Now it was he who was the master, leading her on, holding her back, making her cry out with pleasure. He kissed her again and again until she was almost swooning, and she returned the kisses with a depth and ardor that only increased his passion. Frantically he whispered her name against her ear. “Adora! Adora! Adora!” and she answered him softly, “Murad, my beloved!”
Then suddenly he could no longer control his desires. He felt her body reaching the same blazing climax. She shuddered violently several times. Her skin was almost burning to the touch. Groaning, he spilled his milky seed into her soft body and, in a burst of clarity, she realized again that in this constant battle between men and women, it was the woman who emerged victorious in the end. Tenderly she cradled him against her, crooning soft little love words to him.
When she awoke in the morning he was still asleep beside her, looking boyish despite his years. For a moment she lay quietly watching him. Then she dropped a kiss on his brow. The dark eyes that opened and looked upon her were for the briefest moment so filled with love that she was astounded. She knew he loved her but he was not a man given to saying so often. The emotion she had glimpsed made her feel humble. She understood why he hid it from her. Murad would always consider love a weakness. He believed that showing such weakness to a woman lessened him and gave the woman an unfair advantage.
She smothered a chuckle. Would he never trust her love for him? “Arise, my lord, my love! The sun is already up, and this is the day we wed my nephew with the little heiress of Nicea.”
How lovely she still is, he thought, gazing on her camellia-skinned nudity, her long dark hair swirling about her. “Have we not even a moment to ourselves?” he growled, kissing her round shoulder.
“No,” she teased, rising from their bed. “Would you have the marketplace gossips say that Sultan Murad has grown soft, and lingers within a woman’s arms once the sun is up?”
Laughing, he leapt from the bed and delivered a well-aimed smack to her tempting backside. He was rewarded with a shriek of outrage. “You, my lady Adora, have a wicked tongue.”
Rubbing her injured part, she pouted, “And you, my lord slug-a-bed, have a hard hand.” And catching up a gauze robe she fled to her bath, his appreciative chuckle echoing behind her.
The witch must always have the last word, he thought.
Murad left her suite for his own. He wanted young Manuel bedded as quickly as possible. Although the emperor could have no objection to the girl, he would probably be irritated to find that the sultan had usurped his paternal authority. Murad wanted the little Julia pregnant quickly so there could be no chance of annulment. The girl’s mother had been an excellent breeder. Murad hoped Julia would prove just as fecund, but the girl’s slenderness worried him somewhat.
Murad was not officially part of the religious ceremony. He stood behind a carved screen as the patnarch of Nicea united the young couple. The sultan was amused to see the wide-eyed girl sneaking looks at the stranger to whom she was being married.
Afterward, he joined the newlyweds in a small celebration in Adora’s apartments. Thamar was also there, but more to lobby for her own son than to wish the bride and groom well. Isolating Murad in a corner, she complained, “First your son, Bajazet, is wed to Zubedya of Germiyan. Now you wed your nephew, Manuel, to Julia of Nicea. What of our son, Yakub? Have you no noble bride for him? Is only Theadora’s family dear to you?”
He fixed her with a hard look. She was no longer the slender beauty with the gorgeous golden hair who had fascinated him. She was heavier, her skin had coarsened, her hair was faded. It never occurred to Murad that his absence from her life and her bed was responsible for these changes. He had never been particularly fond of her, and right now she was an irritant.
“Yakub is my younger son. He is not my choice to succeed me. Yakub’s fate rests with his older brother, Bajazet. My father‘s choice was my brother, Suleiman, and therefore I took no fertile favorites, nor spawned children until after his death. It is possible that Yakub will not survive my death by more than a few hours. If such is to be his fate, none of his sons would survive either.”
Her eyes were wide with shock. “What is it you say to me?” she whispered.
“There can be only one sultan,” he said quietly.
“But your own father made his brother Al-addin, his vizir.”
“And I deposed a half brother who was my elder, for there were those who would have put Ibrahim before me and ruled through him.”
“You would condone your own son’s murder?” She was horrified.
