The Kadin

by Bertrice Small

  “My palace, I have discovered, is not necessarily a place of safety, but hopefully Hadji Bey will see that they are well protected. Hear me, Selim. I cannot rule any longer. My doctors either cannot or will not say whether I shall recover completely. I do not think I shall When I am well enough to speak before the people, I shall publicly declare you my heir. If I tried to do so now, there are those who would say I had been forced or coerced in my illness, and we must avoid war at all costs. However, until I can speak out, you are my regent I ask only one favor of you. I have, as you know, three kadins—Safiye, who is old now; the second Kiusem, whose son Prince Orhan is just ten; and Turnan, who has borne me the child of my old age, Prince Bahiteddin, who is five. Protect them all for my sake. Let no harm come to them. Remember your own mother and your frightened childhood.”

  Selim bowed his head and then looked up into his father’s eyes. “I shall guard them as my own family. This I swear to you. No harm shall come to them by my hand. But what of Ahmed’s children and women?”

  “You will know what to do, my son.”

  So, Prince Ahmed’s women and his three daughters were strangled by the court executioners and stuffed into weighted sacks to join Besma at the bottom of the Bosporus. No one mourned their loss.

  And while Selim went about the business of running his father’s empire, his wives began the business of settling themselves. The harem of the Eski Serai was far too small to accommodate all of Bajazet’s women and their attendants, let alone the new arrivals. Lady Refet, although not officially named, was looked upon as the sultan valideh, and she set about straightening out the overcrowded situation.

  Not counting the ikbals and the kadins, there were some two hundred women in Bajazet’s harem at this time. Lady Refet ordered a large, comfortable house built at the edge of a forest on the palace grounds. In it she retired most of the older women. Here they would live out their lives in peace, comfort, and security. It was with little reluctance that these older ladies of Bajazef’s harem retired

  New odas consisting of ten girls apiece were set up in the freshly refurbished harem. Each had its own oda mistress, an older woman on whom the younger girls could look as a mother figure, and the older ones as an experienced friend.

  The keeper of records went over his entries, and all maidens who had been in the harem three or more years and had not yet caught the eye of their lord were honorably married to palace and government officials whom Selim thought it wise to honor.

  This act created much support for Selim, as the serai girls were beautiful, well-educated, and highly accomplished They would grace any man’s home and most important, give that man a link with the sultanate.

  There were about fifty gediklis remaining. These girls were considered promising enough to remain to serve Bajazet and perhaps attract the next sultan. Divided into five groups and assigned to an oda, the young ladies continued their serai education. Each of the three kadins and two ikbals of Sultan Bajazet was each given a new apartment in the now spacious harem. Well-trained, courteous attendants and slaves were assigned to serve them. Though at first frightened by the sudden turn of events, having spent many years under the threat of Besma, they slowly realized that the new regime of Lady Refet was for everyone’s good, and no harm was meant to them.

  Selim’s kadins were kept busy decorating and furnishing their own new apartments. They had chosen for themselves a two-story building in the harem which was built around a quadrangle. It was called the Forest Court At either end of the quadrangle were entry arches, the north ones leading to the main grounds of the palace, and the south opening onto a large private park. The park had been designed to resemble a partly formal, partly wooded garden. It rolled gently in some places and had a medium-sized lake which served as a refuge for waterfowl and as a place to boat All this was surrounded by a high wall.

  The quadrangle was planted. In its center was a rectangular pool with a fountain. Graveled walks with cream-colored marble benches were placed at strategic locations, and small fruit trees, flowering shrubs, and plants completed the charming retreat

  Each of Selim’s kadins had chosen for herself a wing on the second floor of the building. The main floor housed the slaves, the eunuchs, the communal kitchens, and the baths. The building wings opened into one another, so Cyra, Firousi, Zuleika, and Sarina were not separated.

  Selim had decided to remove his older sons from their mothers’ care, and each was set up in his own quarters, but Cyra, speaking for herself and the other kadins, begged that the younger princes remain with them for the present She pleaded the well-known lechery of some of the pages that could, and had, ruined many a child. It was agreed that only the boys who had reached their biological manhood would go to their own establishments within the palace walls. They would be given sterile harem damsels to sate their natural appetites.

