Roxelana & Suleyman

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Suleyman ambled at the head of the group. His arm was wrapped tight around his sister Khadija’s waist as they talked and laughed in whispers. Khanum and Gulfam followed close behind, marveling at the splendor of the tulips, even this late in the season—bright crimson, white, yellow, purple—some almost black. Several paces further behind, Haseki and Mahidavran walked in silence. Even so, they were deep in conversation using the second language of the Seraglio—signing.

Khadija had said that silence in the presence of the Sultan was the most honorable way to show respect. And though she was always the one to shout his name across the cloisters when he entered the harem, she had taught Haseki the importance of silence and the intricacies of the signing language.

Haseki struggled with some of the hand movements, but Mahidavran was more than pleased to pass on her knowledge and expertise.

“It is wonderful to have you truly now as part of our family, sweet Haseki.”

“Thank you, Mahidavran,” Haseki replied, her hand movements a little clumsy.

“The sparkle in our Sultan’s eye, when he spies you in the courtyard, brings us all such joy, as you can imagine.”

Haseki hesitated, not really sure how to take the comment.

“But of course Khanum, Gulfam and I will always come before you, as we have borne sons to our Sultan.”

“Yes, that is understood,” Haseki managed.

“I do hope that you will soon be with child—perhaps a little girl,” Mahidavran signed—a smile creasing her dimples.

“Nothing would please me more than to have a child to our Sultan.”

They continued on down the path through groves of beech toward a pavilion surrounded by fragrant bushes and cascading waterfalls.

“Of course you are aware of the dangers of having a son by our Sultan.”

“Danger—how could there be any danger?”

Mahidavran smiled pleasantly. “Let us hope you never find out, my dear.” She hurried ahead and joined the other two women that had borne Suleyman’s sons.

Haseki continued on alone until they reached the pavilion.

The morning was spent lazing in the cool autumn sun. Trays of baklava and carafes of sherbets were served by the Moor women. Haseki reclined on a mound of cushions as Suleyman conversed with Khadija—the sparkle in his eyes, the way he ran his tongue over his lips after taking a bite of baklava. Every few sentences he would gaze over at her, as if mesmerized. Then he would go back to talking to his sister. He requested that Gulfam play the lute. Its melody drifted around the pillars of the pavilion and mingled with the splashing of the fountains. Mahidavran continued the entertainment by humming a tune and dancing under the broad canopy of the pavilion for all to admire.

She really is very beautiful, Haseki thought.

When she had completed her twirling, Mahidavran fell into Suleyman’s lap and nuzzled into his chest. She purred like a cat and kissed the smooth skin that was exposed by the open flap of his caftan. At all times she firmly, deliberately stared at Haseki. Mahidavran fluttered her eyelashes as she opened the caftan further and licked Suleyman’s n****e.

Suleyman cajoled, “Ah, my Persian kitten, you bring me much joy.”

Mahidavran cuddled in closer, delicately playing with the gold brocade just below the sash of the caftan. She did not see the slight hand-sign that Suleyman gave Khadija.

“Come, ladies,” Khadija said, suddenly. “We must go and tend to our children.”

Mahidavran reluctantly removed her hand from inside the caftan and rose to her feet.

“Sweet Haseki,” Khadija said. “—would you stop and pick a bouquet of tulips for my suite?”

Khadija did not wait for an answer, but instead grasped Mahidavran’s hand and led the three Favorites up the path back toward the harem and their children.

When they had gone, Haseki glanced at Suleyman who had not taken his gaze from her since Khadija’s first unquestioned directions. He picked up the platter of baklava and a carafe of the sherbet snow and crawled over beside her. Stretching his long legs out on the ornate carpet and leaning on the cushion beside her, he selected a small baklava and held it to her mouth. She took a bite, her lips caressing the ends of his fingers. He placed the remainder of the delicacy in his own mouth and licked the honey and sugar from his fingers.

“You have honey all over your lips and chin, my tulip,” he whispered.

Haseki smiled and closed her eyes, lifting her chin slightly.

Suleyman leaned forward and licked the delight from her skin. She giggled at the pleasure of his tongue. As Haseki sank into the cushions she noticed a gazelle beside a fragrant bush. It observed them intently with its large brown eyes, as Suleyman undid the sash at his waist and, throwing the sides of his caftan open, moved gently over Haseki.