Adora

by Bertrice Small

  Though tradition and good manners dictated that they speak politely to her, wishing her joy, neither said anything. Nilufer looked curiously at the girl. So, thought Iris, that is how it is to be! The mean old cats! The chief eunuch turned his head toward Iris and said quickly and softly, “Your mistress will be returned in an hour or two. Be ready! She will need you.” My God! What were they going to do to the child?

  The litter moved with stately measure through the silent halls of the harem, finally coming to rest before two enormous bronze doors. Ali Yahya helped the trembling Theadora from the litter and escorted her through the doors—which slammed behind them with frightening finality.

  It was a most luxurious room. Marble floors were covered lavishly with thick wool carpets. The walls were hung with exquisite silk tapestries. In each of three corners of the room was a tall, masterfully wrought gold censer burning with fragrant aloes. In the fourth corner was a large tiled stove burning applewood. Two silver and stained glass lamps hung from the dark beamed ceiling, casting soft light over a massive bed on a raised dais. The bed had rich, particolored silk hangings and carved posts. It was toward this bed that Theadora was led by Ali Yahya. From apparently nowhere, slavegirls appeared and removed her one garment.

  “Please lie upon the bed, princess,” said Ali Yahya. She obeyed. To her shock he leaned over her and bound one of her arms to the bedpost with a soft silken cord. Her other arm was tied by a slavegirl and her long legs were pulled apart and secured in the same manner.

  A wave of panic gripped her and she cried out. The eunuch clapped his hand over her mouth. “Be silent, Highness! No one will hurt you. If I remove my hand, do you promise not to scream?” She nodded and he lifted his hand from her face.

  “Why am I being bound?” she asked in a shaking voice.

  “Because the sultan has ordered it, my lady. When you were wed the marriage contract called for the consummation of the marriage when you reached maturity. The sultan, quite frankly, would have left you at your convent. But your father insists that the marriage contract be fulfilled.”

  “My father?” she cried unbelievingly. “My father insisted? Oh, God! How could he?”

  “He needs the sultan’s aid again, Highness. Your sister and her husband are proving troublesome. The remaining third of your dowry, which includes a gold payment and the strategic fortress of Tzympe—which my master desires greatly—will remain outstanding until you are with child.”

  For a moment she was silent. Then she exclaimed bitterly, almost to herself, “For this I so carefully preserved my maidenhead! To be forcibly delivered up to an old man for a troop of soldiers, a handful of gold, and a fort!” She sighed, then turned her eyes to the eunuch again. “Why has my lord ordered me bound to the bed?”

  “Because you are inexperienced in the ways of love. Lacking knowledge, you are apt to struggle and displease the sultan. There is a need for haste, and no time to teach you the things you must know. You were brought to the palace today because this is the first fertile day in your moon cycle. For the next four nights you will bed with the sultan. It is hoped that you will be proved with child within the next month. If not, you will be bred again until my master’s labor bears fruit.”

  She was stunned by this terrible revelation. Perhaps if she had not known the sweetness of lovemaking with Prince Murad it would not hurt so much. How the sultan must hate her! And she silently cursed the father who had sacrificed her in this cruel manner.

  And in that one moment of blinding understanding, Theadora Cantacuzene grew up.

  Ali Yahya spoke again. He was obviously in sympathy with her. “You must be prepared for your master, my princess. Do not be afraid of what will transpire.” And at her puzzled look he went on. “Your body is not yet ready to receive a man.”

  He clapped his hands and two pretty women appeared, each carrying a white ostrich plume. They settled themselves quietly on stools by either side of the bed and, at a nod from the chief eunuch, began to touch her breasts with the soft plumes.

  Theadora regarded them with a frankness that soon turned to amazement as the gentle caresses began to rouse her body. Her young breasts began to swell and harden, the nipples grew pointed and tingling. She gasped softly, surprised at herself. The eunuch watched her for several minutes from beneath hooded lids, noting her every movement.

