The Kadin

by Bertrice Small

  “Do you know why you are called here?” questioned the prince.

  “No, my lord.”

  “The lady Cervi, whom you divorced, claims you have refused to return her bride price and that you cast her out penniless, even forbidding her sons to aid her. All this is forbidden by the holy Koran.”

  “Highness, the old woman spent her bride price years ago. Age has addled her wits, and she remembers not.”

  Selim heard a snort from among the veiled women.

  “But why,” he continued, “did you forbid her sons the right to aid her!”

  “They could aid her if they chose. A viper’s bite is gentler than an ungrateful son,” replied the merchant smoothly.

  Another snort.

  “Who makes that noise?” demanded the prince.

  Silence.

  “If you do not speak, how may I judge this case fairly? I will protect the teller of truth.”

  A heavily veiled woman stepped forward. “I am Dipti, the second wife of Razi Abu. He lies, my lord. Cervi’s bride price was not spent by her. He gave it, along with my bride price and the bride price of his two other wives, Hatije and Medji, to her for her bride price.” She pointed at a tall figure in an exquisite lavender silk feridje.

  Selim noted that the other women wore the plain black alpaca feridje of the poor.

  “Then,” continued Dipti, “he threatened to disinherit Cervi’s sons if they helped her. What could they do, my lord? They and their families live within our house. They work for their father and have nothing of their own.”

  The prince frowned. “These are grave charges, Razi Abu. What have you to say?”

  “They are all jealous of my precious Bosfor, my lord prince. This flower of springtime has brought me happiness in my old age. She is naught but gentle and loving.”

  “Hah,” snapped Dipti. “Listen to me, my lord. For his gentle and loving Bosfor, he has robbed us all. Before she came into our house, each of us had, as the law allows, our own quarters, our own conveniences for cooking and sleeping, our own slaves. Now Hatije, Medji, and I are crammed into two small rooms because Cervi’s quarters were not large enough for Bosfor, and Razi Abu must rebuild the harem to suit her. Our slaves were taken from us so she might have more and now just one old crone waits upon us. Any jewelry of value that we had has disappeared, to reappear on her person. We have not dared to complain for fear of being cast out like poor Cervi.”

  “Will any of the others substantiate your charges, Lady Dipti?”

  Hatije and Medji stepped forward. “We do, my lord.”

  A young man moved before the prince. “I am Jafar, my lord, the son of Cervi and eldest of all Razi Abu’s sons. The women speak the truth. They have been treated most shamefully—my mother worst of all Our father has never been an easy man, but until he met this Bosfor he at least treated his family with respect Had he taken the woman as a concubine, we would not have minded. Since she has come, we are all mistreated. Any imagined offense to her is reported to our father, and the offender is severely punished. We are in fear of our lives.” He stepped back among his brothers.

  The prince’s eyes found Bosfor. He motioned to her to step forward. “I would hear what you have to say.”

  The lavender figure glided to the foot of his dais and sank into a graceful bow. Slowly she raised her liquid brown eyes to him.

  “Why, the bitch,” said Cyra softly. “She dares to flirt with him.”

  The woman’s features were vague behind her sheer veil. Selim reached down and flicked it away. The face smiling up at him was the artfully decorated one of a whore. She was about seventeen. Selim was repelled, for he detested brazen women, but he did not show his feelings.

  “Gracious prince.” The voice was husky and low. “These charges are but the ravings of jealous old women and greedy sons overeager for their inheritance.”

  “Could you not have been content to be a pampered concubine? Surely you are not so ignorant that you did not know that in order for you to be married to Razi Abu, he must divorce one of his faithful wives. This would seem to me a hardhearted thing to do.”

  “I am a respectable woman, my lord.”

  “Hah,” snorted Dipti.

  Bosfor turned on her. “Old hag! You’ll regret your meddling. I am to bear my lord a son.”

  “Aiyee! You add adultery to your other crimes!”

  “Hold!” shouted the prince over the uproar. The room quieted. “Lady Dipti, these are serious charges you make. The law states that there must be four witnesses to such a charge. If you cannot provide proof, I must sentence you to eighty lashes. Do you wish to withdraw your charge?”

