She did not know how long she lay there, but suddenly she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder. Raising her head, she stared into the blue eyes of a Byzantine captain of the Imperial Guard. He put a finger to his lips to indicate silence, then helped her up. He wrapped a dark cloak about her swiftly and led her through the terrace doors. They ran through the gardens, down the terrace steps, and onto the beach where the silent captain lifted her into a waiting boat.
In total silence he rowed out into the dark of the imperial yacht basin. Theadora saw a ship looming in the blackness. It showed no lights. The small boat bumped the sides of the ship softly, and the captain noiselessly shipped the oars. He pointed to a rope ladder hanging from the ship. Silently Theadora climbed up into the dark and was lifted over the ship’s rail. Her rescuer came up behind her. Taking her hand, he led her to a large cabin. Inside, he checked to be sure the porthole was covered, then lit a small lamp.
“Welcome aboard, Princess Theadora. Captain Paulus Simonides of the Imperial Guard, at your service.”
The cold night air had cleared her head and she had lost her fear. “How came you here, captain, in time to rescue me? I cannot believe in that kind a fate.”
The captain laughed. God, she was beautiful. Even more so than Helena. And intelligent, too. “The empress was informed by an old friend in the Office of Barbarians of General Asen’s impending attack on your city. She was also informed that he had with him a great magician from Cathay, one who could open even great doors of bronze—doors like your city gates. She dispatched me at once to aid you, should you need it. I regret I was not sooner, Highness. When I arrived the general was already in your room, and I had to wait until I was sure he was gone.”
Theadora nodded. “I have no clothes, not even shoes.”
“In the trunk, Highness. The empress has been quite thorough.”
“Helena is always quite thorough, captain,” replied Theadora dryly.
The captain bowed. “By your leave, Highness,” he said, backing out the cabin door. Once outside, he chuckled. The princess had wit as well as intelligence and beauty. Perhaps he would attempt to become her lover. If she were also as passionate, uninhibited, and inventive as Helena, then God had truly created the perfect woman.
Mesembria was in flames. Watching by the rail, Paulus marveled. The empress’s hatred of one woman had destroyed a whole city, and the princess wasn’t even aware of it. He wondered what fate Helena had in store for her sister, but then he shrugged. That was not his business. He had done his job and the empress would be pleased. Especially when he told her of the general’s intention to marry the princess. He had rescued her just in time.
When the vessel docked in the yacht basin of the Boucoleon Palace several days later, Helena was waiting eagerly. Unknowing onlookers attributed her excitement to relief and joy at her sister’s successful escape from the fallen city The truth was far different. Soon…soon… thought Helena exultantly. Soon I shall be free of her forever!
Enfolding Theadora to her ample bosom, the empress said, “Thank God and the blessed Maria that you’re safe!”
Theadora pulled away from her sister. One perfect eyebrow arched, she said calmly, “Come now, Helena, I think I fear your concern more than truthful wrath.”
Helena laughed in spite of herself. Sometimes Thea’s quick tongue was amusing. “We may not always like each other, Thea,” she replied, “but you are my sister.”
“And now that you have me safe, Helena, what comes next?”
“That is up to you, sister. Your husbands all seem to have such brief lives. Perhaps it would be better if you rested for a time before you chose another mate.”
“I shall never marry again, Helena.”
“Then you will take lovers.”
“No, sister, I shall not take lovers. No man will ever have me again. After I have rested I shall consider entering the Convent of St. Barbara. There is no life for me without Alexander.”
It was all Helena could do to conceal her joy. It was going to be better even than she had hoped. In Murad’s harem Theadora would suffer the tortures of the damned. It was simply too delicious. Helena nodded soberly. “I thought you might still feel bereaved, Thea, and so I have arranged for you to stay here in the Boucolean Palace rather than come home with me to the Blanchernae, to our noisy court. Will that be satisfactory, or do you prefer the Blanchernae?”
Adora was surprised by Helena’s thoughtfulness. “No, I am content to remain here, Helena. It is not simply Alexander’s death that torments me but the capture of Mesembria by the Bulgars. It was so quick! So devastating! They destroyed in a few hours all the work we had done to restore the city. Work of months!”
