Adora

by Bertrice Small

  She was silent a moment. Then she asked, “And if I said ‘No’, my lord—what then?”

  “I would send you from me, my dove, probably back to Constantinople. For I cannot remain near you and not want to make love to you.”

  “You will not grow angry with me, as your father did, because I like to study and read?”

  “No.”

  “Then come, my beloved lord. The spring is almost upon us, and if we are to harvest a good crop before the year is out, we must begin.”

  He was stunned by her frankness. Her laughter was mischievous. “Oh, Murad, you great fool! I love you! I admit to it, though I am not at all sure I should. I have always loved you. You were my first love, and now it seems you are to be my last. My now and forever love. And so it was written in the stars before either of us even took root in our mothers’ wombs. So Ali Yahya assures me.”

  His eager lips found her equally eager ones and soon his mouth was scorching hers, then moving down her body, tasting of breast and belly. When finally he entered her she was but half-conscious: never, never had she known such sweetness. She cried with joy in his possession of her, and again as he released his seed within her. And in that single blazing moment before pleasure claimed her completely, she knew she had conceived a son.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After two years, the city of Adrianople had fallen to the Turks. There had been virtually no help from Constantinople. The emperor, being a vassal of the sultan, had simply not dared to send his troops.

  The wealthiest of Constantinople’s merchants had raised a troop of cavalry and two troops of foot soldiers. Having outfitted them and paid them a year’s wages in advance, they sent them off to protect their vast investments in the Thracian city’s factories and export houses. Once within the city, however, the mercenaries were trapped, along with the inhabitants. The latter were not delighted by having to feed several hundred additional mouths.

  Adrianople was one of the last real jewels in Byzantium’s crown. One hundred and thirty-seven miles northwest of Constantinople, it was set on the banks of the Tunja River where it met with the Maritsa River. Located in the center of the Thracian coastal plain, it was surrounded by fertile, well-watered valleys and a surprisingly barren upland. It was said to be located on the site of the ancient city of Uskadame. Certainly something had been there when Hadrian rebuilt the city in the year 125 B.C. Two hundred fifty-three years later the Roman emperor, Valens, lost the city to the Goths. They later lost it to the Bulgars, who lost it to the Byzantines, who lost it to the Crusaders, who lost it back to Byzantium. Byzantium had now lost it forever to the Turks.

  There were several reasons for the desirability of possessing Adrianople. It was the marketplace for the entire agricultural region surrounding it, a region that grew fruits and vegetables of every kind, wine grapes, cotton, flax, mulberry bushes, and flowers—especially roses and poppies. The people produced silk, finished cotton cloth, linen of every grade, woolen goods, leather articles, and exquisite silk tapestries. Also produced and exported were rose water, attar of roses, wax, opium, and a red dye that was to be known as “turkey red”.

  It was here that the Turks intended to move their capital from Bursa. Adrianople, soon to be renamed Edirne, was to be the Ottomans’ first capital city in Europe. Those sections of the city which had surrendered without a fight were spared the conqueror’s vengeance.

  Those sections which had resisted once the Turks breached the city walls were subjected to the traditional three days of pillage and rape. The aged and useless were slaughtered or left to starve, unless they had relatives who could ransom them and remove them from the city. Pregnant and nursing women were the first to be sold into slavery, for a healthy, fertile female slave was a valuable possession. Stripped naked on the block, the way they carried their unborn was discussed knowledgeably by the interested buyers. The space between their hipbones was thought to be a good indication of how easily they would bear their young. Good breeders were welcome in a man’s house. Their unborn, especially sons, were an added bonus to the sale.

  Those women who had already borne their babies and now suckled them, were examined for the heaviness of their breasts and even manually milked by the prospective buyers to check the richness of their milk. A woman with more rich milk than her own baby needed could suckle an orphan or the child of a dry mother. The weeping that issued forth from this particular slave market was piteous. But none of the crowds paid a great deal of attention. Such were the fortunes of war.

