Adora (45 page)

Inspired by Helena’s success, Thamar decided to try her hand at intrigue. She entered into secret negotiations with the wife of Murad’s deadly enemy, the emir of Aydin. Her objective, as always, was a kingdom for her son, Prince Yakub. He, of course, knew nothing of his mother’s plans.

The emir’s fourth wife was the heiress of Tekke. She had but one child, a daughter of thirteen. It was this girl—and Tekke—that Thamar sought for her son. Even her beloved Demetrios was kept unaware of her plans and it was only by chance that he learned of the plot before it could be completed.

One night he awoke to hear her talking in her sleep. He debated shaking her awake. But he realized that, if he did so and her plans were later foiled, she would know who had betrayed her.

Having heard enough to give him an idea of what she was up to, he rose quietly and sought for the small ebony and mother-of-pearl box in which she kept her correspondence. Sure enough within he found not only copies of her letters, but the letters from Aydin’s fourth wife as well. Shaking his head at the foolishness of keeping such incriminating letters, he slipped from the room with the box.

When Ali Yahya had read the letters he said, “Return the box to its hiding place, Demetrios. Say nothing, of course, but continue to serve your lady well.” Then, he handed the younger man an exquisite sapphire ring.

Demetrios slipped the ring on his finger and did as he was bid. He wondered how Ali Yahya would circumvent Thamar’s plans. But he did not have long to wait before finding out. Several weeks later there came word that the emir of Aydin’s fourth wife and her daughter had been drowned in a boating accident.

Though Thamar kept her own council, he knew the reason for her unhappy mood and he strove harder to please her. He was touchingly tender and understood one day when, for no apparent reason, she burst into tears.

Dismissing her women, he held her in his arms while she wept. “Why do you cry, my beloved?” he encouraged her. To his surprise she admitted, “I
must
have a kingdom for Yakub! He will never follow Murad while Bajazet lives. And though his older brother is fond of him, he will kill him before their father’s body is cold. If I can find another kingdom for him, then he is no threat to them.”

Demetrios felt a terrible sadness sweep over him. “Oh, my dear one,” he said gently. “You do not understand, and I do not know if you ever will. There is no other kingdom for your son. The sultan means to eventually rule all of Asia and Europe. Perhaps the Ottoman will not succeed in Sultan Murad’s lifetime, but surely in the lifetime of his descendants. Your son is too fine a man and too good a soldier to remain alive when the present sultan dies. You must accept this, my beloved, though it breaks your heart. If Prince Bajazet does not die before his father does, it is he who will rule next. Your son will die. There is no other way Bajazet can be safe. You must accept it.”

“I did not bear and raise my son to be slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb!” she screamed.

“Hush, mistress,” he comforted her. “It is the way of the world. You must steel yourself. God willing, it will be many years before you lose your son. He might even die a natural death.”

She quieted, but the look in her eye warned him that she would not accept her son’s fate without a fight. He would have to watch her carefully from now on. What, he wondered, would she do?

In the meantime Andronicus had had himself crowned the fourth emperor of that name. At first he had been very popular for he talked convincingly about lifting the Turkish yoke and of restoring the city’s prosperity. He could, of course, do neither. Soon there were rumblings of discontent. Andronicus levied new taxes to pay for his diversions.

Helena, too, was disappointed in her eldest son. She was no longer accorded the respect due her position as she had been with her husband. Worse, her allowance had not been paid. When she demanded to know why, the emperor’s new bursar told her that Andronicus had given no orders that she receive money.

Angrily she sought out her son. He was, as usual, surrounded by courtesans and hangers-on. “Could we not speak privately?” she asked.

“There is nothing you cannot say in front of my friends,” he answered rudely.

Helena gritted her teeth. There was nothing for it but to speak. “The money due me to run my household this quarter has not been paid, and your bursar tells me he has no order to pay me.”

“I need all my money myself,” answered Andronicus.

“The empress always received an allowance.”

“You are not my empress, Mother. You are my father’s empress. Get your money from your lovers. Or will they not pay anymore for what has been so well used?”

