Chapter 17 #2
Amir nodded and as the Grand Master turned to depart, the prince said to the two enormous black slaves guarding the doors, “I am your master’s son. Open the doors for me.” Then he passed through them when they did.
A black eunuch hurried forward as he entered the antechamber. “Prince Amir,” he said. “Your father is awaiting you. Come this way.”
Amir followed the eunuch and was led into a beautiful presence chamber, where his father sat ensconced upon a velvet-cushioned gilt throne.
Beneath Amir’s feet was a magnificent wool carpet of reds and blues.
Footed bronze lamps burning scented oils lit the chamber.
Seated upon multicolored silk cushions around the throne were half a dozen richly dressed and lightly veiled women.
Amir smiled, amused. “’Tis most impressive, Father,” he said, greeting the man who had sired him—a man he barely knew but by reputation and had not seen in years.
“You look like your mother,” Prince Jem acknowledged. “You may come closer.”
Amir moved forward. He looked at this man and decided he would not like him.
He wished he could be anywhere other than the castle of the Grand Master of Rhodes.
He wanted to be home at the Moonlight Serai.
Home with Azura. How long before he would see her again?
He would not be able to reason with his father.
His father wanted to be sultan yet had not the strength nor the resources to gain that office.
He had believed that because Mehmet favored him he would easily gain the throne.
I am wasting my time here, Amir thought, and was irritated, but he would spend the next month trying to bring Prince Jem back into the sultan’s good graces.
Time lost that could be spent with Azura.
Beloved! he called out to her with his longing heart.
And Azura as she walked in the early autumn garden placed her hand on her belly.
The winds had already begun to blow from the northwest as the days grew shorter.
She was with child at long last. She wanted to tell Amir, wanted to share her happiness with him.
Maysun had advised against it, however, and Shahdi had agreed.
Both of Amir’s first two wives were overjoyed that Azura was to bear a child.
This babe would be raised by them too, and their empty hearts would soon be filled.
“There is no way we can be certain a message sent to Prince Amir would reach him,” Maysun told Azura.
“No one outside of our home must know you are with child, Azura. It is just too dangerous, given our belief that the kadin Besma plots against our husband. If the child you carry is a son, the danger increases for all of us, but we all agreed it was worth the risk. We will cross that bridge when we must and not before. And there is always the possibility that you will birth a daughter. A daughter will not cause any distress among the sultan’s harem. An Ottoman princess is an asset.”
“So I have been told on several occasions,” Azura said with a small smile. “But I cannot help but wish Amir knew of our good fortune.”
“We cannot take the chance.” Shahdi echoed Maysun’s caution.
Amir’s family did, however, receive two messages from him over the next few months.
The first came to tell them that he had arrived safely.
The second in deepest midwinter arrived filled with his frustration at attempting to deal with his strong-willed father, who refused to accept the reality of his situation.
The message also contained the promise to return home soon.
He would come back, he wrote, in the spring.
In his absence, Azura’s companions took excellent care of the expectant mother.
They catered to her odd appetites. She longed for sugared violets.
They found them. They rubbed her feet and legs, which were prone to cramping on the damp winter days.
And they sat together sewing tiny garments for the expected child.
Even Shahdi had softened in her attitude towards Azura.
She embroidered the infant’s gowns with a creative, skilled hand.
The one appetite, however, they could not compensate, was Azura’s need for Amir.
It seemed some nights she desired him more than she ever had when he lay in her arms. It surprised her just how great her lustful needs for him were even as she lay awake staring at her big belly.
Some nights she would bite into her pillows to keep from screaming.
Azura had no idea if this was normal. She couldn’t ask Maysun or Shahdi, since neither had ever had a child.
It was not something that she and her mother had ever discussed, as that would not have been seemly; and Agata certainly had no knowledge of such things.
So she kept her longings to herself, and prayed for her husband to hurry home before she dissolved into flames with her need for him.
He was coming even as she hoped for it. The stipend was long since delivered.
His months with his father had proved fruitless, even as everyone had known they would.
