“Are you a Muslim, my lady?” asked the girl fearfully.
“No, Thamar, I am as faithful a member of the Eastern Church as you are. Father Lucas says the mass each day in my private chapel. You are welcome to join me in my devotions. Now, however, I suggest we return to our schedule: a bath, a meal, and a good night’s sleep.”
Adora escorted the subdued girl to the harem which was located in the Court of the Jeweled Fountains. Thamar attempted to be aloof, but the sight of a room full of beautiful women was both fascinating and unnerving. Her father had instructed her to gain the sultan’s affection so that he might confide in her. She was then to pass on to her father all the information she had gathered. How, thought Thamar ruefully, was she supposed to gain the sultan’s confidence when she would have trouble even gaining his attention?
Not only that, but her father’s information regarding the princess Theadora was obviously incorrect also. Tsar Ivan had assured his daughter that the Byzantine princess was only one of the women in the harem. She had no authority or special place in the sultan’s life. And she was a much older woman, practically elderly. Had she not been Sultan Orkhan’s wife? Thamar was already composing in her mind a strongly worded letter to her sire. Casting a final glance about the harem salon, she realized she had nothing to offer Murad that the other women didn’t have, except possibly her lovely hair.
Adora settled the girl as comfortably as possible, and then left her to her slaves. She could understand Murad’s temptation. The maiden was indeed lovely-lovely enough to hold him if she had any sense at all. Her earlier show of temperament gave Adora cause for concern. She was not sure if it stemmed from strength of character or from stubbornness. She hoped it was the latter.
Back in the main salon of the harem the other women clustered in small groups, talking. This new princess was lovely and as different from Princess Theadora as dawn is from dusk. Would she supplant the favorite? Should they become Thamar’s new friends now and thus be in line for her favors when she overcame Theadora?
A lovely Italian girl who was an occasional favorite of Murad’s laughed mockingly at the others. “You are a pack of fools,” she said, “to even contemplate choosing this new girl over the lady Theadora. Most of you have not even yet been in the sultan’s bed. I have, and I can tell you that there is no one who will ever replace Princess Theadora in our lord Murad’s heart. He is like a great lion who enjoys the company of many young lionesses but is truly mated to only one.”
“But he must give this Thamar a child or her dowry will not be paid,” said another girl. “When a man has a child by a woman he is always more attentive to her.”
“Attentive, perhaps. In love with, no,” came the Italian’s reply. “The babe will be for Princess Thamar’s amusement. And let us pray to Allah she conceives a girl child, for Prince Bajazet and his brothers are our lord Murad’s heirs and Princess Theadora will brook no interference in the succession. Choose sides if you would be so foolish. But if you do, be sure you choose the right side. At least with our princess Adora we have a predictable quantity.”
The women of the harem were strangely silent. They did not see Thamar until the next day when the entire harem, led by Theadora, participated in the ritual bridal bath. Thamar would go to the sultan’s bed that night. Seeing the Bulgarian’s nude, youthful beauty lost Thamar most of her support. The bored young beauties of the harem spent every waking hour working to entice the sultan. Here came a princess who would have no greater position than they had, yet she was being rushed to the sultan’s bed. Had it not been for Adora’s kindness, they would have turned on their new rival and torn her to pieces.
Adora, however, could afford to be generous. She was pregnant again. When she had learned that Murad intended taking the Bulgarian into his harem she had decided to forgo her previous precautions. As she knew that Murad would continue to bed with Thamar until he got her with child, Adora intended to make her own condition known quite soon. Nevertheless, she felt a stab of jealousy as she escorted the girl to Murad’s apartment in the Court of the Sun.
So frightened was Thamar that she had to be practically pushed into the room. Ali Yahya stepped from the shadows, removed her plain white silk robe, and departed. Before her loomed a large, velvet hung bed. Thamar reluctantly stumbled forward. Remembering what she had been taught that afternoon, she kissed the embroidered hem of the coverlet and then crawled up from the foot of the bed to the sultan’s side.
He watched her progress with amused, narrowed eyes. She had a deliciously provocative bottom. He sat cross-legged, his lower body hidden by the coverlet. As his chest was bare, she suspected the rest of him was too.
“Good evening, my little one. Are you well rested from your journey?” he queried pleasantly.
“Yes, my lord.”
“And Adora has made you feel comfortable, and welcome?”
“Adora?”
“My kadin Theadora,” he said. “I have always called her Adora.”
“Oh, yes,” said Thamar. She felt a twinge of resentment. She also felt very self-conscious in her nudity. She flushed and the sultan laughed low.
He reached out and pulled the pins from her hair, which tumbled down to cover her. “Exquisite,” he murmured. “Utterly exquisite.” Lifting the coverlet he invited, “Come under and be warm.”
Sliding beneath the rich robe, she saw that he was indeed nude. She lay still and straight and as far away from him as she dared. He reached over and pulled her closer. She was too afraid to protest.
“Do you know what I am going to do to you?” he asked her.
“Yes. You are to fuck me for that is how babies are made,” she answered him.
“Do you know what that means, Thamar?” He strongly suspected that she did not. These Christian girls were always so poorly prepared for a man. “Have you ever seen the animals mate?”
“No, my lord. I was raised in a castle, not a farmyard. Such indelicate sights are not meant for my eyes. My brothers’ wives did tell me that, even though I was only to be your leman, I was to submit to you in all things as if you were really my husband. They said what men and women did to make babies was called ‘fucking’, but I know not what they meant and they would not tell me. They said my husband would explain all things.”
He sighed. “You have heard of the manroot?”
“Yes.”
“Good!” He took her hand, and put it between his legs. “Touch it, sweet,” he commanded her. “Fondle it gently. That is the manroot. At the moment it is soft and at rest, but as my desire for you grows it will increase in size. Through it flows my seed.”
Hesitantly, she let her fingers close around him. For a few moments she did nothing more than hold him. Then, as her touch grew surer, she caressed him boldly. The warm touch began to rouse him, and as he grew harder and bigger in her hand, she gasped with surprise. Dropping the manroot, she drew back.
He laughed delightedly. “Fear not, little virgin, it is not yet time for us to be joined. Lesson Two involves where the manroot goes to plant my seed.” He reached down and touched the soft, sensitive area between her legs. She gasped again and tried to pull away. But the sultan held her firmly with one arm while a finger gently explored her most intimate places. “There is where I will enter you,” he said softly, then withdrew his hand. “It is too soon. First I would have a kiss from you, Thamar, and then I will explore all of your lovely body.”
He shifted her so that she was beneath him and, bending down, found the wide, generous mouth. His first taste told him that she had never been kissed. It reminded him of Adora’s lips when they had stolen kisses in the orchard of St. Catherine’s so long ago. He pressed his mouth down harder against the girl beneath him, forcing the lips to part, then plunged his tongue into her mouth. To his surprise, her tongue fenced skillfully with his, which increased his ardor.