  Suleiman, who would be sixteen in two months, Mohammed, who was now fifteen, Omar, who was fourteen, and Kasim, now thirteen, left with no regrets, much to the annoyance of their mothers. Cyra had to admit to herself that her firstborn son was nearly a man. Twice recently she had caught him fondling her slave girls, and when she had chided him, he had merely grinned and asked her for what other purpose had Allah created pretty girls?

  Of the remaining princes, only twelve-year-old Abdullah and eleven-year-old Murad objected to being left with the women. A few well-administered slaps from their annoyed mothers ended the rebellion. Bajazet, Hassan, and Nureddin, ages eight six, and five, were too young to care.

  Selim’s sons were not, however, entirely separated from one another. They attended the newly formed Princes’ School, along with their young uncle, Prince Orhan.

  Selim’s daughters were to remain with their mothers. Hale and Guzel, who had just celebrated their eleventh birthday, were assigned several learned older women who would broaden their educations. The princesses could speak, read, and write Turkish, English, French, Chinese, and Persian, and had been taught mathematics, history, and geography as well as both Eastern and Western literature. Their sewing and embroidery improved daily, and they played several instruments, sang, and danced, but they were painfully ignorant in the matter of their function as females, as well as court etiquette. Their first lessons in such manners left them weak with laughter. The only men they had ever known intimately in their short lives were their father and brothers, who had cosseted and spoiled them constantly.

  Firousi was distressed to learn that there had already been several offers of marriage for the twins. Selim’s second kadin vehemently protested that her daughters were far too young and, besides, were not yet capable of bearing children. The twins themselves were not overjoyed at the news of their possible marriages. Tears in their eyes, they begged their father not to separate them. When the time came, they would accept marriage, but only, they swore, to the same man.

  Selim was not insensitive, and when he thought about it, the possible advantages of bestowing these exquisite girls upon one useful man far outweighed the disadvantages. He gracefully acquiesced, and the matter was dropped for the present

  Meanwhile, Cyra was formulating her own small plot Suleiman’s friend Ibrahim had returned to Constantinople, and she knew her son missed his friend One evening as Selim relaxed with his water pipe in her quarters, she tackled the situation.

  “Do you remember Ibrahim—Suleiman’s young friend from the country?” Selim nodded “He has returned to his father’s house. The old fool is trying to make a merchant out of him, and he is very unhappy.”

  “It is a son’s duty to obey his father in all matters,” replied the prince.

  “The boy is no more meant to be a bazaar vendor than Suleiman,” she said in an exasperated tone.”?e is bright and clever. If I might venture an opinion—”

  “Do continue, my dear,” said Selim dryly.

  “Ibrahim should be trained for government service. He could be a valuable asset to us one day,” she finished triumphantly.

  “You are sugg
esting that Ibrahim continue his education in the Princes’ School?”

  “Why not? He had all his lessons with Suleiman when we lived in the country. The tutors report he is highly intelligent, and Suleiman would be very happy to have his friend with him again.”

  “It is not the custom for an outsider to study with the imperial princes. We are no longer at the Moonlight Serai. But,” continued Selim, “there is no reason that Ibrahim and Suleiman cannot continue their military training together. We might also arrange for Ibrahim to have some lessons at the palace school.”

  She protested.

  “No, his father has made a decision concerning Ibrahim’s future. I will not interfere in those plans.”

  Cyra pouted, “But his family would be honored if we took an interest in him.”

  “Come now,” teased the prince. “You are the most ravishing creature in the world. You have been taught to give pleasure, and here you sit like an adorable spider in the middle of your luxurious web, weaving schemes. Weave a spell upon me instead, my beloved. My mouth is parched for the cool sweetness of your lips.”

