The Kadin (31 page)

Suleiman’s favorite sister was Mihri-Chan, the daughter of Sarina Kadin. She was twelve now and showed every sign of being a beauty—a petite, tawny creature like her mother, with tumbling dark, Gypsy curls and clear golden eyes. The sultan had not seen her in some time and was delighted with the change from little girl to half-grown woman. She danced for him with great grace, and sang like a nightingale while accompanying herself on a small lute.

“We shall have to find you a very special husband, but not quite yet You have such charm, little sister,
I
am loath to let you go.”

“I want to choose my own husband, as did my sisters,” replied the princess, who, like her mother, was quite outspoken.

“Have you anyone in mind?” laughed Suleiman teasingly.

“Ferhad Pasha.”

Suleiman raised an eyebrow but said nothing further. Instead, he turned to his two little sisters, Nakcidil and Mahpeyker, who were now six and a half. The youngest of Selim’s children knew their older brother only slightly and were in great awe of him. The sultan, however, loved children and easily overcame their shyness. His pockets seemed filled with an endless variety of treats guaranteed to delight little girls. He was also extremely facile at making funny shadows on the wall with his fingers and telling stories to go with the amusing shapes. The two tiny princesses were soon dissolved in giggles of delight and protested mightily when the hour grew late and their nurses came to take them off to bed. Sarina, Mihri-Chan, and Firousi also begged the sultan’s permission to retire. Cyra and her son were alone.

Suleiman smiled at her. “And now that we are alone, my mother, what is it you would speak to me about?”

She smiled back. “Turkey’s future, my son. It is several months since you became sultan, and yet you make no move to strengthen and expand our borders to the west Your father had great plans.”

“I am not a soldier, as was my father.”

“Selim Khan was many things. A soldier, yes. But also a poet, a lover, a scholar, a father—but most of all, he was a great ruler! Are you so different? Western Europe is terrified of us. How long will they remain so if my young lion becomes a house cat? If you do not move to protect our borders, they will advance into our lands beneath the blood-soaked banners of their faith and bring death, famine, and destruction to all the House of Osman has built.

“Now is the time for you to strike. They are occupied with their own internal problems and are unsuspecting.”

“As sultan I must lead the army with intelligence. How can I do so when the least among my soldiers has had more battle experience than I?”

“Your father’s plans are carefully written down, and it is all mapped out for you. Piri Pasha has them. All you need do is follow them The Janissaries were loyal to him. If you are clever, they will be loyal to you. They understand your lack of experience and will be patient if you will but lead them Now they grow restless penned within the city.”

Suleiman was thoughtful. “I should have to leave Gulbehar.”

“My son, it is Gulbehar’s duty to await her lord. You cannot live forever as we once did in the cocoon of the Moonlight Serai. You must enter the world and be a man! Listen to me, and I will tell you how to win the loyalty of the Janissaries.

“When the drum of war is sounded and the Janissaries go to draw their pay, go among them on foot and take a handful of silver aspers from the paymaster. I know this breaks with tradition, for the sultan always takes his pay from the cavalry. However, if you do as I say, you will win them over. You will not lose the cavalry’s support, since you ride with them.”

Suleiman marveled at the simplicity of his mother’s words and, following her suggestion, discovered she was right The Janissaries roared their approval of his small action and vowed to follow him forever.

Studying his father’s plans, Suleiman found that he had intended to take Belgrade when Rhodes had fallen. The sultan reversed the plan. Rhodes could not help Belgrade, but the Western Europeans, using Belgrade as a jumping-off spot could aid Rhodes by attacking his flank. With Belgrade safely in Ottoman hands and Barbarossa holding sway on the seas, Rhodes could expect no help at all.

In the spring of 1521, with the snow still melting on the distant mountains, a vast army marched westward from Constantinople for Belgrade. It was actually the grand vizier, Piri Pasha, who led the main attack force. Several days after the sultan’s arrival outside the city gates, its defenders fired the town and retired into its citadel. Suleiman quickly countered by ordering mines placed under the towers of the fortress.