“Sister, I would not pain you…but how exactly did Alexander die? The only word we received from your council was of his death.”
Even now Adora knew she dare not tell Helena of Alexander’s trip to Trebizond. “The doctors,” she replied with perfect honesty, “believed that he had a weakness of the heart. His man went to awaken him; and he was dead. Poor Zeno. He was so heartbroken he hanged himself.”
Good! thought Helena. “Did his wife not serve you?”
“Anna? Yes. The Bulgars killed her.”
Excellent! the empress thought to herself. No loose ends. “Ah, sister, surely you have seen enough tragedy to last a lifetime. Rest here. I will come in a few days’ time to see how you are.”
Once again the sisters publicly embraced, then parted. Helena climbed into her barge to be rowed up the Golden Horn to her palace, and Theadora was escorted to her apartments.
For several days Adora abandoned herself to total rest. She slept. She bathed. She ate. She saw only the servants. She spoke to no one except to ask for something. Slowly her mind began to clear.
Several months ago Theadora had been an ecstatic bride, queen of a beautiful and ancient city. She had been a mother again after all these years. Then suddenly she had lost her child and her husband. But at least she had then looked forward to a future as the ruler of Mesembria.
Then suddenly everything in her life was gone. Everything.
The empress allowed her younger sister a week to rest. Twice she sent Adora small gifts: once a silver dish of honeyed dates and figs; then a crystal flacon of perfume. Adora took one sniff and laughingly disposed of that.
Like a spider, Helena spun her wicked web about her unsuspecting sister. Ali Yahya was secretly sent for and a time was arranged for the abduction. The eunuch asked, “She is not with child, is she? If this prince was the stallion you claim, she could well be.”
“No, thank God, else I should have had to arrange an abortion too. No, eunuch, set your mind at ease. She has just finished her show of blood,” replied the empress.
Two hours after midday on the appointed day, Helena, Ali Yahya, and two other eunuchs entered the royal bedchamber in the Boucoleon Palace. They found Theadora sleeping peacefully on the bed. Gently they tied her ankles and wrists together with silken cords and bound a soft gauze handkerchief about her mouth. She was next wrapped in a large, dark, hooded cloak.
The empress opened the secret passageway. Preceded by one eunuch and followed by the other, Ali Yahya picked up Theadora and traveled the length of the passage. They emerged within a few yards of his galley. They boarded the ship quickly, the oars-master began the measured beat that set the pace for the rowers, and they were swiftly out of the little walled harbor and into the Sea of Marmara. A brisk breeze filled their sails and they were soon safely on the other side, back in Turkish territory.
The still unconscious princess was then placed carefully in an awning-covered wagon to begin her journey back to Bursa. There was some daylight left in which to travel, and Ali Yahya was not very surprised to see a troop of imperial Janissaries ride up to escort them. Their captain sought him out and said, “The sultan is encamped but a short distance from here, sir. We are to lead you there.”
The chief white eunuch was most distressed. Damn Murad’s lust! He was so overeager for the
princess that he would spoil everything. Ali Yahya had not even been aware that the sultan had crossed back over the Sea of Marmara from his minor siege of Constantinople. He had hoped to get Theadora safely back to Bursa where he could calm her fears, deal with her anger, and reason with her. With time, he could convince her of the great opportunities opening to her. Why, if she bore Murad a son, the boy might well be the next sultan!
But the grieving princess would awaken to find herself in the presence of the very man she had fled. Allah! There were times when Ali Yahya blessed the stroke of fate that had rendered him free of a man’s passion. He knew he would not be able to keep Murad from the princess long. But if he could tell the sultan—even briefly—of the princess’s unhappy sexual experiences with Orkhan, then perhaps Murad would be compassionate and alleviate Theadora’s fears. Ali Yahya had not been able to explain things properly to Murad since Theadora had fled.
