“To where, Mother?”
“Thessaly, my love. There are ancient hot springs there whose waters would aid the soreness in your foot.”
“Will you come with me?”
“If your father will allow it,” she answered him, surprised that she hadn’t considered it before.
He struggled up, tugging at her hand. “Let us go now,”
Theadora laughed at his impatience but then thought, why not? She quickly followed her small son through the winding corridors that led from the haremlik to the selamlik, which were in turn followed by several panting eunuchs. They arrived quickly at the doors to the sultan’s apartments.
“Tell my father, the sultan, that Prince Halil and his mother, Princess Theadora, seek audience with him immediately.”
A few moments later the janissary returned. “The sultan will see you both now, Your Highness.” And he flung open one of the great oak doors.
They walked through into the lush chamber where Orkhan sat cross-legged upon a pile of cushions. Several young girls sat to his left playing softly upon stringed instruments. The most current of Orkhan’s favorites, a sulky mouthed, dark-haired Italian beauty, reclined next to him. Theadora and her son moved to the foot of the dais, but when Theadora moved to kneel, her son restrained her, glowering at his father’s concubine. “On your face, woman! My mother kneels only to my father and to her God!” And when the girl had the temerity to look to the sultan for confirmation, the child was on her with a roar of outrage. Pulling her from the cushions onto the floor, he cried, “Insolent one! You beg for a beating!”
Orkhan’s laughter rumbled through the room. “You have given me a true Ottoman, my Adora. Halil, my son, go gently with the girl. A slave such as this one is valuable merchandise.” He turned his gaze on the woman at his feet. “Leave me, Pakize. You will receive ten lashes for your lapse in manners. My wives are to be treated with the respect they deserve.”
The girl scrambled up and, body bent, backed her way out of the room.
Theadora now knelt and made a respectful obeisance to her husband while her son, Halil, bowed beautifully to his father.
“Sit next to me,” Orkhan commanded them, “and tell me why I have been honored by this visit today.”
Theadora settled herself by her husband and then said, “I wish to take Halil to Thessaly to the Springs of Apollo near Mount Ossa. The waters there are famous for healing, and though Halil will not admit it to me, I know he is in great pain. His foot and leg will never really mend properly, but at least the waters might help with his pain.”
“And you want to go with him?” asked the sultan.
“Yes, my lord, I do. He is still a little boy, and needs his mother. I know that you honor me, my lord, but you do not really need me. Halil does. Also, I would not trust our son to slaves on such a long journey.”
The sultan nodded. “You would not take him to Constantinople?”
“Never!”
Orkhan raised an amused eyebrow. “You are very vehement, my dear. Why is that?”
She hesitated, then said, “I had discussed with my sister the possibility of someday retiring to Constantinople with Halil. She made it quite clear that neither of us would be welcomed. She is an arrogant, stupid woman.”
He had known all of this, of course, for none of her private correspondence left or entered his palace that he did not read it first. Theadora was not aware of this, and she would have been very angry if she had known. He knew her far better than she realized, and though he would never have admitted it to her-for to do so would have been a sign of weakness-he admired her strength of character. And he was genuinely fond of her. She was a proud little creature. He realized how deeply her sister had hurt her.
“Take Halil to the Springs of Apollo, my dear. You have my permission to do so. Ali Yahya will see to your travel arrangements.” He turned to the boy. “You will look after your mother, Halil, and protect her from the infidel?”
“Yes, father! I have a new scimitar with a blade of real Toledo steel that my brother, Murad, sent to me from Gallipoli.”
Orkhan smiled at the child and patted his dark head. “I will trust you to guard her well, Halil. She is most precious to me, my son.” The sultan clapped his hands for refreshments.
And while the little boy happily munched honey-and-sesame cakes, Orkhan and Theadora talked. To her surprise, he no longer treated her as an object existing solely for his sensual pleasure, but rather like a favorite daughter. She, in turn, was more relaxed with him than she had ever been.
He spoke of eventually moving his capital to Adrianople, a city on the European side of the Sea of Marmara that he now had under siege. Theadora’s dowry gift had given him the toehold he had needed in Europe.
“When Adrianople is secure,” she asked, “will you take the city?”
“I will try,” he answered her. “Perhaps you will retire to Constantinople after all, my dear.”
She laughed. “Live a thousand years, my lord Orkhan! I am as yet too young to retire anywhere.”
He chuckled. “Too young, indeed, and far too lovely. You are easily the most beautiful woman in my house.” Then, seeing the wary look spring into her eyes, he gently dismissed her and the boy.
Alone, he wondered, as he had wondered a thousand times since she had first come to him, why she did not like lovemaking. She had never known any man but him, of that he was certain. She had been a virgin. She was wildly passionate when roused, but he had always felt that she was not with him-but with some ghostly lover. He might have suspected another man, but cloistered as she had been within her convent, she could not have had another man.
It was a mystery that still intrigued him after all these years. He knew she did not dislike him. The sultan shrugged. His harem was filled with young beauties only too willing to please him. Why one young Byzantine princess should intrigue him so, he did not understand.
Chapter Eight
The sky had been a cloudless bright blue all day. Too cloudless. Too bright blue. Now the captain watched the sunset in his vessel’s wake and frowned. The colors were too bright again-and too clear. As the orange sun sank behind the purple Pindus mountains, a tiny flash of emerald green was followed by a muted lavender streak. The captain nodded, and gave curt orders. He had seen a sky like this one before. Before a great storm.
He prayed to Allah that he was wrong. He was too far out to go back, and had it been only himself, his crew, and a cargo to worry about he would not have considered it; but he carried on board the sultan’s youngest wife, Princess Theadora, and her son, Prince Halil. He had brought them to Thessaly several months earlier, and now he was taking them home.
Ahead the darkness was starless; behind him the sunset had become a wash of flame-tinged gray. The winds, which had been fresh and light all day, now blew in strong gusts from the north and the west. Captain Hassan called to his first officer, “See that all the galley slaves are fed a good hot meal, and tell the overseer that when the storm hits he is to unlock their chains. If we go down I’ll not have their souls on my conscience.”
The officer nodded his agreement. “Is the danger that great, sir?”
“Perhaps having the sultan’s wife and son aboard makes me nervous, but the last time I saw a sky like that it was followed by a great storm.”
“Aye, sir.” The mate moved off the bridge to do his captain’s bidding, while Hassan turned and made his way down the steps into the passageway leading to his royal passengers’ quarters. He knocked and was admitted by Iris. The princess sat at a small table opposite her son. They were playing jackals-and-hares. He waited for her to grant him permission to speak.
She looked up almost at once, smiling. “Yes, captain?”
“I am expecting a severe storm tonight, Your Highness. I would prefer that you and your household remain within the safety of your quarters. If you wish hot food, please have it soon. Once the sea becomes rough, the cook has orders to close his galley and put out his fires.”