Adora

Chapter Seven

Theadora was in a rage. “I have always encouraged Halil to pursue manly sports,” she exclaimed furiously, “but I warned him, Ali Yahya. And I warned that useless body slave of his-who will now receive ten lashes for disobeying me! I told them both that Halil was not yet to ride the stallion Prince Suleiman sent him. Halil is only six! He could have been killed!”

“He is Osman’s grandson, my lady Theadora, and Orkhan’s son. It is a wonder he was not born with spurs already attached to his little heels,” replied the eunuch.

Theadora laughed in spite of herself. Then, sobering, she said, “This is very serious, Ali Yahya. The doctor says Halil may always limp because of the fall. The leg is not healing properly, and it now appears to be a bit shorter than the other leg.”

“Perhaps it is better that way, my princess,” sighed Ali Yahya. “Now that your son is physically imperfect, he will be considered unfit to rule.”

She looked stunned and he was amazed. “How can it be that you have lived among us, my princess, in this palace, and you do not realize that the first thing any new sultan does is to order the execution of his rivals? In most cases, these are his brothers. But our laws do not permit the imperfect to inherit, so be grateful, my princess. Your son will now live a long life. Why do you think Prince Murad has had no children? He knows that his life, and that of any of his sons, are forfeit when Prince Suleiman inherits.”

Suleiman kill her little Halil? Impossible! He adored his little half brother. Spoiled him continually. But she remembered that Suleiman’s eyes could grow cold. She remembered the command in his voice and that he was always obeyed instantly. She also recalled something her father had said long ago, before she had become the sultan’s wife. He had said that the Turks made good mercenaries because they delighted in killing. He said they had no mercy and no pity.

She shuddered. God was, after all, looking after her. When Orkhan died she would be a dead sultan’s wife-a most unenviable position. Halil was all the family she had. And now he was no threat to anyone.

Her father had been deposed three years past, but unlike so many Byzantine emperors who had lost their lives along with their thrones, John Cantacuzene had retired to the monastery of Mistra, near Sparta. With him was her brother, Matthew, who had taken holy orders earlier.

Theadora’s older half sister, Sophia, had come to a violent end when her third husband had caught her with a lover and stabbed them both to death. Helena, now the undisputed empress of Byzantium, behaved as if Theadora barely existed. They might be sisters, but the sultan’s third wife was hardly on a social par with the holy Christian empress of Byzantium!

Theadora smarted under her sister’s contempt. Because Orkhan was almost seventy, Theadora had recently broached the subject with Helena of her possibly retiring to Constantinople when the sultan went to his reward. She had been cruelly rebuffed. Helena claimed that the daughter of the usurper, John Cantacuzene, would hardly be welcome in the city. The same, Helena added, might be said of Orkhan’s widow. The infidels were the greatest enemies of the Byzantines.

Helena conveniently forgot that she too was John Cantacuzene’s daughter. And she overlooked the fact that, had her little sister not been wed to the Ottoman, their father might not have been able to hold onto his throne long enough for Helena to become John Paleaologi’s wife, and empress. Helena was not particularly intelligent. She did not comprehend that what had once been the vast empire of Byzantium had now dwindled to a few sections of the Greek mainland, some cities along the Black Sea, and Constantinople.

Helena did not see that the royal jewels that adorned her state robes and crown were merely glass. The robes themselves were no longer real cloth of gold, but tinsel. The state dishes were copper. And everything that appeared to be rich brocade was only painted leather. It never occurred to Helena that being empress of Byzantium was very much like being empress of an empty eggshell. Theadora saw all of this, and though she did not think the Turks’ capture of Constantinople was likely to happen in her lifetime, she knew that they would eventually prevail over Byzantium.

Still, Theadora longed for the city of her birth. And she felt sure that when Orkhan was gone, there would be no place for her in Bursa, at Suleiman’s court.

For a moment she thought of Murad. He was still without a wife or favorites. She wondered if he ever thought of her. He was rarely in Bursa, but spent most of his time in Gallipoli.

Theadora chuckled as she remembered how Orkhan had cleverly tricked her father over Gallipoli. With the birth of Halil, her remaining dowry had been paid to Orkhan. Prince Suleiman and Prince Murad had been sent to occupy Tyzmpe for the sultan. The fortress was located on the European side of the Dardanelles, on the Gallipoli peninsula. When the ancient walls of the nearby town of Gallipoli had collapsed during a mild earth tremor, the Ottoman Turks had quickly occupied it. Their next task was to fortify and rebuild the town’s walls, which they did. Once this was done, the Ottoman princes brought over from Asia the first colony of Turkish settlers. Other colonies followed in quick succession, comprised of Orkhan’s former warriors and their women, who all settled on the lands of the fugitive Christian nobles, under their own Muslim beys. The peasants of the region remained, preferring life under the Ottoman rule to the Byzantine. Occupation by the Turks meant freedom from Christian feudal power with all its abuses and its heavy taxation. It also meant equal law for all, regardless of race, religion, or class.

As the Turkish occupation spread, even the Christian lords whose lands bordered on newly acquired Ottoman territory began to accept Orkhan’s sovereignty. As his vassals, they paid him a small annual tribute in token of their submission to Islam. And from the beginning, the Ottoman state adopted a conciliatory attitude toward their Christian subjects.

In Constantinople, Emperor John Cantacuzene suddenly realized what was happening and complained bitterly to his son-in-law, the sultan. Orkhan offered to sell Tzympe back to the Byzantines for ten thousand gold ducats, knowing full well that he could retake it any time he chose to retake it. Gallipoli, however, he would not return, claiming that he had not taken it by force. It had fallen to him by the will of God, in the earthquake. Theadora could not help laughing at the thought of her clever father finally outwitted, even though it meant his downfall.

With her father and brother exiled, Theadora had no one to whom she could turn. She was fearful of what would happen to her and to her son. Then suddenly Prince Suleiman solved her problem.

Halil’s injury had been brought to his attention, and he called on Theadora in order to apologize for the horse he had given to his younger sibling, and which had proved dangerous. Theadora accepted his apology, saying, “Ali Yahya tells me it is a blessing in disguise, for now Halil will be no threat to you.”

The prince replied candidly, “That is true, princess. But since the boy is no longer a danger, let us concentrate on planning his future. He is a highly intelligent lad and could be of great use to me.”

“I had thought to return to Constantinople with Halil some day,” she answered him. He need not know that that road was probably closed to her.

“But you must not do that! If you are truly unhappy I would not keep you here, but you are an Ottoman now, Adora, and we are proud of you.”

“There could be no place for me at your court, Suleiman.”

“I will make a place for you,” he said huskily. She looked up just in time to catch him mask the flicker of desire in his eyes. She was startled and quickly lowered her eyes so he might not see how upset she was. It seemed, she thought with wry amusement, that she held a fascination for the men of the Ottoman family. “You are most kind, Prince Suleiman, to offer us a home. I will rest more easily now, knowing that Halil’s future is secure.”

The prince bowed suavely and left her. Well, she chuckled to herself, Halil was safe, but was she? It disturbed her that Prince Suleiman should desire her. He had always treated her like a sister. And she had never encouraged his desire. She frowned. The voice of her servant, Iris, cut through the silence.

“Look in your mirror, my lady. The answer to your unspoken question is there.”

“You were eavesdropping!” Theadora accused.

“If I did not eavesdrop I should learn nothing, and then how could I protect you? You are as deep as a well, my princess.”

Adora laughed, “Give me a mirror, you incorrigible old snoop!”

Iris handed it to her, and Theadora looked at her image with careful scrutiny for the first time in many years. She was somewhat startled to find an incredibly beautiful young woman staring back at her. She had, it seemed, a heart-shaped face, a long straight nose, well-spaced amethyst eyes fringed heavily in gold-tipped black lashes, and a wide generous mouth with a full, almost pouting, lower lip. Her creamy skin was flawless.

She placed the mirror on the divan and walked over to its tall standing counterpart of clear Venetian glass, which was set in a heavily carved gold frame. Eyeing herself critically, she noted that she was taller than most women, yet willow slim, with high breasts. A good figure. She peered hard at herself. Is it really me? she asked silently. She was not vain by nature, and since the one thing she did not want to do was attract Orkhan’s attention, she had never really taken much care with her appearance.

“I am beautiful,” she said softly, her hand absently patting her dark hair.

“Yes, my princess, you are. And you are not even in your prime yet,” cackled Iris. “If Prince Suleiman desires you,” she continued in a low voice, “perhaps he will make you his wife when you are a widow. Then will your fortune and your future be made!”

“I have no desire to be his wife,” snapped Theadora in an equally low voice. “Besides he already has four wives, and he can have no more. I will be no man’s concubine!”

“Pah! It is easy enough for him to divorce one of his wives. They are only slaves. You are a princess.” She looked slyly at her mistress, her eyes bright. “Do not tell me you do not long for a young man’s love, a young man’s caress. You move about your room half the night. A few good tumbles with a lusty man would cure you of your restlessness.”

“You are impertinent, Iris! Beware, or I will have you whipped!” Damn the woman! Iris was far too observant.

Halil chose that moment to burst in upon his mother. “Look! I can walk again, Mother, without the crutches!” He ran into her arms and she almost wept at the sight of his very pronounced limp. His right foot was twisted inward.

“I am so proud of you,” she said kissing him soundly as he squirmed away, making a face. “Rude boy!” she scolded teasingly, drawing him down by her side. “Tell me, Halil, does it still hurt?”

“Only a little.” But he said it so quickly that she knew it probably hurt him a great deal.

Impulsively she asked, “How would you like to take a sea voyage, my son?”

“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.”

“You will keep me informed, captain?”

“Assuredly, Highness! Your safety and Prince Halil’s is of the greatest importance.”

She dismissed him with a nod and returned to her game. Captain Hassan bowed himself out and walked swiftly through his ship, checking ropes and hatches as he went. He stopped in the galley and sat down. Without ceremony the cook set before him a steaming bowl of spicy fish stew and a hunk of bread. The captain ate quickly, sopping up the gravy with the bread. Finished, he turned to the cook. “Have you all you need to feed the men, Yussef?”

“Aye, sir. I baked this morning. There’s plenty of bread. I’ve dried fish, beef, and fruit. And I can make coffee on the spirit lamp.”

Suddenly the ship lurched violently and began to pitch. Yussef began to damp down his cookfires and the captain rose to his feet, saying grimly, “Here we go, my friend. From the feel of that, we’re in for quite a ride.”

Theadora and her party had been eating when the storm began. Walking across the spacious stern cabin she gazed through the small bowed window out into the half dark. Behind them, through the sheets of rain, the sky still glowed faintly with a red sunset. The sea was now black, relieved only by the white foam of its peaks. Theadora shivered with a premonition of danger. Then, holding down her emotions, she said, “I think we would do well to retire early.” She ruffled her small son’s hair. “This is not the time for setting up the telescope your father sent you, Halil. There’ll be no stars tonight.”

“Oh, Mother! May I not stay up and watch the storm?”

“Would you like to?” She was surprised, but pleased that he was not afraid.

“Yes! I only wish the captain would allow me on deck now.”

“Even if he would, I would not!”

“Oh, Mother!”

She laughed. “But you may stay up, my son.”

He curled contentedly into the window seat, face pressed against the small panes of glass. She sat quietly at her embroidery frame, stitching a pastoral scene. The slaves cleared the meal away and then disappeared into their own small quarters. Iris trimmed the lamps which were swaying precariously from their chains. Glancing over at Halil, Theadora saw that the boy had fallen asleep. She nodded to Iris who gathered the child up and tucked him into his bed.

“Only an innocent could sleep in this storm,” the older woman noted. “Me? I am terrified, but I suppose if it’s my fate to feed the fishes, I won’t escape it.” She plumped herself down on her mistress’s bed and began calmly to mend one of the little prince’s silk shirts.

Theadora silently continued with her embroidery. It was not particularly comforting to know that Iris was as frightened as she was-but, remembering her late mother’s words about the difference between the ruling class and the rest of the world, she again called on the deep reserve of discipline that was her heritage. She was Theadora Cantacuzene, a princess of Byzantium. She was Theadora Cantacuzene, the sultan’s wife. She must be strong for the sake of her little son and for her slaves who were, after all, not just her property, but her responsibility as well.

