It was then she allowed herself the luxury of weeping. Sobbing softly, she remembered the coffee-colored gallant in Candia who in one bid had paid a fortune in gold for her and then, covering her nakedness, led her away. He had saved her from God knows what fate, and had raised her to the pinnacle of power. In his wisdom he had charted her course with Selim’s; and with Selim she knew more love and trust than any woman could possibly know. Hadji Bey was responsible for all her happiness.
Her sobs slowly abated, and, composing herself, she left the room saying to the guard outside the door, “The agha kislar is dead. See to the preparations for his burial.”
32
EARLY IN THE YEAR 1517, Selim’s army triumphed again. In Syria, near the town of Aleppo, the Turkish forces met and destroyed the army of the Mameluke ruler. The Ottoman artillery had improved, and the Egyptians, like the Persians before them, were taken by surprise.
Unopposed the sultan’s victorious armies swept across Syria, through Palestine, and into the Nile River Valley up to the gates of Cairo. Here, Selim arrogantly demanded that the Mameluke sultan relinquish his authority. He was refused as arrogantly. The Turks quickly battered their way into the city, where the Ottoman sultan promptly hanged the Egyptian ruler and his sons. Selim was at his fiercest, but his rage was not entirely due to his rival The campaign had cost him three more sons. Murad had been killed in Syria. Sarina’s only son, Bajazet, as well as his favorite second son, Mohammed, had fallen in the battle for Cairo. He had four living sons left. Selim was a born soldier, and his sons had followed him eagerly, yet he felt guilt at their loss. He had not raised them to fall in battle, yet it was an honorable death. Still, he was glad he did not have to face his wives with the news.
His grief was partially assuaged when his soldiers brought to him the last Abbasid caliph. The elderly man, found hiding in a cellar, was terrified of the Turkish ruler. Selim put his fears to rest by treating him kindly and with deference. Overwhelmed, the frail old man gratefully accepted the four plump, pretty Nubian ladies of middle years the sultan bestowed on him. A man of his many winters should be properly cared for, declared the sultan, and each of the caliph’s new slaves had a special talent One was a fine cook, another an excellent seamstress, the third skilled in simple medicine, and the last a good masseuse and teller of tales.
The old man was tenderly carried to the baths, where he was washed, barbered, perfumed, and presented with a new wardrobe. He was given choice living quarters and would, of course, return to Constantinople with the sultan, to live the remainder of his years in safety, luxury, and honor.
Six times daily, accompanied by Selim, whom he had taken to calling “my son,” he led the prayers to Allah. One wit among the soldiers remarked that the old fellow must have thought he had died and gone to Paradise.
In gratitude the caliph named Selim and the Ottoman rulers to follow him as his successors, thus transferring the title Defender of the Faith to the House of Osman.
The sultan was jubilant His territory now included Greece, the Balkans, a good part of Eastern Europe, all of Asia Minor down through Syria and Egypt and with it a good part of North Africa, as well as all Arabia, with its sacred cities of Mecca and Medina. His power was the greatest of any monarch in the world.
While he was in Egypt there came to Selim’s attention the feats of the Khair ad-Din, also known as Barbarossa, a pirate who was greatly feared. Khair ad-Din hated Christians, especially Spaniards, with all the fervor of a fanatic. They were infidels, decadent illiterate, weak—and worse, they had killed two of his brothers.
Taking command of his dead brothers’ ships, he harried the Spanish from Tunis to the Balearic Islands. Caught ferrying Moors from Spain to safety in Africa, he captured the attacking galleys and added them to his own fleet which also included several Papal ships, now rowed by their original crews.
At one point Khair ad-Din learned that a new purge of Moors was to begin in Spain. Guided by Spanish Muslims, he swept inland into the soft, fat underbelly of Spain, sacking monasteries, convents, churches, garrisons, and castles alike. Getting clear with as much booty as his men and their prisoners could carry, he capped his achievement by rescuing Spain’s remaining seventy thousand Moors and getting them safely to North Africa. The grateful Moors joined his crews in droves.
