The French Sultana

by Zia Wesley

  Now, the neatly woven fiber of Nakshidil’s world felt as if it were beginning to unravel. A dark cloud hung over Selim and as he changed so had their relationship. She did not mind his other lovers, in fact it was her duty to encourage exactly that. As Valide Sultana, head of the harem, she brought appropriate women before him and helped him to choose. He currently had nine favorites and still shared his bed with her at least once a week. But the Valide Sultana was also the most politically powerful woman in the Empire. All of his other lovers had the luxury of distance from government problems, allowing them to focus solely on lovemaking. Frightening new developments had begun to encroach upon their untroubled happiness, and their weekly lovemaking had been replaced by long hours of discussions of problems, solutions and tactics. Selim was continually preoccupied and in actual fact, they had not made love for several months.

  The political discord had begun with news from the Al-Hijaz region of Western Arabia, where a group of fundamentalist Islamic Muslims, popularly referred to as “Wahhabis,” had done the unthinkable—attacked and desecrated the holy cities of Medina and Mecca. The sect, founded by a charismatic cleric named Muhammad Ibn Abd al-Wahhab, had been gathering momentum for almost sixty years. For centuries, Islam had casually morphed into two versions: strict Islamic Law as proscribed in the Quran, and “popular Islam” as practiced by the majority of Muslims. However, these distinctions were never acknowledged as separate until al-Wahhab began advocating his austere interpretation. He preached a vehement style of “pure Islam” that was radical enough to alienate many Muslims. The movement might have entered the oblivion of anonymity had he not joined forces with a local Emir, Muhammad Abd Ibn Saud. As head of the powerful Al Saud tribal family, he agreed to support “Wahhabism” in return for bakshish, small regular payments or tribute from each of al-Wahhab’s followers.

  The arrangement created the Arab Emirate of Diriyah (which would later become the first Saudi state), and revenues increased along with followers, giving the Al Saud family the power to challenge the Sultan. If they prevailed, they could become the sole independent rulers of Arabia. The Emirate, now under the leadership of the founder’s sons, had an army of fifty thousand “true believers” dedicated to the purification of the Islamic faith. Their doctrine appealed to the greatest portion of the populace—the poor and uneducated—by condemning the comforts and luxuries that had become part of everyday life for many Muslims—opulent temples and homes, alcoholic spirits, jewelry, Western furniture, eating utensils, and styles of dress.

  Wahhabism continued to grow, and now they had invaded Al-Hijaz, in Western Arabia. The area bordered the Red Sea and contained the two holiest cities in the Islamic world—Medina and Mecca. When they attacked and desecrated these, it brought the Wahhabi into conflict with the entire Islamic world and most notably, its Sultan.

  As “Sovereign of the House of Osman, Sultan of Sultans, Commander of the Faithful and Protector of the Holy Cities of Mecca, Medina and Jerusalem, Emperor of the Three Cities of Constantinople, Adrianople and Bursa, and of the Cities of Damascus and Cairo, of All Azerbaijan, of the Magris, of Barka, of Kairuan, of Aleppo, of Arabic Iraq,” etcetera, Selim was duty bound to act. All holy cities and sites were under his protection.

  In the privacy of the Sultan’s chambers, Nakshidil asked Selim, “What could they possibly hope to gain by the destruction of holy sites? Won’t this turn the people against their cause?”

  “The Wahhabis interpret the Quran in a very literal way, Naksh. And they see their interpretation as the only way. Who can ever say what someone’s words meant when they were written, except the author himself?” He stood up and began pacing the room in an agitated state. “Scholars and priests have debated the words of the Quran forever. I believe that most Muslims follow the words of the Prophet as best they can, and who is truly able to say that someone else is doing it wrong?”

  “I think that Christians do the same thing,” Nakshidil said. “Different interpretations I mean. Catholics and Protestants certainly do not agree on the Bible’s meaning and each is certain that they are right and the other is wrong.”