Too soon they were entering the sultan’s campsite, and Ali Yahya looked down at his helpless captive. Though she still slept it was no longer a deep sleep. She would soon awaken. He had little time. The wagon stopped, and before he could move, the curtains were impatiently flung back and the sultan climbed inside.
“Is she all right? Why is she so still? Does she understand her position?”
“Please, my lord, let us go into your tent. The princess is fine, but she is still under the influence of the sleeping draught the empress gave her. I do not want her to awaken prematurely. She knows nothing of what has happened. It will all be a terrible shock to her, especially the knowledge that her sister has sold her into slavery.” He turned to the two eunuchs who had accompanied him. “Take Princess Theadora to her tent,” he commanded them. “And have someone keep watch. Send for me when she appears to be ready to awake.”
The sultan leapt from the wagon and helped Ali Yahya down. Together they entered his large, luxurious tent and settled themselves about the coffee burner. The chief eunuch reached into his voluminous robes and drew out a rolled parchment, which he handed to the sultan.
Breaking the red wax seal the sultan unrolled it and read. A slow smile lit his face. “She is mine now!” he exulted. “She belongs to me alone! No man will ever have her again but me!”
Ali Yahya looked puzzled and the sultan’s dark eyes fastened directly on his servant. “You wonder if I am mad, do you not, oh keeper of imperial secrets? Well, I shall give you another secret to hoard to yourself. One day many years ago, as I walked past the Convent of St. Catherine, I heard a cry. I looked up to see a girl falling from the wall. It was the princess, and she had been in the orchard stealing peaches. I caught her and returned her safely over the wall.
“She was alone in those days, without friends. We struck up a friendship and, may Allah have mercy, we fell in love. We dared to hope that my father with his vast harem had forgotten her and would die leaving her a virgin widow. Then I intended to make her mine. But Orkhan had not forgotten her, and she quickly yielded to his wishes, giving him a son. When my father died I told her she would have a month to mourn him, and then she would join my harem. Instead she fled me and rashly married with a Greek lord. How can I forgive her, though I still love her and desire her? I cannot! But I will have her, Ali Yahya! She’ll belong to me, and pleasure me, and by Allah she’ll give me sons. She is mine, and always will be.”
For the first time in his forty years Ali Yahya was truly surprised. This new knowledge made clear so many things that had previously puzzled him. Now he must tell the sultan of the princess’s wedding night with Orkhan so Murad would not rape the girl in his angry passion. Murad must understand how the innocent girl had been treated by her jaded husband. What had happened had not been her fault. She could not be blamed for hating the Ottomans and fleeing them. Obviously, Theadora had been too proud to tell Murad the truth about her marriage to Orkhan. Even the most intelligent woman occasionally betrayed a streak of stupidity.
“My padishah,” he began, “there is something that you should be aware of—” But he was interrupted by one of the lesser eunuchs who arrived to announce that the princess was awakening.
Sultan Murad sprang to his feet and Ali Yahya, forgetting his dignity and court protocol, cried out, “Master! Let me go to her first, I beg you! The shock will be terrible. Forgive me for saying it, but if she sees you first—” He let the unspoken words hang between them.
Murad stopped. “How long?” he demanded.
“Just a little while longer, my lord,” said Ali Yahya, and he quickly hurried from the sultan’s tent to Theadora’s quarters.
They had placed her on a wide divan within the luxurious tent. Now she was stirring restlessly. Ali Yahya drew up a chair and sat by the princess’s side. Slowly her violet eyes opened. Heavy-lidded, she looked about her. That she was at first confused was obvious, then suddenly fear began to creep into her face.
“Ali Yahya?”
“Yes, Highness. It is I.”
“Wh-where am I, Ali Yahya? I last remember visiting with my sister, Helena. I grew sleepy.”
“That was several hours ago, Highness. We are encamped on the Bursa road now. The sultan is here, and he wishes to see you.”
“No!”
“You cannot refuse him, Highness.”
“I can! I do not wish to see him ever again!” She rose from her couch and began pacing back and forth. “Oh, Ali Yahya! Why have you brought me back? I wanted to remain in Constantinople! What is there for me here?”