After learning of Khair ad-Din’s feats, the Ottoman sultan sent for him. Khair ad-Din came, for he was no fool. He might be a pirate of great fame, but as famous as he was at sea, the Ottoman’s feats as a soldier were greater. The pirate chief was a peasant, and he knew it With a commission from the Grand Turk, he would be respectable and honored in the Muslim world. Khair ad-Din had one weakness. He desperately wanted respectability.
Selim, standing on the top step of the dais, fought back the urge to laugh as the pirate admiral approached. He was of medium height well-muscled, and fat as a wrestler. His bright red hair and bushy beard were oiled and perfumed. The sultan, whose only acquaintance with redheads was with Cyra and their youngest son, thought Khair ad-Din the ugliest and most ludicrous figure he had ever seen; but he maintained his grim composure.
“May you live a thousand years, o my padishah,” came a deep, cannonlike voice.
Selim graciously acknowledged the greeting and quickly got to the main business. Khair ad-Din was given the rank of beylerbey, with its horsetail standard, a sword, and a fine Arabian stallion. When the new beylerbey agreed to escort the twenty-five ships full of the sultan’s booty back to Constantinople, Selim added a regiment of Janissaries and a battery of heavy cannon.
Khair ad-Din was ecstatic. From this day forward he would fight for Ottoman Turkey, proudly flying its flag on his topmost mast Forty-five percent of all he took would go to the sultan. The remainder would be divided among himself, his captains, and their men.
Satisfied, Selim left Egypt for the long trek home to Constantinople. With Khair ad-Din the scourge of the Mediterranean, the Christians would be kept very busy, and he would have the time to plan his Western invasions. The journey took longer than he would have wanted, for accompanying him and the army were an additional one thousand camels laden with treasure.
Selim returned to his capital in the early spring of 1518, to find that Cyra had temporarily appointed Anber, the chief eunuch of the Moonlight Serai, as agha kislar. He confirmed this appointment first to her privately when they visited the simple tomb of Hadji Bey, and then publicly through his grand vizier, Piri Pasha.
Piri Pasha was everything Cyra had promised he would be. It amazed Selim that she knew so much about his officials, but he trusted her and had learned long ago not to question his good fortune.
In his absence, his twin daughters had made him a grandfather for the first time, with two fine boys. Nilufer was fifteen and finally ready for marriage. With little prodding, he chose Ibrahim to be her bridegroom.
A messenger was dispatched to Magnesia. Suleiman and Ibrahim were to come to Constantinople within the month. In the meantime, the palace would be made ready for the approaching festivities.
Sarina, no less peppery at forty, bullied the new agha to the point of tears with her demands to be allowed to supervise the gardens for the wedding. Cyra smoothed things over by sweetly asking Anber to grant her request “It will help ease her deep sorrow over Prince Bajazet’s death,” the bas-kadin said. Anber, grateful for an excuse to get the sultan’s fourth kadin off his neck, agreed, and Sarina triumphantly bustled to the royal greenhouse to oversee the quickly cowed gardeners.
By coaxing and bullying, she achieved miracles. On Nilufer’s wedding day, the Yeni Serai gardens were filled with Gold of Ophir rose trees in full bloom, each set in a tall turquoise-enameled pot and thousands of paper-white narcissus and pale-yellow tulips filled the flower beds. The peach, cherry, almond, and pear trees were in full bloom, as they always were each spring.
During the days preceding the nuptials, a gentle pandemonium reigned within the harem walls. Nilufer was to have an entirely new wardrobe. This
meant three hundred pairs of harem trousers, three hundred long-sleeved, slash-skirted dresses, three hundred fur-or satin-lined robes, three hundred silk, gauze, or sheer woolen blouses, three hundred night garments, three hundred sets of underwear, and three hundred pairs of slippers. Her jewelry, gifts from her family, filled three coffers.
Ibrahim sent word to his bankers, the House of Kira, to purchase a palace worthy of his bride. Being able to come and go freely within the harem walls and the outside world, Esther Kira cheerfully acted as go-between for the princess and her relations-to-be.
Nilufer had seen on a small point along the Bosporus a delicate, cream-colored-marble palace, and nothing would do but she must have it The owner of the palace, guessing the purpose of the inquiry, demanded an outrageous price for his property. The Kiras, however, were not without resourcefulness. Secretly investigating the owner, they discovered he had sold supplies to the army at inflated prices—an offense punishable by death under Sultan Selim’s strict laws.
