“I have a feeling,” whispered Cyra, “that the time of my dear lord’s triumph draws near. We must surround ourselves only with those who are loyal. We have allowed Besma’s spies their freedom for too many years.”
Lady Refet reached out and took Cyra’s hand in hers. “How I bless that day seventeen years ago when you came to us. You are more Turkish than I am, and so good for Selim.”
“Loyalty and ambition are not just Turkish traits, sweet madam. They are Scots as well, and as to my being very Turkish, why should I not be? I have lived more than half my life here.”
“We have spoken only once, dear child, of the time you came to us, and it was so long ago. If it no longer pains you, will you answer a question?”
“If I can,” said Cyra.
“Were you never afraid? You, Firousi, and Zuleika were the calmest girls I ever saw enter the sultan’s seraglio. I would have expected it from Zuleika, since she is an Easterner by birth, but you and Firousi were Christian maidens.”
“The events in my life had moved so quickly that I was in shock,” replied Cyra. “The night I was auctioned on the block in Candia, I did feel fear. It was warm, and yet, stripped naked on that platform, I felt frozen. My shame lasted but a short while, though it seemed forever. Hadji Bey bought me, wrapped me in his cloak, and whisked me off to his house, where I was given clothing and the immediate company of my two friends. We vowed that night that we should be true to one another no matter what our fate brought If we were to be slaves, we would be powerful ones. After that there was no time for fear. A whole new world opened for us. A stupid woman would have wept and begged for death at her supposed shame. We chose life, and all it could bring us. Too soon do we meet with death.”
The older woman stared at the younger. “Through the ages there have been only a few women such as you, my child. How fortunate my nephew is to have you.”
As darkness fell, the slaves lit the lamps and brought the evening meal. Tremors still shook the earth gently at intervals. The two women ate silently, each content in the knowledge that the danger was past, and each lost in her own thoughts.
The moon rose pure and white in a dark velvet sky, preening itself in the now quiet sea. Night sounds—the cry of the hunting owl, a soft, sighing breeze, the chirrup of young frogs in a nearby marsh—filled the air reassuringly. Nature was regaining her composure.
The following morning, young Suleiman visited his mother’s quarters as she breakfasted. Sitting across from her and helping himself to some fruit he announced, “Mohammed and I are going to ride into Constantinople to look for father.”
“You are not” answered his mother calmly.
“But we must” cried the boy. “Father could be dead or injured! Who would care for him? Do you think that she-camel Besma would not use the earthquake as an excuse to murder my father?”
“Suleiman!” Cyra’s voice snapped a warning, “I trust your grandfather to see to your father’s safety. Besides, the sultan is at the Yeni Serai, and you know that the harem lives at the Eski Serai.” She spoke in English as she always did when she did not want the slaves to understand her. “Besides, my son, your father is probably on his way back to us by now.”
Proudly drawing himself up, the boy said “I am almost fifteen, madam, and a man. In my father’s absence I am head of this household Has he not always said so? It is my decision to take Mohammed my brother, and ride to Constantinople to look for our father.”
Two pairs of eyes, one green, the other gray-green, blazed across the table at one another.
“Do not play the Grand Turk with me, my lad” said Cyra. “You are now, and will always be, my son. Do you think your father or grandfather would forgive me if I allowed you this folly and you came to harm? You are an heir! Where is your wisdom? Would you leave this house of women and children unprotected?”
“The soldiers would protect you,” the boy replied sullenly.
“And who is to lead them should it be necessary? Am I to put on armor and ride into battle while you wander about the capital?”
The boy looked at his intensely feminine young mother, with her undressed red-gold hair loose about her shoulders, and burst out laughing.
“I fail to see what is so funny,” she said
He choked back his mirth. “Dearest bulbul, you are so pretty, yet in your anger I see in your eyes the ghost of your Scots ancestors. I can well imagine you armored and riding into battle.”
