The bearers trotted their burden through the gates of the Eski Serai and went directly to the Garden Court. Once inside her apartments, Cyra sent for the keeper of the linen, a motherly woman in her early fifties. Rising as the lady entered, she held out her hands in greeting. “Ah, Cervi! How good it is to see you. I wanted to tell you how exquisite the undergarments your girls did for me were, but alas, I am so busy!” Opening a casket by her side, she paused for a moment and then casually lifted out a rope of creamy pearls with the faintest hint of pink in them and slipped them over the woman’s neck. “A small token. Sit down, and Ruth will bring us some coffee.”
The keeper of the linen, flustered and delighted at the same time, settled herself while happily fingering the pearls. Coffee was brought, and, pouring, the valideh handed her a tiny enameled cup. For a while they chatted idly, then Cyra asked, “How many girls are in your oda, Cervi?”
“Five, madam. Most of the maidens are not clever enough with a needle to suit me. Perhaps I am over-critical, though,” she apologized.
Cyra handed her the silken square that Khurrem had embroidered. “What do you think of this work?”
Cervi took the cloth and examined it carefully. “It is very good, madam. Very good indeed.”
Cyra called to Marian, “Send the slave Khurrem to me.” She turned back to Cervi. “If you feel the work is truly good, you may have this girl in your oda. There could possibly be bigger things in store for her, and you would certainly profit by having an oda that produced a favorite.”
Cervi nodded in agreement as the girl entered, bowed to her and the valideh, and stood quietly, her eyes lowered modestly, her hands folded.
“Ah,” smiled Cyra. “This is Khurrem. She is one of the Tartar captives brought in as tribute last year. She has been doing simple sewing at my daughter’s home, but when I saw how clever her embroidery was, I brought her back. Though she is clever with her needle, she is incredibly ignorant in all other ways. I think under your care she may become an accomplished maiden.”
Cervi knew she had no real choice. At least the girl was clever with her needle, and as the valideh had pointed out, there were distinct advantages in being in charge of a possible favorite. Cervi had no doubt that if Cyra Hafise wanted this girl to become the sultan’s kadin, she would indeed become his kadin.
“I am pleased to cooperate with you, my lady,” Cervi said.
“Khurrem is to be treated like any other maiden, Cervi, Show her no favor unless she merits it, and punish her when she deserves it I will not have her spoiled.”
“Of course, madam.”
“And, Cervi, make no mention of this. Do you understand me? She is simply a clever seamstress.”
Cervi smiled. “Yes, madam. I understand you perfectly.”
Such was the entrance into the harem of the “Laughing One.”
On the first day that Cervi’s oda was scheduled for the baths, the validen secreted herself in a hidden room overlooking the gediklis’ bathing area in order to get a good look at her purchase. She was not disappointed.
Khurrem was a blond, and after her hair had been scrubbed and rinsed several times with lemon juice, it shone bright as a gold piece. It was a wonderful foil for her heart-shaped face with its little pointed chin and large, smoky-violet eyes.
Her figure was perfection. Standing barely an inch over five feet, she had firm, globe-shaped breasts, a tiny waist, and round, rosy buttocks. Her slender legs were well-shaped and surprisingly long for her stature. Complementing her lovely hair, eyes, and figure was her creamy skin color.
As the months slipped by, Khurrem improved in many ways. She learned to speak Turkish smoothly in her soft, rich voice. As clever as she was with a needle, she was more so with music She learned to play both the lute and the guitar and had an amusing way of tapping her heels while singing to her own accompaniment Her manners became flawless, and, taking the valideh’s advice, she seemed never to appear twice in the same costume. Actually this was not true, for as a mere gediklis the Russian girl had a small wardrobe, but she did have a knack of adding small touches that distinguished and gave variety to her clothes.
If she had one fault it was that she never forgot a slight When whipped for a misdemeanor, she would not weep like the other girls; instead, she would rise and stare at her tormentor for a moment with a look that clearly said, “I will not forget” Still, Cyra Hafise was pleased with Khurrem’s progress and sure she had found a girl to lure Suleiman from Gulbehar’s constant attentions.
