The Kadin

by Bertrice Small

  Prince Selim grew red in the face. “Liar Liar!” he shrieked at his younger brother. “You always take his part! When I am sultan, the first thing I’ll do is cut off your head!” He punctuated this last remark by a chopping motion of his hand, and then, giving Bajazet a shove that sent him sprawling on the lawn, ran off. The younger prince scrambled to his feet and gave chase.

  Gulbehar turned slowly to face Khurrem. “Sol You’ve been telling your fat little brat he is to be sultan. How dare you?! Mustafa is his father’s heir! Mustafa, not Selim! It was settled years ago.”

  “Was it?” drawled Khurrem. “I do not recall Suleiman officially and openly declaring Mustafa his heir. Why should he? Simply because you had the good fortune to bear my dearest lord a child before I did is no reason for making your son heir rather than my Selim.”

  “I am the bas-kadin, and so acknowledged by our lord. Is your knowledge of Turkish still so poor, foreigner, that you do not know that bas-kadin means ‘mother of the heir’?”

  “I always thought it meant ‘favorite,’ though you are certainly not that. My many children are proof of my lord’s love for me.”

  “Your children?” replied Gulbehar. “Three sons, and only one of them fit to bear the title of prince. As for the other two, one is an overfed, overindulged, overbearing little monster, and the other a cripple! Then we have your precious daughter, a wise child who screams at the very sight of you. Bajazet is the only decent son you have spawned. If our lord Suleiman had coupled with a dog, the bitch would have produced a better litter than you!”

  Cyra saw it coming but could not rise quickly enough to prevent it. Like a springing tigress, Khurrem attacked Gulbehar. Screaming threats, the bas-kadin fought back, but, though smaller, Khurrem was the better fighter. She kicked, gouged, pummeled, and used her nails to great effect.

  Frantically, over the screams of the two women, the valideh called to the eunuchs, who came running to separate the sultan’s wives. In that last moment Gulbehar struck her only real blow. As the eunuchs pinioning the second kadin’s arms pulled her up off the bas-kadin, Gulbehar reached up and raked her long red nails down the Russian girl’s face. Khurrem screamed wildly in rage as she was borne off, still struggling, to her own apartments. Gulbehar, brushing aside the eunuch’s hand, rose and walked silently away.

  Cyra could not conceal the incident for there had been far too many witnesses, but she must try. Hurrying indoors, she sent for the agha kislar. He had already heard.

  “Bribe everyone you can,” she told him. “Word of this shameful incident must not go beyond the palace walls.”

  “Madam”—his brown face puckered like a baby’s—“madam, I do not know if I can. Already the tale runs through the palace as a virgin runs from marauding soldiers.”

  “You must try, Anber Bey. If it is known that my son cannot keep peace in his own household, he will lose face. This must not happen!”

  She had intended to keep this domestic crisis a secret from Suleiman but was forced to speak to him that very night Taking coffee with his mother, as was his habit the sultan sent a message to Khurrem that he desired her presence later in the evening. Khurrem sent back the message that she could not possibly appear before her lord when she was so disfigured.

  Cyra could not help but laugh at the cleverness of her Russian daughter-in-law. The valideh had personally seen to Khurrem’s wounds. The scratches on her face were not deep, would leave no trace, and would heal within a week.

  Gulbehar, hearing that Khurrem had been sent for and had refused to come to her lord, swiftly appeared on the scene and began to pour out a string of unintelligible complaints to the sultan. Cyra quickly sent her away. Confused, the sultan turned to his mother for an explanation. Using the moment to her own advantage, Cyra placed the blame squarely on Suleiman.

  “This is your fault,” she said. “For eleven years you favored no one but Gulbehar. For the past seven years, you have looked only at Khurrem. There has always been animosity between them, and this afternoon it broke into open physical combat Had you taken other favorites, as I often suggested, each would have been far too busy trying to lure you from the others, and Gulbehar and Khurrem would not have had time to concentrate on their hatred for one another.”

  “I must go to Khurrem. She must be badly hurt if she will not present herself to me.”

  “You are a fool, my son! Khurrem has naught but a few minor scratches. She is wise enough to gain your sympathy by not complaining and by denying you her company, while poor Gulbehar is a mass of bruises and bites.”

  “In Allah’s name, mother, what am I to do with them?”

  “Is Mustafa your choice as heir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then officially declare him so at once. Do you still care for Gulbehar?”

