The Kadin (34 page)

The valideh hugged her friend. “It will not be necessary. Many years ago Selim gave me as a gift an old Egyptian who was my food taster. He was a specialist in poisons and taught me this trick. I have been taking doses of poison ever since. Khurrem’s sherbet could not have hurt me.”

“Then why did you not drink it? What a fright it would have given her to learn you had drunk the sherbet and suffered not even a bellyache. I wager she administered the dose herself so there would be no chance of your escaping.”

“I did not take it because I wanted her to know that I knew of her treachery. If I had accepted the cup and not died, she might have thought someone had changed the sherbet This way, she knows I am aware of what she has done. Fear is a greater weapon than doubt Poor Khurrem She lacks subtlety. To properly administer poison, it must be done in small doses and over a period of time to avoid notice. There was enough death in my cup to kill an elephant”

“Ah, my lady, you are the wisest of women! A pure jewel among stones!”

Cyra laughed again. “Esther, Esther! What would I do without you?”

The Jewess sniffed, and without further ado, announced, “I bring news from Charles Leslie.”

Cyra sat down and eagerly beckoned her friend to do
BO
. Tell me.”

“He is well and has been knighted by his king. He is now Sir Charles Leslie. He also writes that he is betrothed to his cousin Fiona, your brother’s daughter.”

Cyra frowned. “I have never liked these marriages between first cousins.”

“Rest easy, my lady. The girl Fiona is not your brother’s blood child, but his adopted daughter. She was born to your distant cousins, the Abernethys. Charles writes all of this. When she was orphaned, your brother took her into his own house. He says her hair is red-gold like yours, but not so lovely.

“Ah, madam. For thirteen years he has been separated from you, and yet he remembers you with love. How fortunate you are to have such a son!”

The valideh’s face became sad. “Yes,” she whispered. “I am the most fortunate of women.”

Esther Kira said nothing more.

The months passed, and Cyra began to notice a subtle change in Khurrem’s attitude toward her. Nothing had been said by either woman regarding the incident of the poison, but invisible battle lines had been drawn. As Cyra had noticed years before, Khurrem never forgave those who punished her. The Russian felt that by inducing Suleiman to take other maidens to his bed, the valideh had chastised her unfairly. Khurrem had lived too long in her own world to become Turkish. Though she professed the faith of Mohammed, she was still an Orthodox Christian at heart, and she did not willingly share her man with others. She considered herself the sultan’s legal wife, discounting Gulbehar with a logic that defied all reason. Though Suleiman had other favorites now, she still remained on top of the pack. He frequently visited her bed, but, nevertheless, the situation nettled Khurrem. This was Cyra’s fault, and the Russian kadin would repay her in kind.

But Khurrem had not reckoned with the valideh’s iron will. Cyra Hafise was made of far stronger stuff than Khurrem—or any other woman, for that matter. The Scotswoman had not survived thirty-nine years in the House of Osman on luck alone, but the years were going faster now, and Cyra wondered if she really wanted to continue the battle. She had known such happiness and love that for her it would last through eternity. She had known complete fulfillment and had wielded great power. Now all Cyra wanted was to live out her portion in peace.

Khurrem’s very existence made this impossible, and the valideh was faced with a painful decision. To dispose of Khurrem or to expose her crimes to Suleiman would break her son’s heart Besides, Cyra Hafise had never liked being responsible for the taking of life. She could, of course, retire to her own serai away from Constantinople, but that would not really solve the problem, Suleiman, she realized, was still far too attached to her. Death, therefore, was the only answer—and as she was in good health, that seemed unlikely. Her will to live was far stronger than her will to die.

Then one day a greatly agitated Esther Kira came to the palace asking to see the valideh privately. Once again they walked in the gardens where they could not be overheard.

Esther began by asking a question. “Your brother is the earl of Glenkirk?” Cyra nodded.

“A man perhaps four or five years younger than yourself?”

“Four years, Esther.”

“Is he a great gawk of a man with reddish hair and a stubborn nature?”

“Esther, how would I know that?
I
have not seen Adam since he was nine years old.”

“But, my lady—if you met a man today who claimed to be your brother, how would you know it was he?”

