Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER SEVEN-1

CHAPTER SEVEN

The fishing vessel bobbed on the passage through the Bosphorus. Blackened canvasses flapped in the breeze. Crew sloshed through ankle-deep water below deck, plugging up cracks and holes where bunging had fallen out. Most of the men worked n***d, others in simple wraps. The smell of salt, fish and sweat was an old and comfortable friend as they stuffed tar-soaked flax into the groaning carcass of their livelihood. Two of the crew sat on the stern, their feet dangling over the edge, while they knotted new ropes and repaired ripped sailcloth.

“This one is more twine than canvass,” Bahri said, his words resolving to a chuckle.

Abdim gave Bahri a toothy grin as the old man’s fingers pulled the rusted needle and twine through the cloth. Gnarled and scarred, they were testimony to many hard years on the Black Sea. It was rumored that old Bahri had once sailed as far as Spain and spent some time in the encampment of pirates. But the old man had mellowed. He seemed happy netting fish—even happier when their cargo was something more valuable, as it was today. Resting his hands on his lap, Abdim surveyed the small flotilla of craft that followed in their wake. They all appeared to be simple fishing trawlers and carriers—as indeed they were. Wooden hulls were painted in bright blues and greens, reds and oranges. All had eyes adorning their bows—the better to see the schools of fish below the ripples of the water.

Abdim turned as old Bahri elbowed him in the side and pointed toward the Esmeray. “That ancient girl is brimming full of silks and carpets from the east. Fatma has her belly so full of silver, wine and spices I am amazed she is still keeping her eyes above the foam.”

“And the Halil?” whispered Abdim, who had been unaware of the full extent or value of their cargo.

“The Halil.” Bahri put his arm around the younger man’s shoulders and leaned in close until chapped lips brushed against the softness of his ear. “The magnificent Halil stores something that every man—kings, warriors, simple peasants and fishermen, even the greatest of sultans—desires.”

Abdim listened in awe. “What?”

The old man pulled back slightly to stare deep into the questioning eyes. He chuckled, and cupped his gnarled hands over his mouth to whisper, “The finest maidens of Galicia and the Carpathian regions; Beautiful. With skin of ivory, eyes like pools of jasmine and jade. And hair of such wondrous softness and length that any man would happily die of rapture within its sweet caress.”

Abdim gazed toward the Halil in wonder. He placed a hand on his old friend’s shoulder and stood up, craning his neck to get a better view of the treasure that bobbed a hundred yards behind.

“It’s true,” he whispered with excitement.

The morning sun was rising behind the Halil. Ripples shimmered in its wake with the early light. On the deck of the vessel, beneath the swelling sailcloth, and under the watchful eye of the captain, Abdim could clearly see several maidens huddled on the foredeck.

“Oh, Bahri, I can spy one maiden whose hair glimmers like spun gold; and another with a mane of fire.”

The old man smirked at his friend with amusement, noticing the growing bulge through Abdim’s loosely wrapped tunic.

“Best you sit back down and get to work on those ropes, young fellow, before that rudder of yours throws our boat off course.”

Abdim did as he was told, deftly working the twine, but continuing to glance in the direction of the Halil.

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