  He clapped his hands once more and two young girls, children really, approached with a woman. Without a word the two girls positioned themselves on each side of her, bent over, and gently pulled her nether lips apart. The woman leaned forward and, drawing a long pointed feather from her sleeve, delicately applied it to the most sensitive spot. Theodora stiffened with shock at this frightening invasion but, when she opened her mouth to protest, it was quickly stuffed with a silk handkerchief.

  The agony was exquisite, but Theadora was outraged. She was being treated like a mare led to stud.

  She silently screamed as wave after wave of delicious feeling, similar to that which Murad’s supple fingers had worked on her, washed over her. Christos! Why would her hips not lie still!

  There was another movement in the shadows, and a tall man in a brocade robe appeared by the bedside. Her eyes were glazed with fear and reluctant sexual stimulation, but she recognized Sultan Orkhan. The hair she had remembered as dark was now mostly gray, but the eyes—dear lord—were black like Murad’s. The sultan looked down on her dispassionately and remarked to Ali Yahya, “She is really quite lovely. What a pity there is no time to train her properly.” He spoke as if she were not even there. “Is she still intact, Ali Yahya?”

  “I did not think to check, Most High. She has, after all, been safe within her convent.”

  “Be sure! Girls are known to play lewd games.”

  The eunuch nodded curtly to the woman with the feather who ceased her ministrations. Bending, Ali Yahya gently inserted a finger into the helpless girl. She strained wildly against her bonds. Withdrawing from her, the eunuch straightened and said to his master, “She is intact, my lord sultan.”

  “I don’t want to bother with the business of breaching her maidenhead. Mara will be waiting for me when this business is over with. See to it that she is deflowered. I will be ready shortly for the mounting.”

  Theadora could not believe her ears. If Orkhan did not deflower her, how was it to be done? But she had little time to wonder. The chief eunuch gave swift orders and, moments later, he bent over her holding a long, thick, smooth, highly polished piece of wood shaped like a phallus. “The pain will be but momentary, Your Highness,” he said apologetically and then, in a lower voice which only she could hear, “Forgive me, princess.”

  She felt the cool, smooth wood against her shrinking flesh and silently wailed her shame. A swift thrust! A sharp and burning pain spread through her loins before gradually dying. Warm wetness trickled down the insides of her thighs. She wanted to faint, to escape all this, but she remained conscious. And now her attention was drawn away from herself to the sultan.

  He had watched without emotion as she was deflowered. Now he spread his arms wide and instantly the slaves removed his loose brocade gown. She was surprised to see that his body was as firm as a young man’s, if somewhat thinner.

  Theadora watched, mesmerized, as a naked girl with long, golden hair stepped forward, bowed to her master, and knelt before him, her beautiful hair tumbling about her as her head touched her master’s foot in the age-old gesture of subjugation. Still on her knees, the girl raised her body and rubbed her cheek against the sultan’s groin. Now she was taking his limp organ and caressing it with delicate, slender fingers, kissing it with quick, teasing little kisses. Theadora felt a wave of desire as the girl gently took the swelling organ into her rosebud mouth. Horrified at herself, Theadora turned her head away to meet the amused gaze of one of the girls who was stroking her hard, hurting breasts. Shamed color flooded her face, and she closed her eyes. The sensations were intensified now, but she made herself keep her lashes lowered.


  The quick patter of running feet forced her eyes open. She was alone with the sultan. He moved across the room toward her, his manroot now enormous, its angry, red head glistening with moisture. He jammed a bolster beneath her hips to raise her, to make her body more easily available to him.

  She was mounted like a mare and she felt his penetration—hard and brutal—as he thrust into her. He rode her smoothly, his hands crushing her breasts, pinching at the nipples. Cruelly, he forced her head forward so he might look into her face. Afraid to close her eyes now, she met his impersonal gaze steadily, silently screaming Murad’s name over and over again. Suddenly the man above her shuddered and collapsed on top of her. They lay quietly for a few minutes, then he climbed off of her. Loosening the bonds on her spread legs, he shut them and pushed them up. Then he said the only words he had spoken to her during the entire nightmare. “Keep your legs up and closed, Theadora, lest you lose my seed.” Turning, he disappeared back into the darkness and she heard the door close.

