Adora

by Bertrice Small

  He laughed harshly. “No, you won’t, my dove. You were like a bitch in heat but a few moments back. You will come when I command it.” And turning on his heel, he walked from the tent.

  Theadora clenched her fists tightly. He was right! God curse him, he was right! She wanted him as much as he wanted her. And sinking to the pillows, she wept all her bitter tears.

  Chapter Eleven

  Orkhan the sultan gazed at his third wife in anger. In anger she was especially beautiful. It made him almost sorry he could no longer function with her as a man. He kept his face impassive, though he was mightily amused. There was not another woman in his harem who would dare to shout at him, and though he would punish her for it, he admired her courage.

  His hand flashed out, slapping her cheek hard enough to leave an imprint. “Be silent, Adora! Halil is my son also, but now that I have found out that your sister, Helena, is behind this kidnapping, I will not pay that Greek pirate another dinar!”

  “Do you mean to abandon my son?”

  “No, my dear, I do not mean to abandon Halil. And again I remind you that he is my son also. Since your sister was imprudent enough to attempt to get at me by using my wife and son, I feel that Byzantium must pay the remainder of the ransom. I should also tell you that, were Alexander the Great not so greedy, you and Halil would now be dead. Your sister wanted him to murder you, but he knew she could not pay him, and he decided that you two were more valuable to him alive than dead. A wise fellow, that pirate.”

  Theadora’s eyes were wide with shock. “But why, my lord? Why does my sister wish me and her innocent nephew dead? I have never harmed her.”

  Orkhan put a kindly arm about his wife and shook his head wearily. Poor Adora. She had been much too sheltered. It was past time she grew up. If she did not, he feared for her safety after his death. “Your sister,” he said, “hoped that your death and Halil’s would cause my death. Then she intended to foster dissension between Suleiman and Murad. When they had destroyed each other, only my poor, mad son, Ibrahim, would remain. Though our laws forbid a mentally or physically impaired heir, there are those who would crown Ibrahim and use him. Your sister knows this. Trouble within our Ottoman realm would suit Byzantium.”

  “So you will force John Paleaologi to pay the rest of Halil’s ransom. He will have to do it, of course, as we are much stronger than he is.”

  The sultan smiled, noting her use of the word “we”. Theadora continued, “But I would punish my sister for what she has attempted to do.”

  “And what would you do, my dear?”

  “Helena has two sons, my lord, but only one daughter—upon whom she dotes. My niece, Alexis, is the same age as our son, Halil. In her correspondence with me, Helena has often bragged of the girl’s blonde beauty. My sister hopes to marry her daughter into the House of Savoy or the royal House of Muscovy. She has also, as you know, delighted in making a mockery of our marriage because I am a Christian, and you, my lord, are a Muslim. What if we demand Princess Alexis as a bride for our son, Prince Halil? Helena dare not refuse us lest we destroy her.”

  The sultan chuckled. Perhaps he would not have to worry about his little Theadora after all! Her looks were most deceptive. “You are diabolical, my dear,” he said, pleased.

  She looked directly at him, her eyes hard. “We revere the same holy book, my lord. Does not the Bible say ‘an eye for an eye’“?

  He nodded slowly. “It will be as you suggest, Adora, and I will even ask for your advice in this delicate negotiation since you obviously know the empress and her spouse better than I had suspected.”

  So the citizens of the fast-shrinking empire of Byzantium found that their new emperor, John Paleaologi, was as much at the mercy of the sultan as the old emperor, John Cantacuzene, had been. Orkhan was quite adamant. Not only was the young emperor to pay the remaining fifty thousand gold ducats of Prince Halil’s ransom, but he was also to go to Phocaea himself to escort the boy back to Bursa.

  The empress Helena shrieked her frustration and outrage. There was barely half that amount in the whole royal treasury, and then only because the taxes had just been extorted from the already overtaxed population. The jewelry that the empress had carefully been collecting from her lovers would have to be sold. The royal jewels had been mere paste imitations for many years.

  Helena inveigled her put-upon spouse to besiege Phocaea instead of paying the ransom. Both Orkhan and Theadora were amused by the emperor’s action and Helena’s desperate attempt to hold on to her jewelry. They knew Halil would be safe with Alexander, and Orkhan assured Alexander that he would be paid.

