The Kadin (29 page)

At meal’s end, the youngsters brightened with the arrival of the sweet liquid sherbet and almond cakes. Cyra did not even dare to glance at Karim, knowing that somehow Marian had slipped Esther Kira’s potion into his sherbet

She could not sleep that night worrying about her son. Finally, at dawn, she rose to the muezzin’s call, said her prayers, and hurried to Karim’s room

His little body bathed in perspiration, the child tossed upon his couch. She glanced at the nurse sleeping on the floor by the boy. Angrily Cyra kicked her.

“Get up, you wretch! You have slept through morning prayers, and my son lies here ill!”

The girl scrambled to her feet “Madam, I watched all the night and had just dozed off for a moment”

“Liar! Look at the prince! He is bathed in sweat! No fever could come so quickly. You have been sleeping for hours!”

The frightened nurse looked down at Karim, then drew back shaking. “Plague,” she sobbed. “The prince has the plague!”

“Stop that wailing and fetch the doctor!”

The girl fled, to return a few minutes later with Alaed-din Cerdet Quickly the physician examined the moaning, unconscious child, noting his rapid pulse, high fever, coated and slightly swollen tongue.

“Plague,” he said. “The prince has all the signs of the plague. He must be removed at once to an area of isolation, lest he infect the whole palace. I will send a nurse.”

“No,” said Cyra. “I will nurse him myself.”

“Madam, I cannot be responsible for your safety. The sultan would kill me if you should die as did the lady Zuleika.”

“I shall be in no danger, Alaeddin Cerdet I had plague as a child,” she reassured him, lying smoothly. “I shall not go alone. My two slaves, Marian and Ruth, will accompany me.”

“In that case, I cannot deny a mother the privilege of caring for her sick son. I shall inform the kitchens of the diet the prince must have. Try to get him to take some nourishment If a plague boil rises, give it several hours to break. If it does not, lance it Perhaps it will save him.” He handed her a small, sharp instrument from his case. “If there is no boil, then Allah have mercy, for the child will surely die.”

The newly scrubbed and furnished Tile Court was ready within the hour to receive them. A procession made up of Cyra, Marian, and Ruth, who carried the prince on a litter, entered the building. At the gate Cyra stopped to speak with the cowardly eunuch. She graciously apologized for her anger of the previous day and gave him a small purse of coins for his diligence in cleaning the court Her eyes filled with tears when she said she had never expected to see it again, let alone under such circumstances. The eunuch was immediately sympathetic and swore to guard them with his life.

“Let no one enter,” were her final instructions. “When our meals come, ring the bell by the gate and push them through the slot” Patting his arm and smiling a brave, sweet smile, she entered the Tile Court

They were alone. Within a few hours, Karim’s fever was gone, and he awoke as refreshed as from a good night’s sleep. “Where are we, mother?” he asked.

“In the Tile Court, my son.”

“Didn’t Hassan and Nureddin die here?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are we here?”

“Because everyone believes you have the plague.”

“Do I?”

“No.”

Then let us go and tell them.”

“Karim, I want you to listen very carefully to me. Do you know who will be sultan after your father?’

“My brother Suleiman.”

That is right Do you know what will happen to you when Suleiman is sultan?” Karim shook his head. “He will kill you.”

The little boy looked frightened. “Why, mother? I love my brother, and he loves me. He has told me sol”

“Yes, my darling, he does love you, but the law says he must destroy his rivals, and that there can be only one heir. If he does not kill you, there are evil men who would use you to threaten his power. In the end he would have to obey the law or he would not be a good sultan. You want Suleiman to be a good sultan, don’t you?”

The child nodded vigorously. “I will go away, mother. Then Suleiman can be a good sultan.”

“It would not be allowed, Karim. That is why we must pretend you are sick. Then we will pretend you have died—but you really wont,” she quickly added. “Instead, you will be smuggled out of Turkey. You will be taken to my homeland, and you will pretend to be an ordinary little boy. You will go to a wonderful school with other boys your own age. You have often said you wanted to visit Scotland.”

“Oh, yes, mother!”

“You must be very brave, Karim You cannot tell anyone who you really are. There are wicked men in Scotland, too, who, if they knew your true identity, would use you to hurt your father and Suleiman. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, mother. But if I am not Prince Karim, who am I?”

Cyra smiled and thought to herself, Thank God he is bright. “You will be Charles Adam Leslie, my son. Charles, so you have a name of your own. Adam, after your uncle, my brother. And Leslie, which is my family name.”

“Can I be a Christian, mother?”

“Do you want to be?”

“Oh, yes! Marian and Ruth have told me all about the dear Jesus and his mother Mary. I have often thought she must have been like you. Warm and soft and kind.”

