“And if I do? You are mine, Adora! Mine to use as I so choose!”
“The body, yes!” she flung at him. “But unless you have all of me, you have none of me. And you will never possess my soul!” Her voice was triumphant.
A black fury engulfed him. For four days she had been spitting at him like a hellcat. He could render her helpless to desire, but when he was finished with her, her amethyst eyes mocked him, telling him that he did not really own her. His anger had become uncontrollable. Kicking her legs out from beneath her, he sent her falling to the ground.
The wind was knocked out of her, seeing the vicious look in his eyes, she was truly frightened. Slowly, deliberately, he straddled her, pulling her cloak apart, methodically ripping her garments open. She fought him, terrified. “Please, my lord, please! No! I beg of you, my lord! Not this way!”
Brutally he drove into her resisting body. She moaned with pain. He increased his tempo and suddenly his seed was spilling into her. Then he lay still. When his breathing had returned to its normal pace he stood up, pulling her roughly after him.
“Return to the camp. You are not to leave it again without my permission.”
Gathering the cloak about her, she stumbled down the path. Safely within her own tent she gave orders for a bath. When it arrived she dismissed the slaves. Carefully she gathered the shreds of her clothing and, tying them in a bundle, stuffed them into the bottom of a trunk. She could dispose of them later, and no one would know what had happened.
He had raped her! Just as brutally as any soldier would rape a battle captive! He was a brute! If she had needed further proof of how he really felt about women, this was certainly it.
Then suddenly silent tears slid down her cheeks to mingle with the bath water. She hated him, yet she loved him. She disliked admitting this to herself. But it was possible that Ali Yahya was right. If she were to conquer Murad, she might have to use her body. She would, after all, be a fool to allow some brainless girl to gain control of the sultan. She had to face the fact that at twenty-three, the mother of a half-grown youth, she was no longer in the first flush of youth.
A sob escaped her, and she looked guiltily around. It would not do for the slaves to hear her weeping. She put her face in her hands to muffle her weeping and allowed her sorrow to pour forth. Then, as she began to grow calm, she faced the realization that she had driven him to it. It was as though she had wanted to force him into acts of bestiality so that the comparison with her beloved Alexander would be greater. She must face facts. Alexander was dead. He would never return again. She would never hear his voice calling her “beauty” in that tender, half-amused way. Her fate was with the man who had first touched her heart and soul. Her fate was with Murad.
Having him to herself was an incredible opportunity. If she had not been so busy feeling sorry for herself, she would have realized this. She swore softly. After today she would not be surprised to see him order their return to Bursa—and that must not happen! She must work quickly.
Shouting for a slave, she sent for Ali Yahya. By the time the eunuch arrived she was wrapped in a mauve silk robe. Dismissing the slaves, she swiftly told the eunuch what had happened, finishing with, “I am a fool, Ali Yahya! A fool! You were right, but if the sultan orders our return to Bursa now, I may have lost my best opportunity. Will you still help me?”
The eunuch smiled broadly. “Now, Highness, you speak as a wise woman!” he enthused. “I had begun to fear that perhaps I was mistaken in my judgement of you.”
“What do you gain in all of this?” she suddenly asked.
“Power and riches,” was the equally frank reply. “What else is there for me? I will guide you, and protect you against all enemies, including your own self. When your son is safely born I will help you to plan his future so that he will one day take up the sword of Osman as did his grandfather and father.”
“And if Murad’s seed is potent?” said Theadora quietly. “Then what of his other sons by other mothers? He has told me, Ali Yahya, that he will take no wives in either the Muslim or the Christian sense, but rather he will choose favorites from a harem he intends to keep.”
“And it is I who will choose that harem, my princess. I shall choose the youngest, the loveliest, the most exquisite of creatures for the pleasure of my lord and master. Each maiden entering his bed will surpass her predecessor in beauty.” He stopped, and chuckled wickedly. “And each maiden will surpass her predecessor in stupidity. Murad may rail at you for your intelligence, Highness, but it is your mind that fascinates him, far more than he knows or is willing to admit. You will shine like the full mid-summer moon amid a group of minor, insignificant stars. Fear not the children of these other women, for there will be none. There are ancient ways of preventing conception, ways known to me.”
