Love Wild and Fair

by Bertrice Small

  Maryam Kira was white-faced and obviously very much frightened. She stood protectively clutching her two younger daughters, Rebecca and Sarah. Her eldest daughter, Debra, stood next to her mother, equally pale. Old Esther Kira was seated in a large chair looking frail but as fierce as a hawk. The room was full of brawny young janizaries, and several of the servant girls had obviously been molested.

  Angry, red-faced, and fast becoming frightened, Eli Kira blustered at the aga. "This is the final offense, Ali Ziya! I shall send a messenger immediately to the sultan! You accuse us of some plot, but you offer no proof! You invade the privacy of my home with your soldiers, molest my servants, frighten my women! Show me some proof or get out!"

  "Be silent! All of you!" All eyes turned to the old woman in the chair. "What is the problem, Ali Ziya? The Sultan Valide Safiye will not be pleased if I tell her of this unpleasantness."

  The Aga Kislar looked to the old woman. Here was the real power behind the Kiras, this tiny, apparently delicate old woman with her all-knowing black-currant eyes. She stared unblinkingly at him, and he shivered. He smiled at her. "What have you done with Cicalazade Pasha's wife, Incili, Esther Kira?"

  "What has happened to her, Ali Ziya?"

  "I do not know, but I think you do."

  "Nonsense! I know not of what you speak."

  The aga smiled again, and decided to play his bluff. "Is this all of your family, Eli Kira?" he asked.

  "No. There are my sons."

  "Fetch them," came the command.

  The banker nodded curtly to a servant girl, and several minutes later she returned with four of the boys.

  "Is this all?"

  "There is Asher, and our cousin John," said Debra innocently.

  The aga pounced. "Where is your son, Asher, and who is this cousin?"

  "They have gone off on business for the bank, and will not return for some time."

  "Where? And who's this John Kira?"

  "I sent them to Damascus, and our cousin comes from northern Europe."

  "From Cousin Benjamin in Scotland," spoke Debra again.

  Eli Kira shot his daughter a fierce look. "Be silent, Debra. You are not to speak unless spoken to. Your manners are too forward for a maiden."

  "Ali Ziya!" All eyes turned to Hammid. "Ali Ziya!" The high voice was excited. "The woman Incili came from Scotland! I remember her telling me that when we first received her."

  The aga's eyes narrowed. Here was his connection. He swung about and looked at Eli Kira and his sons. "Those two!" He pointed at the two youngest Kira boys. "What are their ages?"

  "Thirteen and sixteen," came the reply.

  "A good age," came the reply, and then the next words fell like hammer blows. "I will honor your house, Eli Kira. I will accept these two fine young men into the corps of janizaries."

  "No!" shrieked Maryam Kira.

  The banker's voice was firm, but his heart was beating very fast. "You cannot do that, Ali Ziya. I pay the head tax. My sons are exempt."

  "This is an honor I do you, Eli Kira. Your sons enter an elite military unit dedicated to the sultan himself. You cannot refuse my generosity without offending my master. And… I will do your loyal family even further honor." His eyes swung over to where young Debra stood. "I am taking your eldest daughter for my master's harem. Never have I seen such beautiful eyes. Their violet color is quite unique. I am sure that, with the proper training, she will enchant him."

  “No!" Eli Kira was shouting now. "The girl is betrothed! She is to be wed in two days!"

  "You are wrong, my friend," the aga smiled. "In three nights I will present her to the sultan, and she will enter his bed as his new plaything. Perhaps she will captivate him. If not, she will live out her life in the Palace of Forgotten Women."

  Maryam Kira flung herself at the aga's feet. "What is it you seek?" she begged. "I will help you if I can. But do not take my children, I pray you!"

  "Maryam!" Eli pulled his groveling wife up.

  "Eli! Eli!" She turned a frightened, tear-ravaged face to him. "What have you done? What is so important that you would sacrifice David and Lev? What is so important that you would condemn Debra to a life of loneliness and shame? If you know anything, tell him! In Yahweh's name tell him, I beg you!"

  Eli Kira looked desperately towards his grandmother. Years of training now conflicted violently with his paternal feelings. He simply did not know what to do.

