The Kadin - Bertrice Small [73]
Cyra shrieked again and doubled over. Leading the girl to the birthing stool, Fatima went swiftly to work, the witnesses surrounding them. It was midnight Suddenly the skies opened, and the rain came in torrents. A huge clap of thunder shook the palace, and in the strange ensuing silence the cry of a child rent the air.
“Praise be to Allah and to Mohammed, His Prophet! It is a boy!” Fatima announced, passing the howling infant to Marian. She turned back to attend Cyra.
Quickly Marian cleansed the baby with olive oil, wrapped him in a warm blanket and handed him to Selim. The prince stared down in awe at the small bundle in his arms. His deep-blue eyes were very solemn and seemed to say to Selim, “It is ridiculous that I should be so small and helpless when I have so much to do.”
Cyra had now been helped back to her bed. “Give me my son,” she whispered.
Fatima, finished with her duties, nodded to the prince. He laid the baby in Cyra’s arms.
“Marian, help me to sit up.” The girl gently raised her mistress. Unwrapping the infant Cyra inspected him carefully.
“Everything is there, my lady. I counted,” said Marian.
Cyra giggled weakly. “He has his grandfather’s nose,” she said. Then, “Look! Look at his palms. In the left is a bolt of lightning, In the right a tiny scale!”
Selim and Lady Refet peered down. “She is right nephew. It is a sign. Zuleika said he would be a great warrior and have great wisdom. What will you name him?”
“A warrior with great wisdom,” mused Selim.
“He shall be called Suleiman,” said Cyra firmly.
The prince stared at her a moment and then a smile lit his face. “Yes,” he said. “He shall be called Suleiman.”
21
AWAKENING the following afternoon, Cyra forgot for a brief moment all of the previous day. The sun made dappled shadows of the leaves in her garden, the fountain tinkled cheerfully, and the air was mountain-cool and fresh.
Gazing down at her newly slim figure, she remembered, and, turning on her side to call Marian, she saw the cradle beside her bed. “Praise be to Allah and to Mohammed, His Prophet,” she exulted. “It is a boy! My son! My son, Suleiman!” She looked at the baby. He slept, his tiny hands curled into fists resting on either side of his head. His hair was black and wavy. Lifting the blanket that covered his little body, she noted that his limbs were rosy and sturdy, yet small-boned.
“You are awake.” The voice startled her.
“Selim! What do you think of Suleiman? Is he not beautiful? Is he not the most perfect child you’ve ever seen?”
The prince smiled tenderly. “Yes, my dove. He is beautiful, but that is because he takes after his mother.”
Her laughter was happy. “You great fool! He looks like an Ottoman, and bless Allah for it! He is you all over again.”
“I love you, Cyra! Not simply because you’ve given me a son, but because you are the bravest, most adorable of women.”
“I was not so brave yesterday. I was frightened, my lord, and yet today the sun shines, and all is well. I know now that my fear stemmed from the unknown. I shall never again allow myself to fear it!”
“I have brought you some gifts, my love.” He proffered a fiat leather box.
Taking it, she raised the lid and gasped. Nestled in the velvet was the most perfect emerald necklace and earrings she had ever seen. Each stone in the necklace was perfectly matched and the earrings, oblongs of gold filigree, were scattered with smaller emeralds. “They are beautiful,” she murmured
“They match your eyes. Bajazet gave them to my mother when I was born. I wanted you to have them. I brought you something else.” He handed her a thin gold chain, to which was attached a round medallion.
The medallion was half worked in a filigree of open, crisscross gold The other half was intricately carved gold in the shape of a quarter moon. She fingered it gently, and the tiny bells attached to the openwork tinkled
“I made it for you, Cyra.”
“You honor me, my lord The medallion will be all the more precious to me because it was your hand that created it”
“You are my bas-kadin. It is proper