The Kadin - Bertrice Small [138]
Of all those in the serai, she had seen the greatest changes in him. He had never been a heavy man, but lately she had noticed that his legs and face seemed thinner, although his belly, always flat was now swollen. He had not been sleeping well, and this, coupled with the terrible pain he felt had turned him into a raving despot when crossed or disobeyed.
Upon learning that Zuleika and his three younger sons had died in the Tile Court, he had had it destroyed Discovering that the Persian captive Shannez, still among his slaves, had openly rejoiced at Zuleika’s death, he had wreaked terrible vegeance. The woman had been publicly beaten, and salt had been rubbed into her open wounds. Then Selim had personally tied her limbs to four horses, which were then driven in four different directions, executing the unfortunate woman in a most horrible way.
His judgments, always fair in the past became increasingly harsher. The slightest infractions of rules among the serai slaves were punished swiftly and often with brutality. Cyra’s heart ached for the unhappiness he felt and the un-happiness he was causing.
The soft gray light of dawn began to filter into the chamber. Still he slept on, and she was grateful. He would awaken refreshed, and the day would go well for him. A slave entered to wake them. Catching the old woman’s eye, Cyra nodded and waved her away.
“My lord” She gently shook him. “Dearest it is time to wake.”
Opening his eyes, he smiled at her and was instantly awake. He rose. “Come to me after prayers, so we may say our good-byes privately.”
She went to him at the appointed time, and he looked almost like the Selim of old—well rested, bathed, shaved, and ready to undertake the long journey back to Anatolia. For a moment they gazed at each other, then kissed fiercely and gazed again.
He knows, she thought wildly. He knows this is the last time we shall ever see each other in this life. She struggled for the right words, but he was too quick for her. “Guide Suleiman as only you can, my love.” Then, turning on his heel, he left her.
She ran all the way to the secret balcony that overlooked the main gate. Firousi and Sarina were there ahead of her, but she was in time. Passing through the entrance, he turned, looked back, and raised his hand in a quick salute. The salute was for them all but the look, Cyra knew, was for her alone.
Several weeks passed, and spring began to make itself felt along the shores of the Bosporus. A secret communiqué arrived from Piri Pasha, who had accompanied his sultan. Selim was very ül The doctors did not believe he would live. No one was aware of this. She was forbidden to come to the sultan. She must remain in Constantinople to give the appearance of normalcy, and, more important, to hold the serai and the city for her son.
Cyra died a thousand little deaths. Her every instinct nagged her to go to Selim. What did anything else matter as long as she was with her beloved husband? If they punished her afterward, she cared not Without Selim, she might as well be dead. But common sense triumphed. She could not help Selim, nor could she keep Azerael, the Black Angel of Death, from claiming his victim It was Suleiman who counted now, the son she had borne to follow his father. If it were known that the bas-kadin had hurriedly left the city for the south, the secret would be out and unthinkable troubles ought erupt The transition from Selim to Suleiman must be made swiftly and with a minimum of fuss. Only she could prevent a possible rebellion in the capital, and the capital was the key to the Ottoman Empire. The price of her son’s success was almost more than she could bear.
Then, several weeks later, as she sat quietly embroidering with Sarina and Firousi, she felt the room go icy cold. Suddenly her face was wet with hot tears that coursed silently and uncontrollably down her cheeks. Guiltily she glanced up to see