Adora (7 page)

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.
Murad! Murad!
She silently intoned his name over and over as the women spread a pink paste smelling of almonds over the haired areas of her body.

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
all
the terms of the marriage contract be fulfilled. Our father couldn’t resist the final third of the little Byzantine’s dowry. That includes Tyzmpe, and I am going to be sent to command the fort. Want to come along?”

“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 anything. Nilufer looked curiously at the girl. So, thought Iris, that is how it is to be! The mean old cats! The chief eunuch turned his head toward Iris and said quickly and softly, “Your mistress will be returned in an hour or two. Be ready! She will need you.” My God! What were they going to do to the child?

The litter moved with stately measure through the silent halls of the harem, finally coming to rest before two enormous bronze doors. Ali Yahya helped the trembling Theadora from the litter and escorted her through the doors—which slammed behind them with frightening finality.

It was a most luxurious room. Marble floors were covered lavishly with thick wool carpets. The walls were hung with exquisite silk tapestries. In each of three corners of the room was a tall, masterfully wrought gold censer burning with fragrant aloes. In the fourth corner was a large tiled stove burning applewood. Two silver and stained glass lamps hung from the dark beamed ceiling, casting soft light over a massive bed on a raised dais. The bed had rich, particolored silk hangings and carved posts. It was toward this bed that Theadora was led by Ali Yahya. From apparently nowhere, slavegirls appeared and removed her one garment.

“Please lie upon the bed, princess,” said Ali Yahya. She obeyed. To her shock he leaned over her and bound one of her arms to the bedpost with a soft silken cord. Her other arm was tied by a slavegirl and her long legs were pulled apart and secured in the same manner.

A wave of panic gripped her and she cried out. The eunuch clapped his hand over her mouth. “Be silent, Highness! No one will hurt you. If I remove my hand, do you promise not to scream?” She nodded and he lifted his hand from her face.

“Why am I being bound?” she asked in a shaking voice.

“Because the sultan has ordered it, my lady. When you were wed the marriage contract called for the consummation of
the marriage when you reached maturity. The sultan, quite frankly, would have left you at your convent. But your father insists that the marriage contract be fulfilled.”

“My
father
?” she cried unbelievingly. “My father insisted? Oh, God! How could he?”

“He needs the sultan’s aid again, Highness. Your sister and her husband are proving troublesome. The remaining third of your dowry, which includes a gold payment and the strategic fortress of Tzympe—which my master desires greatly—will remain outstanding until you are with child.”

For a moment she was silent. Then she exclaimed bitterly, almost to herself, “For this I so carefully preserved my maidenhead! To be forcibly delivered up to an old man for a troop of soldiers, a handful of gold, and a fort!” She sighed, then turned her eyes to the eunuch again. “Why has my lord ordered me bound to the bed?”

“Because you are inexperienced in the ways of love. Lacking knowledge, you are apt to struggle and displease the sultan. There is a need for haste, and no time to teach you the things you must know. You were brought to the palace today because this is the first fertile day in your moon cycle. For the next four nights you will bed with the sultan. It is hoped that you will be proved with child within the next month. If not, you will be bred again until my master’s labor bears fruit.”

She was stunned by this terrible revelation. Perhaps if she had not known the sweetness of lovemaking with Prince Murad it would not hurt so much. How the sultan must hate her! And she silently cursed the father who had sacrificed her in this cruel manner.

And in that one moment of blinding understanding, Theadora Cantacuzene grew up.

Ali Yahya spoke again. He was obviously in sympathy with her. “You must be prepared for your master, my princess. Do not be afraid of what will transpire.” And at her puzzled look he went on. “Your body is not yet ready to receive a man.”

He clapped his hands and two pretty women appeared, each carrying a white ostrich plume. They settled themselves quietly on stools by either side of the bed and, at a nod from the chief eunuch, began to touch her breasts with the soft plumes.

Theadora regarded them with a frankness that soon turned to amazement as the gentle caresses began to rouse her body. Her young breasts began to swell and harden, the nipples grew pointed and tingling. She gasped softly, surprised at herself. The eunuch watched her for several minutes from beneath hooded lids, noting her every movement.

He clapped his hands once more and two young girls, children really, approached with a woman. Without a word the two girls positioned themselves on each side of her, bent over, and gently pulled her nether lips apart. The woman leaned forward and, drawing a long pointed feather from her sleeve, delicately applied it to the most sensitive spot. Theodora stiffened with shock at this frightening invasion but, when she opened her mouth to protest, it was quickly stuffed with a silk handkerchief.

The agony was exquisite, but Theadora was outraged. She was being treated like a mare led to stud.

She silently screamed as wave after wave of delicious feeling, similar to that which Murad’s supple fingers had worked on her, washed over her. Christos! Why would her hips not lie still!

There was another movement in the shadows, and a tall man in a brocade robe appeared by the bedside. Her eyes were glazed with fear and reluctant sexual stimulation, but she recognized Sultan Orkhan. The hair she had remembered as dark was now mostly gray, but the eyes—dear lord—were
black like Murad’s
. The sultan looked down on her dispassionately and remarked to Ali Yahya, “She is really quite lovely. What a pity there is no time to train her properly.” He spoke as if she were not even there. “Is she still intact, Ali Yahya?”

“I did not think to check, Most High. She has, after all, been safe within her convent.”

“Be sure! Girls are known to play lewd games.”

The eunuch nodded curtly to the woman with the feather who ceased her ministrations. Bending, Ali Yahya gently inserted a finger into the helpless girl. She strained wildly against her bonds. Withdrawing from her, the eunuch straightened and said to his master, “She is intact, my lord sultan.”

“I don’t want to bother with the business of breaching her maidenhead. Mara will be waiting for me when this business is over with. See to it that she is deflowered. I will be ready shortly for the mounting.”

Theadora could not believe her ears. If Orkhan did not deflower her, how was it to be done? But she had little time to wonder. The chief eunuch gave swift orders and, moments later, he bent over her holding a long, thick, smooth, highly polished piece of wood shaped like a phallus. “The pain will be but momentary, Your Highness,” he said apologetically and then, in a lower voice which only she could hear, “Forgive me, princess.”

She felt the cool, smooth wood against her shrinking flesh and silently wailed her shame. A swift thrust! A sharp and burning pain spread through her loins before gradually dying. Warm wetness trickled down the insides of her thighs. She wanted to faint, to escape all this, but she remained conscious. And now her attention was drawn away from herself to the sultan.

He had watched without emotion as she was deflowered. Now he spread his arms wide and instantly the slaves removed his loose brocade gown. She was surprised to see that his body was as firm as a young man’s, if somewhat thinner.