The Kadin (33 page)

In the autumn of 1524, Khurrem presented Suleiman with their first child, a son named Selim. Eleven and a half months later, another son, Bajazet, was born to the Russian. He was followed by his sister, Mihrmah, and a third brother, Jahangir.

With three healthy sons—young Mustafa and the little prince Selim and Bajazet—the line of Osman was assured. Little Jahangir, born sickly and a hunchback, could never become sultan, since the law forbade the anointing of a deformed man.

However, animosity grew daily between Gulbehar and Khurrem. And as if the trouble between Suleiman’s two kadins were not enough, Cyra had another—and to her mind more serious—worry. Firousi was not well. The court physician, Alaeddin Cerdet, diagnosed a heart difficulty, complicated by a retention of fluids. If she were not taken away from her duties as kahya kadin and the constant excitement of the court, she could easily die.

The solution was, of course, painfully simple. The valideh discussed it thoroughly with Hale and Guzel, and in the end it was decided that Firousi would leave the Eski Serai to live with Hale and her family. Riza ben Ismet, Hale’s husband warmed Cyra’s heart with his enthusiasm. Now, he told the sultan valideh, he would have three beautiful blonds in his house—his wife, his daughter, and his mother-in-law—and he would of course, be the most envied man in the empire. My lady Cyra was not to worry, either, he continued for he would personally see that Firousi Kadin followed the diet prescribed by Alaeddin Cerdet and took plenty of exercise.

Unfortunately, Firousi was not inclined to be cooperative in this matter. “How,” she asked Cyra, her turquoise eyes flashing, “how can you send me away?”

“How can I not? You have heard the doctor’s diagnosis.”

“We have been together since the very beginning. We have never been separated since that one time you and Zuleika went to Persia with our lord Selim. When you returned we vowed never again would we be apart”

“Zuleika is dead Dead, because I allowed her to go into a plague-infested court to nurse Hassan and Nureddin. I could have forbidden it and sent slaves, but I allowed my heart to overrule my head, and Zuleika died before her time because of my weakness. I will not allow you to the because within my heart I want you to stay. After Selim died and Suleiman made me sultan valideh, I dreamed of you and Sarina and I growing old together in peace and contentment, but how can I be content if I must worry about your health? I will not let you die, Firousi! I ask you, my dearest friend, to leave the Eski Serai and live with Hale and her family. But if you will not go voluntarily, I shall order it in my capacity as sultan valideh. I will not let you die! I will not!”

Firousi stared in amazement at Cyra, She had rarely seen her friend cry in all the years they had been together, but now the tears were pouring down Cyra’s cheeks. Wordlessly, she clasped Cyra to her bosom and, sighing deeply, said simply, “I shall go.”

The sultan’s troubles with the women in his family increased. His brother-in-law Ferhad Pasha was recalled from Syria for misuse of his power. He had used his position to execute several personal enemies. Suleiman, like Selim, scrupulously upheld the law, and so Ferhad was dismissed and retired to his estates along the sea.

The valideh, ever watchful of her son’s best interests, knew that the dashing Ferhad Pasha would not stay quiet long. She argued fiercely for the pasha’s reinstatement “He has a well of energy. It is better that that energy work for us, not against us. You cannot expect the wild horse to pull the plow. It is better to turn him loose among our enemies and cause confusion.”

Suleiman was reluctant. “My instinct tells me that Ferhad is hungry for, yet corrupted by, power. If I trust him again, he will betray me again.”

“As Allah wills it” replied Cyra. “But should this happen, you will execute him, and who will say you have done wrong? In the meantime, you must think of your sister Mihri-Chan. Is this how you would treat her now that she is finally with child?”

“I did not know. Very well, I will reassign Ferhad for the sake of my sister and their unborn son, but only to a small post somewhere in his homeland along the Danube. If he does well and there is no repetition of his old tricks, I shall restore him completely. However, Mihri-Chan may not join him until after the birth of my nephew. She will move back into the harem with her mother.”

Mihri-Chan was not pleased to hear that she must remain in Constantinople, but suffered it for her husband’s sake. At their parting, Ferhad said tenderly to her, “When I return, the first thing I would see as I enter the palace is you, my love, holding our son within your soft arms.”

In seven months’ time, Mihri-Chan was safely delivered of a healthy son, who was named Suleiman in honor of his uncle. Three months later, Ferhad Pasha rode through the gates of the palace, and the first thing that he did see was his wife, their son nestled in her soft arms. One hour later, Ferhad Pasha was dead—judged and bowstringed by order of the sultan, who had recalled him for the very abuse of power that had brought him back from Syria.

That night Suleiman entered his mother’s court and was accosted by his sister, now garbed in black. For a long moment they stared at one another, and finally Mihri-Chan spoke. “I hope it will not be long before I wear mourning for you, my
beloved
brother.” Then, turning, she melted into the night In the morning they found her dead. Mihri-Chan had swallowed poison.