  Bosfor smirked smugly at the older woman. “She has no proof, and she has besmirched my good name. She must be punished, the gossiping old crone.”

  “There is proof.”

  “No!”

  “Yes! Bosfor moved into our house four months ago when Razi Abu divorced Cervi, though he could not marry her until a month ago. In all that time she has had no show of blood.”

  The prince smiled gently. “Sometimes, Lady Dipti, eager lovers consummate a marriage before the formalities. Could this not be the case with Bosfor and Razi Abu?”

  Behind the dais Cervi squeezed Cyra’s hand. “Oh, Allah! Poor Razi Abu. When Dipti is angry, nothing can stop her tongue. She will tell all.”

  Cyra glanced at the merchant, whose complexion had turned a sickly shade of green. Feeling a stab of pity, she whispered to Selim, “Clear the court, my lord, else the merchant will be shamed publicly. His crime is not that great”

  Selim nodded and gave the order. Only Razi Abu and his family remained. Lady Cervi was brought back to the court

  Dipti drew a deep breath. “Razi Abu can no longer wield his weapon, my lord prince, and has not been able to these past five years. A severe fever killed his potency. He is as useless as a eunuch. But that is not all. When Bosfor had been in our house but a few weeks, five of the women sought her out to reason with her. As we reached her chamber door, we heard a man’s voice and, peeking in, saw this shameless creature lying naked upon her couch with a man. We have watched her closely ever since, and twice more the same man has visited her in secret”

  Selim turned to Razi Abu. “Is what she says true?”

  Sadly the merchant nodded.

  “You cast out a faithful wife to marry with this woman who cuckolds you beneath your own roof and is to bear another man’s child? Why?”

  The merchant was close to tears. “I did not know it until after I had made her my wife. When I learned of her condition and said I would cast her out she threatened to make public my infirmity.”

  “This does not excuse your cruelty to the lady Cervi, so I sentence you thusly. First you will return to her her bride price. Secondly, you will pay her ten times that amount in damages, and she will be allowed to return to your house to collect all her personal possessions and jewelry. Thirdly, you will sign over two-thirds of your business to your sons. And, lastly, I sentence you to one year in prison for so flagrantly breaking the law of the Koran. Had you been younger, I should have sent you to the galleys. You are a selfish and thoughtless man, Razi Abu. Perhaps a year in prison will give you the time yon need to meditate on these sins, and you will return home in a year’s time a kinder and more compassionate man.”

  Razi Abu turned angrily to Bosfor.

  “No!” she screamed “You cannot! My child will be born a bastard”

  Slowly the merchant intoned, “I dismiss thee. I dismiss thee. I dismiss thee.”

  “You are legally divorced, Bosfor,” said Selim. “Now hear your punishment according to the Koran. You have been proved an adulteress. You will be taken from this place to the public square in the village. There, stripped naked, you will be given one hundred lashes. However, I am a merciful man, and the fruit of your sin is innocent of any wrongdoing, so I will delay your sentence until the child is born. Until then you will be lodged in the village prison.”

  �
�My lord, have pity! Such a beating will kill me! What will become of my child?”

  “It will be placed with a childless couple.” He signaled the guards. “Take them away. The court is over for this week.”

  Rising from the dais, Selim graciously acknowledged the thanks of Cervi and her family and then disappeared behind the carved screen. Giving Cyra a quick kiss, he took her by the hand and hurried her off to his quarters.

  She stretched herself out upon a divan while a servant removed Selim’s heavy ceremonial robes and turban. Comfortably dressed in wide pantaloons banded at the ankles and a wide-sleeved silk shirt open at the neck, he sat down beside her. Silent slaves brought a bowl of fruit and thick, sweet, steaming coffee in tiny porcelain cups. Cyra made a face and pushed the coffee away.

  “Cool water,” she said, “flavored with tangerine.”

  It was placed before her, and Selim waved the slaves away. Cyra looked at him adoringly.