Warned by a friend of his imminent exposure, the owner of the little palace fled. The property was confiscated by the government and given to the Kiras as a reward for their loyalty. They in turn sold it to Ibrahim at a fair price.
The twins’ wedding festivities had lasted only three days, since the sultan had been eager to start for Syria. Nilufer was Selim’s favorite daughter, and he was determined that she should be wed in a manner never to be forgotten by his subjects. It was his last generous act
The wedding was to be held in the gardens of the Yeni Serai. The newlyweds would spend their first nights in the beautiful shore kiosk newly built by Selim for the occasion. The small, one-story building was decorated with marble pillars hung with red silk curtains. It had three rooms, each furnished luxuriously, and its roof was topped by a gilded, windowed dome resembling a tent Set just outside the gates and overlooking the Golden Horn, it was a lovely and private place for the princess and her new husband.
Suleiman, Gulbehar, and Ibrahim arrived a week before the wedding. The prince was quite pleased that his best friend would soon be his brother-in-law, and took great delight in teasing him about his forthcoming marriage to a mere child. Ibrahim, two years older than Suleiman, was twenty-six.
The wedding day arrived—a perfect May morning. The cries of the muezzins echoed in the clear air all across the city. At noon, after midday prayers, Ibrahim was escorted by Prince Suleiman and his brothers-in-law, Hussein and Riza ben Ismet, to the Great Mosque (which had been the Byzantine church of Hagia Sophia) just outside side the walls of the Yeni Serai. There he was officially and legally married to Nilufer Sultan, represented by the new agha kislar.
The men then returned to the palace for the festivities. A pavilion painted with red, green, and blue designs had been set up in the gardens. It was shaded by a cloth-of-gold awning. Here the sultan, his sons, and his sons-in-law seated themselves. Nearby was a smaller pavilion for the women.
Nilufer wore pale-lavender trousers banded with diamonds at the ankles. Over them was a slash-skirted, long-sleeved dress of the same color, covered with diamonds, pearls, and amethysts, and topped with a deep-purple silk cape embroidered in gold and silver thread and diamonds. The cape was lined with alternate stripes of gold and silver cloth. On the back of Nilufer’s head she wore a matching cap. Her long, dark hair was unbound except for a single pearl-tassled braid. About her slim neck sparkled a magnificent diamond necklace.
Leading Nilufer to be formally presented to her husband, the bas-kadin almost eclipsed her daughter. Cyra was resplendent in beige and gold, her hair shining in the spring sunshine, her famous emeralds blazing. Bowing to the sultan, she kissed her daughter and looked for a moment into her eyes. Nilufer gently touched her mother’s cheek and brushed away the single bright tear.
“It is from happiness,” murmured the bas-kadin.
“I know, my mother.”
They turned to the agha who, taking the princess’s right hand, placed it in Ibrahim’s right hand. Ibrahim then removed his bride’s veil and, giving her a kiss, whispered, “You certainly took your time growing up.”
“Isn’t it worth it?”
“We shall see,” said Ibrahim, leading her to their private dais.
“You are still a pig,” she replied, smiling happily up at him
“And you still have a spoiled-brat temper.”
“We shall be very happy,” said Nilufer.
“I think so,” grinned Ibrahim.
When the seven days of feasting and celebration were over, Ibrahim escorted his bride home to their palace. Selim’s good mood had vanished. A week of indulgence had wreaked havoc with his insides, and the pains in his belly, which could have been held at bay with medicines and a simple diet, returned three fold. He sent for Suleiman.
The prince’s mood was gay when he entered his father’s apartments, and unfortunately this merely increased Selim’s anger. Gesturing to his son to be seated, he got straight to business. “The reports I have received on you from Magnesia are bad.”
“Nonsense,” countered Suleiman. “Both the city and province are well run and prosperous.”
“Administered by Ibrahim, not you,” shot back the sultan. “You spend your time hunting and amusing yourself with Gulbehar. Considering the hours you spend with her, I should have at least one grandson by now. You have failed me.”