  Esther Kira sighed. "Clear the room of all but Ali Ziya, Hammid, and my grandson, who ought to be told what this terror is all about. Do not touch any of my great-grandchildren, or you will learn nothing!"

  "Take your men and wait in the courtyard. Touch no one and nothing," the aga commanded.

  Slowly the room cleared until only the old woman, Eli Kira, and the two eunuchs remained. "Sit! Sit!" commanded Esther Kira. "This is a complicated story." And she settled herself comfortably. They looked expectantly at her. "Do any of you know when I was born?" she asked, and then cackled. "I was born on April first in the Christian year 1490. I am one hundred and nine years old! Now, of what I am about to tell you, my poor bemused grandson knows nothing. Since, however, my"-she stressed the word-"actions have brought difficulties to him, I think he should hear this."

  Eli Kira kept his face impassive. There was absolutely nothing that he did not know of his family's business, but he understood what his grandmother was doing. By removing the blame from him, she was trying to save the family. It was a prime example of the first lesson she had ever taught him-survival at any cost. He felt a sudden burst of tenderness and affection for the lady who had built his family's fortune. He wished he might take her in his arms and hug her. Instead he sat quietly, a slightly expectant look on his face.

  Good, thought Esther Kira, he understood my tactic. Then she continued. "Your suspicions are correct, Ali Ziya. I did help the woman you call Incili to return to her own people. So would you have, had you known who she was."

  "She was a European noblewoman," came Hammid's voice.

  "She was a descendant of Cyra Hafise," came back the reply.

  "How can that be, old woman?" demanded Ali Ziya. "Cyra Hafise left only her son, Sultan Suleiman, and a daughter who was wed to Ibrahim Pasha. Of the imperial grandchildren, the princes Mustafa and Bajazet were murdered. Prince Janhagir died, Prince Selim became Sultan Selim II, and Princess Mihrmah was wed to Rustem Pasha. The children of Ibrahim Pasha and Princess Nilufer never left this land. Your vast age has finally addled your wits, Esther Kira."

  "You are a third my age, Ali Ziya, and my wits are still sharper than yours," came the quick reply. "I was for many years a close friend and confidant of Cyra Hafise. I knew all about her, and her family. She had a brother, the Earl of Glenkirk. Incili is descended from him, and so was her first husband-also an Earl of Glenkirk. Her oldest son is the current earl. Because of the kind intervention of Cyra Hafise, the Kira family has managed the great fortune of the Leslies of Glenkirk for many years.

  "I doubt that Incili ever heard of Cyra Hafise, but I almost fainted the first time I saw her. She is the mirror image of my long-dead friend, as Lateefa Sultan is of her ancestress, Firousi Kadin. To see them standing together took me back eighty-five years, and I thought for a moment that I had died and my two friends were coming to greet me."

  She paused for a moment to gauge the effect this tale was having on her audience. In her grandson's eyes she caught a hint of admiration. The two eunuchs sat spellbound, and she chuckled within herself. Eunuchs were such children. She continued.

  "After I had spoken awhile with the lady Incili and drawn her out a bit, I knew for certain who she was. With the aid of Lateefa Sultan, I attempted to get her to accept this as her life. But you yourself know, Hammid, how restless she was. Then her second husband and his servant arrived to rescue her. I introduced them into the house as John Kira, a cousin, and his servant. I secretly instructed him in the way of Jewish life so that during the time he was here no one would suspect his real identity
and mission.

  "I had no choice but to help him. He is a favorite cousin of the Scots king, who is the old English queen's heir. The Scots king is very fond of his cousin, and is bound to complain to the English queen, who will write to her friend the Sultan Valide Safiye, who will speak to her son, the sultan.

  "The whole thing would have become a public scandal. The sultan's best friend and vizier, holding against her will in carnal bondage the cousin of Scotland's king? You know how these Christians are about sexual morals. How do you think the sultan would have felt caught in such a tangle?

  "The woman, Incili, should never have been sent to Cicalazade Pasha. It was a vicious trick on the part of the vizier's sister, who is a jealous and cruel woman of bad repute." She turned accusingly to the grand eunuch. "You knew that, Hammid. Incili told you who she was, and begged you to have her ransomed. She could have made you a rich man. Instead, you used her to sate the never-satisfied appetite of your master in the hopes of furthering your own ambitions. Do you realize the embarrassment you could have caused the sultan and his government?"

