“Oh, Javid,” she said, and her silvery eyes were bright with tears of joy, “we are both lucky!” I am, she thought, beginning to really care for this man. I am beginning to love again. Not the way I loved my Conn, but nonetheless what I feel for Javid is love. Then suddenly Aidan’s practical nature took over, and with a gasp she cried, “My lord husband! The sultan will be here shortly, and we have neither broken our fast nor bathed! Arise quickly!” and she leapt from their bed.
“We will bathe together,” he said, but she sent him an arch look.
“We most certainly will not! Do you not remember what happens each time we bathe together?”
“Yes,” he said with a smile, “I do.”
“You will bathe in your own bath,” she scolded him with the bossy prerogative of a wife. “Jinji! Jinji! Where are you, you useless lump of a half-man?”
The eunuch came running into the bedchamber. “What is it, my lady princess?”
“Escort my lord to his bath, Jinji, and oversee the bathmen that they hurry. We are late, and the sultan will be arriving much too soon!”
With a grimace of defeat Javid Khan arose from his wife’s bed, and followed the eunuch from the room. Aidan then called to Marta and her daughters to come and aid her while she bathed and prepared for the royal visit. To Aidan’s delight she found her favorite fragrance, lavender, available here in Turkey. Javid Khan liked the scent on her for it reminded him of the open steppes of his homeland, and was not the usual heavy fragrance worn by women. Marta’s daughter Fern poured bath oil into the bathing pool, and instantly the room became like a garden. Marta busily scrubbed her mistress down, and rinsed her with clear, warm water before Aidan finally entered the bath to relax for just a few precious minutes before she must once more hurry to greet the sultan and her other guests.
When she came from the bath she was enfolded in a large towel that Marta had warmed, and she sat down to eat her first meal of the day. Iris presented her mistress with a tray containing a small bowl of fresh yogurt, another bowl of newly peeled and seeded green grapes that had come from Syria, a small loaf of freshly baked bread, a little pat of butter, and a comb of honey, and lastly a small pot of delicate green tea. Aidan’s appetite had never failed her, and she made short work of the food, rinsing her hands and face in a basin of warmed water afterward.
Her clothing had already been laid out, and when he saw his wife Javid Khan was immensely proud of her. Her wide harem trousers were of cloth of gold, the anklebands embroidered in black jets and small pearls. The transparent chemise that she wore was of a sheer silk fabric that had been shot through with metallic gold threads of such delicacy that they did not irritate her skin. Over these two garments she wore a long-sleeved, slash-skirted dress of black silk brocade that had been embroidered with a design of cloth-of-gold narcissis and tulips. About her hips was a gold belt encrusted with pearls, black jets, and golden beryls.
Since Aidan’s hair was really her crowning glory she rarely wore it pulled back in a thick braid as did so many of the women of the sultan’s harem. Instead she wore an embroidered gold ribbon sewn with golden beryls as a band above her forehead, and allowed her lovely hair to fall loosely. Having learned from his wife’s women what she would be wearing, Javid Khan gifted Aidan with a necklace of creamy pearls and black jets strung upon very thin golden chains which had matching earbobs. Upon her arms she wore gold bangles, some plain, some wide and carved, some studded with bright stones which were echoed in the rings upon her slender fingers. Her slippers were of black velvet but had no heel lest Aidan stand higher than the sultan.
As Aidan had worn her black and gold, Javid Khan decided to complement her by wearing white and gold which suited his tawny good looks. His dress, however, was Persian with white trousers, and a simple white coat that closed with golden frogs. Upon his head he wore a cloth-of-gold turban from which a single white plume fluttered from the heart of a large ruby. Together they made an extremely handsome couple, a fact that was quite noticeable from the sultan’s caïque.
“Was it really necessary to give Javid Khan such a treasure?” grumbled Murad to his mother as their caïques drew abreast of one another upon reaching the prince’s dockage.
“She is no beauty, my son,” said Nur-U-Banu. “You have at least fifty girls in your harem right now who have red hair not to mention Safiye. If Princess Marjallah looks lovely it is because she blooms with her husband’s love.”
“She might have bloomed with mine, mother.”
