The Kadin (4 page)

6

S
EVERAL WEEKS LATER
, Janet sat quietly in an alcove off a private auction room. She sat quietly, not because she had suddenly become docile, but because she was still partly in shock. The betrayal of Mamud was more than her young mind could grasp, and the swift trip from San Lorenzo to the auction block in Candia had left her numb.

She had not been treated unkindly at any time since her abduction. Indeed, every effort had been made to provide for her health and comfort. Captain Venutti had brought her from his ship to the house of Abdul ben Abdul, a purveyor of the best merchandise in the world—as Abdul himself had told her. She had been pampered and cosseted for over a month while word swept the Mediterranean of the virgin with the red-gold hair who would be sold at the next full moon.

During this period she had been kept secluded from the sun while her body was bathed in perfumed waters and bleached with lemons to restore its true whiteness. She had been massaged with sweet-smelling creams until her skin was like silk to the touch. Her tan, under this treatment, had gradually given way to its natural Celtic white.

This night, the slaves had clothed her in a strange garment A diaphanous fabric of a pale gold color, it was long, pleated, and covered her from her collarbone to her ankles. It was belted at the waist with a green ribbon and tied at each shoulder with matching green ribbons. A long veil of the same color as her dress covered her hair, which had been gathered in one piece, secured with a pearl clasp, and hung down her back. Another veil covered her face, leaving only her green-gold eyes, highlighted with kohl, visible.

She was not afraid, however, for the visit of Pietro di San Lorenzo, Duke Sebastian’s cousin, who had been sent to buy her freedom, had given hope. He had arrived on a swift ship from Arcobaleno nd, by bribing the head eunuch in Abdul ben Abdul’s house, had been allowed to visit her for a few minutes. He carried a great deal of gold, which he assured Janet would buy her freedom. His only regret was that a lady of her high station would have to submit to public auction, but there was no other way.

Secretly, Pietro di San Lorenzo was worried. Word was spreading quickly about Janet Leslie, and already several important buyers had arrived from the East There was even a rumor that Hadji Bey, chief of the Turkish sultan’s eunuchs, was coming. Pietro put this down to Abdul ben Abdul’s desire to get as large a price as possible. Nevertheless, Pietro prayed fervently that he could rescue his cousin’s daughter-in-law-to-be. If he did, the reward would be great but if he lost the girl—well, the wrath not only of Lord Patrick Leslie but of the king of Scotland would fall upon his country. The whole situation was disastrous.

Janet looked up as a black eunuch touched her arm. “Come, little lady. It is almost time for the sale. I will pull the curtain aside a crack so that you may see the illustrious company you have attracted.”

Fascinated in spite of herself, Janet followed him and peeked through the curtain. She saw a room, neither large nor small, a little platform in its center, the walls covered with frescos of men, women, and animals whose activities left nothing to the imagination. There were only about twelve men in the room, one of them Pietro di San Lorenzo.

“Why are there so few buyers?” she asked the eunuch.

The eunuch smiled broadly. “My master, Abdul ben Abdul, blessings be upon him, has set an opening bid on you of five thousand pieces of gold. You are not merchandise for a camel driver!”

Janet had the ridiculous urge to laugh at the prissy attitude of the eunuch, but then Abdul ben Abdul entered the room, and the eunuch quickly led her out onto the platform. The buyers turned eager eyes upward to the platform where she stood. The beginnings of fear lightly touched Janet Leslie.

Abdul ben Abdul slipped his hand beneath her elbow and drew her toward the center of the stage. ‘Trench,” he said softly, “is the language of trade. You will understand all.”

“You are wasting your time and shaming me with this foolish charade,” she said. “Pietro di San Lorenzo will purchase me, and I shall be returned to my father.”

“Allah forbid,” returned the slave merchant, and he turned to his clientele. “My friends, we come now to the most important sale of this year. This high-born virgin with hair like a golden-red sunrise, skin as smooth and white as polished bone, and eyes the color of the rarest emeralds. Behold, gentlemen!” Quickly he removed the veil that covered her head. “The opening bid is five thousand gold pieces. Who will bid?”

