She laughed. “Live a thousand years, my lord Orkhan! I am as yet too young to retire anywhere.”
He chuckled. “Too young, indeed, and far too lovely. You are easily the most beautiful woman in my house.” Then, seeing the wary look spring into her eyes, he gently dismissed her and the boy.
Alone, he wondered, as he had wondered a thousand times since she had first come to him, why she did not like lovemaking. She had never known any man but him, of that he was certain. She had been a virgin. She was wildly passionate when roused, but he had always felt that she was not with him—but with some ghostly lover. He might have suspected another man, but cloistered as she had been within her convent, she could not have had another man.
It was a mystery that still intrigued him after all these years. He knew she did not dislike him. The sultan shrugged. His harem was filled with young beauties only too willing to please him. Why one young Byzantine princess should intrigue him so, he did not understand.
Chapter Eight
The sky had been a cloudless bright blue all day. Too cloudless. Too bright blue. Now the captain watched the sunset in his vessel’s wake and frowned. The colors were too bright again—and too clear. As the orange sun sank behind the purple Pindus mountains, a tiny flash of emerald green was followed by a muted lavender streak. The captain nodded, and gave curt orders. He had seen a sky like this one before. Before a great storm.
He prayed to Allah that he was wrong. He was too far out to go back, and had it been only himself, his crew, and a cargo to worry about he would not have considered it; but he carried on board the sultan’s youngest wife, Princess Theadora, and her son, Prince Halil. He had brought them to Thessaly several months earlier, and now he was taking them home.
Ahead the darkness was starless; behind him the sunset had become a wash of flame-tinged gray. The winds, which had been fresh and light all day, now blew in strong gusts from the north and the west. Captain Hassan called to his first officer, “See that all the galley slaves are fed a good hot meal, and tell the overseer that when the storm hits he is to unlock their chains. If we go down I’ll not have their souls on my conscience.”
The officer nodded his agreement. “Is the danger that great, sir?”
“Perhaps having the sultan’s wife and son aboard makes me nervous, but the last time I saw a sky like that it was followed by a great storm.”
“Aye, sir.” The mate moved off the bridge to do his captain’s bidding, while Hassan turned and made his way down the steps into the passageway leading to his royal passengers’ quarters. He knocked and was admitted by Iris. The princess sat at a small table opposite her son. They were playing jackals-and-hares. He waited for her to grant him permission to speak.
She looked up almost at once, smiling. “Yes, captain?”
“I am expecting a severe storm tonight, Your Highness. I would prefer that you and your household remain within the safety of your quarters. If you wish hot food, please have it soon. Once the sea becomes rough, the cook has orders to close his galley and put out his fires.”
“You will keep me informed, captain?”
“Assuredly, Highness! Your safety and Prince Halil’s is of the greatest importance.”
She dismissed him with a nod and returned to her game. Captain Hassan bowed himself out and walked swiftly through his ship, checking ropes and hatches as he went. He stopped in the galley and sat down. Without ceremony the cook set before him a steaming bowl of spicy fish stew and a hunk of bread. The captain ate quickly, sopping up the gravy with the bread. Finished, he turned to the cook. “Have you all you need to feed the men, Yussef?”
“Aye, sir. I baked this morning. There’s plenty of bread. I’ve dried fish, beef, and fruit. And I can make coffee on the spirit lamp.”
Suddenly the ship lurched violently and began to pitch. Yussef began to damp down his cookfires and the captain rose to his feet, saying grimly, “Here we go, my friend. From the feel of that, we’re in for quite a ride.”
Theadora and her party had been eating when the storm began. Walking across the spacious stern cabin she gazed through the small bowed window out into the half dark. Behind them, through the sheets of rain, the sky still glowed faintly with a red sunset. The sea was now black, relieved only by the white foam of its peaks. Theadora shivered with a premonition of danger. Then, holding down her emotions, she said, “I think we would do well to retire early.” She ruffled her small son’s hair. “This is not the time for setting up the telescope your father sent you, Halil. There’ll be no stars tonight.”
