The Kadin - Bertrice Small [80]
“Forgive my spurning your generous offer, my lord but custom demands that Suleiman, Mohammed Omar, and Kasim go. What will the people say if they do not? I would not bring criticism upon you, who have been so kind to me.”
Bajazet gazed at his son. This was a game they were playing. Selim no more wanted his sons in Constantinople than he did, and the sultan knew it; but Selim had ever been loyal to him, so he let it pass and cleared his throat.
“The people will say I am an old fool, sentimental, and in my dotage, but never will they say I am not sultan. Because of our laws of succession, your sons will supersede Ahmed’s should the idiot ever have any. In any case, his degenerate habits are ruining his health, and I doubt he will reign long, if at all.
“Between you and the throne stands your brother Prince Korkut. It is not known, but he will never reign. He does not want the responsibility. So you, my son, will one day be sultan, as your brother Mustafa should have been. You will be a strong sultan. I can see this. And after you, Suleiman, who must be stronger yet The restraint of my court at so young an age would sap his strength. I will not allow it! This is my final word.”
Selim fell to his knees before his father. Bending his body until his head touched the sultan’s boot, he said, “I am your loyal and devoted servant my lord. With my whole heart, I thank you.”
Tears welled up in Bajazet’s eyes, and, quickly wiping them away with his sleeve, he raised his son to his feet For a long moment they looked at each other in silence. Then the sultan spoke. “It is you who should be my heir,” he said, and, turning abruptly, he strode back into the palace, leaving Selim astounded.
Several days later, Sultan Bajazet reluctantly tore himself away from Selim and his family and rode back to his capital. He had scarcely returned when Besma Kadin swept into his suite.
“And how,” she asked, settling herself comfortably on a low divan, “was your stay at the Moonlight Serai, my dear lord? You remained longer than we expected, and we missed you.”
“It was delightful.”
“And Prince Selim and his family are well?”
“Yes. He has a new son, born while I was there, and named Bajazet after me.”
Besma gritted her teeth. “The oldest boy is nine, isn’t he?”
The sultan nodded.
“It is past time for him and his next three brothers to be placed in our protective custody. When may we expect them?”
“You may not I have forbidden their removal from Selim’s custody. They will remain where they are. It is far healthier.”
“What?” Besma leaped to her feet and paced the room. “Are you mad? They are the heirs! They must be placed where they can be watched. Ahmed must be protected!”
“From four little boys? Better the children be protected!”
“What do you mean, my lord? Protected from whom?”
“I do not think we need go into that” replied the sultan.
“What are you saying?” shrieked Besma.
“That accidents happen. Lower your voice, madam I am still sultan here, and you are my slave. You forget yourself! Perhaps several good lashes will remind you.”
She persisted, “Do you think that I would harm those children? What kind of a woman do you think I am—I, who have given you your heir?”
“I know what kind of a woman you are,” he said coldly. “Kiusem gave me my heir. His name was Mustafa. He died, you will remember, at the age of two and a half, and some say you poisoned him”
“The ravings of a madwoman! Kiusem was driven insane by her son’s unfortunate