Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

The emissary from the French Court entered the Audience Chamber of Sultan Suleyman Khan I. He marveled at the opulence that surrounded him, in awe that anything could possibly surpass the grandeur of the French palaces he had been sent from. He shuffled slowly forward, his head bowed and hands clasped before him, but still he managed to peer up through his overhanging tresses at the Sultan. Suleyman was a sight of magnificence. On his head was a tall shimmering white turban embroidered with a multitude of pearls from the orient. A lavish black silk caftan draped around him and flowed down the steps of the podium on which he sat. The caftan was so heavily studded with diamonds that refracted the blackness of the underlying silk that it took on the depths of an unearthly black sparkle. Prostrating himself on the marble floor three times in respect, the Frenchman then crawled forward to kiss the hem of Suleyman’s sleeve. The touch of diamond upon his lips and the smell of masculinity pervading the material at his face made him wary of what he was about to request of the great man on the podium. He crawled backward to his place in the center of the chamber and rose awkwardly to his feet.

* * * *

Suleyman lounged back in the cushions, studying the effeminate. Though now wearing a caftan gifted to him by the Ottoman Court, the emissary had entered the Third Courtyard of Topkapi in French flounces and brocades, delicately sniffing at a fine handkerchief held limply in a feminine hand. He walked like a goose and wore a cap of artificial hair covered in white dust. Though heavily perfumed to the point of revulsion, Suleyman could still smell the distasteful odor of one who never bathed.

Disgusting, he thought. These Westerners do not know the meaning or importance of hygiene. He has so much powder on his face that his skin must be suffocating as much as his culture and religion. A good sweating and scrubbing in one of our hamams would also handle that unsightly pox that he thinks his make-up is hiding.

The emissary stood still, apparently not daring to move or knowing whether it was appropriate for him to speak at all. Suleyman held clasped hands to his chin, his attention fully upon the Frenchman—enjoying the uneasy silence and the obvious discomfort in front of him. He smiled when a drop of sweat cut down through the heavily powdered face, and even more so, when the Frenchman’s left leg began to shake. Finally, with a slight movement of a single finger, he gestured for the Grand Vizier, Ferhat Pasha, to commence the proceeding.

Ferhat stepped forward and bade the emissary to speak.

“My lord Sultan Suleyman Khan, Shadow of God on Earth, I have been sent here by the seal of King Francis of France.”

He even speaks in a quavering feminine voice, Suleyman thought to himself.

“My lord, The King of France is extending his hand in friendship to the brilliance of the Ottoman Empire and the unyielding power of the Lawgiver.”

Suleyman leaned forward intently. The emissary saw this movement. His attention quickly darted around the room at the two-score of Ottoman nobles, and the fifty or more personal guard of the Sultan who held their pikes and sabers ready to s***h through any that would attempt to harm or annoy the supremacy that sat on the central podium.

The emissary started speaking again, his voice rising by almost a full octave in terror. “My lord, The French and Ottoman Empires are at the extremity of a continent that is being ripped and harassed by the insolence of the Hapsburgs and, by their auspices, King Louis II of Hungary. They, as our greatest enemies, have now sealed their empirical bond through the marriage of Louis to King Charles’ sister.”

Suleyman stood and bellowed. “Ha! That is a bond that will never be consummated!”

The Frenchman faltered and stepped backward in alarm. Suleyman’s entire bodyguard also moved a step closer to him, sabers glinting in the sunlight that streamed through the openings to the chamber.

Suleyman continued. “The stupidity of that young upstart, Louis. That he could possibly think his two inches of flaccid flesh may bind those insolent families together. Does he not realize that Charles would use his own sword to cut through that tie at the first instance the Hapsburgs have the upper hand on the continent?”

“That... that is true, my lord, but still Charles will have Louis’ garrisons at his command and can use that force to drive either west into the lands of The Lily or east into those of The Crescent.”

“Silence!” Suleyman shouted.

The emissary fell to his knees and let out a small whimper—his face pushing solidly against the marble floor.

“The Hapsburgs and that child shall never spread their boundaries to the east. The Crescent will only grow red with their blood and they know that for a fact. Right now my forces are pushing into their lands and freeing the simple folk from the ruthlessness and pomposity of their rule.” Suleyman paced back and forth across the podium.

“Yes... yes, my lord,” the emissary sniveled, his nose dribbling upon the marble.

Suleyman glared down at the man at his feet for several minutes—the silence designed to make the emissary’s heart sink even further. “Go tell your King that there may yet be an alliance between The Lily and The Crescent. But also ensure he is aware that should he attempt to cross me in any manner then the forces of The Crescent will not stop the drive west at the waters of the Rhine....”

Silence echoed around the chamber.

The French emissary dared not stand. Instead he held his nose to the floor and shuffled as quickly as possible back to the entrance of the space. When he had gone and the Audience Chamber doors were slammed shut, Suleyman turned to the Grand Vizier.

“Shadow of God, what he said is true. There is much blood being spilled to the north, but it is not only that of Hungarians and Hapsburgs.”

“I know, my Grand Vizier. An alliance with France will put us in good stead to rid Europe of the warring plagues that currently eat at its internal fabric. And indeed, it would allow the current Renaissance of the continent to bloom to its full and immaculate glory.”

Ferhat Pasha bowed to the Lawgiver.