She glanced instinctively toward the small bowed window as the ship gave a particularly violent lurch, and, for one terrifying moment, she felt as if her heart had stopped. There was so much water she was not sure that the ship had not sunk. Then, like a bobbing cork, the ship rose again on the angry white crest of the waves. As she regained her breath, she realized her finger was throbbing. Looking down, she saw that she had pricked it with her needle. A bright red drop of blood lay for a moment upon the white linen before soaking into the embroidery. She made an irritated sound and, picking up the carafe of fresh water near her, dribbled some of it on the stain. By rubbing vigorously she managed to remove the blood. She then put her injured finger into her mouth and sucked on it.

She discovered that she was shaking, and it suddenly occurred to Theadora that she did not want to die. She was just twenty, which was really not all that old-and, except for those few brief hours in the convent garden with Prince Murad, she had never really known any happiness. And what of her son? He had known only seven years.

The ship was pitching wildly now, and Iris moaned. Her face had taken on a sickly green tinge, and Theadora shoved a basin at the woman just in time.

When Iris had finished, Theadora took the basin and hurried out of the cabin with it in deliberate defiance of the captain’s orders. She was not, she thought grimly, going to spend the rest of the storm locked in a cabin that reeked of vomit. That would be sure to prolong Iris’ illness and possibly weaken her own fluttering stomach.

By hugging the passageway she was able to reach the exit. Standing in the hatchway, she flung the entire basin out into the storm, watching with amazement as the wild wind caught the brass vessel and held it aloft as though deciding whether it wanted it or not. After a moment, it plunged into the boiling sea. There was something so wonderfully alive about the storm that for a moment Theadora paused where she was, and her fear temporarily gone, she laughed aloud at the fierceness and the beauty of it.

Making her way back to her cabin, she found that poor Iris had fallen asleep on her narrow couch. Theadora sat again at her embroidery. She had worked for several hours when she suddenly became aware that the sea was once again calm. She rose and stretched her cramped limbs. A knock sent her quickly to the door where the captain waited, looking very tired.

“Are you all right, Highness?”

“Yes, Captain Hassan. We are all fine.”

“I came to warn you that the storm is not yet over.”

“But the sea is as calm as a fishpond.”

“Yes, my lady, it is. We call it the ‘eye’ of the storm. A center of calm in the midst of turbulence. When we reach the other side of that calm, may Allah preserve us. Please continue to remain in your cabin.”

“How long will the calm last?”

“Perhaps half an hour, my lady.”

“Then I will, with your permission, come up on deck for a few minutes, captain. My son and my servants are sleeping, but I confess that I am restless.”

“Of course, Highness. I will escort you myself.”

She closed the door quietly and, taking his arm, walked out onto the wet deck. The heavy air was still, and it appeared as if they sailed into an ink pot. Above and around them, the sky and the sea were a flat black. But then the captain pointed ahead, and in the strange half-light Theadora could see the water some distance ahead of them, roiling a foaming white

“The other side of the storm, Highness. There is no escaping it.”

“It is magnificent, Captain Hassan! Will we survive its savagery?”

“As Allah wills it, my lady,” replied the captain fatalistically, shrugging his shoulders.

They stood at the rail for some minutes. Then, sensing the captain’s impatience, Theadora said, “I will return to my quarters.” Inside again she bent over her son and kissed him gently. So deep was his slumber that he did not even stir. Iris lay on her back, snoring gently. It is better this way, thought Theadora. I can maintain my own calm more easily if no one else frightens me.

She could feel the ship beginning to pitch again as they approached the other side of the storm. Theadora sat quietly with her hands folded tightly and prayed silently for the safety of the vessel and all who sailed on it. Never, since leaving St. Catherine’s, had she immersed herself so deeply in prayer.

Suddenly, as the ship lurched sickeningly, there came a tremendous crash that rocked the ship to its foundations, and above the roar Theadora heard shouting. Then the little bowed window of the cabin blew in, spraying glass and water across the floor.

She leapt to her feet and stood helplessly for a moment as the rain and sea spray soaked her. Iris tumbled from her couch, half awake and screaming. “Allah preserve us! We’re sinking! We’re sinking!”

Theadora whirled about and yanked the slave woman to her feet, slapping her as hard as she could. “Be quiet, you foolish woman! We are not sinking! The storm has blown the window in and that is all.”

Over the roar of the wind and the rain and the sea they heard a frantic knocking at the cabin door. The princess yanked the door open and a sailor fell into the room. “Captain’s compliments, Your Highness,” he panted. “I’m to check for any damage. I’ll see that window is boarded over at once.”

“What was that tremendous crash?” demanded Theadora.

The sailor was back on his feet now, and he hesitated before answering. Then, shrugging, he said, “We lost the main mast, my lady, but the storm is almost done with us now, and we’re near dawn.” Then he hurried out.

“Wake the slaves, Iris, and have them clean up this mess so the sailors can make their repairs quickly.” She turned to see Halil sitting straight up in his bed, his eyes wide. “Are we sinking, Mother?”

“No, my lamb,” she forced a laugh. “The last of the storm blew out the window, and gave us all a good fright. That is all.”

Within minutes the repairs had been made to the window. The remaining pieces of glass were carefully removed from the frame and replaced with boards and a curtain. The storm had subsided.

Venturing out onto the deck, Theadora was shocked at the damage. The main mast was indeed gone and so was most of another of the three masts. The sails, or what remained of them, were mere shreds fluttering in the breeze. It was obvious that they would have to rely on the galley slaves for movement. She wondered how those poor souls had survived the night and made a mental note to check for Christians among the rowers so she might buy their freedom. It had been her policy since becoming a mother to buy the freedom of whatever enslaved Christians she came upon. She sent them to freedom in Constantinople.

She turned when she heard the captain’s voice at her side. “Your people are all right, Highness?”

“Yes, thank you. We were warm and dry most of the night. How did the ship’s crew fare?”

“We lost four rowers, and two of my sailors were washed overboard. That damned overseer! Your pardon, Highness. The overseer was told to unchain the galley slaves when the storm hit. He disobeyed orders, and the four we lost were drowned at their benches. As soon as we clean up this mess, the overseer will be brought up for punishment. It will not be a pretty sight, my lady. I advise you to go below.”

“I will, captain, but I am so delighted to be alive to see this dawn that I would stay on deck a while longer.”

The captain grinned with delight. “Your highness will forgive me if I say you are a very brave young woman. I am very proud to sail with you.” Then, flushing at his own boldness, he turned and hurried away.

Theadora chuckled softly to herself. It had been wonderful being away from Bursa these last few months. She had enjoyed herself very much. The world was an absolutely wonderful place! It was not going to be pleasant returning to the harem and the constant company of the other two wives. It would not be easy returning to the endless boredom.

She gazed at the rainbow dawn that colored the soft grey-blue skies, and suddenly it occurred to her that the east was not where it ought to be! Stopping a sailor, she asked, “Have we been blown far off course?”

“Yes, Highness. We are way south of where we should be, but the captain will right it soon enough.”

She thanked him and returned to her cabin. Iris was making coffee on their spirit lamp, and the cook had sent a small basket of dried fruit, some warmed-over day-old bread, and a small hard cheese. Halil, up and dressed, grabbed a handful of dried fruit as he passed her on his way out. “The captain has offered to let me steer while they are cleaning up,” he said excitedly. Theadora let him go, and signaled to the boy’s body slave to follow him.

“I am too tired to eat,” she told Iris. “I spent most of the night praying. I am going to try to sleep now. Wake me in midafternoon.” She was half asleep before her head touched the pillow.

The sun woke her before Iris had the chance. Theadora lay on her back in the delicious world of half-sleep, lulled by the gentle rocking motion of the ship. She was alone, and a ray of sunlight came in through the hastily placed boards. As she became more aware of her surroundings, she heard a strange sound above her. “Whistle. Slap! Groan. Whistle. Slap! Groan.” Suddenly, wide awake, Theadora realized that the punishment of the overseer must be taking place on deck, and her little son was there!

Theadora flew to the door and wrenched it open. She reached the deck and stopped, frozen, in the doorway. The unfortunate overseer had been bound to the one remaining mast. At this point, he was mercifully unconscious, his back a raw and bloody mass of welts. The whip still rose and fell, and to Theadora’s horror her son stood next to the captain, straight and proud, his young voice counting the strokes. “Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…”

The sultan’s youngest wife grew faint. She clutched at the doorframe, and drew several deep breaths. She had not wanted Halil to see this kind of thing. He was still a child. And yet, he did not seem at all distressed.

“Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five.”

Theadora found she could not move her legs. She gazed around the deck. The entire ship’s company was present, including a delegation from the galley slaves. Everyone stood silently watching.

“Forty-nine, fifty.”

The rhinoceros-hide whip was dropped to the deck, the overseer cut down, and salt rubbed into his wounds. This elicited a faint groan, and Theadora was amazed that the man was alive-let alone that he had the strength to groan. The onlookers began to return to their tasks, and Theadora managed to find her voice.

“Captain, please attend me at once!” She turned and walked into her cabin for she would not embarrass him before his men.

“Madame?”

She rounded angrily on him. “How could you allow a child to observe such brutality, let alone participate in it? The prince is only seven years old!”

“Please, Highness, hear me out. Perhaps you did not know, but this ship, which is named The Prince Halil, belongs to your son. A gift from his father. We on board all serve the child. I wanted to send him below before the punishment began, but Prince Halil said that as owner of the vessel it was his duty to mete out justice. The overseer served him, and the slaves who were drowned were his. That dragon who guards you approved, and would not wake you. Highness, though the prince is only seven, your son is all Ottoman. By law he is my lord. I could not refuse him.”

“Why did you not inform me that the ship was my son’s?”

“Madame,” exclaimed the astounded captain, “as the child knew, I assumed you also knew. I only just realized you did not.”

Theadora shook her head helplessly, but before she could say anything further there came a cry from the deck: “Pirates!”

Captain Hassan went white and threw himself through the cabin door, almost knocking down Iris who was just returning. The slavewoman was wide-eyed. “Mistress! Pirates! We cannot escape them! Allah have mercy!”

“Quick!” commanded Theadora. “Fetch my richest robes! The gold brocade will do. My finest jewels! Baba!” She called to a black slave entering the cabin. “Hurry! Get the prince, and garb him likewise!”

Several minutes later Theadora came on deck just in time to see the pirate ship draw alongside the disabled royal Ottoman vessel. From its rigging hung some of the most evil-looking men Theadora had ever seen. God help us, she thought. But she stood still, proudly.

The sultan’s young wife was a regal sight with the heavy gold brocade caftan, a magnificent necklace of rough-cut rubies, and matching dangle earrings of red gold and rubies. She wore several rings: a ruby, a turquoise, and a pink diamond on her left hand; a blue diamond and a sapphire on her right hand. Over her dark hair was a long sheer silver-and-gold-striped gauze veil. A smaller veil was drawn across her face.

Prince Halil was equally magnificent in striped pants of white silk and silver brocade, a long, open matching coat with a white silk shirt. He wore a little cloth-of-silver turban with a peacock feather sprouting from a large tiger’s eye. He stood next to his mother, his hand upon the gold scimitar given him by his brother, Murad. The royal Ottoman couple were protectively surrounded by their slaves, the woman Iris, and a half a dozen prime, young black fighting eunuchs.

Because of his two royal passengers and also because of the pitiful state of the ship, Captain Hassan surrendered immediately to the obvious disappointment of the pirate crew who were spoiling for a fight. The pirate captain stood out easily among his men. He was a tall blond giant with a short, dark gold beard. He wore white pantaloons sashed in black silk. His bare chest was covered with a mat of tight gold curls. He was sun-bronzed, very muscular, and carried a beautiful gold scimitar in his hand. His feet were shod in knee-length boots of softest leather, with gold designs stamped on them.

At his order, Captain Hassan and his three officers were lined up and forced to their knees. At a nod from their captain, four pirates stepped forward, quickly strangled their unfortunate prisoners, and then threw the bodies overboard.

The ship was now deathly quiet. The blond giant turned slowly and looked over the assembled crew of The Prince Halil. “I am Alexander the Great,” his deep voice boomed. “I sail out of Phocaea. I offer you a fair choice. Join me, or die as your captain and his officers died.”

“We join you!” the Ottoman sailors shouted with one voice.

Alexander the Great now turned to Theadora and her son. Instantly the black eunuchs closed ranks and assumed a defensive position about the prince and his mother. “No!” she commanded them. They stepped aside, allowing the pirate captain a clear passage to her. He approached her and, for a moment he and Theadora stood silently, gauging one another. He had, she noted, eyes the color of a fine aquamarine-a clear blue-green.

