The Kadin - Bertrice Small [153]
Firousi stared in amazement at Cyra, She had rarely seen her friend cry in all the years they had been together, but now the tears were pouring down Cyra’s cheeks. Wordlessly, she clasped Cyra to her bosom and, sighing deeply, said simply, “I shall go.”
The sultan’s troubles with the women in his family increased. His brother-in-law Ferhad Pasha was recalled from Syria for misuse of his power. He had used his position to execute several personal enemies. Suleiman, like Selim, scrupulously upheld the law, and so Ferhad was dismissed and retired to his estates along the sea.
The valideh, ever watchful of her son’s best interests, knew that the dashing Ferhad Pasha would not stay quiet long. She argued fiercely for the pasha’s reinstatement “He has a well of energy. It is better that that energy work for us, not against us. You cannot expect the wild horse to pull the plow. It is better to turn him loose among our enemies and cause confusion.”
Suleiman was reluctant. “My instinct tells me that Ferhad is hungry for, yet corrupted by, power. If I trust him again, he will betray me again.”
“As Allah wills it” replied Cyra. “But should this happen, you will execute him, and who will say you have done wrong? In the meantime, you must think of your sister Mihri-Chan. Is this how you would treat her now that she is finally with child?”
“I did not know. Very well, I will reassign Ferhad for the sake of my sister and their unborn son, but only to a small post somewhere in his homeland along the Danube. If he does well and there is no repetition of his old tricks, I shall restore him completely. However, Mihri-Chan may not join him until after the birth of my nephew. She will move back into the harem with her mother.”
Mihri-Chan was not pleased to hear that she must remain in Constantinople, but suffered it for her husband’s sake. At their parting, Ferhad said tenderly to her, “When I return, the first thing I would see as I enter the palace is you, my love, holding our son within your soft arms.”
In seven months’ time, Mihri-Chan was safely delivered of a healthy son, who was named Suleiman in honor of his uncle. Three months later, Ferhad Pasha rode through the gates of the palace, and the first thing that he did see was his wife, their son nestled in her soft arms. One hour later, Ferhad Pasha was dead—judged and bowstringed by order of the sultan, who had recalled him for the very abuse of power that had brought him back from Syria.
That night Suleiman entered his mother’s court and was accosted by his sister, now garbed in black. For a long moment they stared at one another, and finally Mihri-Chan spoke. “I hope it will not be long before I wear mourning for you, my beloved brother.” Then, turning, she melted into the night In the morning they found her dead. Mihri-Chan had swallowed poison.
Desolate, Suleiman retired to his quarters and wept bitterly. His sadness was increased by the fact that Sarina, resigning her position as haznedar usta, had requested his permission to take her orphaned grandson and leave the serai. His sister Guzel had offered them a home. Sarina was eager to go, and Suleiman could not refuse her.
Taking her leave of him, she somewhat eased his guilt. “Do not grieve, my nephew. Mihri-Chan was grief-stricken. She would not have done it otherwise.”
“She would be alive today, aunt if I had forgiven Ferhad.”
Sarina