The Kadin - Bertrice Small [64]
“They did not hurt you?”
Sarina tossed her chestnut curls. “Holy Mother! No! A beautiful girl is worth twice the price if she is a virgin.”
Cyra decided to change the subject As happy as she was, her own road to Turkey still pained her. “Do you really like cats?” she asked.
“Yes,” replied Sarina. “Despite the fact a cat was responsible for my enslavement I still love them.”
Cyra called to Marian. “Fetch the basket by my bed, Marian.”
The girl hastened to obey, and a moment later returned carrying a reed basket which she placed upon the table. Sarina cried out in delight and lifted from the basket a squirming, mewing kitten.
“Selim gave me a cat,” said Cyra, “and several weeks ago the little vixen presented me with five kittens. Please take any two of them. The coal-black belongs to Zuleika. I was beginning to despair of finding them homes.”
“Oh, thank you!” cried the Spaniard. She chose a tiger-striped kitten and a fluffy gray one and cuddled them, one against each cheek. “What darlings! Do you think Lady Refet will let me keep them in the harem?”
“Of course. Cats were the favorite animal of the Prophet. Are we friends now?”
“Yes,” whispered the other girl. There were tears in her eyes. “I have been so lonely. You, Firousi, and Zuleika have been friends from the beginning, and Amara and Iris seemed to fall in so easily with one another. I know I have a sharp tongue, but I don’t mean to be unkind. The words just pop out. Will you forgive me for being so mean?”
Cyra was taken aback by the girl’s emotional outburst “Of course we are friends. I know you don’t mean what you say when you snap. Things will be better now.”
Sarina rose, clutching her kittens. ‘It is late, and you must get your sleep, expecially now. May I come again?”
“You are welcome at any time, and thank you,” said Cyra meaningfully.
Left to herself, the Scots girl called to Marian, who helped ready her for bed. Then, dismissing her slave, who she knew was eager to join her husband, Cyra lay alone in the vast bed, hot silent tears sliding down her cheeks.
18
ALTHOUGH CYRA no longer snared Selim’s bed she still spent much time with him. The mornings were taken up by the prince’s administrative duties. Once each week he held a court of judgment, allowing the people of his province to bring their grievances before him to be settled. Conscious of the fact that the child she carried was an imperial heir, and conscious also of the strong possibility that one day she might be the sultan valideh, Cyra frequently attended these courts in order to see Muslim law in action. Heavily dressed in her feridje and jasmak, she sat concealed by a carved screen behind Selim’s throne, attended by Marian and the faithful Arslan.
All phases of the law interested her, but she found its treatment of women fascinating. Compared with Christian Europe, it was far more enlightened and fair.
One day there came before Selim a woman of about forty. Kneeling before the prince, she stated her case.
“I am called Cervi, my lord. At the age of fifteen I was married by my father to a young merchant, Razi Abu. I bore him two sons and a daughter. I have been a faithful and obedient wife these twenty-five years. Four months ago Razi Abu divorced me so he might marry a dancing girl he saw in a tavern. I bow to my husband’s will, my lord, but he has cast me penniless into the streets. He will not return my bride price to me, and I must beg for my very bread. I plead for justice, my lord. The bride price is mine under the law.”
“This is true,” replied the prince, “but have you no one to whom you might turn? What of your sons and your daughter?”
“My daughter is married and Uves in Constantinople, Prince Selim, As for my sons, they, too, are wed, and live with their wives and children within their father’s house. He has forbidden them to aid me, though they would if they could.”
The prince nodded. “Is the merchant Razi Abu in the court?”
“Razi Abu,” called the court chamberlain, “come