Cyra thought for a moment and then said, “He had a small black mole just at the end of his eyebrow, and as a child he looked like my father. I suppose if I met a man who said he was the earl of Glenkirk who looked like my father and had a mole at the end of his left eyebrow, I would strongly suspect he was my brother.”

Esther clasped her hands together. “It must be he! It must!”

“Esther, what is this all about?”

“At this moment, my dear lady, the earl of Glenkirk is a guest in the House of Kira!”

The valideh blanched and gasped.

Esther rushed on. “You know the sultan has given trading concessions to France and that he is slowly opening the way to other countries in the West Your brother is here representing the king of Scotland. He is our guest because of the House of Kira’s involvement with Charles Leslie. He is asking questions, madam. It seems that your family knew from the beginning that you had been sold to the sultan of Turkey’s household, but they were warned to do nothing as their cause was hopeless. When Charles arrived those many years ago, they knew you were still alive, but he would not tell them where. From the story he told, they deduced you had been given as a gift to another sultan. Your brother has taken it into his head that he can find you. It was all we could do to prevent him from marching up to the palace and demanding an interview with the queen mother, as he puts it”

Cyra giggled “My brother was always one for going to the heart of the matter. But, Esther, why does he want to see the valideh?”

“He is a sharp one, madam. He learned that several months after you entered Sultan Bajazet’s harem, Prince Selim was given six maidens and sent to govern a province in the Crimea. He feels that Sultan Selim’s favorite wife might have known you, his sister, and can help him. Only the fact that I am considered an intimate of yours and could possibly arrange an interview for him prevented him from banging on the serai gates.”

“So he wants an interview with the sultan valideh,” mused Cyra. “You told him, of course, that it was impossible.”

“I could not madam. I did not have the heart His hopes are so high. I thought when I returned to my home today I could tell him then, and perhaps you would send him some sort of verbal message.”

“No,” said Cyra. “Lord Leslie will have his interview with the sultan valideh.”

“Madam! How can this be? No normal man other than the sultan may enter the harem or even speak with his ladies.”

“Have we two not accomplished the impossible before, Esther? I am the sultan valideh, and my word is law. Even Suleiman defers to my personal wishes.”

Esther Kira nodded. “But where?”

“The palace would be far too dangerous. Neither my son nor anyone else must know of Adam’s existence until I have spoken to him—and determined my course of action. Perhaps it will never be necessary for Suleiman to know of the existence of the earl of Glenkirk. I have visited in the city at your house many times. We are known to be good friends. Who would think it odd if I chose to visit you again? I shall come in two days’ time, but you must impress upon Lord Leslie the need for secrecy. Make him understand what an honor it is for the valideh to speak to him. Above all, do not tell him the truth. I shall decide whether or not that should be done.”

On the following day, Cyra’s youngest grandson, the hunchbacked Prince Jahangir, came to visit her. He arrived with his nurse, who apologized profusely to the valideh for their unannounced visit at the hour of her midday meal. Cyra brushed the words aside. “My grandchildren are always welcome, whatever the hour.” She smiled down at the boy. “What brings you to visit this old woman, my child?”

“Mustafa sent me a gift!”

The little prince’s hero was his older half-brother, and when Mustafa had been sent to Magnesia, Jahangir had been heartbroken. However, Mustafa had not forgotten the child.

“See, see what Mustafa has sent me!” Opening his shirt, he revealed a splotch of dark fur which, springing forth, became a monkey. Chattering madly, the little creature leaped upon the valideh’s table, and, grabbing an apricot, shoved it whole into his mouth. Discovering the pit, the monkey spat it out Laughter rippled across the room.

“Your pet is most charming,” chuckled Cyra, “but alas, my grandson, his table manners are terrible. Please remove
him
from my dining table, and I shall see that he is fed.”

Jahangir reached for his monkey, but the nimble little imp scrambled to the other side, where he stuffed a handful of pilaf into his mouth and promptly fell dead. The prince began to sob. “My monkey is dead! My monkey is dead!”

“No, he is not” replied the valideh firmly. “He is merely ill from overeating. Leave
him
with me, and I shall make him well again. Return with your nurse to your own quarters, and I shall bring you your monkey this afternoon.”

Jahangir’s dark eyes widened. ‘Truly, grandmother? You can really heal my monkey?”

“Yes, my child. Now go along like a good boy.”