  “I find it infuriating!” Selim exclaimed. “These “true believers” are going too far. It is one thing to believe in your own truth but I cannot condone the imposition of that truth upon others who think differently. These Wahhabis are now stopping pilgrims along their routes to the holy shrines to force them to join their cause and to collect a tithe! They actually demand allegiance to their cause and bakshish, a fee to allow them to pass on to the holy cities.”

  “I have never heard of such a thing,” she said.

  “These pilgrims are traveling to Mecca to honor our dead prophets and the Wahhabis try to make this a sin. Why? How can they say that Allah does not want us to honor our dead, especially our dead prophets who were his teachers? This makes no sense and I cannot understand why anyone would find this reasonable.”

  “What exactly do the Wahabbi profess regarding this?” she asked.

  “They maintain that luxury in any form is a sin against the teachings of the Quran. That renders all but the most rudimentary temples, sinful because they are beautiful and contain precious items related to worship. I do not believe the Quran forbids beauty or luxury for that matter. Even Christ Jesus who preached against the exchange of monies in the temples did not condemn beauty.”

  ” And Christians worship images of Him and the Virgin Mother and the saints in all of their churches. Would these be considered luxuries?” she responded.

  “Apparently, according to the Wahhabis.” He sighed deeply and sat down again. “It might be better to ask why so many people fear change. Change appears to be the only thing one may reliably count on in this life, don’t you agree? And yet, people fight to keep everything the same as it always was... as it always seemed to be, that is.”

  She laughed ruefully. “It does appear to be so.”

  “These people would see us remaining as we have been for four centuries. They would take us back to the Dark Ages if they could. At the heart, it is a rebellion against me and my desire to modernize an archaic political and social system. They are fools to believe they can stop progress. The world will not wait for us to catch up. It will destroy us—if they don’t destroy us first.”

  “Will they come to Istanbul?”

  “Not yet, but it is only a matter of time before they do, and when they do, the Janissaries will join them. Then what will we do?”

  Nakshidil had no answer. The Janissaries had always been the proverbial thorn in their side, and if they joined forces with the Wahhabis, they would be too powerful to control. Their history of rebellion against the Sultanate was long and bloody, and there were now more of them than ever.

  “How many men have we in the new army?” she asked.

  “Not enough,” he answered. “We have begun recruiting again in Anatolia, but it will take a year or more to hire and train enough men to fight them, and I don’t know if we will be able to...” his voice trailed off.

  “What about Baba Ben Osman’s fleet and the loyal armies of the Pashas?”

  “We will summon them all, Naksh. I loathe transforming our city into an armed camp, but we must prepare for war—a war against our own people, a revolution.” He sighed deeply.

  She walked to where he sat and stood directly in front of him. “Then allow me to distract you for a brief moment,” she said, unfastening her outer robe and allowing it to slip to the floor. The only adornment on her naked body was the diamond belt she had worn on the night of her first assignation with the old Sultan. The six large stones hung from the clasp, between her nether lips.

  “Naksh,” he began to protest.

  She lifted and held his chin in her right hand, stroking his hair with the other. “Listen to me, my love. You have many important things to occupy your mind, but you have forgotten the most important of all, your duty to please me.”

  “Naksh,” he protested again.

  “Sshhh,” she
said, placing a finger over his lips. “Aimée is here for you... only for you,” she said, lowering herself onto his lap. She entwined her fingers in his hair, then gently tightened her grip. “Can you see how much I need you now?” She tilted her head back, unfastening her hair with one hand, gently shaking it, allowing it to cascade over her body. “Suckle my breast my love,” she said, guiding his head towards her left nipple, as she unfastened the front of his trousers. “Bite me gently until you are hard, and then give me your cock.”

  “Aimée,” he whispered as he entered her. It was the only word he uttered.

  Later on, she regretted not having thought of it sooner. He had been wonderful. She was pleased that he still responded to her command, perhaps because she was the only woman able to command him. She smiled at the memory of recent pleasure and reminded herself to remember that she knew exactly how to awaken his need. Wasn’t life interesting and wonderful even when it was so uncertain?

