SERAGLIO (22 page)

Marmara Sea

'Why didn't he come?' Julia said.

Ludovici leaned on the rail, watched the domes and spires of the great city fade into the violet haze of the morning, knowing he would never see them again. 'I don't know. I never really understood his reasons for doing anything.'

'But did he not promise?'

'He did, but then he implied that he might break it.'

'Do you think he is still alive? You don't think she has killed him?'

'My sources inside the Porte will tell me soon enough. If they killed him then we were right not to delay. And if he is well and chose not come …well nothing will change his mind once it is made up.'

The water shimmered with pools of gold as the sun rose in the sky. The
caramusali
reached into the breeze bound for the Dardanelles. Julia remembered the last time she had been out here, that morning she first glimpsed the city that had imprisoned and liberated her. A lifetime ago!

'I shall pray for him,' Julia said. She put her hand on his. The breeze was salt and clean. She said a silent farewell to past lovers and felt the past slough off her soul like an old and withered skin.

Topkapi Saraya

Hürrem was dying.

It was obvious to him, from the moment he entered the room. She was propped up on pillows; Muomi had braided her hair with pearls and the green taplock had been pinned to her hair. She had dressed her in a kaftan of pure white silk. It was all an absurd parody of her youth and he wanted to cry aloud when he saw her. Was this some kind of cruel joke?

He barely recognized her. The flesh had fallen away from her bones. She looked like a skull with a tight covering of translucent skin, her body shrunken and tiny like a doll's.

Muomi and Abbas crouched by her bedside, their faces dark with dread.

'
Russelana
…' he whispered.

The others moved back. Suleiman sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up her hand. It was as cold as marble. 'Don't leave me,' he whispered.

'I am free, Suleiman.' Her voice had lost all gentleness; it sounded like metal on a rasp.

He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. 'I love you.'

Her mouth creased like a bow. 'You fool.'

There was a moment of stillness.

'Life has been … cruel to you, Suleiman. But then you have … deserved it.'

Something inside him turned to ice. He wondered if he had heard her correctly. He bent lower over the bed. 'What are you telling me?'

'I am telling you to … go and stew … in hell.'

Suleiman stared at her, appalled. He dropped her hand as if she had told him she had the pestilence. He turned to the circle of faces around the bed. 'Get out! Get out all of you!'

Muomi and the other
gediçli
hurried out. Only Abbas hesitated.

'Get out!' Suleiman repeated.

The door creaked shut behind him.

When he turned back Hürrem was grinning; yes grinning, he thought, for it could not be called a smile. Her lips were drawn back from her teeth in a death's head vision of triumph. 'Little
russelana
…'

'I am not … your little
russelana
. I have never … loved you. Every day of my life I have … hated you … hated you with all my soul.'

Suleiman clutched at the fluted gold column of the canopy to steady himself. 'You are sick. I shall pay no attention to anything you say.'

'I was your prisoner so I could … do nothing else, but submit … to you. But oh, how I have … despised you!'

Suleiman covered his ears. 'I will not listen!'

'Have you ever wondered why Bayezid is such a … great warrior? It is because …. he belongs to Ibrahim.'

'No! That is impossible.'

'You trusted him so much … you never knew what he did … after he returned from Egypt.'

'No!'

'So you see this is my …
waqf
, my bequest to the Osmanlis. Choose Suleiman! Fat, stupid Selim … or the son of the … Greek! I curse you and I curse … every Sultan who follows you … until your Empire crumbles away … into memory and ruin.'

'Stop it! PLEASE!'

'How I hate you …'

'NOOOOOOO!' He took her by the shoulders and shook her. 'You love me! Say it! You love me!'

He looked into her eyes and watched the light die there. A flicker, like a candle in a draught, and then darkness, He threw her back on the bed with all his force. She slumped onto her side.

'NO, IT IS NOT TRUE!'

He ripped the taplock off her head and the pearls that were braided into her whitened hair scattered on the marble floor. Her hair tore out from the roots and tangled in his fingers.

'Nooooooo ….'

He picked up a stool and flung it at the Vicenzan mirror, saw his own image splinter into a thousand pieces. Then he ran from the room.

When Abbas found him he was curled up on the floor of his own bedchamber crying like an infant. His servants hung back, none of them knowing what to do. Abbas put him to bed.

He stayed there for three days crying and shouting at the phantoms that came to haunt him, and when he finally summoned Abbas it was to order that her apartments be locked and sealed so that he would never again have to go in any room where he had once heard her laughter or felt her embrace.

