pleasing his very experienced, jaded master. Still, it could happen. And if it did…
“You fill the position I assigned to you most admirable, Iris,” he said sourly. “This is but a place for your mistress to rest. It was imperative that we bring her to the palace today, but her apartments could not be made ready in time. In another hour they will be fit to receive the princess. I will send a girl with something to eat, and by then all will be perfect,” he concluded, and gathering the shreds of his dignity about him, he departed quickly.
“Humph,” sniffed Iris. “The only snake wriggled out of that one fast enough.”
“It does not matter,” said Theadora softly.
“Yes it does! Whatever happens, my child, you must never forget that you are Theadora Cantacuzene, Emperor John’s daughter. Hold your head up in this place, my lady, else you will be overcome by your inferiors.”
Within the hour they were brought to a spacious suite containing six large, airy rooms and its own beautiful walled garden with several tiled fountains and a view of the mountains. “My lady is well pleased,” said Iris loftily, noting the dozen slavegirls and two black eunuchs.
Ali Yahya nodded. “Take your lady to the mistress of baths immediately. It will take the rest of the afternoon to prepare her for tonight.”
Usually the harem baths were noisy and full of chattering women. This afternoon, however, the women of the sultan’s house were being entertained by an elderly Egyptian magician. The bath mistress greeted Theadora briskly and before the startled princess knew what was happening she found herself completely stripped and her nude body subjected to a most thorough inspection. Her most intimate parts were squeezed, pulled apart, prodded, even smelled for signs of disease. Theadora blushed to the roots of her hair and felt a helpless sense of outraged shame.
Finally satisfied, the bath mistress stepped back. “Your body is flawless and healthy, Highness. You are as fresh as a new rose. I am relieved, for the sultan dislikes blemish of any kind. We can proceed now.”
Theadora had the urge to laugh. They were all so seriously concerned about her pleasing the sultan, yet she herself didn’t care. All she wanted was to be back at St. Catherine’s convent, preparing to meet Murad in the orchard.
Unknown to Theadora, the men’s baths were on the other side of the harem baths. And while she stood, quietly submitting, Orkhan’s favorite sons, Suleiman and Murad, sat companionably talking within the hot room.
“What is there to the rumor that John Cantacuzene seeks our aid against his son-in-law?” asked Murad.
“It’s true,” Suleiman assured him. “That’s why the maidenhead of the Princess Theadora will be breached tonight.”
Murad felt a wave of dizziness assail him. Unknowing, his brother continued. “The old man might have left the girl in her convent, but her father insisted that
“Is the princess here yet?” Murad hoped he sounded casual.
“Yes. She’s a pretty piece, though a bit too pale to suit my taste. I caught a glimpse of her when she arrived this afternoon. Probably scared, poor little girl. Well, by morning she’ll be well-tamed. Our father may be old, but he can still leave a woman begging for more. May we be as potent as long, eh brother?”
“Yes, yes,” said Murad absently, his whole heart going out to Theadora, his dove, his precious little love.
Suleiman chattered on. “The lady Anastatia says that the little princess probably put her father up to improving her position. She says all the Cantacuzenes are ambitious.”
“I’ve had enough steam,” said Murad, rising. Walking out into the tepidarium, he grabbed a basin and vomited into it. “Damned fish must have been tainted,” he muttered, shoving the basin into a slave’s hands. After rinsing his mouth with mint water, he donned his clothes and found his way to his mother’s apartments.
To his immense surprise Anastatia was with Nilufer. “Is it true?” he demanded brusquely. “Is the old satyr taking the Byzantine girl to his bed tonight?”
“Yes,” said Nilufer. She was a handsome woman in her mid-forties. Her wheat-colored hair still shone with golden lights, and her amber eyes were bright and wise. “Anastatia and I were just discussing this very unusual turn of events and how to meet them.”
“The girl is ambitious,” said Ibrahim’s mother.
“She is just like all the Cantacuzenes-greedy and venal. I should know. Is not the emperor my cousin? The girl obviously became bored in her convent and complained to her father. But after Orkhan’s had at her, she may wish she was back there.” Anastatia laughed cruelly.
Murad stared hard at this woman who had always been their enemy. She was ten years his mother’s senior, petite with steel grey hair, and the coldest blue eyes he’d ever seen. “What makes you two allies after all these years?”
“Your father’s new wife,” said Anastatia honestly.
“He married her years ago, and it didn’t bother you then. Nor did you and my mother become bosom friends over the matter.”
“But tonight he takes her to his bed. If she proves fertile and bears him a son-” She looked levelly at him.
“He would scarcely name an infant his heir over Suleiman or me, both grown men. Not at his age,” snapped Murad. “I hope, Mother, that you will have no part in a campaign of unkindness against this poor child. She will need friends here.” He angrily left the room.
Allah! She was here! Within this very palace, and he could do nothing. Whatever his mother and Anastatia said about Theadora’s ambition, he knew it was untrue. He knew her. They did not. How frightened she must be, poor child, and shortly she would be delivered up to that oversexed old man. He felt the nausea gripping his guts again. He had to get away from the palace. He could not remain here this night, knowing that her innocence was being violated on the altar of greed.
Suddenly, a heavily-veiled older woman glided out from the shadows. “The princess wants you to know that though this situation is not of her making, she will do her duty as she has been taught,” said the woman. And then she was gone.
He almost cried aloud at the swiftly retreating figure. Then Prince Murad made determinedly for the stables and called for his horse. He mounted, rode through the palace gates and headed the animal into the autumn mountains.
Chapter Four
Theadora had never been so clean in her entire life. She had thought they would scrub her skin away. Except for her eyebrows, lashes, and long tresses, she was completely denuded of hair. Her fingernails and toenails had been pared to the quick. Allah forbid she offend her lord and master by scratching-even inadvertently-his royal person! Her long, straight, mahogany-colored hair shone with its lovely gold lights. Her skin glowed with good health. The soles of her feet and the palms of her hands were tinted pink with henna.
But the amethyst eyes were worried, frightened. She did not understand all this haste, and when she tried to question Ali Yahya, he looked troubled, then brushed her question aside. “Princess, you have been married several years. Now that you have reached physical maturity the sultan wishes you to grace his bed. There is nothing odd in that.”
She was, he could tell, not satisfied by the answer. He felt more uncomfortable than ever, for he suddenly realized that she was innocent of deceit. She simply did not wish to bed with the sultan. He was sure that, had her father not insisted on this, the girl would have remained quietly at St. Catherine’s. The realization made what he must do even harder for Ali Yahya.
Precisely four hours after sunset Ali Yahya, accompanied by the lady Anastatia and the lady Nilufer, arrived at Theadora’s apartments to escort her to her destiny. The two older women, each dressed magnificently in silk garments heavy with gold embroidery and jeweled work, were a somewhat startling contrast to the young girl in her plain white silk robe.
Though tradition and good manners dictated that they speak politely to her, wishing her joy, neither said
