The Kadin (30 page)

Then, several weeks later, as she sat quietly embroidering with Sarina and Firousi, she felt the room go icy cold. Suddenly her face was wet with hot tears that coursed silently and uncontrollably down her cheeks. Guiltily she glanced up to see if the other kadins had noticed, and discovered to her surprise that they, too, were silently weeping.

No words were said—no words were needed. The sultan’s stricken kadins knew in that one moment the sad and awful truth. Selim of Turkey was dead.

PART IV
Hafise
1520–1533

35

T
HE SULTAN WAS DEAD
, and alt of Western Europe, heaving a sigh of relief, waited to sec what kind of a ruler his son would be. For now, however, there was time to breathe.

Thanks to the cleverness of Piri Pasha, the transition between sultans had been smooth, Selim’s grand vizier had managed to keep the sultan’s death a secret from his soldiers—and therefore from all of the empire—for almost six days. By that time, Suleiman, having been notified, and riding hard from Magnesia, had reached Constantinople and put on the sword of Ayub.

For three weeks Cyra lay on her couch, hardly moving. Marian and Ruth were desperate. Coaxing, they tried to feed her broth and soft white bread but for every three meals they brought her, she picked at one. Desperate for a solution, Marian went to the agha.

“You must help us, my lord Anber. For three weeks she has lain prostrate with grief. We cannot rouse her.”

“I will come and speak with her,” replied the agha. “I think I have the key to unlock her self-pity.”

Waddling into her bedchamber, he seated himself by her couch. “My lady, it distresses me to see you so. Especially when your help and wisdom are needed”

There was no response.

“I must know when you will be well enough to move to new quarters. The lady Gulbehar demands that you vacate these apartments now that she bears the title of bas-kadin.”

A flicker.

He continued “What a pity your son has not found the time to declare you the valideh. By right the title is yours, but alas, since you do not hold it, Gulbehar rules supreme in the harem.”

“What do you mean, Gulbehar rules the harem?”

“You know the etiquette, my lady Cyra. She is the sultan’s bas-kadin. You are merely the former sultan’s bas-kadin.”

She sat up. “Leave me. I would dress and see my son, who seems to have forgotten who made him sultan.”

“As you will, madam,” replied the agha, smiling archly. Entering the salon, he said to Marian, “Attend your mistress. She wishes to dress and see her son. I think our young sultan is about to lose his first battle. May it not be a portent of things to come.”

Cyra dressed carefully. She would never again wear the slash-skirted dress of a kadin. Instead, she put on the tunic dress of a valideh. Though she had lain for weeks in grief, her servants had not been idle. The tunic was of black brocade embroidered in gold thread and teardrop pearls. Her beautiful hair, still bright, was braided into a coronet and held with pearl pins. A sheer black silk veil edged in fine lace covered her head.

Carefully she outlined her eyes in kohl, lightly dusted her face with powder to accentuate her pallor, and then reddened her lips. The years have not changed me, she thought, carefully searching her mirror for signs of age. There were none. Though her first youth was long gone, she could pass for a young woman of twenty-five, and it pleased her vanity and gave her confidence.

She knew exactly where to find Suleiman. Sweeping into Gulbehar’s chamber, she glanced scornfully at the girl and commanded, “Leave us. I wish to speak to my son in private.”

Gulbehar, not quite sure how to react, and not wishing to face down her mother-in-law in Suleiman’s presence, hastily scrambled to her feet and slipped out

Cyra turned to Suleiman. “For three weeks I have lain ill with grief, and not once have you visited me!” Her voice was cold.

“There has been much to do, mother. I had no time.”

“You have time for Gulbehar!”

“Gulbehar is my kadin, and she is feeling frightened by her new position.”

“I am your mother! Without me you would not have had life. Without me you would not have had Gulbehar! Do not forget that, my young Hon—even in your high place. Now, why have you not declared me valideh? Is the harem to be ruled by a mere chit of twenty-two who wears garnet glass in her hair while I am shunted off to the Pavilion of Older Women? Already your kadin has had the bad manners to demand my apartments.”

Suleiman flushed “I am truly sorry, mother. Of course it is out of the question for Gulbehar to move into the Garden Court It is the home of my mother and my aunts as long as they choose. I shall speak to my kadin.”

