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Both women might privately resent the fact that their shared husband called Azura to his bed each night, but her manner was so sweet, and the truth was that Amir was the master of the house. They had no choice in the matter at all. But Azura was sensitive to the two other women who had struggled against their own jealousies and fears to welcome her. She could see that Shahdi in particular was having a difficult time despite the gentle Maysun’s efforts to keep her calm.

“You cannot keep calling only me to your bed, my love,” she chided him several nights later as they lay together recovering from an enthusiastic bout of passion.

“Yes, I can,” he said. “I respect their position in my life, but you are the woman I love and adore, beloved.”

“You are behaving like a child with a new toy,” she replied, scolding him further. “All women need tenderness. They have made your home a pleasant place to live. And before I came into your life they gave you their bodies to slake your lusts. You cannot simply ignore them now. If not for their sakes, then for mine, take them to your bed as well, my dearest husband. If you do not, they will one day resent you. They have no children upon which to lavish their love and attentions, Amir. They never will. Be kind to Maysun and Shahdi, for they have been good wives to you.”

“I have spent more time in your world than my own these last few years,” he said. “My own mother was English, and my father’s favorite. I have come to see that there is as much wisdom in having one wife as in having three,” Amir admitted. “Yet you, beloved, raised in your strict society, have a more open heart than I do. When your moon link breaks I will entertain the other two. I promise.” He caressed her face with a gentle hand. “Will you give me a child, beloved?” the prince asked her.

“If God wills it I will most gladly,” Azura answered him.

“A daughter,” he told her. “Do not give me a son.”

“All men want sons,” she said, surprised.

“Not I,” he told her. “I would have a daughter as beautiful as her mother.”

Azura could not help but repeat his odd request to Maysun and Shahdi. “Why would he not want a son?” she asked them.

“Ahh,” Maysun replied, “if he were anyone but the sultan’s grandson he would want a son, but the blood running through his veins is ambitious and warlike. The Ottoman rulers always fight for their throne. Our own sultan has two sons who quarrel over which of them will inherit. Our husband’s father, Prince Jem, is a skilled warrior who leads his own men into battle. His half brother, Bayezit, however, is wiser. He delegates only the best generals to lead his troops.

“Prince Bayezit already has several sons, of whom one, Selim, is also among his grandfather’s favorites, as is our husband. Our prince believes his uncle Bayezit will inherit Sultan Mehmet’s throne. When that happens, he could follow a family tradition and slay all other male claimants to the throne but his own offspring; sometimes even a troublesome son is strangled. This is why Amir ibn Jem wants no sons. A princess of the royal house has value to the sultan. Another prince is but a rival for the throne.”

“Then Amir could be killed when the old sultan dies,” Azura said fearfully.

“Our husband is safer than most princes,” Maysun replied. “He has never shown any ambitions. His uncle is also fond of his brother. Our lord husband is cleverer than most. If he thought he was in danger, he would flee.”

“Then I shall pray for a daughter,” Azura said.

“What kind of a world is this we are now in?” Agata grumbled in her own tongue.

“It is no better or worse than the worlds we have known in Florence and Venice, where poisoning and assassinations are almost an art,” Azura answered her.

“But to murder your male relations when you gain a throne is barbaric,” the servingwoman responded.

“I think it is probably very efficient,” Azura said slowly, thinking about it. “You don’t want to waste all your time and resources quarreling and fighting with your relations over your throne. A ruler wants to rule, and for his people’s sake he must. Removing the troublemakers is probably best, although I would at least give them a chance before I did.” She chuckled. “We must both pray if God gives me a child that it be a little princess, and not a troublesome prince.”

Chapter 15

F
earful for her mistress’s safety, Agata consulted Nadim. “If my lady has a son they both stand in danger,” she fretted, having now learned that often the wives of unwanted princes were also disposed of by a new sultan. “Only God can predict the child’s sex. Better there be no child then.”

“Your mistress is young yet,” Nadim said. “There is time for a child when she can feel safer. If she birthed a son and there was danger, the prince would not leave them behind. Still we can prevent any conception temporarily, Agata. Is that what you wish?”

