the vow made that night in Candia eighteen years before, that nothing would ever separate them.

Suleiman was the heir. Never had anyone questioned it. The nine boys and four girls had grown from babyhood genuinely loving one another. They protected, fought, and teased each other as average children in any large family. They understood that they were princes and princesses of a great line, but they always acknowledged that Suleiman was the heir. In fact, they were proud of it One day their oldest brother would be sultan, and when he was, he would do away with the barbaric custom of killing off all other potential heirs. It simply never occurred to any of the brothers that they might do away with Suleiman and steal the throne for themselves.

Their insularity from Constantinople and their grandfather’s court had protected them, and they would retain this attitude as long as they lived.

“Captain”—the voice of the tower observer cut through the cave—“they’re coming!”

“Silence, all of you,” roared Captain Riza as he ran up the steps. Peering into the darkness, the captain saw the lighted palace and was then able to pick out the shadowy figures of men and horses about it. Selim’s four kadins joined him. They could hear the savage shouts of the men, their words carrying through the clear night air.

“There’s no one here! The palace is empty!”

“It can’t be! They must be hiding!”

“Look for a cellar beneath the palace. Search the grounds!”

“Captain, the farm animals are all gone!”

“Then burn the barns! Burn everything! We must find them. They cannot have gone far.”

“Maybe they were warned and fled by boat!”

“No, captain, the boats are here.”

“You, there! Take ten men and go back and search that village we passed. These people love Selim. They’d hide his family. Find them!”

Dark shapes raced across the estate. They poked and pried into every nook and cranny, trampling the gardens, smashing the statuary—and then a light appeared on the horizon.

“Allah! They’re burning the village,” whispered Cyra.

“Don’t worry, my lady kadin. We can rebuild, and the people have an instinct for survival. They have long since fled.”

“Cyra,” sobbed Firousi, “they are burning our palace!”

Through the night they watched in silence as the lovely white palace burned. The outer marble walls were not destoyed, but the interior, they knew, would be gutted.

The gray dawn heralded the arrival of the spring rains. The day was as dark as their mood. Captain Riza sent two of his men, garbed like the intruders, out to spy. Returning several hours later, they informed Captain Riza that the hostile captain had determined that Prince Selim’s family had to be somewhere in the area, and had decided to camp on the palace grounds one more night to search further. His own spies had ascertained that the imperial wives and children had not fled to Constantinople, nor, for that matter, in any other direction. Several people caught in the village had been tortured but had revealed nothing.

The Jinn’s Cave was naturally cool, and after a severe winter, coupled with the chill rains, it had not warmed up, but they could light no fires lest the escaping smoke betray them. As a result, they were cold and miserable. Most of the morning they huddled together in their quilts, torn between despair and the hope that young Prince Kasim had reached the capital and was now bringing help.

In Constantinople it was midmorning when a weary young horseman arrived before the great gates of the Eski Serai. He dismounted and pounded on the large doors. The grizzled head of an old soldier popped from the guardhouse above.

“Open the gates,” called the boy. “I have an urgent dispatch for Prince Selim.”

The gateman looked down at the dirty boy and asked, “Who demands entrance to the palace? Go away, boy! We have no time for games!” He moved to close the shutter.

“I am Prince Kasim, son of Selim Khan and fourth grandson to the sultan. Open the gates, or, by the Prophet’s horse, when I get my hands on you I’ll flay you alive!”

“Open the gates,” said the old soldier to his younger companion.

“But how do you know the boy speaks the truth?” asked the other soldier.

“Listen, my lad. I’ve served the sultan’s family these thirty years, and only an Ottoman would dare to speak to a Turkish soldier in that manner. Open the gates!”

The young soldier signaled down to the guards, who swung the great doors open. Prince Kasim headed for his father’s quarters.

“Get my father at once,” he ordered the slave who ran to meet him.

“My lord Selim gave orders not to be disturbed until half an hour before midday prayers. I dare not disobey, young sir.”

“Where is he?”

“His chambers, prince, but he is not—ah—he is not alone.”

Young Kasim raised an eyebrow, brushed past the slave, and running down the hall, entered his father’s suite. The slaves guarding his father’s bedchamber leaped up, but it was too late, Kasim was through the door.