  Neatly she had shifted the blame from her own frail shoulders onto his fat ones. Eli Kira was open-mouthed in admiration. Ali Ziya was thoughtful.

  "Incili is long gone," said Esther Kira. "Once again I have loyally served the House of Osman. When Cicalazade Pasha returns from his campaign, tell him that the lady Incili miscarried and died. She was not, by the way, really with child. It was a ruse she used to remain on the island so that her husband might rescue her. The eunuchs are dead and cannot talk. Your rowers can be sold off and replaced, and the oarmaster disposed of some way. No one else knows that Incili is gone. They will believe whatever you tell them."

  "The sultan knows," said Ali Ziya.

  "Tell him that the woman died, and that the eunuchs lied and hid themselves for fear of being blamed. Then tell him that everyone involved has been punished. It is not important to him, and he will forget."

  Ali Ziya nodded. "You are right, Esther Kira. You know the imperial Ottoman well."

  "I should," replied the old lady. "I have been dealing with them successfully for almost a hundred years."

  The eunuchs stood up, as did Eli Kira. "I apologize, Eli Kira, for this invasion of your home. It did appear as if a crime had been committed in which your family was involved. I hope you will not find it necessary to complain to the sultan."

  "No," said the banker quickly. "I understand it was just a terrible misunderstanding. You simply did your duty."

  The Aga Kislar looked at Esther Kira. "You are a remarkable old woman," he said dryly. Turning, he left the room, followed by Hammid and Eli Kira.

  Alone in the main courtyard of the house, the aga turned to Hammid. "Do as she suggested. If there is ever any question, I will back you up."

  "Do you believe her, Ali?"

  "Yes-and no," came the reply. The aga climbed into his litter, giving the signal for his departure. Returning to the Yeni Serai, Ali Ziya decided one thing. Esther Kira's influence with the imperial family must be discredited, and without a doubt she must die. Even in her old age she was far too astute, and very dangerous. Then too, she was a living link with a time when the Ottoman sultans were strong men who ruled alone, without the advice of women or eunuchs. Ali Ziya did not want to see that time return.

  Chapter 58

  THE coast of Thessaly stood dark in the early morning. Purple mountains speared the sunrise sky, snowcapped Olympus and Ossa towering above all. Between these two giants of the Pindus range spread the fertile plain of Thessaly, split by the Peneus River, which flowed into the Aegean Sea.

  In that short time between the ebb and the flood tides, when the dark-green waters of the river mixed lazily with the turquoise waters of the sea, a small boat moved from the Aegean into the Peneus.

  They had been anchored off this particular piece of coast all night waiting for the calm to get them safely into the river and the fioodtide that followed to sweep them up it. To the passing casual shoreline observer the boat contained four men and a woman. Obviously it was a family boat, a coastal trading vessel, heading upstream to Larissa to sell its cargo.

  Within the boat the occupants heaved a collective sigh of relief. Another stage of their journey was over, and thus far it had been unbelievably simple. From the moment they had cast off from the Island of a Thousand Flowers, the skies had remained benevolent and the seas cooperative. They had sped down the Sea of Marmara past the island of the same name where imperial Ottoman slaves quarried marble for the sultan's export trade. Onward through the Dardanelles, and across the Aegean, Cat could not remember them seeing more than two other boats. They had stopped only once, at the island of Lemnos, to take on fresh water.

  After all the blue and gold of the sea, the river was a startling change. Cat was stunned by the rugged beauty surrounding her. Seated in the bow of the boat, her dark cloak wrapped about her, she did not know which way to look next. To her right, the precipices descended like the gods themselves from Mount Olympus and fell steeply to the river. Mount Ossa rose the highest on her left, rising fifteen hundred feet straight up from the floor of the valley.

  The valley was lush, and there were beautiful horses grazing in the grassy meadows.

  "Are they wild?" asked Cat, for she saw neither houses nor people.

  "Nay," Bothwell answered her. "They are specially raised, and have been since earliest times. Now the Turks own the ranches, but we're not apt to see any people until we reach Larissa. The Turks are on the ranches, and in the cities, and this river passes through only two towns."

