A Love for All Time (72 page)

“I understand,” he said to her. “I understand perfectly, my exquisite one. I gave you no time to mourn your beloved Javid Khan, but my desire for you was, is so very, very great.” He lifted her up, and kissed her passionately. “You are like a fever in my blood, Marjallah. Nothing is ever enough! For the last four days I have sat in the divan in the mornings, and it is your face that has been before me, the memory of your body that has tortured me beyond reason! Sinan, my architect, comes to me with plans for buildings we have been planning for months, and I cannot concentrate upon what he says. Perhaps now, my exquisite one, that you have yielded to me, at least some of my senses will be restored to me.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “I would not cause you distress, my lord,” she said, and slipping next to him she blew softly in his ear, then bit hard upon his lobe.

Murad chuckled, a pleased sound. He enjoyed getting his own way. “What a little tigress you are, Marjallah, and so full of surprises!”

“May I continue to surprise you, my lord,” she said. “I should not want you to become bored with me.”

Her dulcet tone inflamed him, and though it was but late afternoon, the sultan felt yet fresh. It was as if her acquiescence had renewed his vigor. “There is little chance of my becoming bored, my exquisite Marjallah.” Arising from the bed he said, “I have a small surprise for you,” and taking her by the hand he led her across the room, and touching a small floral panel on the tile he revealed a little door that swung easily open upon well-oiled hinges. Stepping through he drew Aidan with him, and she found that they were at the head of a narrow flight of stairs.

The walls of the inner passageway were covered in black and white tiles with just a touch of yellow. Holding tightly to the sultan’s hand, Aidan followed him down the stairs, and through another door which opened into a large room which Aidan realized was directly beneath the sultan’s bedchamber. It was domed, its marble arches supporting the sultan’s rooms above. In the room was an amazingly lovely marble bathing pool which was entirely surrounded by a low, pierced marble balustrade which offered only one set of steps down into the pool at the far end. Directly in the center of the pool was a spurting fountain, and the marble columns had spouts from which water sprayed forth.

“Can you swim?” the sultan asked her.

“A little,” she admitted. Would it be possible, she wondered, to drown him? No. Alas, she was not strong enough even if she was large for a woman.

He led her into the water, and they swam about for a few minutes. To amuse himself Murad lifted Aidan up so she might straddle the spurting fountain with her legs, and then he swam to the edge of the pool to observe her as the water sprayed between her long and shapely limbs. Sliding her hands up her torso she cupped her own breasts, and held them up as if she were offering them to him. He moved toward her, and she laughed aloud, taunting him when he commanded her to jump from the fountain back into the pool. She watched him where he stood just outside the range of the fountain’s spray, and releasing one of her breasts she took a single finger, and rubbing against her little jewel then put the finger into her mouth to suck upon it. At no time did her eyes leave his.

With an animal bellow of pure lust Murad leapt toward the fountain, and in a burst of mocking laughter Aidan dove into the pool from the other side, and swam away from him. He was quickly after her, and catching her by her ankles he dragged her back into his embrace. She laughed up into his face, and furious Murad backed her against the side of the pool, and snarled at her, “Put your legs about my waist, slave!” and when she did he rammed forcefully into her, slamming her spine against the marble wall of the pool.

Her arms wrapped about his neck, and she kissed him passionately, and bit at his lips, and licked at him with her tongue. It was if she was possessed by some lewd devil, and the sultan was overcome by what he believed was her deep and growing ardor for him. Cupping her buttocks in his hands he used her fiercely until they were both overcome with their excesses, and Murad carried her from the pool and back up the stairs to his bedchamber where they slept until midevening.

With each day that passed now Murad grew more and more enamored of Aidan. He possessed her daily, and she no longer refused him. Indeed she entered most willingly into his passion, and yet there was something about her that he could not seem to possess try as he might. He showered her with gifts, but when he sought to move her from the little apartment next to his mother she begged he leave her there, and so he acquiesced. Quickly the impersonal little rooms took on a personality of their own, as the sultan gave to his exquisite Gift from the Sea rare pieces of furniture, made from fine woods, and inlaid with mother-of-pearl and semiprecious stones. The lamps in the apartment were all replaced with gold ones, and the simple rugs that had graced the floors had given way to thick wool carpets in dark jeweled tones from villages without names.

