The Kadin

by Bertrice Small

  “But you are his wife.”

  “I am his ikbal,” admonished Cyra gently. “If Allah wills it I shall be his kadin in five months. Do not I beg you, tell me you have fallen back on your European morality? There is no future in it and it is very foolish of you. With luck, this time next year we shall both be nursing sons, who will grow up together, the dearest of friends, as we are. Was it not you who a year ago in Crete told me there is no return?”

  Firousi smiled. “You are right, and I should be rejoicing now. What girl does not envy me or would not change places with me? Come.” She rose and pulled Cyra up with her. “Help me choose what I shall wear tonight You know our master’s taste best of all.” And together they hurried off to Firousi’s small room

  “You would think she had been born in the East instead of the West” observed Zuleika softly to Lady Refet

  “Her courage is great,” replied the older woman. “She loves my nephew dearly, and this cannot be easy for her.”

  Selim chose that moment to visit his harem. Walking in unannounced, he went over to his aunt and kissed her. “Where is Cyra? I have a gift for her.”

  Lady Refet spoke to the attending slave. “Fetch Lady Cyra at once. Tell her the prince is here.”

  Cyra came quickly, Firousi following. “My dear lord,” she said, bowing low.

  “Beloved,” he murmured. His eyes caressed her gently. Then, remembering where he was, he spoke. “I have brought you a gift from Constantinople, my love.” He clapped his hands, and the head eunuch, Ali, ushered in a group of four people.

  Selim drew the one female in the group forward. “This is Marian, sweetheart She is yours. Greet your new mistress in your native tongue, Marian.”

  “I will try to serve you well, my lady,” the girl said.

  Cyra’s eyes lit up. “Selim! A Borderer! How wonderful! Where on earth did you find her?”

  “A Borderer? But she said she was English”

  Cyra laughed. “Forgive me, my lord. You could not know. Of course she is English, but she comes from the northernmost of that land, which borders my own country. Both these people, the English Borderers and the Scots Borderers, sound very much alike. Had you brought me a London girl, I should have been hard pressed to understand her.”

  “Do not the English and the Scots speak with the same tongue?”

  “The people of Magnesia speak Turkish, yet do they sound the same as those of Constantinople?”

  “I see. Then she pleases you?”

  “Yes, my lord. We Scots and English have been known to fight, but so far from home a fellow islander is welcome. Is it not so, Marian?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Selim next drew from the little group a man. “This is Yussef. He is Marian’s husband, and although I disapprove of buying married Christian slaves, I did buy him because he is a scholar and will make an excellent secretary.” Yussef bowed, and Cyra smiled back. She knew the reason Selim had bought these two—having tasted the joys of love himself, he realized the pain it would cause the young English couple to be parted. Wisely she held her tongue.

  “I have arranged for them,” continued the prince, “to live in the small cottage at the edge of the gardens. In this way they will not be separated, but Marian may go to the cottage only when she is not needed by you. Ptolemy!”

  The old Egyptian stepped forward. “This is Ptolemy, my love. He is an expert in the art of poisons and will be your food taster. You are to eat nothing, even a sweetmeat, without checking with him first He will both taste and drink before you. And now, your bodyguard. This is Arslan. He has almost killed two masters for cruelty to their wives. In his care you will be safe.” He grinned at her. “What do you think of my gifts, sweetheart?”

  “Magnificent! And overly generous, my prince. Thank you.”

  He gazed at her for a long moment then caressed her cheek with his fingers. “I shall eat alone this evening,” he said, and, turning on his heel, he left the harem, followed by Yussef and Ptolemy.

  She gazed longingly after him, then, turning, called, “Zuleika, Firousi. Come over, and bring Marian.” She seated herself beside Lady Refet as her friends and new slave joined them.

  “Do you understand our language, Marian?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Then tell us about yourself. How old are you?”

  “Nineteen, my lady. I come, as you know, from the English Borders.”

  “Then,” said Cyra, “many’s the time you’ve played host to the Scots.”