  The sultan used the absence of the Byzantine forces from Thrace as an invitation to invade it further. This invasion was met with virtually no resistance. Indeed, the local populace rather welcomed the Turks as liberators, having had enough of serfdom under their greedy local lords.

  Alerted to this attitude by his wife, the emperor hurried back to Constantinople—only to be commanded back to Phocaea by the sultan. Weary, feeling more like a shuttlecock than a man, John Paleaologi set out for Phocaea again…only to encounter his returning fleet which had abandoned the siege and could not be persuaded to continue with it.

  Desperate, the emperor begged Orkhan for mercy. The Ottoman sultan was now the recognized overlord of the hapless emperor, and he remained firm: the ransom must be paid. The year was now 1359, and John went humbly to his overlord at Scutari, a vassal asking pardon of his suzerain. He was told again that he must pay the ransom, now increased by a five-thousand-ducat fine. He had to accept the status quo in Thrace as well, and give his only daughter, Alexis, as bride to Prince Halil. Weeping bitterly, the emperor agreed. He had no choice.

  But the empress was another matter. Helena screamed her palace down, tearing at her long blonde hair. She threw whatever came to hand, and beat the slaves unfortunate enough to approach her. The wits of the court said one could not be sure what the empress regretted more, the loss of her jewels or the loss of Muscovy—for the negotiations betrothing Alexis to the Tzar’s heir had almost been completed.

  Those closest to the empress, however, realized that she doted upon her only daughter. Knowing this, the emperor quickly removed Alexis from her mother’s care. Helena protested. “Do not let her go to the infidel,” she begged her husband. “Oh, God! This is my bitch sister’s doing! The Ottoman’s whore has finally revenged herself on me by making my beloved child as low as she is!”

  John Paleaologi’s usual good nature evaporated, and he hit his wife so hard that she fell to the floor, bleeding from the mouth. “Your sister, Theadora,” he said in low, even tones, “is a good and decent woman. She was wed according to the rites of our Church, which hardly makes her a whore. And were it not for her great sacrifice, your father would not have been able to hold out against my mother‘s forces as long as he did. And you, my dear wife, would not be the empress. Theadora practices her faith daily. She redeems Christian captives and sends them to safety. She is loyal and faithful to her husband. Frankly, Alexis will be safer at Orkhan’s court than in this one.”

  “But she will have to share Prince Halil with others when they are grown enough to know what marriage is about!” wailed Helena.

  A sarcastic smile lit the emperor John’s lips. “I share you with many others, my dear, and I have survived,” he said quietly.

  Shocked into silence, the empress could do nothing but continue to prepare for her daughter’s wedding. The emperor returned to Phocaea and paid the fifty-five thousand gold Venetian ducats to Alexander the Great. John was further humiliated by having to stand and wait while the gold was weighed out before his nephew was turned over to him. At last he proceeded by sea and then overland to Nicea where the betrothal was to be celebrated.

  The empress had attempted to avoid her daughter’s wedding, but the emperor made it quite plain that only Helena’s death would be considered a valid excuse for her absence. After all the years of mocking her sister, Helena was finally going to
have to face Theadora—and on her sister’s own territory. She shivered. She didn’t expect Thea to be merciful: if their positions were reversed, she would not be.

  Strangely, the little princess Alexis was delighted to be marrying her cousin, a boy her own age.

  “I could have made you queen of Muscovy, or duchess of Savoy,” sighed Helena.

  “But Savoy and Muscovy are so far away, Mama,” replied the child. “They say the sun rarely shines in the cold north. I should far rather wed my cousin, Halil, and be near you and Father.”

  Helena hid her tears from her daughter. The little one was so sweet. Surely Thea would see that, and not wreak her vengeance upon an innocent child. Helena wondered if she would be that kindly if she were in her sister’s shoes. Knowing the answer, she shivered again.

  The few remaining weeks sped quickly by, and it was time for Alexis of Byzantium to be delivered to Nicea. Accompanied by her mother, her two brothers, Andronicus and Manuel, and members of the royal court, she was rowed across the Sea of Marmara to Asia.

