Strangely, the little princess Alexis was delighted to be marrying her cousin, a boy her own age.
“I could have made you queen of Muscovy, or duchess of Savoy,” sighed Helena.
“But Savoy and Muscovy are so far away, Mama,” replied the child. “They say the sun rarely shines in the cold north. I should far rather wed my cousin, Halil, and be near you and Father.”
Helena hid her tears from her daughter. The little one was so sweet. Surely Thea would see that, and not wreak her vengeance upon an innocent child. Helena wondered if she would be that kindly if she were in her sister’s shoes. Knowing the answer, she shivered again.
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?”