  “Aye, my lady, many’s the time, and most recently, before we left, we played host to King Jamie’s rogue Lord Bothwell.”

  “Indeed,” laughed Cyra. “I remember him well.”

  Marian continued, “I am the daughter of a well-to-do farmer. A year ago I was married to Alan Browne, my cousin. Alan is the younger son of a London merchant and was in great favor with the Countess of Whitley. Several months ago the countess decided Alan would benefit by working for her trading interests in the Levant”

  “A countess in trade?”

  “She was not born a countess, my lady. She was the only daughter of a wealthy goldsmith. The earl, her late husband, needed money, and the countess’s father wanted a title for his daughter. She is very beautiful.”

  Cyra nodded. “Go on.”

  “We left England on one of the countess’s ships. Our voyage was smooth and pleasant once we left the Channel and moved south. We were only two days into the Mediterranean when our vessel was attacked by pirates.”

  “Did they harm you, Marian?”

  “Oh, no! I told them I was with child, and they said a slave who was a proved breeder was worth more, so I was left in peace.”

  “Are you with child?”

  “I lost the babe before we reached Constantinople, my lady.”

  There were murmurs of sympathy all around for the English girl.

  “Well, you are safe now,” said Cyra, “Both you and your Alan.”

  A slave entered bringing a light supper for the ladies, who, after their afternoon of excitement fell to it eagerly. Even Firousi, her nervousness gone, ate with gusto. As they finished, Sarina moved close to Cyra.

  “Would you like to see my plans for the summer gardens tonight, Cyra?”

  Cyra stared at her for a moment then, realizing what the girl was trying to do, smiled and said, “Yes. Come to my quarters at nine. We’ll make a party, just the two of us. I have some of those honey sesame cakes you love so.”

  Zuleika hissed in Sarina’s ear, “If you cause her one instant’s pain with your viper’s tongue, I will personally slit your throat.”

  “What makes you think you and Firousi are her only friends?” whispered Sarina. “Do I not also have eyes to see her pain?”

  At the ninth hour of the evening, a gilded Utter waited outside the women’s quarters. Lady Refet and Cyra conducted Firousi to it Holding back her tears, Cyra kissed her friend and whispered, “Know only joy, dearest Firousi.”

  As the Utter moved off down the hall, Sarina put an arm around her red-haired companion and said, “Where are those cakes you promised me? My mouth waters for them.”

  Cyra was touched by the thoughtfulness of the Spanish girl. There was no reason for the Sarina to be kind to her. Cyra was the favorite, the beloved of Prince Selim, the fortunate mother of his unborn child; and if Zuleika was correct Cyra would have a son and would become Selim’s bas-kadin. Cyra had everything and had been cosseted and petted since her capture. Sarina was merely one of Selim’s gediklis, the girl who was clever at growing things and therefore of some use. And yet Sarina had somehow felt the favorite’s anguish at seeing her best friend take her place in the prince’s bed and had offered Cyra her garden plans as a diversion.

  Sarina had been to the favorite’s suite only once—on the morning following Cyra’s first night with the prince. She had not stayed long, and now it gave Cyra pleasure to show the Spaniard about the lavishly furnished rooms, with their thick rugs, beautiful inlai
d furniture, and rainbow of pillows.

  Afterward, Sarina spread her carefully drawn plans on a low table and explained to Cyra exactly what would grow where.

  “Of course,” she said “now that you have this suite, I shall change my plans for your garden to suit your tastes.”

  “What did you have planned?” asked Cyra.

  “Roses. Gold of Ophir roses.”

  “Marvelous I They are my favorite. Against the green of the bushes and trees in my glen, the white marble of the balustrade, and the blue mosaic of the fountain, they will be perfect”

  Sarina smiled. “Do yon really like it, or are you just being the diplomat again?”

  “No, I am not being a diplomat I think the gold roses will be lovely. You are clever with gardens. I don’t have the patience you do. You really love plants and flowers, don’t you?”

  “When I was a child I used to follow my father about the duke’s gardens. I learned a great deal from him.”

  “Do you ever miss him?”

