The Kadin - Bertrice Small [81]
“The accusation of a grieving mother. An accusation I knew to be true. Kiusem was never mad, nor her sons fools.”
Besma’s mouth fell open but recovering, she asked, “If you think I poisoned Mustafa, why did you not kill me?”
Bajazet sighed. “I have asked myself that question every day for thirty-two years. Perhaps because Ahmed was a baby and needed his mother, or perhaps because your death would not have restored my dear son to me. But take care, woman. You could still end your days in a weighted sack at the bottom of the sea. Ahmed no longer needs his mother, and neither do I!”
A wiser woman would have departed at this point but Besma’s anger overruled her good sense. “You dare to call me a murderess?”
“I do, and I have heard men in the streets call you worse. Beware, my kadin! Selim and his family are under my personal protection. If any harm should come to them, I would strangle you myself and leave your worthless corpse for the dogs.”
The woman whitened, and discretion finally overtook her. Throwing the sultan a venomous look, she fled his presence.
24
THE SPRTNO OF 1509, which had begun so promisingly, gave way to strange May weather. On the morning of the ninth, the yellow sky reflected its image into a dun-colored sea. The wind was quiet, and for several hours there had been no bird song to break the monotony of the stillness. It was several minutes before noon.
The slaves in the Moonlight Serai scuttled fearfully back and forth, to and from their tasks. It had been thus for several days, and the nights had been no better. No breeze sprang up at sunset to cool the rooms after the heat of the day, and a fiery moon glared down, turning the shining white marble of the jewellike palace to a blood red.
Suddenly, a low rumble came across the hills from Constantinople. It increased in volume and intensity until it exploded in a roaring wind that bent the trees to the ground and tore across the water. The earth heaved and moaned like a tortured animal. The palace and its outbuildings shook to their foundations.
The slaves flung themselves to the ground, walling in terror. Small fissures opened in the ground. They widened, inhaling whatever stood in their path, and abruptly closed again, crushing their prey.
Cyra was sitting in her salon playing chess with Suleiman when the first shock hit Leaping to her feet she cried out “Suleiman! Quickly! The children! Bring them here!”
The boy ran from the room, only to run into Marian, who was entering her mistress’s apartments carrying Sarina’s wailing fourteen-month-old daughter, MihriChan, and trailed by seven older children, two of whom held the littlest by the hand.
“Marian! Bless your common sense!”
“And where else would I bring them, madam? We cannot count on those worthless slaves. They are too busy hiding themselves.”
The palace rocked again, and the littlest children began to cry. As the shock subsided, Lady Refet, Sarina, Zuleika, and Firousi rushed into the room, and the children, who had been huddling together, scattered to their mothers.
Nilufer, Cyra’s six-year-old daughter, wandered out into her mother’s gardens. “Mama,” she called, “why is the sea running away?”
Hurrying to the child’s side, Cyra gazed past her dainty pointing finger and saw the waters slowly receding into the bay. She was staring in amazement when Zuleika’s voice broke in. “I saw the same phenomenon once in China. The waters will return shortly in one large wave.”
“Will it come as high as the palace?”
“I think so. Hurry! We must get to Selim’s tower observatory!” Each grasping Nulifer by a hand, Zuleika and Cyra ran with her back to the salon, and, quickly gathering their families and what slaves they could find, they fled, half running, half falling in their fear, across the palace lawns to the prince’s tower. Gasping for breath, they stumbled up the stairs to the safety of the top. Once there, the slaves and some of the children collapsed in relief, but the kadins and the older princes gazed from the parapet at the scene below them.
The sea had stopped receding