  The children were the next to be sold. The prettier ones, both boys and girls, went quickly in the fast and furious bidding. Next came the young men, beauty and strength being the most obvious assets. Many young men were purchased by their relatives from other parts of the city. They were desperate to retain the young male members of their families who were responsible for breeding the next generation and keeping alive the family name. There were tragedies here too. Twin brothers were auctioned separately, and the family could only afford to retrieve one. The remaining brother was sold to an Arab trader who hoped to make a fortune on the blond boy further south. The identical brothers were torn apart to the sound of awful sobs.

  The sisters and female cousins of these young men were less fortunate. Most of the young girls caught by the Turkish soldiers had been raped. Placed last on the slave block as part of the legitimate booty, their youth and their beauty brought good prices from everyone except their families, who were not eager to regain their dishonored daughters. Many a sobbing girl was led away before the stony faces of her own parents.

  The sultan, of course, was offered the pick of the captives. But Ali Yahya chose the artisans and craftsmen because Murad intended building a new palace.

  The site he had chosen was a large island in the Maritsa River. On one side of the island the view was toward the city, on the other toward the distant, forested mountains. The island was well-treed with a large hill upon the crest of which the palace was to be located. The design was similar to the Alhambra’s, and indeed its architect was a young Moor. There would be courts and fountains, and the entire palace would be surrounded by a carefully cultivated, terraced parkland of gardens, meadow, and woodland. There would be dockage facilities on either side of the island.

  The work began immediately, for Murad hoped to have it finished in time for the birth of Adora’s child. Giant blocks of marble were quarried and brought from the Marmara islands. Other pieces were taken from nearby Roman ruins to be cleaned, polished, and recut. Great logs of oak and beech were hauled from the mountains, and several shiploads of cedar from the Mideast arrived at the mouth of the Tunja to be reloaded onto barges and taken upriver to Adrianople.

  The finest craftsmen, both free and slave, were brought to work on the palace. There were simple carpenters as well as master builders and carvers. There were plumbers to lay the copper piping for the baths, kitchens, and fountains; painters and gilders; men to lay roof tiles; men to set the wall and floor tiles. In the cities of Bursa and Adrianople the weavers spent long hours at their looms turning out silks, satins, gauzes, and wools. These fabrics were then turned over to the master weavers and seamstresses to be turned into tapestries, rugs, draperies, and other hangings.

  Murad drove his architect, who in turn drove his craftsmen and workers as hard as he could. But he dared not tell the sultan that the palace would not be finished in time for the child’s birth. It was finally Theadora who solved the dilemma by suggesting to the architect that he concentrate his men’s efforts into completing her part of the palace first.

  Hers was one of six courts. It was to be called The Court of the Beloved.

  The Court of the Sun faced southwest and was tiled in red, yellow, gold, and orange. All the flowers in this court were gaily colored. The Court of the Stars and the Moon was done in blue- and cream-colored tiles. Here were planted heavily fragrant nightblooming flowers such as sweet nicotiana, lilies, and moonflower vines. About the deep-blue tiled fountain wer
e set twelve silver plaques, each one representing a sign of the zodiac. There would also be the Court of the Olive Trees, the Court of the Blue Dolphins, and the Court of the Jeweled Fountains.

  Adora’s private court faced south and west. It contained her own kitchen and dining room, a complete bath, a nursery for her expected child, her own spacious bedroom, a small library, three reception rooms, and sleeping quarters for her slaves. The open courtyard was large and boasted several small reflecting pools and a beautiful fountain, the water spouting forth from a golden lily. There were dwarfed flowering trees—cherry, apple, almond, and peach. In the spring there would be pink and white blossoms, blue and white hyacinths, yellow, gold and white narcissus, and all varieties of Persian tulips. In the summer the garden would bloom with multicolored roses, windflowers, and lilies—Adora’s favorite. In the autumn the apple trees would offer their fruits to the inhabitants of the Court of the Beloved exclusively.

  Adora told Murad that the entire palace would not be finished in time for their child’s birth. But before he could complain she explained that the baby would still be birthed in the palace, for her own court was to be finished first. The child she carried would be the first Ottoman to be born in Europe.