“Perhaps, my son.” She glared at Marian. “You could have been killed for speaking to him of Christianity.”

“Nonsense,” returned Marian. “Sultan Selim has always approved of the princes’ learning about other religions. I often spoke to him of the Jews, too.”

“He does not evince any desire to be a Jew,” said Cyra dryly.

Karim was growing impatient “What will I tell people if I cannot tell them who I really am?”

“You will tell them you come from a land far to the east On your journey to Constantinople, you fell from your pony, and now you can remember only your name. Always tell those who ask this story. Never vary it Say nothing more. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, but how will I get to Scotland?”

“Esther Kira’s brother, Joseph ben Kira, leaves for Edinburgh in a few days’ time and will accompany you. He will tell those who inquire that you were brought to his house in Constantinople with instructions to convey you to Scotland. I have set up an account for you with the Kiras in Edinburgh to cover your expenses. You will never lack for money.”

“Will I ever see you again, mother?”

“I do not know, Karim. I realize I am asking a great deal of you. You are still just a small boy, but you are not an ordinary little boy. You are intelligent and wise beyond your years. Though you may never speak of it from the moment you leave the serai, remember that you are a prince of the House of Osman, that your great-grandfather was Mohammed the Conqueror, that your father is Selim the Just”

“I will not forget mother.” He threw his arms about her. “Even if some of the boys at school brag about their puny families, I shall remain silent.”

“Good,” smiled his mother, “but fear not my son. You will not be entirely alone. Take this ring. My brother, Adam, gave it to me on my thirteenth birthday. See the inscription inside? You speak my native tongue, Karim. Read it to me.”

Karim took the ring and read: “To my own dear sister, Janet from her brother, Adam.”

“Wear the ring always.
Never
part with it Show it to the abbot at Glenkirk Abbey—though one look at you, and he cannot fail to know you are a Leslie, He will, when he deems it wise, introduce you to your uncle Adam, and to your grandfather, if he still lives.”

Karim, his Ottoman and Highland blood now stirring with excitement at the thought of his dangerous impending adventure, announced, “I shall have to be disguised to leave the city, mother.”

“So you will,” she laughed, grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking. “This will be dyed black, and your skin will be darkened to a nut-brown.”

“Will I look like a Moor?”

“I hope not but probably you will When you arrive in Scotland, Joseph will see that your hair and skin are restored to their normal colors. Now”—she spoke in his own tongue—“what is your name, boy?”

“Charles Leslie,” he answered in the same language.

“Where do you come from?”

“A land far to the east”

“What is its name?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You must be a very stupid boy not to know the name of your native land.”

“I am not stupid. I fell from my horse on my way to Constantinople and injured my head. My memory is gone. I can remember only my name and that my country is in the East”

“Well done, my darling! Never, never change your story! Should your father and brother find out what I have done, I should be killed in a most terrible manner. My life is in your hands, Karim, as well as the lives of many others. It is a great responsibility to place on one so young, but then you are of the House of Osman and the House of Leslie. Both are breeders of brave men.”

The little boy gazed up at his beautiful mother. “I will never betray you, mother. Never!”

She gathered him into her arms, holding him close, savoring the incredible sweetness of him and feeling her own heart break. My youngest and dearest child, she thought I simply cannot let him go. I cannot! He is so little. What will become of him without his mother? There must be another way!

Then she saw Marian, her Ups set sternly, her brown eyes speaking the terrible truth of the matter. Her own green eyes closed, and, burying her face in her son’s soft neck, she saw the mute executioners, their black bodies oiled and glistening obscenely in the torchlight the bowstrings swinging evily in their strong hands.

Shuddering, she released Karim and, looking down at him, said, “You must not leave this room, my child, lest someone see you. Nor may you go near the windows. Ruth has brought some of your toys and will play with you.”

A day and a night passed. Late in the afternoon of the second day, Cyra went to the gate of the Tue Court and requested that Esther Kira and her famous herbs be sent for at once.

“She may enter in safety. Jews are known not to catch the plague. May Allah grant that her herbs work.”

“My lady, may I ask how the little prince fares?”

“I am afraid, good eunuch,” she replied softly.

By evening, when Esther Kira, with a wicker basket some three and a half feet in length strapped to her back, arrived at the Tile Court, the word was all over the serai that Prince Karim was dying.

“I knew I could trust that fat slug to chatter,” chuckled Cyra.

The night deepened, and as the moon set, the final touches were put on the little prince’s disguise. Dressed in simple but costly garments, he stood before his mother for a final inspection. “He does not look like the same boy,” she approved.