“Five thousand,” came a voice.

Abdul ben Abdul smiled. “The agent of the sultan of Egypt bids five thousand.”

The bidding came thick and fast—six thousand, seven, eight, nine, ten thousand pieces of gold.

“Gentlemen,” said Abdul ben Abdul in a voice filled with hurt, “you insult my house by offering a mere ten thousand gold pieces. This is a rare and priceless jewel, a houri that would grace the harem of the Prophet himself. This maiden has never known a man.” He brushed a soft, flabby hand lightly across Janet’s belly. Instinctively, she recoiled. “She will bear many strong sons.”

“You have proof of her virginity?” said a voice.

“I have,” said Abdul. “I will give the purchaser three certificates of proof signed by three different doctors. If they have lied to me, I will refund the buyer triple his money, and he may keep the girl, besides.”

An excited buzz ran around the room. Abdul ben Abdul was considered an honest merchant, but not one to part lightly with a dinar. It was proof enough. The bidding began again.

Janet’s eyes swept the faces of the bidders for the first time. The agent of the sultan of Egypt stared back at her coldly, and she quickly looked away. There was something sinister about the man, and her stomach turned uneasily. The representative of the caliph of Baghdad reminded her of a small worried black owl, but her urge to laugh was quickly stifled when she glanced toward the man her prissy eunuch had identified as the prince of Samarkand. His cruel Mongol eyes swept her body lustfully, with an open passion that revolted her. Swiftly she turned her gaze to the kindly face of Pietro di San Lorenzo who nodded at her reassuringly. But he had yet to offer a bid.

At a nod from Abdul, the eunuch loosened the ribbons at her shoulder, and the tunic fell, baring her to the waist Sudden silence filled the room as a dozen pair of eyes greedily feasted upon the girl’s perfectly formed, rose-tipped breasts.

With the wisdom of his Semitic ancestors Abdul ben Abdul gave them a minute to look, then said, “The bidding stands at fifteen thousand six hundred pieces of gold for this exquisite but as yet unopened flower.” Sixteen thousand, seventeen thousand, seventeen thousand five hundred.

Abdul motioned to the eunuch, who now untied the ribbons at Janet’s waist The tunic slipped with a whisper to her feet and a sigh ran through the bidders. Janet was completely naked.

At this point Janet felt as if her mind and her body were two separate entities, and wondered why she hadn’t fainted at this new shame to her body. But all the while, a voice pounded in her ears: “A Leslie never shows fear. A Leslie never shows fear.” Stiffening her backbone, she stood still—cold and scarcely breathing.

Eighteen thousand. Eighteen thousand nine hundred.

Like a dog sensing the kill the slave merchant reached out and with one hand removed the pearl clasp holding Janet’s hair. It spread over her shoulders and back like a fan. With the other hand he whisked the veil from her face.

“By the teats of Fatima,” came another faceless voice, “a face that rivals the body.”

“The caliph of Baghdad bids twenty thousand gold pieces!”

Oh, holy Mary, thought Janet there isn’t that much money in all of Scotland, let alone San Lorenzo. I am lost!

“And the duke of San Lorenzo bids twenty-five thousand gold pieces to ransom his son’s beloved betrothed.”

Inwardly, Janet whispered gratefully, “I apologize, gentle Mary. I will give you a finely wrought enamel-and-silver statue with real sapphire eyes in thanks for my deliverance.”

“Twenty-five thousand,” taunted the voice of Abdul ben Abdul. “Who will bid more?” He looked hopefully about the room. It was a good price. Janet heaved a sigh of relief in the deep silence of the room. Abdul had raised his gavel to finalize the sale when a voice called out, “The sultan of Turkey bids thirty thousand gold pieces.” A tall, slender, elegantly garbed man made his way to the platform “I am Hadji Bey, chief of the sultan’s black eunuchs.” He flung the happy Abdul a purse. “You may count it,” he said.

