Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER EIGHT-1

CHAPTER EIGHT

Aleksandra slipped into almost total confusion as the fishing vessels turned northwest out of the main waterway and into a chaotic harbor—the captain called it the Golden Horn. They skimmed neatly over a submerged chain that presumably stopped larger ships—warships—from entering. They pulled in toward the bustling shoreline, the exotic aromas of the city replacing the smell of fish and salt. So, too, were the sounds of lapping water and flapping canvas replaced by the resonance and echo of a vibrant economy that made Aleksandra’s heart beat even more rapidly. Merchant ships unloaded their wares to be carted away. The crew of hundreds of fishing vessels hawked their produce to those on the dockside. Oxen hauled wagons, overloaded with spices and fragrance, along tree-canopied avenues and into arched alleyways. The din and clatter of cartloads of copper, silverware, ironware and pewter rose above even the loudest of the vendors bargaining with the myriad of people swarming the docks. Camels hissed and spat.

Aleksandra was disoriented by the entire scene. She had never seen so many people in one place. And the number of different nationalities that inter-mingled was uncountable. She recognized Greeks, Gauls, and dark Nubians from the Africa’s, Jews, Venetians, Persians and Tartars—the few nationalities that had travelled the caravan route through Lvov. But there were even more that she had no idea from where they originated.

This was as the captain had stated: the center of the universe.

The flotilla pulled in beside a wharf in the middle of this calamity.

“Make yourselves beautiful, my darlings. We have a long morning ahead of us and you must look as lovely as you all truly are.” The captain handed them a bucket of water and a wooden box full of combs, brushes, mirrors and fragrances.

Aleksandra pulled a comb through her knotted hair—turning from the captain as he rubbed his hands together, eyeing them one by one—presumably mentally counting the gold pieces that he could get for them at the market. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror being held up by one of the other girls: The flash of red flaming hair, the sparkle of life in her eyes, the ivory complexion of her skin. Picking up a silvered mirror of her own she stared hard and long at her reflection....

From the eastern-most minaret of the enormous mosque came an echoing, modulating incantation. The haunting chant drifted down over the city and across the rippling waters of the harbor. All movement on the docks and boats intensified, then ceased. Jews, Greeks, Gauls and Nubians disappeared into the dark recesses of the surrounding alleys and shop-fronts. Those that remained spread out small rugs wherever they stood and kneeled down upon them.

Aleksandra was awestruck by the spectacle as the chant was taken up by the thousands on the shore. The captain and crew kneeled on their rugs on the upper deck. Again she looked at her reflection and then around at the city that surrounded them. She surveyed the great palace on the promontory and the magnificent buildings that hugged the harbor, then once again her reflection. The chant seemed to flow through her body and through her soul, lifting it to a point where she was above this vast metropolis—looking down on her future.

And suddenly she knew what she was worth.

And what that worth could gain her in this great city.

The spark of her eyes intensified.

She pulled the comb vigorously through her hair, getting all of the tangles out. Then, selecting a fine bone brush, she ran its bristles deftly through the flaming locks until they shone with a luxuriance that she was going to use to her advantage. The gown that she had been given to wear draped lavishly from her waist, its swirling gold and crimson embroidery contrasting with the deep emerald-green material. She washed the salt-spray from her face and pinched her cheeks until they took on a soft, rosy glow.

With the chant ascending to its final canto, Aleksandra stood upright on the bow of the fishing boat, allowing the words, the aromas, and the dreams of the city to flow through her.

And as she let Istanbul embrace her, she smiled and dreamed her own dream.

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