  Adora soothed Murad gently. “You are not,” she told him, “putting up a tent, my lord. Palaces take time to build if they are built to endure. When you and I have long since disappeared from men’s memories, I would have those walking the earth then point to your palace and say, ‘and that is the Island Serai, built by Sultan Murad, son of Orkhan Ghazi. It was the first royal residence built by the Ottomans in Europe, and in it was born the first European Ottoman sultan.’ If your palace is well built, my lord, it will endure forever, a monument to you. But if you force the workmen to build quickly, your palace will not endure longer than your own life span.”

  He smiled lovingly at her. “Being full with my seed has not dulled your clever Greek powers of reasoning.”

  “I had not heard that carrying a child in the womb shut off the brain, my lord.” Damn! Would he never learn?

  He laughed. “Your pretty tongue is as always, my dove, over-saucy.”

  She laughed back. “Would you truly have me be as those vapid creatures who populate your bed these nights?” She lowered her eyes and slipped awkwardly to her knees. “Yeth, my lord,” she lisped in a brutally stunning imitation of one of his favorites, “whatever my lord sath. Each word from hith mouth ith a dewdrop of withdom, my lord.”

  Murad pulled Adora up and made a wry face. “How can I fault Ali Yahya?” he asked. “Every girl in my harem is exquisite. One is lovelier than the other. But, Allah! They are as stupid as a flock of sheep!”

  She teased him without mercy. “But surely that is what you want, my lord. You are always faulting me for my intelligence, saying it is not suitable to a beautiful woman. Now you fault these lovely girls because they lack brains. You are a fickle man, my lord. There is no pleasing you.”

  “If you were not so fat with my son, impudent slave, I should beat you,” he growled. But his eyes were merry and his hand on her rounded belly was gentle. Then his voice roughened, and he said, “You are misshapen with the child. Your nose is too long, your mouth too small. Your hair is lank. And yet, you are the most beautiful, exciting woman I have ever seen! What sorcery is this that you practice on me, Theadora of Byzantium?”

  Her violet eyes glittered, and he was not sure she wasn’t holding back tears. This touched him, for she was such a proud little creature. “I practice no sorcery, my lord,” she said softly, “unless there is something magical in my love for you.”

  “Little witch,” he said low, catching her hand and kissing the palm.

  Her marvelous violet eyes caught his, and for the briefest, eeriest second he believed she could read his thoughts. But then she took his hand and placed it on her belly. “The child moves, my love. Can you feel him?”

  Beneath his fingers he felt first what seemed a gentle fluttering, but then suddenly the center of his palm was kicked hard. He started, staring down at his hand in wonder, almost as if he expected to see a footprint. She laughed happily.

  “He is surely your headstrong son,” she said.

  He tenderly drew her into his arms and stroked her swollen breasts.

  “Don’t!”

  He looked sharply at her, and she blushingly confessed, “It makes me hunger for you, my lord, and you know that it is now forbidden me.”

  “I hunger for you too, Adora,” he answered gravely. “Be patient, my dove, and soon we will share a bed again.” And he held her close until, safe in the warmth of his arms, she fell asleep. Only then did he lower her carefully to the pillows. Rising, he pulled the coverlet over her.

  He stood for a moment gazing down at her. Then he walked slowly from the room and sought the spyhole that looked down into the common room of the harem. It was early, and his maidens were still up and chattering. They were, he mused, a nice collection. He must remember to compliment Ali Yahya’s good taste. His eye fell on two girls in particular. One was a lovely, fair-skinned, little blonde from northern Greece with large sky blue eyes. Her pretty, round breasts had saucy pink nipples. The other was a tall, dark-skinned beauty from beyond the Sahara Desert.

  Watching his women secretly amused him, and he wondered what they would say if they knew he observed them. Nothing, he answered himself. They would say absolutely nothing. They would giggle, pose, and preen, but they would say nothing for there was not half an intelligent thought among them. Their main aim in life was to attract his attention first, and then please him. Why that did not delight him he did not understand.