Desolate, Suleiman retired to his quarters and wept bitterly. His sadness was increased by the fact that Sarina, resigning her position as haznedar usta, had requested his permission to take her orphaned grandson and leave the serai. His sister Guzel had offered them a home. Sarina was eager to go, and Suleiman could not refuse her.

Taking her leave of him, she somewhat eased his guilt. “Do not grieve, my nephew. Mihri-Chan was grief-stricken. She would not have done it otherwise.”

“She would be alive today, aunt if I had forgiven Ferhad.”

Sarina surprised him “Ferhad was a mad dog, and mad dogs must be killed. Ah, do not stare so. It is true. My daughter told me many things. Her weakness was that she loved him oonsumingly. Better that Ferhad remained a soldier, for power corrupted him. He would not have stopped until all of Turkey was embroiled in civil war. I will always be near should you need the services of this old woman. Perhaps in a few years’ time little Suleiman will enter the Princes’ School. There he may be trained for service to his sultan and thus wipe away his father’s shame.”

They embraced, and he watched as she walked slowly from his sight Like his mother, Suleiman questioned the quick passage of time. Only yesterday Sarina had been a slim maiden, her chestnut curls shaking, her golden eyes flashing as she scolded and chased him from her tulip beds. Now the chestnut hair was steel-gray and the lovely golden eyes faded and sad. Lines of grief and age marked the once-smooth face. She was growing old, and he had not noticed it until today.

Aside from his mother and Firousi, Sarina was his last link with the past His father, his grandfather, Zuleika Kadin, the lady Refet Hadji Bey, and his brothers were all dead. And the silvery-blond Firousi, like Sarina, had gone from the serai to live with her daughter Hale.

Sighing, he realized that he, too, was growing older—he would be thirty-two on his next birthday. It was early in the year 1526, and the battle for Hungary loomed ahead.

38

A
S USUAL
, the princes of Western Europe were embroiled in their own petty quarrels. Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor, had trouble on three fronts. In Spain, the Moors were regrouping and stubbornly resisting the church’s efforts at conversion. In Germany, Martin Luther had not only the peasants but the landed aristocracy on his side, and all was in turmoil. To the south, France fought the emperor’s troops for possession of northern Italy, and only the capture of the French king, Francis I, ended the conflict.

To the east the Hungarians had held off the invading Turks for five years. Exhausted they now appealed to Charles V, but despite the fact that Charles’s sister Mary was married to the Hungarian king, Louis, the Holy Roman Emperor demurred and dragged his royal feet He was far too occupied with his own troubles to be overly concerned with those of his brother-in-law.

In August 1526, Suleiman led his men against the Hungarians at the village of Mohács. He won a sweeping victory which he quickly followed by taking the Hungarian capital of Buda. The Ottoman Empire now reached to within one hundred and forty miles, as the crow flies, from Vienna. The pashas counseled pressing onward into the soft underbelly of Europe, but winter was coming, and Suleiman returned home to Constantinople instead.

Earlier in the year, the sultan had received a letter from the queen mother of France, who asked his help in gaining the release of her son. On learning of this, Charles V released Francis, but not without gaining heavy concessions, claiming he had been forced to sign them. He also disavowed his friendship with Suleiman and declared he would lead a Crusade against the infidel Turk.

Still, Suleiman demurred on pressing further into Europe. The young diplomat who had become such a great soldier was again becoming a diplomat Cyra disagreed. Only if he took Vienna would the rulers of Western Europe view the Ottoman sultan seriously. But Suleiman was adamant He hoped to gain the friendship of the West by remaining at peace.

Unfortunately, the less sophisticated rulers of Christian Europe could not see the wisdom of an alliance with the Ottoman Empire. In the name of their religion they insulted and harried the Turks until Suleiman was forced to march on Vienna in order to protect his western boundaries.

For several weeks he had attempted to lay siege to the city, but for the first time in his military career he was faced with a well-trained Christian army. Fortifying Vienna, its defenders retreated within and held the sultan at bay for twelve days.

Arriving at the city in high spirits, Suleiman had sent the following greeting to the Austrians: “On the third day I shall eat breakfast within your walls.” On the afternoon of the third day, the Austrian commander, Nicholas, count of Salm, sent a message back to the sultan. It read: ‘Your breakfast is getting cold.”

At any other time Suleiman would have laughed, but winter was coming on. He remembered the terrible winter siege of Rhodes. Fodder for the horses was getting scarce, and within days the snows would begin blocking the mountain passes back to Turkey. His lines of supply cut, he would be forced to defend himself instead of attacking the Austrians.