“Yes!” he answered her fiercely. “You are a Christian, Thamar, and were raised in a world where mounting a crusade against the ‘infidel’ Turk was daily talk. Your Christian brothers would love nothing better than to cause dissension between two heirs to my kingdom. Therefore, when I die, it is probable that Yakub will follow me shortly. There can be only one sultan. Let us have no more talk of this, or of brides for Yakub.”
“Why then was your half brother, Halil, spared when you became sultan? Was not Theadora’s son by your father a danger to you also? Or perhaps,” she suggested unpleasantly, “he is really your son and not Orkhan’s child.”
He wanted to hit her, but he would not spoil the party. Instead he fixed her with a look of intense dislike. “My half brother is a cripple. Certainly you know that deformity of any kind is not permitted an Ottoman sultan. And never again abuse Adora by foul innuendo, Thamar, else I will tear your tongue from your head. Her life with my father was an unhappy one.”
“Something like my life with you,” she taunted.
“Your own bitterness is what makes your unhappiness. You became my second wife knowing full well that Theadora claimed all my heart.”
“Did I have any choice?”
“No,” he admitted. “You were bound to obey your father.”
“And you might have refused my father’s offer, but you lusted after me!”
“You could have been happy, Thamar. Adora welcomed you as a sister and tried to smooth your way. You brushed her kindness aside and behaved like a spoiled child.”
“And at the height of your passion on our wedding night you whispered her name over and over again like a prayer!”
“I did?” He was shocked by the hatred in her eyes as well as the knowledge she had just imparted. She turned and stalked slowly from the room.
Only Theadora had witnessed the exchange. She had not, of course, heard the words spoken between them, but she had seen Thamar’s hatred. She now sent Murad a puzzled look. But he merely smiled and joined her. She soon forgot the strange scene.
Thamar, however, did not forget. The bitterness that had been growing hidden in her over the years now took a turn toward revenge. Returning to her apartments, she dismissed her women and flung herself on her bed, weeping. Suddenly she knew she was not alone. Sitting up, she saw a eunuch standing quietly in the corner.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded furiously.
“I thought I might be of service, my lady. It breaks my heart to hear you weep so.”
“Why should you care?” she muttered.
In answer he crossed the room and knelt before her. “Because I dare to love you, my lady,” he murmured.
Shocked, Thamar looked closely at the kneeling eunuch. He was unbelievably beautiful with liquid brown eyes fringed in thick dark lashes, and curly black hair. He was tall and, unlike most eunuchs, muscular and firm.
“I have not seen you before,” she said.
“Yet I was assigned to your service over a year ago,” he answered. “I have seen the look of sadness grow on you, my lady, and I have longed to erase it.”
Thamar was beginning to feel better. This outrageous young eunuch was talking to her as if he truly cared. “What is your name?” she asked at last.
“Demetrios, my lovely lady.”
She hid a smile, trying to sound bored. “Once I was lovely, Demetrios, but no longer.”
“A bit of exercis
e, a special rinse to return the gold to your hair…and of course, someone to love you.”
“The first two are easily done,” she said, “but the third is impossible.”
“I,” he lowered his voice, “could love you, my dearest lady.” He let his meltingly beautiful brown eyes sweep over her. Thamar felt a flush run from her toes to her head.
“You are a eunuch,” she whispered. Then, fearfully, “Aren’t you?”
“My sweet, innocent lady,” he murmured, taking her hand in his and caressing it. “There are two ways to geld a male. With little boys, all is removed—but with older boys and young men as myself only the sac containing the seeds of life are taken. The mortality rate is less that way.” He stood and dropped his pantaloons. The rod of his manhood hung flaccid. “Caress me, my lady,” he begged. Fascinated, Thamar complied.
Within moments he was as hard and as big as any normal man. Gently he pushed her back amid the pillows of her couch. “Please, sweet mistress, give your Demetrios permission to make you happy again.”
