The Kadin Read online

  Zuleika had been taught from childhood that she would share her man, and Firousi and Cyra had been snatched from their cultures early enough to change and accept the Turkish way of life. Seated in the gardens of their home, sewing and chatting, their children playing around them, they presented a charming picture of domesticity.

  Few changes had come about in the years since they had first come to the Moonlight Serai. Two of their number had departed on the black camel of death—Iris in giving birth to a stillborn son, and Amara from a fever that struck her down during their second winter there. The little maiden from the warm Indian plains had never adjusted to the Turkish climate.

  Perhaps the only flaw in their contentment was the fact that the terrible-tongued, softhearted Sarina had failed to join them in motherhood. Selim had taken her often enough to his couch, but she could not conceive. The children all adored her, and she loved and spoiled them in return. Still, she was only twenty-four, so perhaps there was some hope.

  “Father! Father!” The shouts of the children rang on the cool air. Selim was coming across the lawn. The boys crowded about him, and he spoke to them each, giving a pat on the head to the younger ones, an affectionate whack to the older boys. Little Guzel and Hale hovered behind their brothers, and, seeing them, Selim scooped them up, one in each arm.

  “And how are my littlest houris today?” he asked.

  The twins giggled and, hiding their flowerlike faces behind their hands, peeked at him through their tiny fingers. Reaching his three kadins, he put the little girls down. “They grow more like their seductive mother every day.” Firousi blushed prettily.

  The prince turned to his oldest son. “Suleiman, find your aunt Sarina and tell her I desire her presence. Then return to your studies.” The boy bowed to his father and hurried off, feeling self-important “Marian!” Cyra’s slave appeared magically. “Take the children inside and tell their tutors they are to stay there.”

  The woman quickly complied. Selim was a good master, but he had been known to react harshly when not obeyed promptly.

  Sarina joined the women, and, turning to them, Selim spoke.

  “Word has just reached me that Besma has finally attained her first goal. My half-brother Ahmed has been returned to Constantinople, and the sultan has promised not to send him away again. He has been given a portion of the palace for his own court and twelve of father’s loveliest gediklis.”

  “Twelve!” exclaimed Cyra.

  “A small slap at me, my dove. As a younger son, I was honored by receiving six maidens, but as heir, Ahmed has received twice the number.”

  “Allah help them,” murmured Zuleika.

  “Yes, my flower of the Orient. They will need Allah’s help, but we have a more serious problem. Prince Ahmed will be arriving tomorrow night for a short visit while the workmen finish the renovation of his part of the Eski Serai.”

  “What mischief is this?” demanded Cyra.

  “Besma’s, I’ll wager. I believe she hopes to arouse my brother’s jealousy against me by showing him our way of life and my six fine sons—all of whom by law will supersede any sons Ahmed may sire.”

  “What shall we do, my lord?”

  “We shall do nothing, Cyra. We shall behave as we always do. Ahmed has been envious of me since I was a child. Once he took from me a toy my father had given me, even though he was well past the age for such things. He will be jealous of my women and my sons without their doing or saying a thing. Simply stay as much out of his way as possible. When you must be in his company, be cordial, no more.”

  They nodded in agreement with him

  “Will he be given the freedom of the palace, my lord?”

  “Except the harem, Cyra.”

  “Suleiman and Mohammed have their own quarters now, my lord. Might he not seek to harm them? His ways with small boys are well known.”

  “It will be all right, my love. I have already instructed Arslan to guard your son and Firousi’s. The household guard will be extra vigilant during my brother’s stay.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “You will have a great deal to do between now and tomorrow, my ladies. See that the household is prepared, and wear your loveliest costumes.”

  Bowing, they left him musing in the late-afternoon sun.

  “The pot begins to boil,” Selim muttered to himself. “With Allah’s help I’ll prove the better cook. Enjoy my hospitality while you can, my brother. We shall meet on the battlefield yet”

  The following day the heir-apparent arrived at Selim’s palace. Outwardly the relationship between the two princes was cordial. Though Besma had poured a constant stream of poison about Selim into her son’s ear, Ahmed was not stupid. Selim had never exhibited any ambition or open hostility toward his older brother, and when Ahmed was away from his mother, he found he liked his younger brother. Selim, for his part, went out of his way to make Ahmed comfortable and secure.