“And are these girls to be so free of brains that they will willingly permit you to render them sterile? Come, Ali Yahya! That is too much to believe.”
“They will never know, Highness. Eunuchs are not born, my princess, they are made. I was born free, far to the east of this land, in a place where the religion of ancient Chaldea was still practiced. And still is worshiped, even now. I was neutered by my own parents and pledged to those ancient gods. I served in our temple as apprentice to the high priest. Together we served Ishtar of Erech, the Goddess of Love and Fertility. The temple’s priestesses were trained to service the lusty male worshippers of the deity, for each maiden was Ishtar incarnated, and to couple with a priestess of Ishtar of Erech was to lie with the goddess herself. Fathers brought their sons to experience their first carnal act in the arms of Ishtar. Men with problems of impotence paid great sums to be cured by these skilled women. Bridegrooms spent the night before their wedding with priestesses in order to insure their own fertility and that of their brides.
“If precautions had not been taken, few women would have remained priestesses long. Those girls consecrated to Ishtar of Erech enter the temple school at age six for at least six years of training. Once they reach puberty they must serve the goddess for five years. Therefore, before they sacrifice their virginity to Ishtar, they are placed in a light trance by the surgeon high priest, and a pessary device is inserted within their wombs. That device is removed and replaced regularly, always when the girl is in the trance state.
“None of the girls is permitted to perform their duties without the protection of this implant, not until they have served their five years. At the end of that time the pessary is removed for the Spring Festival of Ishtar, and enough of the maidens become pregnant at that time to satisfy the worshippers of Ishtar as to her influence on fertility.
“I served ten years in the temple, beginning when I was seven. I learned the arts of putting another person into a trance, and of making and implanting these pessary devices.
“When I was seventeen a troop of Muslims rode into my remote village and destroyed our temple. The priest and high priestess were killed. The rest of us were carried off into slavery. I have used the skills taught me many times. I will use them for you, if you will agree to bear the sultan his sons.”‘
Theadora looked the eunuch over gravely. “You are indeed a powerful friend, Ali Yahya. But satisfy my curiosity in one thing. Why me? Why not some nubile, pretty, witless little thing?”
“It is your very intelligence that makes me choose you, Highness. You understand and quickly grasp situations. You will be loyal to the sultan—and to me. You are above the petty squabblings of the harem maidens and will be a stabilizing influence upon your lord. You will rear your children wisely to serve this empire well.
“A younger, stupid girl would inevitably turn out to be greedy for riches, greedy for power. She would try to play politics. We will have a certain amount of that as it is, Highness, but as long as you remain supreme in the sultan’s heart, the small influence of these girls will be like insect bites—occasionally irritating, but totally unimportant.”
She nodded. “Now,” she said worriedly, “I must con
sider best how to get back into Murad’s good graces.”
The eunuch’s eyes twinkled. “Why, you will weep, my princess, and you will fling yourself into his arms, sobbing your apology,” he said.
“Ali Yahya!” She was laughing. “He will never believe such softness from me. Rather, it will arouse his suspicions.”
“He will believe if you are clever, Highness. He is angry and beginning to lose patience with this battle between you. I will gently stoke the fires of his anger, telling him he did right this afternoon in asserting his mastery over you. Encouraging him to continue the lesson this evening.”
“And thus encouraged,” Adora took up the thread of the eunuch’s thought, “he will come roaring into my tent like an outraged bull. I will exhibit a momentary, small, defiant attitude before going to pieces.”
“Excellent, Highness! As I have said, you are quick to grasp the point.”
Again she laughed. “Go, then, old schemer, and rouse my lord and master to proper fury. But remember, to give me time to dress and anoint myself properly.”
