CHAPTER FIFTEEN
304 Words
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The rumors of Sultan Selim’s death, at a village named Corlu, spread quickly throughout Istanbul and the Old Palace—indeed, throughout all of Europe which had endured nothing but dread during his reign.
“Surely it can be no co-incidence that he has died in the same village where his eminent father died six years ago,” whispered a leather-tooler in one of the Hans of the Bazaar.
“An agonizing death he had,” retorted the silversmith’s apprentice.
“He was poisoned, just as his father before him,” said another.
Men and women, young and old, in the coffee houses and dimly lit hamams across the city, conjectured on the rumors as they evolved.
“I know for a fact that he died of an infected boil,” murmured a merchant, as he lay n***d on the cooling marble slab in a hamam—an unclothed youth pummeling his flesh into relaxed rapture.
“A captain of the Janissary told me, in confidence, that Suleyman has already been secreted from Manisia and girded with the Sword of Osman,” a muscular Janissary suggested as he rolled onto his back so that the young buck massaging him could fulfil his duties.
By mid-morning, Janissary platoons marched the streets, halting in squares and bazaars to read the official proclamation.
The greatest of Sultans, Sultan Selim Khan I Yavuz Ghazi, who cast his shadow far across the face of this world, is dead. Sultan Suleyman has succeeded to the throne and been girded with the Sword of Osman at Eyup. Our Sultan is enroute to Istanbul where celebrations will be held in his honor with the rising of the new day’s sun.
Hafsa, the Birinci Kadin, sat quietly by the fountain in her private court. In her hand she held a poem of love that her husband, Sultan Selim, had written to her long ago.
Though empires tremble within my shadow,
I fell prey to your doe-eyed beauty.
Despite her well-laid plans, she shed a tear.
- Writer