“Do not be so greedy, elder brother,” said Fahrusha Sultan, Murad’s sister, who traveled with their mother in her caïque. She was a lovely woman with her mother’s fair hair and skin, and wonderfully expressive black eyes.
The sultan chuckled at his sibling’s remark. “I am as greedy for women as you are for gems, my sister. Greed seems to be an inherited trait where we are concerned. Where did we get it from, I wonder?”
“Be silent!” said the valideh. “Here are our host and his bride to greet us.”
The sultan’s caïque was the first of the little flotilla to bump the prince’s quay, and it was immediately made fast. Only then did the sultan step out of his vessel onto the land. “Greetings, Javid Khan! It is a fine day you have conjured up for our visit.”
The Tartar prince knelt respectfully until raised up by the Great Ottoman. “Welcome, my lord Murad. You do my house a great, and undeserved honor.”
Murad smiled pleased at the flattery which had the ring of sincerity about it. Then he looked down to where the prince’s wife knelt, her forehead pressed to his boot. Her glorious hair quite excited him. It was all well and good for his mother to say he had other women with red hair from which to choose in his harem, but none had hair the incredible coppery shade of Marjallah’s, not even his wonderful Safiye. In his secret heart he lusted after Marjallah, and seeing her now at his feet, so submissive and fair, quite aroused him. Reaching out he raised her up, and gazed into her eyes. “And you, my princess, do you welcome me also?”
“Of course, my lord sultan, with all my heart. I can only hope my poor preparations will not displease you,” Aidan said sweetly, but she saw the desire that lurked deep in his dark eyes, and it quite frightened her. She was glad she was Javid Khan’s wife, and not at the mercy of this man.
“I do not believe that you could ever displease me, Marjallah,” he said with double meaning.
Fortunately Nur-U-Banu’s caïque followed by that of Safiye Kadin had now been made fast to their moorings, and Aidan could turn away from the sultan to dutifully greet his mother, his sister, his favorite wife, and Janfeda, who all expressed their delight at having been invited to the prince and princess’ Festival of the Spring Flowers.
“You are radiant, my child,” approved Nur-U-Banu. “I suspect that you have found great happiness with Prince Javid Khan.”
“I have, dear madame,” replied Aidan, “and I owe my joy to your great wisdom in seeing what others could not see.” My God, thought Aidan, I am beginning to speak like them!
“Now,” said the sultan valideh, “you need children to complete your happiness. We must pray that Allah will fill your womb soon.”
“Indeed, children are a blessing and a comfort,” replied Safiye. “I do not know what I would do without my dearest Memhet.”
To Aidan’s vast amusement both Janfeda and Fahrusha Sultan raised their eyes heavenward at this remark, but Nur-U-Banu chose to ignore it, instead drawing forth her pretty daughter, and then the lady Janfeda to meet Aidan for the first time. Aidan found the sultan’s sister a charming woman, but it was Janfeda who fascinated her for this close friend of the sultan valideh was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen.
The lady Janfeda was a tiny creature with a delicate bone structure. Her unlined skin was the color of white roses, her hair blue-black, and her eyes above which soared winglike dark brows were as black as the jets in Aidan’s necklace. They were not, however, cold like stones, rather they were bright, and interested, and quite lively. She was at least Nur-U-Banu’s age, and yet she resembled a girl in her appearance, and for some reason she reminded Aidan of Osman Bey.
“Dear child,” she said in a voice as rich as heavy cream, a voice which was in distinct contrast to her dainty frame, “you are so kind to include me in this delightful party.” Her eyes studied Aidan, and it was then that Aidan realized why the woman reminded her of Osman Bey. She could see beyond the ordinary!
“How could I not include the lady Janfeda, who is called one of the Pillars of the Empire?”
Janfeda laughed. “I like to think,” she said, “that such a thing is a compliment.”
“I am certain that it is,” replied Aidan.
Janfeda reached out, and touched Aidan’s hand with a soft touch. “You are a sweet child,” she said, “and I like you.”
“Gracious,” said Fahrusha Sultan, “you are greatly complimented, Princess Marjallah! My aunt Janfeda does not easily accept new people. She obviously sees in you things that the rest of us cannot.”
“If she does, your highness, then I am grateful that whatever my lady Janfeda sees meets with her approval.”