Cyra, somewhat mollified, changed her tactics. “Do not be harsh, my son. Gulbehar is young. She has not had the guidance of an older woman these last few years. She is spoiled and has not had the chance to mature in the company of other women, since you have no others. She has given you your only son. Is it any wonder she is puffed up?”

“You are right mother. Living away from court has not helped, either.”

“Your father had four kadins, and the lady Refet was there to guide us. Gulbehar has bad no one. You must declare me valideh. Only then will I have the right to school her—and in fairness, my son, it is my right”

“I shall do it mother!”

“Today. Before the sun sets over the Golden Horn, Suleiman.”

“Before the sun sets, mother, I shall declare you the sultan valideh Hafise.”

“Hafise? I am called Cyra.”

“No one outside the serai knows the names of its women. Hadji Bey named you Cyra, the ‘Flame.’ He saw in you things no proper son would see in his mother. On the few occasions you have traveled through the city, the people have given my father’s kadins names of their own. They called you the “Fiery One.’ Firousi was the ‘Fair One.’ Zuleika was the ‘Woman of Cathay,’ and Sarina was known as the ‘Dark-Haired One.’

“I have always looked up to you, mother. You have been the source of my wisdom, and so I shall publicly call you Hafise, the “Wise One.’ If you would be valideh, you will bear this name and no other.”

“Very well, my son. To please you, I shall be Hafise. I only hope I will not disappoint those who take my new name seriously.”

Suleiman smiled down on her. “You have never disappointed me, mother. I know you never disappointed my father, even at the end when he was so changed. If you can please two Ottoman sultans, how can the people be disappointed?”

“Selim was right You are a diplomat Now, if we can make of you as good a soldier and judge, perhaps history will be kind enough to remember you. Allah! I am ravenously hungry! I have hardly eaten these last few weeks.” Kissing him lightly, she reminded him, “Remember—by sunset” and she left him.

No sooner had Cyra gone than Gulbehar crept back into the room “What did she want?”

“Her rights, which I have too long overlooked,” answered Suleiman. “She will be declared sultan validen by day’s end.”

Gulbehar pouted. “Oh, my lord! That is so old-fashioned!”

Suleiman looked at his honey-haired kadin with her petulant little mouth. He could not help but notice the shimmering garnet glass that his mother had so acidly mentioned, nor the fact that Gulbehar had become undisciplined. Once again, his mother was right
She
never faded him.

“You will obey her,” he said, “and give her your respect She is the ‘Crown of the Veiled Heads’ and will be treated as such. Go to her this afternoon, and take Mustafa with you. Give her your felicitations on her appointment Perhaps she will teach you how to dress. You do not look like a sultan’s kadin, but like a country wife!”

Gulbehar’s mouth opened in surprise. Then she began to cry. “You are cruel to me! You have never before complained of the way I dress! It is your mother who has set you against me!”

The young sultan took Gulbehar in Ms arms. “Do not weep. My mother likes you. It was she who pointed out that I do not dress you as the bas-kadin of a sultan should be dressed. She feels your beauty is not sufficiently adorned,” soothed the young diplomat.

Gulbehar, placated, sniffed softly. “Do not look at me,” she said. “My eyes are all red and swoflen.”

“Your eyes are beautiful, my little flower. Now I must leave you. I have work to do.”

He rose, kissed her, and strode from the room. Gulbehar watched him go, then picked up a mirror and began to contemplate her reflection.

By that evening, everyone in the serai and throughout the capital knew that Suleiman had publicly declared his mother the sultan valideh Hafise. The older women of the palace were relieved. In the few weeks that Cyra had lain ill and powerless with grief, Gulbehar’s ignorance had slowly begun to erode the carefully set up system of harem government.

Without firm adult authority, the young girls had grown lax in their behavior, and petty quarrels had been the order of the day. Now uncertainty was the mood among these lovely creatures. They were well aware that Cyra Hafise had a sharp eye and brooked no nonsense.

The following morning, the valideh woke to eat an enormous breakfast Her head was clear and her mind whirling with plans. She had carefully thought before sleeping the previous night of her position now. She was the first wife of a dead sultan and the mother of the current sultan. Never again would she live and love as a normal woman might There was nothing left but power—but such power! She was inviolate. Not only throughout the harem, but throughout the empire, her word was law. There would be times when even her son would defer to her. In a woman of lesser character this might have given rise to fearful abuses, but Cyra Hafise had been well schooled by both Hadji Bey and Selim. Her common sense prevailed.