God's Wind

Amasya, 1559

The two riders galloped towards each other at full tilt, the horse's hoofs drumming on the soft earth, the mud tossed into the air behind them in thick clumps. The first rider threw his spear and his opponent tried to slide out of the way on the lee side of his horse, but it struck him a glancing blow on his back. The mounted horsemen at the side of the arena cheered. The music of the drums and
zounas
became more urgent.

'Sssss,' Bayezid whispered to calm his Arab, who was kicking with his forelegs, agitated by the music and the shouting of the riders around them.

'Another three points,' Murad grinned, 'another good day for the Blues.'

'Soon we may be throwing real spears,' Bayezid said. He took off again toward the centre of the arena and two riders from the Greens. As they closed Murad saw the first javelin, thrown too soon, pass harmlessly over his prince's shoulder as he ducked beneath the horse's head. Bayezid veered his Arab suddenly to the right and the other rider had to pull up sharply to avoid crashing into him.

Bayezid reined in his horse, which responded immediately. Before the other rider had realized what was happening he was behind him and his spear struck the Green between the shoulder blades. The man cried out in pain and slumped over his horse.

All around him the Blues stood in their stirrups and cheered.

Bayezid charged on, calling for another javelin from the pages darting between the horses. He grinned through his thick black beard at Murad. 'What do you say, Murad?'

'I say we march t
oda
y and cut ourselves a slice of barley pudding!'

Bayezid laughed. There was more whoops from the Blues as another of their team scored a direct hit with his spear and sent a Green tumbling from his horse with blood spurting from his head.

They were invincible that day. They could not lose.

***

Bayezid found Gülbehar in the Harem garden, in the rose kiosk. The roses that gave it its name were in full flower, a blaze of rose and gold and pink.

She sat alone, the silence broken only by the steady click-click-click of the pearl
tespi
running through her fingers, her lips moving silently as she recited the prayers of Mohammed. Her face was hidden by her
yashmak
but the deep lines around her eyes betrayed her age. The years had not been kind to Rose of Spring. All that remained were the thorns.

She heard him enter but did not look up. 'You look so much like my son,' he said.

'I should like to be like him in every way.'

'Not in every way, Bayezid, surely? My son is dead.' She looked up for the first time. 'So what brings you here to this old woman's garden?'

'I want your advice.'

'My advice? I have spent my whole life in gardens like this one. What would I know of the world of princes?'

'I think you know a great deal.' He paused, choosing his words carefully. 'You know there is going to be war.' Such a beautiful day, the air was redolent with the scent of roses. Too fine a day to be talking about bloodshed.

A
gediçli
poured Gülbehar a perfumed sherbet into a crystal glass. She sipped it.

'Because of Selim?'

'The troubles of the Osmanlis do not begin and end with Selim. The great grandsons of the men who followed the Fatih into battle now sit on their farms in Anatolia and are ruled by the great grandsons of the men that were conquered. The
devshirme
has burdened us with an army of bureaucrats, and a Bulgarian vizier forces them off their lands while he fills his own pockets with their taxes. Everything is baksheesh, baksheesh. A true Osmanli lives in the saddle of a horse not on a silk divan! He finds his power in the sword not in a bribe.'

Gülbehar ran the
tespi
through her fingers, click-click-click. 'Do you remember how they murdered my son? Do you remember what the
Yeniçeris
said that day? Our hope is lost in Mustapha.'

'I remember.'

'We need another Mustapha and you are so much like him. You can ride, you can fight, you command respect wherever you go. I believe our hope might be reborn in you.'

'If only Suleiman thought so.'

'Suleiman was my lord for many years but truly I do not recognize the man he has become. Look at what he has done to you! He has shamed you and exiled you here to Amasya, as he did to my son. He has all but handed the throne to your idiot brother. This time we cannot blame it all on Hürrem.'

'He knows what kind of man my brother is. It makes no sense.'

'If you are Suleiman it makes every kind of sense.'

'So what should I do?'

'It is Suleiman who has done it. He claims that what he does is for the Osmanlis but he's a liar. He just wants to hold on to his power and everyone who threatens it, he destroys. He pretends not to be a tyrant like his father, but he is worse. At least you knew where you were with Selim the Grim. He did not pretend to be something he wasn't.'

'What are you telling me?'

'Selim is not your enemy. Your father is. Be careful of him Bayezid If you ride against anyone, let it be your father. Selim cannot hurt you. Your father will bury you and spit on your grave.'

She held out her hand. Bayezid kissed it and took his leave.

Ride against Suleiman? he thought. No, that is unthinkable. Suleiman was just testing his mettle, that was all. He must know he could not let Selim remain at Manisa, just five days ride from the capital, while he lived like an exile a month's ride away. It was the Osmanli way and his father would understand that.

