Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE

Aleksandra jolted awake as they were exiting the arcaded labyrinth of the Grand Bazaar. Still cradled securely by the enormous Moor, a fine silk veil had been placed over her face and hair. Nevertheless, it did not block out the view she had of the beast that held her to his chest. In front of her eyes a fat black n****e protruded to a length that disgusted her. Piercing through it were two rings of gold. She peered up toward his face—he must be over seven feet tall—past thick lips and straight into the flared nostrils of a flat nose. The muscled arms glistened with sweat, pulling her slight body tight against his. Massive hands clasped her waist and upper leg.

Alarming thoughts washed through her mind. If this brute were to.... His hold tightened when her body shook in escalating distress.

She was mesmerized by the horror of his face, barely noticing the streets of the city through which the entourage proceeded. The litter was transported before them, held high by the four Moors—all equally as abhorrent as the creature that cuddled her with such familiarity. When the sun shone down into the crooked lanes, Aleksandra could make out the silhouette of the golden litter’s incumbent. The crowds in the streets dropped to the ground in respect for the occupant, wherever it passed. The Moors stepped over and around the prone bodies, but apparently did not care if they did crush a hand or put their full weight on a back or buttock.

They reached the crest of the hill next behind that of the Grand Bazaar within short time. Turning into a zigzagging avenue, bounded by high stonewalls and closely grown cypress, the group stopped in front of a huge gate covered with beaten copper. This was opened, then shut and swiftly locked once they were inside. Crossing through deserted courtyards they passed through two more gates that were also closed and locked securely behind them.

Aleksandra glanced up into the eyes of the Moor as he and the others came to a halt.

He smiled.

“Welcome to your new home, beautiful one. My name is Hyacinth,” he said in a whisper that was barely audible.

She trembled in stunned silence. Hyacinth?

The taught muscles of his arms loosened and he lowered Aleksandra gently onto the marble pavement. One strong hand stayed on her shoulder as the giant bowed toward the litter being lowered to the ground. Aleksandra’s expectant gaze followed his.

When the carriage stood steadily on its four gold, jewel-encrusted lion’s paws, two of the Moors separated the shimmering curtains. An elegantly dressed woman stepped out. She was equal in height to Aleksandra, but enveloped in so much fine fabric and sheer material that nothing more could be said of her appearance or nature. Hyacinth bent down onto one knee—still he was taller than both of the women—and kept his hand firmly on Aleksandra’s shoulder. The woman walked to them, without the sound of any footfall on the cobbles; stopping less than a foot away to inspect her purchase.

“Good day, my Lady. My name is Aleksandra.”

Hyacinth’s grip tightened and he closed his eyes.

The woman raised a hand and struck Aleksandra brutally across the face.

“Insolence!” she spat through the veil.

Aleksandra wiped blood from her cut lip in astonishment—the salty taste of nervous bile mixing with the blood in her mouth. With a subtle pressure from Hyacinth, she dropped to her knees. The woman held out a veiled hand and Aleksandra took it, gingerly pressing her lips to the material, leaving a bright-red smear. When the woman disappeared through a blue-tiled archway without any further word, Hyacinth lifted Aleksandra to her feet and embraced her. She unconsciously wrapped her arms around the giant and pressed her face to the flesh of his abdomen, deep in thought without really thinking anything. The beat of the giant’s heart was strong.

“Come, beautiful one. You have much to learn.”

Hyacinth led her down a corridor. Izniki blue tiles shimmered in the light of torches that hung from the barrel vault above. They passed several cloistered courtyards filled with cypress and tulips. Stopping at a fountain in one of the courts, Hyacinth turned on its ornate tap and, using his wetted hand, cleaned the blood from Aleksandra’s lips. His gentleness perplexed her, made her feel guilty about her initial thoughts. As his large fingers caressed her lips and washed the redness away, she scrutinized his placid demeanor. He raised his attention from her lips to return her gaze. He smiled.

“Who was that woman?” Aleksandra ventured, fearing another strike.

Hyacinth lifted a single finger and held it to his lips. Then, turning the fountain’s tap on more fully so that the gushing water would mask their conversation, he indicated for her to sit on the tiled ledge.

“Her name is Hafsa. She is the Birinci Kadin—mother of the Honorable Sultan Selim’s son, Suleyman.” Hyacinth pondered his own reflection in the bubbling waters for a moment. “And you are her slave.”

Aleksandra said nothing.

“Come now, we must go and introduce you to the others.”

Taking her hand, Hyacinth led Aleksandra down further corridors and through uncounted doors, all of which were locked firmly behind them. The tiled ornateness of the initial passages dissipated, until finally they were encased in a walkway of simple, roughly-hewn stone. Up ahead in the deepening gloom stood two Moors guarding a solid oak door. When they reached its threshold, Hyacinth opened its latch and motioned for Aleksandra to enter.