Amir could not help but laugh aloud. Then he said to his startled companion, “My uncle has a forgiving nature where his brother is concerned, my lord. But eventually I suspect my father’s behavior will try the sultan’s patience beyond its limits. This sultan values loyalty above all else. Continued defiance on my father’s part is foolish. We both know he cannot hope to prevail. Nor would Christendom protect Prince Jem did they not think to gain an advantage over the sultan by doing so. There is no advantage to be had, for while he loves his brother, Sultan Bayezit loves his realm more, which he should. The sultan is the father over all his people, my lord. A good father will not betray his children, although the child may betray the father.”
The Grand Master nodded. Prince Amir had spoken candidly. “I will remember your words, Highness,” he told the younger man. Then he brought him without further discussion to the vast apartments where Prince Jem had installed his miniature Oriental court. “I do not intrude upon your father unless invited,” he said quietly.
Amir nodded and as the Grand Master turned to depart, the prince said to the two enormous black slaves guarding the doors, “I am your master’s son. Open the doors for me.” Then he passed through them when they did.
A black eunuch hurried forward as he entered the antechamber. “Prince Amir,” he said. “Your father is awaiting you. Come this way.”
Amir followed the eunuch and was led into a beautiful presence chamber, where his father sat ensconced upon a velvet-cushioned gilt throne. Beneath Amir’s feet was a magnificent wool carpet of reds and blues. Footed bronze lamps burning scented oils lit the chamber. Seated upon multicolored silk cushions around the throne were half a dozen richly dressed and lightly veiled women.
Amir smiled, amused. “’Tis most impressive, Father,” he said, greeting the man who had sired him—a man he barely knew but by reputation and had not seen in years.
“You look like your mother,” Prince Jem acknowledged. “You may come closer.”
Amir moved forward. He looked at this man and decided he would not like him. He wished he could be anywhere other than the castle of the Grand Master of Rhodes. He wanted to be home at the Moonlight Serai. Home with Azura. How long before he would see her again? He would not be able to reason with his father. His father wanted to be sultan yet had not the strength nor the resources to gain that office. He had believed that because Mehmet favored him he would easily gain the throne. I am wasting my time here, Amir thought, and was irritated, but he would spend the next month trying to bring Prince Jem back into the sultan’s good graces. Time lost that could be spent with Azura. Beloved! he called out to her with his longing heart.
And Azura as she walked in the early autumn garden placed her hand on her belly. The winds had already begun to blow from the northwest as the days grew shorter. She was with child at long last. She wanted to tell Amir, wanted to share her happiness with him. Maysun had advised against it, however, and Shahdi had agreed. Both of Amir’s first two wives were overjoyed that Azura was to bear a child. This babe would be raised by them too, and their empty hearts would soon be filled.
“There is no way we can be certain a message sent to Prince Amir would reach him,” Maysun told Azura. “No one outside of our home must know you are with child, Azura. It is just too dangerous, given our belief that the kadin Besma plots against our husband. If the child you carry is a son, the danger increases for all of us, but we all agreed it was worth the risk. We will cross that bridge when we must and not before. And there is always the possibility that you will birth a daughter. A daughter will not cause any distress among the sultan’s harem. An Ottoman princess is an asset.”
“So I have been told on several occasions,” Azura said with a small smile. “But I cannot help but wish Amir knew of our good fortune.”
“We cannot take the chance.” Shahdi echoed Maysun’s caution.
Amir’s family did, however, receive two messages from him over the next few months. The first came to tell them that he had arrived safely. The second in deepest midwinter arrived filled with his frustration at attempting to deal with his strong-willed father, who refused to accept the reality of his situation. The message also contained the promise to return home soon. He would come back, he wrote, in the spring.
In his absence, Azura’s companions took excellent care of the expectant mother. They catered to her odd appetites. She longed for sugared violets. They found them. They rubbed her feet and legs, which were prone to cramping on the damp winter days. And they sat together sewing tiny garments for the expected child. Even Shahdi had softened in her attitude towards Azura. She embroidered the infant’s gowns with a creative, skilled hand.
