Adora (10 page)

When her son was born she would devote her energies to him alone. She hoped her husband would leave her alone. She had recently taken to shopping the better slave marts with Iris for the most beautiful virgins available. She had trained the girls to perfection and then presented them to her husband. If she could keep his interests directed toward others, she might escape him. The thought of his hands on her again sent a shudder through her.

She had endured the hours with Orkhan only by pretending that he was Murad. Now she could no longer do that. It was obvious that Murad despised her. Alone in her bed, the slaves dismissed, she allowed herself the luxury of tears, but they were silent tears, for not even dear Iris must suspect her sadness.

The child in her womb kicked vigorously, and Adora placed protective hands over her belly. “You are awake much too late, Halil,” she scolded lovingly. “I suppose you’ll be a rowdy, noisy thing like my brother, Matthew, refusing to go to
bed until you drop where you stand.” She smiled at her memory of Matthew. He was the only little boy she had ever known, and they had been together for only a few years. Her position had robbed her even of a childhood.

She gave a watery chuckle. Her baby was not yet born, but she knew for certain that it was a son. How she knew she did not understand, but she was as certain as if she held the child now.

The sultan had said that his son would be called Halil after the great Turkish general who had defeated the Byzantines. Adora had already accustomed herself to the name, and was amused by her husband’s clever slap at her father.

Halil, unlike many royal children, was going to have a childhood. She was determined on that score. He would play with other boys his age, ride, learn archery, and how to use a scimitar. Most important of all, he would have his mother. For she did not intend that he be taken from her to be raised by slaves. He might be an Ottoman prince, but with two much older brothers there was very little chance of his ever ruling, and she would not allow him to be taken away to his own court where he would be debauched by the eunuchs.

It was comforting to think of her baby, but it still did not erase from her mind the look in Murad’s eyes. How he hated her! The silent tears began to flow again. He would never, never know how often she had relived the precious moments they had spent together. He would never know that each time Orkhan kissed her she pretended it was Murad. Her memories had kept her alive, and kept her sane. In one cruel look he had torn those memories from her, and she did not know if she could ever forgive him. What right had he to judge her so harshly?

Two months later, on a hot June morning, the sultan’s youngest wife, Theadora, gave easy birth to a healthy son. One month later the gold balance of the princess’s dowry was paid, and the strategic fortress of Tzympe was deeded to Orkhan.

The sultan was delighted by his little Halil and visited him often. His desire for Theadora, however, had waned during the months of her pregnancy. There were so many beautiful women in the palace, all willing to be his bed partner. Theadora was safe from him now and, once again, she was alone.

PART II

Bursa

1357 to 1359

Chapter Seven

Theadora was in a rage. “I have always encouraged Halil to pursue manly sports,” she exclaimed furiously, “but I warned him, Ali Yahya. And I warned that useless body slave of his—who will now receive ten lashes for disobeying me! I told them both that Halil was not yet to ride the stallion Prince Suleiman sent him. Halil is only six! He could have been killed!”

“He is Osman’s grandson, my lady Theadora, and Orkhan’s son. It is a wonder he was not born with spurs already attached to his little heels,” replied the eunuch.

Theadora laughed in spite of herself. Then, sobering, she said, “This is very serious, Ali Yahya. The doctor says Halil may always limp because of the fall. The leg is not healing properly, and it now appears to be a bit shorter than the other leg.”

“Perhaps it is better that way, my princess,” sighed Ali Yahya. “Now that your son is physically imperfect, he will be considered unfit to rule.”

She looked stunned and he was amazed. “How can it be that you have lived among us, my princess, in this palace, and you do not realize that the first thing any new sultan does is to order the execution of his rivals? In most cases, these are his brothers. But our laws do not permit the imperfect to inherit, so be grateful, my princess. Your son will now live a long life. Why do you think Prince Murad has had no children? He knows that his life, and that of any of his sons, are forfeit when Prince Suleiman inherits.”