Amir bade Prince Jem and the Grand Master farewell, sailing from the island of Rhodes on an early March morning.
Reaching Istanbul, he went immediately to the palace to report to the sultan, who was even now preparing to send out his armies on campaign.
Bayezit was impatient with the preparations, and had little time for Amir, already knowing he could not have possibly succeeded.
He had sent his nephew on this fool’s errand at the nagging of his kadin Besma, who saw plots against her son everywhere.
Now irritated for having given in to her, and silently shamed that he had wasted Amir’s time, he greeted the prince shortly. “Is the news good?” he demanded.
Amir bowed. “The news is what you expected, Uncle. Your brother cannot be swayed from his course. He will probably die trying to unthrone you.”
“Stubborn fool,” the sultan muttered. “He is well treated?”
“He has set himself up lavishly in a wing of the Grand Master’s castle.
He practices warfare with the knights daily to keep his skills honed.
I believe they plan to move him to France or Italy eventually, Uncle,” Amir said.
“He refuses to believe their concern for him is actually for themselves. He believes what they believe. That he is a weapon to be used against you eventually.”
“What would you do if you were in my position?” Bayezit asked his nephew.
“Allah forbid I should ever be in your position, Uncle!” Amir said wholeheartedly. “But were I? You have said yourself that the empire is a bride that cannot be shared between two husbands. And a wild dog that cannot be tamed must be killed. There is no other way around it. I’m sorry.”
“He is your father,” Bayezit said quietly.
“You have been more father to me than Jem ibn Mehmet,” Amir said honestly.
“He may have sired me, but the few memories I have of him all involved my mother weeping her broken heart out. Never once do I recall him throwing a ball to me, or showing me how to use a scimitar. You and my grandfather were the men who influenced my life, Uncle. Prince Jem is a stranger to me, and even more so now that I have spent so many of the last weeks with him. Do not break your heart over him, for he is not worth your patience or kindness, Uncle.”
The sultan nodded, considering that his nephew was a pragmatic and honest man. “You have done me a great service, Amir,” he said. “Now go home, Nephew. You will always have my trust.”
Amir bowed, and hurried from his uncle’s presence.
The kadin Besma had heard everything between the two men, as she had hidden herself behind a tapestry in the sultan’s privy chamber when one of her spies brought word that Amir was back.
She didn’t trust Amir ibn Jem. She could not believe that he was that noble.
He was the eldest of the Conqueror’s grandsons.
She was sure he was but biding his time.
He might be loyal to Bayezit if such a thing as true loyalty existed.
But it was unlikely he would support any of Bayezit’s sons when this sultan could no longer rule.
No! He would seize the throne for himself unless she could prevent it.
It was her son, Ahmed, who must be the next sultan.
She had already seen Bayezit’s first son, Mustafa, removed to make way for her own boy.
Of Ahmed’s two half brothers, only Selim, the younger, worried her.
Korkut was too involved in his studies. He could not bring the Janissaries to heel, which a future sultan must do even as Bayezit had.
But Selim was another matter, and he was extremely well guarded by his overprotective mother and aunt as well as the Agha Kislar, Hadji Bey.
Still, there would be time for Selim’s demise.
First she must see to the execution of Prince Amir, lest her own precious boy be threatened by this likable and capable man.
Threatening his cousin was not a priority for Amir ibn Jem.
It never had been, and it never would be.
He wanted to get home as quickly as he could.
He and Krikor decided to ride the several days’ distance from the capital to the Moonlight Serai.
They both agreed that they had had enough of ships for the interim.
They had been away for seven and a half long months.
Spring had reached the Black Sea. The hills were already green with new growth and dotted with early flowers.
His arrival surprised them all, for he had sent no messenger ahead.
He greeted Diya al Din and Ali Farid and hurried into the harem.
With cries of delight Maysun and Shahdi ran to greet him.
He hugged them both, but his eyes were searching the chamber for Azura.
Agata had run to fetch her mistress, who was napping.
Now Azura came from her bedchamber into the dayroom.