Selim lay asleep upon his bed Curled next to him was a young girl who awoke and gazed at the young prince with large, startled eyes. Kasim gazed back, his dark eyes expressionless. “Leave us,” he commanded softly, and bent to waken his father. The girl opened her mouth to protest, but Kasim grasped her plump arm in an iron grip and pulled her from the divan.

“Who are you to send me away thus?” she whispered.

“Kasim, second son of Selim Khan’s bas-kadin. Now go, or I shall have you whipped”

Gathering her clothes up, the girl fled. Kasim bent again and shook his father. Selim awoke instantly.

“Kasim!” His eyes darted across the bed.

“I sent her away. Father, I have urgent news and have been riding since sunset yesterday to bring it to you.”

Selim listened then sprang from the bed, swearing, “That daughter of the Devil! That spawn of pig’s offal! She has gone too far this time.” He roared for a slave. “Go to the sultan. Tell him I must see him at once, and don’t let his servants bully you! Deliver my message personally. Then fetch the agha Uslar.
Run!”
He sank down on the bed again, his head in his hands. “Cyra! Cyra! If a hair on your head has been harmed, I shall kill that bitch and her misfit offspring myself.”

Young Kasim patted his father’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, father. I sent my brothers by way of the beach, and it was not yet sunset when I left.”

“How many soldiers were at the palace?”

“About twenty-five. Captain Riza let some go home for the spring planting.”

“Damn!” shoulted Selim. “Where could they all hide?”

“They probably sought refuge in the Jinn’s Cave,” said Kasim calmly. “It would be the best place, and no one knew about it except us.”

The agha kislar arrived. “My son, what has happened? Your slave practically dragged me here.” His eyes fell on the boy. “Kasim! Where did you come from?”

Selim quickly told Hadji Bey the boy’s news. The agha’s face became grave. “When my lord Bajazet hears of this, heads will roll. I had no warning of Besma’s plans. She must have contracted directly with someone outside the palace. The sultan has often allowed her to go into the city, but usually she confides her plans to someone. Besma Kadin has overplayed her hand this time. Do not worry, my sons. I feel that your family is safe. I shall send word to my servant Talat to watch for one of our winged messengers. If they are safe, they will send word. Come! We must go at once to the sultan and tell him of this treachery. I shall have guards placed outside both Prince Ahmed’s and Besma’s quarters so they may not escape their punishment”

The two princes followed the ageless agha kislar through the corridors of the palace to the sultan.

Sultan Bajazet having been awakened by Selim’s messenger, was awaiting them. The sultan was sixty-three now. His hair and full beard had turned white, and his dark-brown eyes were kindly. He had always been a peace-loving monarch, his interests being more artistic than warlike, and he had done much to further Ottoman culture but little to advance Ottoman power. Nevertheless, he was a strong man. And despite the fact he had lost Cilicia to the Egyptian Mamelukes, and Cyprus to Venice, he was greatly beloved by his people. His reign was one of peace and prosperity. Recently having lost a minor war to Venice, he had rebuilt both his army and his navy, though his people, knowing his aversion to war, wondered why he bothered.

His visitors found him in a loose yellow silk sleeping robe, a small enameled cup of hot, sweet coffee in his hand. “Kasim,” he smiled happily at his grandson.

“Tell him,” Selim said coldly to his son. “Tell him how that she-devil who dares to call herself his kadin, not being satisfied at murdering my brother, has contrived to murder my wives and all his other grandchildren.”

The sultan paled as he looked from the stricken face of his grandson to the angry face of his son.

“It may not be that tragic, my dear lord,” said the agha, trying to soothe the sultan.

“No!” snapped Selim. “Perhaps some escaped like Kasim!”

The sultan recovered himself. “You make serious charges, my son, but you tell me nothing. What has happened?”

Young Kasim repeated his story.

Selim cut in. “Most of my own personal soldiers are here with me, my father. Of those left at my serai, Captain Riza allowed half to go home for the spring planting. My family and slaves were virtually undefended. The bitch planned this well!”

“They may have hidden in the Jinn’s Cave,” said Kasim, who understood the shock his grandfather was experiencing, and wished to ease it “No one could find them there.”

“But we do not know!” added Selim impatiently. The sultan, who had listened to all of this with mounting anger in his heart turned to the agha. “Have guards posted at the suites of Besma Kadin and Prince Ahmed. They are not to leave their quarters. They are to be told nothing!”