“I will send two serving women immediately,” he said. Then he left her. The eunuch walked across the compound to find the sultan bathing in his tent.
“Ah, Ali Yahya,” said Murad, “there you are. Make arrangements for us to leave for Bursa by noon tomorrow. I will ride back this night.”
“I am sorry you choose to run, my lord, when victory is so near at hand. With your actions of this afternoon, I had thought you finally understood the situation and were prepared to handle Princess Theadora with firmness.”
“Understood what, Ali Yahya?” He turned to the slave. “Be careful with that hot water, fool! Do you wish to scald me?”
“I thought,” said the eunuch, “you realized that, to win the princess back, you must force her to admit your superiority. You have almost succeeded in taming her. I have just come from her, tent, where I left her in tears. She loves you! She hates you!” He chuckled broadly. “One more such lesson as this afternoon, and you will break her to your will, my lord.”
“Do you really think so, Ali Yahya? I will admit that I love her, but I can take no more of her constant defiance and wicked temper. I would have you stock me a harem of quiet, gentle girls. One spitfire in my house is more than enough!”
“That is true, my lord, but a meal without a little pepper is a bland one. Go to her again tonight. I know she will be contrite. If you do not weaken, she will admit her faults. If she does, then you must remain here several more days to reinforce your position with her. What a sweet victory, eh, my lord?” finished the eunuch, pleased with the look of longing he detected in the sultan’s dark eyes.
Murad rose up from his tub and slaves dried his big, well-muscled body. Finally Murad spoke.
“Very well,” he said. “You may delay giving the orders to return to Bursa. We will see just how obedient my lovely Adora is willing to become.” He stood, holding his arms out, allowing his slaves to clothe him in a black silk robe. It was embroidered with branches of golden mimosa and closed with delicately sewn-gold frogs. Soft black kid slippers lined in the tender fleece of unborn lamb were slipped on his feet. Then, without another word, Murad left the tent and strode across the camp toward Theadora’s tent.
Ali Yahya cast his eyes skyward and muttered under his breath, “Whoever… Let my plans succeed!”
“He comes, mistress!” whispered the slavewoman excitedly, peering from between the tent flaps.
“Get you gone! All of you! Quickly! Quickly!” commanded Adora. The women fled as Murad entered.
Allah, but she was lovely. Quickly he caught himself before he showed any sign of weakness. She wore a loose robe of pale lilac silk, similar to his but much simpler. It closed with a row of little gold knots beginning at the valley of her breasts. He noted with satisfaction that her eyes were slightly red-rimmed.
He said nothing, and she stood defiantly looking at him for a moment. Then her lower lip trembled. She caught at it with her little white teeth, hastily wiping away two large tears that slid quickly down her pale cheeks.
“My lord,” her voice was a whisper. “Oh, my lord, I do not know how— I-I ask your—” Without warning she flung herself at him, and he found his arms automatically tightening about her. She wept softly against him, wetting his robe through to his chest.
He was delighted but dared not show it. He had expected fury at his treatment of her this afternoon, yet here she was, all soft and feminine, seeking to apologize to him. “Look at me, Adora.” Without hesitation she raised her face to him. Her lovely amethyst eyes were bright with tears, the black lashes matted. Unable to restrain himself, he bent to kiss the soft, inviting red mouth. To his surprise, her arms twined about his neck and her lips opened willingly—Allah!—eagerly, beneath his. She was kissing him back, and then she was murmuring, “Oh, Murad! I have been such a fool! Please, please forgive me!”
He was at a loss for words.
“It was my pride, my lord,” she said, drawing him down onto a pile of soft cushions, “surely you understand that, for yours is as great as mine, and I have a wicked temper. And both our fathers spoiled me terribly.” Kneeling, she drew off his slippers. Then she cuddled next to him.
“Your behavior has been almost unforgivable,” he said gruffly.
She raised herself up on one elbow and leaned forward just enough that he was treated to a generous view of her breasts. “But you will forgive this humble slave,” she begged prettily. When he looked sharply at her he saw her mouth trembling with suppressed mirth.