Suleiman kill her little Halil? Impossible! He adored his little half brother. Spoiled him continually. But she
remembered that Suleiman’s eyes could grow cold. She remembered the command in his voice and that he was always obeyed instantly. She also recalled something her father had said long ago, before she had become the sultan’s wife. He had said that the Turks made good mercenaries because they delighted in killing. He said they had no mercy and no pity.

She shuddered. God was, after all, looking after her. When Orkhan died she would be a dead sultan’s wife—a most unenviable position. Halil was all the family she had. And now he was no threat to anyone.

Her father had been deposed three years past, but unlike so many Byzantine emperors who had lost their lives along with their thrones, John Cantacuzene had retired to the monastery of Mistra, near Sparta. With him was her brother, Matthew, who had taken holy orders earlier.

Theadora’s older half sister, Sophia, had come to a violent end when her third husband had caught her with a lover and stabbed them both to death. Helena, now the undisputed empress of Byzantium, behaved as if Theadora barely existed. They might be sisters, but the sultan’s third wife was hardly on a social par with the holy Christian empress of Byzantium!

Theadora smarted under her sister’s contempt. Because Orkhan was almost seventy, Theadora had recently broached the subject with Helena of her possibly retiring to Constantinople when the sultan went to his reward. She had been cruelly rebuffed. Helena claimed that the daughter of the usurper, John Cantacuzene, would hardly be welcome in the city. The same, Helena added, might be said of Orkhan’s widow. The infidels were the greatest enemies of the Byzantines.

Helena conveniently forgot that she too was John Cantacuzene’s daughter. And she overlooked the fact that, had her little sister not been wed to the Ottoman, their father might not have been able to hold onto his throne long enough for Helena to become John Paleaologi’s wife, and empress. Helena was not particularly intelligent. She did not comprehend that
what had once been the vast empire of Byzantium had now dwindled to a few sections of the Greek mainland, some cities along the Black Sea, and Constantinople.

Helena did not see that the royal jewels that adorned her state robes and crown were merely glass. The robes themselves were no longer real cloth of gold, but tinsel. The state dishes were copper. And everything that appeared to be rich brocade was only painted leather. It never occurred to Helena that being empress of Byzantium was very much like being empress of an empty eggshell. Theadora saw all of this, and though she did not think the Turks’ capture of Constantinople was likely to happen in her lifetime, she knew that they would eventually prevail over Byzantium.

Still, Theadora longed for the city of her birth. And she felt sure that when Orkhan was gone, there would be no place for her in Bursa, at Suleiman’s court.

For a moment she thought of Murad. He was still without a wife or favorites. She wondered if he ever thought of her. He was rarely in Bursa, but spent most of his time in Gallipoli.

Theadora chuckled as she remembered how Orkhan had cleverly tricked her father over Gallipoli. With the birth of Halil, her remaining dowry had been paid to Orkhan. Prince Suleiman and Prince Murad had been sent to occupy Tyzmpe for the sultan. The fortress was located on the European side of the Dardanelles, on the Gallipoli peninsula. When the ancient walls of the nearby town of Gallipoli had collapsed during a mild earth tremor, the Ottoman Turks had quickly occupied it. Their next task was to fortify and rebuild the town’s walls, which they did. Once this was done, the Ottoman princes brought over from Asia the first colony of Turkish settlers. Other colonies followed in quick succession, comprised of Orkhan’s former warriors and their women, who all settled on the lands of the fugitive Christian nobles, under their own Muslim beys. The peasants of the region remained, preferring life under the Ottoman rule to the Byzantine. Occupation by the Turks meant freedom from Christian feudal power with all
its abuses and its heavy taxation. It also meant equal law for all, regardless of race, religion, or class.

As the Turkish occupation spread, even the Christian lords whose lands bordered on newly acquired Ottoman territory began to accept Orkhan’s sovereignty. As his vassals, they paid him a small annual tribute in token of their submission to Islam. And from the beginning, the Ottoman state adopted a conciliatory attitude toward their Christian subjects.

In Constantinople, Emperor John Cantacuzene suddenly realized what was happening and complained bitterly to his son-in-law, the sultan. Orkhan offered to sell Tzympe back to the Byzantines for ten thousand gold ducats, knowing full well that he could retake it any time he chose to retake it. Gallipoli, however, he would not return, claiming that he had not taken it by force. It had fallen to him by the will of God, in the earthquake. Theadora could not help laughing at the thought of her clever father finally outwitted, even though it meant his downfall.