The one appetite, however, they could not compensate, was Azura’s need for Amir. It seemed some nights she desired him more than she ever had when he lay in her arms. It surprised her just how great her lustful needs for him were even as she lay awake staring at her big belly. Some nights she would bite into her pillows to keep from screaming. Azura had no idea if this was normal. She couldn’t ask Maysun or Shahdi, since neither had ever had a child. It was not something that she and her mother had ever discussed, as that would not have been seemly; and Agata certainly had no knowledge of such things. So she kept her longings to herself, and prayed for her husband to hurry home before she dissolved into flames with her need for him.
He was coming even as she hoped for it. The stipend was long since delivered. His months with his father had proved fruitless, even as everyone had known they would. Amir bade Prince Jem and the Grand Master farewell, sailing from the island of Rhodes on an early March morning. Reaching Istanbul, he went immediately to the palace to report to the sultan, who was even now preparing to send out his armies on campaign.
Bayezit was impatient with the preparations, and had little time for Amir, already knowing he could not have possibly succeeded. He had sent his nephew on this fool’s errand at the nagging of his kadin Besma, who saw plots against her son everywhere. Now irritated for having given in to her, and silently shamed that he had wasted Amir’s time, he greeted the prince shortly. “Is the news good?” he demanded.
Amir bowed. “The news is what you expected, Uncle. Your brother cannot be swayed from his course. He will probably die trying to unthrone you.”
“Stubborn fool,” the sultan muttered. “He is well treated?”
“He has set himself up lavishly in a wing of the Grand Master’s castle. He practices warfare with the knights daily to keep his skills honed. I believe they plan to move him to France or Italy eventually, Uncle,” Amir said. “He refuses to believe their concern for him is actually for themselves. He believes what they believe. That he is a weapon to be used against you eventually.”
“What would you do if you were in my position?” Bayezit asked his nephew.
“Allah forbid I should ever be in your position, Uncle!” Amir said wholeheartedly. “But were I? You have said yourself that the empire is a bride that cannot be shared between two husbands. And a wild dog that cannot be tamed must be killed. There is no other way around it. I’m sorry.”
“He is your father,” Bayezit said quietly.
“You have been more father to me than Jem ibn Mehmet,” Amir said honestly. “He may have sired me, but the few memories I have of him all involved my mother weeping her broken heart out. Never once do I recall him throwing a ball to me, or showing me how to use a scimitar. You and my grandfather were the men who influenced my life, Uncle. Prince Jem is a stranger to me, and even more so now that I have spent so many of the last weeks with him. Do not break your heart over him, for he is not worth your patience or kindness, Uncle.”
The sultan nodded, considering that his nephew was a pragmatic and honest man. “You have done me a great service, Amir,” he said. “Now go home, Nephew. You will always have my trust.”
Amir bowed, and hurried from his uncle’s presence.<
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The kadin Besma had heard everything between the two men, as she had hidden herself behind a tapestry in the sultan’s privy chamber when one of her spies brought word that Amir was back. She didn’t trust Amir ibn Jem. She could not believe that he was that noble. He was the eldest of the Conqueror’s grandsons. She was sure he was but biding his time. He might be loyal to Bayezit if such a thing as true loyalty existed. But it was unlikely he would support any of Bayezit’s sons when this sultan could no longer rule. No! He would seize the throne for himself unless she could prevent it. It was her son, Ahmed, who must be the next sultan.
She had already seen Bayezit’s first son, Mustafa, removed to make way for her own boy. Of Ahmed’s two half brothers, only Selim, the younger, worried her. Korkut was too involved in his studies. He could not bring the Janissaries to heel, which a future sultan must do even as Bayezit had. But Selim was another matter, and he was extremely well guarded by his overprotective mother and aunt as well as the Agha Kislar, Hadji Bey. Still, there would be time for Selim’s demise. First she must see to the execution of Prince Amir, lest her own precious boy be threatened by this likable and capable man.