  A beautiful, complacent female offered no challenge. Adora had certainly spoiled him for other women! He had, he chuckled to himself, grown quite used to being fought with—verbally, mentally, and physically—even up to the very moment of surrender. And he found it far more exciting than mere sexual skill. The maidens of his harem cared if they pleased him, fearing not to. Adora loved him, but she feared him not a whit.

  He felt a familiar stirring, and acknowledged his need for a woman. No, by Allah! No simple woman but Adora satisfied him anymore. He would send for two maidens, the black maiden and the golden Greek girl. Perhaps together they could quench the fire in his aching loins.

  He signaled a slave and commanded him to fetch Ali Yahya. The chief eunuch arrived quickly, and the sultan instructed him. Face impassive, the eunuch bowed low from the waist.

  “It shall be as you wish, my lord,” he said. All the while he chuckled inwardly, knowing his plan to gain power was working. Murad was unhappy because the princess was denied him, and he sought to sate himself with two women. Ali Yahya entered the harem knowing full well that, above him, the sultan observed him through the spyhole.

  Murad watched carefully, observing the reactions of the two women he had chosen. Their reactions would give him an indication of their characters. The blonde, as he had guessed, was shy. She blushed a pretty pink, her hands flying up to her cheeks, her small mouth making a little “O” of surprised delight, and her blue eyes widening with just a touch of fear.

  The dark girl, on the other hand, looked haughtily up at Ali Yahya and smiled seductively. Flicking a scornful glance at the Greek, she said something that caused the other to flush beet red. The chief eunuch tapped the dark one lightly on the cheek in an admonishing gesture, but the black girl simply laughed.

  The sultan’s lips drew back in a wolfish smile. A soft kitten and a fierce tigress, he mused to himself. Perhaps the evening would not prove disappointing after all.

  The two maidens were brought to him, and the eunuch disrobed them so he might gaze upon them. Side by side they were magnificent—ebony and ivory together.

  He looked to the dark girl. “Pleasure me, Leila.” Lying back among the cushions of the bed he allowed her to open his robe and fondle him. The dark girl bent her head and took him in her mouth, her tongue tracing sensual patterns until his root began to swell and
fill her mouth.

  “Aisha!” The little blond started. “Come!” And the Greek girl lay near him. He spoke again. Leaning over him, she placed a full breast in his open mouth. Sucking on the soft flesh, conscious of the pleasure the dark girl was giving him, he willfully pushed all thought of Theadora from his troubled mind. It was her duty and her privilege to bear his child. It was his right to sate his desires with other women. It was the way of their world, had been since the beginning of that world, and would be until the end of time.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Court of the Beloved was finished, and Theadora’s bedroom was the most talked about room in the entire harem. Every woman envied the princess her quarters, her pregnancy, and the sultan’s love.

  The bedchamber was paneled halfway up the wall in squares of dark wood. Above the paneling the wall was painted a deep yellow-gold color, and topped with a plaster molding of flowers painted in scarlet, blue and gold. The floors were highly-polished wide boards of dark-stained oak. The ceilings were beamed, the beams painted to match the moldings.

  Centered on one wall was a large yellow-and-blue-tiled fireplace topped with an enormous conical copper hood covered in sheets of beaten gold. The tiled fireplace apron was raised and extended several feet out into the room. The walls on either side of the hearth were hung with beautiful silk hangings, one of which depicted the flowers of spring and early summer, the other the flowers of late summer and autumn.

  The wall facing the fireplace contained a raised, carpeted platform holding a large bed. The bed had carved and gilded posts and was hung with coral silk hangings, all embroidered with flowers, leaves, and vines. The embroidery was done in gold thread, seed pearls, and jade. There was a matching coverlet.

  To the right of the head of the bed the wall was windowed with long, tall, mullioned casement windows. The glass had been blown by six Venetian glassblowers unfortunate enough to have been in a section of Adrianople that resisted the Turks. The sultan had promised them full pardon and coveted Turkish citizenship as well if they blew the window glass and decorative glass for his palace. Until then, they remained in bondage to him. The windows in Adora’s bedroom had a very faint golden hue. They looked out onto her private garden. The draperies were the same coral silk as the bed-hangings.