Lost Love Found (51 page)

“You do that quite nicely,” Safiye said approvingly. “I can see that the Kiras have instructed you well. Your mother once curtsied to me in such garments. You have her skin, her bearing, her form, but you are far more beautiful than Marjallah. Were I a younger woman, my child, I think I should be quite envious of you,” she finished ingenuously.

“You are most gracious to compliment me in such extravagant terms, my lady Valide,” Valentina replied, not for a moment fooled by Safiye’s charm, “but what small beauty I have cannot begin to compare with that of Sultan Mehmed’s beautiful mother, who I must now thank for her magnificent gift to me.”

“You also have your mother’s tact, my child,” Safiye said, “as well as her exquisite taste in gifts.

“I cannot tell you how surprised I was when Esther Kira told me of her miraculous escape those long years ago when she was condemned to drowning for her attempt on the life of my dear husband. Esther’s tale was but a brief one, for she said the story was yours to tell. Will you tell me now, my child?” She waved Valentina to an upholstered stool placed directly before her divan.

Valentina settled herself, noting as she did that the room was now empty but for the two of them. Looking up at Safiye, she began the story that she had decided would be the most believable. “This tale, dear madam, is the partial recollection of my mother, blended with what was told to her by the others involved. The last thing she remembers of the palace is being given some draught by the Valide Nur-U-Banu, which rendered her unconscious. She supposed that Sultan Murad’s mother was being merciful to her because she had not stopped the sultan from forcing my mother into his harem after the death of Prince Javid Khan. My mother always believed that Nur-U-Banu might have prevented her enslavement if she had desired to do so.”

“Indeed she could have,” murmured Safiye, easily casting the entire blame on the late Nur-U-Banu, “but she was always attempting to lessen my small influence with my husband. After Prince Javid Khan’s tragic demise, your poor mother desired only to return to her homeland, but Nur-U-Banu sought to use her against me. She was unsuccessful, of course, because Murad loved me alone. As for your mother, she was like a sister to me. She never sought to steal my lord’s affections from me. Unfortunately, Murad always enjoyed that which was not easily obtained. Had your mother pretended acquiescence to the sultan, he would quickly have grown tired of her and then she would have been safe. It was not in her nature, however, to pretend. I think part of her charm was her unique honesty, but please continue, my dear.”

“The next thing my mother remembers,” Valentina said, “was awakening in a ship’s cabin, its captain and officers anxiously looking down at her. The ship was an English one, and they had seen the royal executioner drop the sack with my mother inside it into the sea. The sack, however, was not tied tightly and my mother’s body floated out. Seeing her, two sailors dived from the ship and swam to her. Finding her alive, though unconscious, they brought her aboard. If the executioner saw anything, he made no sign and kept rowing back to shore.

“Several hours later my mother awoke, and after her shock subsided, she told the captain who she was. The captain was astounded. We English are not used to such things. What was even more astounding was that almost immediately thereafter an O’Malley-Small trading vessel was sighted bound for Istanbul. The English captain hailed it, and then the most miraculous happening occurred. My mother’s husband was aboard that other ship. He was on his way to Istanbul to find her. It had taken him months to trace her to Istanbul, but he had never given up hope of being reunited with her.”

“How wonderfully romantic!” Safiye sighed, genuinely moved. “Your mother always insisted that he would have her back, no matter what, but we never believed her. Tell me more, dear child!”

“Mother was transferred from her rescuers’ ship to the O’Malley-Small ship, which turned immediately for home. The English captain and his men were promised a great reward when they returned to England, and indeed they were given a large sum. Special attention and a large sum was paid to the two who had spotted Mother and who dived in to rescue her.

“Within a year of Mother’s return home, I was born, but Mother’s happiness was marred by a nagging doubt. Several months ago, I learned of that doubt. You see, Mother is not certain who my father was. It might have been Prince Javid Khan or her husband, with whom she had united physically on the day following her rescue. Or”—she paused—“my father could be the late Sultan Murad.”

Safiye paled, her beringed hand flying to her heart.

“If I resembled either of my parents, there would be no problem,” Valentina said, “but alas, I do not look at all like my mother or her husband. I have visited Borte Khatun, the mother of Prince Javid Khan, but all of her female descendants bear a particular birthmark that I do not possess, and we have concluded that I am not the daughter of Javid Khan. Dear madam, look at me, I beg of you! Is there anything you see in me to make you believe I am the daughter of Sultan Murad? Anything at all?”