The little prince dutifully trotted out after his nurse. Cyra turned to her chief eunuch. “Dispose of the monkey as you did the white eunuch. Then go to the marketplace and find me an identical monkey. The rest of you will keep silent about this matter.”

Fate had decided for her. She now knew what she must do, but first she would see her little brother. She laughed softly, remembering Adam as a child. But Allah! He would be forty-eight years of age now! What did he look like? she wondered. Why did he seek her after all these years? Tomorrow would answer all her questions.

39

U
NLIKE THEIR COUNTERPARTS
in Western Europe, the Jews of Constantinople were respected and equal members of the Ottoman community. The Kira family, though they could have afforded to live in a palace along the sea, preferred to remain in the old quarter where their ancestors had lived as far back as the Byzantine Empire.

When the sultan valideh Hafise arrived in her palanquin early in the afternoon, there was only a mild stirring among the neighbors. After all, was not Esther Kira a dear friend of the sultan’s mother? And hadn’t she visited the Kiras before? Cyra appreciated their sensible attitude. The one thing she had never really gotten used to in all her years in Turkey was the sumptuous pomp of this nation, and Suleiman was carrying the pomp to greater heights because of his love of a good show.

From the outside, the Kira house, though slightly larger, was like any other in the quarter. It was built of a light-colored brick, and the side facing the street was windowless, the only opening a large, brass-studded double door with a small iron grille on one side.

The closed palanquin was expected, and it was quickly waved through. The valideh stepped out and stood for a moment to accept the ceremonial greeting from the patriarch of the family. Then she was escorted into the women’s quarters of the house. Esther had taken every precaution. The area was deserted, the rest of the women in the house having gone to the public baths for an afternoon of happy gossiping.

“Go into my private salon, dear madam, I shall bring Lord Leslie to you, and then stand guard outside the door while you talk.”

Cyra thanked her and entered the room. Her heart was beating wildly. What in Allah’s name would she say to him? She had lain awake all last night planning the words, but suddenly they had all fled. She heard a step behind her. The door opened and closed. A deep, familiar voice spoke.

“Madam, I am Adam Leslie, earl of Glenkirk.” The language he used was French. Esther’s doing, she imagined.

Her back was to him, and she did not dare to turn and face him as yet She replied in French, “I am well aware of your identity, Lord Leslie, and have been somewhat informed of your circumstances by my good friend Esther Kira. I do not understand why it is you should seek an audience with me. However, I am an old woman, and undue curiosity is a prerogative of old age.”

“Thank you,” said Lord Leslie. “I shall try not to take a great deal of your time, my lady. I have been given to understand that you were in the harem of Sultan Bajazet in the year fourteen ninety-three.” She nodded. “Then perhaps you knew my sister and can tell me of her fate. She was just thirteen but very, very beautiful. Her hair was a red-gold, her eyes green. She was fair of skin. She had been kidnapped by slavers and was sold at a private auction where she was purchased by the grand eunuch of the sultan’s household.”

“How can you know all this?” interrupted Cyra.

“Because an envoy of the duchy of San Lorenzo attended the auction to try to ransom her back. She was betrothed to the heir of San Lorenzo. You must have been in the harem at the time she was brought in, and perhaps you can remember her.”

The valideh said nothing for a moment Instead, she removed the second piece of her yasmak and repinned it over the first obscuring her features completely. Remaining in the shadows, she turned to face him.

“Describe her further to me, my lord.” He began, but she did not listen. Instead, her eyes secretly devoured him How he had changed! And why shouldn’t he have changed? He had been nine the last time she had seen him How long ago was it—thirty-nine years! How she had missed him!

He was a tall man, as their father had been. His hair, which had been russet when he was a child, had darkened slightly, and was now liberally streaked with gray. His features were like their father’s, but his blue eyes were a gift from their mother. She vaguely heard his last words.

“Is it possible you knew her, madam?”

“Yes,” she said “I knew her.”

“Then in the name of whatever God you worship, I beg you to tell me where she is?”

“We worship the same God, Lord Leslie, though somewhat differently,” said Cyra tartly. “Allah is simply our name for him. But tell me—how can you be sure your sister still Uves?”

“I am privy to certain information that I cannot reveal to you, but she Uves. I would find her and if she wishes, take her home with me.”