The sultan did not hesitate. Giving the order to pull out he marched his army home, where another defeat of sorts awaited him. He could not keep peace even in his own harem. His kadins had become openly hostile to one another, and only the strength of the valideh prevented the serai from splitting into two camps.

For several years, Cyra had constantly changed attendants in the suites of her daughter-in-law’s to prevent them from forming friendships that might grow into partisanship. Though this policy had helped to some extent, it had not prevented Khurrem from attracting allies. Who could resist the beautiful blond Russian, compared to the sulky, embittered Gulbehar?

One morning the valideh and the two kadins were seated out-of-doors taking advantage of the late autumn sunshine when Prince Selim, a short, pudgy child of six, came howling to his mother.

“Mustafa pushed me down,” he wailed, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve—a habit Cyra found disgusting and had tried without success to eradicate.

Five-year-old Bajazet trotted up. “No, he didn’t We were playing tag, and Selim fell over his own feet as Mustafa reached to tag him. He always ducks to avoid being ‘it’ but this time he fell and skinned his knee on a stone.”

Prince Selim grew red in the face. “Liar Liar!” he shrieked at his younger brother. “You always take his part! When I am sultan, the first thing I’ll do is cut off your head!” He punctuated this last remark by a chopping motion of his hand, and then, giving Bajazet a shove that sent him sprawling on the lawn, ran off. The younger prince scrambled to his feet and gave chase.

Gulbehar turned slowly to face Khurrem. “Sol You’ve been telling your fat little brat he is to be sultan. How dare you?! Mustafa is his father’s heir!
Mustafa, not Selim!
It was settled years ago.”

“Was it?” drawled Khurrem. “I do not recall Suleiman officially and openly declaring Mustafa his heir. Why should he? Simply because you had the good fortune to bear
my
dearest lord a child before I did is no reason for making your son heir rather than my Selim.”

“I
am the bas-kadin, and so acknowledged by our lord. Is your knowledge of Turkish still so poor, foreigner, that you do not know that bas-kadin means ‘mother of the heir’?”

“I always thought it meant ‘favorite,’ though you are certainly not that. My many children are proof of my lord’s love for me.”

“Your children?” replied Gulbehar. “Three sons, and only one of them fit to bear the title of prince. As for the other two, one is an overfed, overindulged, overbearing little monster, and the other a cripple! Then we have your precious daughter, a wise child who screams at the very sight of you. Bajazet is the only decent son you have spawned. If our lord Suleiman had coupled with a dog, the bitch would have produced a better litter than you!”

Cyra saw it coming but could not rise quickly enough to prevent it. Like a springing tigress, Khurrem attacked Gulbehar. Screaming threats, the bas-kadin fought back, but, though smaller, Khurrem was the better fighter. She kicked, gouged, pummeled, and used her nails to great effect.

Frantically, over the screams of the two women, the valideh called to the eunuchs, who came running to separate the sultan’s wives. In that last moment Gulbehar struck her only real blow. As the eunuchs pinioning the second kadin’s arms pulled her up off the bas-kadin, Gulbehar reached up and raked her long red nails down the Russian girl’s face. Khurrem screamed wildly in rage as she was borne off, still struggling, to her own apartments. Gulbehar, brushing aside the eunuch’s hand, rose and walked silently away.

Cyra could not conceal the incident for there had been far too many witnesses, but she must try. Hurrying indoors, she sent for the agha kislar. He had already heard.

“Bribe everyone you can,” she told him. “Word of this shameful incident must not go beyond the palace walls.”

“Madam”—his brown face puckered like a baby’s—“madam, I do not know if I can. Already the tale runs through the palace as a virgin runs from marauding soldiers.”

“You must try, Anber Bey. If it is known that my son cannot keep peace in his own household, he will lose face. This must not happen!”

She had intended to keep this domestic crisis a secret from Suleiman but was forced to speak to him that very night Taking coffee with his mother, as was his habit the sultan sent a message to Khurrem that he desired her presence later in the evening. Khurrem sent back the message that she could not possibly appear before her lord when she was so disfigured.

Cyra could not help but laugh at the cleverness of her Russian daughter-in-law. The valideh had personally seen to Khurrem’s wounds. The scratches on her face were not deep, would leave no trace, and would heal within a week.

Gulbehar, hearing that Khurrem had been sent for and had refused to come to her lord, swiftly appeared on the scene and began to pour out a string of unintelligible complaints to the sultan. Cyra quickly sent her away. Confused, the sultan turned to his mother for an explanation. Using the moment to her own advantage, Cyra placed the blame squarely on Suleiman.

“This is your fault,” she said. “For eleven years you favored no one but Gulbehar. For the past seven years, you have looked only at Khurrem. There has always been animosity between them, and this afternoon it broke into open physical combat Had you taken other favorites, as I often suggested, each would have been far too busy trying to lure you from the others, and Gulbehar and Khurrem would not have had time to concentrate on their hatred for one another.”