Her wardrobe expanded as Murad saw Aidan had her pick of the finest bolts of silks, and silk gauze, and cottons, and satins, and wools so delicate that they could be drawn through the band of a ring. The sultan could not gift her with enough jewelry for she had lost everything in the fire that had destroyed Javid Khan’s palace. Ropes and more ropes of pearls were now hers, and emeralds and sapphires, and rubies from the East, and diamonds and all manner of precious and semiprecious stones set within red and pink gold, and some silver. She had refused his offer of more slaves telling him that she needed only Marta and her daughters along with the voluble Jinji to serve her.

She was neither aloof nor overly friendly with the other women of the harem, but she had rewarded Zora with jewelry and cloth for her kindness, and she was invariably good to frightened newcomers. She was befriended by the four most important women in the empire: Nur-U-Banu, Safiye, Janfeda, and Fahrusha Sultan; and so if she had any enemies amongst the harem women, they were not open enemies for fear of severe and cruel reprisals on the part of the powerful.

Esther Kira came often to the harem these days, and it was to her only that Aidan confided her misery. Esther was in a genuine quandary as to what to do. She liked Marjallah, and it was no secret that the sultan’s vices and lusts were many, and sometimes perverted. Lord Bliss would be back any day now from his expedition to Brusa, and she did not know what to tell him. She had attempted to subtly set Nur-U-Banu against Marjallah so that she would aid her in leaving the Yeni Serai, and returning to her home, but with Marjallah openly content, and the sultan ecstatic with his new inamorata, Nur-U-Banu could not be persuaded of the possibility of future difficulty. Besides, the lady Marjallah had not conceived with Javid Khan, and had not yet conceived with Murad. It was entirely possible, the sultan valideh told Esther Kira, that Marjallah was sterile.

Only Esther Kira knew of Aidan’s true misery, and she desperately wished she could aid the young woman in returning to her husband. She had not dared to tell Marjallah of his presence in Turkey. There was something about Marjallah these days that worried the old lady. She seemed the same, and yet she was not. Esther Kira could not betray the royal Ottoman to whom she owed so much despite her deep wish to help the lady Marjallah.

During her whole life Esther Kira had abided by the laws of her faith, and her faith had never failed her. Still she had tried not to disturb the mighty Yahweh with matters to which she could eventually find the solution herself. Now, however, Esther Kira prayed for a solution that would help her to resolve her divided loyalties.

When that solution appeared it was so sudden that she almost lost her opportunity. She had come to the palace with some especially fine examples of Brusa silk that Lord Bliss had brought to her from his expedition. The handsome Irishman had been very disappointed that she had not come up with a solution to his problem, but she had sent him back to his ship to await any further developments, developments she did not expect to be forthcoming.

Arriving at the palace she found that the sultan was entertaining the harem that afternoon, but because of her closeness with the valideh she was invited to join them. Murad was looking particularly handsome that day. He was wearing a beautiful cloth-of-gold robe lined in yellow satin and embroidered with red velvet plumes. Atop his head he wore a turban of white decorated with two small ropes of rubies, and a broad red plume. His golden-red beard had been recently trimmed, and was perfumed with sandalwood, and his dark eyes were bright with excitement.

It had not been an unusual fete. There had been the usual entertainments, and refreshments, and it had been a time for the women of Murad’s harem, who numbered close to a thousand at this point, to don their finest clothing, and parade themselves before the sultan in hopes of catching his eye. Murad had been seated upon a pillowed dais beneath a carved wooden canopy with Safiye leaning against him on the right, and Marjallah leaning against his left shoulder. Each woman was garbed beautifully. Safiye, with her dark red hair, was wearing garments of forest green and gold while the lighter coppery-haired Marjallah had chosen turquoise and silver.