Janet glanced at him from beneath her lowered eyelashes. His height dwarfed all in the room, and though his features were Negroid, he was, she was sure, of mixed blood. His skin, unlike that of other dark men she had seen, was neither black nor brown, but rather a rich, deep, golden color. His eyes were somewhat elongated in shape and shone velvety black beneath their heavy-lashed, hooded lids. His forehead was high, the smooth brow running into a shaved round skull that showed from beneath a small green turban. His nose had a slim bridge that widened as it descended to broad, flaring nostrils, and his lips were thick and sensual. His body had none of the flabbiness associated with eunuchs, lacking the sagging breasts Janet found so obscene in these castrated men. This was probably due in part to his height He was a large man, but definitely not fat

His clothing was magnificent He wore a long-sleeved, open pellsse, spring-green in color and banded from neck to hem and also at the midarm and wrists with dark, glossy sable. It was lined, she saw when he moved, in gold cloth. Beneath it shone a flowered red silk brocade underrobe belted with a broad gold sash which was sewn with a fortune in tiny pearls and emeralds. His turban sported a cabochon emerald from which sprouted a white egret feather, and his feet were encased in very soft heelless dark brown leather boots. Rings adorned his long, supple fingers, and about his neck he wore a heavy round gold medallion in which was carved a lion’s head.

Pietro di San Lorenzo leaped upon the platform. “I protest! You raised your gavel to finalize the sale,” he shouted at Abdul ben Abdul. “The girl is mine!”

“But I did not knock with it If you wish to bid again, I will permit it”

Hadji Bey smiled gently. “Yes, good knight If you desire to raise my bid, feel free to do so.”

Pietro turned to the other men in the room. “By your own religious laws, this auction is illegal. This girl is betrothed to the heir of the duke of San Lorenzo. The contracts were formally signed last December in the cathedral of Arcobaleno. Your religion forbids the taking of a living man’s wife, and by the signing of the contract, she is as good as his wife. She was abducted from her home and brought here by force.”

“Our laws do not apply to infidels any more than your Christian laws apply to us,” said Hadji Bey. “Raise my bid or let me depart with my merchandise.”

“He buys her for a man old enough to be her grandfather,” pleaded Pietro di San Lorenzo. “You all have gold with you. Lend it to me, and I will repay you double. Let me return my cousin’s bride to him.”

Stony silence greeted his words. What Pietro said about the Turkish sultan was true, but no man among the bidders would defy Bajazet’s agent

“Count the gold,” commanded Hadji Bey to the merchant

“No, no, my lord agha,” said Abdul ben Abdul, mentally weighing it in one hand. “There is no need.”

Hadji Bey turned to a now very frightened, shivering Janet Removing his pelisse, he wrapped it about her. “Come, my child,” he said kindly.

“We shall come to Turkey, my lady. We will ransom you!” shouted Pietro di San Lorenzo.

Hadji Bey turned on him, “Do not lie to the girl and fin her with useless hope. There is no ransom from the seraglio of my master. Tell her the truth so that she may face her new life honestly and without fear.”

The knight looked up at Janet with sorrowing eyes.

Her heart went out to him. “Do not grieve, my lord,” she said, “but promise me you will go to my father and tell him of all that has transpired. The slave Mamud betrayed me.” She felt the gentle pressure of a hand upon her shoulder. “And, my lord, tell him I will return to Glenkirk one day. Promise me!”

The knight nodded, and as she walked bravely off the platform, he felt a tear roll down his cheek.

7

B
UNDLING
J
ANET
into one of the two waiting litters, Hadji Bey stepped into the other. Quickly the bearers hurried their passengers through the warm, moonlit night, finally stopping before a large house. Slaves rushed to help the girl out, leading her through the building’s open atrium into a small, pleasantly furnished, cheerfully lit room. Clapping his hands, Hadji Bey gave instructions in a strange tongue to the slave who answered his summons. Then he turned to Janet

“I have ordered the slave to bring you more suitable garments, but before she returns, please remove the cloak.”

Janet stared at him.

The cloak, my child,” he repeated gently. The light at the merchant Abdul’s was poor. I did not get a proper look at you.”

Then why did you buy me?”

“Your hair and face alone were well worth the price. Now, the cloak,” he said, holding out his hand.