Reaching out, he fingered the ruby necklace. Then he ripped it from her neck. All the while his blue eyes never left her violet eyes. Swiftly he tore the veil from her face, but she did not flinch. He sighed. Flinging the ruby necklace to the deck, he said, “One look at your beautiful face, my exquisite one, has rendered the jewels worthless. Is the rest of you as incomparably fair?” His hand went to the high neck of her brocade robe, and then it was she who spoke.

“I am Princess Theadora of Bursa, wife to Sultan Orkhan, sister to the emperor and empress of Byzantium. The child is the sultan’s and my son, Prince Halil. Unharmed, we should bring you a great fortune. But if you continue to make extravagant gestures-” She glanced first toward the necklace on the deck, and then down to his hand, which still held her gown, “you could easily end your days a poor man.”

His eyes swept admiringly over her and it seemed he was weighing her words. Then he laughed. “What a pity I value gold so highly, beauty. I should have enjoyed teaching you how to be a real woman.” He laughed again as the color flooded her face. “I must transfer you to my ship,” he continued, “but you and your party will be safe, my lady. We will be in Phocaea by nightfall, and then I will house you in my palace until your ransom is paid.” His big hand then moved from her neckline to cup her chin. Shaking his head, he sighed. “Keep yourself veiled, madame, or I may regret my practical nature. I already feel myself growing reckless.”

He turned abruptly away from her and began calling out orders. The Prince Halil was to be sailed into Phocaea by a skeleton crew where it would be repaired and join the pirate navy. Its crew and galley slaves would be dispersed among other ships once they arrived in Phocaea. Theadora and her party were helped aboard the pirate vessel and taken to the captain’s cabin, where they would remain until they reached their destination that night. Still exhausted from the previous night, Theadora made herself comfortable on the captain’s bed with Halil for company. Iris guarded the door while the princess and her son slept.

In the very late afternoon they reached the pirate city of Phocaea, and Alexander sent for a barge to transport his captives to his palace. It was located on the sea some two miles from the city. Sitting amid the velvet and silk cushions of the luxurious vessel with her captor Theadora learned that he was the younger son of a Greek nobleman and therefore forced to make his own way in life. Since his youth he had loved the sea and had turned to it for what was proving a most rewarding living.

His wife, a childhood sweetheart, was dead now. He had not remarried, but rather kept a harem of women in the Eastern way. He assured Theadora that she would not be cloistered. She would be free to roam the grounds of his estate, providing she gave him her word that she would not try to escape. Theadora gave it. Had she been alone she would not have acquiesced so easily, but she had Halil and Iris to consider.

As if he read her thoughts he inclined his head toward her son. “I am glad they are with you, beauty. You are too lovely to have to be caged.”

“Do you read minds also, pirate?”

“Sometimes.” Then in a lower voice. “You are too lovely to belong to an old man, beauty. If you had a lusty young man between your legs it might take the sadness from your eyes.”

She flushed crimson and said, in a soft, angry voice, “You forget yourself, pirate!”

The aquamarine eyes laughed at her outrage, and the man’s mouth mocked her. “My lineage is almost as good as yours, princess. Certainly the younger son of a Greek noble is equal to the younger daughter of a Greek usurper.”

Her hand flashed out, leaving its imprint on his cheek. But before she could hit him again he caught her by the wrist and held the hand in a firm grasp. Fortunately, Iris and Halil were too interested in the sights of the busy pirate harbor to witness the exchange between Theadora and Alexander. Slowly, the pirate captain turned Theadora’s hand palm upward and, holding her startled glance with his, placed a burning kiss in the center of the soft flesh.

“Madame,” his voice was dangerously low, “you have not yet been ransomed. Another man might fear to take what is the sultan’s, but I do not. And who would know if I did?”

The kiss had sent an almost painful ache through her. Now, white with shock, she whispered shakily, “You would not dare!”

He smiled his slow, mocking smile. “The idea is beginning to tempt me, beauty.”

The barge bumped against the side of the marble quay, and Alexander leapt out to help tie it to his pier. Well-trained slaves appeared to help Theadora and her party from the boat and led her to her quarters. The royal party had three spacious rooms with a private bath and a terraced garden, which faced west over the blue sea. A sweet-faced slavegirl showed Theadora a wardrobe filled with her clothes, brought from the ship. Halil and Iris found that their possessions had been brought as well.

“The master does not steal from his guests,” said the slavegirl primly, and Theadora bit back an urge to laugh.

They did not see Alexander again that day. A well-cooked meal accompanied by an excellent wine was served to them. After the ordeal of the storm they all sought their beds early.

Theadora awoke in the night to find Alexander standing over her bed. In the moonlight that poured through the windows she could see the desire on his face. She moved to turn her naked body from his sight and trembled when he said, “I know you are awake, beauty.”

“Go away,” she whispered fiercely, not daring to turn back to face him. “If anyone knew you were here, do you think the sultan would pay to get me back?”

“You forget that this is my house, beauty.”

“Even your house has its quota of spies,” she answered. “Go away!”

“If it will reassure you, I entered the room through a little-used interior passage-the existence of which is known by no one other than me. Besides, your son sleeps the sleep of the innocent and your slave drank a cup of wine tonight that had a sleeping draught in it. Even now she is snoring like a pig.”

“You dared?” She was incredulous.

“My very existence is a dare,” he replied. “Come, beauty, do not turn from me.” Reaching out, he turned her to face him. “Christos!” His voice was awed. “The body more than rivals the face!”

She shrank from him. “You can rape me,” she said quietly, “and though I cannot hope to overcome you I will later find a way to kill myself. I swear it, Alexander!”

“No, beauty, no,” he protested, drawing her into the circle of his arm. “Do not speak such foolishness to me.” His hand moved boldly, with assurance, making her tremble with a terrible mixture of fear and open desire. “I will not force you, for you are a guest in my house. But, ah, these sweet breasts will be very sad to go unloved this night.” Ever so gently he fondled the soft swell of flesh. The coral nipples sprang erect, and a little moan escaped her throat.

“Ah, beauty, you want it as much as I do! Why do you fight me?”

“Please!” She pushed his hands away. “You say you will not force me because I am a guest in your home. Your honor forbids it, does it not? Think then of my honor, Alexander. For though I am but a woman, I too have my honor. I am Orkhan’s wife, the mother of his son. I do not love my husband, and I will not deny that my body hungers for a young man’s touch. But as long as my lord lives, it will not be! You see, captain pirate, I too, have my honor to consider. Even if no one but us knew, I should feel that my honor was compromised. Can you understand that?”

He smiled ruefully. “I had heard that John Cantacuzene had an overeducated daughter. You reason like a Greek, beauty! Very well. I am bested for now, and I will leave you in peace this night. But I cannot promise to stay away forever. My baser instincts may overcome me.

“I will, however, exact a small vengeance before I go, for I do not think I shall quench the fire you have raised in me.”

And before she understood his intent he had clasped her tightly in his arms, their bodies touching from breast to thigh. They sprawled across the length of the bed, and she felt the softness of his chest hair tickling her bare breasts, the hardness of his manroot butting against her shaking thighs. His lips captured hers in a searing kiss, his tongue raping her mouth with a naked passion that left her nearly fainting. She wanted to yield to him. She wanted his hardness deep inside her!

Releasing her, he smiled and stood up. “May you and your honor enjoy your stay in my house, Theadora, wife of Orkhan,” he said mockingly.

Frozen with shock, she watched as he disappeared behind a wall-hanging. Only when she was sure he had left the room did she weep. He had reminded her of something she had managed to hide from herself for all these years. He had reminded her that she was a woman. A young woman. With the same hot desire running through her as any young woman had.

She had no outlet for her hunger. Her husband’s touch disgusted her, and the memory of Murad burned deep within her secret heart. She almost regretted sending Alexander away. His body had felt wonderful against hers, and she sensed that he would be a magnificent lover. Was he right? Indeed, who would know? Could she live with her guilt if she allowed the liaison? Theadora wept bitter tears, for she could see nothing but a long and loveless future stretching endlessly ahead of her.

Chapter Nine

The man who called himself Alexander the Great was not a reckless gallant, but a shrewd businessman. His main base, the city of Phocaea was located between the emirates of Karasi and Sarakhan, opposite the island of Lesbos. Though Phocaea had a ruler, it was Alexander and his pirates who brought prosperity to the city and who really controlled it. Alexander also had bases on the islands of Chios, Lemnos, and Imbros. He had spies and coast-watchers on the smaller islands as well, thereby effectively controlling the shipping lanes in the Aegean and the areas leading to the Straits of the Dardanelles, into the Bosporus, and beyond into the Black Sea.

Merchants whose vessels regularly traveled these waters paid him an annual tribute plus a percentage of the proceeds of each voyage. There was no chance of cheating Alexander-for they were required to stand for inspection prior to each voyage. Without the inspection there was no pendant issued for their top masts. And ships without Alexander’s color-coded pendants were considered fair game and usually had their entire cargos confiscated.

Alexander preferred to receive his tribute in gold, but he would accept merchandise. Twice yearly, several of his ships sailed west into northern Europe where their cargos of silk, perfumes, and spices brought the highest possible prices. They returned bringing their master gold and fair-haired, fair-skinned, light-eyed young slaves of both sexes. There were many large landholders who were willing-for a length of silk or a packet of precious spices or a silver coin-to send attractive, healthy, young serfs from their holdings into slavery. These young people were then sold to the highest bidder in private auction, attended only by wealthy connoisseurs. Alexander thus realized a double profit on his investments.

It was the Byzantine military intelligence service, known as the Office of Barbarians, that brought Alexander the Great to the Empress Helena’s attention. Her current lover was the officer who ran the service. Knowing that her sister would be returning by sea from the Springs of Apollo, Helena sent word to Alexander that she would like Theadora and her son killed. For this service she agreed to pay a large sum of gold. Alexander was many things, but he was not a paid assassin. And he knew more about the Byzantines than they knew about him. Helena could not afford the money she offered.

But he was greatly in her debt for the information she had unwittingly tendered him. The sultan’s wife and son would fetch a very high ransom. He had therefore arranged to know when and by what route their ship was sailing. He would have lost them but for the storm which so kindly deposited them off his city’s coast.

One glimpse of Theadora had cost Alexander his heart. She was lovelier than any woman he had ever known. It did not bother him a bit that she was the sultan’s wife. He was a ruler in his own right and what he wanted, he took. But he had miscalculated when he assumed that she would be eager enough for love to forget all else. He had pushed her too far and too quickly. To win her he would have to out-think her. Alexander was a hunter by nature, and the thought of the chase was quite stimulating. It would be weeks before his council could agree on a ransom price for the princess and her son. After that further time would be spent in negotiations. Several months would go by before the ransom was settled and paid. He had time.

For the next few days Theadora saw little of her captor, and she was quite relieved. It had not been easy to withstand his assault. She remained in her apartments, and for exercise she walked out several times daily, in the garden, with Iris for company. She rarely saw Halil. He was busy with his new friends, Alexander’s several sons by his concubines, even eating and sleeping with them.

“It is better this way,” she told Iris. “To him it is simply an adventure. He will bear no scars from the experience.”

After several weeks Alexander appeared in her apartment one evening, carrying a chess set. “I thought we might enjoy a game together,” he said pleasantly.

She smiled. “How do you know I play?”

“Because you are your father’s daughter and flawless in the art of logic. The game of chess is an exercise in logic. However, if you don’t play then I shall teach you, beauty.”

“Set up the board, Alexander, and prepare to be beaten. Iris, fetch some chilled wine and some cakes for us.”

The chessboard was a work of art. Its inlaid squares were of ebony and mother-of-pearl, its pieces carved from black onyx and pure white coral. They played two games that evening. He won the first easily, for she played cautiously. Then she took the second from him, playing with an almost reckless abandon.

He laughed as she checked his queen. “You were only gauging my measure in the first game,” he accused.

“I was. I could hardly beat you if I did not study your method of playing.”

“I have never been beaten by a woman.”

“If you continue to play with me, my lord Alexander, you will have to take that chance. I play to win, and I will not contrive to lose simply because I am a woman.”

“Spoken like a true Greek!” he approved teasingly.

Now it was her turn to laugh. “I am not sure whether you approve or disapprove, Alexander.”

“I am Greek born, beauty, and therefore am used to women of great intellect. But I have lived here in Asia long enough to understand the Eastern treatment of women. It has its good points also. But it’s been a long time since I’ve really talked to a woman.”

“It has been a long time since I’ve really talked to a man,” she rejoined.

For a moment he was startled. Then he chuckled heartily. “I forgot that you live in a harem, beauty, with only eunuchs and other women for company. Are you not often bored?”

