The Kadin - Bertrice Small [87]
“I regret having to take these actions, but I feel that the time is approaching when you will assume your fated duties. If we are not safe from Besma in our own household, we are safe nowhere. Bajazet will not live forever, and when he goes to Paradise, our battle begins. You cannot be held back through worrying about us. We are a household of women and children, but with this province loyal, and surrounded by faithful slaves, we can withstand anything.”
Tenderly he drew her to him. He smelled of sweat and horses. “How I pity Rudolfo di San Lorenzo. With you at his side, he might have ruled all Europe.”
“No, my Selim. I should have been merely his duchess. He has neither your vision nor your intelligence, and he would have treated me as a brood mare and chattel. Legally I am your slave, but never have you treated me thus. You have loved me as a woman, and yet respected me for myself. And despite the fact that you are Turkish to the soles of your feet, you have always acknowledged the fact that I have a mind.” This last was said with a twinkle, for though Selim was a strong man and not one to be swayed, he often sought Cyra’s advice.
“Impudent slave,” he chuckled, “it is not your clever mind I admire, but your ripe, round body.” His hand slid beneath her pelisse.
Squirming away in mock dismay, she exclaimed, “My lord! No Turkish gentleman would accost a lady with the filth of the road still on his person. What will the slaves say?”
“Damn the slaves,” he muttered, tumbling her among the cushions. As if on cue, a slave entered, announcing, “Your bath is ready, my lord.”
“Damn the bath!” roared Selim, glowering down at his favorite, who was biting her lip to hold back her laughter. “If you laugh, I’ll strangle you.”
“Yes, my lord,” she gasped, choking back her giggles.
His own laugh then rumbled across the room, and her silvery one joined it The slave stood open-mouthed, afraid to move.
Selim wiped the tears from his eyes. “Tonight?”
She smiled and, rising from the pillows, walked from the room.
25
THEY DID NOT KNOW IT THEN, but the next year was to be the last one they would spend together in peace and contentment. It was a happy year, for Selim was home more than he had been since those early days.
Occasionally he would ride into Constantinople, taking the three oldest boys with him. They came back full of tales of how the city was being rebuilt and how the people had cheered them and their father.
More often the prince would take his sons hunting. Even the youngest, Nureddin, was included, riding his shaggy pony, his fat little legs hugging the animal’s equally fat sides.
Selim spent long, lazy afternoons sailing on the bay with his daughters. He came to know them as he never had. Hale, for instance, was like her mother not only in appearance but in temperament as well Guzel, the other twin, was thoughtful and more sensitive. His youngest daughter he found mischievous and stubborn but completely winning when she chose to be. Mihri-Chan was spoiled, he knew, but then Sarina had only two children.
It was Nilufer, however, who was his favorite. She did not look like him, and though she had Cyra’s delicate features, she was not merely her mother’s replica. Nilufer was decidedly herself. She was bright, charming, and independent, yet extremely feminine. She was a natural leader, and even her older sisters deferred to her.
Selim spent the evenings in the company of his aunt and his kadins, enjoying quiet entertainments and talks. Sometimes there would be visitors from the capital or from outlying provinces. Then Selim would closet himself with them, sometimes for several days.
If there was anything to mar the perfection of their lives, it was the fact that Selim, who had always been healthy and strong, began to suffer from a stomach disorder. In the beginning it appeared to be no more than indigestion. Cyra ordered a bland diet for the prince, and his symptoms disappeared, only to return a few weeks later.