Safiye peered intently into Valentina’s face. She ordered the young woman to show her her profile, first the left side and then the right. She looked hard at Valentina, then shook her head. “Your features are foreign to me, my dear, but if that were not enough, there is this for you to think on. My husband fathered twenty sons and eighty-three daughters. Of all his children, only one, my son, Sultan Mehmed, has dark hair. My lord Murad had golden-red hair and a passion for blondes and women with red hair. His father, Sultan Selim II, had dark blond hair. Although my hair was a glorious shade of red in my youth, as was my mother’s, my father had dark hair, which I remember as similar to my son’s. And there is a further element in all this to make me absolutely certain my lord Murad could not have fathered you. I will tell you, dear child, for the sake of your sweet mother who was the only true friend I ever had.

“When I saw, those long years ago, that my lord was weakening and ready to succumb to his mother’s blandishments, I was frantic. I had lived in the harem long enough to know how vicious the rivalry between the mothers of a sultan’s sons can become. Then one day my servants, in an effort to cheer me, brought me a small casket that had belonged to my husband’s grandmother, Khurrem Kadin. Inside were a few amusing trinkets of no great value, but there was also a recipe for a potion that was said to render a man’s seed lifeless within a woman’s womb. A notation on the parchment stated that the receipe had been obtained from Sultan Suleiman’s mother, Cyra Hafise, who, along with her husband’s other kadins, had conspired to prevent any more sons being born to Sultan Selim I.

“I can remember even now how excited I became at this discovery. I brewed the concoction in secret. With the help of my most trusted women, I saw that it was introduced into the food and drink of my rivals. Indeed, none conceived by my lord Murad.

“Somehow, Nur-U-Banu found out. She said nothing, but the three women who had helped me were found dead in their beds. Nur-U-Banu’s warning to me was heeded. But when my lord Murad decided he would possess your mother, I knew I must chance the use of the potion again. Nur-U-Banu would have used any sons of your mother’s to set my son aside.”

“Would he have set your son aside?” Valentina asked.

“He was not a weak man, but he loved his mother, and he truly believed in the saying from the Holy Koran, ‘Paradise lies at a mother’s feet,’ ” Safiye explained. “Your mother’s resistance was fascinating to him. Women who share a sultan’s bed are considered honored and they accept their fate with joy. Your mother did not accept her fate happily and consequently made herself, without desiring to, the most intriguing woman my lord Murad had ever known. So you see, a son of your mother’s would have been a most serious rival to my son, Mehmed. Had it been any other woman, I should not have cared. Indeed, I did not care when, in later years, other sons were born to my lord Murad. Your mother, however, was my true friend. I did not want to lose her friendship.

“So when it became apparent that my lord Murad would have your mother in his bed, I brewed the potion in secret once more and it was introduced into your mother’s food. The potion prevented your mother from conceiving as long as she took it. She was not aware that she was taking it, but I am certain that she took it every day. That, my dear, is why I am absolutely certain that you cannot be Sultan Murad’s daughter. So as you are not Javid Khan’s daughter, then you are truly the child of your English father.”

A huge weight was suddenly lifted from Valentina’s shoulders. She really was her father’s daughter! The fears that had assailed her these many months were all magically gone. She did not believe there was any reason for Safiye to lie to her, and her intuition told her that the Sultan Valide was telling the truth. With tears in her eyes, Valentina fell to her knees and kissed Safiye’s hands.

“Thank you, dear madam!” she sobbed. “Thank you!”

A strangely tender light entered Safiye’s eyes, and for the briefest moment, her beautiful face was gentle and unguarded. She caressed Valentina’s dark head beneath its gossamer veil, sighing so softly that Valentina was not certain she had really heard the sound. “You must love your father very much, dear child, that you would brave such a dangerous odyssey in order to seek the truth—a truth that might not have been to your liking. Allah has surely looked over you and marked you as one of his own,” the Sultan Valide said. “But come, my dear, sit by me and we will have refreshments, now that our serious business is concluded. Tell me of my dear friend, Marjallah, of how the years have treated her. Have you brothers and sisters?”