“Sometimes, but not these last few years. My son is bright, and I have spent my time in teaching him. Then, too, I work to return Christian captives to Byzantium. When we return to Bursa, however, Halil will leave me for his own court at Nicea. I have had my son longer than most sultan’s wives are allowed their sons.”

“What will you do when he is gone, beauty?”

She shook her head. “I do not know. I begged my lord Orkhan to allow me to go with Halil to Nicea-but he will not.”

“He is right,” replied Alexander. “The boy needs to be on his own, else he will never be free of your protective skirts. Remember that in ancient Sparta boys were taken from their mothers at age seven.”

She made a face at him and he chuckled. “Besides, beauty, if I were your husband, I should not want you leaving me.”

“Nonsense. Orkhan has a harem of women, many of whom are far lovelier than I am. He does not need me.”

“Then why return to him? Stay with me, and be my love. I will make it so sweet for you, beauty, that you will never want to leave me.”

She laughed shakily. “I thought you were a man of business, my lord Alexander. If I seriously considered your flattering offer, you would lose a great deal of money. Therefore, I know you cannot possibly be serious.”

He regarded her with his jewel-like eyes and then said quietly, “May I come and play with you again, beauty?” She nodded. “Then I will leave the board and pieces,” he said. And he departed.

She sat, heart pounding, hands tightly clutching each other within the cradle of her lap. He had meant it! He had really meant it! She was the sultan’s wife, and yet he boldly paid her court. What would happen if she accepted him? Would Orkhan really care, surrounded as he was by all those lush young beauties? She shook her head. This was madness! Of course Orkhan would care! Were she the humblest slavegirl he would care, for she was his property. What was the matter with her, to even consider such a thing? She was Theadora Cantacuzene, a princess of Byzantium. She was a wife! A mother! Not some silly girl!

He did not come the next night, but on the following evening they played two games-Theadora winning the first and Alexander winning the second.

“This time,” he teased, “I have studied your method of play.”

“We appear to be well-matched,” she answered him. Then, realizing that he might misunderstand her words, she blushed and hastily added, “in chess.”

“Indeed,” he replied calmly. “If you should find the need for company, please feel free to visit the women of my house. They are all very curious about the sultan’s wife.”

“Perhaps some day,” she answered absently. But as the weeks dragged on she began to feel the need for company. She would go to the harem only once, she decided, for undoubtedly the women of Alexander’s harem would prove as silly and as vicious as those in her husband’s harem.

To her surprise she was greeted cordially by all of the pirate’s women, including his three favorites-all of whom had children by him. They were pretty women with docile dispositions, whose only apparent goals in life were to make their lord and master happy. She found herself wondering if they satisfied the raging passion she had seen lurking behind the well-mannered man. Quickly she brushed the thought away, flushing guiltily.

Alexander’s harem was a place of peaceful pleasures. Everything was a delight to the touch. The air was sweetly scented with exotic flowers. Soft music was played by the skilled fingers of pretty young girls. The food was delicious, and it was served beautifully. What Adora did not know was that the harem’s menu was comprised mainly of foods thought to be aphrodisiacs-and therefore conducive to the subtle arousal of the females.

Theadora did not usually seek the company of other women. But Alexander’s concubines were most kind to her, quite unlike the women of Orkhan’s house. They were overwhelmingly curious about her life in Bursa and in Constantinople as well. It was hard to resist their flattering pleas for stories about her life.

They were also curious about the sexual practices of Ottoman women. Perhaps they hoped to learn something new, something to please their lord. With a dignified skill she had not had occasion to use before, she enlightened them in several areas. They were delighted. Often Theadora found herself breaking into giggles. For the first time in her life, she had friends of her own age. And though they were not her intellectual equals, she enjoyed them. She was having almost as much fun in captivity as her little son was having. Her particular favorite was Cerika, an adorable Circassian girl with a delightful sense of humor and the sweetest nature Theadora had ever encountered in a woman.

Soon she found herself spending her time with them, not only in the harem, but in the baths and at meals as well. It was as if she had joined Alexander’s harem…but for one aspect. As Alexander was a virile man there was not a night that he did not call for one of his women. In the morning there would be much good-natured teasing of the fortunate one, and recently there had been questions regarding whether their new skills were pleasing the master. Caught in this sensual, silken atmosphere, Theadora began to grow edgy. It was easy to deny her own sensuality when she could live a sensible, orderly life, but her life in Alexander’s house was neither.

The weeks went by. The pirate captain knew that his beautiful captive was weakening, but the progress to her capitulation was far slower than he had hoped. She was a very stubborn woman, and though she had relaxed a great deal, she had yet to forget who she was.

The price for her ransom had been agreed upon, and word came from the sultan that he was preparing to send the gold. Now Alexander debated with his conscience-a thing he rarely did. As usual, however, his own desires won out. For, charming as he was, Alexander was a hedonist. He wanted the beautiful Theadora, and he fully intended to have her.

Given more time, she might have allowed her own desires to rule her head-but there was no more time. The sultan’s emissary was less than two weeks away. Alexander knew he must act now or lose his chance. If he did not taste of her charms, and if she returned to Bursa, he would make himself sick with longing. Alexander was a man used to getting his way.

Theadora’s seduction was carefully planned. One evening, Alexander sent his regrets that he would be unable to join her for their chess game. She was disappointed, for the games had become an almost daily pleasure, and she enjoyed them. He sent, by way of apology, a round crystal bowl filled with Gold of Ophir roses, a small flacon of golden Cyprus wine, and a silver dish of green grapes. Theadora, feeling sorry for herself, sent Iris to bed and drank all the wine herself. Then she fell into a deep sleep.

She dreamed a strange dream. Sightless, for she could not seem to see, she was led from her bed. Then, suddenly, she could see again. A silk had been bound about her eyes. Looking about she saw that she was in a windowless square room. The walls and ceiling of the room were black. One quarter of the way up the wall was a gold border in the ancient Greek key-and-scroll design. Above it were beautiful paintings of men with women, women with women, men with men, and men and women with animals-in various attitudes of sexual play. Above the drawings was another gold border.

The room was lit by flickering hanging lamps, burning a musk-scented oil. As Theadora stood there two young women appeared at her side and began to massage her body with a scented cream that left her skin tingling, both hot and cold. Slowly, sensuously, they caressed her until the exquisite sensations assailing her flesh threatened to cause her to faint.

Before her, on a raised and carpeted dais, amid multicolored silk and velvet pillows, reclined the three favorite ladies of Alexander. They were, as was she, completely nude. Smiling, they beckoned her to join them. Moving slowly forward, she allowed them to draw her down among them. They were so kind to her, and it didn’t seem at all strange when they began to caress her body. It was the loveliest dream! Their hands were so soft. They fondled her breasts, kissing and nuzzling at the nipples, then sending a painful ache through her as they sucked hard on the coral points.

Cerika’s hands strayed downward and stroked the insides of Theadora’s thighs, playfully touching at her womanhood. Theadora sighed deeply, trembling when her friend lowered her blonde head and kissed her within the soft, sensitive cleft of her sex. Now the three women held a cup of wine to Adora’s lips, urging her to drink. When she did so her feeling of wellbeing increased.

Then, from the darkness, Alexander appeared. Naked, he looked like the marble statue of the ancient God, Apollo. Tall, with well-muscled legs and a flat torso, he was deeply bronzed by the sun. Between his powerful thighs was a triangle of gold hair, and springing forth from the tight gold curls was a long, swollen manroot.

Theadora felt no fear, for she wanted him. And as this was but a delightful dream, she felt free to indulge. Two of the other women spread her legs wide. Smiling, Theadora opened her arms to him. For a moment he stood spread-legged above her, a smile of triumph on his handsome face. Then, kneeling, he straddled her so that he might enjoy the full breasts, and she felt his maleness against her belly. Gently he played with her, pulling the long nipples out, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. She tingled all over with the full pleasure of it, and rubbed her navel against the pulsing muscle that throbbed against her.

He nibbled on her lips, placing little kisses at their corners and on her closed eyelids. For the first time, she heard his voice, and for a moment she was frightened. She did not recall ever hearing a voice in her dreams. But the sensations assailing her were so intense they banished fear. “What do you want me to do, beauty?” he said.

Slowly, she opened her heavy-lidded eyes and said in a sweetly serious voice, “You must make love to me, Alexander. You must make love to me,” and then her eyes slowly closed again.

She could feel his hands grasping her buttocks, and she smiled with delight as she felt him drive deep into her willing body, raising her to the pinnacle of passion. He was enormous. He filled her to overflowing, and she thought she would surely die, for in truth she had never been so satisfied.

But soon the sunlight was in her eyes, and the sound of Iris’ voice woke her from her deep sleep.

Her mouth was sour, and her head ached horribly. She had had such a strange dream…but she could not quite remember it. When she tried to concentrate, her head ached.

“Draw the drapes,” she ordered her servant. “The wine that Alexander sent me last night has come close to assassinating me. God! My head hurts unbearably.”

“You should not have drunk it all, my lady,” scolded Iris. “You are not used to strong wines.”

Theadora nodded regretfully. “I will stay in bed today,” she said, “for to tell the truth I do not think I can get up.” She lay back amid her pillows to doze in the cool, darkened room.

But sleep was restless, with wild and obscene images floating through her troubled mind. A dark room with flickering golden lights. Alexander’s three favorites-nude, caressing her naked body. Cerika kissing her on the mouth and on the- Oh, Christos! No!

Now she lay back, her clear camellia skin a startling white against the rainbow pillows. Above her, the ceiling was of Venetian glass, and she could see Alexander between her spread legs. She moaned desperately, trying to escape the dream, but she could not. In the dream he took her once, then took each of his favorites in turn, dismissing them afterward. She watched with amazement as he performed with his women. The man was a stallion and did not seem to tire. Alone now, he took her a second time, and turning her onto her stomach took her again in that manner.

She struggled to escape these images and woke to find that it was already late afternoon. Her headache had gone but she felt confused and tense. Although her skin was now cool, the sheets were soaked with perspiration and were badly tangled. Again, she knew she had dreamed but she could only remember that it had had something to do with Alexander. They had made love together. She blushed with shame. How absurd!

Shrugging, she called to Iris to bring her a carafe of pomegranate juice and some food. After she had eaten she entered her bath, and the skillful fingers of her slave soothed away the last of her tensions. When Alexander arrived for their chess game she greeted him warmly.

“I missed you last night,” she said. “I enjoy our games. Instead I drank that vicious wine you sent me, and I spent a restless, impossible night. When I awoke today I had a monstrous headache. I have been in bed all day.”

He chuckled. “I should have warned you. The golden wines of Cyprus are deceptive, beauty. They appear to be sweet and mild but in actuality are wicked and potent.”

“Could you not have warned me?” she said somewhat sharply. He chuckled again.

While they played she stole little looks at him from beneath her lowered lashes. He behaved no differently toward her. Surely if what she had imagined had really happened, they would not be carrying on in the usual manner! No! It had been a wild dream, brought on by the strong wine. What was the matter with her, to make her imagine such things? But she knew the answer to that: she longed for a man’s love, and as long as her elderly husband lived, she was not apt to get it. Sighing, she made a careless move and heard her captor say, “Check and mate, beauty!”

She looked down at the board and made a little moue with her mouth. “Oh, Alexander, how stupid of me!”

He laughed at her distress. “It is not like you to give me a game, beauty.” Then in a more serious tone, “What is it that troubles you?”

She shook her head. “Bad dreams, Alexander. Such very frightening bad dreams.”

“Can you tell me? Talking often puts such dreams in their true perspective.”

“No, my friend. It is far too personal. I behaved in a way most unlike myself, and it troubles me. I hope never to have such dreams again!”

He looked at her gravely, and his conscience nagged him painfully. He had drugged her and then seduced her in order to satisfy his own craving for her. She had been absolutely magnificent, for although she did not know it, she was made for a man’s love. She had pleasured and had been pleasured.

His problem now would be to let her go, for he had fallen deeply in love with Theadora during the period of her captivity. One thought consoled him. When the old sultan died, she would be returned to her family in Constantinople. When that happened, he intended to have his father, who was a vassal of the emperor, ask for Theadora for him. His father would be delighted that he finally wished to remarry and give the family legitimate heirs.

“I do not think that you will be troubled further by such dreams, beauty,” he said quietly. “And I have good news for you. Your ransom should be here shortly. Your captivity is almost over.”

Smiling, she leaned across the chessboard and touched his hand. “I have been neither uncomfortable nor sad, my friend. Captivity in your house is very pleasant, and your kindness to my son and me will not be forgotten.”

He rose. “I am sorry, Theadora of Byzantium, that your sense of duty is so strong. Else you might have remained here with me.”