Not quite understanding her compliance, Janet let the cloak slip from her shoulders to the floor. She stood quietly in her young nakedness while the eunuch gravely studied her.

Janet was too young and inexperienced to comprehend how truly lovely she was. Having attained her growth in the last year, she seemed tall for her age, though actually she was of medium height She had long, slim legs. Her narrow waist flowed into softly rounded hips. Her chest was broad, the bones well hidden, and her breasts high and full. Her smooth, flawless skin glowed with good health. Hadji Bey noticed with pleasure that her green-gold eyes were clear, good evidence that she had not wept a great deal and was, therefore, of strong character.

“Turn, please,” he said.

She did so gracefully, which again brought pleasure to the eunuch, and further corroboration of his wisdom in spending such an outrageous sum

The slave returned and helped Janet into lime-green Turkish trousers, a matching bodice, and an amber-colored silk caftan. The slave then silently stole out

“Now, my child,” said Hadji Bey, “I think it is time to introduce you to your two companions.”

Taking Janet’s small hand in his, he led her from the little chamber to a large, airy suite facing on the sea. The first thing Janet saw upon entering were two young women of approximately her own age. One was petite, faintly plump, and silvery-blond; the other was quite tall, dark-haired, and had an oval face containing two bright almond-shaped eyes of jet black. They rose as Hadji Bey came toward them. Drawing the blond to him, he said to Janet “This is Firousi, so called because her eyes are the shade of the turquoise, or firousi in our tongue. She is from the Caucasus.”

Firousi smiled at Janet “How wonderful that you are to join us. We are now a beautiful trio.” She spoke in perfect but accented French.

“And,” continued Hadji Bey, “this is Zuleika.”

“I’ve never seen anyone like her before,” whispered Janet

“Of course you haven’t. I am from Cathay.” She, too, spoke in French, though she was harder to understand than Firousi.

“You are from Marco Polo’s Cathay?”

“Yes.”

“What is her name, Hadji Bey?” asked Firousi.

“She will be called Cyra.”

“My name is Janet Mary Leslie,” snapped Janet with a flash of her old spirit

“Hardly a suitable name for a Turkish sultan’s gediklis,” smiled Hadji Bey. “In my own ancient tongue, Cyra means ‘Flame.’ It is most suitable. Now, my children, I shall leave you to get acquainted. You will have tomorrow to rest and gather your strength. We leave on tomorrow night’s tide for Constantinople.” Bowing slightly, he turned and departed.

Janet stood gazing out over the silvery, moonlit harbor of Candia. It was packed with ships whose tiny lights twinkled at her in a friendly fashion. Among them was a ship from San Lorenzo—from Rudi.

“Go ahead,” said Firousi, reading her thoughts. Try it”

Janet stepped over the threshold into the garden. Two turbaned black slaves, each holding a curved scimitar, stepped to her side. Quickly she stepped back.

“There is no escape, Cyra,” said the blond girl. The sooner you accept that fact the happier you will be.”

Janet began to sob.

“Why do you cry?” asked Firousi.

“In that harbor lies a ship which waits to carry me back to my father, my little brother, and my betrothed—if I could but reach it.”

“Well, you can’t” said Firousi bluntly. “You’re lucky. At least you have a family living. My entire family, including my husband, are all dead, killed by Tartar slaves.”

“You were married?”

Firousi nodded and, clapping her hands, summoned a slave to bring food, for she sensed Janet might now be hungry.

“I will tell you my story, Cyra.” Her lovely eyes grew misty in remembrance as she began her tale.

On her wedding day, she had awakened just before dawn and slipped quietly out of bed. Pushing back the wooden shutters of the window, she saw the cobwebby mists rising above the newly green meadows. Her wedding day would be fair and warm.

My wedding day, she thought My wedding day! It has all come about because my brother saved the life of our enemy’s youngest child. Now I will marry his oldest son, and our villages will live in peace forever. I don’t even know what this Pyotr looks like or if he is a kind man, and when I ask papa, he just chuckles.