Reaching across the table, she grabbed a handful of his dark hair and yanked hard
“Ouch!” he protested struggling to escape her.
“Have you no respect for your mother?” she laughed
“I humbly beg your pardon, bulbul.”
She relinquished her hold and became serious again. “Perhaps it is time you were kept more fully informed Suleiman. You are near to a man, though it amazes me to see you so. After the quake yesterday, I sent a message to Constantinople. Hadji Bey’s pigeons are reliable under any circumstances. We should have an answer soon. Let us wait until then.”
He gave in gracefully, knowing in his heart that she was right and feeling a trifle foolish that he should have allowed his emotions to overcome his own common sense.
Toward late afternoon a weary bird fluttered through the open portico into Cyra’s salon. Picking the exhausted creature up, she felt its heartbeat beneath her hand. Brave soldier, she thought, removing the capsuled message from its leg. Giving the bird to a slave, she instructed that it be fed and watered before being returned to the cote.
She sat down and, opening the container, withdrew a slip of paper. The message in Hadji Bey’s familiar hand was written in the dialect of the agha’s native land. He had taught Selim’s kadins this ancient tongue when they had first come to Turkey. It was used in all their personal correspondence, thus confounding would-be spies.
The message was brief. Selim and the rest of the imperial family was safe. The palaces, public and government buildings were damaged, but not badly. The capital, however, was in ruins. Huge waves had poured over the city walls. Scores of people were dead or injured. The sultan and the court were moving to Adrianople. Selim would accompany them before returning home. Under no circumstances were they to leave the palace.
Reading the message through twice, she placed it in a small brazier and watched until the coals completely consumed it She called to a slave and instructed him to assemble the family at once.
They came quickly, the adult women and the three oldest boys. She told them Hadji Bey’s message, and they shared her relief regarding Selim Cyra then sent for the chief eunuch, Ali Anber brought her word that the chief eunuch was ill and could not leave his bed. Concern in her voice, she instructed that Ali be looked after with the utmost care. The listening slaves marveled that the bas-kadin could be so kind to one who had spoken so rudely to her.
Ali died peacefully the next day, and Cyra, with the approval of Lady Refet and the other kadins, appointed the eunuch Anber to his place.
Aftershocks continued for the next month and a half, but they were mild and none so severe as the first quake. There was a great deal to do regarding the repair of the estate. Selim sent word that he would remain with his father until things were more settled.
To assuage their loneliness, the prince’s kadins threw themselves into an orgy of work. With the slaves and workmen from nearby villages already busy with the Moonlight Serai and its grounds, Cyra sent small troups of Tartars throughout the province to assess the extent of the damage.
Reports came in daily, and after the four kadins had carefully read them all, the soldiers were sent out again with gifts of dinars and food from Selim’s own storehouses. Slowly the area returned to normal. Homes were repaired, farm animals rounded up or replaced, fields replanted, wounds healed—and, most important of all, bellies were filled. The name of Prince Selim, on the tongue of every man, woman, and child in the region, was blessed six times daily.
In mid-July the four wives of Sultan B
ajazct’s younger son could sit back and smile with satisfaction at a job well done. The aftershocks had stopped entirely. Everything was back to normal in their small world, and already the hot summer sun was encouraging the wheat to great height It seemed that after the terrible devastation of early May, nature was on her best behavior.
One afternoon as Cyra sat quietly sewing, the chief eunuch admitted a dust-stained messenger to her presence. Selim was coming home! “He cannot be far behind me, my lady, though the people in the village will scarce let him by with the singing of his praises. I rode as fast as I could.”
“You have done well,” she replied through her veil. “Anber, see that the prince’s messenger is offered refreshment before he goes to his quarters, and inform my aunt and sisters of his message.”
Thus dismissing them, she called to her own slaves to prepare her bath and fresh garments.