Murad had never felt more content in his entire life. He ruled a mighty empire, and in his harem were the most beautiful women in the entire world. On either side of him were his two favorites, each of whom was devoted to him, each of whom loved him. A servant bent low offering him a platter of perfect fruits. He turned to Marjallah, and smiling she reached out to the tray to take the fruit knife upon it, and plunged it into his chest. The room erupted into screaming pandemonium; and Esther Kira knew that her time had come as the black eunuchs surrounding Murad leapt forward to drag Marjallah off their master.

The sultan could not believe that she had attacked him despite the evidence of his own eyes. The knife was lodged within his flesh, and already blood was seeping out from around it. The black eunuchs were roughly dragging Aidan from the room. She was weeping wildly in her frustration at having failed to kill him, but at least now, she thought, they will give me what I want which is death.

“No!”
Murad’s voice was weak, but clear. “I want her here!”

The valideh nodded at the black eunuchs who stopped in their tracks, still clutching Aidan. The room was quickly cleared of all but Aidan and her captors, Safiye, the valideh, Esther Kira, Murad, and the sultan’s doctor, a Greek with a fortunately cool head. Quickly the doctor examined the sultan, and then he said to them,

“I must take the knife out, my lord, and there will be some blood, but praise to Allah, the wound is not serious. Your assailant has missed your heart by a wide margin, and no other vital organ or artery has been cut. Have I your permission to remove the weapon?”

Murad nodded, and with no further delay the doctor drew the knife carefully from the sultan’s chest. Almost at once the wound began to bleed, and the doctor’s slave stanched the blood while the sultan was laid back, and the wound disinfected and stitched closed. Murad was then propped back up, and his eyes sought for, and found Aidan.

“Bring her here to me,” he whispered for he was weak with shock, and blood loss.

A eunuch on either side of her Aidan was brought before the sultan.

“Marjallah,”
he said softly, and when she raised her head to look at him he was astounded by the hatred in her eyes which reached out to him, and with icy fingers wrapped itself around his heart. “But I loved you, exquisite one.”

“Love?”
She burst into hysterical laughter.

She is mad, thought Esther Kira. That is what has been distressing me!

“Love,” repeated Aidan bitterly. “You, my lord, do not know the first thing about love! Lust is your metier! If you truly understood about love you would have never put Safiye aside to sport among other women. If you understood love you would have had the decency to allow me a time to mourn Javid Khan, but no! You would allow me no time to weep for that good and gentle man. You could barely wait to bring me to your bed where you brutalized and humiliated me! I hate you! I hated it every time you touched me! My only regret is that I did not succeed in killing you,
my lord
! I chose both the wrong time, and the wrong weapon, and I had no time in which to kill myself! Now, however, you must kill me, and if you really feel anything for me then that will be my revenge upon you! You will go to your grave knowing that you were responsible for my death!” And Aidan burst out laughing, a chilling sound that sent a shiver down the spines of all in the room.

Murad groaned with agony at her words. Never had he been repudiated by a woman, and in such a fashion. “Confine her to her apartment,” he ordered, and fell back exhausted with the effect his words had cost him. There were tears in his eyes as they took her from the Sultan’s Hall.

A litter was brought, and Murad was carried to his bedchamber to be watched over by Safiye, and later on by his mother. Now, however, Nur-U-Banu needed a few minutes to herself for she was shocked at the turn of events of this afternoon. Esther Kira went with the valideh, and when they had reached her apartments, and Nur-U-Banu had been settled by her women she turned to Esther Kira and said, “Why did I not listen to you, Esther? Have you ever given me bad advice? Never! If my son had been killed I should have never forgiven myself!”

“But he is not dead, nor anywhere near it, Yahweh be praised!” She paused, and then asked, “What will happen to Marjallah?”

“She must die!” was the immediate answer.

“She is mad, you know,” replied Esther, “and that madness was brought about, forgive me dear friend for saying it, by the sultan who could not wait for her to mourn Javid Khan.”

“I know that,” said Nur-U-Banu, “and in a way I blame myself for I might have discouraged Murad’s passion long enough for Marjallah to recover from her grief, but I did not! I wanted my son to be happy, and he believed he could not be happy without Marjallah.”