A Love for All Time (49 page)

Nur-U-Banu’s son was in his middle thirties. He was slender, and of medium height with languid dark eyes, and pale skin. His hair, and his close-cropped beard were of a golden-red color. He was every inch the Oriental monarch in his robe of red velvet tulips which were set upon a heavy gold brocade edged in lustrous dark fur. Upon his head he wore a cloth-of-gold turban which was hung with a rope of fiery rubies, and sported a golden aigrette which sprouted forth from a square of pure gold in its center.

To his left sat his mother, resplendent in her midnight blue tunic dress which was embroidered in gold threads, pearls, and diamonds. Upon her blond head Nur-U-Banu wore a veil of gold gauze shot through with sparkling, metallic threads. Her jewelry, an incredible rope of diamonds and baroque pearls, was magnificent. Because of her position as the sultan’s mother she wore no covering over her face, although for that matter none of the sultan’s women did this night for Murad enjoyed showing this new ambassador from the Crimea the fabled beauties of his harem. Normally he would not have done such a thing, but he was in the privacy of his own apartments, and other than himself, Prince Javid Khan was the only real man in the garden.

Below the divan seated upon an array of brightly colored velvet cushions sat his beautiful kadin, Safiye, and some half-dozen other of his favorites, women who pleased him in his bed, called ikbals. Some of these women had even borne him daughters. They had positioned themselves like so many dazzling, colored butterflies, Safiye being seated closest to him with her head resting against his knee. The bas kadin had arrayed herself in greens and gold tonight.

Among the rose beds there had been placed tall cages of singing birds for the night was warm. The women of the harem, all arrayed in their very best garments, strolled arm in arm along the paths, admiring the September flowers, and enjoying the delicious fruit-flavored sherbets, and tasty pastries. It was an extremely pleasing picture, and no one appreciated it more than Prince Javid Khan.

“I would wish,” he said to the sultan, “that all my nights in Istanbul could be as pleasant as this, but then how can someone like myself possibly hope to equal perfection, my lord?”

Murad smiled. He was no fool, but he enjoyed the courtly flattery. “I am going to make your night even more perfect, Javid Khan,” he said. “I understand that you came to Istanbul without your women. Is this rumor correct?”

For the briefest moment Javid Khan’s mouth tightened, and then he said, “The rumor is correct, my lord.”

“So,” chuckled Murad. “The gossip is true, Javid Khan. You really do wish to avail yourself of our famous slave markets. The Great Bazaar offers more beauty, and more variety than any slave market in the world. The women are incredible! Everything from virgins of twelve to women of more experience. There is something for every taste. Sometimes I go there in disguise not just to buy, but to gaze upon the lovelies displayed there.”

“I have never known you not to come back with at least one purchase to your credit,” chuckled the valideh. “My son is a connoisseur, and a collector of beauty. Is it not so, my lion?”

He smiled a smile of great and genuine affection at her, looking somewhat like a boy who has been caught stealing fruit from the orchard. “Alas, Javid Khan, my mother will allow me no illusions. She is right.”

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord. My father is kept busy seeking the most perfect maidens to send you in tribute each year,” the prince answered.

“When we learned that you had come alone to us but for your servants,” said the sultan, “we decided that we would help you to build a new collection of beauties. Just today a ship arrived from the Dey of Algiers and among the gifts he sent me was a lovely woman whom I am going to present to you.” Murad looked up at the agha kislar who was stationed just behind the throne. “Have the woman brought in now, Ilban Bey,” he ordered. “She is a rare creature,” he said turning back to the prince; “an English noblewoman, captured by the Barbary fleet. Because of my love for my bas kadin I am always being sent women with red hair who are a rarity here in our empire. Of course it is done to please me, but no one can possibly replace my perfect pearl of purity,” he finished, stroking Safiye’s hair.

Javid Khan smiled, and with warm words thanked the sultan, but he was thinking that right now a woman was the very thing he did not need, or even want. Nonetheless he could not refuse her under the circumstances.