  The galley that carried her was gilded completely with gold leaf. Its oarstems were gilded with silver and had scarlet lacquer paddles. The deck of the bridal galley was of highly polished ebony. The rowers were perfectly matched young blacks and fair-skinned northerners. The blacks wore gold satin ankle-length pants, while the light-skinned, blond, blue-eyed northerners wore purple satin pantaloons. These young men had been picked by the empress herself. If she must be humiliated and abused by her younger sister, reasoned Helena, she would have need of comforting.

  She let her eyes wander over the broad young backs, the muscles rippling smoothly—and considered the aesthetic effect of smooth black skin against her own fairness and of muscular golden thighs against her own long, white legs. A recent lover had compared her legs to perfectly matched marble columns, a description she found both original and highly pleasing.

  She stretched languidly and sank deeper into the silken pillows. Alexis, resplendent in her nuptial finery, had dozed off. The empress let her sleep. The day was hot, especially out here on the water, and Helena was grateful for the awning that sheltered them. It was held up by four posts carved round with mythological creatures—dragons, unicorns, griffins, phoenix—all painted most realistically. The awning itself was striped in silver and blue. The draperies, now held back with braided-gold tasseled cords, were azure-blue and sea-green silk.

  Helena had nodded sleepily for what seemed only a minute before the voice of the helmsman behind her was saying, “We approach the opposite shore, Hallowed Majesty.”

  Her eyes flew open. Reaching out, she shook her daughter. The child opened her blue eyes. “Are we here?”

  “Almost, my love. I must stand outside now, and the drapes will be drawn. You will remember your part?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Helena looked over her daughter once more. The child’s undergown was scarlet silk, the long tight sleeves buttoned in pearls from the wrist to the elbow. Her surcoat was cloth of gold with the two-headed eagle of Byzantium woven into it with scarlet threads. Her pale blonde hair was loose about her shoulders and she was crowned with a small pearl-and-gold fillet. The empress gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek and rose, stepping out from beneath the awning. She drew the curtains closed behind her.

  She, herself, was a stunning vision. Her own longsleeved undergown was of white silk, shot through with silver. The buttons, which appeared to be round diamonds, were actually clever paste imitations. The empress’ surcoat, like her daughter’s, was cloth of gold, but the two-headed eagle on Helena’s garment was embroidered in silver threads and tiny brilliants. Her beautiful blond hair was parted in the middle and plaited into four braids, two on each side of her head, wound about her ears and tucked into silver wire cauls. Upon her head was a small gold coronet from which floated a sheer, silvery gauze veil. The empress of Byzantium was an impressive sight standing regally in the bow of the royal galley as it glided smoothly to dock.

  She was greeted effusively by officials of the sultan’s court and escorted to a waiting litter. Seating herself within, Helena peered through the curtains to see some dozen eunuchs boarding the royal gallery. They drew its draperies aside and the sultan’s chief white eunuch, Ali Yahya, handed Alexis out. The little princess was instantly surrounded by the eunuchs, quickly veiled, and led to a second, waiting litter whose curtains were tightly drawn. The litter was surrounded by soldiers, eunuchs, and a host of naked, dancing, skipping children who sang songs of welcome and threw gold pieces and confections into the crowds who were lining the road. The procession made its way into Nicea.

  The Christian wedding ceremony had been celebrated quietly, by proxy, prior to their departure from Constantinople. Now, as they traveled the small distance into the city, the Muslim ceremony was being performed. The attendance of the bride was unnecessary. Therefore, when the eight-year-old princess reached the palace in Nicea, she was already a married woman.

  Two separate wedding feasts were being held. Sultan Orkhan and his sons Murad and Halil hosted the men. Princess Theadora would host the women.

  Of the sultan’s other wives, only Anastatia would be present, for Nilufer was in deep mourning. Her eldest son, Suleiman, had been killed several months before in a fall from his horse while hawking. The ridiculous accident had catapulted Murad into the undisputed position of heir to the Ottoman throne.