“Had I been childless, Alexander, perhaps I might have been tempted. But though my son can never be sultan, he is an Ottoman. I will not deny him his heritage.”

He nodded with understanding. “You are an admirable woman, beauty. What a pity the men in your world will never really understand or appreciate you.”

She smiled ruefully. “Nevertheless, my friend, I shall survive, and perhaps in the end I shall even triumph.”

He laughed. The big, even teeth seemed a white flash against his bronzed face.

“Yes,” he said. “If any woman was meant to triumph, beauty, I believe it is you.” Still chuckling, he left her.

Chapter Ten

Murad, the third son of Orkan, had ridden hard from the coast. He had left behind his escort several hours earlier, allowing his big black stallion to move as fast as it wished. The horse, barely winded, clattered into the tiled courtyard of Bursa Palace. Sliding from the saddle, the prince flung the reins to a slave and walked quickly into his father’s house.

He was shocked by the old man’s appearance. Orkhan looked his full seventy years. His hair and beard were snow white. His dark eyes were faded. His hand quavered slightly. He seemed to have shrunk, and his body even smelled of age. Yet, Orkhan’s voice was strong.

“Sit down,” he commanded his son. The prince obeyed silently. “Coffee?”

“Thank you, Father.” Murad waited, as good manners dictated, for the boiling hot coffee to be poured into the eggshell-thin cups. A slave handed him the coffee which he politely sipped before setting it upon the round brass tray table. “How may I serve you, my father?”

“Theadora and her son have been kidnapped,” said Orkhan. “She took the boy to the Springs of Apollo in Thessaly. Returning home, the ship got caught in a severe storm. Praise Allah that they were saved! But the ship was badly damaged and virtually helpless when it was attacked by pirates. They are being held for ransom in Phocaea by the pirate lord who calls himself Alexander the Great. I want you to take the ransom there and bring my wife and son back safely.”

“I hear and obey, sire,” replied the prince with a calm he did not feel. Orkhan went on to explain the financial arrangements, but Murad heard only a few words.

He had seen Theadora only once since her marriage to his father, and then they had sniped at each other. He had been hurt and had wanted to hurt in return. He grimaced. It was just like her to have gotten herself into this situation. She could not, of course, accept the fact that her son was a cripple. No! She must take the child across wild seas to a supposed healing place.

Murad listened with hidden, impotent rage as his father babbled on about his precious Adora and the importance of her safety. Orkhan spoiled her! She had always been cosseted and spoiled. But if she had been his woman he would have taught her obedience! Suddenly the memory of her swept over him with a force that stunned him. He remembered a lithe young body with soft breasts; a heart-shaped face with amethyst eyes that looked so trustingly up into his; a sweet, kissable mouth that quivered beneath his. Allah! She was a temptress, he thought bitterly. Given the chance, she would probably be a whore like her two scandalous sisters in Constantinople. Sophia had been killed recently with her latest paramour, and the empress Helena openly took lovers. He gritted his teeth and forced his mind back to what his father was saying. “And you will personally escort them back to Bursa, my son. My poor Adora will undoubtedly have suffered greatly. And little Halil, too.”

Pah! thought Murad, sourly. The witch will undoubtedly have been made quite comfortable. All she need do is dazzle the pirate chief with those fabulous eyes. As for my little half brother, he is probably treating this whole thing as great adventure.

It did not help Prince Murad’s temper to find, on his arrival in Phocaea, that his predictions were apparently correct. The sultan’s third wife was quite elegantly housed, and Prince Halil was obviously doted on by his captor. In fact, the pirate seemed on excellent terms with both of his royal captives.

Murad arrived in Phocaea in late afternoon. It would have been impossible to complete the business of ransoming before nightfall. It would have also been an appalling breach of manners not to accept the pirate chief’s hospitality. To Murad’s surprise, this hospitality was not only lavish but in excellent taste.

First, however, he was taken to see that Theadora and Halil were safe, and were being honorably treated. Murad had been troubled all the way from Bursa. He had not seen her in nearly eight years. Had she changed? Probably. Byzantine women could run to fat, and his father liked women with meat on their bones.

It didn’t help Murad’s troubled mind that she was still willow slim, or that when she looked up her eyes were filled with an emotion he did not comprehend.

Then she stood and came toward him, her slim hands outstretched in welcome, her face a polite mask.

“Prince Murad. How very kind of you to come to our rescue. How is my lord Orkhan? I pray we have not distressed him greatly by our unfortunate situation.”

He bowed curtly. “My father is fine. You have been well treated, Your Highness?”

“Lord Alexander has been the soul of courtesy from almost the first moment of our capture,” she replied.

Was there a hint of laughter in her voice? Why did that big blond buffoon who called himself Alexander the Great look so uncomfortable? “I will complete the ransom negotiations tomorrow and come for you and Halil then,” Murad said gruffly. “Be ready.”

It was not, however, as easy as Prince Murad had anticipated. After a marvelous feast, excellent entertainment, and an exquisite blonde Circassian virgin to warm his bed, he awoke to a rainy morning and the realization that his host was adamant in his demands.

“I told your father one hundred thousand gold Venetian ducats, Prince Murad. I am not a merchant to be haggled with. Nor are the princess and her son to be bargained over like yesterday’s melons in the marketplace. I will accept the fifty thousand that you have brought me in exchange for the princess. But the boy must stay here in Phocaea until I receive the other fifty thousand ducats.”

“Why not let the boy go, and hold his mother?”

Alexander laughed. “Because I am not a fool, Prince Murad. Your father has many women to amuse himself with, but few sons. If I let the boy go I might never hear from your father, but Princess Theadora is not going to allow your father to leave her only child in captivity. No, Highness, you may return to Bursa with the princess, but Prince Halil remains until I am paid in full.”

“You do not know her, Alexander. She is stubborn. She will not leave the boy behind.”

“That, Prince Murad, is your problem. But I think it is you who do not know her. She is a highly logical woman, and we Greeks have always valued women of intelligence. She will see the sense in this.”

Murad gritted his teeth and went to tell Theadora that her son was to be left behind because Orkhan had not sent the full ransom. To his surprise she fell into neither hysterics nor a rage. She said quietly, “Your father is a great warrior and ruler, but he is a poor diplomat. Very well. Halil must remain for the present. I will have Iris stay with him, and I will go with you.”

“Allah! What kind of mother are you? Will you not even offer to remain in the child’s place?”

She looked surprised. “Would lord Alexander permit it? I think not, for he is no fool. Your father would surely haggle over my ransom for my only importance to him was Tyzmpe, which is now his. But he will not haggle over money for Halil, for my little son is his pride. In his old age, the boy is proof of Orkhan’s continuing virility. That seems to be important to him.”

Murad was infuriated by her calm, and even angrier that Alexander, on such short aquaintance, seemed to know her better than he did himself. “You hold yourself in low esteem, madame,” he said coldly. “Your husband wept and babbled over your safety.”

“Did he really?” she asked, mildly interested. “How strange. I have not seen him in several years now, except on state occasions.” She shrugged, then said, “I must tell my son of this turn of events. When do you wish to depart?”

“Within the hour.”

“I shall be ready.”

He sat quietly for a few minutes after she left him. She had changed from the innocent, willful girl she had been. She was serene now, but one thing had not changed. She was unable to hide her intelligence and in fact did not even try. He had grown older in the years since their first meeting, and he flattered himself that he had also grown wiser. Yet he still found it hard to accept the fact that Theadora had a mind. It was unnatural in a woman, especially a woman of such beauty. Women, beautiful ones in particular, were meant only for a man’s pleasure, and a man did not want to discuss matters of importance with them. Allah! No!

He laughed aloud and went out into the rainy courtyard to make the final preparations for their departure. He had been forced to leave his escort outside the walls of Phocaea and had arrived alone. Alexander the Great made arrangements for Theadora to travel across the city in a closed litter. Once met by her escort, she would be transferred into a royal Ottoman vehicle, and the pirate’s litter would be returned to him.

Theadora came into the courtyard dressed for travel, accompanied by Iris and Halil. The boy ran eagerly to his elder half brother, and Murad lifted the child up. “So, Halil! You are finally to escape your mother, and be a man!”

“Yes, my brother!” The boy’s eyes were shining with excitement. Then he lowered his voice and whispered confidentially, “I have learned many things of value to you, Murad. Because I am a boy they do not pay much attention to me, and they do not think I understand.” He grinned impishly. “But I do! When you are the sultan I shall be a great help to you, for I have a quick mind.”

“Our brother, Suleiman, is our father’s chosen heir, Halil.”

The boy looked at his older brother with his mother’s violet eyes and said, “That is true, Murad, but will you let him reign?”

“Wise monkeys often get their noses pinched, little brother,” chuckled Prince Murad. As he put the boy down the child again flashed his impudent grin, then ran back to his mother.

Theadora held her son close. “I do not like to leave you, Halil, but if I do not deal with your father personally-” she hesitated. The boy laughed. “I should end up being a grown man with children of my own before you saw me again, Mother,” he finished for her.

Now it was her turn to laugh, and Murad was pained by the sight of their heads, so alike, close together. There was an intimacy between them that he could not penetrate, and he felt almost jealous. “We must go,” he said gruffly. “I want to reach the outside walls before dark.”

She looked across at him, and her gaze was so understanding that he felt himself flushing. Bending, she hugged the boy tightly. “Obey Iris and do not annoy Alexander too greatly, my Halil. I love you, my little darling, and I will eagerly await the day we are reunited.” She kissed him, and then climbed into the waiting litter.

Alexander came into the courtyard and, leaning over, said quietly for her ears alone, “Do not fear, beauty. Your son will be as safe with me as my own sons are.”

She smiled up and pressed his arm with her fingers. “I know you will care for him well, Alexander. But do not spoil him too greatly, I beg of you. You know what a clever little monkey he is-so keep him occupied.”

“I will, beauty, but who will keep me occupied now? I shall regret the loss of our chess games.”

“So shall I. In my world the men do not treat their women with such respect. I shall miss you, Alexander. God keep you. Farewell.”

“Farewell, beauty.” The pirate chief straightened to find Prince Murad’s eyes on him, blazing and angry. Holy Christos! thought Alexander. I wonder if she knows. So I have a rival for her! But I am aware of you, my fine prince, while you cannot really know my intentions. He walked over to where the prince sat mounted on his stallion. “Tell your father, my lord prince, that Prince Halil will remain safe and honored in my house until his ransom is paid.” And without giving Murad a chance to reply, he turned and walked back into his house.

Furiously, the prince pulled at his horse and signaled the others forward. The slaves picked up the litter and moved out of the courtyard into the city. Alexander had provided them with a small but very impressive escort, which accompanied them to the north gates of the city where the sultan’s soldiers were waiting.

It had begun to rain again, and Prince Murad dismounted to carry Theadora from one litter to the other. She looked him full in the face for a moment before modestly lowering her marvelous amethyst eyes. She was soft, and sweet, and her perfume intoxicated him. He stumbled, and she laughed low. He could feel a pounding in his temples. He wanted her! Dear Allah, how he wanted her!

Depositing her roughly within her litter he remounted his stallion. There were still some hours of daylight left, enough to put more miles between them and the city of Phocaea. He rode silently at the head of the cavalcade, and the soldiers accompanying him thought his grim look resulted from his having to leave Halil behind. Murad, Beg of the Ottoman, always prided himself on doing a job well.

But the truth was that the prince was thinking of the woman in the litter. He had never lacked for women, but Theadora Cantacuzene had been the only woman who had ever engaged his heart.

He remembered once telling her that when his father died he would make her his wife. It surprised him to admit to himself that he still wanted her. But not for his wife! No! He shook his head angrily. She was a Byzantine whore like her sisters and wasn’t to be trusted. Look how she had tempted him just a while back and then laughed at his discomfort.

When it was nearly dark Murad gave the order to make camp. The men were used to sleeping in the open, but a tent was set up for Theadora. To her delight it was quite luxurious. As she had left Iris behind to care for her son, she was waited upon by an elderly soldier. He brought her water warmed by the fire for washing, and he flushed and grinned foolishly when she thanked him sweetly.

Her tent had been set upon a wooden platform whose rough boards were covered with colorful, thick wool rugs and sheepskins to keep out the cold and damp. It was not a big tent. There was a large brass tray table set on folding ebony legs, a charcoal brazier for heat, and a bed made of sheepskins covered with a velvet mattress and some silk pillows. Two small glass lamps hung on brass chains from the tent poles.