One week later, on August 17, 1521, Belgrade surrendered. It was the sultan’s twenty-seventh birthday, and he was inclined to be merciful, allowing the Hungarian defenders to cross the Danube to freedom Bali Agha, head of the Janissaries, was made the city’s governor. With the coming of the first frost of September, the Ottoman army began its long return march south to Constantinople.

Western Europe was stunned but helpless. The Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, was busily at war with France. Henry VIII of England, after making the expected statement of distress and sympathy, went hawking with his Spanish queen. Venice, more concerned with her lucrative trade with the Turks than the fate of Belgrade, turned a blind eye. The way to Rhodes was open.

It took almost a year to plan and provision the next campaign. Then in late summer of 1522, the last of Suleiman’s army landed on Rhodes, and the Turkish batteries opened up. They were expecting another quick victory but were due to be sadly disappointed.

August passed and September. The Turkish casualties were higher than expected, not only among the common soldiers but among the officers as well. Suleiman grew impatient and angry with those around him, as well as with himself. Having taken full command from the beginning, he realized his errors. Belgrade had made him overconfident. His father would never have been caught in a situation like this. Selim would have marched quickly and struck swiftly. Suleiman had overprepared

The autumn rains came, lashing the island with their razor winds, turning the trenches into slimy bogs. It was cold, and the water seeped into everything, rotting and molding clothes and rusting equipment

For every man killed in battle, another died of fever in the trenches. Suleiman, fully committed now, would not retreat Shivering in his lean-to of tree boughs, he gave orders that the ancient ruins of Rhodes be restored to make decent winter quarters for the army. The siege would continue.

October. November. Then, in early December, the sultan, whose army had been slowly squeezing the Christian circle of defense smaller and smaller, sent word to the Knights of Hospitalers of Rhodes that his original terms of surrender still stood. If Philippe Villiers de l’Isle-Adam, grand master of the knights, would surrender the island to Suleiman, de l’Isle-Adam, his men, and the Christian inhabitants of Rhodes might remain in peace. They would be free to practice their religion, and the churches would not be turned into mosques. No slaves would be taken. Should they choose to leave, they and their possessions would be transported by the Turkish navy to safety in Crete.

De 1’Isle-Adam had less than a twelve-hour supply of powder left His force was cut down to one hundred and eighty knights. There was no other choice. He surrendered, and to his complete and unbelieving surprise, the Turkish sultan kept to the terms of the surrender. De lisle-Adam was grudging in his respect for Suleiman and secretly liked him. He knew that had the boot been on the other foot he would have slaughtered the Turks, and it disturbed him to think that those who fought beneath the banner of the good Lord Jesus could be less worthy than those who fought in the name of the Prophet.

The Knights Hospitalers of Rhodes, their wounds tenderly and skillfully treated by Arab doctors, were safely carried to Crete by Suleiman’s ships. The Christian inhabitants of Rhodes remained. With nothing to fear from Suleiman, they were loath to leave their homes and goods, and besides, they knew that life under the Ottoman government had more advantages than life under a variety of Christian kings.

With the surrender of Rhodes, the pretense of Christian unity passed, and the Ottoman Empire gained an important base upon the sea. In Western Europe, Charles V, Francis I, and Henry VIII cast a wary eye toward the East and wondered what was to come next.

36

W
HILE
S
ULEIMAN
occupied himself with war, his mother occupied herself seeking clever and beautiful girls to attract him. Already she had several in mind that she hoped would appeal to her son, for she felt his having only one kadin was not a healthy situation. There were a lovely blond Venetian, a merry, petite Provencal, a lovely, voluptuous Syrian, and an exquisite Circassian. Surely one—or, hopefully, all—of these maidens would appeal to Suleiman when he returned.