  “He is dead,” said Sarina. “He died the year before I came to Constantinople. My mother, brothers, sisters, and I returned to my mother’s village. It is on the sea near the town of Málaga. Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand are freeing Spain from the Moors, but they often raid our coast taking captives for sale as slaves. They lay waste to everything, and what livestock they can’t carry off, they slaughter. The people of our village became tired of having their friends and relatives carried off, so we built a stone tower on a high hill overlooking the town. We kept a watch at all times, and if the Moorish ships were spotted approaching, the sentinel would ring the tower bell to warn the people. One day the bell rang, and, taking what we could, we fled into the hills. We were halfway to our hiding place when I realized my cat was missing. I thought I would have time enough to go back and get him. I reached my house safely, grabbed Pedro, and then was captured leaving. I was taken to Algiers, sold to a slave dealer from Constantinople, and then bought by a eunuch from the sultan’s palace.”

  “They did not hurt you?”

  Sarina tossed her chestnut curls. “Holy Mother! No! A beautiful girl is worth twice the price if she is a virgin.”

  Cyra decided to change the subject As happy as she was, her own road to Turkey still pained her. “Do you really like cats?” she asked.

  “Yes,” replied Sarina. “Despite the fact a cat was responsible for my enslavement I still love them.”

  Cyra called to Marian. “Fetch the basket by my bed, Marian.”

  The girl hastened to obey, and a moment later returned carrying a reed basket which she placed upon the table. Sarina cried out in delight and lifted from the basket a squirming, mewing kitten.

  “Selim gave me a cat,” said Cyra, “and several weeks ago the little vixen presented me with five kittens. Please take any two of them. The coal-black belongs to Zuleika. I was beginning to despair of finding them homes.”

  “Oh, thank you!” cried the Spaniard. She chose a tiger-striped kitten and a fluffy gray one and cuddled them, one against each cheek. “What darlings! Do you think Lady Refet will let me keep them in the harem?”

  “Of course. Cats were the favorite animal of the Prophet. Are we friends now?”

  “Yes,” whispered the other girl. There were tears in her eyes. “I have been so lonely. You, Firousi, and Zuleika have been friends from the beginning, and Amara and Iris seemed to fall in so easily with one another. I know I have a sharp tongue, but I don’t mean to be unkind. The words just pop out. Will you forgive me for being so mean?”

  Cyra was taken aback by the girl’s emotional outburst “Of course we are friends. I know you don’t mean what you say when you snap. Things will be better now.”

  Sarina rose, clutching her kittens. ‘It is late, and you must get your sleep, expecially now. May I come again?”

  “You are welcome at any time, and thank you,” said Cyra meaningfully.

  Left to herself, the Scots girl called to Marian, who helped ready her for bed. Then, dismissing her slave, who she knew was eager to join her husband, Cyra lay alone in the vast bed, hot silent tears sliding down her cheeks.

  18

  ALTHOUGH CYRA no longer snared Selim’s bed she still spent much time with him. The mornings were taken up by the prince’s administrative duties. Once each week he held a court of judgment, allowing the people of his province to bring their grievances before him to be settled. Conscious of the fact that the child she carried was an imperial heir, and conscious also of the strong possibility that one day she might be the sultan valideh, Cyra frequently attended these courts in order to see Muslim law in action. Heavily dressed in her feridje and jasmak, she sat concealed by a carved screen behind Selim’s throne, attended by Marian and the faithful Arslan.

  All phases of the law interested her, but she found its treatment of women fascinating. Compared with Christian Europe, it was far more enlightened and fair.

  One day there came before Selim a woman of about forty. Kneeling before the prince, she stated her case.

  “I am called Cervi, my lord. At the age of fifteen I was married by my father to a young merchant, Razi Abu. I bore him two sons and a daughter. I have been a faithful and obedient wife these twenty-five years. Four months ago Razi Abu divorced me so he might marry a dancing girl he saw in a tavern. I bow to my husband’s will, my lord, but he has cast me penniless into the streets. He will not return my bride price to me, and I must beg for my very bread. I plead for justice, my lord. The bride price is mine under the law.”