She turned as the curtain that separated her tiny bedchamber from the main room of the house was pulled back, and her family, laughing and singing, spilled inside. Her great bearlike father, her small, plump mother, her sisters—Katya, the eldest, with her husband, and Tanya, the youngest Here were her brothers Paul, Gregor, Boris, and Ivan, all her aunts, uncles, and cousins with their arms full of spring flowers.

“So,” boomed her father, “the bride cannot sleep.”

“And she’ll get no sleep tonight” laughed Gregor.

‘You,” said his mother sternly, but her eyes were laughing, “put down your flowers, and then out! All of you! Katya and Tanya, remain.”

They left her with her cheeks wet with their kisses and her arms full of flowers.

“Now, Marya,” said Sonya Rostov, “first you must eat” She placed the plate and cup she was carrying on a small table. “Poppy rolls, jam, and tea with sugar.”

Katya raised an eyebrow. Her wedding breakfast had been brown bread, honey, and goat’s milk. Mama would deny, of course, any favoritism toward her daughters, but Marya had always been her pet. Look at the wedding gown, for instance. When the old peddler had visited them last winter, he had had a length of creamy white silk in his pack, and nothing would do but that mama have that silk for Marya’s gown. And gold thread for the embroidery, and little white Turkish slippers embroidered with gold thread and little seed pearls. Papa had growled that he wasn’t the Grand Turk marrying off his daughter, just a simple Caucasian mountain farmer; but when the peddler had left, Mama had had the silk, the gold thread, and the slippers—at the cost of two fine goats.

Katya smiled wryly as she watched her sister eat the soft white rolls. My wedding gown was wool, and hers is silk. But silk becomes Marya, with her fair, creamy skin, her silvery-blond hair, and her turquoise eyes. A smack from her mother brought Katya back to the present

“Get the water heating over the fire for Marya’s bath, daydreamer. Tanya, take your sister’s dishes and wash them”

The morning flew by, and the noon hour approached. The entire village was decked in festive finery for the wedding of its headman’s daughter. Tables had been set up in a field by the church for the feasting. Suddenly a boy posted at the edge of the village cried out “They come!”

Marya flew to the window and peeped out. A tall youth on a white pony led the procession. He laughed merrily, his dark eyes sparkling as the children who scampered by his side shouted, The bridegroom comes! Make way!”

Marya felt her mother’s arm about her shoulders. That is your husband, daughter.”

“He is so handsome,” she whispered.

“Pah,” snapped Sonya. “His looks are a bonus and would mean nothing if he were not a good man, which he is. Do you think that papa and I would give you to just any man?”

The people of both villages murmured appreciatively as Marya Rostov was led past them to the church by her parents. Her gold-embroidered white silk skirt and blouse lay over several petticoats of sheer white wool, two of which were ruffled in silk. A wreath of yellow and white flowers crowned her head.

“What a little beauty!” exclaimed Pyotr Tumano? to his father. “When you would not let me see her, I had visions of a goat-faced horror. If she is as sweet as she looks, I will be a happy man.”

Then you will be happy,” replied his father. “If I had let you see her before today, she would be no virgin. This marriage is to settle a feud, not to start another.”

The couple met at the altar, and Father Georgi Rostov, Marya’s uncle, joined them in wedlock. Shyly Marya looked up at her new husband, who, perceiving her genuine innocence, kissed her tenderly and said, “How do you do, Madam Tumanova. I do believe I love you.”

Blushing, but with her eyes twinkling, she returned, “And I also, husband.”

Nikolai Rostov had spared no expense for his daughter’s wedding feast Whole goats and lambs turned slowly over the fires on their spits. The wine flowed endlessly. The tables were piled high with fruits, breads, and cakes. By late afternoon almost everyone was pleasantly drunk, and the bride and groom became the targets of broader and broader jests. So it was with befuddled amazement that the revelers turned at the cry of “Fire!” The village was ablaze, and Marya watched in horror as the Tartar raiders, white teeth gleaming in their yellow faces, swept down on the celebration.

It was a slaughter. Neither the Rostovs nor the Tumanovs had come armed to the wedding. There were screams and shouts. People began running. Marya grabbed her two younger brothers, Boris and Ivan, and her little sister Tanya.

“Quick, hide in the woods!”