“Oh, Mother! May I not stay up and watch the storm?”
“Would you like to?” She was surprised, but pleased that he was not afraid.
“Yes! I only wish the captain would allow me on deck now.”
“Even if he would, I would not!”
“Oh, Mother!”
She laughed. “But you may stay up, my son.”
He curled contentedly into the window seat, face pressed against the small panes of glass. She sat quietly at her embroidery frame, stitching a pastoral scene. The slaves cleared the meal away and then disappeared into their own small quarters. Iris trimmed the lamps which were swaying precariously from their chains. Glancing over at Halil, Theadora saw that the boy had fallen asleep. She nodded to Iris who gathered the child up and tucked him into his bed.
“Only an innocent could sleep in this storm,” the older woman noted. “Me? I am terrified, but I suppose if it’s my fate to feed the fishes, I won’t escape it.” She plumped herself down on her mistress’s bed and began calmly to mend one of the little prince’s silk shirts.
Theadora silently continued with her embroidery. It was not particularly comforting to know that Iris was as frightened as she was—but, remembering her late mother’s words about the difference between the ruling class and the rest of the world, she again called on the deep reserve of discipline that was her heritage. She was Theadora Cantacuzene, a princess of Byzantium. She was Theadora Cantacuzene, the sultan’s wife. She must be strong for the sake of her little son and for her slaves who were, after all, not just her property, but her responsibility as well.
She glanced instinctively toward the small bowed window as the ship gave a particularly violent lurch, and, for one terrifying moment, she felt as if her heart had stopped. There was so much water she was not sure that the ship had not sunk. Then, like a bobbing cork, the ship rose again on the angry white crest of the waves. As she regained her breath, she realized her finger was throbbing. Looking down, she saw that she had pricked it with her needle. A bright red drop of blood lay for a moment upon the white linen before soaking into the embroidery. She made an irritated sound and, picking up the carafe of fresh water near her, dribbled some of it on the stain. By rubbing vigorously she managed to remove the blood. She then put her injured finger into her mouth and sucked on it.
She discovered that she was shaking, and it suddenly occurred to Theadora that she did not want to die. She was just twenty, which was really not all that old—and, except for those few brief hours in the convent garden with Prince Murad, she had never really known any happiness. And what of her son? He had known only seven years.
The ship was pitching wildly now, and Iris moaned. Her face had taken on a sickly green tinge, and Theadora shoved a basin at the woman just in time.
When Iris had finished, Theadora took the basin and hurried out of the cabin with it in deliberate defiance of the captain’s orders. She was not, she thought grimly, going to spend the rest of the storm locked in a cabin that reeked of vomit. That would be sure to prolong Iris’ illness and possibly weaken her own fluttering stomach.
By hugging the passageway she was able to reach the exit. Standing in the hatchway, she flung the entire basin out into the storm, watching with amazement as the wild wind caught the brass vessel and held it aloft as though deciding whether it wanted it or not. After a moment, it plunged into the boiling sea. There was something so wonderfully alive about the s
torm that for a moment Theadora paused where she was, and her fear temporarily gone, she laughed aloud at the fierceness and the beauty of it.
Making her way back to her cabin, she found that poor Iris had fallen asleep on her narrow couch. Theadora sat again at her embroidery. She had worked for several hours when she suddenly became aware that the sea was once again calm. She rose and stretched her cramped limbs. A knock sent her quickly to the door where the captain waited, looking very tired.
“Are you all right, Highness?”
“Yes, Captain Hassan. We are all fine.”
“I came to warn you that the storm is not yet over.”
“But the sea is as calm as a fishpond.”
“Yes, my lady, it is. We call it the ‘eye’ of the storm. A center of calm in the midst of turbulence. When we reach the other side of that calm, may Allah preserve us. Please continue to remain in your cabin.”
“How long will the calm last?”
