all this. Murad is playing us against each other. If he kills us off, he cannot do that any longer. Go to Bursa. He is there now. Beg his pardon. He will forgive you.”
“That is easy for you to say, Father. It is not your life you play with.”
“No!” thundered the emperor. “It is not my life, but a life far dearer to me! It is the life of my favorite son: the only man fit to rule Byzantium when I am gone. You have said you would find the courage, Manuel. You must. You have no other choice. I will not receive you publicly or privately again. Nor will I allow you sanctuary here in the city. You endanger us all, everyone from the lowliest beggar to the emperor is in danger from Murad’s vengeance if we defy him. Where is your conscience?”
“Our walls are unbreachable,” protested the prince.
“No longer, not completely. There are places where they are weakened, and when I tried to refortify them recently, the sultan forced us to tear down what we had rebuilt.”
Manuel sighed and drew a deep breath. “I will go, Father.”
“Good, my son!” said the emperor, clapping his son on his shoulder. “I will see that word is sent to Bursa ahead of you.” He stood up. The audience was at in end. The emperor clasped his son to his breast. “Go with God, my son,” he said quietly.
Manuel left the Imperial Palace to find an escort awaiting him. They rode to the yacht basin at the Boucoleon Harbor. His escort left him after putting him aboard a waiting ship. The ship arrived several hours later at the port of Scutari on the Asian side of the Marmara. The captain gave Manuel a fine stallion, which had made the voyage stabled in the stern of the ship.
“With your father‘s compliments, Highness. Godspeed.”
Manuel Paleaologi rode off alone. His fear was not of the journey, for the sultan’s roads were safe. He feared what awaited him in Bursa.
His father was sure the sultan would forgive him, but Manuel remembered the massacred garrison at Chorlu and the seige of Demotika when sons were ordered executed by their own fathers. He also remembered that the two fathers who had refused to kill their sons had been executed themselves. Manuel recalled that his cousin, Bajazet, had beheaded the rebellious Cuntuz. If the sultan could be that cold with a rebellious son, what chance did he have?
He stopped at a small caravansary that night and got drunk on fermented fruit juice. The following afternoon he rode into the palace courtyard at Bursa. His monumental headache, made worse by several hours’ ride in the bright sunlight, was punishment enough. He was escorted courteously to a small apartment and attended by soft-spoken slaves who saw to his bath and steamed and massaged his headache away. He was brought a light lunch for which he found he had appetite. But he saw no one but the slaves, and they could not answer his questions. His nerves were beginning to fail him.
Finally, after supper had been served him that evening, a palace official came to tell him that the sultan would see him in the morning. Manuel was more nervous now than he had been when he arrived. Then the thought struck him that if Murad had intended to kill him he would have been housed in the palace dungeons rather than a comfortable suite. Perhaps his father was right. He dozed fitfully throughout the night.
In the morning he was taken before his uncle. Murad looked enormously imposing sitting on a throne of black marble, clad in a jeweled robe of cloth of gold. He wore a gold turban with a pigeon’s-blood ruby in its center. Looking down on Manuel, Murad said sternly, “Well, nephew?”
Manuel flung himself flat. He was unable to stand now, for his legs were trembling terribly. “Mercy, my lord uncle! I have wronged you, but your reputation for fairness is well-known. Forgive me! I will not err again!”
The corners of the sultan’s mouth twitched. “That is an enormous vow you make, Prince Manuel. To never err again…”
“My lord, I only meant-”
“I know what you meant, you young fool! You swore to be my liegeman, and you have broken that vow. I should have you beheaded and get the matter over with.
“However, I am informed that the cause of your disgrace was a woman. I can do no more than Allah himself did when the father of us all, Adam, was led astray by the woman, Eve. So it has been, down through the ages. Normally intelligent men being led into a folly by a pretty smile and a pair of plump tits.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Your father informs me that you are ordinarily levelheaded, and that you have a talent for governing. Very well. I will spare you,
Manuel felt the sweat running down his back and legs. He was weak with relief. Slowly he pulled himself up. “Sire,” he said, and his voice broke. He gulped back his tears. “Sire, my grateful thanks. I swear I will not fail you again.”
“See you do not,” said the sultan sternly. “Now go and see your aunt and thank her for your life. She pleaded very prettily for you.”
Manuel backed from the audience chamber, and followed the slave who led him to Theadora. As he entered the room, she rose and came toward him with her hands outstretched. Giving him a hug and a kiss on his cheek, she said, “So, Manuel, you have met with the lion in his own den and you have emerged alive.”
“Barely, aunt.” God! She was lovelier than ever! Nothing at all like his mother! How could two sisters be so completely different?
“Sit down, my dear. You look exhausted. Iris, see to refreshments. My nephew appears in need of sustenance. How is your father, Manuel? And, of course, my dear sister?”
“My father is well. My mother is as usual.” He saw the twinkle in her eye. “I understand,” he continued, “that I have your silver tongue to thank for my life.”
She nodded smilingly. “An old debt I owed your father, Manuel. But now it is paid. Betray my lord Murad ever again, and I myself will wield the sword that executes you.”
“I understand, aunt. I will not be disloyal again.”
“Now, tell me what you think of your impending marriage.”
“I suppose,” he said, “it is time I settled down and bred some sons.”
“No curiosity about your bride?”
“Do I have a choice, aunt?”
“No,” she laughed, “but do not look so doleful. The maiden is lovely.”
“You have seen her?”
“Yes. She lives here in the Bursa Palace. She is a hostage for her family’s good behavior. This marriage between you two will bind them closer to us when they learn how well we have settled her. I think they expected she would be put in some emir’s harem. They did not think to see her become empress of Byzantium someday.”
“What is she like?”
“Fair, with reddish-blond hair and bright blue eyes. Her mother was a Greek. She reads, writes, and speaks Greek. And she reads and speaks Turkish as well. She is soft-spoken, has been taught all the housewifely virtues, and is faithful in her devotions. She has spent part of her time with us learning the Eastern way of pleasing a husband. I feel you will find her most accomplished.” Theadora’s eyes were sparkling mischievously.
“Am I allowed a glimpse of this paragon, aunt?”
“Go to the window, Manuel, and look out into my garden. The two maidens tossing the ball are your cousin, Janfeda, and your betrothed, Julia.”
“Janfeda, here? I had heard she was to go to Baghdad.”
“She goes soon.”
Manuel Paleaologi studied the girl who played with his pretty cousin. Julia was a pretty little thing. She laughed easily and was good-natured when she missed a catch. His good fortune suddenly overwhelmed him. He had ridden into Bursa expecting not to leave it alive. Instead, he was forgiven his sins and presented with a beautiful bride.
A lesser man might have made the mistake of considering this a sign of weakness on the sultan’s part. Manuel Paleaologi did not make that mistake. His father had been right. Murad was playing the Paleaologi family against