At the same time, she offered her friendship to Gulbehar. She felt no malice toward the girl and indeed, liked her. She simply knew her son and realized that eventually he would need more than a pleasing body to delight him. Then, too, there was the question of the succession. Little Mustafa was Suleiman’s only child

When the pressure of running the vast harem weighed heavily on her, Cyra would call for her litter and go to visit Nilufer and her children. These now numbered three, all boys. On one such visit, she noticed a petite girl dressed in plain garments who sat quietly sewing amid a group of maidens. There was something about the girl that struck Cyra. Despite her obviously humble rank, she laughed easily and refused to be bested by the others. Finally the valideh’s curiosity overcame her.

“Who is that girl?” she asked her daughter.

“Which one, mother?”

Cyra pointed impatiently. “That one!”

“Oh. Russalanie. She’s one of the Tartar captives who came in as tribute last year. Suleiman always sends me a few to supplement my staff. I never seem to have enough slaves.”

“I want that girl,” said Cyra, drawing a ruby ring from her finger and handing it to Nilufer. “She isn’t worth the price yet, but one day—or I miss my guess—shell be worth ten times more.”

“What on earth do you want her for?” Nilufer’s eyes widened at her mother’s look. “Surely not to tempt Suleiman? His harem is overflowing with several hundred lovely girls, and there are a dozen maidens here in my own household with more beauty than Russalanie. She is a savage!”

“You are young, my daughter, and can see only the obvious. Besides, the girl can be trained. I’ll take her with me.”

“In your palanquin? Really, mother! I will send her to the serai tomorrow.”

“And have everyone who watches wondering why I, who have more slaves than I need, have brought one from my daughter’s house? Gulbehar would waste a month’s slipper money trying to buy information. No! The girl comes with me today. Then I can control the situation.”

Nilufer flung up her hands. “You are impossible!”

“I am your mother, and I will thank you to remember it. Now I see why your sons lack manners. You have obviously forgotten everything I ever taught you. See that the girl is told and is ready for my departure.”

Shortly afterward, Nilufer stood on the portico of her palace and watched as her mother’s palanquin disappeared from sight The valideh’s conveyance was a magnificent thing. Built of solid oak, it was covered with thin sheets of hammered gold encrusted with precious jewels in a floral design, and hung with midnight-blue curtains lined in pale-yellow silk. Eight perfectly matched coal-black slaves, wearing green satin pantaloons, leopard skins across their shoulders, and heavy gold collars, carried it

As the bearers wended their way back to the palace, Cyra coolly observed the girl, who huddled in the corner farthest from her. Finally the valideh spoke.

“They tell me your name is Russalanie.”

“The other women called me that because I come from the plains of Russia. My name is Roxelana.”

“How did you become a captive?”

Roxelana smiled mischievously. “I did not run fast enough,” she said.

“You wanted to be caught?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Each year the Tartars raid the villages in our region for virgins for their tribute to the Grand Turk. Look at me! I am tiny, yet what more was there for me in my village than for any other girl? Marriage. Babies. Hard work in the fields. I am too small to do my share, and besides, I hate farming.

“We had a priest in our village who could both read and write. He taught me. I read the few books he owned, and learned there was more in the world than my village could offer. Then one day a peddler came, and he had been in Constantinople. He told wonderful stories of how the girls in the sultan’s harem lived Uves of great luxury and ease. Of course the other girls thought it was a wicked, ungodly life, but I didn’t.

“So, when the Tartars came last year and all the women ran to hide, I waited until the last moment to run. Naturally, I was caught.” She shrugged and laughed. “And look at me now! Instead of being pampered in the sultan’s harem, I am the humblest of slaves in his sister’s house. I would have been better off in my own village!”

“You are an absolute barbarian and are not fit to enter my son’s harem now, but perhaps someday you will be. You will not return to my daughter’s home. You have a great deal to learn before I can even consider allowing my son to see you.”

Roxelana’s eyes flashed at the valideh’s words, but she said nothing. Good, thought Cyra. They have not broken her spirit, but she is wise enough to hold her tongue. Aloud, Cyra said, “You read and write your own language. I see you have learned Turkish, too, though your accent is atrocious. This is a good start, my child. We will work on that first. What else can you do?”