“In Florence there was a woman who made a potion to do just that. My aunt, Fabia, sought just such a nostrum for my mistress’s mother when she wished to rest between the births of her seven children.”

“Yes, there are such things available here as well,” Nadim said. “Would you have me find such elixir for our lady?”

“Oh, Nadim,” Agata replied, worrying aloud. “Do we dare to interfere with God’s will if we do this? And yet I fear for my mistress.”

“There is no harm in protecting her for the interim, Agata,” the old eunuch said, soothing the servingwoman.

“It will not render her sterile like the others, will it?” Agata asked.

“Maysun and Shahdi were made sterile by a physician in the sultan’s house,” Nadim explained. “Our potion will simply prevent a child temporarily.”

“Then we must do it,” Agata replied.

“First you must make certain she is not already with child. The prince has used Azura most regularly and enthusiastically since she arrived,” the eunuch pointed out.

“Her moon link broke this morning,” Agata said.

“It was on time?” he asked.

“Exactly. She will bleed for four days. No more,” Agata told him.

“Then tomorrow you will begin giving her a
strengthening
drink,” Nadim said. “I will gather the ingredients myself and mix it for you before she awakens.”

Agata nodded her agreement.

For the first time in many months her mistress was happy. She was wed to the man she loved, and if she had lost her family by this action she had gained a new one. Used to the company of other women, Azura was comfortable with Maysun and Shahdi. The three women had settled into a reasonably easeful relationship. Maysun actually seemed content with the situation. Shahdi waited and watched for what she hoped would eventually be her turn.

While the first two wives knew that Amir loved Azura above all others, her presence had brought him home again. He had not been able to take them to Florence, for two women, each called wife, would not have been tolerated, even if he was a foreigner. After several years of being alone for most of the year, Maysun and Shahdi were content to have him back, to have his attentions if only for a few days a month. There was always the chance that Amir would get a child on Azura. Then the first two would share him until well after the child was born.

Amir found himself pleased at how well his household had settled itself with the addition of Azura to his harem. He hunted. He rode and oftentimes he took Azura with him, which at first surprised Maysun and Shahdi. While they had both been raised in a tribal atmosphere, it was the rare woman who rode a horse. Women walked or rode in carts. They watched from a terrace now as Azura and Amir, accompanied by Darius, raced along the sandy edge of the stony beach below their small palace. Their enjoyment of the scene was suddenly interrupted by Diya al Din.

“Are they on the beach?” he asked, looking down to see for himself. “You!” He reached out to grasp at a servant’s arm. “Go down and tell the master he must come at once. A messenger has just come from Istanbul. Hurry! Run!” Turning, he said to the two women, “Go back to the harem, ladies.”

“What messenger?” Maysun asked him.

“This is not your concern, woman,” the head eunuch said.

“Do not be so pompous, Diya al Din,” Shahdi told him. “If it has to do with our husband, then it is most certainly our concern.”

“I do not know what the missive he carries says, but he wears the badge of our great lord and master, Sultan Mehmet,” the head eunuch responded. “The sultan is old. Who knows what it is about, but until the prince comes we must wait for answers, and pray there are no Janissaries behind this messenger.”

“Better we pray the sultan’s gardeners are not behind the messenger,” Maysun said nervously.

“Allah forfend!” Shahdi cried, frightened, for she knew, as did everyone, that the men who so lovingly tended the sultan’s gardens were also his personal executioners.

“There is no need to fret,” Diya al Din said, with more conviction than he felt.

“Where is this messenger?” Maysun asked.

“I have put him in the prince’s antechamber,” Diya al Din told her.

“There is a spy hole into that chamber,” Shahdi murmured. She caught Maysun’s hand. “Let us go now so we may watch and listen.”

“I will come with you,” Diya al Din said. “I was not aware there was a spy hole there, ladies. How did you know it?”

Shahdi smiled mischievously, but did not answer him.

