The Kadin - Bertrice Small [52]
“He may enter.” Turning to her friends, she said, “The prince’s messenger is here.”
The room became silent as the eunuch entered. Placing the traditional wrapped handkerchief in front of her, he said, “Most blessed and exalted of women, I bring you greeting from our lord, Prince Selim Khan. May he live a thousand years! He sends these tokens of his affection to you and asks that you join him at the tenth hour this evening.”
“Tell our gracious lord that his slave thanks him for his gifts. I shall obey his commands at the tenth hour this night,” she answered.
The eunuch bowed and left
She stared at the handkerchief. She had heard talk of Sultan Bajazet’s gifts in the Eski Serai. It was said that the more ornate the cloth, the higher the compliment The square was of the palest eggshell-blue, embroidered on all four sides with a two-inch border of gold thread, small seed pearls, coral, and turquoises. She touched it reverently.
“In Allah’s name,” Sarina’s voice cut through the quiet “open it before we die of curiosity.”
For once they all agreed with the prickly Spaniard. Cyra loosened the intricate folds, and the silk opened to reveal an exquisite Kashmiri shawl of soft spring green, a necklace and matching earrings of turquoise set in gold, a heart-shaped ruby ring, and several charming gold bracelets, carved with flowers, that Selim had made himself. Like all of Osman’s line, the prince had learned a trade. He was an extremely competent goldsmith.
Cyra was speechless at the generosity of it all but her companions exclaimed in delight.
Sensing her friend’s mood, Firousi spoke gently. “There is more, Cyra.”
“More?”
“The slave who accompanied the eunuch also left this.” She pointed to a large carved-ivory box at Cyra’s feet.
Opened, the box revealed the traditional bag of gold coins, two bolts of cloth—the first a peacock-blue silk, the second a sheer golden gauze—and, lastly, a dark-green leather case fitted with two gold brushes, half a dozen tortoise-shell and gold combs, a crystal box holding tortoise-shell hairpins set with pearls, four crystal scent bottles, and a carved gold mirror set with real Venetian glass.
“You have obviously found favor with the prince,” said Sarina archly, fingering the silk.
Lady Refet looked up from her embroidery.
“I do not know why he chose me first,” said Cyra. “I thought surely it would be you. You danced so beautifully last night. Or perhaps Firousi, who sang so well.”
“In Allah’s name,” snapped Sarina, “must you always be the diplomat? Of course I’m jealous of you, Cyra! All of us are, but you are the chosen one. I could have danced my feet off, and Firousi could have sung until she was hoarse as a crow, and still our Lord Selim would have seen no one except you. I accept that.” She laughed, “However, when you ripen with child, he will see one of us, and then you’ll be the jealous one!”
“I think you’re hateful and spiteful to spoil Cyra’s happiness,” cried Firousi.
“No,” replied Cyra. “She is simply reminding me of the truth. Each of you will be called to our lord’s couch eventually, and then you will know the happiness I know. This is our fate, and we must not allow petty jealousy to turn our quarters into a nest of intrigue like the sultan’s harem. This is a small household, but it must always be a happy one for our lord.”
Lady Refet bent again over her embroidery. Such wisdom in one so young, she thought Praise Allah—and Hadji Bey’s sharp eye!
“I hope Cyra does have a child soon. Then she will be bas-kadin,” said Firousi.
“She will,” said Zuleika, looking directly at Sarina. ‘It will be a boy.”
Sarina glared at the beautiful Chinese. “What will happen is Allah’s will, not yours, Zuleika.”
“Nevertheless,” replied Zuleika, “I tell you that Cyra will