Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“How long have you been here, Khadija?” Aleksandra asked carefully, not wishing to offend.

The young woman lounged back on the marble bench at the side of the courtyard and stared up into the highest boughs of the beech. Birds leapt from branch to twig, twittering, before flying off over the tiled roof of the top balcony.

“All of my life, my darling, except for a few short years.”

Aleksandra could not hide her surprise.

“Our father decided that I should marry the illustrious Damad Iskander Pasha. He was a kind old man and he kept me very well,” she said with a sly smile. “So well in fact that I bore him four handsome sons and a beautiful daughter.”

“Five children! But you appear far too young to have had so many.”

“My darling, I am twenty-six years old, but still in my prime.” She swept a caressing hand down the curve of her hip and thigh.

Aleksandra smiled. “Where are they now?”

“Damad was killed in our father’s siege of Abyssinia. The young are well and prosper to the North—in Edirne. They will be back here at the Old Palace in the summer.”

“Who is your father that he may command you whom to marry?”

Khadija smiled deliberately and threw her arms around Aleksandra, hugging her tight.

“Our father is Sultan—Sultan Selim Khan I Yavuz Ghazi.” Her eyes flared mischievously. “Selim the Grim.”

Aleksandra nodded intently, trying not to appear ignorant while grasping at the words and their meaning. “So, you are a princess?”

“Yes, my pleasure, a sultana. As are my sisters, Baykhan and Hafisa. We have four more sisters all married off strategically, and a serenely handsome brother who does us all justice with his fine appearance.”

“Then Hafsa is your mother...”

“The Birinci Kadin, yes.”

Aleksandra had many more questions that she did not dare ask. Not only because she did not want to appear stupid, but also because she wanted what she had learnt that morning and afternoon to fully sink in.

The rest of the day was spent idly in the courtyard. Many of the girls sat silently embroidering fine handkerchiefs and cloths. Others knelt in the mottled light under the beech, hand-weaving baskets or floor mats from reeds soaking in the trough of the fountainhead.

The female Moors all the while served them the sweet-tasting sherbets or cups of syrupy black coffee and trays laden with fruits, meats and breads.

Before the sun started setting and the lanterns around the court were lit, Hyacinth came through the door from the dormitory dragging a large trunk. Khadija grasped Aleksandra’s hand and they followed him as he hoisted it over his head and carried it up the stairs to the first balcony. Once there he pushed a door open with his foot and stepped inside with the heavy weight. The girls followed and Aleksandra saw that the room was lined with a score of trunks all similar to the one Hyacinth carried.

“This is your trunk, beautiful one.” He placed a key in Aleksandra’s hand.

Her face was filled with wonder when he smiled at her—a curve of soft, fleshy lips that was genuine and warm. The key slipped easily into the latch of the trunk. It turned effortlessly and the lid lifted without the slightest of noise. Inside were reams—a treasure—of fine linen and cloth. A sandalwood box set amongst the material was filled with coins and rough-cut jewels. Aleksandra’s lips parted in speechless awe.

Khadija leaned into her side. “It is your allowance, my darling. But come now, there is no time to go through it. We must to bed, as tomorrow we will not be idle as we were today.”