Threatening his cousin was not a priority for Amir ibn Jem. It never had been, and it never would be. He wanted to get home as quickly as he could. He and Krikor decided to ride the several days’ distance from the capital to the Moonlight Serai. They both agreed that they had had enough of ships for the interim. They had been away for seven and a half long months. Spring had reached the Black Sea. The hills were already green with new growth and dotted with early flowers.
His arrival surprised them all, for he had sent no messenger ahead. He greeted Diya al Din and Ali Farid and hurried into the harem. With cries of delight Maysun and Shahdi ran to greet him. He hugged them both, but his eyes were searching the chamber for Azura. Agata had run to fetch her mistress, who was napping. Now Azura came from her bedchamber into the dayroom.
He looked at her, shock etched upon his handsome face. “What has happened to you?” he demanded to know, hurrying to her side. Then he turned to the others. “Why did you not send to me that my beloved was ill?”
“Ill? She is not ill,” Maysun said, and all the women began to laugh. If he had ever before seen a woman heavy with her unborn child it was so long ago that the recollection had faded away from his own memory.
“If she is not ill, then why is she so swollen with evil humors?” Amir insisted upon knowing. His look was one of great concern as he wrapped his arms about Azura.
“She is swollen because she is close to having your child, my lord,” Maysun told him. “But of course you would not know what the sight of a woman with child is, for you were not raised in your grandfather’s harem. Only after your mother died were you brought to the Prince’s School to be educated. You have had no experience with a woman carrying a child, my lord. Azura will deliver her babe in just a few weeks’ time.”
“Welcome home, my dearest lord,” Azura said to him, smiling. “I hope you are pleased by what you have found.”
“A child!” His voice was both reverent and surprised.
“We have kept Azura’s condition a secret,” Maysun went on.
Amir nodded. “Yes, ’twas wise. While I yet stand in my uncle’s favor, news such as this could bring us difficulties.” Then he turned his attention to Azura. “You are well, beloved? I have no knowledge of these things.” He looked to Maysun. “Can you deliver this child, and keep Azura safe too?” he asked her.
“There is no need to worry, my lord. Women have been having babies since time began,” Maysun said, but the truth was she had never delivered a child.
“I will deliver my mistress’s child, my lord,” Agata said. “I helped my sister when my lady’s mother birthed five of her children. I know what must be done.”
“We will send for a physician from Istanbul,” the prince decided.
“No, we will not,” Azura contradicted him. “Agata knows what must be done, and so do I. No one is to know of this child’s existence until after it is born. My baby must at least have a chance at life.” Her lip trembled as she said it. Once the danger of birthing a son had not seemed so serious, but with each kick the infant in her belly gave her to remind her of its existence, she realized the peril they both faced should that child be a male. A male whose claim to the Ottoman throne was as legitimate as that of any of the claimants. She rested her dark head against his shoulder. “I am glad you are home, Amir.”
He called her to his bed that night, and marveled at the great change in the beautiful body he had loved previously. He positioned her between his legs, and let his hands roam over her large round belly. He could actually see the faint outline of his child. He put a hand over it, and it kicked out at him. Startled, he pulled his hand back, but then they both laughed. He was amazed that her beautiful round breasts were now twice their usual size, the nipples prominent and ready for suckling. And all this had happened in the time he was away. He was astounded, for to him it was a sudden change.
Maysun had explained to him how they might copulate without injuring the infant. Azura was more than eager, and wept with her delight to feel his hard length filling her once again. Gently he brought them both to perfect fulfillment twice, scolding her when she begged for more. If truth be told, he wanted more too, but he feared harming the child.
“At least you had the diversion of other women in your travels,” she complained at him when he told her enough. “I have had to spend long nights aching for you, my lord. Do not deny me, for I burn for you.”