“The sultan loves you, Highness.”
“The sultan merely desires me,” she moaned hopelessly. “Why cannot he let another woman satisfy his lust?”
“The sultan loves you, my princess, and has from the very beginning.” She looked sharply at him, wondering how he knew. He continued. “He loves you enough that he threatened Constantinople to gain your return.”
“Had my beloved Alexander not died I should be safe in Mesembria.” She sighed, then a strange gleam. came into her eyes. “Just how did Murad gain my return, Ali Yahya? It was not my dear brother-in-law, John, who betrayed me, was it?”
“No, madame.”
“My loving sister, Helena,” said Theadora quietly. The eunuch nodded. “And what concession did she wring from the sultan? What was so important to her that she betrayed me in such a fashion? Did she convince him to lift his siege? The return of her daughter? What, Ali Yahya? What has my sister gained for this?”
This was the moment he had dreaded, the moment in which he must tell her. There was no way to soften the blow he must inflict on her proud spirit. “Highness,” he began, “do you acknowledge that your sister is the current head of the Cantacuzene family, now that your father and brother have left the public life?” She nodded, puzzled. “Then I must tell you,” he hesitated a moment, drawing a deep breath, “I must tell you that in her capacity as head of your family the empress has sold you into bondage for ten thousand gold Venetian ducats and one hundred perfectly matched Indian pearls. You are now, legally, Sultan Murad’s slave,” he finished.
She could only gape at him. Fearful for her sanity, he reached out and touched her gently. She started, then turned her beautiful eyes on him. “My sister has sold me into slavery?”
“Yes, Highness. It is all…quite legal.”
“I never realized that she hated me so much. I thought—She is my sister, flesh of my flesh, we have the same mother and father. To sell me into slavery—” A violent spasm shook her and she turned a frightened face on the eunuch. “Give me a dagger, old friend! A bit too much of the poppy!” She was begging, desperate. “Don’t make me live in shame. I loved my lord Alexander. I can never love Sultan Murad like that. He hates me, hates me for something I could not prevent. Help me, Ali Yahya! Please.”
But he was firm. She was in shock. When she regained her composure she would accept the situation and avail herself of the opportunity offered her. She might have loved the Greek lord to whom she had been married, but he also knew that, despite her denials to the c
ontrary, she loved the young sultan. If Murad would but reassure her—and Ali Yahya would try and see to that—all would be well between them.
“There is no shame,” he said, “in being the sultan’s favorite.”
“Are you mad?” She began to sob. “I was wife to a sultan. I was wife to the despot of Mesembria. I will not be Sultan Murad’s whore!”
“You will be whatever I desire and command,” came Murad’s voice from the entry. “Leave us, Ali Yahya!” He strode forward.
“No!”
He laughed at her cruelly. “You may have been born a princess, Adora, but you are now my slave. It is time you began to behave like one. It will give me great pleasure to school you properly. Neither of your husbands did. They indulged you, but I will not.”
He turned again to the eunuch. Ali Yahya bowed and departed.
For a moment they stood surveying each other. Her heart was pounding wildly. She looked hard at him, desperately trying to find any sign of the tender young man who had once loved her. He was handsomer than he had ever been. The years he had spent as a soldier had hardened his body. His dark hair showed no sign of gray.
His jet eyes frightened her. There was no warmth in them. They surveyed her coolly, as they would any possession. And suddenly it hit her that that was exactly what she was—his property. She shuddered.
He laughed. It was a mirthless sound. “I will come to you tonight,” he said quietly.
“No,” she could barely speak, and her voice was a whisper.
“Come here to me,” he commanded coldly.
“No!” She defied him.
Suddenly he laughed gently. “In the end,” he said softly, “you will have to obey me, my dove. I can make you, you know.”
Her violet eyes were dark with fright, yet she wordlessly fought with him. Murad was both pleased and amused. Whatever happened between them, he did not want to break her spirit. But she would obey him. Her reluctance surprised him. She was no virgin. And he was not aware that she had loved either of her husbands. Why must she play the reticent widow?
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