The others nodded. Suddenly Karim flung himself into his mother’s arms. “I don’t want to forget you,” he sobbed.

Cyra gritted her teeth. “Do not cry, Karim,” she said sternly, “you will make the stain run.” Then, more gently, “I will not allow you to forget me, my son.”

Drawing a thin gold chain from her pocket, she opened the little locket on it to reveal an exquisite miniature of herself. “Firousi painted it several years ago,” she explained. (The second kadin had done the portrait in secret, as the portrayal of the human image was against Muslim law.) “This locket will keep my face ever bright in your memory, beloved.”

She turned to the disapproving Marian, “Outside these walls my face is unknown, and it will help to identify him further to my family.” She slipped the chain about his slender neck. “There, my dearest son. When you are lonely for me or are tempted to reveal your identity, gaze upon my face and remember—my life is in your keeping.

Tenderly she kissed him a final time, and then, helping him into Esther Kira’s basket, spoke her final words to him. “Remember, Charles Leslie. The motto of the clan is ‘Stand Fast’ Remember, and abide by it!”

A tray of herbs was placed over the crouching boy, and the basket lid was closed. Cyra walked with Esther to the gate.

“May Allah rain blessings on you, Esther Kira, for the help you have given me,” she said loudly.

“I am desolate my remedies have failed, madam. If only you had called me sooner.”

“At least his pain is eased, and he will slip quietly into Paradise,” replied the grieving mother.

Walking through the gate, Esther shook her head sadly at the eavesdropping eunuch, who was so busy thinking how he would tell this new and deliriously tragic piece of information that he did not see the bas-kadin hidden in the shadows, the tears streaming down her lovely face.

34

T
HE HAREM
was in deep mourning for the three imperial princes and Zuleika Kadin. Selim hurriedly returned from Anatolia to comfort his remaining wives and to privately mourn his great loss. He remained in his capital throughout the autumn.

During these months Cyra spent a great deal of time weeping. The residents of the serai attributed the bas-kadin’s tears and loss of weight to the deaths, but Cyra was secretly fretting for word of Karim.

Finally it arrived, and on a sunny afternoon in late autumn, Cyra sat in her garden by the lake with Marian, Ruth, and Esther Kira. The pale, lemony sunlight dappled the dark waters, and a sharp breeze made the three of them pull their woolen cloaks tightly about their bodies.

“I have received a letter from Joseph,” the little Jewess began, “but I dared not bring it I have memorized its contents and burned it”

“Tell me!” begged Cyra eagerly.

“Their voyage was smooth and uneventful. At first the captain protested about the extra passenger, but Joseph said Charles might sleep on a pallet in his own little cabin, and that he had brought with him double the food ration required. The captain, after hearing these facts—and receiving a generous purse—relented.

“The first night Joseph tried to give Charles his own bed, but the boy refused, saying, ‘I am an ordinary boy now, Master ben Kira,’ and nothing could dissuade him. They arrived at Leeds in early September, and went straight to Edinburgh. Two days later, Joseph obtained horses, and they rode north to Glenkirk, where Charles was safely installed at the Abbey School.

“My brother has been to see him once, and reports that he is well and very happy. He has met his grandfather, his uncle Adam, and two young cousins, one eight years older than he, and the other three years older. He will spend Christmas at the castle with your family.

“There! Is that not good news!”

“Dear Estherl It is the best possible news! How can I ever thank you?”

Esther smiled and shook her head. “You are my true friend, sweet lady. You have been more than generous to the House of Kira over the years. I need no other reward. Now, I think it is best that I leave you to calm yourself and meditate upon your happiness. Perhaps Marian and Ruth will walk with me?”

Cyra nodded absently, already lost in her imaginings of Karim’s trip and reception in Scotland. Her thoughts were happily near the reality of what had actually occurred.

Joseph ben Kira and Karim were ushered into the presence of the tall and austere abbot, James Dundas. Joseph introduced himself and told his carefully rehearsed story.

“My lord abbot, I am Joseph ben Kira of Constantinople. Before I departed from my home several months ago, a child was brought to me by a black slave. He gave me a letter, a chest of gold, and disappeared into the night. The letter asked that I bring the child to his mother’s homeland and take him to the Abbey School of Glenkirk to be educated and raised as a Christian. He wears a ring and a locket about his neck to identify him to you. I know nothing more of the matter.”

“Come near, laddie, so I may get a better look at you,” said the abbot “I am an old man, and my sight is nae what it used to be.”

Karim stepped forward. The abbot visibly whitened.

“What is your name?”

“Charles Leslie, sir.”

“Give me the letter you carry, my son.”

