Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE-1

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

With the waning of the October moon, Suleyman heeded Haseki’s advice and ordered his fleet of kayiks be readied for the first leg of the journey to Edirne. It was a bitter, cold morning when the dozen imperial kayiks pulled in toward the royal dock at Topkapi Palace. Davud stood by the sea wall as the sleek vessels arrived. The largest, in which the Sultan and his harem would recline, was forty yards long. Its lustrous pointed prow cut through the water with ease, speeding like an arrow, propelled by the raw muscle of twenty-six oarsmen. All wore loose, white-muslin breeches and open vests that exposed the muscularity needed to heft the heavy wooden oars through the Marmora. On their cleanly shaven heads, they wore bright red skull caps with tassels of blue. The kayiks swung in to gently nudge the dock.

Davud was broken from his trance by a solid push on his shoulder.

“Come, Davud, we have but little time to get the kayiks loaded ready for the journey.”

Davud followed the white eunuch’s orders and obediently lifted a large jar of spice, handing it to another who had jumped down into the nearest craft. The Itchoglans had formed a chain from the palace kitchens that meandered through the gardens to the dock. Within the hour, sacks of grain, cages of fowl, jars of oils, fragrances and spice, and bladders of wine and sherbets were passed hand to hand, arm to arm and lowered into the kayiks, filling them to the brim. Davud’s arms and back ached, and even in the cold wind he sweated from the exertion.

Hundreds of attendants swarmed from the palace grounds to take up their positions on the decks of the vessels. Many were Itchoglans who had completed the four Odas of training. Davud was envious of them—for it would be years before his training would be complete and he could join them in the company of the Sultan.

A young black eunuch, no more than fourteen, came running through the gate of the sea wall.

“Helvet, helvet,” he yelled in a high-pitched castrato that would never deepen.

The skin between Davud’s legs crawled, pulling his seed in close to the warmth of his body, as he thought about what he had almost given up for naught. He tugged at the discomfort and then helped the other Itchoglans with two large canvases. As none were allowed to gaze upon the Odalisques or the Sultan in their company, canvases strengthened by poles were held up by the Itchoglans to create a passageway between the sea wall and the curtained kiosk of the main imperial kayik. Davud stood holding one of the poles staunchly, straining his muscles to stop the material flapping in the biting wind. His nose was touching the canvas as he stared point-blank into its weave. The door to the sea wall was opened and the young eunuch again yelled, “Helvet, helvet.” The Itchoglans started barking like dogs to mask any conversation that the Sultan and Odalisques might be having as they walked through the passageway.

Davud barked loud amongst the din of the Itchoglans. The shadows of those in the canvas passage shimmered on the fabric.

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Haseki stepped over the threshold of the gate and in between the rippling canvases. Mehmet was rugged-up in layers of linen and an outer garment of black fox. She held him tight in her arms. As she crossed the stone boardwalk toward the kayik she shied from the silhouettes of the men and boys on either side. She had not been this close to any complete man, other than her sweet Sultan, since that day in the slave market over two years previous. One silhouette, taller and broader of shoulder than the others, barked with a resonance and timbre in his voice that gave her a comfort that she dearly wished for in her current insecurity.

Mehmet gurgled beneath the layers within her arms and she turned her attention to him. As she did, she slipped on a loose pebble, falling to the side, her full weight faltering into the fluttering canvas.

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Davud, still barking, felt the canvas give way as one of the inhabitants of the passage fell into it. He spread his hands to support the canvas and gently stop the person falling to the ground. The sweet smell of lilac filled his nostrils as he lightly urged the material and the insider upright.

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Khadija ran to Haseki’s side and, placing her arm around her, helped her down to the steps at the edge of the dock.

The Favorite took her place amongst the cushions in the curtained kiosk and looked back out past the gilded wooden structure with its inlaid tortoiseshell, ivory, amethysts and rubies. Even through the flapping layers of gauze and material that surrounded her she could see the silhouettes of the oarsmen and Itchoglans that still held the canvas upright. And then she turned her attention to Mehmet and cuddled him tight.

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Davud helped push the kayik from the dock—standing in admiration as the flotilla shot off away from the shore and into the current. A volley of cannon fired from the parapets of Topkapi and the warships anchored in the Bosphorus. g*n smoke hovered over the waterway and, when it had cleared, the vessels had gone.

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