If they were caught, she thought for a brief moment, if—“Oh, yes,” she breathed eagerly. And she tore away her robe in eagerness. He caught at her hands. “Slowly, my lady. Let me.” And he carefully removed the silken underdrawers and chemises. Gazing at her longingly, he thought what a fine figure of a woman she was. A bit flabby in places now, but he would soon take care of that. Ali Yahya had been correct about her. She was eager for a lover.
Kneeling beside her couch, he took her little foot in his hands, tenderly kissing each toe, then the sole, the heel, the ankle. His lips slid up one leg and then over and down the other. Still kneeling, his mouth moved across her navel and up to her breasts. Gently he bit at her nipples, then teased them with his hot tongue. She was panting quickly, her eyes closed, a look of bliss on her face. He moved to enter her bed, and she gasped, “The door! Bolt the door!”
Returning, he mounted quickly and drove into her. She spent too quickly, sobbing with eagerness, and cursed in frustration.
“No, no, sweet lady,” Demetrios reassured her. “I am like a bull and will pleasure you long and slowly.”
It was a promise not lightly made, and it was the beginning of the most incredible night of Thamar’s life. The eunuch serviced his mistress again and again until she was so exhausted that she could not raise her head from the pillows. At this point Demetrios deemed it wise to stop, though Thamar protested.
“You will come to me tomorrow night?”
“As my princess wishes,” he replied, smiling down at her.
“Yes! God, yes!”
“Then I must obey.”
“You must become my chief eunuch,” she said.
“You have a chief eunuch.”
“Dispose of him somehow,” she murmured, and instantly fell asleep.
Demetrios slipped from the room and went immediately to Ali Yahya’s quarters. As he grew older, Ali Yahya had discovered he needed less and less sleep. Consequently, except for about three hours in the deepest part of the night, he was always awake.
“You have finally succeeded?” he asked as Demetrios entered, a look of triumph on his face.
“I have succeeded completely, master. I caught her in a weak moment. She returned from the wedding in very low spirits. She was so busy dismissing her women she did not even see me. When she thought herself alone, she wept. Making my presence known, I comforted her.”
“Fully?”
“Fully, master. I am now her lover. She has already begged me to return tomorrow. She wishes me to be her chief eunuch and has told me to dispose of Paulus.”
“Indeed,” said Ali Yahya dryly. “You must be well worth the outrageous price I paid for you. I will see that Paulus is sent to Prince Halil’s house in Nicea. You have done very well, Demetrios. Now, you must gain Princess Thamar’s complete confidence, and you must keep it. From now on your contact with me must always be a secret and made only when absolutely necessary. You know what you must do. I now give you control of Princess Thamar’s household. You will answer to no one but me.”
“I hear and obey, master,” said the young eunuch, bowing.
Ali Yahya nodded slowly, then spoke again. “Remember where your true loyalties lie, Demetrios. If you become ambitious and attempt to betray me, your death will be a very long and extremely unpleasant one. Serve me well, and you will be a rich and a free man some day.”
“I hear and obey, master,” replied Demetrios. He left the room.
Ali Yahya sat back, well-satisfied. He trusted the younger man. He had picked him most carefully.
He had observed, as the sultan ignored his second wife over the years, that the only outlet for Thamar’s love was her son. Yakub had been taken from his mother at the age of six and brought up in his own court, a strict Muslim one. He respected his mother and even harbored an affection for her, but he did not understand her. She was too intense, and her plots to advance him in the eyes of his father were embarrassing.
Ali Yahya worried about Thamar. Allah only knew what the lonely, embittered, and frustrated woman might do. He had decided to give her a new interest, one who would not only involve her attention, but who would keep him fully informed of her plots.
He had looked for several months for the right person. Thamar was suspicious by nature. He had needed a young man, but not too young. Someone moderately intelligent and trustworthy, but not ambitious.
By chance he had heard of Demetrios, the slave of a wealthy merchant. As his master had aged and grown feeble, Demetrios had taken over his business and run it at a profit for his master. Unfortunately he had also gotten involved with his master’s two bored young wives, for Demetrios hated to see a pretty woman unhappy. When one of the wives discovered that the other was also enjoying the eunuch’s services, she revenged herself by crying “rape” the next time Demetrios visited her. Demetrios was flogged and sent to the slave market by his outraged master. He was to be re-gelded, and then sold.