“I am told I embroider well” She drew a small square of silk from her bodice and gave it to the valideh. The little cloth was covered with pretty fruits and flowers, cleverly done animals, and castles.

Cyra nodded “I shall put you in the care of the keeper of the linen. You have much to learn, but if you trust me, you may well rise to a high position in your world You must be discreet and never draw attention to yourself. Obey the eunuchs and the women in charge. We shall find your talents and develop them until there is no girl in the harem who is as accomplished as you. Then possibly you may attract the sultan. Do you sing?”

“A bit.”

“A bit,
my lady.
Your manners are bad! However, you are not, I can see, a stupid girl, Roxelana. You will learn quickly, I am sure.”

‘To gain all that you promise, my lady, I will study hard!”

“I promise you nothing, child. I have said only that with work it is within the realm of the possible. Obey me, and at the proper time you will be brought to my son’s attention. If we move too soon and you displease him, there is no second chance. Do you understand me?”

The girl nodded.

“Good! Now, the first improvement we shall make is your name. Roxelana. Russalanie. It is not Turkish. From this moment on, you will answer to the name Khurrem. I have on several occasions watched you at my daughter’s home. You laugh easily and are cheerful and merry. Khurrem means the ‘Laughing One.’”

Khurrem smiled happily. “Thank you, my lady. I like it!”

Cyra leaned forward and peered through the curtains of the palanquin. They were approaching the palace. “One last thing,” she said. “I will show you no obvious mark of favor in the serai, but that does not mean I am not watching and encouraging you. Now sit back and be silent We are almost home.”

The bearers trotted their burden through the gates of the Eski Serai and went directly to the Garden Court. Once inside her apartments, Cyra sent for the keeper of the linen, a motherly woman in her early fifties. Rising as the lady entered, she held out her hands in greeting. “Ah, Cervi! How good it is to see you. I wanted to tell you how exquisite the undergarments your girls did for me were, but alas, I am so busy!” Opening a casket by her side, she paused for a moment and then casually lifted out a rope of creamy pearls with the faintest hint of pink in them and slipped them over the woman’s neck. “A small token. Sit down, and Ruth will bring us some coffee.”

The keeper of the linen, flustered and delighted at the same time, settled herself while happily fingering the pearls. Coffee was brought, and, pouring, the valideh handed her a tiny enameled cup. For a while they chatted idly, then Cyra asked, “How many girls are in your oda, Cervi?”

“Five, madam. Most of the maidens are not clever enough with a needle to suit me. Perhaps I am over-critical, though,” she apologized.

Cyra handed her the silken square that Khurrem had embroidered. “What do you think of this work?”

Cervi took the cloth and examined it carefully. “It is very good, madam. Very good indeed.”

Cyra called to Marian, “Send the slave Khurrem to me.” She turned back to Cervi. “If you feel the work is truly good, you may have this girl in your oda. There could possibly be bigger things in store for her, and you would certainly profit by having an oda that produced a favorite.”

Cervi nodded in agreement as the girl entered, bowed to her and the valideh, and stood quietly, her eyes lowered modestly, her hands folded.

“Ah,” smiled Cyra. “This is Khurrem. She is one of the Tartar captives brought in as tribute last year. She has been doing simple sewing at my daughter’s home, but when I saw how clever her embroidery was, I brought her back. Though she is clever with her needle, she is incredibly ignorant in all other ways. I think under your care she may become an accomplished maiden.”

Cervi knew she had no real choice. At least the girl was clever with her needle, and as the valideh had pointed out, there were distinct advantages in being in charge of a possible favorite. Cervi had no doubt that if Cyra Hafise wanted this girl to become the sultan’s kadin, she would indeed become his kadin.

“I am pleased to cooperate with you, my lady,” Cervi said.

“Khurrem is to be treated like any other maiden, Cervi, Show her no favor unless she merits it, and punish her when she deserves it I will not have her spoiled.”

“Of course, madam.”