“How have I failed you? My province is in good order. What if that is more Ibrahim’s doing than mine? Have you not always told me to use to my best advantage the men around me? Ibrahim makes no decision that I have not personally passed on, and as for Gulbehar, it should please you to know she is with child.”
Selim sniffed. “You refused to come with me into Syria and Egypt If a Turk dismounts from a saddle to sit on a carpet he becomes nothing! Nothing!”
“Aha! Now we come to the real thorn that nettles you, my father. You are still angry because I refused to accompany you on your last campaign. How could I govern Magnesia and follow you at the same time?” (Secretly, Suleiman was remembering a message from his mother: “Do not go with your father into Egypt There is a plot to kill you and make Mohammed the heir.” Of course it had been Hammed, his favorite brother, who had been killed; and he had often wondered if there had really been a plot or if his wise mother was simply being clever again. He had never asked her.)
“Mohammed came with me, and yet he governed Erzurum,” said Selim
“Erzurum is the worst-run city in the empire, and do not speak to me of Hammed! If he had not followed you, he would be alive today, and I should not have lost my best friend!”
“Piri Pasha will infonn you if you are to return to Magnesia,” said Selim wearily.
“I a wait your orders, padishah.” He rose to leave.
“Suleiman!” The voice was sharp. “I have not given you permission to go. I want your opinion on a plan I have in mind. I am thinking about invading Rhodes. The Christians hold the fortress there, and it is too close to our borders. What do you think?”
“You are correct as always, father. If you want me, I’ll come with you.”
“No. I have kept you safe thus far. You have always been my choice as heir, Suleiman. If I lost you now, I would have to go on until one of your brothers grew up. I cannot fight my fate. I grow old with this disease, and weaken. Go, my son. Go back to Gulbehar. Did you know it was your mother who talked me out of that tasty morsel? Have I missed a great deal, my son?”
Suleiman smiled. “For me, Gulbehar is perfection, but for you, father, only my mother could be perfection. You have lost nothing, but you will gain a grandson in a few months’ time.”
The sultan looked at his eldest son for a long moment, then said, “You are not a great soldier yet, nor are you a good ruler; but by Allah, my son, you are a great diplomat!”
“I have never really failed you, my lord. I will never.”
They rose together, and Selim saw his son to the door, patting his shoulder as he left Turning away from the departing
figure, he sank down amid the cushions to think. He had always been a man to face facts, and the fact was that he was dying. And he knew it How long he had left to live he didn’t know, and his stupid doctors wouldn’t even admit his approaching death. He did know it would not be too many more months before he joined his ancestors in Paradise. With Muslim logic he accepted it yet he was angered He was fifty-one years old and had been sultan such a short time. Turkey needed him! Already he had greatly widened its borders, and once he took Rhodes, he would turn again into Western Europe. There was so much to do, and he was not entirely sure he could trust his oldest son to do it.
Suleiman, Suleiman, he sighed to himself. He was such a handsome boy, gentle and kind; but was he strong enough to take up the reigns of the empire? What choice did he have now? thought Selim. All his older sons were dead; only Hassan, Nureddin, and Kasim remained. Hassan was far too much of a scholar, as his own father, Bajazet, and his half-brother Korkut had been. No scholar made a good sultan. Nureddin had inherited the cruel streaks of both his Turkish and Chinese ancestors. He would never do. At five, Karim was simply too young. His choice must remain with Suleiman, he who since birth had been fated to follow him.
Now his mind turned to the question of Rhodes. It was absurd and intolerable that this little Christian stronghold should exist tucked into its corner of the Mediterranean off his very coast! The year was almost half over, so he would not be able to mount a campaign now. Besides, it would take a great deal of careful planning. Rhodes was virtually impregnable, and the men who defended her were very, very brave. Selim gave credit where credit was due. There was no satisfaction in fighting a cowardly enemy. The knights of Rhodes would give him a good fight, and he looked forward to it
He would stay in Constantinople for a while to put into effect some of the reforms he had worked out long ago but never acted on. Of the six years he had been sultan, he had been away four. Perhaps Suleiman was right How could a man govern an empire and fight at the same time?
The Kadin Page 29