Conferring with the agha, she decided that all maidens over the age of twenty would be honorably dismissed from the harem. They would be given as wives to those Suleiman wished to honor or reward in commemoration of his accession as head of the House of Osman. Each girl would be given a good dowry, not only of clothes and jewels but also of money. Maidens raised and schooled in the harem were highly prized as wives, and the gesture was met with general approval.

Of the remaining women, many were past the age of childbearing and other usefulness. They were retired to the Pavilion of Older Women, where they might live out their days gossiping happily in security and comfort

Firousi and Sarina were delighted to see Cyra her old self again. The combination of Selim’s death and their friend’s prostrate condition had badly frightened them. They, too, had loved Selim, though never so deeply as Cyra.

For Firousi there had always been the memory of the childhood bridegroom from whom she had been snatched on her wedding day. Sarina, on the other hand, had realized that Cyra was Selim’s great love. Afraid to love a man too deeply who loved another, her passion had been reserved for her children. Nevertheless, both women had wept genuine tears at Selim’s death, and they missed him greatly, for he had been the pivotal force in their lives. No longer wives of a living sultan, they wondered what the future held for them They dreaded the thought of inactivity, but here Cyra was ahead of them.

Of the women left after the valideh’s housecleaning, the older ladies were given positions of varying importance within the harem administration that Cyra now set up. Two new and very important positions were created for Selim’s second and fourth kadins. Firousi became the kahya kadin, or head stewardess. Next to the valideh, she was held most in respect and carried an imperial seal, making her a powerful ally. Sarina was honored with the new post of haznedar us ta, or mistress of the treasury. She would control all the expenditures and monies for the harem, making her another strong ally for Cyra.

Of the young girls, only the cream had been kept and more female slaves arrived at the Eski Serai every day. The most promising of the new captives joined the other gediklis, and all the maidens were reassigned to new odas, each presided over by its competent and older oda mistress.

There was to be no more idleness. Each gediklis was assigned a household task which she was expected to perform daily. Personal interests and talents were sought out and encouraged. If a girl showed a talent for music, she studied music. If her aptitude was languages, she was taught as many as she could absorb. If her forte was embroidery, she was set to work making underclothes and other fine garments for the imperial family. Kept busy, these young, nubile creatures were less apt to involve themselves in troublemaking and intrigue. Cyra Hafise had seen enough of that in Bajazet’s days.

The discipline was strong. Diligence and honest effort were always rewarded. Laziness and minor misdemeanors were chastised by the oda mistresses. Major faults were brought to the attention of the valideh. Those who had appeared before the formidable Cyra Hafise had to admit that, though severe, she was fair.

However, the greatest incentive for excellence was the fact that the sultan had only one favorite. To his mother’s chagrin and the frustration of the entire harem, he seemed satisfied with the bland and spoiled Gulbehar. It was the one thorn in Cyra’s side.

The favorite was twenty-two. She had changed in the eight years that she had been with him. Gone was the little girl who had meekly stood before Selim. The innocent sweetness that had so charmed Cyra had disappeared, and in its place was a cloying, clinging sweetness that—it seemed to the valideh—would suffocate her son. Gulbehar was spoiled and apt to be petulant when denied her own way. Worst of all was her stupidity and complacency. Having produced little Mustafa, she was satisfied that nothing else could possibly be required of her. She spent each day in complete idleness, playing with her son and winding garnet glass in her hair.

Cyra could not understand Suleiman’s fascination with the girl, but she suspected that he saw in Gulbehar what he imagined was the perfect young mother. The valideh knew that her son treasured his own childhood memories of the warm and close family at the Moonlight Send. He also adored his own mother and probably believed that with Gulbehar the happy pattern was repeating itself.

Soon enough he would learn how unimaginative the girl was, but in the meantime the valideh decided to get her son off to war. In an effort to keep him safe for the crown, they had insulated him. Selim had seen it too late, but she would correct it now.

Choosing her time carefully, she waited until Gulbehar was unavailable to her lord for several days. Then Suleiman was asked to the Garden Court to partake in a simple family evening with his mother, aunts, and three young sisters. It was an intimate party, as of old. The slaves had been dismissed, and only Marian and Ruth remained to serve them.