Prince Selim, his troup of Tartar cavalry riding smartly behind him, arrived home to be greeted by his four lovely wives, who, forgetting protocol and decorum, ran from the main portico to meet him. Leaping from his horse, he flung open his arms and managed, by a miracle known to Allah alone, to enfold them all.
The soldiers nudged each other and grinned down from their horses in delight Here was a man—a prince to be sultan someday! Four beautiful and devoted wives, for though their faces were veiled to all men save their lord, the slave girls spoke often of the kadins’ beauty.
Selim stood there, travel-stained and weary, his four women laughing and crying their joy at his return. Then his sons, following their mothers’ example and leaving restraint behind, dashed from the palace to meet him. Suleiman, fifteen next month, led the pack. Four-year-old Prince Nureddin, the youngest brought up the rear on chubby, dimpled legs. Nine fine boys. The ten-year-old princesses, Hale and Guzel, six-year-old Nilufer, and even the littlest princess, Mihri-Chan, waited decorously beneath the main portico. As Selim and his party reached them, Nilufer, who had inherited her mother’s delicate features and her incredible green eyes, flung herself on him, smothering him with kisses, and then promptly begged to be put upon her father’s horse.
“She is learning your ways, my love,” laughed the prince. “First a compliment then the request. She is not so subtle as you, but then she is still young.” He bent down and lifted the child up into the saddle. “You may take him to the stables, Nilufer. Can you do it?”
Her eyes shining, the child gathered up the reins. “Yes, father.”
“Selim,” protested Cyra, “she is too little for such a big horse.”
“She is an Ottoman princess, and all Ottomans ride well naturally.” He tapped the horse lightly on the rump, and it trotted off to the stable with Nilufer proudly on its back. The prince turned to his men. “You have done well, my Tartars. Go now and enjoy the pleasures of the bath. This evening there will be feasting and entertainment for you all.” Turning back to his family, he escorted them into the palace. “Tonight I shall dine with my oldest sons and their mothers.” A slave took his dusty cape while another removed his dirty boots.
“Cyra, come with me, I want to speak with you.” He strode off to his quarters. “How is my aunt? Why did she not greet me?”
“She is very well, my lord, but exhausted from her labors these past weeks. She bade me ask you to visit her when you have bathed and changed.”
He nodded, then queried, “What in Allah’s name did you do to the people of this province? There wasn’t a village where I wasn’t stopped and offered a selection of refreshments and nubile virgins.”
They entered his apartments.
She laughed. “I simply distributed food and gold in your name following the earthquake. Did you not notice that the homes are all repaired and the fields filled with growing grain?”
“I did. Except for a few scars on the land itself, you would not know the quake had touched this region.”
“But it did, dearest. The waters from the sea swept all through our estate. Had it not been for the storm that followed, we would have been a salt desert now.”
“I thank Allah you were not in the city, my dove. The waters poured over the city walls. Hundreds were drowned. What wasn’t ruined by the waters burned in the fires that followed. The sultan himself narrowly escaped death. The sea inundated his private apartments at the Yeni Serai. He had left them but an hour before. Three slaves who were cleaning the rooms were drowned.”
“How horrible! We were lucky in losing only one slave.”
The prince continued his story. “We set up tents in the gardens of the Eski Serai, but when it became apparent that the aftershocks would continue, the sultan moved the court and government to Adrianople. Before we left, he opened the granaries to the people of the city, and for the time I was with him in Adrianople, he did nothing but plan the rebuilding and repair of Constantinople. It has started already. Poor father was so worried about my family. However, Hadji Bey assured him you were all safe. Besma was naturally quite disappointed to hear you were all out of danger.”
“That woman!” hissed Cyra, her eyes narrowing. Then, remembering, she spoke again. “My lord, you must forgive me for acting without your authority, but it became necessary to dispose of the chief eunuch, AIL He was Besma’s spy.”
“Ali?”