The old soldier returned bringing her food-small pieces of barbecued lamb with pepper and onions, seasoned with rosemary and a touch of olive oil, and served over a bed of saffroned rice. Accompanying it was a small, flat loaf of bread, just baked in the coals of the fire, a skin of icy water from a nearby stream which had been flavored with orange essence and cinnamon, and two crisp apples. She thanked the soldier. Asking after the prince, she was told that he was eating with his men.

Feeling a little sorry for herself Theodora prepared to eat alone. She had long since gotten over her anger toward Prince Murad. Today, when he had stumbled carrying her, she had felt his heart pounding and had laughed with joy to think he still cared for her. Suddenly all the old feelings rushed to the surface, surprising her with their intensity.

She had not shared Orkhan’s bed for several years, and though her husband had once roused her physically, only her fantasies had kept her from going mad. In his old age, in the desperate attempt to preserve his potency, Orkhan had turned to perversion. The last time she had shared his bed he had included a ten-year-old virgin from the Nile River basin, a gold-skinned child with lovely onyx eyes. Orkhan had forced Theadora to sexually stimulate the girl while he watched and became aroused. He had then brutally deflowered his screaming victim while Theadora vomited the contents of her stomach over the side of the bed. Never again, to her vast relief, was she ever commanded to share her lord’s bed. Had she been asked again, she would have suffered death rather than face another such experience.

Remembering back to the precious hours she had spent with Murad in the orchard, it seemed that was the only time in her life she had ever known any tenderness from a man. Would he be as tender if he were her husband? Would she ever know? Theadora licked her fingers thoughtfully. Then, after rinsing them in a small copper ewer, she picked up an apple and bit into it.

“Did you enjoy your supper?”

Startled, she looked up to find that Murad had entered the tent.

“Yes,” she answered, “but I have been lonely. Why did you not eat with me?”

“A woman? Eat with a woman? Has my father taken to eating with his women?”

“Of course not! But this is different. I am the only woman here, and I have not even a slave to keep me company. You are the only person of rank available to me.”

He chuckled, his good humor restored. “I see. You only want my company because you are a princess and I am a prince. I did not think you were a snob, Adora.”

“No! No! You misunderstand me,” she protested, blushing.

“Then explain it to me,” he teased, kneeling down before her amid the cushions. She raised her lovely face to him. “What I meant was that since our situation is an informal one, I thought you might keep me company while I ate my meal.”

He looked back at her with jet black eyes, and then before she realized what was happening he had caught her to him and was kissing her. The world about her exploded into a million glittering pieces. Oh, God! Oh, God! His mouth was so sweet! The kiss was tender, yet at the same time passionate. For a minute she gave herself up to it completely, savoring the warmth and sweetness of him. It had been so long, so terribly long!

Then as her senses cleared she pulled her head free and whispered frantically, “No, Murad! Please, no! This is wrong!”

His hand moved up her back, tangling itself in her dark hair. “Be silent, my sweet Adora,” he commanded, and his mouth took possession of hers again. This time, however, he kissed her hungrily, his lips searing hers, savagely demanding her complete surrender. Helpless to control the desire welling within her, she slipped her arms up and around his neck, and drew him down among the pillows.

Time lost all meaning for her. She knew that what they did was morally wrong within the precepts of both their religions, yet so great was their need of each other that the raging hunger wiped everything else out of their minds. She knew that he had completely unbuttoned her blouse for his lips now ran riot over her throat, moving downward to her breasts, hungrily sucking on the nipples until they were sore with longing.

He found his way beneath the silk of her full pantaloons, and stroked her between her quavering thighs, finding her already wet with fierce desire. His hand teased deliciously at her, and she squirmed under his touch, a low sob escaping her as he gently thrust two fingers into her body. She arched and strained, desperately seeking a fulfillment that would not, could not, seem to come.

“Easy, my sweet Adora,” he soothed, “do not strive so hard, my love. It will happen.” He was kissing her again, but this time his lips moved to her ear, and he whispered softly, “I want you, Adora, but as a man wants a woman. I don’t want to play lover’s games any longer. I want to be deep within your sweetness, crying for joy of the beautiful thing we will do together.”

She shivered, weakening, and he nibbled at her little earlobe. “Open your legs to me, Adora. I am hot to fuck you, my lovely Byzantine whore. Let me taste the delights you have so willingly given to my besotted father and your Greek pirate lover.”

She froze, unable to believe what she had just heard.

“I shall be a better lover to you, my dove, than either of them,” he went on, heedless.

Then suddenly he howled with pain as her knee caught him in the groin. She scrambled up, eyes shooting amethyst fire, frantically buttoning her blouse, desperately striving to hold back the tears that were already pouring down her cheeks.

“Though Halil’s the joy of my life, I never went willingly to your father’s bed,” she raged at him. “And though it is none of your business, Alexander was certainly not my lover! Unlike you damned Ottomans who consider a woman’s use to be limited to a man’s bed, the Greeks admire women of intelligence. They are not afraid, as you seem to be, that a woman of learning may render them impotent. And as to my own intelligence, I am beginning to doubt its very existence. Else how could I have believed you still cared for me as you once did?” She was crying hard now, not caring how she looked. “I hate you! Get out of my tent or I shall scream. Your father’s soldiers will not hesitate to kill the rapist of the sultan’s wife!” She turned her back on him.

Slowly, he pulled himself up, using the brass tray table to brace himself. For a moment a wave of dizziness assailed him in echo of the pain, but he breathed slowly, deeply, and his head cleared. “Theadora. I am sorry, my dove.”

“Get out!”

“I have ached for you since the first moment I saw you falling from your convent wall. I was physically ill when you were made my father’s wife. And yesterday I arrived in Phocaea to find that peacock of a pirate openly solicitous of you.”

“So you assumed I had played the whore. I shall never forgive you! Never! Get out!”

“I thought you were like your sisters.”

“Get out!”

“My father is old, Adora. Soon he will join his ancestors, and I will claim you as I promised so long ago.”

“I would die before I ever yielded to you!”

He laughed harshly. “No, you won’t, my dove. You were like a bitch in heat but a few moments back. You will come when I command it.” And turning on his heel, he walked from the tent.

Theadora clenched her fists tightly. He was right! God curse him, he was right! She wanted him as much as he wanted her. And sinking to the pillows, she wept all her bitter tears.

Chapter Eleven

Orkhan the sultan gazed at his third wife in anger. In anger she was especially beautiful. It made him almost sorry he could no longer function with her as a man. He kept his face impassive, though he was mightily amused. There was not another woman in his harem who would dare to shout at him, and though he would punish her for it, he admired her courage.

His hand flashed out, slapping her cheek hard enough to leave an imprint. “Be silent, Adora! Halil is my son also, but now that I have found out that your sister, Helena, is behind this kidnapping, I will not pay that Greek pirate another dinar!”

“Do you mean to abandon my son?”

“No, my dear, I do not mean to abandon Halil. And again I remind you that he is my son also. Since your sister 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 again…only to encounter his returning fleet which had abandoned the siege and could not be persuaded to continue with it.

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. And were it not for her great sacrifice, your father would not have been able to hold out against my mother‘s forces as long as he did. And you, my dear wife, would not be the empress. Theadora practices her faith daily. She redeems Christian captives and sends them to safety. She is loyal and faithful to her husband. Frankly, Alexis will be safer at Orkhan’s court than in this one.”

“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.

She stretched languidly and sank deeper into the silken pillows. Alexis, resplendent in her nuptial finery, had dozed off. The empress let her sleep. The day was hot, especially out here on the water, and Helena was grateful for the awning that sheltered them. It was held up by four posts carved round with mythological creatures-dragons, unicorns, griffins, phoenix-all painted most realistically. The awning itself was striped in silver and blue. The draperies, now held back with braided-gold tasseled cords, were azure-blue and sea-green silk.

Helena had nodded sleepily for what seemed only a minute before the voice of the helmsman behind her was saying, “We approach the opposite shore, Hallowed Majesty.”

Her eyes flew open. Reaching out, she shook her daughter. The child opened her blue eyes. “Are we here?”

“Almost, my love. I must stand outside now, and the drapes will be drawn. You will remember your part?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Helena looked over her daughter once more. The child’s undergown was scarlet silk, the long tight sleeves buttoned in pearls from the wrist to the elbow. Her surcoat was cloth of gold with the two-headed eagle of Byzantium woven into it with scarlet threads. Her pale blonde hair was loose about her shoulders and she was crowned with a small pearl-and-gold fillet. The empress gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek and rose, stepping out from beneath the awning. She drew the curtains closed behind her.

She, herself, was a stunning vision. Her own longsleeved undergown was of white silk, shot through with silver. The buttons, which appeared to be round diamonds, were actually clever paste imitations. The empress’ surcoat, like her daughter’s, was cloth of gold, but the two-headed eagle on Helena’s garment was embroidered in silver threads and tiny brilliants. Her beautiful blond hair was parted in the middle and plaited into four braids, two on each side of her head, wound about her ears and tucked into silver wire cauls. Upon her head was a small gold coronet from which floated a sheer, silvery gauze veil. The empress of Byzantium was an impressive sight standing regally in the bow of the royal galley as it glided smoothly to dock.

She was greeted effusively by officials of the sultan’s court and escorted to a waiting litter. Seating herself within, Helena peered through the curtains to see some dozen eunuchs boarding the royal gallery. They drew its draperies aside and the sultan’s chief white eunuch, Ali Yahya, handed Alexis out. The little princess was instantly surrounded by the eunuchs, quickly veiled, and led to a second, waiting litter whose curtains were tightly drawn. The litter was surrounded by soldiers, eunuchs, and a host of naked, dancing, skipping children who sang songs of welcome and threw gold pieces and confections into the crowds who were lining the road. The procession made its way into Nicea.

The Christian wedding ceremony had been celebrated quietly, by proxy, prior to their departure from Constantinople. Now, as they traveled the small distance into the city, the Muslim ceremony was being performed. The attendance of the bride was unnecessary. Therefore, when the eight-year-old princess reached the palace in Nicea, she was already a married woman.

Two separate wedding feasts were being held. Sultan Orkhan and his sons Murad and Halil hosted the men. Princess Theadora would host the women.

Of the sultan’s other wives, only Anastatia would be present, for Nilufer was in deep mourning. Her eldest son, Suleiman, had been killed several months before in a fall from his horse while hawking. The ridiculous accident had catapulted Murad into the undisputed position of heir to the Ottoman throne.

As the litters reached the courtyard of the haremlik, Theadora appeared at the top of a small flight of steps. And as the child was handed out of her litter, the sul-tan’s youngest wife flew down the steps and, kneeling, folded the little girl into her soft arms. “Welcome, Alexis, my dear. I am your Aunt Theadora.” She loosed the child and, holding her lightly by the shoulders, set her back a bit and removed her veil. Theadora smiled. “Ah, little one, how much like my mother, your Grandmother Zoe, you look. But then you have been told that many times before, I’ll vow.”

“Never, my lady aunt,” came the reply.

“Never?”

“No, madame. They say I look like Mama.”

“A bit. But your mama’s expression was never sweet like yours, Alexis. Our mother’s, however, was always sweet. Therefore, I think you look more like my mother.”

“Well, sister, I see you still speak bluntly. Have you no welcome for me?”

The sultan’s youngest wife rose and looked at her sister after these many years of separation. Helena was four years older than Theadora, and her self-indulgent nature was beginning to show on her beautiful face. She looked closer to ten years older. She was petite, plumply voluptuous, and blond, whereas Theadora was tall, slender, and dark-haired. Also, while Theadora still had an innocence about her that was touchingly young, Helena’s look was knowledgeable and as old as Eve.

For a brief, uncomfortable moment Helena felt the younger again, as she had so often felt with Theadora when they were children. She saw the gleefully malicious sparkle in those amethyst eyes as the low, cultured voice said to her, “Welcome to the new empire, my sister. I am truly happy to see you, especially on such a joyful occasion.” She linked her arm in Helena’s and led her into the haremlik where the other wedding guests awaited them. The little bride was taken off by the eunuchs to be presented to her husband and the sultan before being allowed to join them.

Her daughter gone, Helena spoke urgently to her sister. “Thea, I would talk privately with you before Alexis returns!”

“Come with me,” came the reply.

And the empress of Byzantium followed the sultan’s wife to a private chamber where they both sat down at a low table, facing one another.

“Bring fruit sherbet and honey cakes,” commanded Theadora. No sooner had the slaves done her bidding than she dismissed them and, gazing at her sister, asked, “Well, Helena?”

The empress hesitated. Swallowing hard, she said, “We have not been close since childhood, my sister.”

