Bertrice Small - Adora

“My princess is like a delicate flower, eunuch. You must convince the sultan to treat her gently these next few nights. If she goes mad and dies, to what purpose is this cruelty? Do you think the emperor will award your lord the remainder of my lady’s dowry when he learns what has happened to his favorite daughter? The Byzantine may have used the girl to his political advantage, but she is still his child, and he does love her.”

Ali Yahya nodded. “You are right, woman. I will see that the sultan’s heart is softened toward the princess. But you must see that the girl lives.” Without another word he turned on his heel and left.

Iris waited until the doors had closed behind him. Then she ran across the room into Theadora’s bedchamber. The girl lay on her back, barely breathing. She made no sound, but her beautiful face was wet with tears. Iris drew a stool up to the bedside and sat down. “Tell me what you are thinking,” she asked.

“I think that the humblest beast in the field is more fortunate than I,” came the soft reply.

“Do you wish to die, my princess?”

“Die?” The girl sat up. “Die?” She laughed bitterly. “No, Iris. I do not want to die. I would live to avenge this insult! How dare the sultan take me as he would some savage barbarian? I am Theadora Cantacuzene, a princess of Byzantium!” Her voice was bordering on hysteria.

“Hush, my princess. Remember?” And Iris pointed to her ears.

Theadora instantly grew silent. The slavewoman rose and poured out a goblet of rich red Cyprus wine. She added a pinch of herbs to it and handed it to her mistress. “I have put a sleeping draught in the wine, my princess. You must get a good night’s rest if you are to face tomorrow with wisdom and courage.”

The girl drained the goblet. “See that I am awakened by midday, Iris,” she said, and lay back down to sleep. The slave crept from the room. But Theadora’s amethyst eyes remained open and focused on the ceiling. She was calmer now, the worst of the shock having worn off. But she would never forget the insult.

Her innocent dalliance with Prince Murad had led her to believe that what happened between a man and a woman was always sweet. Her husband had robbed her of a perfect wedding night, but never again would she allow herself to be treated as she had been treated tonight. If her father-curse him!-wanted her to bear Orkhan a son, then she would do so. But she would make her husband regret this night.

He would desire her above all women, and when she had obtained his desire…she would refuse him.

When her jaded husband finally groveled at her feet for her favors-and he would-she would dole them out sparingly or refuse them, as her whim dictated.

Theadora now began to relax and allowed the sleeping potion to take hold of her. When Iris looked in later, the princess was asleep.

Ali Yahya was in serious danger of losing his dignity. He gaped at the child before him, and she repeated in her piping voice, “My mistress, Princess Theadora, commands your immediate presence, sir. You are to come with me.” Tugging on the fat hand, the little girl led the amazed chief eunuch down the hall to Theadora’s apartments.

When Ali Yahya had seen Theadora last he had not been sure she would survive the night. But the ravaged creature of the night before bore no resemblance whatever to the young woman he now faced. And for the first time in his life, Ali Yahya understood the true meaning of the word “royal”.

Theadora had caused a small throne to be set upon a raised dais, and she received Ali Yahya there. Her long dark hair had been plaited into two braids, and looped on either side of her head. Her clothing was all silk, in shades of Persian blues and sea green. She wore no jewelry, for she had none.

The amethyst eyes looked gravely at the eunuch. Abashed, he bowed low, and was rewarded by a faint smile. She raised her hand in a regal gesture of dismissal to her slaves.

Alone with Ali Yahya she said quietly, “Tell my husband that if there should ever be a repeat of last night, I will inform my father, Emperor John. I am aware of my duties, and will produce a child as quickly as nature will allow. But the sultan must come to me alone in future, and accept my lack of experience as any Christian husband would do-with delight at that proof of my innocence.

“If he wanted me experienced in the arts of love, he should have had me tutored. I was available. I am not newly arrived in this land.

“I request of you teachers who can help me overcome my ignorance. For now, perhaps, the sultan will find it amusing to tutor me himself. It should be quite a novelty for him.”

The chief eunuch swallowed his surprise. “I will do what I can to plead your case, Highness,” he said gravely.

“I know you will, Ali Yahya. You alone of those I have met since entering here yesterday have remembered my position. I will certainly not forget your kindness. Thank you for coming.”

He turned to go, but she spoke again. “I had almost forgotten. Please arrange for Iris and me to visit the slave markets of the city tomorrow.”

“If you need more servants I shall be glad to supply them, Highness.”

“I need my own servants, Ali Yahya. Not spies. I will people my household with my own slaves, not those in the pay of the lady Anastatia or the lady Nilufer, or whoever is my husband’s latest favorite. Or you, for that matter. Do I make myself clear, Ali Yahya?”

He nodded. “It will be as you wish, Highness,” be said, and hurried off to seek his master.

He found the sultan in the company of one of his new favorites, a blond Circassian named Mihrimah. The girl was a credit to her harem schooling, a veritable model of good manners, total obedience, and advanced sexual training. Ali Yahya watched impassively as Mihrimah took a sweetmeat delicately between her lips and offered it to her eager master. The eunuch marveled that a man of the sultan’s years could still be so quickly aroused and perform so well. Disregarding his servant’s presence, Orkhan mounted the slavegirl, driving her to a sobbing surrender.

His hot lust sated, he looked to the eunuch. By a flick of an eyelid, Ali Yahya asked dismissal of the girl. Orkhan shoved Mihrimah with his foot. “Go!” She obeyed instantly, getting to her feet and running from the room. “Speak, Ali Yahya. What is it?”