  The river began to narrow into a gorge. "The Vale of Tempe," he said, as their boat slipped into a close, greenlit world. "Legend says that Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea, created it so he might have a beautiful bower in which to woo a daughter of the river god."

  Cat looked up at him, her green eyes reflecting the light of the vale. "How beautiful! Did he win her love?"

  "I dinna know, but 'tis a most romantic place for lovers. The vale is also connected to the sun god, Apollo. A maiden named Daphne fled here to escape his lecherous advances. Daphne was dedicated to Apollo's twin sister, the virgin moon goddess, Diana. Apollo was determined to have Daphne, and he cornered her here. She cried out to Diana to save her from shame, and the goddess obliged her handmaiden by turning the girl into a flowering laurel bush. Since then the Vale of Tempe is sacred to Apollo, and in ancient times the laurel for the victor's wreaths at the Pythian Games was gathered here."

  "Had you been Apollo and I Daphne, I would never have fled ye, Francis."

  He smiled at her, and she smiled back. The trip across the sea had turned her creamy skin a rich golden color, and her eyes appeared even greener than usual. Her rich honey-colored hair had been, in the Aegean, free of its bandanna and turban; and the sun had bleached it a pale gold. She was very lovely, and it had been months now since they had last made love. Unfortunately this was not the time, though the place would have been perfect. Ahead were the ruins of the Temple of Apollo, set high above the river within a grove of tall, ancient oaks. He would have enjoyed making love to her in that romantic setting.

  Francis sighed, and catching her looking at him, grinned guiltily. She laughed softly. "I regret it also, Bothwell," she said, reading his thoughts.

  "Yer a witch," he chuckled.

  "Nay. Just yer other half, Francis," and she caught his big hand and pressed it to her lips.

  "Will we get home safely, Bothwell?" she pleaded.

  "We will get home safely, Cat. I promise you."

  The Vale of Tempe behind them, the plain of Thessaly spread itself out again in the glory of early summer, and before the sun had reached its zenith, the walls of ancient Larissa came into view. Cat bound up her beautiful hair again, and Susan hid her pretty face behind the voluminous folds of a black feridji, leaving only her eyes visible.

  After paying the dockage fee to the Turkish portmaster they were directed to a pier near the waterfront market
. They tied up without incident.

  "Saul Kira's house is near enough to walk," said Asher. "He is a widower, his children grown and gone. Only his widowed sister is in the house to care for him. We should be safe for the moment." And he led them across the crowded market, alive with mooing, baaing, clucking, and quacking livestock. The noise made by the animals and haggling merchants was ferocious, and Cat sighed gratefully when they had crossed the market square.

  They entered the small courtyard to a yellow brick house. Saul Kira greeted them warmly, putting Cat and Susan into the custody of his sister, Abigail. Abigail bas Kira looked at Cat suspiciously, wondering whether this really was a young man. Cat drew off her headgear so that her long hair tumbled down her back. The old woman nodded, satisfied. "What can I get you?" she asked them.

  "A bath," breathed Cat and Susan together, and then they laughed at their singlemindedness.

  An hour later they were bathed, their hair washed free of sea salt. Abigail bas Kira had given them each clean clothing, and Cat's bandanna and turban were washed and dried. The Jews never wore them, so there were none in the house.

  While Susan helped to lay the table, Cat joined the men. Bothwell put an arm about his wife. "Good news… and some bad," he said.

  "The good?" she asked.

  "We are not pursued. They felt they could not pick up the trail, and so they decided to tell your 'lord and master' that you had died miscarrying. We will have to continue to move cautiously, however, as I do not want us to run into any Ottoman officials asking embarrassing questions, or slavers with sharp eyes."

  She sighed. "Thank God they dinna pursue us. But what is the bad news, my love."

  "Esther Kira is dead."

  "Oh, Francis! But then, she was a very old lady- well over a hundred. Well, God assoil her soul. I know she had a great one."

  "Aye," he nodded. He was grateful that she assumed age was the cause of Esther's death. It had not been. There had been a sudden fluctuation in the valuation of the Turkish currency. Rumors flew through the city, and the people had deliberately been aroused against the bankers. Old Esther Kira, returning from the palace, where she had been visiting with the sultan's mother, was dragged from her litter and stoned. The following day the value of currency had miraculously returned to normal. By that time, Esther Kira was dead.