The Kadin - Bertrice Small [74]
“Oh, no, Seliml Please let everything remain as it is. I love Lady Refet and I could not get on without her. Besides, if we sent her back, Besma would make her life miserable.”
“You have made me very happy, my beloved. It shall be as you wish.”
Suddenly the baby wailed. The young parents looked startled
“What is the matter with him?” cried Cyra.
“I think,” said Selim, laughing, “that Prince Suleiman is hungry.” Picking up the infant he handed him to Cyra, who placed the child at her breast. And smiling contentedly at each other, the young couple listened happily to the suckling of their son.
PART III
The Kadin
1501–1520
22
IT WAS AUTUMN. Snow had already appeared on the distant mountain peaks, yet by the sea the air was still warm. The vineyards and the orchards, bursting with ripe fruit, mingled their scents in a sweet potpourri of apples and grapes.
Lazy bees droned among the late flowers, and from the gardens of the Moonlight Serai came the sounds of children’s voices. There were six little boys, ranging in age from seven to two, who played a rough-and-tumble game across the grass.
“Suleiman,” called the beautiful red-haired young woman, “be careful of your little brothers! Remember, my lion, they are still very young.”
“Yes, mother,” the tall, slender, dark-haired boy called back.
Cyra turned to her companions. “He sometimes forgets that Abdullah and Murad are only two and three,” she said.
Zuleika laughed. “Abdullah can take care of himself,” she said. “He’s so fat I’m surprised they don’t use him for the ball.”
“Murad is fatter,” replied Cyra. “He can’t even see his legs, he’s so pudgy. We’ve never had that problem with the girls, have we, Firousi?”
“No. My girls are just perfect.” She glanced lovingly at her two-year-old daughters, little süver-blond miniatures of herself. They sat playing in the grass at her feet “I’m glad they are twins,” she said. “If I’d had only one girl, she might have been lonely, and I actually think Selim was pleased with them after six boys.”
“Of course he was pleased,” said Cyra, “and he delights in spoiling them.”
The three young women looked at each other and smiled. Eight years in captivity had changed them little. It was true their figures had matured with childbearing, but their own self-discipline had prevented the usual harem fat from setting in, and they were still slender. Their faces, if it was possible, were more beautiful, but happiness accounted for that They were truly happy.
Zuleika had been taught from childhood that she would share her man, and Firousi and Cyra had been snatched from their cultures early enough to change and accept the Turkish way of life. Seated in the gardens of their home, sewing and chatting, their children playing around them, they presented a charming picture of domesticity.
Few changes had come about in the years since they had first come to the Moonlight Serai. Two of their number had departed on the black camel of death—Iris in giving birth to a stillborn son, and Amara from a fever that struck her down during their second winter there. The little maiden from the warm Indian plains had never adjusted to the Turkish climate.
Perhaps the only flaw in their contentment was the fact that the terrible-tongued, softhearted Sarina had failed to join them in motherhood. Selim had taken her often enough to his couch, but she could not conceive. The children all adored her, and she loved and spoiled them in return. Still, she was only twenty-four, so perhaps there was some hope.
“Father! Father!” The shouts of the children rang on the cool air. Selim was coming across the lawn. The boys crowded about him, and he spoke to them each, giving a pat on the head to the younger ones, an affectionate whack to the older boys. Little Guzel and Hale hovered behind their brothers, and, seeing them, Selim scooped them up, one in each arm.
“And how are my littlest houris today?