  “I am fond of her, mother. She is a good woman. But I shall not seek her bed again.”

  “Then, after declaring Mustafa your heir, send him and his mother to Magnesia. It is time the boy began to learn how to govern. What more fitting place than the province that was yours in your father’s time?” He nodded his agreement.

  “As for Khurrem, no wonder she is overproud. You have spoiled her outrageously. You must take more favorites. The harem is full of lovely and talented maidens. I cannot believe there are not some who would please you.”

  “I do not want more children, mother.”

  Cyra’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “My son, I am going to tell you a secret Do you think that it was by accident that having sired ten sons and six daughters by his four kadins, your father had no other children by the ikbals he took when he became sultan? Only in the end was it impossible for him to have normal relations with his women. In the beginning of his reign he took many maidens to his bed, but we had decided that your status as heir had to be protected, and so we saw to it that Selim’s ikbals remained barren. There are ways, my son. If you wish to maintain the status of your family, it can be arranged.”

  Suleiman’s first reaction was amazement Then he roared with laughter. “By Allah, my mother, you are a wicked and devious woman! But I love you. Very well, I shall do all you suggest but you must keep your part of the bargain. See that my favorites do not prove fruitful.”

  So Prince Mustafa, accompanied by his sad mother, left Constantinople for Magnesia. Khurrem’s first annoyance at having Gulbehar’s son named heir turned to joy when her hated rival left the city. It quickly turned back to rage when Suleiman, ignoring her for the present began taking other maidens to his bed. Four were swiftly elevated to the rank of ikbal.

  Still, the Russian reasoned, except for the valideh, she was now first lady in the harem, and the valideh was in her fifties. How much longer could she live? Unfortunately, patience was not Khurrem Kadin’s greatest virtue.

  One warm afternoon when the air was heavy with the scent of roses, jasmine, and marigold, Cyra sent for a cooling fruit sherbet When it came, the young white eunuch who carried the little tray attracted her immediate attention because his hands were shaking. It was not very noticeable, but she saw the faint quiver as, kneeling, he offered up the cup. It did not take a great deal of thought for her to decide the reason. The sherbet was poisoned.

  She spoke one word. “Who?”

  The eunuch began to tremble.

  “You have a choice,” said the valideh. “You may die swiftly, or you may die slowly and painfully.”

  “Khurrem Kadin,” he cried, and, falling to his knees, begged for mercy.

  “Drink it,” she commanded. Her face brooked no refusal.

  Mumbling a prayer to Allah, the eunuch drained the cup and minutes later fell dead at her feet.

  “Where is Khurrem Kadin at this hour?” she asked a frightened attendant

  “At the baths, madam,” she replied.

  “Have this slave secretly carried to her chambers and left upon her bed,” said Cyra. Slowly rising, she walked out into her gardens.

  The valideh was annoyed with herself. She had undere
stimated her son’s kadin. She had not believed that Khurrem would dare an attempt on her life, and had been lulled into a false sense of security.

  Of all those connected with Suleiman’s early life, only she remained near him. Gulbehar lived her lonely exile in the city of Magnesia. Firousi and Sarina had made new lives for themselves. Dearest Firousi! She hadn’t wanted to leave Cyra, but it had been for the best She was completely recovered now and would live to a ripe old age, the doctors assured the valideh.

  They were all safe, and for that blessing she was grateful, but was there not a place of peace and safety for her? Suddenly she remembered Gulbehar’s warning that one day Khurrem’s ambition would reach out to destroy even the valideh. Disquieted, she was trying to organize her thoughts when the voice of Esther Kira cut through her consciousness. She turned to see the plump little Jewess bustling toward her.

  “Ah, my dearest madam, Marian has told me everything! How could she do this to you, to whom she owes all? You must retaliate, of course. I have the most marvelous new poison from Italy. It leaves no trace.”

  Cyra laughed. “Marian was told to keep silent along with my other servants. Oh, Esther! You do cheer me. But no, I shall not destroy Khurrem. She means far too much to Suleiman.”

  The gold bracelets on Esther Kira’s plump arms jingled in annoyance. “I thought you would be merciful, and I disapprove,” she said sternly. Then, reaching into the purse attached to her girdle, she drew out a little box, opened it, and removed a small gilded pill which she handed to Cyra. “Take one of these daily. They contain an infinitesimal dose of poison and will build your resistance to anything Khurrem can give you.”

  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?”