  On Ahmed’s first evening, the domed and colonnaded dining hall of the Moonlight Serai was brightly lit Brass braziers, their charcoal heat glowing bright red, took the chill off the late September night In a corner a group of musicians accompanied a lithe dancing girl who weaved and undulated across the marble floor. Seated on soft cushions at a low table, Prince Selim entertained his older half-brother. With them was Lady Refet for her years and her position afforded her this honor and respect.

  The dancing girl finished her efforts, bowed, and ran from the room. Well-trained slaves removed the last dishes from the table and brought water pipes to the two men.

  “Your hospitality is excellent my dear Selim, but then so, I understand, is the beauty of your harem. Why is it I have not yet seen your women?”

  “The sweets, my brother, should always be served at the end of the meat”

  Prince Ahmed laughed. “Well said, Selim! I am prettily reproved. My mother has always said my manners were gross.”

  Selim nodded to a eunuch and then turned to his brother. “Join me on the dais, Ahmed, and I shall present my women to you.”

  They moved from the table to a raised, pillow-strewn marble dais. Lady Refet sat on a leather stool nearby. Two slaves swung wide the large doors to the reception hall, and a veiled figure in a gold-bordered, light-green wool caftan glided into the hall. She moved to the foot of the dais, where a slave removed her robe. Her trousers were striped in wide bands of gold and green, a bodice made from cloth of gold covered her sheer white blouse, and her feet were encased in green silk slippers. Red-gold hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back. It had been brushed to a sheen that caught the light and glowed. Around her throat glittered an emerald necklace, and emerald earrings bobbed from her ears. Falling to her knees before Selim, she pressed the hem of his robe to her forehead first, then to her lips.

  “Rise,” he said. “Ahmed, my bas-kadin, the lady Cyra. You may remove your veil before my dear brother, love.”

  Her slim ringed hand gently pulled the sheer green cloth from her face. “Welcome to the Moonlight Serai, Prince Ahmed. May your stay with us be a happy one.”

  Ahmed stared for a long moment into the cool, unwavering green eyes, then his glance took in the rest of her face and her slender body. “Brother Selim, I would give my inheritance for one night at her couch.”

  Selim laughed pleasantly. “My thanks, dear brother,” he said, “but I prefer the life of a country gentleman. Your empire is safe. Come, sit next to me, Cyra.”

  A second figure appeared in the main doorway. She, too, wore a gold-bordered wool caftan, but in Persian blue. When the slave removed the caftan, Selim saw that her costume was identical to Cyra’s except for the colors—blue and gold. Her silvery-blond hair had been dressed high on her head to give her the illusion of height. Around her throat she wore a necklace of sapphires. Kneeling in front of the dais, she made her obeisance, removed her veil, and flashed a dazzling smile at Prince Ahmed.

  “My second kadin, the lady Firousi.”

  “Magnificent,” murmu
red the visiting prince.

  Firousi moved to the dais and settled herself by Cyra as Zuleika arrived. Standing in front of her lord, Zuleika allowed the slave to remove her gold-bordered, scarlet wool caftan, revealing gold-and-scarlet trousers, a cloth-of-gold bodice over a sheer white blouse, and scarlet silk slippers. A magnificent necklace of blazing rubies flashed fire from her throat Her shining, blue-black hair was drawn back high on her head, to fall in one long, thick braid down her back.

  Selim glanced at Cyra’s costume, Firousi’s, and Zuleika’s. A little smile played at the corners of his mouth. “My third kadin, the lady Zuleika.” Zuleika removed her veil, nodded coolly at Ahmed and took her place next to Firousi.

  “The first three are exquisite, my brother. If your other three kadins are as lovely, I shall be quite jealous.”

  “I have only three kadins, and one ikbal, Ahmed My other two maidens are dead”

  A fourth figure in a gold-bordered white wool caftan walked into the hall and to the dais.

