The Kadin - Bertrice Small [155]
At any other time Suleiman would have laughed, but winter was coming on. He remembered the terrible winter siege of Rhodes. Fodder for the horses was getting scarce, and within days the snows would begin blocking the mountain passes back to Turkey. His lines of supply cut, he would be forced to defend himself instead of attacking the Austrians.
The sultan did not hesitate. Giving the order to pull out he marched his army home, where another defeat of sorts awaited him. He could not keep peace even in his own harem. His kadins had become openly hostile to one another, and only the strength of the valideh prevented the serai from splitting into two camps.
For several years, Cyra had constantly changed attendants in the suites of her daughter-in-law’s to prevent them from forming friendships that might grow into partisanship. Though this policy had helped to some extent, it had not prevented Khurrem from attracting allies. Who could resist the beautiful blond Russian, compared to the sulky, embittered Gulbehar?
One morning the valideh and the two kadins were seated out-of-doors taking advantage of the late autumn sunshine when Prince Selim, a short, pudgy child of six, came howling to his mother.
“Mustafa pushed me down,” he wailed, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve—a habit Cyra found disgusting and had tried without success to eradicate.
Five-year-old Bajazet trotted up. “No, he didn’t We were playing tag, and Selim fell over his own feet as Mustafa reached to tag him. He always ducks to avoid being ‘it’ but this time he fell and skinned his knee on a stone.”
Prince Selim grew red in the face. “Liar Liar!” he shrieked at his younger brother. “You always take his part! When I am sultan, the first thing I’ll do is cut off your head!” He punctuated this last remark by a chopping motion of his hand, and then, giving Bajazet a shove that sent him sprawling on the lawn, ran off. The younger prince scrambled to his feet and gave chase.
Gulbehar turned slowly to face Khurrem. “Sol You’ve been telling your fat little brat he is to be sultan. How dare you?! Mustafa is his father’s heir! Mustafa, not Selim! It was settled years ago.”
“Was it?” drawled Khurrem. “I do not recall Suleiman officially and openly declaring Mustafa his heir. Why should he? Simply because you had the good fortune to bear my dearest lord a child before I did is no reason for making your son heir rather than my Selim.”
“I am the bas-kadin, and so acknowledged by our lord. Is your knowledge of Turkish still so poor, foreigner, that you do not know that bas-kadin means ‘mother of the heir’?”
“I always thought it meant ‘favorite,’ though you are certainly not that. My many children are proof of my lord’s love for me.”
“Your children?” replied Gulbehar. “Three sons, and only one of them fit to bear the title of prince. As for the other two, one is an overfed, overindulged, overbearing little monster, and the other a cripple! Then we have your precious daughter, a wise child who screams at the very sight of you. Bajazet is the only decent son you have spawned. If our lord Suleiman had coupled with a dog, the bitch would have produced a better litter than you!”
Cyra saw it coming but could not rise quickly enough to prevent it. Like a springing tigress, Khurrem attacked Gulbehar. Screaming threats, the bas-kadin fought back, but, though smaller, Khurrem was the better fighter. She kicked, gouged, pummeled, and used her nails to great effect.
Frantically, over the screams of the two women, the valideh called to the eunuchs, who came running to separate the sultan’s wives. In that last moment Gulbehar struck her only real blow. As the eunuchs pinioning the second kadin’s arms pulled her up off the bas-kadin, Gulbehar reached up and raked her long red nails down