“I have anticipated your wish, my lord,” replied Hadji Bey. “I have also taken the liberty of alerting five troops of Janissaries, and Prince Selim’s Tartars. They, along with your horses, await you.”

The sultan smiled grimly. “You are more valuable to me than all those who serve me put together. How I wish now I had taken your advice regarding Besma, but I will remedy that on my return. Stay here and see that my orders are carried out I can trust no one but you. Now, leave me to dress. We go within the hour.”

They bowed and left him. The agha took Kasim to see that he was fed before he began his long journey back home. Selim returned to his quarters and called his men to him.

26

T
OWARD DAWN
of the second day, the black-garbed soldiers rode off, tired of seeking their elusive prey, and now afraid of possible retribution. The villagers who had fled them were loyal to Prince Selim. Someone was sure to have reached the capital by now, and the sultan’s Janissaries would be on their way. The black-garbed mercenaries had been paid to kill, not be killed, and so they departed.

From his hiding place, a young boy watched them go. When he was sure he could not be seen, the boy walked across the ravaged estate of Prince Selim. He was tall and lanky, with a thin, handsome face, and dark, haunting eyes. His dress was that of a peasant, and he meandered along as any young boy would who was out wandering on a fine spring morning. Occasionally he spun about as if in pure joy, but the more careful observer would have seen that he was really trying to see if he was being followed. Coming upon the serai, he gazed a moment at the devastation, then whistled softly.

The fire had completely gutted the interior, which had fallen within the now-blackened white walls in a charred pile. Although the main fire was out, the rubble still glowed despite the gentle rain. Content that he was indeed alone, the boy headed for the beach and went directly to the entrance of the Jinn’s Cave. When the door refused to open at his touch, he bent down, picked up a rock, and tapped out a code against the stone door.

The noise reverberated through the cave, and for a split second the hearts of all within swelled in terror. The sound came again, and this time Suleiman ran to the door, pulled the iron bar from its cylinder, and swung wide the great stone. The tall boy entered quickly and without a word helped Suleiman shut and bar the door again. Then with a whoop they fell into each other’s arms.

“Ibrahim!”

“Suleiman! I knew you would be here,” said Ibrahim. “Kasim rode through the village on his way to the capital and warned us.”

“Are the villagers all right? We saw the flames and knew they had been burned out”

“Yes, they’re safe. There was plenty of time to hide anything of value. The herds are already in the high pastures for summer, so all that remained was for the people to disappear—which most of them did. A few stubborn ones remained and were tortured by the soldiers for their pains. The village was burned out of spite. But tell me, Suleiman, why? What was it all about? Those were not the sultan’s men.”

The young prince’s face hardened. “Besma!” He spat out the name. “May she die a thousand times, and each death be more horrible than the last.”

“By Allah!” exclaimed Ibrahim. “She grows bold! When the sultan hears, she is one already dead.”

“I pray it with all my heart,” murmured Suleiman devoutly. “But you, my friend. Is your mother safe?”

“Yes,” grinned Ibrahim, “and absolutely delighted with the destruction of our house. Now my father has no excuse to keep her in the country while he dallies with those plump wenches he keeps in our house in Constantinople.”

Ibrahim’s mother was a constant source of gossip and amusement to the local village. Ibrahim’s father was a wealthy merchant from the Greek portion of the empire who had settled his family in Constantinople. He had married early—a girl from his native village—and she had dutifully produced three sons and two daughters for him. However, as his wealth grew, his ideas changed, and after their move to the capital, he had taken first one, then another nubile concubine. When the usually meek mother of his children had raised her voice in violent protest she had found herself shipped, complete with her three younger children, to a comfortable but distant country house. After all, she was now forty. Her dark hair was streaked with gray, and her figure was matronly from childbearing. She had grown older, and there was no help for it’ but though her husband suffered the years, too, he was constantly buying and discarding maidens. She could hardly compete with the plump, blond sixteen-year-old from Crete or the dusky-skinned nineteen-year-old from Egypt who currently shared her husband’s bed. So, having no means other than what her husband gave her, she was forced to remain in lonely exile with her youngest son and her two daughters.

Cyra had met young Ibrahim on the beach several years before. She liked this bright, amusing, and clever boy, and after discreet inquiries into his family, character, and habits, had asked him to study with the young princes. As Cyra had foreseen, Suleiman and Ibrahim had become good friends, and because they were, Ibrahim knew the secret of the Jinn’s Cave.

