The Kadin - Bertrice Small [92]
“You, there! Take ten men and go back and search that village we passed. These people love Selim. They’d hide his family. Find them!”
Dark shapes raced across the estate. They poked and pried into every nook and cranny, trampling the gardens, smashing the statuary—and then a light appeared on the horizon.
“Allah! They’re burning the village,” whispered Cyra.
“Don’t worry, my lady kadin. We can rebuild, and the people have an instinct for survival. They have long since fled.”
“Cyra,” sobbed Firousi, “they are burning our palace!”
Through the night they watched in silence as the lovely white palace burned. The outer marble walls were not destoyed, but the interior, they knew, would be gutted.
The gray dawn heralded the arrival of the spring rains. The day was as dark as their mood. Captain Riza sent two of his men, garbed like the intruders, out to spy. Returning several hours later, they informed Captain Riza that the hostile captain had determined that Prince Selim’s family had to be somewhere in the area, and had decided to camp on the palace grounds one more night to search further. His own spies had ascertained that the imperial wives and children had not fled to Constantinople, nor, for that matter, in any other direction. Several people caught in the village had been tortured but had revealed nothing.
The Jinn’s Cave was naturally cool, and after a severe winter, coupled with the chill rains, it had not warmed up, but they could light no fires lest the escaping smoke betray them. As a result, they were cold and miserable. Most of the morning they huddled together in their quilts, torn between despair and the hope that young Prince Kasim had reached the capital and was now bringing help.
In Constantinople it was midmorning when a weary young horseman arrived before the great gates of the Eski Serai. He dismounted and pounded on the large doors. The grizzled head of an old soldier popped from the guardhouse above.
“Open the gates,” called the boy. “I have an urgent dispatch for Prince Selim.”
The gateman looked down at the dirty boy and asked, “Who demands entrance to the palace? Go away, boy! We have no time for games!” He moved to close the shutter.
“I am Prince Kasim, son of Selim Khan and fourth grandson to the sultan. Open the gates, or, by the Prophet’s horse, when I get my hands on you I’ll flay you alive!”
“Open the gates,” said the old soldier to his younger companion.
“But how do you know the boy speaks the truth?” asked the other soldier.
“Listen, my lad. I’ve served the sultan’s family these thirty years, and only an Ottoman would dare to speak to a Turkish soldier in that manner. Open the gates!”
The young soldier signaled down to the guards, who swung the great doors open. Prince Kasim headed for his father’s quarters.
“Get my father at once,” he ordered the slave who ran to meet him.
“My lord Selim gave orders not to be disturbed until half an hour before midday prayers. I dare not disobey, young sir.”
“Where is he?”
“His chambers, prince, but he is not—ah—he is not alone.”
Young Kasim raised an eyebrow, brushed past the slave, and running down the hall, entered his father’s suite. The slaves guarding his father’s bedchamber leaped up, but it was too late, Kasim was through the door.
Selim lay asleep upon his bed Curled next to him was a young girl who awoke and gazed at the young prince with large, startled eyes. Kasim gazed back, his dark eyes expressionless. “Leave us,” he commanded softly, and bent to waken his father. The girl opened her mouth to protest, but Kasim grasped her plump arm in an iron grip and pulled her from the divan.
“Who are you to send me away thus?” she whispered.
“Kasim, second son of Selim Khan’s bas-kadin. Now go, or I shall have you whipped”
Gathering her clothes up, the girl fled. Kasim bent again and shook his father. Selim awoke instantly.
“Kasim!” His eyes darted across the bed.
“I sent her away. Father, I have urgent news and have been riding since sunset yesterday to bring it to you.”
Selim listened then sprang from the bed,