“And, Cervi, make no mention of this. Do you understand me? She is simply a clever seamstress.”

Cervi smiled. “Yes, madam. I understand you perfectly.”

Such was the entrance into the harem of the “Laughing One.”

On the first day that Cervi’s oda was scheduled for the baths, the validen secreted herself in a hidden room overlooking the gediklis’ bathing area in order to get a good look at her purchase. She was not disappointed.

Khurrem was a blond, and after her hair had been scrubbed and rinsed several times with lemon juice, it shone bright as a gold piece. It was a wonderful foil for her heart-shaped face with its little pointed chin and large, smoky-violet eyes.

Her figure was perfection. Standing barely an inch over five feet, she had firm, globe-shaped breasts, a tiny waist, and round, rosy buttocks. Her slender legs were well-shaped and surprisingly long for her stature. Complementing her lovely hair, eyes, and figure was her creamy skin color.

As the months slipped by, Khurrem improved in many ways. She learned to speak Turkish smoothly in her soft, rich voice. As clever as she was with a needle, she was more so with music She learned to play both the lute and the guitar and had an amusing way of tapping her heels while singing to her own accompaniment Her manners became flawless, and, taking the valideh’s advice, she seemed never to appear twice in the same costume. Actually this was not true, for as a mere gediklis the Russian girl had a small wardrobe, but she did have a knack of adding small touches that distinguished and gave variety to her clothes.

If she had one fault it was that she never forgot a slight When whipped for a misdemeanor, she would not weep like the other girls; instead, she would rise and stare at her tormentor for a moment with a look that clearly said, “I will not forget” Still, Cyra Hafise was pleased with Khurrem’s progress and sure she had found a girl to lure Suleiman from Gulbehar’s constant attentions.

With Belgrade and Rhodes safely within the Ottoman fold, Suleiman returned to his capital. He had changed, and Cyra was delighted. Two years of campaigning had turned her polite, intellectual, and somewhat hesitant son into a man of strength. He now understood the need for conquest in order to protect his borders, and was certainly capable of ruling an empire.

His people welcomed him joyously, his family warmly. Being family-oriented, he spent his first evening at home within his mother’s court This seeming act of respect was highly approved by the Turks, but the truth was that Suleiman wished to speak of all he had done and was planning to do, and Gulbehar was simply not a good audience for such talk.

The valideh felt genuine sympathy for her son’s kadin, who, having been educated only in the arts of physically pleasing a man, thought that this was enough. Cyra knew that the women most successful with their lords were the ones who appealed to them mentally as well as physically. She also knew that Gulbehar would never comprehend this.

As the evening drew to a close, Suleiman turned to Mihri-Chan and said, “You are to be married in the summer, my sister.”

“Did I not tell you,” snapped the little firebrand, “that I will choose my own husband as did my sisters?”

“Then you refuse your sultan’s choice?”

“I do!”

“Ferhad Pasha will be most disappointed,” murmured the sultan with mock sadness.

A look of joy lit Mihri-Chan’s golden-brown eyes. “Ferhad Pasha! You have chosen Ferhad Pasha as my husband?”

Smiling, Suleiman nodded.

“Oh, my sultan! I hear and obey!” cried the happy princess. Then she launched herself at her brother, grabbed a handful of his dark hair, and pulled hard. “You beast! You frightened me to death! I thought you were foisting me off on some dusty old emir! How could you terrify me so? You don’t love me at all!”

Laughing, the sultan loosened her grip on his hair and, slipping a sweetmeat into the offending hand, said to Sarina. “Aunt, this maiden’s manners are appalling. Perhaps she is not ready for marriage.”

Sarina, joining in the game, replied, “I cannot say I disagree with you, Suleiman, but she is growing old—fifteen this March—and if we do not marry her off now, we shall have to retire her to the Pavilion of Older Women.”

Mihri-Chan looked from her mother to her brother. Both wore grave faces, and suddenly she wondered if they could be serious. “Ohhh! I’ll be good, I promise!” she wailed.