Bertrice Small - Adora

The few remaining weeks sped quickly by, and it was time for Alexis of Byzantium to be delivered to Nicea. Accompanied by her mother, her two brothers, Andronicus and Manuel, and members of the royal court, she was rowed across the Sea of Marmara to Asia.

The galley that carried her was gilded completely with gold leaf. Its oarstems were gilded with silver and had scarlet lacquer paddles. The deck of the bridal galley was of highly polished ebony. The rowers were perfectly matched young blacks and fair-skinned northerners. The blacks wore gold satin ankle-length pants, while the light-skinned, blond, blue-eyed northerners wore purple satin pantaloons. These young men had been picked by the empress herself. If she must be humiliated and abused by her younger sister, reasoned Helena, she would have need of comforting.

She let her eyes wander over the broad young backs, the muscles rippling smoothly-and considered the aesthetic effect of smooth black skin against her own fairness and of muscular golden thighs against her own long, white legs. A recent lover had compared her legs to perfectly matched marble columns, a description she found both original and highly pleasing.

She stretched languidly and sank deeper into the silken pillows. Alexis, resplendent in her nuptial finery, had dozed off. The empress let her sleep. The day was hot, especially out here on the water, and Helena was grateful for the awning that sheltered them. It was held up by four posts carved round with mythological creatures-dragons, unicorns, griffins, phoenix-all painted most realistically. The awning itself was striped in silver and blue. The draperies, now held back with braided-gold tasseled cords, were azure-blue and sea-green silk.

Helena had nodded sleepily for what seemed only a minute before the voice of the helmsman behind her was saying, “We approach the opposite shore, Hallowed Majesty.”

Her eyes flew open. Reaching out, she shook her daughter. The child opened her blue eyes. “Are we here?”

“Almost, my love. I must stand outside now, and the drapes will be drawn. You will remember your part?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Helena looked over her daughter once more. The child’s undergown was scarlet silk, the long tight sleeves buttoned in pearls from the wrist to the elbow. Her surcoat was cloth of gold with the two-headed eagle of Byzantium woven into it with scarlet threads. Her pale blonde hair was loose about her shoulders and she was crowned with a small pearl-and-gold fillet. The empress gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek and rose, stepping out from beneath the awning. She drew the curtains closed behind her.

She, herself, was a stunning vision. Her own longsleeved undergown was of white silk, shot through with silver. The buttons, which appeared to be round diamonds, were actually clever paste imitations. The empress’ surcoat, like her daughter’s, was cloth of gold, but the two-headed eagle on Helena’s garment was embroidered in silver threads and tiny brilliants. Her beautiful blond hair was parted in the middle and plaited into four braids, two on each side of her head, wound about her ears and tucked into silver wire cauls. Upon her head was a small gold coronet from which floated a sheer, silvery gauze veil. The empress of Byzantium was an impressive sight standing regally in the bow of the royal galley as it glided smoothly to dock.

She was greeted effusively by officials of the sultan’s court and escorted to a waiting litter. Seating herself within, Helena peered through the curtains to see some dozen eunuchs boarding the royal gallery. They drew its draperies aside and the sultan’s chief white eunuch, Ali Yahya, handed Alexis out. The little princess was instantly surrounded by the eunuchs, quickly veiled, and led to a second, waiting litter whose curtains were tightly drawn. The litter was surrounded by soldiers, eunuchs, and a host of naked, dancing, skipping children who sang songs of welcome and threw gold pieces and confections into the crowds who were lining the road. The procession made its way into Nicea.

The Christian wedding ceremony had been celebrated quietly, by proxy, prior to their departure from Constantinople. Now, as they traveled the small distance into the city, the Muslim ceremony was being performed. The attendance of the bride was unnecessary. Therefore, when the eight-year-old princess reached the palace in Nicea, she was already a married woman.

Two separate wedding feasts were being held. Sultan Orkhan and his sons Murad and Halil hosted the men. Princess Theadora would host the women.

Of the sultan’s other wives, only Anastatia would be present, for Nilufer was in deep mourning. Her eldest son, Suleiman, had been killed several months before in a fall from his horse while hawking. The ridiculous accident had catapulted Murad into the undisputed position of heir to the Ottoman throne.

As the litters reached the courtyard of the haremlik, Theadora appeared at the top of a small flight of steps. And as the child was handed out of her litter, the sul-tan’s youngest wife flew down the steps and, kneeling, folded the little girl into her soft arms. “Welcome, Alexis, my dear. I am your Aunt Theadora.” She loosed the child and, holding her lightly by the shoulders, set her back a bit and removed her veil. Theadora smiled. “Ah, little one, how much like my mother, your Grandmother Zoe, you look. But then you have been told that many times before, I’ll vow.”

“Never, my lady aunt,” came the reply.

“Never?”

“No, madame. They say I look like Mama.”

“A bit. But your mama’s expression was never sweet like yours, Alexis. Our mother’s, however, was always sweet. Therefore, I think you look more like my mother.”

“Well, sister, I see you still speak bluntly. Have you no welcome for me?”

The sultan’s youngest wife rose and looked at her sister after these many years of separation. Helena was four years older than Theadora, and her self-indulgent nature was beginning to show on her beautiful face. She looked closer to ten years older. She was petite, plumply voluptuous, and blond, whereas Theadora was tall, slender, and dark-haired. Also, while Theadora still had an innocence about her that was touchingly young, Helena’s look was knowledgeable and as old as Eve.