“Come,” said the sultan who had been speaking with Javid Khan, “come, Princess Marjallah, and show me your gardens which even from this distance look lovely. As lovely as you, I will vow.” He took her by the hand, and led her away.
Javid Khan then offered to escort the sultan valideh. Nur-U-Banu as head of all the women in the sultan’s realm was supposed to set an example of womanly good behavior that was to be emulated by all females within her son’s dominion. It was thus for the other women of the sultan’s party, including some dozen maidens from the harem, to follow along behind him and the prince which they quite happily did.
The gardens were a riot of color with bulbs of every known kind. Aidan had cleverly had her gardeners plant flats of the earliest bulbs which were kept in the cool darkness of the garden shed until just a few days ago when they were brought out to be planted in the main gardens. Consequently the botanical display ran the entire gamut from snowdrops and crocuses to varieties of narcissi to tulips and hyacinths. Aidan led the sultan to the beginning of a pathway which led into the gardens. Here were beds of pure white snowdrops with round centers of dainty little starch lilies carrying dense heads of small blue, grape-shaped flowers.
Murad stopped to admire the symmetry of the display. He had never considered planting beds of snowdrops, let alone planting them with starch lilies. “Magnificent, my dear Marjallah! Absolutely magnificent!” he enthused. “How in the name of Allah did you manage to get your snowdrops to bloom so late?”
She explained, and then said, “I wanted the gardens to be awash with color for your majesty’s visit, and the only way I could do it was to tamper with nature to a small extent. Come though for I have much more to show you,” and she led him onward.
They next came upon several beds of colorful crocuses, arranged in wide strips of contrasting and complementary hues. These included a golden flower, whites and creams with lilac patterning, and old gold flushed with bronze, a deep buttercup yellow, a white streaked with gray-purple, a blue edged with silver with a golden throat, a deep purple, and a dark orange-suffused mahogany. There were also some larger-sized crocuses with colors ranging from blues and mauves, plain or striped, to white and deep mauve with orange throats. It was this last that caught the sultan’s fancy, and Aidan promised, “When the bulbs are lifted, your majesty, I will see that you are sent some for naturalizing within the gardens of the Yeni Serai.”
“How generous you are, fair Marjallah,” said Murad, and he took her hand in his as they walked slowly on to the next display.
Javid Khan noted this with a rising irritation, but knowing his wife he felt no jealousy. Still in all he would be in Istanbul a year come late summer, and when his father’s yearly tribute arrived he would take the opportunity to return home with his wife. Let the Great Khan send someone else as his ambassador to the Sublime Porte. Preferably an old man whose wife would not be a temptation to the Sultan Murad.
“Ahhh,” breathed the Ottoman ruler as they came upon a rock garden filled with tiny narcissi. Waterworks had been cleverly disguised amid the rock to look like a small spring that bubbled from the top of the hillock to tumble down among the miniature crags into a pool below. Nearest the water grew little hoop petticoats of yellow with their skirt-shaped centers and their narrow little petals. Native to Spain they had been brought to Turkey by Moors fleeing the persecution of the Christian church. These were planted with several varieties of small, sweetly scented jonquils, bunches of blossoms in gold, clear yellow, and white on delicate stems with their rushlike, deep green leaves. The ladies of the harem chattered their delight at this particular display for it was from these jonquils that a rare oil, highly essential to the making of their perfume, was obtained. For contrast in the rock garden Aidan had planted Glory of the Snow, clusters of small funnel-shaped flowers of bright blue with a white base as well as deep blue; Puschkinia with its powder-blue flowers, a deep blue stripe upon each petal; and dainty Siberian Scilla whose blue flowers reminded Aidan of the bluebells in the woods about
Pearroc Royal.
They were, perhaps for this reason, her favorites.
Passing into the next section of the gardens the sultan and his party were treated to large beds bordered in deep blue hyacinths, and filled with large narcissi in yellows and whites. As she looked out over the beds it appeared to Aidan that there wasn’t a bulb there that wasn’t in bloom, and at the peak of perfection. It was an incredible panorama.
“Your head gardener is a genius to have planned this all,” said Murad.
“But he did not,” replied Aidan quietly. “I did. My slaves only work the soil. It is I who tell them what to do.”