Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

“I shall miss the comfort of your caress and the sweet aroma of your tenderness, my friend.”

Ibrahim was openly pleased by Suleyman’s words and leaned over to touch his hand. They sat in the opulence of the Cinili Pavilion, the gardens before them once again colored with dense summer foliage and magnificent beds of tulips.

“The ships are ready to sail and reports have been received that the supply caravans have reached the southern shores of Anatolia. I have chosen a safe mainland harbor from where to mount our attack.”

“Excellent. Then tonight we must rejoice and celebrate your future victory, and speedy return.” Suleyman clapped his hands a single time. Several Itchoglans entered the pavilion with trays of meats and other fine foods. A large platter was placed before the Sultan—heavily laden with venison, pheasant, quail, lamb, chicken and other delicacies—enough for twenty people. “Come, eat from my plate.”

Ibrahim moved in close to Suleyman on the divan. They sampled the meats and breads, washing them down with hefty gulps of a sticky French wine.

“My lord, what was the result of your audience with the emissary from the French Court?”

Suleyman answered with his mouth full of sweet venison, “There is definitely a future worth pursuing.” He took a sip of wine. “Francis is an ally that we can use to advantage. His battles in the Rhineland are keeping the Hapsburgs busy in the west. An alliance between The Lily and The Crescent shall indeed crush those bastard Austrians and that Hungarian upstart in a gripping vice.”

Ibrahim nodded, wiping the meat-juices from his hands on a towel held by a page.

“Once you have secured Rhodes, we shall once more drive our Janissaries up Louis’ breeches and cut our course through Hungary toward Vienna. We shall slice that succulent apple in two and remove the Hapsburg worm from its core.”

Ibrahim continued nodding as he tasted the delicate baklava from another tray before them. Both men lounged back into the cushions of the divan, patted their stomachs and burped loud. A flick of fingers and the platters were removed, ready for the night’s entertainment.

A bulbous nagila was placed on the floor before them. A page ceremoniously stuffed richly-aromatic hashish into its head, then sprinkled a fine coating of white dust on top. He lit the glass and bejeweled-gold pipe with glowing embers. Ivory mouthpieces were offered to the Sultan and his companion who both drew back heavily on them as they sunk further into the cushions. The smoke inside the glass bubbled and rose through a sepia liquid, traversed the embroidered piping, and entered their mouths to burn across their tongues and cut its course down into the willingness of their lungs. Both men laughed with incredulous exuberance when the flourish of light flashed throughout their bloodstream. They drew more deeply on the mouthpieces—holding the brilliance within them—the pavilion taking on an undulating dazzling texture, enveloping them in a warmth of invincibility that heated them to the core.

The amusements began. Buffoons and midgets frolicked on the marble before them. They tumbled and turned during a mock battle with twigs as swords. Suleyman grinned when one of the midgets went skidding across the smooth surface to knock several others down onto the stone. They clamored on the balustrade and wrestled on the divans. Another came prancing out dressed in skirts and frills, delicately powdering his face.

“Ha, Louis!” Ibrahim yelled in drugged jubilation.

The midget shook and quaked in mock-terror at the battle. He ran when the others chased him around the room, tumbling over divans and ottomans, hiding behind curtains. Suleyman slapped Ibrahim on the knee and collapsed in mirth into his side—still with the mouthpiece clasped firmly between his teeth.

All the midgets ran behind the curtain and there was much wrestling and girlish screams as the material flounced and buffeted about—finally to come tumbling to the floor. The midget Louis came crawling out from under the pile. As the others surrounded him he grasped for his sword, but it fell limply in his hands. He waved it about uselessly. In desperation at his plight he finally threw the sword to the ground and hefted his skirts up, exposing his n***d backside, urging the cheeks apart, and offering it to his pursuers. The other midgets turned up their noses in disgust. They whipped Louis’ backside with their swords.

Both Suleyman and Ibrahim roared uncontrollably at the sight, and as the hashish continued to course through their veins, burn through their arteries and smolder in their minds. Finally, Louis jumped over the balustrade into the garden and the other midgets chased off after him into the darkness. High-pitched screams echoed through the undergrowth and into the distance.

Suleyman chuckled. Lolling on the divan, he pulled the nagila mouthpiece from his lips, and traced the outline of Ibrahim’s mouth with the ornate tube of ivory. His friend smiled, catching the second ivory in his mouth, and drawing back heavily upon both. He held the smoke in his lungs—finally collapsing into Suleyman’s arms in a fit of buzzed enjoyment and coughing. Suleyman slapped him on the back and squeezed him tight. His eyes twinkled in the deepest of affection for his friend.

Khadija glided into the pavilion and kneeled on the floor before the two men. She was swathed in several layers of shimmering gossamer; veils of red, green and gold covering her lower face. As a group of young maids curved into and around the pavilion, playing lutes and cymbals, Khadija rose and began to dance.

Ibrahim released his grip on Suleyman and studied the beauty of the woman that cavorted before them. “By Allah, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever beheld.” His drugged gaze followed her around the pavilion. He caressed the nagila’s mouthpiece with his lips as her every movement, perceptibly, entranced him. He turned to Suleyman and then quickly back toward the beauty. Suleyman smirked at his friend, noticing the rising bulge in the latter’s caftan.

“Her eyes are mesmerizing,” Ibrahim whispered, reaching down to caress his growing need. “They have a depth that I have only ever seen within yours, my beloved Sultan.”

Suleyman winked at Khadija as she came swirling past. She giggled at her brother’s cunning and tauntingly ran the back of her hand over Ibrahim’s excitement, twirling out of the room at the end of her display.

“I have truly lost my breath, my lord,” Ibrahim breathed. He continued to caress himself through the silk of his caftan, but then noticed Suleyman’s lack of response to the display. “She did not excite you, Sule? By Allah she is more beautiful and elegant than the most majestic of poplars.”

“She is my sister, Khadija.”

Ibrahim pulled his hand back in embarrassment. “Forgive me, my lord, I did not realize.”

Suleyman took a gulp of wine before placing the mouthpiece of the nagila in his mouth once more to draw back on its relaxation.

Letting the smoke of the hallucinogenic drift from his nostrils and lips he finally whispered, “Khadija is indeed very beautiful. She has also expressed a desire to know you as well as I. When you return in triumph, Ibrahim, she shall be yours, and you shall be....” He smiled.

“Khadija...,” Ibrahim said as if still caught within the swirling dream of her dance. He turned at last to Suleyman. “Thank you, my lord. The Isle of Rhodes will indeed be under our mantle in short order. Nothing could keep me from the prize you have so generously offered—her touch will mean as much to me as the opportunity to serve you as Grand Vizier.”

The two men smiled openly, lovingly, at each other. Then as they drew back once more on the nagila, they burst into a laughter that echoed around the pavilion and down through the paths and groves of the palace gardens.