“You have named her Azura?” the sultan asked.
“For her eyes, Grandfather. Her eyes are the most amazing shade of aquamarine,” Amir explained.
The sultan smiled a slight smile. His grandson was indeed a man in love. It was fortunate for them both that he had not inherited his father’s disobedient nature. Mehmet knew he could thank the Englishkadinwho had been his son, Jem’s, favorite for that.
She was a wise girl that they had named Zayna, meaning “beauty,” who had quickly learned the ways of the harem. She had carefully protected her only son, teaching him utmost obedience to the sultan. By the time she died, when Amir was yet a boy, he had learned his lessons well. Amir was the only one among his male sons and grandsons that the great sultan trusted not to betray him.
The sultan’s own sons were always quarreling. His eldest son Bayezit’s sons were as ambitious as their father, each having different mothers aspiring to see their own son rule one day. But Jem’s only son had wisely taken himself from the midst of it all once he was old enough to make such a decision. He had become a merchant prince living in Florence, sending back bits and pieces of information and gossip to his grandfather from time to time.
He had disappointed his own father in doing so. Now Amir was back within the bounds of Mehmet’s empire. Would he really be content to be a country gentleman with his women, his dogs, and his horses? But then he would also have his three trading vessels, and his interest in them had always been very strong.
“My lord grandfather.”
The sultan’s thoughts were interrupted. He focused his dark eyes upon Amir.
“My lord, I would ask a boon of you. I would have Azura come to the Moonlight Serai as my legal wife. Will you represent her before your personal imam so this may be done today?”
“Of course!” the sultan said enthusiastically. “You do this lady great honor, Amir.” Then he called for his imam to come to them. A scribe joined them in order to write up the papers that would make the woman known as Azura legally married to the Ottoman prince known as Amir ibn Jem. Under the law, it was not been necessary for Azura to be present at such an event. When it was done, the imam prayed for the health of the sultan and his empire before Amir departed back to his ship carrying the legal parchments declaring Azura to be his wife.
He found her and Agata in the large cabin of the vessel eating their main meal of the day. While Azura bemoaned the lack of that wonderful Florentine invention, the fork, she seemed content enough to use her fingers now, picking up small pieces of roasted lamb with two fingers and scooping the saffroned rice up with three in a spoonlike motion. He joined them, seating himself cross-legged at the head of the small table.
“You found your grandfather well, my lord?” she asked him politely as she ceased eating herself and prepared him a plate of food with Agata’s help.
“Very well, and pleased enough with me to have his own imam and scribe see to the legalities of our union, beloved. You are now officially my wife,” he told her.
“Do I not get to come to my own wedding?” Azura asked him, sounding slightly annoyed. “Remember that you swore I should not have to give up my own faith, Amir.”
“You do not,” he said.
“Then we must have a priest of my faith bless this union,” she told him.
“You will not find a priest in all of the empire who would bless such a union, beloved,” he told her honestly. “You must be content to know that within the laws of my grandfather’s empire you are now considered my legal wife, Azura.” He drew the parchment he had carried from the palace out of his robes. Unrolling it, he held it out to her. “There is the sultan’s signature on this document. He acted for you as your parental guardian. He did you a great honor.”
The old Bianca rose briefly, but she forced her away, allowing the woman she now was, and must be, to speak for her. She had chosen this life freely. She had gladly walked away from everything she had been born into so she might be with this man. “Was it a nice wedding?” she asked him mischievously. If she was already damned to a fiery hell for this marriage, her words were not going to make it any worse for her with God.
“It was simple and quick,” he said, reaching out to grasp her hand and squeeze it. He was not a fool. He knew how much this acceptance cost her, but that she was willing to endure it only proved her great love for him. He kissed the hand in his.
“Shall I leave you, mistress?” Agata asked. The servingwoman could feel the tears pricking at her own eyelids. The love between these two people was overwhelming.
“No.” The prince answered for them both. “I had best go topside and give orders for our departure.” He scrambled to his feet and left them.
“How very much he loves you,” Agata said.
“I know,” Azura responded. “I know.”
Their ship sailed from its dock on the Golden Horn and made its way through the narrow straits of the Bosphorus. On either side of them, beautiful green hills edged the water. Finally they exited the straits into the Black Sea. Their route kept them within sight of the shoreline, for this sea could be fickle. The storms that came up quickly were apt to be very dangerous and deadly. Then, on the third morning, Agata awakened Azura excitedly. “Come! Come and see,” she said to her mistress. “We have anchored, and Moonlight Serai is within sight! It is like a pristine white jewel in the green hills, mistress! It is beautiful. In all of Florence or Venice, I have never seen anything so beautiful!”
Azura arose from her bed and came to look. “Oh, how lovely!” she exclaimed, gazing out at the small palace that would soon be her home. It was set upon a high cliff above the sea. There would be outbuildings, of course, and gardens, for Amir loved gardens. She didn’t think any place that he called home would be without gardens. She was eager to see all of it. “Let us quickly dress,” she said to Agata.
The cabin door opened and Amir came in. “Ahh,” he said, pleased, “you are awake and can view your new home, beloved.”
“When may we go ashore?” she asked him excitedly.
“Shortly,” he told her. “I must go and see that the messenger I sent from Istanbul arrived safely and that all is in readiness for you.”
“A messenger?” Azura said, curious.
“A pigeon,” he told her. “It is how I communicate with my grandfather or my women when necessary, or my captains communicate with me when their vessels arrive in port after a voyage. It is very convenient.”