  Chapter 17

  While Selim prepared for revolution, L’Empire français grew stronger and more powerful, as did Napoleon himself. As the breadth of his realm increased, so did Napoleon’s need for heirs—sons who would carry his seed of greatness. France adored their Emperor and wanted his progeny to continue to rule the Empire in perpetuity. The desire for such a legacy directly contradicted Napoleon’s love and adoration of his barren wife. All of France knew that his mistress, Éléonore Denuelle, had given birth to a son. The birth left no question of impotence in the minds of the French citizenry, and they demanded their Emperor fulfill his duty to sire legitimate sons.

  May 7, 1807

  Dearest cousin,

  How can life be so cruel to give and then take away our most treasured gifts? It pains me to tell you that my sweet first grandson, Napoleon Louis Charles, has passed from this life. He was a little angel at just five years old, leaving us and this life far too soon. Hortense mourns most painfully, and there is nothing to do or say to relieve her grief. The immediacy of her need now overshadows my own, and I have little desire to dwell upon the possible loss of another gift, my marriage and husband.

  Six months ago, my husband’s mistress, Madame Denuelle, gave birth to a baby boy. As you know, our marriage has been fruitless, and I believed the fault lay with him rather than me. The appearance of this bastard child has now revealed the terrible truth of my barrenness, and I cannot maintain my defense any longer.

  Complicating matters further, the attributes I initially found so intoxicating in my husband’s nature have now become a source of deep anxiety and grief. His love for power, possession and dominance appear to outweigh his love for me, and he feels the need to cast me aside unless I provide him with an heir. His formal adoption of Eugène might insure his place if only he had the constitution to fight for it. Sadly, it is not in my son’s nature. My infertility has become the fodder for rumors that fly everywhere in Paris and now the public openly demands a royal heir. Mon dieu, chérie, I see no hope for our union, and I am devastated by the prospect of divorce. I do not believe myself strong enough to cope with more loss. I am simply not able.

  Although I am Empress of France, I have few true friends in this world and only one, Mlle. Le Normand, in whom I may confide such terrible pain as this. I apologize if my grief and burden lie heavily on your gentle soul. It is proving difficult to recover from losses such as these.

  Pray for me, dear cousin, if God still listens to your voice.

  Rose

  Rose did not mention the extraordinary turn of events that followed Napoleon’s victories in wars against Austria, Prussia and Russia. She was too distracted by the prospect of divorce and unable to cope with anything other than her own personal loss. But Tsar Alexander had signed two peace treaties dividing almost the entirety of Europe between France and Russia. The treaties also established a blockade of British trade that allied all of Europe against Britain and included a hidden agenda—France and Russia joined forces against Turkey to take as much of the Ottoman Empire as possible. Now that Russia was an ally, Napoleon secretly began investigating the possibility of marriage within the Czar’s family.

  Unaware of the secret pact against him, Selim feared what the new allies might do if he lost control of the Sultanate. Would they swoop in and devastate his empire? If so, he would be attacked from without and within, as the Wahhabis continued gaining strength in both numbers and funds. As people were swept up in the pressure to choose sides, the gap between fundamentalist and secular Muslims grew wider. Many undecided citizens fell back on old prejudices, and the rift between Sunni and Shia grew steadily more violent. By the beginning of 1807, all territories of the Empire had clearly divided into two camps, moderate Suni or fundamentalist Shia. The first supported modernization and Sultan Selim, and the latter advocated a radical return to the past with a new sultan, Nuket Seza’s son, Mustapha.

  True to course, the Janissaries were in favor of the latter, gathering strength from the ongoing confrontations and increasing their numbers from fifty to one-hundred-thousand men. Backed by the Ulema of Islamic priests, the fundamentalists vowed to destroy all modern conveniences, luxuries, freedoms and European alliances—everything that had been so carefully put into place by Sultan Selim. However, the priests did not wish to be held responsible for the Sultan’s murder, as the populace of Istanbul dearly loved him. The people would be more inclined to accept a new regime if Selim were alive, so the Ulema agreed to support the revolution only under those terms.