With Belgrade and Rhodes safely within the Ottoman fold, Suleiman returned to his capital. He had changed, and Cyra was delighted. Two years of campaigning had turned her polite, intellectual, and somewhat hesitant son into a man of strength. He now understood the need for conquest in order to protect his borders, and was certainly capable of ruling an empire.
His people welcomed him joyously, his family warmly. Being family-oriented, he spent his first evening at home within his mother’s court This seeming act of respect was highly approved by the Turks, but the truth was that Suleiman wished to speak of all he had done and was planning to do, and Gulbehar was simply not a good audience for such talk.
The valideh felt genuine sympathy for her son’s kadin, who, having been educated only in the arts of physically pleasing a man, thought that this was enough. Cyra knew that the women most successful with their lords were the ones who appealed to them mentally as well as physically. She also knew that Gulbehar would never comprehend this.
As the evening drew to a close, Suleiman turned to Mihri-Chan and said, “You are to be married in the summer, my sister.”
“Did I not tell you,” snapped the little firebrand, “that I will choose my own husband as did my sisters?”
“Then you refuse your sultan’s choice?”
“I do!”
“Ferhad Pasha will be most disappointed,” murmured the sultan with mock sadness.
A look of joy lit Mihri-Chan’s golden-brown eyes. “Ferhad Pasha! You have chosen Ferhad Pasha as my husband?”
Smiling, Suleiman nodded.
“Oh, my sultan! I hear and obey!” cried the happy princess. Then she launched herself at her brother, grabbed a handful of his dark hair, and pulled hard. “You beast! You frightened me to death! I thought you were foisting me off on some dusty old emir! How could you terrify me so? You don’t love me at all!”
Laughing, the sultan loosened her grip on his hair and, slipping a sweetmeat into the offending hand, said to Sarina. “Aunt, this maiden’s manners are appalling. Perhaps she is not ready for marriage.”
Sarina, joining in the game, replied, “I cannot say I disagree with you, Suleiman, but she is growing old—fifteen this March—and if we do not marry her off now, we shall have to retire her to the Pavilion of Older Women.”
Mihri-Chan looked from her mother to her brother. Both wore grave faces, and suddenly she wondered if they could be serious. “Ohhh! I’ll be good, I promise!” she wailed.
Suleiman hugged her warmly. “I know, little sister,” he said reassuringly. “You will have your own way, but tell me, for I die of curiosity, why did you set your heart on Ferhad Pasha? You don’t know him.”
“I saw him once,” answered the princess, “but,” she quickly added, “he did not see me. He was walking in our father’s garden. They stopped to talk, and I was hidden nearby in the rosebushes. He is very handsome—and brave, too. I thought it was wonderful how he sent you the rebel Ghazali’s head from Syria when you first became sultan.”
“Yes,” said her brother dryly, “a most courteous gift.”
So, the plans were set in motion for the wedding of the sultan’s fourth sister.
This was the first chance Suleiman had had since becoming sultan to show his hospitality, and the wedding was magnificent Throughout the entire empire, lawbreakers were pardoned. In all the major cities, government-sponsored feasts were held, and each girl of fifteen who chose to marry on the same day as Mihri-Chan was given a do
wry of ten gold pieces, a bolt of fine cloth, and a small pearl necklace. To the wedding feast came officials, both high and low, of the Ottoman government—and, for the first time in Turkish history, distinguished Western European foreigners who resided in the city. Suleiman realized the advantages of having his wealth reported to Charles V, Francis I, and Henry VII by their nationals.
The wedding day was beautiful. The bride was radiant in her soft garments of willow-green silk, with a fortune in diamonds and pearls on her pelisse. The bridegroom, a tall, handsome man with an elegant clipped moustache, seemed happy and pleased—and well he might Not only had he had the luck to marry his sultan’s favorite sister, but Suleiman’s gift to him had been the position of third vizier, and he had been assigned the pashalik of Syria. After the five-day celebration, the bridal couple would sail east under the protection of Khair ad-Din’s fleet.