  Her eyes caught his as he plucked the jeweled pins that held her hair. It fell like a shining curtain around them

  “I never grow tired of you,” he murmured, brushing her lips with his. “You have never become dull or boring like so many others. You are full of life and constantly changing. I have always wondered what kind of country your Scotland must be to breed women like you. You are my slave, and yet you are the freest woman I know. No man could ever own you.”

  Laughing softly, she nestled against him. “Perhaps it is our climate that makes Scots women as we are, or perhaps I am like my cats in having the ability to adapt to my situation, or”—and this more thoughtfully—“perhaps I remember that one day I shall be the sultan valideh. If I stopped learning now, I should make a poor one.”

  “Do you look for that day?”

  “I dread it,” she replied, looking him straight in the face. “For me to be sultan valideh, my son must be sultan, and when he is—” She stopped, stricken. “Oh, my Selim! I love you so! Never leave me! Rule a thousand years! I am bas-kadin to the greatest prince who ever lived, but so many times in my heart I have wished you were a simple farmer or merchant so we might live our lives in peace and grow old together as normal people do!” She burst into a frenzy of uncontrollable sobs so great her body shook harshly with them

  He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly, murmuring endearments. “There, my dove. Hush, sweet moon of my delight Don’t weep, my love, my incomparable love.”

  She always amazed him. That she loved him and their children, he knew. That she put him and his interests first he did not doubt; but that she was capable of such deep emotion with regard to him, he had not realized. His cool, beautiful, competent kadin wept like a girl in the first flush of love; he had not expected it and it frightened him. Such loyalty made him weak, and he needed time to think, so he tried to cajole her out of this mood. He slid his hands beneath her thin night garments and caressed her smooth body. She sighed contentedly, but then stiffened.

  “Selim!” Her voice sounded exasperated.

  “Heart of my heart”—his voice was sheepish—“you frightened me. I have never seen you like this.”

  The storm was past and her laughter rang clear in the dim, scented chamber. Relieved, he grinned, and his own laughter joined with hers. “Your proper kadin has returned to you, my lord. Don’t stop. Your hands are a healing balm.”

  “Ill-mannered slave!” he replied in mock rage. “It is you who should strive to please me!”

  She applied a skillful caress. “Like this, my lord? Or perhaps this, my lord?”

  He looked at her through fierce, half-closed eyes. She returned the look and bending, placed a burning kiss on his waiting mouth.

  28

  WHEN PRINCE AHMED fled Constantinople, he went to the palace at Adrianople and declared himself sultan. Civil war broke out Most of the provinces, neither understanding the situation nor realizing how unfit Ahmed was to rule, supported him. The battle lines were drawn—Selim, the Tartars, and the Janissaries on one side, and Ahmed and the provinces on the other.

  Now, two years later, the battle was over, and Hadji Bay, eager to give the news to the kadins, hurried down the corridor leading to the apartment of Prince Selim’s bas-kadin. Brushing past the slaves guarding the door, he entered the salon.

  They were all there, seated about the fire, embroidery in hand. He wondered silently why women were considered the weaker sex. In his fifty-seven years on this earth he had observed their strength over men many times. Not necessarily physical strength (although after watching the act of birth he wondered if men could be that strong), but their great strength of will

  It pleased Hadji Bey’s vanity these twenty years later that his choice of women to help his prince become sultan had been correct Not only had they produced among them nine fine sons, but they had accomplished a greater miracle in their unity and solidarity. Never in all the ages had four women shared one man without backbiting and betrayal. He wondered whether they could now maintain this serenity. He coughed softly. “Good day, my daughters.”

  Cyra rose and came toward him, hands outstretched. “Dear Hadji Bey. What news?”

  “It is over,” replied the agha. “Prince Ahmed is dead, and our Prince Selim is victorious!”

  “Praise Allah!”

  “Does the sultan know?” asked Zuleika.

  “Not yet, my lady. He is having one of his bad days and would not comprehend. When his mind clears, I shall tell him.”

  “How did Prince Ahmed die?”

  “Badly, my lady Cyra.”

  “This is no time for levity,” she said sharply. “You know precisely what I mean.”