  She was alone. Her whole body began to shake, and the pent-up tears poured down her cheeks. A few minutes later Ali Yahya emerged from the shadows and removed the silk from her mouth. Quietly he unbound her arms and gently rubbed her wrists. He brought forth a handkerchief from his robe and silently wiped her tears away. Then, helping her up, he wrapped her silk robe about her icy body and led her back into the corridor and to the litter. Soon Iris’ loving arms were about her and the slavewoman led her to her bed.

  Ali Yahya waited in the antechamber of Theadora’s apartment, warming himself by the tile stove. Finally Iris emerged and stood before him questioningly. In his high soft voice he told her all of it. “It is up to you to see that the princess does not become melancholy,” he finished.

  Iris laughed harshly. “And how am I to do that, master? The girl is young and has been gently reared. A wedding night is frightening to any young virgin, but,” she lowered her voice, “the sultan has brutalized my little mistress. And what is worse, she must endure the same treatment for the next three nights! Why? What has this child done that he would hurt her so?”

  “It is not your place to question, woman.”

  “If I am to keep the girl alive I must know all, Ali Yahya.”

  “The sultan was angry at the princess. He thought she had induced her father to force compliance of the marriage contract and, thus, better her position. I believed that possible until I met the princess. There is no guile in her. And the two wives, Anastatia and Nilufer, have encouraged the sultan’s anger toward the princess. They are fearful of a third wife.”

  “My princess is like a delicate flower, eunuch. You must convince the sultan to treat her gently these next few nights. If she goes mad and dies, to what purpose is this cruelty? Do you think the emperor will award your lord the remainder of my lady’s dowry when he learns what has happened to his favorite daughter? The Byzantine may have used the girl to his political advantage, but she is still his child, and he does love her.”

  Ali Yahya nodded. “You are right, woman. I will see that the sultan’s heart is softened toward the princess. But you must see that the girl lives.” Without another word he turned on his heel and left.

  Iris waited until the doors had closed behind him. Then she ran across the room into Theadora’s bedchamber. The girl lay on her back, barely breathing. She made no sound, but her beautiful face was wet with tears. Iris drew a stool up to the bedside and sat down. “Tell me what you are thinking,” she asked.

  “I think that the humblest beast in the field is more fortunate than I,” came the soft reply.

  “Do you wish to die, my princess?”

  “Die?” The girl sat up. “Die?” She laughed bitterly. “No, Iris. I do not want to die. I would live to avenge this insult! How dare the sultan take me as he would some savage barbarian? I am Theadora Cantacuzene, a princess of Byzantium!” Her voice was bordering on hysteria.

  “Hush, my princess. Remember?” And Iris pointed to her ears.

  Theadora instantly grew silent. The slavewoman rose and poured out a goblet of rich red Cyprus wine. She added a pinch of herbs to it and handed it to her mistress. “I have put a sleeping draught in the wine, my princess. You must get a good night’s rest if you are to face tomorrow with wisdom and courage.”

  The girl drained the goblet. “See that I am awakened by midday, Iris,” she said, and lay back down to sleep. The slave crept from the room. But Theadora’s amethyst eyes remained open and focused on the ceiling. She was calmer now, the worst of the shock having worn off. But she would never forget the insult.

  Her innocent dalliance with Prince Murad had led her to believe that what happened between a man and a woman was always sweet. Her husband had robbed her of a perfect wedding night, but never again would she allow herself to be treated as she had been treated tonight. If her father—curse him!—wanted her to bear Orkhan a son, then she would do so. But she would make her husband regret this night.

  He would desire her above all women, and when she had obtained his desire…she would refuse him.

  When her jaded husband finally groveled at her feet for her favors—and he would—she would dole them out sparingly or refuse them, as her whim dictated.

  Theadora now began to relax and allowed the sleeping potion to take hold of her. When Iris looked in later, the princess was asleep.

  Chapter Five

  Ali Yahya was in serious danger of losing his dignity. He gaped at the child before him, and she repeated in her piping voice, “My mistress, Princess Theadora, commands your immediate presence, sir. You are to come with me.” Tugging on the fat hand, the little girl led the amazed chief eunuch down the hall to Theadora’s apartments.

