“If my grandfather has died, it is my uncle who will rule. His sons will have to wait their turn,” Amir said, “and Selim will be vigilant, I am certain.”
“You are the eldest of Mehmet’s grandsons,” Maysun pointed out.
“And the least interested in either ruling or fighting, as is well known by all,” he told her. “I am not considered fit to rule. My mother learned the way of the harem quickly, and knew how to help a son survive. All who are important are aware that Prince Jem’s son is a disappointment to him, giving his unquestioned loyalty to the sultan first, and preferring to dabble in carpets and antiquities, not warfare and power. I have been called the un-Ottoman,” he said with a small smile.
It was then that Azura spoke up. “You cannot know what your uncle will do, my lord, no matter his past friendship with you. You must be on your guard, at least for the interim. We need to plan an escape should we have no other choice.”
They looked at her, surprised.
“Do you understand the situation, then, Azura?” Shahdi asked her.
“I am Florentine,” Azura answered her. “Deception is in our blood where matters of survival or profit are concerned. I understand very well what is happening. I did not defy my family to become Amir’s wife only to lose him.” She turned to him. “We must prepare for whatever is to happen, my lord.”
“The Moonlight Serai is not a castle. It is a pleasure palace, and as such it provides us no real defenses, as a castle might,” he explained to her.
“Then we should go,” Azura said.
“No,” he responded. “To flee would be to proclaim I was guilty of some crime. I will not do that. I will trust in my uncle’s goodwill. Someone in my grandfather’s palace sent to warn me of the changes that might take place. I will remain and show my loyalty to the new sultan, whoever he may be—if indeed my grandfather is dead.”
Still, he made certain that Diya al Din posted slaves on the hills to give them advance warning of any visitors.
They heard nothing for the next few weeks. Spring moved into early summer.
Finally, late one June morning, the watchers on the hills surrounding the Moonlight Serai began signaling from one to another and finally to the little palace itself that a large party of riders was approaching. Amir sent word to his wives, and then they waited—Amir in his own quarters, the three women in theirs.
“It will be the Janissaries,” Maysun said, and Shahdi nodded.
“Why are you so afraid of these Janissaries?” Azura asked. “You speak of them as if they were the devil’s own soldiers.”
“They are!” Shahdi replied.
“The Janissaries are the young sons of Christians taken in war,” Maysun explained. “They are then cosseted and cared for with great kindness, converted to Islam, and finally trained in the fiercest warfare and taught total loyalty to the sultan. Whomever the Janissaries follow will be sultan. If truth be told, the Conqueror preferred Jem among his sons because of his warlike proclivities, despite the fact that the prince was always rebelling against his father. But the Janissaries lean towards Bayezit, for he embodies the old traditions of the Ottomans. It is likely the Janissaries approaching this palace have been sent by Bayezit to either ascertain our husband’s position in the succession or kill us all.”
For this she had fled Florence, fled Venice, given up her family? To die at the hands of strangers in some stupid war over a succession? Azura felt fear filling her. Angrily she forced it back down. “We are not going to die,” she said.
“No,” Shahdi replied. “With luck, after we are all raped, we’ll be given to some officer or sold to add coinage to the Janissaries’ already fat coffers.”
Maysun gave a little sob.
“Stop it, both of you!” Azura said. “No one is going to die today. What a pair of silly ewe sheep you two are. I am going to the spy hole in our husband’s apartment to learn what is happening. Don’t tell Ali Farid if you can find him. I expect he has hidden himself away by now. Agata, come with me!”
The two women hurried from the harem apartments, making their way quickly to Prince Amir’s quarters. The corridors of the little palace were empty and quiet, for all but the bravest among the slaves would have hidden themselves by now. Quietly Azura and Agata secreted themselves within the narrow confines of the spy hole. Amir was pacing his antechamber with slow, measured steps. He was dressed soberly in a dark blue silk robe trimmed with silver embroidery. His head was covered by a small matching turban. Azura worried that he might look too regal.
They heard the sound of booted feet in the corridor. Agata reached out to clutch at her mistress’s sleeve. Azura stared intently through the spy hole, her eyes meeting those of Amir. He knew she was there. The large double doors to the prince’s apartment were flung open by two frightened slaves who nonetheless had remained. Diya al Din was with them. He was ashen in color but he too had stayed.
“My lord prince,” the head eunuch spoke. “You have visitors.”
A Janissary captain stepped forward. He bowed respectfully. “Prince Amir, I am Captain Mahmud, sent by your uncle, Sultan Bayezit,” he began.
“Is my grandfather dead?” Amir asked the captain.
“The Conqueror died on the fourth of May at the hour of afternoon prayer,” Captain Mahmud said.
Amir briefly closed his eyes, his lips moving in a silent prayer. When he opened his eyes again he looked directly at the Janissary. “How may I serve the sultan?” he asked the man before him.
“I have no instructions other than to deliver my message to you, Highness,” was the reply. Captain Mahmud understood the delicate position of this Ottoman prince.
The prince turned briefly to Diya al Din. “See that the captain’s men are well fed, and their horses taken care of,” Amir instructed the head of his household staff.