“We were never close, my sister,” came the quick reply. “You were always too busy taunting me with the fact that you should be empress of Byzantium one day, and that I should merely be the ‘infidel’s’ concubine.”

“So now you take your revenge on me by forcing my beloved daughter into this matrimonial mockery!” burst Helena.

“You brought this on yourself, my sister!” snapped Theadora, her patience gone. “Had you not attempted to have Halil and me murdered, your daughter might well have been queen of Moscovy. My God, Helena! How could you!? Did you really think you could destroy the Ottoman by such perfidy? The empire of Constantine and Justinian is a dying old man, sister, but the empire of Osman the Turk is a young and vigorous boy. We are the future-whether you like it or not, Helena. You cannot destroy us by killing one woman and a small boy. Orkhan is nearing the end of his life, I fear, but Prince Murad will prove a strong sultan, I assure you.”

“Why should Murad be sultan, Thea? If Orkhan chose in favor of Halil-” The empress paused a moment. Then she continued. “With a Christian mother and a Christian wife, Halil could easily be converted to Christ-and with him, his entire empire! My God, Thea! We would be sainted for fostering this marriage.”

Theadora burst into laughter and laughed until she was weak and her eyes were filled with tears. Finally she said, “Helena, you have not changed. You are still a great fool! To begin with, Halil is a cripple-for which I thank the lord. Were he not, the first act his half brother would perform upon becoming sultan would be to command Halil’s death. If Halil were whole he might rule, but a physically or mentally impaired sultan is against the law. My son is a cripple, and the lady Anastatia’s is a madman. My lord Orkhan has only Murad.”

“And Murad’s son,” said Helena.

Theadora thanked God that she was sitting for she might have fainted otherwise. “Murad has no son,” she said quietly in an amazingly steady voice.

“But he does, my dear,” Helena whispered fiercely. “He got the boy on a Greek priest’s daughter in Gallipoli several years ago. The prince will not officially recognize him because the girl’s reputation is not as pure as one might expect of a holy man’s daughter. She has nerve, however. She has named the boy Cuntuz, and refuses to allow him to be baptized, saying he is a Muslim as is his father.”

Theadora was silent a moment, calming herself. Finally she asked, “Is this what you wished to speak privately to me about, Helena?”

“No! No! Who cares with whom the prince lies? It is my daughter. Please, Thea, be kind to her! I will do anything to insure your kindness toward Alexis. Do not take our quarrels out on my innocent child, I beg of you!”

“As I have often said, Helena, you are still a fool, and how little you know me. I have no intention of mistreating Alexis. She will be as my own daughter would be. I was never vindictive toward others, if you will remember.” Theadora rose. “Come, my sister, the others await our arrival to begin the feasting.” And she led Helena to the banquet hall within the harem, where Anastatia and the other women of the house waited.

There were the sultan’s daughters and their daughters. There were the sultan’s elderly sisters and cousins and their female offspring. There were his favorites and those who still hoped to catch his eye. There were the women of the Byzantine court who had accompanied the empress and her daughter. All in all, there were over a hundred females at the bride’s feast. Theadora presented her sister to those few important enough to merit an introduction to the empress of Byzantium. By the time she had finished, Alexis was being ushered into the room.

The little bride was led to her mother-in-law who kissed her on both cheeks before signaling the eunuchs to lift the child onto a table where all might see her. There, in the presence of the other women, the bride was stripped of her Byzantine clothes and dressed in Turkish fashion. Only then did the feast begin.

When it was over, several hours later, Prince Halil arrived with his father. Together with Theadora, they escorted Princess Alexis to the Convent of St. Anna where she would live for the next few years.

The following day Emperor John and his two sons Prince Andronicus and Prince Manuel knelt before Sultan Orkhan and renewed their vows of vassalage to their overlord. The Byzantines then returned to Constantinople and the Ottoman royal family went home to Bursa.

Chapter Twelve

Theadora lay in the shadow world between sleep and waking. She could hear the distant sound of running feet and a pounding on her apartment doors that grew louder and louder. Then Iris was shaking her shoulder. Theadora shrugged her off, grumbling sleepily, but Iris persisted.

“My lady, wake up! You must!”

Slowly the mists cleared, and she half-woke. “What is it, Iris?”

“Ali Yahya sends word, my princess. The sultan is very ill. Ali Yahya believes, though the doctors have not said this, that Sultan Orkhan is dying.”

Theadora was fully awake now. Sitting up, she asked, “Has he sent for me?”

“No, my lady, but it would be best if you were ready should the summons come.”

With Iris’ help Theadora dressed quickly. It was still dark as she paced restlessly about her antechamber. After the slaves laid a good fire in the tiled corner fireplace, she sent them back to their beds. Theadora preferred to keep her vigil alone. At last, Ali Yahya came for her and, catching up a sable-lined red silk cloak, she followed him silently to the sultan’s chambers.

The deathchamber was filled with doctors, the mullahs, and government and military officials. She stood quietly, holding the hand of Nilufer, Murad’s mother, in an effort to comfort her. Nilufer, the sultan’s wife all these years, truly loved Orkhan.

Anastatia, bent and broken since her son Ibrahim’s suicide of only weeks past, stood by herself, her gaze vacant. The two princes stood together by their father’s bedside, Murad’s arm flung about young Halil’s shoulders.

The women were brought to the bedside. The sultan lay quietly, obviously drugged and free of pain. The once mighty Orkhan, son of Osman, had shrunk to a frail scrap of his former self. Only his black eyes were lively as they moved from one to another of his family. He looked at Anastatia and whispered, “There’s one who’ll soon be joining me in death.” The gaze moved on to the other two women. “You were the joy of my youth, Nilufer. And you, Adora, the joy of my old age.” His eyes flicked to Murad. “Guard the boy! He’s no danger to you, and he’ll soon be valuable to you.”

“I swear it, my father,” said Murad.

Orkhan struggled to sit up. Slaves propped pillows behind him. He was racked by a fit of coughing, and his voice was noticeably weaker when he said, “Do not stop until you have Constantinople! It is the key to all! And you cannot successfully hold the rest without it. Halil’s supple mind will help you. Won’t you, my boy?”

“Yes, Father! I will be Murad’s most loyal right arm…and his eyes and ears as well,” the boy declared.

The ghost of a smile flickered on Orkhan’s lips. Then his eyes moved past his family to a place across the room. “Not yet, my friend,” he said so softly that Theadora was not sure she had heard him. The lamps flickered eerily, and the smell of musk, Orkhan’s favorite perfume, was overpowering.

The chief mullah made his way to the sultan’s bedside. “You have not yet confirmed your heir, Most High. It is not right that you leave us before doing so.”

“Murad! Murad is my successor,” gasped Orkhan, and another fit of coughing racked his fragile body.

The chief mullah turned to face the assemblage and raised his hands, palms up and outward. “Sultan Orkhan, son of Osman, Sultan of the Ghazis; Ghazi, son of Ghazi, has proclaimed his son Murad as his heir.”

“Murad!” The assembled called in return. And then, as if with one mind, they all filed silently out of the room leaving the dying man with his wives and sons. The quiet was frightening. To calm her nerves, Theadora, lashes lowered, glanced about her. Poor Anastatia stood staring vacantly. Nilufer, Christian-born, prayed quietly for the man she had loved. Halil shuffled his feet with nervous boredom.

Her glance moved on to Murad, and she swayed with shock to find that he was staring straight at her. Color flooded her face, her heart pounded noisily in her ears, yet she could not tear her eyes away from his face with its faintly mocking smile.

The sudden movement of the sultan broke the electricity between them. Orkhan sat straight up in his bed and said “Azrael, I come!” and fell back, the life gone from his dark eyes.

Murad reached over and gently closed his father’s eyes. Nilufer, putting an arm about Anastatia, led her from the death chamber.

Young Halil knelt before his brother, placing his small hands in Murad’s large ones and saying, “I, Halil Beg, son of Orkhan and Theadora, am your liegeman, Sultan Murad. I pledge you my total fealty.”

The new sultan raised his sibling up and, placing the kiss of peace upon the boy’s forehead, sent him from the room. Then he turned to Theadora and she trembled beneath his burning gaze. “You have a month to mourn your husband, madame. At the end of that time you will join my harem.”

She was astounded by his boldness. His father lay just dead, and the son lusted after her already. “I am a freeborn woman! I am a princess of Byzantium! You cannot compel me to be your wife, and I most certainly will not be!”

“I do not need your consent as you well know. And I have not asked you to be my wife. I have only said you will join my harem. The emperor would not dare oppose me in this. You know that, too.”

“I am not some slavegirl to be fawningly grateful for your favor,” she spat.

“No. You are not. A slavegirl has had a value put on her. So far, you have not proved your worth to me.”

For a moment she was speechless with shock. He had loved her once. She was sure of it. Yet now he seemed to want only to hurt her. His brutal barbs were aimed at her heart and her pride.

Sadly she realized that, against all sense, he held her responsible for what had been between her and Orkhan! He wanted her to be a soft and compliant female-yet he had expected her to defy his father! Did he truly not understand that she had been given no choice?

She did not intend to be torn apart. She intended to marry again and to marry a man who would love her and give her more children. Theadora would not spend the rest of her life fighting Murad’s ghosts. She fixed her amethyst eyes on him and said quietly, with great dignity, “Once you called me a Byzantine whore, but I am not-as you well know. You would treat me as one, but I will not let you, Sultan Murad. You insult me by telling me I must join your harem. I will not join it, even as your wife. You direct your anger at me over something I could not prevent, frail woman that I am.” She added this maliciously. “You will be happier if you put me from your thoughts and populate your harem with only untouched virgins.”

“Do you think I can ever forget you, you violet-eyed witch!” he hissed, stepping forward and grasping her tightly. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her upper arms.

She winced, almost crying out, but-refusing to give him that satisfaction. “I have lain naked in your father’s arms,” she taunted him cruelly. “He has known my body completely, in a variety of ways, as no other man ever has! It was his right as my husband!”

Suddenly he reached out and quickly wrapped a thick strand of her dark hair about his hand. Imprisoning her thus, he kissed her savagely, his mouth pressing brutally on her soft lips until he bruised them. Furiously, she brought her hands up from her sides and raked his face with her nails. Too late, she realized her mistake. The rage in his eyes was terrible to behold. She turned to flee him, but the hand holding her hair yanked her back. Their eyes locked in a wordless battle. He seemed nearly mad with his rage. He forced her back across the room until she felt the divan against the backs of her legs. With a horrified gasp she realized his intent. “My God, Murad! Not here! For pity’s sake, no!”

“He took you from me in his lifetime! Now let him know that I take you in his deathchamber, while his body is not even cold,” came the hoarse reply.

She fought him as one possessed, but her struggles were useless. She felt her robes pushed up about her waist-and then a brutal thrust into her dry, unready body that sent a shaft of pain racing through her. “No! No! No!” she sobbed over and over again, but he did not hear. Then she felt a familiar tension building within her and, with horror, renewed her struggles against him.

She could not be! Not under such a violent assault! But helpless against her own body, she yielded finally to the ecstasy sweeping over her and cried out at the moment of their mutual release. Releasing her, a cruel smile of satisfaction on his face, he pulled her up, led her to the door, and pushing her through it, said, “One month, Adora.”

The door to Orkhan’s deathchamber closed behind her, leaving her alone and trembling in the cold corridor. Slowly, dry-eyed, she stumbled back to her own apartment and sank wearily into a chair before the dying fire.

She had one month. One month in which to escape him. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, but she would find a way. She would have to leave her son behind. But this thought did not disturb her. Halil spent most of his time now at his own court in Nicea, and he was safe from harm because Murad loved him.

She must get back to Constantinople. John Paleaologi would grant her asylum even though Helena would rage. Though her brother-in-law was vassal to the Ottoman ruler, he would protect her.

Murad would do nothing about that, at least not openly. His Turkish pride would not allow him to go to war over a woman, and if he pressed the matter too hard, it could become public knowledge. Sultan Murad would be a laughing stock for pursuing his father’s reluctant widow when he might have any other woman.

The idea of outwitting him was irresistible, and she chuckled low in her throat. He would not expect it of her, of course. He had always underestimated her intelligence. She knew very well that he expected her, now properly cowed, to wait helplessly until he sent for her to come to his bed. For a moment, she sobered. Even now, after tonight, she loved him. She had always loved him. Widowed, she was finally free to be with him, to belong to him, to give him children. Why should she run from him? She loved him!