The women about Andronicus giggled at the outraged look on Helena’s face; the men smirked. But she was not so easily bested.

“I cannot imagine why you need all the money, Andronicus. Women of the streets, such as these,” and she waved her hand to include those clustered about her son, “can usually be had for a few coppers. Or a crust of bread. Or nothing.” Then she turned and regally departed the room, pleased with the gasps of outrage behind her.

She was beginning to realize her mistake in favoring her elder son over her husband and Manuel. He had no real interest in the city, or the remainder of the empire. Helena had expected a share of the power when Andronicus took over. She was worse off now than she had been before.

Returning to her apartment, she found it being searched and her servants in an uproar. A young captain was in possession of her jewel cases.

“What is going on?” she demanded, trying hard to keep her voice calm.

“Orders of the emperor,” said the young officer. “We are to seize and confiscate the state jewels in your possession.”

Helena’s wild burst of laughter startled everyone in the room. “State jewels? There are
no
state jewels, captain! The state jewels of Byzantium were sold or stolen during the Latin reign years ago. The jewels worn by me on state occasions are paste imitations!”

“And what are these, madame?” He held out the lacquered jewel cases.

“Those are my private property, captain. Each piece of jewelry in those boxes was a gift to me. They are mine alone.”

“I must take them all, madame. The emperor’s orders made no distinctions.”

Helena stared, and her china-blue eyes widened further to see her silver and gold plate and her vessels being carried away. The captain looked away, embarrassed.

“Fetch General Dukas,” she ordered one of her maids.

The captain barred the woman’s way. “No one will be allowed to leave or enter this apartment without the emperor’s written permission,” he said. “You are under house arrest, madame.”

“How are we to get food?” Helena asked with a calm she was far from feeling.

“It will be brought to you twice daily, madame.” Then, as if it was an afterthought, he said, “I am sorry, madame.” And signaling his men to gather up the empress’s property, he left.

The evening meal turned out to be a disgusting mess of peas, beans, and lentils, a loaf of coarse, brown bread, and a pitcher of inferior wine. Helena and her servants looked at the tray with disgust. There was not enough food to feed more than three people, and the empress had fourteen servants. Angrily she shoved the tray over, and her little dogs rushed to lap up the mess. Within minutes they were all dead.

“The ungrateful bastard,” the empress said furiously. Then she announced, “All but two of you will have to go. The fairest way to decide will be to draw lots.”

“Sara and I will stay, my lady,” said her tiring woman, Irene. “It is our right, as we have been with you the longest.”

“Use the secret passage,” said Helena. “I have nothing left with which to bribe the guards in any case. That way they will not know you are gone. One of you can bring us food and drink daily.”

“Come with us, madame,” begged her chief eunuch.

“And leave my son and his friends in complete control of the palace? Never! But you, Constans, go to Basil Phocas and tell him what has happened here. Tell him—tell him—that I have made a mistake in judgement.”

The empress’ servants escaped safely, and several days later Basil Phocas arrived via the secret passage. Sara and Irene kept watch while Helena and her former lover talked.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” asked the banker.

“John and Manuel must be restored. Andronicus is utterly impossible.”

“It will take some time, my dear.”

“But it can be done?”

“I believe so.”

“Then see to it! I cannot stay penned up here forever.”

The banker smiled and departed. The empress, imprisoned in her own rooms, waited and waited. And waited. After many months word was smuggled into her that her husband and younger son had escaped and were safe in Bursa with Sultan Murad.

Murad was now confident that he could continue to manipulate both sides in the Paleaologi’s dynastic struggles. Andronicus was dethroned, pardoned, and sent to his brother’s old city of Salonika to be governor. John and Manuel were restored to Constantinople as co-emperors. The price was high. A larger annual cash tribute, a substantial contingent of Byzantine soldiers to serve in the Ottoman’s army, and the city of Philadelphia. Philadelphia had been the last remaining bastion of Byzantium in Asia Minor.