  “Ah, Sarina, come forward my prickly rose”

  Selim was not surprised to find that beneath her robe Sarina’s costume matched those of her companions, her colors being white and gold She wore only plain gold jewelry, for the lovely necklaces worn by her three companions had been gifts from Selim in token of the births of his first three sons. Sarina fell to her knees, her chestnut curls tumbling in delightful confusion about her face and shoulders. She then rose and removed her veil.

  “My ikbal, the lady Sarina.”

  “Is it not unusual to address an ikbal by the title lady, my brother?” asked Ahmed.

  “In this house it is not” returned Selim, a bit sharply. “Though Allah has not yet blessed Sarina with children, she is indispensible to my well-being and happiness.” Sarina shot her lord a loving and grateful look, and then took her place on the dais. “When you visit my gardens tomorrow, think of Sarina,” continued Selim. “She has been responsible for them since we came here, and my gardens are famous throughout the province.”

  “I don’t suppose your hospitality extends to the point of sending one of these jewels to warm my couch during my visit brother?”

  Lady Refet looked shocked. Selim’s women were startled, and Cyra saw the almost imperceptible but angry tightening of her lord’s face that hid behind the pleasant, amused expression he turned to Ahmed. “You joke, of course, Ahmed,” he said. “Our future sultan, above all people, knows that under our religious laws what he playfully suggests is impossible. However, I have not been unmindful of your every comfort Hadji Bey has sent to us three of your maidens. You will find them waiting when you return to your suite.”

  “Your thoughtfulness leaves me speechless, Selim.”

  Selim grinned wickedly. “Before we retire for the night I would have you meet your nephews and nieces.” He nodded to his head eunuch, who, disappearing out a side door, returned a minute later with the eight children.

  Walking to the foot of the dais, they bowed low to their father and their mothers. The boys were dressed in long yellow royal robes, and the girls in tiny green caftans. They stood in a line, according to age, in front of Selim.

  “My bas-kadin’s oldest son, Suleiman. He is seven.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Ahmed, “my heir. Did you know you will be sultan one day, nephew?”

  “If Allah wills it my lord uncle. May you live a thousand years!”

  Ahmed stared curiously at the boy. Suleiman stared back, his gaze unwavering.

  “My second son, Firousi’s Mohammed. He is six and a half.” The boy bowed. “Zuleika’s son, Omar. He is five. And this little monkey is Cyra’s Kasim. He is four. Here is Zuleika’s second son, Abdullah, who is three. Finally, my youngest son, Cyra’s Murad, age two.”

  “Most impressive, my brother. They are fine-looking boys, and it is comforting to me to know that the line of Osman will not die.” Ahmed turned to the twins. “And who are these beauties?”

  “Firousi’s daughters, Hale and Guzel.”

  “Hale, ‘light around the moon,’ and Guzel, the beautiful one.’ Charming,” murmured Ahmed. “Come, little ones. Sit on your uncle’s lap.”

  Hale stamped her small foot and shouted, “No!”

  Fortunately, Ahmed was amused. He had been well-fed and was feeling expansive. “I retire defeated, brother Selim. Your small daughter has grievously wounded my heart” He rose slowly, bowed to Lady Refet and his brother’s harem, and, followed by his personal slaves, left the hall.

  Hale climbed into her father’s lap and settled herself. “I don’t like Uncle Ahmed,” she announced. “He’s a nasty man!”

  23

  TO THE RELIEF OF Selim and his family, Prince Ahmed’s visit to the Moonlight Serai was short. When word came that his apartments in the Eski Serai were ready, he departed, and for the next year or so the inhabitants of the Moonlight Serai lived in relative peace, their Uves free from intrigue. Unfortunately, this state of affairs could not last.

  The portion of the Eski Serai turned over to Prince Ahmed was not a pleasant place. He was not yet the father of a living son—stillbirths, miscarriages, and puny females had been the fate of his ikbals—and without a kadin, no one particular woman in his harem was dominant His favorites changed hourly, with his moods, and this led to confusion. The ikbals of Ahmed were far too busy plotting against one another to oversee the household slaves, and the prince, in his eagerness to be free of his mother, would not permit Besma to do so. Consequently, the apartments of Ahmed and his women were filthy and disorderly.

