The Kadin - Bertrice Small [68]
“Cool water,” she said, “flavored with tangerine.”
It was placed before her, and Selim waved the slaves away. Cyra looked at him adoringly.
“Thank you, my dear lord, for your mercy to the woman Bosfor.”
“I heard you gasp when I pronounced sentence.”
“Poor little baby. His mother will die.”
“The beating may not kill her.”
“If she is whipped with a feather, Is that not the usual weapon?”
“The sentence is a just one, Cyra. The Koran is very clear on the matter of adultery. Had she named the man, he would have suffered an identical fate. That she did not, led me to believe there is some good in her and moved me to mercy.”
“When you pronounced sentence, our son quickened within me, and I felt him move for the first time.”
Selim grinned happily. “He approved my judgments.” He pulled her up. “If I can influence him in the law, then perhaps I may turn him to the expansion of the empire, also.” Leading her over to a large, square table, he pointed to the map upon it.
“Europe,” he said, slamming his hand down on the table. “Someday I shall expand the empire to cover all of it, perhaps even the island your Scotland shares with England. I shall convert many to the true faith!”
“Show me where Scotland is,” she asked.
He pointed to a small red patch in the blue sea.
“It’s so tiny!” she exclaimed. “Where is San Lorenzo?”
His finger moved to a yellow section.
“It’s even smaller than my homeland.” She sighed. “I wonder how my father does. And Adam and my grandmother Mary.”
He debated telling her, but then decided she should know. “Your father and his family have returned home. He was much distressed at your loss.”
He saw the tears she would not allow to fall well up in her eyes.
“It is better, Selim. Father did not really tike San Lorenzo. He missed his estates.”
Noting the unspoken question in her eyes, he smiled to himself. Sure of her love and loyalty, he knew she would not distress him by asking, but he also knew her curiosity pricked her sorely, so he spoke.
“Rudolfo di San Lorenzo has married Princess Marie-Hélène of Toulouse.”
Her outburst of giggles startled him.
“Oh, no!” she gasped. “Poor Rudi!” Her laughter lit up the chamber. Then, seeing his bewilderment, she gained control of herself. “One summer the heat was so unbearable that we went to the mountains to a village noted for its waters. Princess Marie-Hélène was there also. She was several years older than both myself and Rudi. She is fat and dark and given to numerous moles on her face. She spent most of her time eating and complaining about the lack of suitable companions.”
“Poor Rudi, indeed,” chuckled Selim. “Almost to have had you, and to end up with a fat princess.”
Cyra peered again at the map. “How do you read a map?”
“The different countries are set in different colors, each marked with its name. The capital cities are also indicated.”
“Here is Turkey!” she exclaimed gleefully. “And Constantinople! But where are we?”
His finger moved to a spot slightly northeast of the city.
“This whole green part is the empire?”
He nodded.
“By Allah! It is huge!”
“No,” he replied. “Since my grandfather took Constantinople, no new territory has been added. In fact, we have lost territory since my father became sultan. The Egyptian Mamelukes now control Cilicia, and Venice has seized Cyprus. But someday I shall regain these lost lands of ours—and take others.”
“Will your father let you go to war, my lord?”
“My father is more interested in beauty than power. If he wished, he could be a great warrior, but he prefers to remain in Constantinople, adding to the palace and gardens of the Yeni Serai. Allah help us if the Christians decide to start one of their dreary Crusades.”
Cyra laughed. “Patience,