“Why do you want her back? Surely you are man of the world enough to understand that the wife of an Eastern prince is his wife in every sense but the Christian—and only because she has had the good fortune to bear him a son. Is this not considered wicked and shameful among your people? In your intolerant land, our customs are thought of as immoral Your sister would be called a whore, a concubine, or worse. Would you subject your sister to scorn and ridicule merely to satisfy a childhood memory?” She was being harsh, and she knew it; but if her plan was to work, he must have no regrets, nor must she.

“Only four people knew her fate, and two of them are now dead. We have told people that she was bought by a good Christian merchant who took pity on her. We have said they were married. There will be no shame for her when she returns, and we shall say she has now returned because she is widowed”

“How can you be sure she will want to return?”

“Madam. My sister is a Scot She would want to die in her own land if it were possible.”

Cyra resisted the urge to laugh at the coincidence in their thoughts. “And you, Lord Leslie? How do you feel? Do you consider your sister a whore? How would you greet her return? As a Christian soul gone astray and now reclaimed? A duty done? A burden?”

He said it simply. “I would greet her with love, madam.”

She felt tears welling up in her eyes, but, forcing them back, she persisted. “Are you sure? Once you have taken her home, there can be no going back for either of you.”

“I am sure, madam. Just tell me where she is, and I shall prove it to you.” Then his eyes widened in amazement as he heard the valideh’s voice speaking his native Highland tongue.

“When we were children, Adam, you never could find me when we played hide-and-seek. It is comforting to know you have not changed.” Stepping into the light, she removed the veils from her face.

For a moment she thought he would faint, so white had his face become. “Janet?” His voice was choked with emotion. “Oh, Janet! God be praised, I have found you!” Falling to his knees, he caught at the hem of her dress and wept like a baby.

She stooped down and hugged him “You still weep easily, you great boob!” Pulling him up, she commanded, “Stop it, you clod. Are you so sad at finding me? What of all your fine talk? Bah! You do not really want me at all!”

The big earl wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “The lady Esther told me I was to speak with the sultan valideh Hafise. I am stunned to find you instead.”

“Adam.” Her voice had grown serious now. “I am the sultan valideh Hafise.”

“You? You are Sultan Suleiman’s mother?”

“I am.”

“But then how can I take you home?”

“You can, and it will be arranged. I shall communicate with you through Esther. When do you leave?”

“In three weeks’ time.”

“Good. I shall have the time I need. Now listen to me, my brother. No one must know of our meeting or what has been said in this room In this land the sultan is all-powerful. Only his mother may influence him. I am the most powerful person in the empire next to my son, but even that power could not save me or you or the Kira family should anyone find out our secret. What I am doing violates all our traditions.” He gazed at her questioningly. “Yes, Adam.
Our
traditions. I have lived all but thirteen years of my life in Turkey, and though I am Scots-born, I am more Turkish than my own son. Speak to no one of this. Go about your mission, and Esther will advise you. Do you understand me?”

He nodded.

“Very well Go now. When you leave Turkey, I shall be with you. Trust me!” Kissing her cheek, Adam Leslie left the salon.

One hour later, the valideh concluded her visit with Esther Kira and returned to the Eski Serai. She had spoken brave words to her brother, but for the first time since she had come to Turkey, she had serious doubts. She had not realized until recently how dependent Suleiman was on her. In a sense she had failed him with the very strength that had helped to put him on his throne. Only if she left him could he become his own man—and how convenient, she thought, that her reasoning coincided with her plans.

For almost a week, Cyra thought about the meeting with her brother. She pondered the correct way to approach the problem with her son. Yet it was Suleiman who provided the opening she needed.

One evening while they sat sipping their sweet, burning coffee, the sultan told his mother of the Scots lord to whom he had that very day promised the concession of coming twice yearly to Constantinople for trade.

“A large man, and quite open and friendly as Christians go, but I could not dismiss the feeling that we had met somewhere before.”

“I am not surprised you felt that way,” said Cyra. “He is your uncle.”

“What!”

“The earl of Glenkirk is my younger brother. Suleiman, he is your uncle,” she repeated.

“Allah,” he whispered, “if he but knew yon were alive—” He stopped, then turned wonderingly to her. “Is there nothing that goes on in my empire that you do not know about?”