Relieved that her spirit wasn’t completely broken, he laughed and pulled her into his arms. “I do not believe you are really repentant at all,” he teased.
Her eyes grew serious. “But I do apologize, my lord. I do! I would not blame you if you sent me away.” She held her breath.
“Do you want to go?” he asked.
There was only the briefest pause. “No. Do not send me from you, Murad. Those years I lived as your father’s wife were a living hell for me. I maintained my sanity only by believing in the promise you once made to me in a moonlit garden: that one day I should be your wife. When you told me the other night that you would take no wife, but only keep a harem…” She paused, then said, “I am only a woman, my lord, and easily hurt. You know how hard it will be for me to accept your decision. My religion views an unmarried concubine as lower than a creature of the streets.”
“But my religion puts you above all women, Adora. I did not mean to hurt you, beloved. Understand me, my dove, I did not tell you I would not take a wife to sadden or shame you. For the last several generations the Ottomans have been forced to contract political marriages to aid them with their conquests. I do not believe we need do this any longer. We are at the very gates of Constantinople. When we conquer it, we will make it our own capital before moving out into Europe itself. The virgin daughters, sisters, nieces, and wards of those in our path will not be enough to bribe us—for we are stronger.
“Perhaps we Turks do treat our woman differently from the way the Greeks treat theirs, but we revere them for the one thing that only they can do. Only the female can accept and nurture the seed of life within her body. Only the female can bear that life safely, give it nourishment and care. It is his woman who provides a man’s immortality by giving him sons.
“You have a fine son, Adora. Can you honestly tell me that you have made any greater accomplishment in your lifetime than to give Halil life?”
She was amazed at the depth of his thoughts. And then she realized how little she actually knew the man. They had never really talked as they were doing now. She wondered whether he was aware of the sweet victory this was for her. It mattered not! For now, it was enough for her.
She smiled up at him and said quietly, “I suppose Halil has been my greatest accomplishment, and my life would have been very empty without him.”
“Give me a son!” he said fiercely. Her heart quickened at the passion in his gaze.
> She could not tear her eyes from his. She felt strangely weak, held a half-willing captive of those dark eyes that burned with little red and gold flames deep within. His fingers slipped the row of little gold knots that held her robe together and she felt the big hands gently stroking the swell of her breasts. For the first time she did not resist him, and a delicious, languorous feeling began to creep over her. His hands were those of a warrior, large and square, the fingernails cut short. The skin of his palms and fingers were neither rough nor smooth, but rather a combination of both, and the touch of it on her silken flesh made her shiver. He caught a hard little nipple between his finger and thumb and rubbed, delighting in her gasp of pleasure.
To his surprise, she opened his robe and placed her warm palms against him. Her slim fingers began to tease the hair on his chest, twining amid the soft, tight curls, pulling gently. Her eyes were soft with a growing desire.
He stood up and let his robe drop to the floor, pulling her after him. He drew the lilac-colored silk from her. Standing for a moment, they openly admired each other’s bodies. His hand reached out and gently caressed her. She returned the caress. Stepping forward, he gathered her up into his arms, her head nestled against his shoulder, and carried her slowly to their couch. Tenderly he placed her on the silken sheets, standing above her a moment. Then he eagerly joined her as she opened her arms to him.
His fingers removed the tortoise shell pins from her hair. Then he pulled the thick, lily-scented cloud down about the two of them. Only then did he seek her mouth, and she shivered for his kisses were sweet with remembrance, and spiced with expectation.
“You are perfection, my Adora,” he murmured softly. “And so there will never again be a misunderstanding between us, let me tell you plainly that I love you, my darling. The sultan of the Ottomans lays his heart at your slim, white feet, beloved, and humbly asks that you be the mother of his sons. I would fight with you no longer. Let me plant my seed deep within your fertile garden. Let me cherish you—and the new life that will grow within you.”
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