“Do not thank me until after you have seen her,” said the sultan with a broad smile, “but then thank me you will, and when she gives you a son, you will thank me even more. The English are said to be a hardy, beautiful, and intelligent race. Some of them have been coming to the Levant to trade for years now, but I will shortly be allowing their first ambassador to come. Did you know that they are ruled by a virgin queen? Is that not odd? Yet they seem very much like you and me.”

“I know little about the English,” answered Javid Khan. “They do not come to the Crimea.”

Suddenly the sultan’s crier began shouting to the assembled guests, “Silence ! Silence! Our lord, Sultan Murad III, the Defender of the Faith, and the Shadow of Allah upon this earth, would present to the new ambassador from the Khanate of the Crimea, Prince Javid Khan, son of the Great Khan Devlet, ruler of the Crimea, a token of his esteem. All be silent! Look and admire the generosity of our great Sultan Murad III. Let the gift be brought forth.”

“Let the gift be brought forth,” echoed the entire harem.

From the darkened far end of the garden, down the center path between a row of Flame of Persia roses came the sound of thick-soled feet crunching upon the gravel. Then in the first dim light, and finally into the brightness of the lanterns that lit the lawn came four exceptionally tall, and very proud, elegant black slaves wearing white pantaloons and leopard skins slung across one shoulder, and bearing an enclosed litter of pure silver about which fluttered pale gold draperies of metallic silk gauze. Padding up before the divan where the sultan and his guest awaited they stopped, and carefully set the divan upon the ground in front of their lord and master. As if from nowhere Ilban Bey appeared like a genie, and slowly walked over to the litter he extended a birdlike talon of a hand, and drew the curtains back from one side of the litter.

There was an expectant hush over the garden as the agha kislar reached into the litter, and drew forth from it the heavily veiled form of a female. Bringing her forward so that she stood directly before both the sultan, and the prince he allowed them a moment to look upon her before he drew away the sheer golden veil covering her face, and the matching veil that covered her glorious hair. Next the chief eunuch removed Aidan’s long pelisse, and finally her little short bodice to bare her breasts. Then he stepped back.

“Well, my friend,” said the sultan, “is she not everything I promised you she would be?” There was a smile upon his lips, and his voice was jovial to the assembled, but both the valideh, and the bas kadin heard something the others did not. Murad was not pleased. Casting a quick look at her son Nur-U-Banu saw his eyes but briefly skim over Marjallah lustfully. He obviously regretted the loss of the lovely Englishwoman, but there was little he could do about it now.

Javid Khan looked but briefly at Aidan. “She is very fair, my lord, and you are most generous in your gift,” he said.

“You will take her to your palace with you this evening, my friend,” said the sultan. “She is not a virgin, I am told, and so you may enjoy her without delay.” He waved his hand to Ilban Bey. “See she is ready to travel,” he commanded the eunuch.

The agha kislar bowed, and refitting Aidan with her bolero he signaled a slave to pick up the other garments, and hurried her away. Once they were out of hearing of the guests he said to her, “You will travel with the prince in his caïque. His palace is located on the sea outside of the city to the north. Jinji has already been dispatched with your things. I will leave you in charge of Omar,” he said waving to his shadow, “for I must hurry to find a special maid to share my lord Murad’s bed tonight. He was most put out by his loss of you. In that the valideh and I have made a small miscalculation. You would have found favor with the sultan quite quickly. Perhaps it is because you are so statuesque, Marjallah. Good fortune to you with Prince Javid Khan, and remember that you are a gift from the sultan. If the prince is content with you then you will find you have powerful friends among the harem. Do you understand what it is I am saying to you?”

“Yes, my lord agha, I understand,” Aidan replied.

To her surprise Ilban Bey patted her hand, and then he hurried off. “He is a good friend to have,” said the eunuch Omar.

“And, I think, a dangerous enemy,” she replied.

Omar nodded. “You are not unintelligent, my lady Marjallah,” he said, and then he helped her into her pelisse, replacing the long gold gauze veil that covered her hair, and refastened the veil across her face. Leading her through a maze of darkened gardens, a little white page boy lighting their way with a large, blazing torch that was almost as big as he was, he brought her to the royal boat basin where the prince’s vessel awaited him. “You will be safe here,” said Omar, helping her down into the boat. “Good fortune to you!” Then he turned away from her, and spoke sharply to the prince’s boatmen, and she caught the phrases,
prince’s woman,
and
guard her well,
and
the sultan’s wrath.
Then Omar was gone, hurrying back up the sloping, hilly gardens to the palace.