“I have had no woman since the night I left you,” he told her.
“Not one?” She sounded very pleased.
“Not one, you greedy houri,” he swore. “If your belly were not in our way, I should take you to my couch for the next month, and never let you off your back.”
Azura sighed with contentment. “I am happy then, my lord, that you have suffered too. But carrying your child has not been easy. I shall be glad to birth it.”
“You do not say he or she,” he remarked.
“I dare not,” Azura told him. “I will not even consider a name.”
“Mehmet for a boy in honor of my grandfather,” he told her.
“Do not even think it, my lord!” she begged him. “I want this child, but I live in fear of a son and pray for a daughter.” Her eyes filled with tears. “In my own need and selfishness I have taken such a terrible chance in having this child,” she admitted.
He held her close now. “It will be all right, beloved,” he promised her, knowing even as he said the words that he could not really promise her anything at all. His only hope if this child was a male lay in his uncle’s generosity towards him. The sultan would have to be notified immediately when the birth occurred no matter the child’s gender.
The days grew warmer and longer, and then fourteen days into May Azura’s child decided it was time to be born. The waters protecting the child spilled from her, but it was not until several hours later that the pains began. They were ready in the harem with the birthing chair. Beneath it there were clean linen cloths spread. The hours moved slowly, but despite the increasing severity of the pains, the child would not come easily. Night came. Azura screamed with each new pain. Her ebony hair was lank and wet, her body covered in sweat. Finally, in the hour before midnight, the baby’s head crowned. Then its delicate shoulders came forth, and finally, pushing with a strength she didn’t think she had left, Azura birthed her child.
Crouched beneath the birthing chair, Agata caught the baby as it finally came forth. “It is a girl!” she cried. “It is a girl!”
They were the last words Azura heard, for she fainted with her final efforts. Maysun and Shahdi took the infant, who was squalling now, from Agata. Azura would need attending to, for she was bleeding heavily. Stopping the bleeding was paramount, and praying voca
lly to the Holy Mother and Santa Anna, Agata managed to stem the flow. Azura was weakened by the great loss of blood, and nothing would do but that Amir send to Istanbul for a physician. Krikor was dispatched immediately, carrying a message for the sultan as well as a request for a physician of his choosing.
Bayezit was surprised to receive his nephew’s communiqué, but equally relieved that the child born was a female. Killing an infant was not in his nature. He wisely kept the news of Amir’s daughter from his kadin Besma. He also instructed a competent physician to see that his nephew’s third wife did not give birth again. He could be generous, but he could not speak for whichever of his sons succeeded him.
They put the baby to Azura’s breast, and weak as she was, she fed her daughter, though it weakened her further. The physician demanded a wet nurse be found, but Azura insisted upon feeding her infant at least once daily so that her own milk would not dry up.
She would feed her child when she was well again, she told him. The physician smiled. He would tell the sultan of this brave young woman who was such a good mother. Indeed, the infant had three mothers, for the prince’s two other wives doted upon the baby.
“Atiya is her name,” Azura finally told Amir. “Maysun says it means ‘gift,’ and our daughter is a great gift to this house.”
Amir agreed, and then showed her the gold rattle that the sultan had sent to their daughter. “He is pleased with an Ottoman princess, and says he will choose a distinguished husband for her one day.” He looked down at his daughter as she nursed at her mother’s plump white breast. Atiya had a tuft of black hair. He touched it, smiling as it curled about his finger. “She is so delicate,” he said softly.
“She will not break,” Azura told him, smiling.
The baby was healthy, and Azura slowly over the next few months regained her strength. The baby thrived and seemed to grow more each day. The soft dark hair with which she had been born fell out, leaving her as bald as a melon for a few weeks, but then the infant’s hair grew back as thick and dark as her parents’ hair. Her blue eyes were not the aquamarine color of her mother’s but neither were they the deep blue of her father’s.
Bianca: The Silk Merchant's Daughters Page 33