“Oh, yes, madam!” Valentina said as she settled herself by the Sultan Valide. She began a history of her mother’s life in England, and of her own.

After a while, Safiye clapped her hands and her slave women appeared, bringing trays of delicate cakes, bowls of sugared almonds and pistachio nuts, and delicate crystal goblets of fruit sherbets. There were porcelain cups from which they might sip pale green tea if they wished. Valentina found herself quite hungry, and Safiye noted the young woman’s appetite.

“Your mother always ate with enthusiasm,” she said with a smile. “Would you like to meet someone who served your mother in the house of Prince Javid Khan and also here at the Yeni Serai?”

“I thought my mother’s serving women were freed,” Valentina said.

“Indeed they were, for Nur-U-Banu promised that to your mother. But there was one servant who remained, your mother’s eunuch, Jinji. I took him into my own household, and when my personal eunuch, Tahsin, died suddenly, I elevated Jinji to his rank. He has always been anxious to please, is that not so, Jinji?” she asked of the eunuch who had entered and positioned himself at her side.

“I am always ready to serve my lady Valide” was the reply.

“What do you think of Marjallah’s daughter, Jinji?” Safiye questioned him.

“She is as beautiful as the sun, the moon, and a thousand shining stars, my lady Valide, unlike her plain-faced mother, who, nonetheless, possessed a kind and true heart,” was the answer.

Safiye
laughed. “As always, your tongue is quick to speak the right words, Jinji. May it ever be so, for your sake.”

Suddenly, the doors to the Valide’s salon flew open and a magnificently garbed man entered the room, striding across it to kneel briefly at Safiye’s feet. When he rose, he towered over the two women. “Mother, I was informed that you had company and I came to meet our foreign visitor,” he said.

Sultan Mehmed III was a tall man, large and beginning to run to fat. His fair skin was sallow, and beneath his deep brown eyes were pouches that spoke of too many cups of wine, despite the Islamic ban on fermented beverages. He had a large, long nose beneath which bristled fierce twin mustaches. His beard was jet black. He was dressed in a wonderful cloth-of-gold robe trimmed in sable, and there were several long ropes of huge diamonds and pearls about his neck. He wore a large turban with a diamond as big as a man’s fist set dead center in its front. The magnificent turban made the sultan appear even bigger than he was.

Boldly, the sultan gripped Valentina’s face between his thumb and forefinger and his dark eyes scanned her face, lighting with pleasure at what he saw. “She has eyes like jewels and skin as fine as Bursa silk,” he commented to his mother. “Is she for me, Mother? You have outdone yourself this time!”

Safiye, who had worked so hard to impress Valentina favorably, was furious. Her eyes narrowed, and she said in a cold, stinging voice, “My lord! Have I not taught you better manners than this? To behave like a greedy schoolboy at the sight of a sweet! This lady is my guest, not some slave girl!”

“Having seen her, I desire her,” the sultan replied. “Am I, the ruler of a mighty empire, the Shadow of Allah upon this earth, to be denied what I desire? It is unthinkable, Mother!”

“Then you must live with the unthinkable, Mehmed, for this woman is your half sister, the daughter of Marjallah, who was once your father’s favorite. Do you remember? I recently reminded you of how, long ago, Marjallah attempted to stab your father. She was condemned, but miraculously escaped death, I have learned. After she returned home, her daughter was born—your father’s child, your half sister. Greet her properly, my lord, and restrain your unseemly lust,” Safiye said sharply.

“My
sister
? How unfortunate,” the sultan said dispiritedly. He turned his gaze from his mother to Valentina. The lust had gone from his eyes. “Greetings, sister,” he said.

“My lord,” Valentina replied.

“Her voice is so musical,” mourned Mehmed. “I cannot bear it, Mother! I must leave you now, that I may find some way of assuaging my disillusionment.”

Safiye reached out and patted her son’s fat hand. “There are a-half dozen new Circassian virgins just arrived in the harem, Ali Ziya tells me. Why not go and inspect them? Perhaps you can lift your melancholy that way.”

With a sigh, the sultan withdrew from his mother’s suite. Safiye turned to Valentina. “You are aware of why it was necessary to tell him you were his half sister? It is not so, of course, but had I not said it, he would not have been satisfied until you shared his bed. Such a thing is not your desire, I know. Esther Kira tells me that you are betrothed.”