Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Davud sat on the floor leaning against the front of the divan as his brothers played a game of Yam.

“I need a maximum or a straight,” Cem whooped, throwing the five dice against the wall of the barracks.

“When fish climb poplar trees, you rascal,” retorted Talip.

“Whoa, Yam!” yelled Cem in jubilation as all five dice fell with the same face up.

“Your father must have been a scorpion,” Yasar grumbled. He removed the last of his ducats from his pouch and tossed them onto Cem’s pile.

“Who’s up for another game?” Cem asked, gathering the pile of ducats close.

“Me,” Davud said. “I could do with the extra allowance.”

They rolled the dice and quickly filled in the first few squares of the scorecard. On Davud’s next turn he threw four sixes.

His eyes widened. “I declare a Yam, my friend.” He threw the last dice again. It bounced off the wall and over the floor, coming to rest with the fifth six he needed turned face up.

“Ah, may Allah curse your traitorous beard.”

Davud chuckled.

The game went quick and it wasn’t long before Davud was filling his leather pouch with the ducats from Cem’s pile.

“Come lie by me as I count my winnings,” Davud indicated to his friend.

Cem was reluctant to stretch across the divan as the golden ducats passed through Davud’s fingers, but he eventually did, throwing his arm over the broad shoulders and cuddling him tight. Davud pushed a few of the ducats back toward him with a wink.

“They say that we will be marching toward Belgrade within the next weeks.” Cem absently tugged at Davud’s thick brown hair.

“Yes,” Davud replied. “I am reluctant to leave the Palace School, but if our duty must carry us north for a few months then that is where we must go.”

“Ha, my friend, the only way you would be able to stay within the confines of the palace permanently would be if you were part of the Sultan’s elite Agas.”

“What do you mean?” Davud replied as he placed the last of the coins in his pouch.

“I know that your heart is within the palace walls, my friend,” he whispered. “But do you not realize that as an Agiamoglan, and eventually a Janissary, you may be sent off from these walls for many years. Indeed, you could be assigned to the Mediterranean fleet or to a province anywhere within the realm of the empire and never again set foot within the boundary of Topkapi or even Istanbul.”

Davud had not realized this at all.

“But I must stay close to... I must stay close to the Sultan and the palace.”

Cem leaned in close, brushing his lips against Davud’s ear to mutter, “Then you will need to volunteer to be part of those training to be Agas. Only then will you be close enough to the realm of the Sultanate to achieve your objective.”

Davud internalized. The thought of Aleksandra’s smile; the touch of her hand—the warmth of her lips on his during their one and only kiss. It was too late to withdraw from the current tactics and he would definitely be trooping with the Janissaries toward Belgrade in the coming weeks, but his plans were undoubtedly formulating—evolving.

After a night of sleepless apprehension, he pulled Cem to the side to speak in confidence. “I will be coming with you to Belgrade, my friend, but after that I am seriously considering approaching the Head White Eunuch to join those in training to be Agas. I must at all costs be here in Istanbul and within Topkapi. I cannot afford to be transferred to the far reaches of the empire—no matter how grand a title it may be or whatever losses I may need to endure. My passion is here.”

“As you wish, and may the Sheik of Fortune shine upon you.” Cem followed his friend toward the hamam for their morning ablutions. Halfway across the courtyard he suddenly stopped and grasped Davud by the elbow. His brow wrinkled. “You do realize that to be a part of the White Agas you will also need to become a eunuch?”

Davud held Cem’s gaze and replied, “Yes.”