“Perhaps half an hour, my lady.”
“Then I will, with your permission, come up on deck for a few minutes, captain. My son and my servants are sleeping, but I confess that I am restless.”
“Of course, Highness. I will escort you myself.”
She closed the door quietly and, taking his arm, walked out onto the wet deck. The heavy air was still, and it appeared as if they sailed into an ink pot. Above and around them, the sky and the sea were a flat black. But then the captain pointed ahead, and in the strange half-light Theadora could see the water some distance ahead of them, roiling a foaming white
“The other side of the storm, Highness. There is no escaping it.”
“It is magnificent, Captain Hassan! Will we survive its savagery?”
“As Allah wills it, my lady,” replied the captain fatalistically, shrugging his shoulders.
They stood at the rail for some minutes. Then, sensing the captain’s impatience, Theadora said, “I will return to my quarters.” Inside again she bent over her son and kissed him gently. So deep was his slumber that he did not even stir. Iris lay on her back, snoring gently. It is better this way, thought Theadora. I can maintain my own calm more easily if no one else frightens me.
She could feel the ship beginning to pitch again as they approached the other side of the storm. Theadora sat quietly with her hands folded tightly and prayed silently for the safety of the vessel and all who sailed on it. Never, since leaving St. Catherine’s, had she immersed herself so deeply in prayer.
Suddenly, as the ship lurched sickeningly, there came a tremendous crash that rocked the ship to its foundations, and above the roar Theadora heard shouting. Then the little bowed window of the cabin blew in, spraying glass and water across the floor.
She leapt to her feet and stood helplessly for a moment as the rain and sea spray soaked her. Iris tumbled from her couch, half awake and screaming. “Allah preserve us! We’re sinking! We’re sinking!”
Theadora whirled about and yanked the slave woman to her feet, slapping her as hard as she could. “Be quiet, you foolish woman! We are not sinking! The storm has blown the window in and that is all.”
Over the roar of the wind and the rain and the sea they heard a frantic knocking at the cabin door. The princess yanked the door open and a sailor fell into the room. “Captain’s compliments, Your Highness,” he panted. “I’m to check for any damage. I’ll see that window is boarded over at once.”
“What was that tremendous crash?” demanded Theadora.
The sailor was back on his feet now, and he hesitated before answering. Then, shrugging, he said, “We lost the main mast, my lady, but the storm is almost done with us now, and we’re near dawn.” Then he hurried out.
“Wake the slaves, Iris, and have them clean up this mess so the sailors can make their repairs quickly.” She turned to see Halil sitting straight up in his bed, his eyes wide. “Are we sinking, Mother?”
“No, my lamb,” she forced a laugh. “The last of the storm blew out the window, and gave us all a good fright. That is all.”
Within minutes the repairs had been made to the window. The remaining pieces of glass were carefully removed from the frame and replaced with boards and a curtain. The storm had subsided.
Venturing out onto the deck, Theadora was shocked at the damage. The main mast was indeed gone and so was most of another of the three masts. The sails, or what remained of them, were mere shreds fluttering in the breeze. It was obvious that they would have to rely on the galley slaves for movement. She wondered how those poor souls had survived the night and made a mental note to check for Christians among the rowers so she might buy their freedom. It had been her policy since becoming a mother to buy the freedom of whatever enslaved Christians she came upon. She sent them to freedom in Constantinople.
She turned when she heard the captain’s voice at her side. “Your people are all right, Highness?”
“Yes, thank you. We were warm and dry most of the night. How did the ship’s crew fare?”
“We lost four rowers, and two of my sailors were washed overboard. That damned overseer! Your pardon, Highness. The overseer was told to unchain the galley slaves when the storm hit. He disobeyed orders, and the four we lost were drowned at their benches. As soon as we clean up this mess, the overseer will be brought up for punishment. It will not be a pretty sight, my lady. I advise you to go below.”
“I will, captain, but I am so delighted to be alive to see this dawn that I would stay on deck a while longer.”