“I must go to Khurrem. She must be badly hurt if she will not present herself to me.”

“You are a fool, my son! Khurrem has naught but a few minor scratches. She is wise enough to gain your sympathy by not complaining and by denying you her company, while poor Gulbehar is a mass of bruises and bites.”

“In Allah’s name, mother, what am I to do with them?”

“Is Mustafa your choice as heir?”

“Yes.”

“Then officially declare him so at once. Do you still care for Gulbehar?”

“I am fond of her, mother. She is a good woman. But I shall not seek her bed again.”

“Then, after declaring Mustafa your heir, send him and his mother to Magnesia. It is time the boy began to learn how to govern. What more fitting place than the province that was yours in your father’s time?” He nodded his agreement.

“As for Khurrem, no wonder she is overproud. You have spoiled her outrageously. You
must
take more favorites. The harem is full of lovely and talented maidens. I cannot believe there are not some who would please you.”

“I do not want more children, mother.”

Cyra’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “My son, I am going to tell you a secret Do you think that it was by accident that having sired ten sons and six daughters by his four kadins, your father had no other children by the ikbals he took when he became sultan? Only in the end was it impossible for him to have normal relations with his women. In the beginning of his reign he took many maidens to his bed, but we had decided that your status as heir had to be protected, and so we saw to it that Selim’s ikbals remained barren. There are ways, my son. If you wish to maintain the status of your family, it can be arranged.”

Suleiman’s first reaction was amazement Then he roared with laughter. “By Allah, my mother, you are a wicked and devious woman! But I love you. Very well, I shall do all you suggest but you must keep your part of the bargain. See that my favorites do not prove fruitful.”

So Prince Mustafa, accompanied by his sad mother, left Constantinople for Magnesia. Khurrem’s first annoyance at having Gulbehar’s son named heir turned to joy when her hated rival left the city. It quickly turned back to rage when Suleiman, ignoring her for the present began taking other maidens to his bed. Four were swiftly elevated to the rank of ikbal.

Still, the Russian reasoned, except for the valideh, she was now first lady in the harem, and the valideh was in her fifties. How much longer could she live? Unfortunately, patience was not Khurrem Kadin’s greatest virtue.

One warm afternoon when the air was heavy with the scent of roses, jasmine, and marigold, Cyra sent for a cooling fruit sherbet When it came, the young white eunuch who carried the little tray attracted her immediate attention because his hands were shaking. It was not very noticeable, but she saw the faint quiver as, kneeling, he offered up the cup. It did not take a great deal of thought for her to decide the reason. The sherbet was poisoned.

She spoke one word. “Who?”

The eunuch began to tremble.

“You have a choice,” said the valideh. “You may die swiftly, or you may die slowly and painfully.”

“Khurrem Kadin,” he cried, and, falling to his knees, begged for mercy.

“Drink it,” she commanded. Her face brooked no refusal.

Mumbling a prayer to Allah, the eunuch drained the cup and minutes later fell dead at her feet.

“Where is Khurrem Kadin at this hour?” she asked a frightened attendant

“At the baths, madam,” she replied.

“Have this slave secretly carried to her chambers and left upon her bed,” said Cyra. Slowly rising, she walked out into her gardens.

The valideh was annoyed with herself. She had underestimated her son’s kadin. She had not believed that Khurrem would dare an attempt on her life, and had been lulled into a false sense of security.

Of all those connected with Suleiman’s early life, only she remained near him. Gulbehar lived her lonely exile in the city of Magnesia. Firousi and Sarina had made new lives for themselves. Dearest Firousi! She hadn’t wanted to leave Cyra, but it had been for the best She was completely recovered now and would live to a ripe old age, the doctors assured the valideh.

They were all safe, and for that blessing she was grateful, but was there not a place of peace and safety for her? Suddenly she remembered Gulbehar’s warning that one day Khurrem’s ambition would reach out to destroy even the valideh. Disquieted, she was trying to organize her thoughts when the voice of Esther Kira cut through her consciousness. She turned to see the plump little Jewess bustling toward her.

“Ah, my dearest madam, Marian has told me everything! How could she do this to you, to whom she owes all? You must retaliate, of course. I have the most marvelous new poison from Italy. It leaves no trace.”

Cyra laughed. “Marian was told to keep silent along with my other servants. Oh, Esther! You do cheer me. But no, I shall not destroy Khurrem. She means far too much to Suleiman.”

The gold bracelets on Esther Kira’s plump arms jingled in annoyance. “I
thought
you would be merciful, and I disapprove,” she said sternly. Then, reaching into the purse attached to her girdle, she drew out a little box, opened it, and removed a small gilded pill which she handed to Cyra. “Take one of these daily. They contain an infinitesimal dose of poison and will build your resistance to anything Khurrem can give you.”