The ship that would carry them from Constantinople had been especially outfitted for the trip. Decorated with gold and silver leaf, its decks were enameled in bright colors. Great purple sails billowed from its silver masts, the tops of which flew green pennants. In the holds beneath the deck only a small area had been set aside for the hapless crew. The rest of the space bulged with wedding presents and Minn-Chan’s household goods. Only a minimum of slaves would travel with the third vizier and his bride. A separate ship would carry the bulk of their household servants.
Toward the stem of the ship, a spacious cabin had been constructed for the bridal pair. Of finest cedar, it was trimmed with gold and hung with silken curtains of crimson and sea-green. Jeweled lamps bobbed on solid silver chains hanging from the beams.
The sultan and the imperial family bade Mihri-Chan and Ferhad Pasha a private farewell in the Yeni Serai. The young princess was obviously blissfully happy, but Sarina Kadin was hard put to keep a cheerful face. Happy as she was for her daughter, she was saddened to have her only child going so far from Constantinople.
Then the yellow barge was ready, and, after a flurry of swift good-byes, they were gone—bobbing across the sparkling, deep-blue waters of the Bosporus to the waiting ship.
37
NOW CAME A SHORT PERIOD of relative stability and peace for Turkey. The Janissaries, sated for the time being with Belgrade and Rhodes, were silent Piri Pasha was honorably retired, and Ibrahim Pasha was named grand vizier, to the delight of both the valideh and her daughter, Nilufer. The graybeards, of course, grumbled at the sultan’s choice, and thought the Greek too young—but the sultan would be obeyed.
Suleiman now had time to spend with Gulbehar and their son. Of late, Cyra had noticed his eyes were more for little Mustafa than for his kadin. With delight she realized that the time had come when her son might be tempted by a female other than the soft and foolish Gulbehar. Khurrem began to be seen more in the valideh’s company.
Then one day, while visiting his mother, Suleiman laughed so hard at an amusing song sung by the petite Russian that tears rolled down his cheeks. At a barely perceptible sign from the valideh, the girl handed her lord an embroidered silk handerchief so that he might wipe his eyes. Afterward, he noticed the lovely design on the cloth, and Cyra said, “Khurrem made it She is wondrously clever with her needle.”
“You will make all my handkerchiefs from now on, Khurrem,” said Suleiman graciously.
Cyra was delighted. Her protégé had been noticed. A small compliment true—but recognition, nevertheless. In the next few weeks Khurrem could be seen among the maidens who sometimes accompanied the sultan on his walks through the palace grounds. The valideh warned the girl, “Be modest at all times. Your beauty cannot fail to speak for you. I know my son. Already he is intrigued by you. If you are clever, he will want to know more.”
Then came an evening when Suleiman, feeling moody, asked that Khurrem be sent to sing her merry songs to him. She remained in the sultan’s quarters for almost three hours, and those who attended the sultan whispered it was more than the girl’s singing that attracted him. There was now no doubt—Khurrem was “in the eye” of the sultan.
She was immediately elevated to the rank of guzdeh and given a small apartment of her own, consisting of a small anteroom and a bedchamber. A personal slave was assigned to care for her needs.
Cyra was jubilant, but Marian warned, “Beware, my dearest lady. That little cat has long, sharp claws.”
Cyra paid little heed to her old slave’s words, but instead began to plan for the night when Khurrem would be called to her lord’s couch. It could not be for at least several weeks, she knew. It would be bad manners for the sultan to appear overeager, and then, too, the court astrologer had to be consulted.
Remembering her own happy bridal night, the valideh decided that Suleiman’s and Khurrem’s would be as happy as hers and Selim’s had been. Determined that Khurrem should be the first to replace Gulbehar in her son’s affections, she spared no effort
Each day the Russian guzdeh was bathed in rosewater and massaged with precious oils distilled from wild flowers. Her hands and feet were creamed until they were soft and whiter than white. There was not a square centimeter of Khurrem’s skin that did not make silk seem rough in comparison.
Her diet was carefully supervised by the valideh herself. The new guzdeh must walk in Cyra Hafise’s private park two hours each day to keep her young muscles firm and supple.
