Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Suleyman and Ibrahim rode across the open grass field. To their left was the sea wall that protected the grounds of Topkapi Palace from the Marmora. High above and behind them, on the bluff, the walls of the palace and its courtyards loomed high. Smoke drifted from the kitchen’s multiple chimneys.

The men dug their heels into the flanks of their mounts and galloped across the field. Suleyman, breathless, finally pulled back on Tugra’s reins. The mare reared up on her hind legs, shaking her head in exuberance. When she settled with all hooves firmly on the ground Suleyman briskly rubbed her mane and kissed her neck with affection.

“Ha!” Ibrahim exclaimed. “Sometimes I think you love that horse more than all the odalisques of your harem.”

Suleyman smiled. “My friend, you know me only too well, but I fear that my heart has been completely stolen by a sweet flower.”

“Your eye has been captured? —Ah, the gift from your mother.”

The glint in Suleyman’s eyes brightened and he leaned over to slap his friend on the shoulder. Ibrahim smiled appreciatively and slapped him back.

Ibrahim was the same age as Suleyman—twenty-six. But whereas Suleyman was tall and wiry, Ibrahim was shorter, thickly muscled and with a swarthy complexion. The son of a Greek fisherman, he had been captured by pirates as a boy and sold into s*****y. By the time he was six he had entered the royal household as a page and since that time he and Suleyman had been the tightest of friends. Suleyman had indeed always been captivated by Ibrahim’s energy and enthusiasm. Even now, as they trotted across the field, he viewed his friend with an envious, but reflective and satisfied pride. Together they had learnt Persian, Greek and Italian. The friendship bonded closer still through the learning of wrestling, archery, swordsmanship and music. Indeed, Suleyman surmised, their lives had been so closely entwined that they were more like brothers than master and slave.

“Come, my lord. Since your accession to the throne there has been a great influx of volunteers and captives who wish to serve under your mantle.”

They sauntered the remaining length of the field and around the fishing pavilions to an area bound on three sides by the aviary, Janissary barracks and the beginning of the land wall that separated Topkapi from the remainder of Istanbul. Hundreds of youths stood in the enclosure. Some were as young as nine or ten; the oldest would have been about eighteen. All stood in silence. The Grand Vizier and the Capee Aga—the Chief White Eunuch—walked amongst them, poking and prodding the flesh and inspecting teeth and muscles. Several boys were pulled from the line to wrestle each other to show their strength. They rolled and grunted in the mud, willing to take the bruises and cuts for the chance to be selected.

One boy, his long blond tresses caked in dirt, rose from the mud, yelling, and tackled two boys twice his age and height, knocking them to the ground.

“He will make a very fine Janissary when he comes of age,” the Sultan noted with amusement.

Two men were pulled from the line to wrestle. They had stripped down to their breeches and soon the mud and sweat glistened on their backs and chests. Suleyman paid special attention to one young man, probably about eighteen. His mop of thick brown hair flew across his face as he threw himself against his opponent. Muscled arms flexed and hands gripped tight to muddy thighs, pushing them deep into the mud. The two bodies rolled and the brown-haired youth was flung onto his back. The other spun his entire weight onto the first and a fist flew, causing a c***k that was audible from many paces away. The triumphant youth rose onto his feet, pushed the brown hair from his eyes and placed his left foot victoriously on the chest of the other, who still lay on the ground.

Ibrahim clapped his hands—motioning for the Grand Vizier to take the young man’s name and send him to join the group of those that had already been selected.

The youth lifted his foot from the chest of his opponent and attempted to wipe the caked-on mud from his chest and abdomen. Suleyman noted the scars on his torso. Catching the inductee’s attention, he lifted his hand in salute and then pulled on Tugra’s reigns, to turn and ride back to his pavilions.

“Do you wish me to dine with you tonight, my Sultan?” Ibrahim ventured as they trotted across the grassy field.

“No, for now that the Divan counsel has ended I have a chance to do my duty within the harem.”

“I trust your sword is ready for the crusade....”

“Oh yes, my friend, and thanks to your handwork it is sharp for the battle.”

Both men laughed, galloping across the field.