  “Thank you, my dear lord, for your mercy to the woman Bosfor.”

  “I heard you gasp when I pronounced sentence.”

  “Poor little baby. His mother will die.”

  “The beating may not kill her.”

  “If she is whipped with a feather, Is that not the usual weapon?”

  “The sentence is a just one, Cyra. The Koran is very clear on the matter of adultery. Had she named the man, he would have suffered an identical fate. That she did not, led me to believe there is some good in her and moved me to mercy.”

  “When you pronounced sentence, our son quickened within me, and I felt him move for the first time.”

  Selim grinned happily. “He approved my judgments.” He pulled her up. “If I can influence him in the law, then perhaps I may turn him to the expansion of the empire, also.” Leading her over to a large, square table, he pointed to the map upon it.

  “Europe,” he said, slamming his hand down on the table. “Someday I shall expand the empire to cover all of it, perhaps even the island your Scotland shares with England. I shall convert many to the true faith!”

  “Show me where Scotland is,” she asked.

  He pointed to a small red patch in the blue sea.

  “It’s so tiny!” she exclaimed. “Where is San Lorenzo?”

  His finger moved to a yellow section.

  “It’s even smaller than my homeland.” She sighed. “I wonder how my father does. And Adam and my grandmother Mary.”

  He debated telling her, but then decided she should know. “Your father and his family have returned home. He was much distressed at your loss.”

  He saw the tears she would not allow to fall well up in her eyes.

  “It is better, Selim. Father did not really tike San Lorenzo. He missed his estates.”

  Noting the unspoken question in her eyes, he smiled to himself. Sure of her love and loyalty, he knew she would not distress him by asking, but he also knew her curiosity pricked her sorely, so he spoke.

  “Rudolfo di San Lorenzo has married Princess Marie-Hélène of Toulouse.”

  Her outburst of giggles startled him.

  “Oh, no!” she gasped. “Poor Rudi!” Her laughter lit up the chamber. Then, seeing his bewilderment, she gained control of herself. “One summer the heat was so unbearable that we went to the mountains to a village noted for its waters. Princess Marie-Hélène was there also. She was several years older than both myself and Rudi. She is fat and dark and given to numerous moles on her face. She spent most of her time eating and complaining about the lack of suitable companions.”

  “Poor Rudi, indeed,” chuckled Selim. “Almost to have had you, and to end up with a fat princess.”

  Cyra peered again at the map. “How do you read a map?”

  “The different countries are set in different colors, each marked with its name. The capital cities are also indicated.”

  “Here is Turkey!” she exclaimed gleefully. “And Constantinople! But where are we?”

  His finger moved to a spot slightly northeast of the city.

  “This whole green part is the empire?”

  He nodded.

  “By Allah! It is huge!”

  “No,” he replied. “Since my grandfather took Constantinople, no new territory has been added. In fact, we have lost territory since my father became sultan. The Egyptian Mamelukes now control Cilicia, and Venice has seized Cyprus. But someday I shall regain these lost lands of ours—and take others.”

  “Will your father let you go to war, my lord?”

  “My father is more interested in beauty than power. If he wished, he could be a great warrior, but he prefers to remain in Constantinople, adding to the palace and gardens of the Yeni Serai. Allah help us if the Christians decide to start one of their dreary Crusades.”

  Cyra laughed. “Patience, my lord Selim. Your fears are foolish. The French king, Charles the Eighth, is very busy invading Italy. Henry the Seventh of England is attempting to subdue the Irish again. In Spain, Isabella and Ferdinand divide their energies among the Inquisition, the navigator Columbus, and the persecution of the Moors. As for His Holiness, Pope Alexander the Sixth, it is rumored he secured his high office by bribery and is far more concerned with amassing wealth for himself and his numerous bastard offspring than with defending the faith.”

  Selim was astounded by her speech. “You are remarkably well informed for the cloistered wife of an Eastern prince, my love. I doubt that the biggest gossip in Western Europe has as much information as you do. What is your secret?”