  “Yes, madam, but even in the sweetest victory it is wise to keep a sense of humor lest we become pompous and overimpressed with our own good fortune.”

  Cyra blushed. “I stand corrected.”

  The agha patted her gently and marveled silently at the blush. The woman before him was thirty-three years old, and the mother of four. She was sophisticated in the ways of the world, and yet she still had the good grace to admit a fault He had waited many years to see Selim become sultan. Now he prayed Allah he could see Suleiman attain the same goal. This fantastic woman’s son would indeed be great

  “Come, my lord agha. Sit by the fire and tell us of Ahmed’s end,” she said, leading him to a comfortable spot and helping to settle him “Some peach sherbet?”

  A slave girl placed a crystal goblet held in a filigreed gold holder in the eunuch’s hand.

  “Wherever Ahmed went he lost his followers as quickly as he gained them Realizing the battle was lost he deserted his last few followers and fled to the nearest village, hoping to find refuge in anonymity. Poor prince! As usual, he made an unfortunate choice. The village he chose had been pillaged and ravaged by his own men but two nights before. He was recognized. The villagers held him until Prince Selim arrived.”

  Zuleika’s eyes were shining with expectation. She reached for an apricot and bit into it so fiercely that the juice ran down her chin. “How did he die, Hadji Bey? How did the pig die?”

  The eunuch smiled at her. Age had not softened this proud woman of Cathay. Once she had decided that Ahmed was her enemy, she had been relentless. “Patience, my dear, I am coming to that” He raised the goblet to his lips and sipped his sherbet Refreshed, he continued, “Ahmed was brought before his brother. They say he blubbered and soiled himself like a child. Prince Selim spoke sternly to him, exhorting him to accept his defeat as the will of Allah and die like a true Ottoman. He assigned a black mute to hold his brother’s sword, and ordered Ahmed to fall upon it. The unfortunate prince cried out in terror that he could not, and begged Selim to kill him himself. Our prince reminded his brother that the Prophet forbids brother killing brother. A storm was blowing up, and he was becoming impatient.

  “The thunder came clo
ser, and it began to rain. Still, Prince Ahmed could not bring himself to end his worthless life with honor. Then a streak of lightning struck a nearby building, shearing off its side. The assembled company turned to stare in amazement and when they turned back, Ahmed was skewered as neatly as a chicken on a spit.”

  “Good,” snapped Zuleika. “So should all traitors end!”

  “There is more,” said Hadji Bey. “The mute who held the sword may not be able to speak, but I myself taught him to write. He sent me a message saying that in the moment that all turned to gaze at the lightning, a hand shoved Prince Ahmed onto his sword. No one else saw it The hand belonged to Ibrahim.”

  “How horrible,” whispered Firousi in a frightened voice.

  “Why should it be horrible that our enemy is dead?”

  “Zuleika, you misunderstand me. It is good that Ahmed is dead, but why did our lord Selim have to be his executioner? Why could he not have left that task to the judges? Now the people will say he killed his brother to gain the throne.”

  Zuleika cast her eyes upward in exasperation, but Cyra put an arm about her friend. “No, dearest No one will call our Selim murderer. Nor will they call him hypocrite. Had he not delivered the judgment against his brother himself, he would have been criticized. Technically, Ahmed was still the heir, since the sultan’s illness has prevented him from publicly renouncing Ahmed and naming Selim. The thousands who fight follow, and believe in Selim would have expected him to dispose of his rival. There was no other way. Selim might have tortured and dishonored Ahmed, but he did none of these things. He permitted his brother to the honorably and quickly. When our lord returns to us, we shall never mention this incident Though Ahmed was his enemy, he was also his brother. Selim cannot help but feel some anguish.”

  “Cyra, Cyra,” said Hadji Bey. “You have lived a thousand years to have gained such wisdom! Perhaps when I named you I should have called you Hafise instead of Cyra.”

  “I think I prefer being called Cyra to being known as the ‘Wise One,’” laughed the bas-kadin. “If you are called wise, then everyone expects you to be so. It would be too great a strain. I could never satisfy everyone.”