Karim took the letter from his doublet and handed it to the old man. With trembling fingers, the abbot opened and read it

“Now, child. Show me the locket”

Karim drew the gold chain from beneath his shirt and, opening the locket, revealed the miniature to James Dundas. The abbot smiled.

“She is a beautiful woman. When she was a child, I could see she would be. Now, laddie, the ring.” He took it, read the inscription, and returned it to Karim. “Well, my son, we shall do our best to make you happy in your mother’s homeland.”

Ringing a bell, he instructed the attending brother, “This is Charles Leslie, Brother Francis. He is to be our new pupil and is a cousin to Donald and Ian Leslie. He will share their room. See that he is settled. Then send a messenger to Glenkirk Castle. I must speak with the old earl at once!”

Joseph ben Kira rose. “If you no longer have need of my services, my lord, I will begin my return to Edinburgh. I can be reached at the House of Kira in Goldsmith’s Lane.”

“Thank you, Master ben Kira. You have done us a great service. I will commend your kindness to the earl.”

Joseph bowed low, smiled, patted Karim on the head, and departed.

In her private garden by the lake, the bas-kadin rose from the marble bench. Yes, surely that was how it had gone. Now Karim was safe to grow to manhood, and her duty must return to her beloved lord Selim.

His ailment had grown worse, manifesting itself in a new and infuriating symptom—partial impotence. He never knew when it would strike. Many maidens were sent to his couch. Most returned weeping and in disgrace, for the sultan of sultans could not admit his disability.

Despite it, he continued to treat his three kadins with courtesy, affection, and favor. But having only one remaining son, he suddenly became desperate to father another; however, the kadins were more than ever united behind Suleiman, and no maiden went to the sultan without first sipping a soothing draft of their cherry sherbet Though it was practically unnecessary these days, they took no chances.

In midwinter, Selim felt it his duty to return to Anatolia, as the invasion of Rhodes was planned for the spring. Before his departure, as was his custom, he would spend one night with each of his kadins.

Cyra was to be with him the night before he left, and from the stories brought to her by Firousi and Sarina, she was worried. Selim was totally impotent now, and he resented it deeply. Two nights before, he had taken leave of Sarina. Unable to perform as a man, he had grown furious, called his kadin an “old woman,” and loudly demanded a young maiden be brought to him. Sarina, who loved Selim deeply, had gathered the shreds of her dignity about her and fled her suite for the gardens, where she wept bitterly.

Firousi’s leavetaking of Selim had been equally disastrous. Again, the sultan could not function. Enraged, he had slapped the second kadin. Both were stunned by this action. Never in all their years together had Selim physically abused any of his wives. Without a word, he left her bedchamber.

The following morning, Selim made it a point to greet both Sarina and Firousi publicly, and with a great show of affection. Later in the day, slaves were seen entering the golden court laden with gifts. The sultan was wise enough not to go off on a military campaign leaving the status of his two lesser wives in doubt He wanted no problems in his household.

Cyra spent a frantic day. Her apartment must be cleaner than clean. The gold, silver, copper, and brass accessories and ornaments must shine, the tile floors sparkle. Refreshments needed to be selected—small, hot pastries filled with lamb and kasha, glazed honey cakes, apricot sherbet and sweet hot coffee—all Selim’s favorites.

Speaking to the various oda mistresses, Cyra selected four of the most beautiful and talented musicians the harem had to offer to soothe and entertain her lord with their melodies.

Then off to her bath to be scrubbed plucked, massaged, and perfumed An hour’s nap to refresh her, and having been dressed in the sultan’s favorite peacock-blue, she was ready to greet Selim.

Their evening began pleasantly enough. The musicians played well and pleased the sultan. The light late supper was enjoyable to him. Finally, the slaves dismissed the lamps trimmed to burn low, Selim and Cyra retired to her bedchamber, where he attempted to claim his conjugal rights. He failed and promptly became angry.

Cyra, who had been expecting this problem, threw herself into his arms, sobbing piteously, “Alas! I have grown too old to please you, my dearest Selim. Would that Allah had struck me down before I lived to see this day. Forgive me, my lord! Forgive me for the sake of the five children I have borne you!”

Selim knew she lied. Her beauty and body, even at forty years of age, would have aroused a marble statue. But her performance and her attempt to save his ego and take the entire blame pleased him and helped to restore his sense of proportion.

“I forgive you, you exquisite liar,” he growled.

She looked up at him, her green eyes clear and tearless.

“Don’t you even have the decency to shed a real tear or two?” he grumbled.