  When Ali Yahya had seen Theadora last he had not been sure she would survive the night. But the ravaged creature of the night before bore no resemblance whatever to the young woman he now faced. And for the first time in his life, Ali Yahya understood the true meaning of the word “royal”.

  Theadora had caused a small throne to be set upon a raised dais, and she received Ali Yahya there. Her long dark hair had been plaited into two braids, and looped on either side of her head. Her clothing was all silk, in shades of Persian blues and sea green. She wore no jewelry, for she had none.

  The amethyst eyes looked gravely at the eunuch. Abashed, he bowed low, and was rewarded by a faint smile. She raised her hand in a regal gesture of dismissal to her slaves.

  Alone with Ali Yahya she said quietly, “Tell my husband that if there should ever be a repeat of last night, I will inform my father, Emperor John. I am aware of my duties, and will produce a child as quickly as nature will allow. But the sultan must come to me alone in future, and accept my lack of experience as any Christian husband would do—with delight at that proof of my innocence.

  “If he wanted me experienced in the arts of love, he should have had me tutored. I was available. I am not newly arrived in this land.

  “I request of you teachers who can help me overcome my ignorance. For now, perhaps, the sultan will find it amusing to tutor me himself. It should be quite a novelty for him.”

  The chief eunuch swallowed his surprise. “I will do what I can to plead your case, Highness,” he said gravely.

  “I know you will, Ali Yahya. You alone of those I have met since entering here yesterday have remembered my position. I will certainly not forget your kindness. Thank you for coming.”

  He turned to go, but she spoke again. “I had almost forgotten. Please arrange for Iris and me to visit the slave markets of the city tomorrow.”

  “If you need more servants I shall be glad to supply them, Highness.”

  “I need my own servants, Ali Yahya. Not spies. I will people my household with my own slaves, not those in the pay of the lady Anastatia or the lady Nilufer, or whoever is my husband’s latest favorite. Or you, for that matter. Do I make myself clear, Ali Yahya?”

  He nodded. “It will be as you wish, Highness,” be said, and hurried off to seek hi
s master.

  He found the sultan in the company of one of his new favorites, a blond Circassian named Mihrimah. The girl was a credit to her harem schooling, a veritable model of good manners, total obedience, and advanced sexual training. Ali Yahya watched impassively as Mihrimah took a sweetmeat delicately between her lips and offered it to her eager master. The eunuch marveled that a man of the sultan’s years could still be so quickly aroused and perform so well. Disregarding his servant’s presence, Orkhan mounted the slavegirl, driving her to a sobbing surrender.

  His hot lust sated, he looked to the eunuch. By a flick of an eyelid, Ali Yahya asked dismissal of the girl. Orkhan shoved Mihrimah with his foot. “Go!” She obeyed instantly, getting to her feet and running from the room. “Speak, Ali Yahya. What is it?”

  The eunuch fell to the floor and, taking the sultan’s foot, placed it on his bowed head. “I have erred, my lord. I have erred in judgement, and I beg that you forgive me.”

  Orkhan was intrigued. Ali Yahya had been his slave for some twenty-five years. He had held his office as chief of the white eunuchs for the last fifteen. His judgements had always been cool, impersonal, and correct. Never before had he asked forgiveness. “What is it, my old friend?” asked Orkhan kindly.

  “It is the princess Theadora, sire. I have been wrong about the girl, and so have your wives. She is innocent of any intrigue to better herself. I knew it last night, but it was too late to stop—” He hesitated, allowing the sultan time to reconstruct the events of the previous evening. “This morning,” continued the eunuch, “she begged my ear, and pleaded with me to ask your forgiveness for her ignorance in the arts of pleasing you. She has also asked that I find her tutors to teach her so she may remedy this lack.”

  “Has she?” Orkhan was interested. He would not have been surprised if the girl had tried to take her own life after last night. Then, he would not have cared. But now he was fascinated.

  “Perhaps it would be a titillating novelty, sire, if it were you who acted as her first teacher. Who knows your desires better? She appears eager to learn, and she really is quite lovely, my lord.”