Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

The Valide Sultana lounged across the brightly-woven fabric of her divan. She sipped on a goblet of sherbet as she studied the features of her son who luxuriated on a cushion at her feet. He had removed the ceremonial turban of the morning proceedings with his viziers in the Divan Chamber. The thick, black richness of his hair hung loose down his back and around his shoulders.

Hafsa ran her fingers through the locks and affectionately scratched his scalp. The son closed his eyes with the simple pleasure—relaxing in her company. He turned his head toward her and she caressed the beard which now grew royally from his jaw line. It was sculpted in a traditional manner with a fine line surrounding his mouth to meet a goatee that, even with its thickness, could not hide the handsome cleft of his chin. The rest of his jaw line was cleanly shaven. Hafsa ran the back of her fingers over the smooth skin. Suleyman smiled, returning his thoughts to the depths of his wine glass.

“There is discontent in the harem, my son,” Hafsa ventured, not really wanting to disrupt the enjoyment of their solicitude. “Many of the women are saddened by the fact that you receive your pleasure only from Haseki.”

“She brings me more joy, my mother, than any of the others I have had.”

Hafsa pondered his remark. “Then she has achieved something that even I could have only dreamed—to totally enrapture the heart of her Sultan to the exclusion of all others.”

Suleyman drank deeply from the goblet. “Yes, indeed she has achieved that.”

“But do you think it wise? Some say she has bewitched you with her eyes, and that the depths of the pleasures she gives you are distracting you from your duties.”

“Who says such blasphemy? I rule this empire with the sharpness of my sword and the truth of my own will.”

Hafsa gasped in unhidden amusement. “Suleyman, you are the greatest of Sultans to have ever held the Scarlet Mantle high. With it you are casting a shadow across the world that far exceeds any before you. But you are also still a man—of that there is no doubt. And as a man, you are encumbered by that length of flesh which can bring any in your position to his knees. I have seen how you quiver and yearn whenever her name is spoken. And I suspect that her lips and mouth control you more than those of Ibrahim.”

Suleyman stood up, incensed. “How dare you!”

“Oh, Suleyman, sit down. Enjoy the afternoon sun as it caresses our bodies in this delightful space.”

The son obediently sat, his face contorted in suppressed rage as his mother’s fingers once again ran through his hair.

“Haseki Hurrem is the woman of my dreams and she shall be part of me until the day I die—as will Ibrahim.”

Hafsa grasped his hair and pulled his head back onto the divan. Their gaze met in anger, but Suleyman did not flinch.

“That may be so, but beware the power of those within the harem. And beware the growing power of Ibrahim for it is not only your flesh that his sweet lips caress.”

Suleyman sat in silence. Hafsa knew that her words cut deep into the grooves of his heart.

“You are wrong. Ibrahim is loyal and in that faith I will soon be making him my Grand Vizier.”

The Valide Sultana lounged back onto the divan—savoring the thoughts that swam through her mind with this information. She tapped the rim of her glass. “Let it be so, and as a mark of your adoration he shall marry your sister Khadija, who drools at the very thought of his flesh almost as much as yourself.”

Suleyman, incensed, stood and left the pavilion.

The Valide Sultana shook her head and emptied her goblet. “You are so easy to manipulate, my darling boy; even more so than your dear father.” She poured herself another goblet of gingered sherbet.