Topkapi Saraya

Suleiman contemplated his grand vizier, motionless but for the steady tapping of his index finger on the golden arm of his throne. He was dressed magnificently; a kaftan lined with black sable, a crimson robe with gold tiger stripes, emeralds glittering in his turban and on his fingers. Yet he looked shrunken as if the pages had thrown an adult's clothes on a wizened little boy.

'It was the illness,' Suleiman murmured.

Rüstem frowned. 'My Lord?'

Suleiman jerked his head up as if suddenly aware of his presence. 'Ah, Rüstem.'

'I have come from the Divan, my Lord.'

'The Divan,' Suleiman repeated as if trying to remember what manner of thing that might be.

'I have bad news, my Lord.'

'Bayezid?'

Rüstem nodded. It was disconcerting; one moment the Sultan seemed on the edge of madness, the next he was lucid and alert. He had been this way ever since Hürrem died.

'Has he answered the
chaush
?'

'He has.'

'And what does he say?'

'His reply was short, my Lord.' He produced the letter from the fold of his robes. He read the formal salutation, then: 'He goes on to say just this, My Lord: 'In everything I will obey the command of the Sultan, my father, except in all that lies between Selim and me.'

Suleiman uttered a small cry, like an animal caught in a trap. 'She was very ill. She did not mean what she said.'

'My Lord?'

'Why does he defy me?'

What else can he do? Rüstem thought. You virtually exiled him after Hürrem's death. 'He raises an army at Angora,' Rüstem said. 'They say the veterans and the Turcomans are flooding to him. Meanwhile Selim has complained that he has received a woman's bonnet and apron from his brother as a gift.'

'We must stop this. While I live they shall obey me!'

'There may yet be a way, my Lord.'

'Tell me.'

'Restore Bayezid to Kütahya. If not there, then Konia. Make some conciliation. But by assigning him to Amasya you give the succession to Selim.'

'He must obey me!'

'If you insist on this we cannot avert a civil war.'

'They are my sons! They will do as I say!'

'I fear we cannot persuade Bayezid to stay his hand, my Lord.' He hesitated. 'It was always my understanding that you wanted Bayezid as your successor.'

'Then your understanding was at fault. You are getting old. The dropsy has addled your brain.'

Rüstem touched his forehead to the carpet. 'As you say.'

'Tell Selim he is to proceed to Konia, to guard our southern route to Syria and Egypt. Send Mohammed Sokolli to protect him with a regiment of
Yeniçeris
and thirty cannon. Meanwhile you shall command Pertew Pasha to go to Bayezid and try and persuade him to return without delay to the governorship of Amasya and extract from him a promise of fealty. My sons will not be allowed to drag this empire into war while I still sit on this throne.'

'Yes, my Lord,' Rüstem said. He rose slowly to his feet and hobbled from the room. Suleiman is mad! he thought, Hürrem's death had unhinged his mind. But he would do as the Sultan commanded. Let others worry about Suleiman's successor. He would be dead before then.

***

'You were ill,' Suleiman said. 'You did not mean what you were saying.'

'There was a fever in my brain,' Hürrem answered. 'It was the devil who spoke.'

'Bayezid is my son.'

'Of course he is your son. I loved you with all my heart. Besides, I was close guarded in the Harem. Ibrahim could not have reached me in there. It was the Devil's lie.'

'Yet he looks like Ibrahim,' Suleiman said.

Suleiman reached out a hand to touch her but she was not there. Tears of grief and self pity welled up in his eyes. For thirty five years he had loved her, loved her more than anyone. He had given up his Harem for her and made her his queen. Of course she had loved him. It was the illness that made her say what she had right at the end.

Yet he could still hear her, as if she was in the room right now. He could see her lying on the bed, her face white, her voice jagged as metal. I have never loved you. Every day of my life I have hated you with all my soul.'

'My little
russelana
, please …'

He opened his eyes, almost expecting to see her. But there were only the mutes, dumb to his grief, faces blank as stone.

Little
russelana
.

He remembered when he had first seen her, in the courtyard of the old Eski Saraya, that green taplock on her head and a childlike frown on her face as she worked the needle and thread. She was incapable of so much hate, he told himself. It was Satan speaking through her; she was already in Paradise when she damned him.

But how could he be really sure? It was the reason he had exiled Bayezid to Amasya and favoured Selim for the throne. Better a drunk than break the line forever with a traitor.

Even a traitor he had loved.

Hürrem, tell me you lied at the end; come back and tell you lied.