The eunuch fell to the floor and, taking the sultan’s foot, placed it on his bowed head. “I have erred, my lord. I have erred in judgement, and I beg that you forgive me.”

Orkhan was intrigued. Ali Yahya had been his slave for some twenty-five years. He had held his office as chief of the white eunuchs for the last fifteen. His judgements had always been cool, impersonal, and correct. Never before had he asked forgiveness. “What is it, my old friend?” asked Orkhan kindly.

“It is the princess Theadora, sire. I have been wrong about the girl, and so have your wives. She is innocent of any intrigue to better herself. I knew it last night, but it was too late to stop-” He hesitated, allowing the sultan time to reconstruct the events of the previous evening. “This morning,” continued the eunuch, “she begged my ear, and pleaded with me to ask your forgiveness for her ignorance in the arts of pleasing you. She has also asked that I find her tutors to teach her so she may remedy this lack.”

“Has she?” Orkhan was interested. He would not have been surprised if the girl had tried to take her own life after last night. Then, he would not have cared. But now he was fascinated.

“Perhaps it would be a titillating novelty, sire, if it were you who acted as her first teacher. Who knows your desires better? She appears eager to learn, and she really is quite lovely, my lord.”

The sultan’s black eyes narrowed with remembrance and he chuckled. “So she is eager to learn, eh? Even after last night? And you think I should school the little wench?”

“It would be something different, my lord. I would not know, of course, but is it not dull, being continually catered to by the women of your house? As her tutor you could teach her what pleases you best. When she succeeds you will reward her. And if she is slow in her lessons, you will chastise her.”

The sultan’s eyes gleamed. He was known to occasionally enjoy whipping a slavegirl. “You are sure, Ali Yahya? You are sure she did not nag her father and force herself on me?”

“I am quite sure, sire. She would have sooner remained at St. Catherine’s. This was her father’s doing entirely.”

Orkhan smiled slowly. “She will soon change her mind, my old friend. I will teach her to crave my touch. Tell her she is forgiven her ignorance, Ali Yahya, and that tonight I will begin her lessons in love.”

The eunuch bowed himself out, barely able to contain his mirth.

With the princess, however, he would have to be completely truthful. Yesterday he had thought of her as only another girl, like thousands of others. Today, however, seeing her rise so strongly from her despair, he had-with a sure instinct for his own survival-revised his opinion. Ali Yahya was not sure what Theadora Cantacuzene was, but he knew she would be a power to be reckoned with.

Theadora was again bathed, creamed, and perfumed. But this time Ali Yahya brought her silk gauze night garments and simple jewelry. The pantaloons and open bolero were rose-pink, which heightened the creamy fairness of her skin. The anklebands were done simply in gold-thread embroidered flowers. The bolero was edged along the sides and bottom in tiny crystal beads. The chief eunuch had brought her several very delicate little gold chains of different lengths to wear about her neck. He himself put upon her slender finger a rough-cut deep-blue Persian turquoise set in heavy red gold.

“My gift to you, Highness.”

“Thank you, Ali Yahya. I shall treasure it.” Then she looked at him questioningly.

“It will be all right, Highness, I promise you,” he said as he helped her into the litter. He bent over her and fastened gold and crystal ornaments to each of her little earlobes.

She reached up and touched them, delighted. He smiled back at her. Though he sensed greatness in her, she was still a child. The earlobes sparkled prettily, fully visible as her dark hair was drawn back. It had been braided with pale pink ribbons and seed pearls. The sultan would be foolish to mistreat so delightful a morsel, thought the eunuch.

And that was most unlikely. Sultan Orkhan had thought most of the day of the novelty of teaching his young wife the amatory arts: he could barely wait for evening. He hoped she was passionate by nature. But even so, she was likely to resist him at first, her shyness overcoming her. Resistance! The thought excited him. He could not remember the last time a woman had resisted him.

The great double doors to his rooms were flung open, and he could see his new wife in the corridor beyond, being assisted from her litter. He watched with open approval as she moved gracefully toward him, her lovely head bowed modestly. She stopped-and knelt to prostrate herself before him in the gesture of humble submission.

“No!” he was amazed to hear himself say. “You are a princess born, my Theadora.”

“But you, my lord husband, are my master,” her low, melodious voice replied as she touched her forehead to his slippered foot. He raised her up and pulled her veil away from her face, tossing it to the floor. “Look at me,” he commanded. And she raised her head to him. The clear amethyst eyes did not waver under his dark glance. “Your manners are flawless, my young wife, but your beautiful eyes speak differently from your posture!”

For a moment her white teeth caught at her lower lip. She flushed becomingly, but her gaze did not falter. “I am,” she replied, “as Your Majesty has said, a princess born.”

The sultan laughed heartily. The girl had spirit. Surprisingly, he did not mind. She was a breath of cold, crisp air after an overheated, overscented room. “Leave us,” he commanded the waiting Ali Yahya and the other slaves. When they had gone, he turned to her. “Are you afraid, my Theadora?”

She nodded. “A little, my lord. After last night.”

He cut her short with a wave of his hand, saying fiercely, “Last night did not happen! We begin tonight!”

Remembering the rape by a wooden phallus she seethed but quickly said sweetly, “Yes, my lord!”

He drew her down to the pillows on the large divan.

“You are an unexplored garden of delights, my bride. For the present, I shall seek to please you.” He pushed the little bolero off her, and, cupping her breasts in his hands, kissed first one and then the other. “Your breasts are like unopened roses,” he murmured deeply against her silken, perfumed skin.