For a brief, uncomfortable moment Helena felt the younger again, as she had so often felt with Theadora when they were children. She saw the gleefully malicious sparkle in those amethyst eyes as the low, cultured voice said to her, “Welcome to the new empire, my sister. I am truly happy to see you, especially on such a joyful occasion.” She linked her arm in Helena’s and led her into the haremlik where the other wedding guests awaited them. The little bride was taken off by the eunuchs to be presented to her husband and the sultan before being allowed to join them.

Her daughter gone, Helena spoke urgently to her sister. “Thea, I would talk privately with you before Alexis returns!”

“Come with me,” came the reply.

And the empress of Byzantium followed the sultan’s wife to a private chamber where they both sat down at a low table, facing one another.

“Bring fruit sherbet and honey cakes,” commanded Theadora. No sooner had the slaves done her bidding than she dismissed them and, gazing at her sister, asked, “Well, Helena?”

The empress hesitated. Swallowing hard, she said, “We have not been close since childhood, my sister.”

“We were never close, my sister,” came the quick reply. “You were always too busy taunting me with the fact that you should be empress of Byzantium one day, and that I should merely be the ‘infidel’s’ concubine.”

“So now you take your revenge on me by forcing my beloved daughter into this matrimonial mockery!” burst Helena.

“You brought this on yourself, my sister!” snapped Theadora, her patience gone. “Had you not attempted to have Halil and me murdered, your daughter might well have been queen of Moscovy. My God, Helena! How could you!? Did you really think you could destroy the Ottoman by such perfidy? The empire of Constantine and Justinian is a dying old man, sister, but the empire of Osman the Turk is a young and vigorous boy. We are the future-whether you like it or not, Helena. You cannot destroy us by killing one woman and a small boy. Orkhan is nearing the end of his life, I fear, but Prince Murad will prove a strong sultan, I assure you.”

“Why should Murad be sultan, Thea? If Orkhan chose in favor of Halil-” The empress paused a moment. Then she continued. “With a Christian mother and a Christian wife, Halil could easily be converted to Christ-and with him, his entire empire! My God, Thea! We would be sainted for fostering this marriage.”

Theadora burst into laughter and laughed until she was weak and her eyes were filled with tears. Finally she said, “Helena, you have not changed. You are still a great fool! To begin with, Halil is a cripple-for which I thank the lord. Were he not, the first act his half brother would perform upon becoming sultan would be to command Halil’s death. If Halil were whole he might rule, but a physically or mentally impaired sultan is against the law. My son is a cripple, and the lady Anastatia’s is a madman. My lord Orkhan has only Murad.”

“And Murad’s son,” said Helena.

Theadora thanked God that she was sitting for she might have fainted otherwise. “Murad has no son,” she said quietly in an amazingly steady voice.

“But he does, my dear,” Helena whispered fiercely. “He got the boy on a Greek priest’s daughter in Gallipoli several years ago. The prince will not officially recognize him because the girl’s reputation is not as pure as one might expect of a holy man’s daughter. She has nerve, however. She has named the boy Cuntuz, and refuses to allow him to be baptized, saying he is a Muslim as is his father.”

Theadora was silent a moment, calming herself. Finally she asked, “Is this what you wished to speak privately to me about, Helena?”

“No! No! Who cares with whom the prince lies? It is my daughter. Please, Thea, be kind to her! I will do anything to insure your kindness toward Alexis. Do not take our quarrels out on my innocent child, I beg of you!”

“As I have often said, Helena, you are still a fool, and how little you know me. I have no intention of mistreating Alexis. She will be as my own daughter would be. I was never vindictive toward others, if you will remember.” Theadora rose. “Come, my sister, the others await our arrival to begin the feasting.” And she led Helena to the banquet hall within the harem, where Anastatia and the other women of the house waited.

There were the sultan’s daughters and their daughters. There were the sultan’s elderly sisters and cousins and their female offspring. There were his favorites and those who still hoped to catch his eye. There were the women of the Byzantine court who had accompanied the empress and her daughter. All in all, there were over a hundred females at the bride’s feast. Theadora presented her sister to those few important enough to merit an introduction to the empress of Byzantium. By the time she had finished, Alexis was being ushered into the room.

The little bride was led to her mother-in-law who kissed her on both cheeks before signaling the eunuchs to lift the child onto a table where all might see her. There, in the presence of the other women, the bride was stripped of her Byzantine clothes and dressed in Turkish fashion. Only then did the feast begin.

When it was over, several hours later, Prince Halil arrived with his father. Together with Theadora, they escorted Princess Alexis to the Convent of St. Anna where she would live for the next few years.

The following day Emperor John and his two sons Prince Andronicus and Prince Manuel knelt before Sultan Orkhan and renewed their vows of vassalage to their overlord. The Byzantines then returned to Constantinople and the Ottoman royal family went home to Bursa.

Theadora lay in the shadow world between sleep and waking. She could hear the distant sound of running feet and a pounding on her apartment doors that grew louder and louder. Then Iris was shaking her shoulder. Theadora shrugged her off, grumbling sleepily, but Iris persisted.

“My lady, wake up! You must!”

Slowly the mists cleared, and she half-woke. “What is it, Iris?”

“Ali Yahya sends word, my princess. The sultan is very ill. Ali Yahya believes, though the doctors have not said this, that Sultan Orkhan is dying.”

Theadora was fully awake now. Sitting up, she asked, “Has he sent for me?”

“No, my lady, but it would be best if you were ready should the summons come.”

With Iris’ help Theadora dressed quickly. It was still dark as she paced restlessly about her antechamber. After the slaves laid a good fire in the tiled corner fireplace, she sent them back to their beds. Theadora preferred to keep her vigil alone. At last, Ali Yahya came for her and, catching up a sable-lined red silk cloak, she followed him silently to the sultan’s chambers.