Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

The Palace at Edirne occupied a fortified Island in the middle of the Tunca River. The river current had slowed with the winter chill and in some places had frozen solid. Similar in layout to the Topkapi Palace there were many pavilions and courtyards surrounded by the frosted, ornamental gardens. The most opulent pavilions, in which the Sultan resided, opened out to an expansive forested chase filled with wild boar and stag. Suleyman spent most of the days and many of the nights hunting in the forests with his pages and Itchoglans. He was proud to supplement the nightly meals with fresh venison and fowl.

Sitting in a curtained off area of the feasting pavilion, Haseki and the other Favorites, joined by Khadija, supped on the sweet venison that their lord had captured that afternoon. Haseki sopped up the juices from the game on the large central plate with a chunk of bread, while Khadija picked at the tender meat of a pheasant. All listened intently to the conversation of Suleyman and Ibrahim on the other side of the thickly embroidered wall of material.

“Europe is in turmoil with the blossoming of the protestant faiths. Rome is trying valiantly to squash all that do not adhere to their long-held religious dominance, but they are quickly losing their grip.” Ibrahim noted between very loud gulps of the sweet red wine.

“Bah, those Romans are two faced. Janus. They kill their own prophet from God yet claim that they are the chosen ones to reside in his heaven. They think more of their gold and art than they do of the souls of their people.”

Haseki glanced at Khadija—strain to hear the conversation through the curtain.

“We will take that Red Apple before it is too ripe. To Rome, to Rome,” Suleyman roared as the wine palpably coursed through his veins and made his head light. Haseki was glad that he seemed to be returning to his old self.

Khadija smiled and leaned over to Haseki to whisper “He has been chanting that for years, my love—first Vienna; and then Rome. If any of the Great House of Osman is to do it, it will be him.”

There was silence on the far side of the curtain for a moment, then the ruffle of material against the opulence of one of the many cushions. Haseki was certain that she heard her lover whisper “Later, my friend,” but she could not be certain.

“What are they saying?” she beckoned to Khadija.

Suleyman’s sister shrugged her shoulders and, taking a sip of tulip sherbet, lounged back into a mound of cushions.

“We have nothing to fear from Rome at this point, my lord,” Ibrahim muttered in due course.

“No, but that effeminate Boy-King to the north turns my stomach,” the Sultan retorted.

“Louis II of Hungary? That pimpled juvenile thinks more of his taste for foreskin than expanding his empire.”

Suleyman turned up his nose. “Urgh—if one is to delve into the love of another man at least let him be a real man and not some effeminate.”

“Long live Queen Louis of Hungary,” Ibrahim chuckled.

Suleyman audibly slapped his friend on the thigh, and again Haseki discerned the smallest of whispers between the two men. She glanced to Khadija but her concern was returned with a look of mirth.

“Still,” Suleyman said as he stood and started to pace around the room, “—that young upstart is causing skirmishes against our Janissaries in the north.”

“And he has the support of the Hapsburgs,” Ibrahim added.

“That dog, Charles, shall end his rule as leader of the Hapsburgs on the point of my sword! We will take Spain from him. We will take northern Italy and Germania from him and by Allah...,” Suleyman yelled at the top of his voice so that the women all sat in total silence, “...we will take his claim in the New World of America from him!”

Haseki heard Ibrahim rise and walk over to her love.

“It shall be so, my lord.”

Haseki detected the slight rustle of silk and flesh brushing flesh.

“It shall be so, my lord,” Ibrahim repeated.