  Hadji Bey knew ail of this but said nothing to the sultan. Instead, he allowed tales of the heir’s slovenliness and decadence to filter across the empire. Biding his time, the agha felt that with luck, Selim, an obviously devout Muslim and the father of six healthy young sons, would inherit Bajazet’s throne with no war and little bloodshed.

  Aware of the enormous disparity between her own odious offspring and the handsome son of her dead rival, Besma decided to pay her son and his household a visit

  Entering the apartments, she noticed with distaste the dust balls beneath the furniture, the clothing carelessly strewn about rotting fruit in a bowl, and the distinct smell of urine. A slave asleep on the floor received a sharp kick from her foot. He leaped up.

  “Where is your master?”

  The slave pointed to the gardens. Besma, her step extremely firm now, followed his trembling finger into the warm sunshine. She stood for a moment in the shadow of a column, viewing the scene before her.

  Her son lounged bare-chested on a divan by a pool in which several young girls and boys were swimming naked. The years had changed Ahmed greatly. Short of stature, he had always been heavier than one might desire, but the excesses in which he had indulged had turned his neat pudginess to sloppy fat He had developed breasts that flowed into great rolls of blubber that fell over his trouser top. Though liquor was forbidden by Muslim law, he secretly drank, and the secret was all too obvious in his beady, bloodshot eyes and the blue-veined, bulbous nose that had once been as straight and hawklike as Selim’s. His graying hair and beard were untidy and badly needed barbering.

  Besma’s eyes now moved with sharp distaste to several others of Ahmed’s suite. They were posturing in a most disgusting and all too obvious tableau. One called to him to look, and when he did, he laughed in delighted fashion.

  Besma stepped into her son’s view. She nodded curtly at him and turned to the group tableau. “Get out!” she commanded. “I wish to speak with my son!” They stared in astonishment at her. “Get out!” The prince’s retainers fled.

  “You forget yourself, mother. I am master here.”

  “You forget yourself, my son. Bajazet is the master here and everywhere else in the empire. You would do well never to forget it”

  “What do you want?” he asked rudely.

  “To speak with you about your conduct and from what I have just seen, I come not a moment too soon. Your apartment is filthy! I find your slaves asleep
on the floor and your women and boys disporting themselves in a vulgar fashion. Word of this incident will be all over Constantinople by nightfall. While your reputation grows worse, Selim’s grows better. You openly break our laws, wallow in dirt, consort with boys, and mistreat your women. He is seen in the mosque regularly, his home is a place of joy, and his sons are legion. You would think he was the heir!”

  “I am the heir, mother. I will rule after my father. Selim is merely a younger son.”

  “Selim is the darling of the people, you fool! Each time he rides into the city, they cheer. Lately he has taken to corning with his three older sons—the heir, Suleiman, and the princes Mohammed and Omar. The people cheer louder. If you took the time to come out of your pigsty, you would see for yourself.”

  “I am the heir,” repeated Ahmed.

  “Bah!” snapped his mother. “You will never live to rule unless you change your ways, and should you chance to outlive Bajazet, will your brothers let you rule?”

  Ahmed’s face crumbled. “What shall I do, mother?” he whined. “I am the heir.”

  “Will you do exactly as I say?” she demanded of him.

  He nodded.

  “I will install a woman here from the Pavilion of Older Damsels to oversee your slaves. At least you will give the impression of cleanliness. Your drinking must stop! As for your depravities, try to keep them to a minimum. The agha has spies everywhere, and he is no friend of ours. When you are sultan, the first thing I shall do is have his head lopped off.”

  “Is that all?”

  “No! I am going to persuade Bajazet to bring Selim’s four oldest sons to the Eski Serai. Suleiman is nine now, and the youngest of the four, Prince Kasim, is six. As your heirs they must be placed in protective custody and not be allowed to run wild in the countryside like peasants. Next year we shall get Abdullab, The year after, Murad, and as each of Selim’s sons reaches the age of six, we shall obtain them. Here, under our watchful eye, who knows how they might develop?”