The three hurried to the prince’s apartments and secreted themselves so they might listen. They could see the messenger pacing back and forth as he waited for Prince Amir. When the recipient of the message entered the chamber, the messenger bowed and slipped down upon one knee, holding out the rolled parchment to Amir. He took it, opened it, read it, and then said, “How long did it take you to come from Istanbul?”

“Two days, Highness. I rode hard,” was the reply.

“Do you know if the sultan still lives?” Amir asked.

The messenger shook his head. “He was not in Istanbul, Highness, but had crossed over to Bursa and begun his spring campaign.”

“Then who sent you?” Amir wanted to know.

“I do not know, Highness. I was simply dispatched from the palace,” was the reply.

“This is not good. Not good at all,” Diya al Din murmured softly.

“Hush!”
Maysun hissed at the eunuch.

Realizing that the messenger was just that, and knew nothing more, the prince sent him to the kitchens to be fed. There was no reply necessary to the information he had just received. “Go and eat. Rest the night before returning to Istanbul,” he told the man.

The messenger arose, bowed, and went off. Amir read once again the parchment he had received. Azura slipped from an alcove where she had been standing and went to her husband. She looked up at him questioningly, a gentle hand on his arm.

“Go and find the others,” he instructed her, “and tell Diya al Din to gather the household. I will speak with them all.”

While he spoke, those hidden at the spy hole hurried off to be where they should be. Azura came into the harem and called to her two companions. “I know no more than you do,” she said. “Come, and let us learn what the message brought to our husband said.”

“What message?” Shahdi asked innocently.

Azura laughed. “Do not dissemble with me, Shahdi. I found that spy hole weeks ago. Florentine homes tend to have them, and I recognized the difference in the texture of the wall,” she told them. “And I heard you. Even using his softest voice, Diya al Din is recognizable. How did you know the spy hole was there?”

Maysun chuckled at the chagrined look on Shahdi’s face, but said nothing.

“There was nothing to do all those years our husband was away. I know this little palace inside and out. Probably better than anyone,” Shahdi admitted.

Together the three women joined their husband and the gathered household in the salon used for visitors.

“I have received a message from Istanbul,” Amir began. “The sultan had only just begun his spring campaign when he took seriously ill. I cannot tell you if he yet lives, or has passed into the next life. My uncle, Prince Bayezit, was with him. I expect we will hear something further in the coming days.”

A low moaning arose from the house slaves, and even the two chief eunuchs looked distressed by what they had just heard.

“There is nothing to fear,” Prince Amir assured them. “Go now about your duties. Diya al Din, see that a watch is set on the road both day and night. I want no more surprise visitors.” He turned to his women. “Come,” he said and left the room, returning with them to the harem quarters, where he sat down in the women’s dayroom, inviting them to join him. He would elucidate further in private with them.

Maysun told the slaves to bring mint tea and sweet cakes. When they had, she dismissed them, asking Agata to make certain they went. Shahdi took Amir’s small turban from his head while Azura settled the pillows about and around him. The refreshments came and finally Amir spoke to them.

“If he dies there will be a struggle for the succession,” he told them. “My uncle will win, for while my father is the better tactician, the Janissaries are on my uncle’s side. He knows how to delegate authority far better than my father, who is too modern a man and looks to the West. My uncle, while forward-thinking, is a traditionalist. The Janissaries prefer tradition, like campaigning in the spring.”

“You will have to tread lightly,” Maysun warned.

“What if your uncle sends his gardeners to you?” Shahdi asked.

“I do not believe he will, since I have no intention of supporting my father,” Amir replied. “Bayezit is a fair man and he knows me well.”

“He has three living sons,” Maysun reminded Amir.

“From three different mothers, and of the three only my cousin Selim is suited to rule. Ahmed enjoys life too much, and Korkut is a scholar.”

“Selim is the youngest,” Shahdi noted.

“If my grandfather has died, it is my uncle who will rule. His sons will have to wait their turn,” Amir said, “and Selim will be vigilant, I am certain.”

“You are the eldest of Mehmet’s grandsons,” Maysun pointed out.