The Philadelphians objected to being ceded to the Ottoman empire. Thus Adora had her first chance to go on campaign. In this instance, Murad would lead his armies personally. Fighting in the ranks of the Ottoman army were the two Byzantine co-emperors who now openly admitted to ruling only by the grace and favor of the Turkish sultan.

The Ottoman army marched from Bursa in early spring, crossing mountains whose tops were still covered with snow. Adora did not intend being shaken to death in a heaving palanquin, so she devised a costume that was both practical and modest. Murad at first was offended at the thought of his wife riding astride. He changed his mind when she modeled her costume for him.

It was all white and consisted of wide light wool pantaloons, a high necked, long-sleeved silk shirt which was
tight at the wrists, a silk sash at the waist, and a fur-lined white wool cape with a gold and turquoise buckle. She wore high boots of Cordoba leather with a low heel, and matching warm brown riding gloves. There was also a small turban with long side drapes in the manner of the tribesmen of the steppe. This could cover her face, should she choose to veil herself.

“Do you approve, my lord?” She pirouetted for him. She was so excited, so gay with the prospect of accompanying him.

He couldn’t resist smiling back at her, and he did approve her choice of clothing for her public appearance. He had never, in fact, seen her so well clothed. There was barely an inch of skin showing. Had she been younger he would not have allowed it, but maturity had given her a youthful dignity. There would be no familiarity among his men.

“I do approve, my dove. You have, as always, been clever in your choice of clothing. I understand from Ali Yahya that you have also been learning to ride. I have a surprise for you. Come!” And he led her to the windows overlooking the courtyard.

There, standing quietly with its groom, was a coal black palfrey, caparisoned with an azure and silver silken throw, and a saddle and bridle. Adora gave a squeal of excitement. “Is she mine? Oh, Murad! She is beautiful! What is her name?”

“She is called Wind Song. If I had known that such a simple gift would please you so, I could have saved a fortune in jewels all these years.”

She turned, and the sunlight lit one side of her face. He caught his breath at her beauty, astounded at how lovely she still was. Or was it because he loved her so much? Her arms slid around his neck, and standing on her toes, she kissed him.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said simply. He felt an ache in his throat he couldn’t explain.

When they rode out from Bursa, Adora rode by his side. Wind Song matched the elegant prancing steps of Murad’s great white Arabian stallion, Ivory. It was not unusual for a
sultan’s wife to accompany her lord on campaign, but it was unusual for her to ride with him. The effect of Adora’s unorthodox behavior was favorable. The Ottoman troops were impressed that Prince Bajazet’s mother rode with them. It enhanced the heir’s position greatly.

When they reached Philadelphia, she watched the battle from a hillside opposite the town’s main gates. By rights the city now belonged to Murad. But the population had been stirred up by its governor, who feared to lose his place, and by its clergy, who hated the sultan. The people refused to accept the new overlord.

The emperor John entered the city under a flag of truce and pleaded with the inhabitants to accept their new master. If they accepted Murad willingly, there would be no destruction. Philadelphians would face only what other Christian inhabitants of the Ottoman Empire faced. They would pay a yearly head tax, and their sons between the ages of six and twelve would be eligible for a draft into the Corps of Janissaries. Other than that their lives would go on as before. They might, of course, convert to Islam in which case they would escape the head tax and the Janissaries.

The governor and the clergy were insulting when John suggested that they played lightly with the lives of Philadelphia’s citizens. “You cannot hope to win,” he pleaded. “You are surrounded by Islam. Have you told the people the truth, or have you filled them full of foolishness about resisting the infidel? Murad is generous, but he did not march all the way from Bursa to be denied. He will take the city.”

“Then it will be over our dead bodies,” pronounced the governor pompously.

“I never knew a governor to lead an army or to die in the fighting,” said the emperor scathingly. “Be well advised that when the sultan enters the city I will seek you out myself.”

“Our people will be martyrs in God’s holy war against the infidel,” intoned the city’s patriarch.

The emperor looked on the priest pityingly. “My poor people will suffer fire and the sword because of your vanity, Father. I do not think God will reward you for all the souls who will be on your conscience when this battle is over.”