Although the Greek boy had seen no one about as he walked through the prince’s estate, Captain Riza refused to allow them outside the cave. Too much of an exodus was likely to attract attention, and the secret of their hiding place could be lost. Hopefully, Prince Kasim had reached Constantinople safely, and even now would be on his way back with a rescue party. In the meantime, the captain decided to send one mounted soldier out on the Constantinople road to meet their lord and tell him his family was safe.

The sun was now up, and in the confinement of the cave the prince’s household and family found it hard to keep their dispositions even. The smell of the penned-up animals was overpowering Everyone was getting restless. Then, about noon, the tower sentry shouted down to Captain Riza that the prince was coming.

The five women dashed to the observation post, Cyra and Zuleika helping Lady Refet They could see Selim mounted on his magnificent black stallion, Devil Wind. Next to him rode the sultan, and beside the sultan, Kasim

“Praise Allah,” sighed Cyra.

Behind the royal horsemen rode several troops of Janissaries and Selim’s Tartars. They reached the palace, and Cyra ordered Captain Riza to open the stone door. “We are all safe now.” Grinning, the soldier complied.

Selim and Kasim were the first to dismount and they ran across the gardens to the beach stairs. Cyra reached the top of the stairs as they did. For a moment the prince and his bas-kadin devoured each other with their eyes. Then they flung themselves into an embrace.

“When I thought I should never see you again, my heart died within me,” whispered Selim. He bent and kissed her hungrily. Cyra returned the kiss with equal passion, then raised a relieved, tearstained face to her lord. “I knew we would be safe, my love, but what frightened me was what Besma might do to you after she had moved against us”

“Do not fear, my jewel, her hours are numbered. The black camel of death will soon have a passenger.”

The sultan bustled up. “My dearest daughter, praises to Allah that you are safe. Are the children all right?”

Cyra knelt and kissed the hem of the sultan’s robe. “Yes, my gracious lord, and not only the children but all the slaves and the farm animals as well. We are most fortunate, but had we not had such a wonderful hiding place, we should all be dead. The assassins even burned a nearby village in an effort to find us.”

He raised her up and wiped her tears away with his own handkerchief. “You will never know such terror again, my daughter. I, Bajazet Sultan, promise you this.” The sultan moved on to his former ikbal, Lady Refet, and Selim tenderly embraced his other kadins.

The chief eunuch, Anber, began to organize the slaves into work parties. The ashes of the palace were cool now, and he hoped to salvage something from its ruins. The Janissaries began to set up tents on the trampled lawns to shelter the prince’s family.

Selim stood to one side comforting the weeping Sarina, who after one look at her gardens had burst into tears. “There, my Sarina, do not spoil your beautiful topaz eyes with tears.” He bent and brushed some earth aside with his hand. “See? Green shoots. Your gardens will grow again.”

She sobbed harder. “Those are weeds! Will you never learn to tell the difference?”

Selim kissed the tip of her nose. “Good,” he chuckled. “Your tongue is still sharp! You will recover.”

“Oh, forgive me, my lord! Two days ago the blue hyacinths perfumed the air with their fragrance. The paper-white narcissus and the yellow daffodils danced in the breeze. In the greenhouse I had several pots of your favorite tulips that I was forcing to adorn your quarters when you returned. For seventeen years I have worked to make our gardens places of perfect beauty and tranquillity, and in one night it has all been destroyed—destroyed by that bitch, whose only accomplishments have been to produce an idiot son and create chaos and death in her wake!”

“Hush, love, you will distress the sultan. He is already much vexed by Besma’s evil.”

But Bajazet had heard the impetuous Sanaa’s words, and the resolution to deal harshly with his kadin, weakened by his relief at finding Selim’s family safe, renewed itself. The Spanish woman was right—Besma created chaos in her never-ending lust for power.

He stayed the night with his son and his family, but at the first hint of dawn he was up and on his way to Constantinople. He left with the promise to send workmen and materials to rebuild the Moonlight Serai His mind was clear, thanks to a pleasant night spent in the company of Lady Refet, and his heart was hardened with the resolve of what he must do.

When the sultan reentered his capital, he went directly to his palace. The agha kislar came at once to his quarters.