She laughed happily at his chagrin. “No, my son. Very little escapes me.”

“If this large, bluff man is my uncle, then perhaps I should double the concession,” he answered her teasingly.

“You could scarcely acknowledge each other, my son. Besides, Scotland is a small, poor country. Turkey already has the worst of the bargain.”

“Always, you place the empire first,” he said admiringly.

“Yes,” she replied. “I do. That is what I must speak to you of tonight Lord Leslie’s visit presents me with an opportunity I cannot overlook. I am growing old, my son. I want to live the years left to me in peace, without responsibilities. I want to die in my own land.”

“Mother—” Her hand stopped his mouth.

“Within the last year, two attempts have been made on my life, but in each case fate has intervened. Is this not proof that Allah would grant my desires? How much longer can I tempt fate? I would retire as Firousi and Sarina have.”

He tore her hand away. “Who has done this, mother? Tell me, and I shall punish the offender. If you would retire, you may choose any palace I have and go in peace. Only stay near me!”

“Do you think if I wished punishment upon the offender, she would still live? Nay, my son.”

“She?” And then he knew. “Khurrem? My kadin has done this?”

“Yes, Suleiman. Khurrem. Do not blame her. In her eyes I am a threat She is as ambitious as I once was. She does it for you both. You are far too attached to me. You divide your love among your kadin, your ikbals, and your mother. I somehow think it is unhealthy for a man of your years.”

“Paradise lies at a mother’s feet” he quoted.

“Do not preach the holy Koran to me! It was I who taught it to you! If I retire to a nearby palace, I shall still be an influence in your life. There are those who will say that Khurrem has driven me from you as she did Gulbehar. Someday Khurrem might be valideh. She is not very popular now as it is, and an unpopular valideh may mean an unpopular sultan.

“If you are to be free without complications, I must appear to have died. Only then can I spend my old age in peace. I have already spoken to my brother, and he wants me to return to Scotland with him. Did you know that he came to Constantinople in hopes of tracing me?”

“You spoke with Lord Leslie? How?”

“Let the arrangements of our meeting remain a secret, my son.”

“No wonder he looked at me so strangely today,” mused Suleiman. “I thought it was simple curiosity at meeting the fabled Grand Turk. Allah! My own uncle!” He looked at his mother. “I cannot let you go. I cannot!”

“You would prefer that Khurrem murder me?”

“I shall punish her.”

“She will, nevertheless, try again—and what is worse, Khurrem never forgives an insult Your action will only make her redouble her efforts.”

“Then I shall send her away.”

“My son, my son! You have not understood a word I have said It is either Khurrem’s life or mine. You must make the choice, and you cannot I have made it for you. Would you deny your four children their mother? Have you no feelings? Is this how I have raised you?”

“You plead for leniency for Khurrem, saying I must not separate my children from their mother; yet you, my own mother, would go from me.”

“Suleiman!” Her voice had taken on an unaccustomed sharpness. “You are no longer a child You are a man and sultan of the Ottoman Empire. Your eldest son is almost fifteen. He will soon take maidens of his own and make you a grandfather. Do you not think it is time you rid yourself of the influence of women? Mustafa is more independent than you. This should not be!”

“I am not influenced by women, mother!”

“My son, the fact that you can neither see nor feel the hands that have led you is proof enough of your need to be rid of me. From the moment you were born, I have guided your destiny. Others have helped me. Without Firousi, Zuleika, and Sarina, would your childhood have been safe? They, too, bore your father sons. Hammed was barely four months younger than you. Yet always our efforts were for you, and you alone. When our father officially became sultan, it was I who saw that Gulbehar became yours rather than his. When the Persian campaign was won, I was responsible for seeing that you were sent to Magnesia to learn how to govern. Who warned you not to follow your father into Syria and Egypt? I did! When my beloved Selim died who held Constantinople in check until you had safely arrived? I did! Without my help you would have faltered a thousand times. Who brought you Khurrem? It was I who trained her to catch your eye. When the feud between Gulbehar and Khurrem reached epic proportions, to whom did you turn for help? To me! I solved your problem. Your father’s last words to me were, ‘Guide Suleiman as only you know how.’ I have done it, but you are now a man and I am tired. I would like to live out my days in peace!”