To all intents and purposes she was now alone. The boatmen did not even cast surreptitious glances at her for she was their master’s property, and as such not meant for their eyes. There was nothing to do but sit back and wait for Prince Javid Khan, the arbiter of her fate. She had not gotten a particularly good look at him for she had been warned by both Nur-U-Banu and Safiye to keep her eyes modestly lowered when she was presented to the men for Murad was a fanatic about good manners, and in the Ottoman world a woman of breeding kept her eyes lowered in such a situation. From beneath her lashes, however, Aidan had stolen a look at the prince, but her only impression was that he was neither old nor ugly.

She gazed about the vessel in which she was seated. The torches from the marble quay at which it was moored gave her some visibility. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the outside of the caïque but from what she could see it appeared to be painted in a dark lacquer, its decorative carvings overlaid in gold leaf. The oarlocks of the boat were silver, as were the handgrips of the oars. Looking up she saw that the canopy was striped in a light blue, a midnight blue, silver and gold. The low divan within was upholstered in deep blue silk, and strewn with pillows in the same colors as the canopy. Aidan sighed, and wondered how long she would have to sit here waiting for Javid Khan. Unawares she was soon lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the boat.

Javid Khan stared down at the woman who slept so peacefully in his caïque. The dark silk of the divan showed her fair skin to perfection. A smile crossed his usually stern features. How untroubled her sleep was, but then she could not possibly have the cruel memories that haunted his dreams. He stepped down into the vessel, and said quietly to his galley slaves, “Let us go.” Expertly the boatmen maneuvered the caïque out into the main channel of the waterway called Bosporus. Then with a smooth and rhythmic stroke they began to row north toward the end of the Bosporus where it emptied into the Black Sea. It was there on a point of land that Prince Javid Khan had his palace, facing toward his homeland of the Crimea.

He looked down on Aidan, and reaching out fingered one of her curls. Hair like molten copper, and it was soft to the touch. He hadn’t seen the color of her eyes, but the sultan’s mother had assured him that they were light. Not the sky blue of his own, but nonetheless of a light hue. Fair skin, red hair, and light eyes. He had never seen a woman like her before although he had certainly seen plenty of blonds. His own mother had been one, but hair the color of this slavegirl’s was truly unique.

He liked her face, he decided. She was not a great beauty like the valideh Nur-U-Banu, or the bas kadin Safiye. She had not the pouting, childlike prettiness of many young women. No, her face was much more interesting with its high cheekbones, and dimpled chin. She was a tall woman although not big-boned. He wondered what her voice was like, or if she even spoke a language that he understood. A new woman was like anything else new; full of unknowns and interesting to explore. It was a pity, he thought, that at this point in his life he was not interested. He wished he could have told the sultan so, but one did not refuse the gift of the greatest monarch in the world, especially when it had been obvious to him that once Murad saw her he was loath to part with her.

Poor Murad. He chuckled, a deep sound, and Aidan awoke with a start, sitting up suddenly, her cheeks flushed, her generous mouth an O of surprise. Javid Khan reached out, and undid the sheer little scrap of fabric that barely shielded her features. He cupped her face in his hand for a moment, his fingers smoothing over the soft flesh, his thumb running over her lips. Wide-eyed she watched him, and he saw now that her eyes were a silver-gray. “Do you speak Turkish?” he asked her quietly.

“I am learning,” she answered him slowly.

“Tell me what language you do speak.”

“I speak several. My own which is English, French . . .”

“I am conversant in French,” he said switching to that tongue. “My mother was a Frenchwoman.”

“Then that is why your eyes are blue!”

Javid Khan felt his face breaking into another smile. “That is why my eyes are blue,” he agreed.

“Where are we going, my lord?” Aidan had suddenly remembered her manners.

“Your new home is a palace on a point of land at the end of the Bosporus. You will be able to see the Black Sea, too, from it.”