With her father and brother exiled, Theadora had no one to whom she could turn. She was fearful of what would happen to her and to her son. Then suddenly Prince Suleiman solved her problem.

Halil’s injury had been brought to his attention, and he called on Theadora in order to apologize for the horse he had given to his younger sibling, and which had proved dangerous. Theadora accepted his apology, saying, “Ali Yahya tells me it is a blessing in disguise, for now Halil will be no threat to you.”

The prince replied candidly, “That is true, princess. But since the boy is no longer a danger, let us concentrate on planning his future. He is a highly intelligent lad and could be of great use to me.”

“I had thought to return to Constantinople with Halil some day,” she answered him. He need not know that that road was probably closed to her.

“But you must not do that! If you are truly unhappy I would not keep you here, but you are an Ottoman now, Adora, and we are proud of you.”

“There could be no place for me at your court, Suleiman.”

“I will make a place for you,” he said huskily. She looked up just in time to catch him mask the flicker of desire in his eyes. She was startled and quickly lowered her eyes so he might not see how upset she was. It seemed, she thought with wry amusement, that she held a fascination for the men of the Ottoman family. “You are most kind, Prince Suleiman, to offer us a home. I will rest more easily now, knowing that Halil’s future is secure.”

The prince bowed suavely and left her. Well, she chuckled to herself, Halil was safe, but was she? It disturbed her that Prince Suleiman should desire her. He had always treated her like a sister. And she had never encouraged his desire. She frowned. The voice of her servant, Iris, cut through the silence.

“Look in your mirror, my lady. The answer to your unspoken question is there.”

“You were eavesdropping!” Theadora accused.

“If I did not eavesdrop I should learn nothing, and then how could I protect you? You are as deep as a well, my princess.”

Adora laughed, “Give me a mirror, you incorrigible old snoop!”

Iris handed it to her, and Theadora looked at her image with careful scrutiny for the first time in many years. She was somewhat startled to find an incredibly beautiful young woman staring back at her. She had, it seemed, a heart-shaped face, a long straight nose, well-spaced amethyst eyes fringed heavily in gold-tipped black lashes, and a wide generous mouth with a full, almost pouting, lower lip. Her creamy skin was flawless.

She placed the mirror on the divan and walked over to its tall standing counterpart of clear Venetian glass, which was set
in a heavily carved gold frame. Eyeing herself critically, she noted that she was taller than most women, yet willow slim, with high breasts. A good figure. She peered hard at herself.
Is it really me?
she asked silently. She was not vain by nature, and since the one thing she did not want to do was attract Orkhan’s attention, she had never really taken much care with her appearance.

“I am beautiful,” she said softly, her hand absently patting her dark hair.

“Yes, my princess, you are.
And
you are not even in your prime yet,” cackled Iris. “If Prince Suleiman desires you,” she continued in a low voice, “perhaps he will make you his wife when you are a widow. Then will your fortune and your future be made!”

“I have no desire to be his wife,” snapped Theadora in an equally low voice. “Besides he already has four wives, and he can have no more. I will be no man’s concubine!”

“Pah! It is easy enough for him to divorce one of his wives. They are only slaves. You are a princess.” She looked slyly at her mistress, her eyes bright. “Do not tell me you do not long for a young man’s love, a young man’s caress. You move about your room half the night. A few good tumbles with a lusty man would cure you of your restlessness.”

“You are impertinent, Iris! Beware, or I will have you whipped!” Damn the woman! Iris was far too observant.

Halil chose that moment to burst in upon his mother. “Look! I can walk again, Mother, without the crutches!” He ran into her arms and she almost wept at the sight of his very pronounced limp. His right foot was twisted inward.

“I am so proud of you,” she said kissing him soundly as he squirmed away, making a face. “Rude boy!” she scolded teasingly, drawing him down by her side. “Tell me, Halil, does it still hurt?”