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
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.
“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.