  As the litters reached the courtyard of the haremlik, Theadora appeared at the top of a small flight of steps. And as the child was handed out of her litter, the sul-tan’s youngest wife flew down the steps and, kneeling, folded the little girl into her soft arms. “Welcome, Alexis, my dear. I am your Aunt Theadora.” She loosed the child and, holding her lightly by the shoulders, set her back a bit and removed her veil. Theadora smiled. “Ah, little one, how much like my mother, your Grandmother Zoe, you look. But then you have been told that many times before, I’ll vow.”

  “Never, my lady aunt,” came the reply.

  “Never?”

  “No, madame. They say I look like Mama.”

  “A bit. But your mama’s expression was never sweet like yours, Alexis. Our mother’s, however, was always sweet. Therefore, I think you look more like my mother.”

  “Well, sister, I see you still speak bluntly. Have you no welcome for me?”

  The sultan’s youngest wife rose and looked at her sister after these many years of separation. Helena was four years older than Theadora, and her self-indulgent nature was beginning to show on her beautiful face. She looked closer to ten years older. She was petite, plumply voluptuous, and blond, whereas Theadora was tall, slender, and dark-haired. Also, while Theadora still had an innocence about her that was touchingly young, Helena’s look was knowledgeable and as old as Eve.

  For a brief, uncomfortable moment Helena felt the younger again, as she had so often felt with Theadora when they were children. She saw the gleefully malicious sparkle in those amethyst eyes as the low, cultured voice said to her, “Welcome to the new empire, my sister. I am truly happy to see you, especially on such a joyful occasion.” She linked her arm in Helena’s and led her into the haremlik where the other wedding guests awaited them. The little bride was taken off by the eunuchs to be presented to her husband and the sultan before being allowed to join them.

  Her daughter gone, Helena spoke urgently to her sister. “Thea, I would talk privately with you before Alexis returns!”

  “Come with me,” came the reply.

  And the empress of Byzantium followed the sultan’s wife to a private chamber where they both sat down at a low table, facing one another.

  “Bring fruit sherbet and honey cakes,” commanded Theadora. No sooner had the slaves done her bidding than she dismissed them and, gazing at her sister, asked, “Well, Helena?”

  The empress hesitated. Swallowing hard, she said, “We have not been close since childhood, my sister.”

  “We were never close, my sister,” came the quick reply. “You
were always too busy taunting me with the fact that you should be empress of Byzantium one day, and that I should merely be the ‘infidel’s’ concubine.”

  “So now you take your revenge on me by forcing my beloved daughter into this matrimonial mockery!” burst Helena.

  “You brought this on yourself, my sister!” snapped Theadora, her patience gone. “Had you not attempted to have Halil and me murdered, your daughter might well have been queen of Moscovy. My God, Helena! How could you!? Did you really think you could destroy the Ottoman by such perfidy? The empire of Constantine and Justinian is a dying old man, sister, but the empire of Osman the Turk is a young and vigorous boy. We are the future—whether you like it or not, Helena. You cannot destroy us by killing one woman and a small boy. Orkhan is nearing the end of his life, I fear, but Prince Murad will prove a strong sultan, I assure you.”

  “Why should Murad be sultan, Thea? If Orkhan chose in favor of Halil—” The empress paused a moment. Then she continued. “With a Christian mother and a Christian wife, Halil could easily be converted to Christ—and with him, his entire empire! My God, Thea! We would be sainted for fostering this marriage.”

  Theadora burst into laughter and laughed until she was weak and her eyes were filled with tears. Finally she said, “Helena, you have not changed. You are still a great fool! To begin with, Halil is a cripple—for which I thank the lord. Were he not, the first act his half brother would perform upon becoming sultan would be to command Halil’s death. If Halil were whole he might rule, but a physically or mentally impaired sultan is against the law. My son is a cripple, and the lady Anastatia’s is a madman. My lord Orkhan has only Murad.”

  “And Murad’s son,” said Helena.

  Theadora thanked God that she was sitting for she might have fainted otherwise. “Murad has no son,” she said quietly in an amazingly steady voice.

  “But he does, my dear,” Helena whispered fiercely. “He got the boy on a Greek priest’s daughter in Gallipoli several years ago. The prince will not officially recognize him because the girl’s reputation is not as pure as one might expect of a holy man’s daughter. She has nerve, however. She has named the boy Cuntuz, and refuses to allow him to be baptized, saying he is a Muslim as is his father.”