She sighed deeply. He was arrogant, stubborn…and he could not forgive her for not being a virgin. So she could not remain with him, for he would only hurt her. She would resent every budding houri who glanced at Murad. No, far better for her to return to Constantinople.

She went back to her bed and slept, awakening with a plan of action so simple that she wondered why she had not thought of it immediately. On the following day, after Orkhan had been borne to his tomb to the accompaniment of the mourners, his youngest widow visited the Convent of St. Catherine to pray for him.

Her litter moved easily through the streets of Bursa-quite unnoticed and free of guards. Each day that followed she spent part of her time at the convent church. Twice she sent the litter back to the palace, walking home alone, heavily veiled like other respectable women of the town. She let herself in through a little-used garden gate.

She had been correct in believing that the sultan assumed she would accept his decree. And he was far too busy now taking charge of his government to be bothered with her.

Theadora sent Iris off to Nicea to check on little Princess Alexis’ welfare. She was now safe from busybodies, and knew that she could be gone at least overnight before anyone thought to look for her.

Arriving at the convent one day, almost a month after Orkhan’s death, she sent her litter back to the palace, telling her headman, “I intend to spend the night here. Return for me late tomorrow afternoon. I have already informed Ali Yahya of my plans.” The litter moved off down the narrow street as Theadora rang for the gatekeeper and was admitted. But instead of going to the convent church, the princess headed for her little house, which was always kept in readiness for her.

Alone, she moved silently to her old bedroom and, opening the little trunk at the foot of her bed, drew out the garments of a peasant woman. On the two occasions that she had sent the litter back to the palace, she had gone to a nearby market and bought the clothing and a few other items she would need in order to make her escape. Returning to this house, she had secreted them in the old trunk. Now she quickly drew off her own rich clothes and, folding them carefully, lay them in the trunk and covered them with a blanket.

She opened a small pot on a table and rubbed a light walnut stain over her entire naked body, being careful that even her ears and toes were well-covered. She was able to reach her shoulders and back by means of a long-handled brush wrapped with a soft piece of chamois. For a few minutes she stood shivering in the cool air, allowing the stain time to dry.

Finally satisfied, she pulled on her new garments and braided her hair into two long plaits. Wrapping the other things she needed into a kerchief, she placed them into a woven, covered basket.

Theadora slipped from the house. The convent grounds were deserted as the nuns were now praying in the church. Even the entry was deserted but for a horse and cart. The elderly driver was unlatching the gate. “Here, let me help,” she said, running up to him. Grasping the horse’s bridle she led it into the street while the old man closed the gate behind them.

“Thank you, little girl,” he said coming around to her. “And where did you come from?”

“In there,” she replied, pointing at the convent. “I’ve been visiting my sister, Sister Lucia. She’s a nun here.”

“Well, thank ye again. My name is Basil, and I am the convent’s fishmonger. If I can ever serve you-”

“But you can,” she said. “My sister said I was to ask if you would take me with you to the coast. I can pay you a bit for your trouble.”

The old man eyed her suspiciously. “Why do you go to the coast?”

“I come from the city. My name is Zoe, and I am the daughter of Constans the blacksmith whose forge is just outside the Gate of St. Romanus. I am newly widowed, and I came to visit my sister and make a religious retreat. Now I have received word that my twin sons are ill, and I cannot wait for a proper caravan. If I may travel to the coast with you I can take the ferry and get home to my boys quickly.” Her upturned face was the correct mixture of concern and sincerity.

“Come along then, Zoe, daughter of Constans,” growled the old man. “Never let it be said that Basil the fisherman would not help a mother in distress.”

It was so easy. So incredibly easy! Old Basil and his wife insisted she stay the night with them in their cottage, for it was well past dark when they finally arrived at the coastal village. The following morning they took her to the ferry which quickly made its way across the Sea of Marmara into the harbor of Eleutherius. She felt a shiver of delight as she glimpsed again the city of her birth-the city she had not seen since she left it as the bride of Sultan Orkhan. Constantinople! The name itself evoked a thrill! She was safely home!

She didn’t even know she was smiling until a voice said, “A sane man would kill for you if you smiled at him like that, pretty girl. I don’t suppose you’ve time for a bit of wine with a sailor?”

Theadora laughed aloud, and it was a joyous sound. “Why sir,” she said in the common dialect of the city, “you turn a poor widow’s head. But alas I must hurry to my father’s house where my little sons lie ill.”

The sailor grinned back ruefully. “Another time,” he said, helping her down the gangplank and handing her her basket.

“Perhaps,” she said smiling at him again, and turned away into the crowd. While she walked she searched for something, and suddenly she found it. Placing herself in front of an imperial soldier, she said, “I am the empress’ sister, Princess Theadora, just escaped from Bursa. Arrange an escort for me and take me to the emperor-at once!”

The soldier looked down at the dark-faced peasant woman and raised his hand to shove her away.

“Touch me and you die! Fool! How many peasants speak the tongue of the city’s upper class? Take me to the emperor or I’ll have the skin stripped from your body and fed to the dogs!”

The soldier shrugged. Let his superior handle the madwoman, he thought. He gestured for Theadora to follow him, and led her to a nearby guardhouse. As he entered, he called to his captain, “Here’s a crazy woman for you. She claims to be the Empress Helena’s sister, Captain Demetrius.”

“I am Princess Theadora, Captain Demetrius. If you will have someone bring me a basin of warm water, please, I will prove it to you.”

The captain, an older man, was intrigued by the sunburned peasant who spoke the elegant Greek of the city’s upper class and who carried herself so proudly. “Get water,” he commanded, and when it was brought Theadora washed the stain from her face and hands. “As you can now see, captain, I am not a peasant,” she said holding out her smooth, white hands to him. She next reached into the bundle she carried and drew out a beautifully jeweled crucifix. “It is engraved on the back. Can you read?”

“Yes,” the captain said taking the pendant from her.

“My father gave it to me an the occasion of my marriage to Sultan Orkhan.”

“To my daughter, Theadora, from her father,” read the captain. “It’s interesting, but it doesn’t prove you are the princess, lady.”

“Nevertheless,” replied Theadora, “it should be enough for you to take me to the emperor. Or perhaps peasant women come to you every day, wash stain from their bodies, hand you valuable jewels, and demand to see the emperor.”

The captain laughed. “You certainly reason like old John Cantacuzene,” he said. “Very well, I’ll take you to the palace, but I will have to have you searched before we leave. What if you were an assassin?” Catching Theadora’s look of outrage, he quickly added, “My woman will do it, lady.”

She was taken into a small room and joined by a pretty girl who said, “Demetrius says you must strip completely so that I can be sure you conceal no weapons.” Theadora obeyed, and when the girl had satisfied herself, she returned the garments to the princess. While Theadora dressed, the girl poked through the few items in her basket. They then rejoined the captain.

“No weapons, Demetrius,” said the girl, “and do you know what? She has no hair on her body! Isn’t that funny?”

The captain looked at Theadora and said quietly, “Welcome home, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, captain,” Theadora replied as quietly. “May we go now?”

“Of course, Highness. I regret, however, that I shall have to take you up before me on my saddle. There is no litter available.”

“I have not been on a horse since I was a child,” said Theadora as they left the guardhouse.

The soldier who had brought Theadora to the captain looked at the captain’s woman and said, “He called her ‘Your Highness’. What convinced him that she speaks the truth?”

The girl laughed. “Only highborn women pluck the mound of Venus free of hair, silly, and only the Turk’s women are completely free of body hair. It was that plus her language and the pendant that probably convinced him.”

Captain Demetrius lifted Theadora up in front of him on his saddle, and they rode across the city to the Blanchernae Palace where the imperial family now resided. Theadora noted that though the city was filled with people, many of them seemed to have nothing better to do than wander about the streets. She also noted that more shops were shuttered than were open. She sighed. What she had told Helena but a few weeks back was true. Constantinople was a dying old man.

They rode unchallenged into the court of the Blanchernae. The captain dismounted, politely lifting his passenger down. She followed him to the captain of the watch. The two men greeted each other cordially.

“Captain Belasarius,” said Captain Demetrius, “I have the honor to present to you Princess Theadora Cantacuzene. She arrived in this extraordinary disguise just this morning.”

Captain Belasarius bowed. “You wish to be taken to your sister, Highness?”

“No. To the emperor.”

“Immediately, Highness. Please follow me.”

Theadora turned to Captain Demetrius. “Thank you,” she said simply, touching his arm. Then she followed the palace soldier. When they reached the antechamber they were told that the emperor was with the chief prelate of Constantinople, the prelate’s staff of lesser bishops, and other churchmen.

“I must see the emperor at once,” said Theadora, knowing that even now her sister would be receiving word of her arrival in the palace. “Announce me without delay!”

The majordomo shrugged. With royalty everything was imperative. He flung open the doors to the audience chamber and said in his best stentorian tone, “The princess Theadora Cantacuzene!”

Theadora hurried to the foot of her brother-in-law’s throne and, kneeling, held out her hands in a gesture of supplication. “Sanctuary, Majesty! I beg the sanctuary of your throne and that of the holy Church!”

John Paleaologi leapt to his feet. “Good God, Thea! What are you doing here?”

“Grant me sanctuary, John!”

“Yes! Yes! Of course! It is granted.” He helped her up and signaled for a chair for her. “How did you get here?”

Theadora looked about her. “Could we speak privately, John?”

The young emperor looked to the chief prelate. “Bishop Athanasius, this seems to be a rather delicate and pressing family problem. Would you and your people excuse us?”

The old bishop nodded sympathetically and retired from the room, taking his people with him.

“No one,” said the emperor firmly to the majordomo, “no one, not even the empress-especially the empress-is to enter my presence until I give you leave. If you fail me in this your own life is forfeit. Use whatever means you must, even physical means, to guard my privacy.”

The door shut behind the majordomo. Sitting back down on his throne, John Paleaologi looked down on his sister-in-law and said, “Now, Thea, tell me why you are here.”

“Orkhan is dead,” she began.

“We had heard rumors, of course,” replied the emperor, “but as yet we have no official word.”

“He died nearly a month ago. Murad was declared his heir, and is now sultan. I was forced to flee Bursa because Sultan Murad wishes me to join his household.”

“As his wife?”

“No,” she whispered, and two fat tears spilled down her cheeks. “Just as a member of his harem. John, I must be honest with you since by asking you to grant me asylum I ask you to defy your overlord.

“Before I was brought to the palace in Bursa to be Orkhan’s wife, I met Murad by accident. We met secretly in the convent orchard for many weeks. We fell in love and were confident that I should never be called to my husband’s bed. We actually planned to wed when Orkhan died.

“But then Father wanted military aid from the sultan in order to keep you and Helena at bay, and Orkhan wanted Tyzmpe as a toehold here in Europe. So the marriage contract had to be fullfilled…which meant that I had to bear my husband a child. I was removed from St. Catherine’s without any warning and brought immediately to Orkhan’s bed.

“Ever since then Murad and I have been at swords-points. He believes that I might have avoided my fate somehow and remained true to him. Of course that is not true. I was helpless. He is a fool!”

She gave a sob, and the emperor rose from his throne and put an arm about her. How she had suffered! And she had been all alone in her suffering. To him the miracle was that she had survived all this.

“Oh, John! I maintained my sanity only by keeping the love between us alive in my mind and heart. Have you any idea what hell it was for me to be a dutiful wife to Orkhan while loving his son?”

“Then why have you run from him, Thea? I am sure you must have misunderstood him. He must want you for a wife.”

“No, John, he was hurt, and he wants to hurt me now in return. I love him. I have always loved him. Why must I be forced to accept this hurt? I will not! Let me stay here for the present while I decide what to do. Even Murad will have a bit of a time tracing me as long as we are discreet.”

“It matters not if he knows you are here,” said the emperor. “I will protect you. Our walls will. Tell me, however, for I burn with curiosity…how did you get here?”

Theadora gave a watery chuckle and then told him.

The emperor laughed heartily. “What an ingenious little witch you are, little sister! A mind such as yours belongs either back in the Golden Age of Athens or somewhere in the future.”

“Perhaps I was there, and perhaps I shall incarnate again in a more enlightened age. But for now I am here, and as I must make my peace with this time, it must make its peace with me.”

John Paleaologi smiled. “I will provide you with everything you need, Thea. I am happy you came to me. First, I expect you will want to bathe. I will have the servants arrange for more suitable clothing for you, my dear.”

“Lord, yes! Bless your thoughtfulness, John.”

The emperor stood and, taking Theadora’s hand, smiled. “Let’s see if we can avoid Helena completely. You look too exhausted to cope with her now. I will handle Her Majesty, the empress.”