  The new year began with an astounding occurrence. Abdullah Ibn Saud, leader of the Wahhabi crusade, ordered his name to replace the Sultan’s in prayers in the great mosque. Worshipers were instructed to thank Saud for his beneficence, praise Saud for all they had been given and ask Saud to intercede on their behalf—instead of their sovereign. Calling himself the “purifier of the faith,” he made it his holy mission to depose Selim. With the intention of besmirching The Sultan, Saud told his followers to embark on a campaign of rumors in Istanbul. They were to spread the word that the attacks on Mecca and Medina had been “divine retribution” for Selim’s modernizations and “infidel innovations.” The infidel Sultan must be overthrown lest all of Islam pay the price for his transgressions. Chaos would soon follow.

  In keeping with the Janissaries’ master plan, Cavus Hamza was promoted to the position of guard within the Sultan’s retinue. After ten years of patience and plotting, Hamza’s moment had finally arrived. On May twenty-ninth, before leaving the palace for the day, he stealthily unlocked several doors. In a celebratory mood after accomplishing the first step of his mission, he reserved his favorite boy at a local pleasure house. The boy was perfect—a young deaf mute with creamy caramel skin.

  Within minutes after Hamza arrived, the boy was on his knees, hands clasped in prayer, smiling up at him with huge, dark, kohl-lined eyes. He liked the boy’s masses of long ebony curls and the way they felt on his own naked skin, caressing him without the touch of hands. Sexual acts were difficult for a man who hated the touch of other human beings. Hamza’s former encounters were always propelled by his administration of “caresses” with a whip or lash applied to someone else. He had never personally felt a caress of any kind until this ingenious boy provided the simple solution.

  Lying down on his back on the cotton mattress, he motioned for the boy to begin. The ritual was familiar, having been performed many times before. The boy knelt by the low bed and began using his hair to slowly stroke his client’s prone, naked body. As soon as a sign of arousal appeared, the boy increased the tempo and intensity of the strokes by whipping his head back and forth, harder and harder. The client’s member responded, standing at attention and begging to be touched, but the boy did not make the mistake of touching it. He had done that once and paid the painful price of the client’s displeasure. Once the boundaries had been clearly established, he was happy to have such an easy client who never strayed from the simple routine he required. He continued teasing with his hair around the erect penis, knowi
ng it would end soon and he could relax in a hot bath. He could see the client’s lips moving to form words he neither heard nor cared to understand.

  “Yes, slave,” Hamza whispered. “Make it very hard for me, and listen closely, for you serve the most powerful man in the palace. The... most... powerful... man,” he said pumping his hips rhythmically. “When events have run their course, I will take my rightful place.” He breathed heavily and arched his back in pleasure, getting harder and harder. “And then,” he said, thrusting himself into the boy’s hair, “the reward for my years of devotion and service will be paid. The promises that have been made will be fulfilled.”

  When he could no longer contain himself, he gave the signal and the boy got on all fours turning his naked bottom towards the bed. Hamza stood over him and grasped his own member with both hands, pulling and pumping. “I will make them pay,” he growled between clinched teeth. “I will tell those rabid bitches what to do.” As he ejaculated onto the boy’s back, he hissed, “I... will... be... the Kizlar Agasi.”

  At the very moment of his release, seventy thousand Janissaries attacked the Topkapi Palace without warning. Individual soldiers let themselves in through the gates and doors Hamza had unlocked, and then opened all of the remaining entrances for the troops. Janissaries swarmed over the palace grounds like ants going after a feast of leftover food. Within minutes, they penetrated the interior, killing anyone who tried to stop them or stood in their path. Brave though the palace guards were, their numbers were no match for the army of Janissaries.