Twelve-year-old Boris struggled in her grasp. “I want to fight them!”

Marya slapped him hard. “Father, Paul, and Gregor are dead,” she hissed at him. “You are now head of the family. Take Ivan and Tanya to safety! In God’s name, Boris, run!”

He hesitated a moment, then, taking his brother and sister by the hand, sped toward the trees. In less than a minute—though it seemed an eternity—the children disappeared into the forest A terrifying scream rent the air near her, and Marya turned to see Katya writhing in a blodied patch of grass miscarrying her baby while the three men who had just raped her stood nearby, encouraging those who now assaulted her mother. Feeling an arm tighten about her waist she shrieked, only to hear her bridegroom say, “Quick, Marya, the forest! Hide before they take you, too!”

She looked up at him. His wedding garments were torn and grimy, and a purple bruise was visible on his cheek. He held a bloody meat spit in his hand.

“I will not leave you. Come with me, Pyotr.”

He shook his head.

“Then I will die with you, my husband”

“They will not kill you, my dove. They are Tartar slavers. Run, my bride, before—” His words were cut short as he fell forward. Behind him a huge Tartar withdrew his lance.

“Pyotr!” Her cry tore the firelit twilight She fell to her knees and tried to raise him. He was dead. Steathily she reached for the meat spit Grasping it firmly, she leaped to her feet and attacked The Tartar, surprised, received a small wound before disarming her.

“Murderer!”

Grabbing her, he ground his mouth on hers in a wet disgusting kiss; and then, with his foot he knocked her legs from beneath her while he pulled up her skirts. They fell to the ground Straddling her, the Tartar fumbled with his breeches while his other hand held her down by the throat

Struggling to escape him, she felt herself choking. Suddenly a voice cried, “Hold!” As his grip relaxed, she gasped great gulps of air to clear her head. Her assailant was pulled off her, and she was dragged to her feet before a tall Tartar on a horse.

“Yesukai, you great fool! Can you not see that this girl is the cause of our good fortune? Behold, the bride!”

“But Batu, why may I not have her?”

The hetman dismounted. “Are you a virgin, girl?”

She did not answer.

Grabbing her by the hair, he cruelly twisted her face to his. “Are you a virgin?”

“Yes!”

“No little games in the mountain before the wedding?”

“We met for the first time today.”

“Bring a torch,” shouted the chief.

It was handed to him. He thrust it toward Marya.

“By the gods, a real beauty!” Turning to his men, he roared, “Hear me, all of you sons of the Devil. Any man who so much as glances at this girl is dead. She will bring us a fortune in Damascus. What a beauty! And a virgin to boot. Gather up the women and children, you idlers, and pen them in for the night We leave at dawn!”

The church was the only building left in the village. Marya and the other survivors were herded into it but not before all the little boys were separated from them.

“Why have they taken the boys?” Marya asked her aunt

“They will castrate the prettier ones to be sold and trained as eunuchs,” said the woman numbly.

Shortly afterward, most of the boys reappeared—frightened but unharmed. Three were missing, and their mothers cried out in anguish and tore at their hair as horrifying screams came from outside the church. Moments later, three Tartars entered, carrying the unconscious, disfigured boys to be cared for by the women.

At dawn, they began the trek to Damascus. The Tartars rode while their captives walked. One of the castrated boys had died in the night

Marya, now numb with shock, plodded along, speaking to no one. At first her fellow unfortunates had looked to her—their chiefs daughter—as their leader, but now they left her alone. Marya’s aunt walked at her side, glowering fiercely at any Tartar who came too near, bringing her food which she scarcely touched, and warming her with her own body at night.

As Marya’s plumpness dissolved, Batu became frantic. He saw a fortune slipping through his greedy fingers if the girl died Appropriating a donkey from a farmer, he let her ride so that he might save her strength. Desperately he sought the choicest delicacies—newly ripe peaches, crisply browned doves, wine, and fresh breads—to tempt her. Finally he threatened her aunt with instant death if Marya did not eat She ate, but her young body remained thin and stark. Her lovely hair and bright eyes became dull and lackluster.