“Is all well?”

“I have failed you, my lord,” said the agha sadly. “Prince Ahmed fled the palace last night”

“How?”

“He had had an escape tunnel secretly constructed from his quarters to the outer wall. We did not know about it as his pretty boys did it and they are unbribable. My spy could not reach me until it was too late.”

“And Besma Kadin?”

“She awaits your pleasure, my lord”

“Have her brought to me, and I wish you to remain also. I do not blame you for the prince’s escape. I shall hunt him down myself. He cannot have been ignorant of his mother’s treachery.”

“My lord the family of Prince Selim?”

“All safe. I shall tell you afterward”

A lesser eunuch advised Besma Kadin of the sultan’s wish to see her. She made him wait while she put the finishing touches on her toilette, then followed him through the palace to the sultan’s quarters.

At fifty-seven she was still a handsome woman. A Syrian by birth, Besma had rich blue-black hair that was now silver, and her smooth olive skin was just beginning to wrinkle, but her black eyes were still sharp and lively.

She had dressed carefully in bright cerise trousers and a long-sleeved, slash-skirted dress of dark-blue silk. A large gold belt covered with sapphires and pearls girdled her hips. Over this she wore a heavy cerise satin sleeveless robe trimmed with ermine and embroidered with diamonds. Her hair was wound in a coronet of braids about her head and covered with a small pink gauze veil.

As she walked down the tiled corridors, she was calmly ready to accept her fate. By now, Bajazet would have learned of the demise of Selim’s family. He would be very angry and suspicious, but she had been very careful. There was nothing to connect her with the deed, since she had used hired mercenaries, who by now would be well on their way to Persia, No, there was no way—or no one who could accuse her of the deed. Even if the sultan did suspect her, he could prove nothing, but he would be greatly enraged and would probably punish her by exiling her from court

She laughed softly to herself. For years she had wanted to get away from him, and now she would. She would, of course, have her own palace, her own slaves, her own eunuchs who would all be entirely loyal to her—not spies for that wretched agha kislar, Hadji Bey. She had won, as she had known she would from the day the midwife had placed her son in her arms for the first time. Ahmed would be sultan now, and there would be no danger from Selim He would, she imagined, be quite a broken man. Bajazet could not live much longer, and the first act Ahmed would perform as sultan would be to sign Selim’s death warrant.

The doors to the sultan’s quarters opened before her, and she entered.

“My dear lord,” she began smoothly, “why have you treated me in such a fashion? I have not been permitted to leave my suite for almost three days now. Even my garden was forbidden me, and my slaves were also held prisoner. What have I done that you should treat me so harshly?”

Slowly Bajazet turned to face her. “You have failed,” he said quietly. “Selim’s entire family and household are safe.”

She paled, but recovering quickly, asked, “Why should they not be, my lord?”

“Do not pretend, you she-devil,” he thundered at her. “I know you are responsible! Your assassins were loose-lipped!”

“Who dares accuse me?”

“Murderess!” he hissed, ignoring her question. “For too many years I have ignored your treachery and evil because you were the mother of the heir, but he is heir no longer. Last night your precious son fled the palace in secret He is as one dead. I shall declare Selim my heir by the time of the evening prayers.”

“You can’t do that!” she shrieked at him. “My son is the heir!
My son!”

“I cannot do
what?
I am sultan here, madam, a fact you have conveniently forgotten over the years.”

“Even if you pass over my son, Safiye Kadin’s son, Korkut is legally next in line. What of him?”

Bajazet advanced toward her, his face dark with rage. “Do you dare to preach the law to me, you foul creature? Do you not remember that Korkut publicly renounced his claim to my throne two years ago? He never wanted the sultanate, and besides, he knew it was the only way he could live in peace from your schemes. He is happy as governor of the Macedonian provinces, and completely loyal to my wishes.”

“You cannot disinherit my son!” she screamed again, “I have worked too long for him!”

He towered over her. “You poisoned my true heir, Mustafa, and I closed my eyes to it breaking the heart of the sweetest woman who ever lived. Now you have attempted a worse deed—the slaughter of thirteen innocent children, four lovely women, and over two hundred slaves. All this in the name of putting
your
son on
my
throne? Is there no end to your evil? I should have had you killed years ago!” The veins at the sultan’s temples stood out visibly throbbing.