The weeks went by, and then one afternoon Khurrem burst into the valideh’s apartment waving a yellow silk handkerchief and crying, “It has come, madam! The summons has come! I am called to my lord’s couch Friday—tomorrow night!”
It was a bad moment Gulbehar had chosen that same afternoon to visit with her mother-in-law. The young bas-kadin was furious and hysterical by turns.
“I hate her! I hope she dies in childbirth!”
“But why? You do not even know her,” replied the valideh.
“I do not trust her.”
“Nonsense!” snapped Cyra. “You are jealous. It is that simple, and I will not stand for it! On Friday after noonday prayers, you will, as your position demands, escort Khurrem to the bridal bath,”
Gulbehar raised her tear-stained face to Cyra. “You have been behind the Russian girl from the start. Do not deny it, for I know it is true. There will come a time when you will regret this intrigue. Khurrem is ambitious, and one day her ambition will reach out to destroy even you.”
Cyra was distressed. Despite the fact she considered Gulbehar a silly creature, she was fond of her and did not wish to see her upset. The following day, however, Cyra’s sympathy turned to annoyance when Gulbehar refused to leave her apartments, claiming illness.
Never had the valideh felt more angry. She had been openly and publicly defied by her son’s wife. As ruler of the harem, she could not allow it Her orders were swift Guards were posted about Gulbehar Kadin’s apartments until further notice. No one inside would be permitted to come or go, and, harshest of all, Prince Mustafa was removed from his mother’s care and placed in the custody of his grandmother.
Noon prayers over, the valideh’s servants hurried to dress their mistress in her most elegant clothes.
Cyra had chosen a magnificent velvet tunic dress the color of ripe apricots, its broad front panel embroidered in gold thread and topazes. Over this she wore a cloth-of-gold cloak fastened with an enormous emerald clasp. Her hair, fashioned as a coronet, was topped by an ornate gold crown studded with topazes, diamonds, and emeralds. From it flowed a golden gauze veil. Since Gulbehar would not escort Khurrem to the baths, Cyra would honor the new guzdeh by doing so.
The ceremonial route would take them past the bas-kadin’s windows, and the valideh had given orders that Gulbehar was to be made to stand and watch the festive procession. Having developed the habit of seeing out of the corners of her eyes while appearing to face straight ahead, she briefly viewed with annoyance her daughter-in-law’s puffy, tear-swollen face as they glided by.
That evening, Cyra rehearsed Khurrem a final time in the procedure for entering Su
leiman’s bed. Khurrem laughed. “It’s so silly,” she said. “Are you going to tell me you entered Sultan Selim’s bed that way?”
The valideh secretly agreed with her pupil but replied tartly, “It is custom and a mark of respect If my son has one weakness, it is his strict observance of tradition. When you have entered the sultan’s bedchamber, make your obeisance. Show me.”
Khurrem flung herself gracefully to the floor, her golden head touching the rug.
“Excellent! Next the eunuch who accompanies you will remove your garments and depart When this has been done, go to the foot of the imperial couch. Take the coverlet in your hand—so—and place the corner of it first to your forehead, secondly to your lips. Only then may you enter the bed. Do so by crawling up from the foot until you are level with the sultan.”
“I shall do this only once,” said Khurrem. “In the future when I visit the sultan, I will not humble myself in such a debasing way.”
“If you go again, my dear. Unless you follow protocol and your manners are flawless, you will repel my son. You must fascinate him completely, or there will be no second time. Remember that when you are tempted to let your pride overrule your common sense. If you displease Suleiman, you will receive no help from me, and certainly Gulbehar will enjoy adding to your humiliation. Is this not the moment you dreamed of back in your barbarian village? Will you allow pride to destroy it? If you do, then I have greatly misjudged you, my daughter.”
Khurrem’s smoky-violet eyes filled with tears of distress, Cyra knew she had made her point The valideh cupped the girl’s heart-shaped face in her hands. “Do not weep, child. Conduct yourself as I have taught you, and you cannot fail to win my son.” She gently dabbed at the girl’s eyes with her own handkerchief. “Now return to your chamber. In two hours I shall come to escort you to your lord. I shall send Marian and Ruth to help you dress.”
The Kadin Page 34