Fortunately, the slavemaster was taken by Demetrios’ beauty. Re-gelding was seldom successful. If the young man died, which was likely, a handsome profit would be lost. The risk was to the slavemaster, not to the slave owner. The slavemaster had remembered that his old friend, Ali Yahya, was looking for a young eunuch. Ali Yahya came, was impressed, and the bargain was made. Demetrios was so grateful for the gift of his life that he swore to obey Ali Yahya unquestioningly. The sultan’s chief eunuch knew he could trust this new addition to his staff.
Prince Bajazet must be protected at all costs for he was his father’s choice. Prince Yakub, though loyal to his father and older brother, might be tempted by his unhappy mother‘s plots. Thamar must be sidetracked. Demetrios was chosen to do the job.
Paulus was replaced by Demetrios. And, one day, the few female slaves Thamar kept were all replaced by new women. Knowing no differently, these women gave their loyalty to Demetrios.
The sultan’s second wife began to change. The extra pounds she had gained melted away, and her hair became soft and shining again. Demetrios satisfied her physical needs each night.
Though she grew calmer and more content, she could not refrain from plotting. But Demetrios managed to confine Thamar’s schemes to the talk stages. He was worried by her extreme hatred of the sultan’s favorite wife. Thamar could become completely irrational if Theadora’s name were even mentioned. She would rant on and on about her plans to make Adora suffer as she had suffered. Demetrios did not understand this, for Thamar quite frankly admitted that she had never loved Sultan Murad. Why then, this unreasonable hatred for Theadora? This was one thing Demetrios did not report to Ali Yahya.
The young eunuch was truly fond of his mistress. If a humble former fisherman from the province of Morea could dare to love a princess, then Demetrios did. Though Thamar might be her own worst enemy, she now had someone who would protect her from herself.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Prince Andronicus had been imprisoned for several years in the Marble Towe
r, which was located at the far western end of the city. After his temporary blinding, he had been returned there to languish. His wife was dead, and his one son, John, was being raised in the palace.
He lived comfortably, his servants were pleasant, and he was denied nothing…except women, and his freedom. His world consisted of the rooms in which he lived, though the tower windows gave him a panoramic view of the city, the countryside beyond it, and the sea of Marmara.
He was allowed no visitors for fear he would begin plotting again. No one came in any case, for none of his former friends wished to be identified with a convicted traitor. Andronicus was quite surprised, therefore, to see his mother arrive one afternoon, heavily cloaked, and paying lavish bribes to his guards.
She embraced him excitedly. “The hour of your deliverance is near, my darling son,” she gushed. “Your brother has disgraced himself at last!” And she quickly filled him in on the events of the past few months. “Your foolish father has sent Manuel to Bursa to beg Murad’s pardon. Poor Manuel will not, of course, return alive. Your father will then have to free you!”
“I shall be his co-emperor!” Then Andronicus’ eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I shall be the only emperor,” he said softly.
“Oh, yes, my darling!” cried Helena. “Whatever you want, I will help you to get. You shall have it. I swear it!”
But Prince Manuel did return from Bursa. He was forgiven his sins by the sultan, and he had a bride who was already with child. The emperor was relieved to see his favorite son, though he was at first a trifle put out that his paternal rights had been assumed by Murad. However, within a few days John had to admit that Murad’s choice of a bride for Manuel had been perfect. She was sweet-natured, obedient, and very much in love with her husband. Manuel returned her affection equally. The emperor could wish no more for his son.
The empress was not pleased. Not only was Julia everything Helena wasn’t, she was also very pretty. Quiet spoken, but firm of character, Julia moved in to fill the gap left by the empress’s constant absences. The emperor and his younger son had more of a feeling of family than they had had in years, and John prepared to name young Julia co-empress when her child was born.
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