She twinkled at him, “My love, I could not be so hypocritical.” Then, sensing the worst was over, she spoke again. “If I may presume on our twenty-seven years together, my lord?” He nodded. “It is this illness that has rendered you feeble. When you are well again, there will will be no problem. How can I accuse you—or how can you accuse me—when we have spent so many nights together in an ecstasy of love, a love that has borne the precious fruit of five children? We are no longer youth and maiden, and though I look forward to the night that you return to me well and strong as of old, can we not this night—the night before you leave us again—simply enjoy the warmth of just being together?”

In reply, he held her hard against his chest “Now I know why I chose you first those long years ago. You and only you have always had the talent to put me at my ease, and the wisdom to speak honestly to me. Praise Allah that He saw fit to present me with such a treasure as you, my beloved Cyra.”

Raising her up, he gently kissed her sweet lips and settled into her arms. For some time, their voices whispered silkenly through the room as they talked together as had always been their habit Then he fell asleep against her breasts.

In the darkness of the chamber, she heard his even breathing, and, knowing he finally slept Cyra allowed herself the privilege of tears. Silently they ran down her cheeks. She wept neither for him nor for herself, but because she knew instinctively that this would be the last night they would ever spend together. Tomorrow he would leave for Rhodes, and she felt that he would not return. The Celt in her knew that he would soon die.

Where had all the years gone? Was it not only yesterday that she had come to him a cool but frightened virgin? She could see his even white teeth flashing against his sun-bronzed skin as she first tasted the pleasures of womanhood, his relief and delight at the birth of Suleiman and all the other children who followed his anger at his brother’s treachery, and his deep belief that he alone could raise Turkey to the heights of power that had been foretold for it

Of all those in the serai, she had seen the greatest changes in him. He had never been a heavy man, but lately she had noticed that his legs and face seemed thinner, although his belly, always flat was now swollen. He had not been sleeping well, and this, coupled with the terrible pain he felt had turned
him
into a raving despot when crossed or disobeyed.

Upon learning that Zuleika and his three younger sons had died in the Tile Court, he had had it destroyed Discovering that the Persian captive Shannez, still among his slaves, had openly rejoiced at Zuleika’s death, he had wreaked terrible vegeance. The woman had been publicly beaten, and salt had been rubbed into her open wounds. Then Selim had personally tied her limbs to four horses, which were then driven in four different directions, executing the unfortunate woman in a most horrible way.

His judgments, always fair in the past became increasingly harsher. The slightest infractions of rules among the serai slaves were punished swiftly and often with brutality. Cyra’s heart ached for the unhappiness he felt and the un-happiness he was causing.

The soft gray light of dawn began to filter into the chamber. Still he slept on, and she was grateful. He would awaken refreshed, and the day would go well for him. A slave entered to wake them. Catching the old woman’s eye, Cyra nodded and waved her away.

“My lord” She gently shook
him.
“Dearest it is time to wake.”

Opening his eyes, he smiled at her and was instantly awake. He rose. “Come to me after prayers, so we may say our good-byes privately.”

She went to him at the appointed time, and he looked almost like the Selim of old—well rested, bathed, shaved, and ready to undertake the long journey back to Anatolia. For a moment they gazed at each other, then kissed fiercely and gazed again.

He knows, she thought wildly. He knows this is the last time we shall ever see each other in this life. She struggled for the right words, but he was too quick for her. “Guide Suleiman as only you can, my love.” Then, turning on his heel, he left her.

She ran all the way to the secret balcony that overlooked the main gate. Firousi and Sarina were there ahead of her, but she was in time. Passing through the entrance, he turned, looked back, and raised his hand in a quick salute. The salute was for them all but the look, Cyra knew, was for her alone.

Several weeks passed, and spring began to make itself felt along the shores of the Bosporus. A secret communiqué arrived from Piri Pasha, who had accompanied his sultan. Selim was very ül The doctors did not believe he would live. No one was aware of this. She was forbidden to come to the sultan. She must remain in Constantinople to give the appearance of normalcy, and, more important, to hold the serai and the city for her son.

Cyra died a thousand little deaths. Her every instinct nagged her to go to Selim. What did anything else matter as long as she was with her beloved husband? If they punished her afterward, she cared not Without Selim, she might as well be dead. But common sense triumphed. She could not help Selim, nor could she keep Azerael, the Black Angel of Death, from claiming his victim It was Suleiman who counted now, the son she had borne to follow his father. If it were known that the bas-kadin had hurriedly left the city for the south, the secret would be out and unthinkable troubles ought erupt The transition from Selim to Suleiman must be made swiftly and with a minimum of fuss. Only she could prevent a possible rebellion in the capital, and the capital was the key to the Ottoman Empire. The price of her son’s success was almost more than she could bear.