The captain grinned with delight. “Your highness will forgive me if I say you are a very brave young woman. I am very proud to sail with you.” Then, flushing at his own boldness, he turned and hurried away.
Theadora chuckled softly to herself. It had been wonderful being away from Bursa these last few months. She had enjoyed herself very much. The world was an absolutely wonderful place! It was not going to be pleasant returning to the harem and the constant company of the other two wives. It would not be easy returning to the endless boredom.
She gazed at the rainbow dawn that colored the soft grey-blue skies, and suddenly it occurred to her that the east was not where it ought to be! Stopping a sailor, she asked, “Have we been blown far off course?”
“Yes, Highness. We are way south of where we should be, but the captain will right it soon enough.”
She thanked him and returned to her cabin. Iris was making coffee on their spirit lamp, and the cook had sent a small basket of dried fruit, some warmed-over day-old bread, and a small hard cheese. Halil, up and dressed, grabbed a handful of dried fruit as he passed her on his way out. “The captain has offered to let me steer while they are cleaning up,” he said excitedly. Theadora let him go, and signaled to the boy’s body slave to follow him.
“I am too tired to eat,” she told Iris. “I spent most of the night praying. I am going to try to sleep now. Wake me in midafternoon.” She was half asleep before her head touched the pillow.
The sun woke her before Iris had the chance. Theadora lay on her back in the delicious world of half-sleep, lulled by the gentle rocking motion of the ship. She was alone, and a ray of sunlight came in through the hastily placed boards. As she became more aware of her surroundings, she heard a strange sound above her. “Whistle. Slap! Groan. Whistle. Slap! Groan.” Suddenly, wide awake, Theadora realized that the punishment of the overseer must be taking place on deck, and her little son was there!
Theadora flew to the door and wrenched it open. She reached the deck and stopped, frozen, in the doorway. The unfortunate overseer had been bound to the one remaining mast. At this point, he was mercifully unconscious, his back a raw and bloody mass of welts. The whip still rose and fell, and to Theadora’s horror her son stood next to the captain, straight and proud, his young voice counting the strokes. “Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…”
The sultan’s youngest wife grew faint. She clutched at the doorframe, and drew several deep breaths. She had not wanted Halil to see this kind of thing. He was still a
child. And yet, he did not seem at all distressed.
“Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five.”
Theadora found she could not move her legs. She gazed around the deck. The entire ship’s company was present, including a delegation from the galley slaves. Everyone stood silently watching.
“Forty-nine, fifty.”
The rhinoceros-hide whip was dropped to the deck, the overseer cut down, and salt rubbed into his wounds. This elicited a faint groan, and Theadora was amazed that the man was alive—let alone that he had the strength to groan. The onlookers began to return to their tasks, and Theadora managed to find her voice.
“Captain, please attend me at once!” She turned and walked into her cabin for she would not embarrass him before his men.
“Madame?”
She rounded angrily on him. “How could you allow a child to observe such brutality, let alone participate in it? The prince is only seven years old!”
“Please, Highness, hear me out. Perhaps you did not know, but this ship, which is named The Prince Halil, belongs to your son. A gift from his father. We on board all serve the child. I wanted to send him below before the punishment began, but Prince Halil said that as owner of the vessel it was his duty to mete out justice. The overseer served him, and the slaves who were drowned were his. That dragon who guards you approved, and would not wake you. Highness, though the prince is only seven, your son is all Ottoman. By law he is my lord. I could not refuse him.”
“Why did you not inform me that the ship was my son’s?”
“Madame,” exclaimed the astounded captain, “as the child knew, I assumed you also knew. I only just realized you did not.”
Theadora shook her head helplessly, but before she could say anything further there came a cry from the deck: “Pirates!”
Captain Hassan went white and threw himself through the cabin door, almost knocking down Iris who was just returning. The slavewoman was wide-eyed. “Mistress! Pirates! We cannot escape them! Allah have mercy!”
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