  “This is true,” replied the prince, “but have you no one to whom you might turn? What of your sons and your daughter?”

  “My daughter is married and Uves in Constantinople, Prince Selim, As for my sons, they, too, are wed, and live with their wives and children within their father’s house. He has forbidden them to aid me, though they would if they could.”

  The prince nodded. “Is the merchant Razi Abu in the court?”

  “Razi Abu,” called the court chamberlain, “come forward.” The crowd stood silent.

  Selim turned to his captain of the guard. “Go to the house of the merchant Razi Abu and fetch him, his wives, and all his children here. On your way, escort the lady Cervi to the small anteroom off the court, where she may wait in privacy.”

  While the court buzzed in anticipation, Selim turned slightly and spoke softly. “Cyra, see the woman is fed. She looks as if she has been starving.”

  “Yes, my lord. And perhaps I might give her some clothing. Her garments are in rags.”

  “Good girl,” he answered.

  Cyra left her hiding place and hurried to the harem. Arslan was dispatched to bring Cervi, who came trembling before the prince’s wife.

  “Do not be frightened,” Cyra told the woman kindly.

  Cervi had no time to be afraid, for she was whisked into the harem bath, scrubbed, and massaged by Cyra’s own slaves. Then she was fed a delicious meal of hot rice pilaf, lamb kebabs, honey and almond cakes and, finally, dressed in clean, fresh clothes. Then, taking the woman’s hand, Cyra hurried her out of the women’s quarters and through the halls of the palace to the hidden chamber behind Selim’s throne.

  “You will not be called until your husband has stated his case, but here we may listen and observe.”

  The merchant had not yet arrived, and Selim was judging another case. It involved a jeweler who had several shops in Constantinople but lived on a large estate within Selim’s province. The man was protesting his taxes.

  “But, Highness, I am a citizen of Naples.”

  “Do you own land there?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Do you have any business there?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Do you pay taxes there?”

  The jeweler hesitated, but Selim looked at him sternly.

  “No, my lord.”

  “When were you last there?”

  “I was born there, my lord. My parents brought me to Constantinople
when I was two.”

  “And when were you last there?”

  “Not since I was two.”

  The crowded court rocked with laughter.

  “So,” said Selim, “you have not seen the place of your birth since you were two. You neither own land, nor do business, nor pay taxes there. Yet you claim to be a citizen of Naples. Do you speak the tongue?”

  “Badly, my lord,” the jeweler said, shuffling his feet nervously.

  “By Allah!” roared Selim. “You are a fraud! Now listen to me, Carlo Giovanni. The Koran states that those who follow not the religion of truth must pay both a head tax and a land tax. Until his death three years ago, your father paid both these taxes for his family. You are a non-Muslim living in a Muslim country. You are allowed all the privileges of its citizens, including the right to worship Allah freely in your own manner without harassment. But as a non-Muslim, you must pay your taxes! I could have you stripped of your shops and other properties, but I shall be merciful. You must pay your back taxes in full, plus a fine of three thousand gold dinars, which you will personally distribute, under my eye, to the poor of this province. And do not whine that you cannot afford it, for I know you can. If it comes to my ear again, however, that you have tried to cheat the government, I shall regret my leniency and deal harshly not only with you but with your entire family.”

  White-faced with relief, the jeweler kissed the hem of the prince’s robe and hurried from the court. He had barely fled when the door opened to admit the captain of the guard, who escorted Razi Abu and his household.

  “The hussy!” hissed Cervi. “She wears my dowry jewels.”

  Selim watched Razi Abu arrogantly approach his throne. He was a small, portly man with eyes like black currants. He was dressed in the finest brocade, and his white silk turban held a sapphire the size of a peach pit, His well-trimmed beard smelled heavily of scented oil, and his pudgy fingers were heavy with rings. He was, to the casual observer, the picture of respectability; but Selim, looking more closely, saw the small, broken blue veins along his nose which indicated a secret drinker. The merchant’s bow was inadequate.