“Yes, my lord. Once I told you I did not know who Besma’s spies were. I spoke the truth. However, several years ago Hadji Bey felt it best that I know. The others were a white eunuch in your aunt’s quarters, a bath attendant, and one of the slave girls attached to my suite. Ali died an apparently natural death.” Selim raised an eyebrow, but Cyra continued. “I have appointed Hadji Bey’s protégé Anber to the position of chief eunuch.”
The prince nodded his approval. “And the others, my love?”
“The slave girl I rewarded for her service to me by marrying her to a prosperous farmer in the region who has always been of service to us. The bath attendant slipped while alone in the baths, hit her head, and drowned. The white eunuch was caught trying to run away with half of Lady Refet’s jewels in his pockets. It was necessary to execute him as an example to the other slaves that we will not tolerate that sort of thing.”
Selim whistled softly. “I shall be glad when I succeed to the sultanate, my dear wife, to have you on my side, and not against me.”
“I regret having to take these actions, but I feel that the time is approaching when you will assume your fated duties. If we are not safe from Besma in our own household, we are safe nowhere. Bajazet will not live forever, and when he goes to Paradise, our battle begins. You cannot be held back through worrying about us. We are a household of women and children, but with this province loyal, and surrounded by faithful slaves, we can withstand anything.”
Tenderly he drew her to him. He smelled of sweat and horses. “How I pity Rudolfo di San Lorenzo. With you at his side, he might have ruled all Europe.”
“No, my Selim. I should have been merely his duchess. He has neither your vision nor your intelligence, and he would have treated me as a brood mare and chattel. Legally I am your slave, but never have you treated me thus. You have loved me as a woman, and yet respected me for myself. And despite the fact that you are Turkish to the soles of your feet, you have always acknowledged the fact that I have a mind.” This last was said with a twinkle, for though Selim was a strong man and not one to be swayed, he often sought Cyra’s advice.
“Impudent slave,” he chuckled, “it is not your clever mind I admire, but your ripe, round body.” His hand slid beneath her pelisse.
Squirming away in mock dismay, she exclaimed, “My lord! No Turkish gentleman would accost a lady with the filth of the road still on his person. What will the slaves say?”
“Damn the slaves,” he muttered, tumbling her among the cushions. As if on cue, a slave entered, announcing, “Your bath is ready, my lord.”
“Damn the bath!” roared Selim, glowering down at his favorite, who was biting her lip to hold back her laughter. “If you laugh, I’ll s
trangle you.”
“Yes, my lord,” she gasped, choking back her giggles.
His own laugh then rumbled across the room, and her silvery one joined it The slave stood open-mouthed, afraid to move.
Selim wiped the tears from his eyes. “Tonight?”
She smiled and, rising from the pillows, walked from the room.
25
THEY DID NOT KNOW IT THEN, but the next year was to be the last one they would spend together in peace and contentment. It was a happy year, for Selim was home more than he had been since those early days.
Occasionally he would ride into Constantinople, taking the three oldest boys with him. They came back full of tales of how the city was being rebuilt and how the people had cheered them and their father.
More often the prince would take his sons hunting. Even the youngest, Nureddin, was included, riding his shaggy pony, his fat little legs hugging the animal’s equally fat sides.
Selim spent long, lazy afternoons sailing on the bay with his daughters. He came to know them as he never had. Hale, for instance, was like her mother not only in appearance but in temperament as well Guzel, the other twin, was thoughtful and more sensitive. His youngest daughter he found mischievous and stubborn but completely winning when she chose to be. Mihri-Chan was spoiled, he knew, but then Sarina had only two children.
It was Nilufer, however, who was his favorite. She did not look like him, and though she had Cyra’s delicate features, she was not merely her mother’s replica. Nilufer was decidedly herself. She was bright, charming, and independent, yet extremely feminine. She was a natural leader, and even her older sisters deferred to her.
Selim spent the evenings in the company of his aunt and his kadins, enjoying quiet entertainments and talks. Sometimes there would be visitors from the capital or from outlying provinces. Then Selim would closet himself with them, sometimes for several days.
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