close.
She was alone. Her whole body began to shake, and the pent-up tears poured down her cheeks. A few minutes later Ali Yahya emerged from the shadows and removed the silk from her mouth. Quietly he unbound her arms and gently rubbed her wrists. He brought forth a handkerchief from his robe and silently wiped her tears away. Then, helping her up, he wrapped her silk robe about her icy body and led her back into the corridor and to the litter. Soon Iris’ loving arms were about her and the slavewoman led her to her bed.
Ali Yahya waited in the antechamber of Theadora’s apartment, warming himself by the tile stove. Finally Iris emerged and stood before him questioningly. In his high soft voice he told her all of it. “It is up to you to see that the princess does not become melancholy,” he finished.
Iris laughed harshly. “And how am I to do that, master? The girl is young and has been gently reared. A wedding night is frightening to any young virgin, but,” she lowered her voice, “the sultan has brutalized my little mistress. And what is worse, she must endure the same treatment for the next three nights! Why? What has this child done that he would hurt her so?”
“It is not your place to question, woman.”
“If I am to keep the girl alive I must know
“The sultan was angry at the princess. He thought she had induced her father to force compliance of the marriage contract and, thus, better her position. I believed that possible until I met the princess. There is no guile in her. And the two wives, Anastatia and Nilufer, have encouraged the sultan’s anger toward the princess. They are fearful of a third wife.”
“My princess is like a delicate flower, eunuch. You must convince the sultan to treat her gently these next few nights. If she goes mad and dies, to what purpose is this cruelty? Do you think the emperor will award your lord the remainder of my lady’s dowry when he learns what has happened to his favorite daughter? The Byzantine may have used the girl to his political advantage, but she is still his child, and he does love her.”
Ali Yahya nodded. “You are right, woman. I will see that the sultan’s heart is softened toward the princess. But you
Iris waited until the doors had closed behind him. Then she ran across the room into Theadora’s bedchamber. The girl lay on her back, barely breathing. She made no sound, but her beautiful face was wet with tears. Iris drew a stool up to the bedside and sat down. “Tell me what you are thinking,” she asked.
“I think that the humblest beast in the field is more fortunate than I,” came the soft reply.
“Do you wish to die, my princess?”
“
“Hush, my princess. Remember?” And Iris pointed to her ears.
Theadora instantly grew silent. The slavewoman rose and poured out a goblet of rich red Cyprus wine. She added a pinch of herbs to it and handed it to her mistress. “I have put a sleeping draught in the wine, my princess. You must get a good night’s rest if you are to face tomorrow with wisdom and courage.”
The girl drained the goblet. “See that I am awakened by midday, Iris,” she said, and lay back down to sleep. The slave crept from the room. But Theadora’s amethyst eyes remained open and focused on the ceiling. She was calmer now, the worst of the shock having worn off. But she would never forget the insult.
Her innocent dalliance with Prince Murad had led her to believe that what happened between a man and a woman was always sweet. Her husband had robbed her of a perfect wedding night, but never again would she allow herself to be treated as she had been treated tonight. If her father-curse him!-wanted her to bear Orkhan a son, then she would do so. But she would make her husband regret this night.
He would desire her above all women, and when she had obtained his desire…she would refuse him.
When her jaded husband finally groveled at her feet for her favors-and he would-she would dole them out sparingly or refuse them, as her whim dictated.
Theadora now began to relax and allowed the sleeping potion to take hold of her. When Iris looked in later, the princess was asleep.
Chapter Five
Ali Yahya was in serious danger of losing his dignity. He gaped at the child before him, and she repeated in her piping voice, “My mistress, Princess Theadora, commands your immediate presence, sir. You are to come with me.” Tugging on the fat hand, the little girl led the amazed chief eunuch down the hall to Theadora’s apartments.
When Ali Yahya had seen Theadora last he had not been sure she would survive the night. But the ravaged creature of the night before bore no resemblance whatever to the young woman he now faced. And for the first time in his life, Ali Yahya understood the true meaning of the word “royal”.
Theadora had caused a small throne to be set upon a raised dais, and she received Ali Yahya there. Her long dark hair had been plaited into two braids, and looped on either side of her head. Her clothing was all silk, in shades of Persian blues and sea green. She wore no jewelry, for she had none.
The amethyst eyes looked gravely at the eunuch. Abashed, he bowed low, and was rewarded by a faint smile. She raised her hand in a regal gesture of dismissal to her slaves.
Alone with Ali Yahya she said quietly, “Tell my husband that if there should ever be a repeat of last night, I will inform my father, Emperor John. I am aware of my duties, and will produce a child as quickly as nature will allow. But the sultan must come to me alone in future, and accept my lack of experience as any Christian husband would do-with delight at that proof of my innocence.
“If he wanted me experienced in the arts of love, he should have had me tutored. I was available. I am not newly arrived in this land.
“I request of you teachers who can help me overcome my ignorance. For now, perhaps, the sultan will find it amusing to tutor me himself. It should be quite a novelty for him.”
The chief eunuch swallowed his surprise. “I will do what I can to plead your case, Highness,” he said gravely.
“I know you will, Ali Yahya. You alone of those I have met since entering here yesterday have remembered my position. I will certainly not forget your kindness. Thank you for coming.”
He turned to go, but she spoke again. “I had almost forgotten. Please arrange for Iris and me to visit the slave markets of the city tomorrow.”
“If you need more servants I shall be glad to supply them, Highness.”
“I need my own servants, Ali Yahya. Not spies. I will people my household with my own slaves, not those in the pay of the lady Anastatia or the lady Nilufer, or whoever is my husband’s latest favorite. Or you, for that matter. Do I make myself clear, Ali Yahya?”
He nodded. “It will be as you wish, Highness,” be said, and hurried off to seek his master.
He found the sultan in the company of one of his new favorites, a blond Circassian named Mihrimah. The girl was a credit to her harem schooling, a veritable model of good manners, total obedience, and advanced sexual training. Ali Yahya watched impassively as Mihrimah took a sweetmeat delicately between her lips and offered it to her eager master. The eunuch marveled that a man of the sultan’s years could still be so quickly aroused and perform so well. Disregarding his servant’s presence, Orkhan mounted the slavegirl, driving her to a sobbing surrender.
His hot lust sated, he looked to the eunuch. By a flick of an eyelid, Ali Yahya asked dismissal of the girl. Orkhan shoved Mihrimah with his foot. “Go!” She obeyed instantly, getting to her feet and running from the room. “Speak, Ali Yahya. What is it?”
The eunuch fell to the floor and, taking the sultan’s foot, placed it on his bowed head. “I have erred, my lord. I have erred in judgement, and I beg that you forgive me.”
Orkhan was intrigued. Ali Yahya had been his slave for some twenty-five years. He had held his office as chief of the white eunuchs for the last fifteen. His judgements had always been cool, impersonal, and correct. Never