“And the least interested in either ruling or fighting, as is well known by all,” he told her. “I am not considered fit to rule. My mother learned the way of the harem quickly, and knew how to help a son survive. All who are important are aware that Prince Jem’s son is a disappointment to him, giving his unquestioned loyalty to the sultan first, and preferring to dabble in carpets and antiquities, not warfare and power. I have been called the un-Ottoman,” he said with a small smile.

It was then that Azura spoke up. “You cannot know what your uncle will do, my lord, no matter his past friendship with you. You must be on your guard, at least for the interim. We need to plan an escape should we have no other choice.”

They looked at her, surprised.

“Do you understand the situation, then, Azura?” Shahdi asked her.

“I am Florentine,” Azura answered her. “Deception is in our blood where matters of survival or profit are concerned. I understand very well what is happening. I did not defy my family to become Amir’s wife only to lose him.” She turned to him. “We must prepare for whatever is to happen, my lord.”

“The Moonlight Serai is not a castle. It is a pleasure palace, and as such it provides us no real defenses, as a castle might,” he explained to her.

“Then we should go,” Azura said.

“No,” he responded. “To flee would be to proclaim I was guilty of some crime. I will not do that. I will trust in my uncle’s goodwill. Someone in my grandfather’s palace sent to warn me of the changes that might take place. I will remain and show my loyalty to the new sultan, whoever he may be—if indeed my grandfather is dead.”

Still, he made certain that Diya al Din posted slaves on the hills to give them advance warning of any visitors.

They heard nothing for the next few weeks. Spring moved into early summer.

Finally, late one June morning, the watchers on the hills surrounding the Moonlight Serai began signaling from one to another and finally to the little palace itself that a large party of riders was approaching. Amir sent word to his wives, and then they waited—Amir in his own quarters, the three women in theirs.

“It will be the Janissaries,” Maysun said, and Shahdi nodded.

“Why are you so afraid of these Janissaries?” Azura asked. “You speak of them as if they were the devil’s own soldiers.”

“They are!” Shahdi replied.

“The Janissaries are the young sons of Christians taken in war,” Maysun explained. “They are then cosseted and cared for with great kindness, converted to Islam, and finally trained in the fiercest warfare and taught total loyalty to the sultan. Whomever the Janissaries follow will be sultan. If truth be told, the Conqueror preferred Jem among his sons because of his warlike proclivities, despite the fact that the prince was always rebelling against his father. But the Janissaries lean towards Bayezit, for he embodies the old traditions of the Ottomans. It is likely the Janissaries approaching this palace have been sent by Bayezit to either ascertain our husband’s position in the succession or kill us all.”

For this she had fled Florence, fled Venice, given up her family? To die at the hands of strangers in some stupid war over a succession? Azura felt fear filling her. Angrily she forced it back down. “We are not going to die,” she said.

“No,” Shahdi replied. “With luck, after we are all raped, we’ll be given to some officer or sold to add coinage to the Janissaries’ already fat coffers.”

Maysun gave a little sob.

“Stop it, both of you!” Azura said. “No one is going to die today. What a pair of silly ewe sheep you two are. I am going to the spy hole in our husband’s apartment to learn what is happening. Don’t tell Ali Farid if you can find him. I expect he has hidden himself away by now. Agata, come with me!”

The two women hurried from the harem apartments, making their way quickly to Prince Amir’s quarters. The corridors of the little palace were empty and quiet, for all but the bravest among the slaves would have hidden themselves by now. Quietly Azura and Agata secreted themselves within the narrow confines of the spy hole. Amir was pacing his antechamber with slow, measured steps. He was dressed soberly in a dark blue silk robe trimmed with silver embroidery. His head was covered by a small matching turban. Azura worried that he might look too regal.

They heard the sound of booted feet in the corridor. Agata reached out to clutch at her mistress’s sleeve. Azura stared intently through the spy hole, her eyes meeting those of Amir. He knew she was there. The large double doors to the prince’s apartment were flung open by two frightened slaves who nonetheless had remained. Diya al Din was with them. He was ashen in color but he too had stayed.