Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Khadija and Haseki lay n***d on the octagonal marble slab in the middle of the hamam. Two female Moors rigorously scrubbed their flesh in the heat. Haseki considered the girl working on Khadija. Her skin was pitch black and her face hideously disfigured from birth. Thick lips and a broad nose below dark eyes crossed by a gruesome birthmark made her a valuable commodity within the Seraglio. Indeed, the stature of the odalisques was judged by the repulsiveness of their slaves. Yet the young girl seemed happy. Haseki knew for a fact that they were treated splendidly with the same food and opulence in quarters that she knew. Yes, they were slaves, but no more than she.

It was not unusual to spend several hours of the day within the hamam. But today the Moors paid special attention to Haseki to ensure that she would be a special pleasure to the Sultan that night. After massaging and scrubbing her skin they brought out pots of Black Sea mud which was amply patted over her body. Haseki lay there covered in the mud from head to foot. The hot moist air of the hamam swirled around her.

Khadija lay beside her, propped up on her elbow, studying the mud-covered curves. She affectionately traced the arc of Haseki’s breast, leaving a groove in the thick sludge. Haseki giggled and held out her hand to hold Khadija’s.

“I’m... I’m scared, Khadija.”

Her companion smiled and caressed her cheek with her lips.

“Don’t be, my love. Suleyman is a gentle man. He will love you as much as I—more so, as only a man can.”

“But what must I do, what must I expect?”

“To be loved, my dear,” Khadija whispered in return.

Haseki’s Moor scraped the Black Sea mud from her flesh with the sharp edge of a mussel shell. The skin was left luxuriously soft. All trace of body hair was gone—as if she were yet a very young girl.

Khadija ran her fingers across the tender exposed flesh. “Your smoothness will bring him great delight, my love. It is a sign of your purity and virtue.”

Haseki blushed.

The girls stayed within the heat of the hamam for another hour before venturing out to the first room to sip on apple-flavored snow sherbets. When the last rays of the sun slipped from the room and the eunuchs came to light the torches, Hyacinth entered the hamam. He beheld Haseki for a moment, but walked past her to Khanum, Suleyman’s first Favorite—the mother of his first son. Khanum, a fine-looking woman, stood and excitedly left the room.

Suleyman did not call for Haseki that night and it was not until the new day that Khanum returned to the harem embracing a treasured gift—a caftan of black silk and fur.

The next night Hyacinth entered the harem again, but once more he passed Haseki and went instead to Mahidavran—the Sultan’s second Favorite—mother of his second son—and whispered in her ear.

She returned to the harem the next morning clutching a basket of precious stones and a fine pair of slippers.

On the third day Haseki sat with Mahidavran within the court.

“I do not understand...”

“My sweet, there is tradition. You are beautiful, but even the Sultan must follow the ways of custom. Khanum, I and Gulfam are our Sultan’s Favorites. Yes, you are in his eye, but only Allah knows whether you too will join our ranks as a Favorite or be sent back to the Old Palace.”

Haseki sat silently. The thought of being sent back to the Old Palace had never entered her mind.

“But surely...”

“Surely nothing.... Do not fret, for I will tell you some secrets that will without a doubt make you a part of us in his thoughts,” said Mahidavran softly. She spoke in whispers for many minutes, talking of things that neither Haseki nor Aleksandra had ever known.

Haseki thought back to a summer’s day, long ago, when her father had urged her to talk with old mother Baranovsky. She hadn’t, and instead went back to her chores. She wished that she had spent at least a few hours with the old mother, or better still, had had the comfort, touch and knowledge of her own dear mother.

The evening came, and Hyacinth entered the harem and beckoned Gulfam to follow him to the Sultan’s private quarters. She was excited and laughed like a young girl as she gathered her garments around her and, holding Hyacinth’s forearm, left the harem.

The next morning, she returned with a brilliant smile and a wrist covered in golden bracelets.

On the fourth evening, Haseki sat on the edge of the fountain with Khadija. The children had already been sent to bed and the court was quiet except for the bubbling of the water behind them. She studied the sky. The last splashes of blue had disappeared and the pinpoints of stars had begun to shine through. She held tight to her companion’s hand. Neither spoke as slowly the sky above turned pitch-black and the brilliance of the constellations spread across them. Khadija pointed out a few that she knew the name of, and Haseki replied nervously.

The eunuchs moved through the court, lighting the torches, and then disappeared. After a supper of fruit, and another hour of silent contemplation, Hyacinth appeared beneath the stone colonnade. When Haseki made to rise he shook his head and left the courtyard.

The same occurred on the fifth night with Haseki and Khadija left to sit silently on the fountain edge after Hyacinth’s departure.

Mahidavran passed the two girls and smiled ever so sweetly.

“My poor darling,” she mouthed silently, touching Haseki on the wrist.

Two more days passed.

Haseki sat in the torchlight, working angrily on her embroidery.

That man shall never have me as his own. The glint in his eye was my imagination and could never attain the dazzle that existed in the eyes of my sweet Dariusz.

She pulled the thread violently through the silk, then plunged the needle back through the material. She embroidered stitch after stitch, row after row. She completed a small crimson flower and then thrust the needle into the silk again. It pierced deep into her finger. Stopping, she threw the embroidery down onto her lap and glared at the finger as a fat droplet of blood appeared on its tip.

Someone reached for her hand and, kneeling at her feet, placed lips upon the injured finger. Haseki glanced up and into Suleyman’s eyes. His lips gently surrounded, kissed and caressed her finger with moist tenderness. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up into his arms.

Mahidavran was stunned.

Khadija beamed.

Two eunuchs opened the door of the harem. Haseki was carried down a corridor—The Golden Way—past columns and fountains and into the Sultan’s private suite. At the entrance to his sleeping room Suleyman, still holding her in his arms, embraced her tightly and placed his lips upon hers. The softness of his lips impassioned her soul more than she could have realized. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth against his with a force that surprised even her. The taste of his lips.... The pressure of his tongue against hers.... The sweet musk smell of his skin and the all-consuming moisture of his mouth....

Suleyman nudged aside the cloth of gold that covered the opening with his foot and carried her inside.

The sleeping room was dark except for a lantern by the bedside and another near the entrance. Two old Moor women sat in the dark—one at the foot of the bed. But neither Suleyman nor Haseki paid them any mind. The flickering torches shone off the silver bedposts and twinkled in the crystal lions at the top of each. Yards of spun gold hung low from the canopy and as Suleyman laid his love on luxurious furs he pulled the fine material all around.