  “No secret, my lord. Politics interests me. Knowing this, Hadji Bey keeps me well supplied with information. How else may I help you if I cannot be your ears? You have so much to do.”

  He put an affectionate arm around her while his other hand gently swept across the map of Europe. “If I allowed it, you would don armor and ride into battle at my side, wouldn’t you? What lucky chance brought me such an intelligent and brave woman?”

  “It was ordained long before our time, my Selim.”

  “By Allah, how I love you! There is not another woman anywhere to compare with you!”

  Sweeping her into his arms, he kissed her passionately.

  “This son of ours already interferes with me,” he murmured against her scented hair.

  “My lord,” she chided him, “does not Firousi satisfy you? She loves you deeply.”

  “Firousi is a charming confection and very dear to me, but it is a meal I crave, not sweets. Besides, the little turquoise may not be sharing my bed much longer. It is likely that she is with child.”

  Mischievously, Cyra looked up at him. “Who next, my lord?”

  “You are impudent” He scowled at her.

  “I am realistic,” she countered. Then, suddenly jumping back, she cried out “Your son has kicked me most rudely!”

  “Ho,” he laughed. “He warns you to keep your place, woman.”

  She folded her hands over her rounded belly. “Hear me, my son. Whatever may come to pass, I am always your mother, and you are merely my son.”

  Selim looked at her with admiring eyes. “What a sultan you would be, my love.”

  “What a sultan you will be, my Sehm!”

  19

  SPRING HAD COME TO Turkey with a kiss that year. Never had the rains been so gentle, nor the countryside so lush and green. The faithful in their mosques thanked Allah for his bounty and for their noble sultan. Peace and business prospered, and Ottoman culture, under the benevolent guiding hand of Sultan Bajazet, flourished.

  By mid-June, to Firousi’s delight, Selim’s amusement, and Lady Refet’s concern, the silvery-blond Caucasian girl was sure she was with child. Hadji Bey was hurriedly and secretly sent for. He arrived one glorious moonlit night, and was immediately taken to Cyra’s private garden, where Selim, his aunt, and the Scots girl were sitting about the blue mosaic fountain enjoying the first fullness of the Gold of Ophir roses.

  “Greetings, my daughter,” said the agha, eyeing Cyra, who was now obviously heavy with child “I
see it goes well with you.”

  “I think I can take this small barbarian’s insults a bit longer,” replied the girl, patting her swollen belly.

  “Insults?”

  “He kicks, Hadji Bey. Not just gentle taps, but great and mighty kicks. I can assure you I am quite bruised from him.”

  “You are sure, then, it is a son?”

  “Oh, yes! No Turkish female of gentle breeding would behave in such a manner. Only a big boob of a boy would dare,” she said, smiling.

  “She blooms like the roses, does she not, Hadji Bey?” asked Selim. “How is it possible for one already incomparable to become more so each day?”

  The agha smiled. “Your joy brings me joy, my dear Selim, but surely you did not bring me here merely to share it.”

  “It was I who sent for you,” said Lady Refet “You must help me before this vainglorious young cock is the death of us all. Cyra will give birth in less than two months, and not four months later the ikbal Firousi will also give birth. When word of this reaches Besma, she will be like a madwoman.”

  “It has already reached her,” replied Hadji Bey, “and she has already tried again to gain the sultan’s ear. Fortunately, the death of Selim’s mother is still fresh in his mind and heart, and I intend to keep it so. In three nights the sultan gives a reception. He will be presented to an exquisite girl, a Circassian like yourself and your sister. I call her Kiusem, as your sister was called. She even bears a striking resemblance to the first Kiusem. I have been keeping her hidden for just such a moment but I guarantee that the sultan will be enamored of her and will have no time for the lady Besma’s complaints and ravings.”

  “Bless you for your foresight” sighed Lady Refet

  “However,” continued the agha kislar, “I would advise you, Selim, to take a hunting trip for a few weeks, and not to take a new ikbal until Cyra’s child is born.”

  “You would do well to heed Hadji Bey’s advice, my dear nephew, before Besma convinces Bajazet that you and your burgeoning family are a threat to him.”