Mehmed hardened immediately and arched his back, thrusting against her so that she gagged. Within minutes he climaxed and collapsed back with a moan of pleasure. Sitt Hatun turned aside and spit out his seed, wasted. When she turned back, Mehmed had already settled in to sleep, his back to her. Sitt Hatun lay back, tears in her eyes. It was humiliating to be treated as little better than a concubine, good only for pleasure. She knew now that Mehmed would never lie with her. Nothing would change that, not success at war, nor even his father's death. She would be locked away in the harem all her life, shamed and childless.
She thought once more of the proposal that Halil had made to her. If Mehmed died, and she had a son, then her child would be the sultan when he came of age. No matter that the child would be Halil's and not Mehmed's. That secret would be theirs alone. Sitt Hatun would be the valide sultana — mother of the sultan — and Halil the ruler until their son came of age. And Gulbehar? Sitt Hatun would enjoy devising a suitable end for the Albanian whore and her bastard child.
But no, Sitt Hatun sighed. These were just dreams. Reality was sleeping right there beside her. She would be mad to join Halil's plotting. Mehmed was a vengeful man. Sitt Hatun had heard of Boghaz Pasha's gruesome death. Mehmed would not hesitate to do the same to her if she did not keep her place.
Still, to see her own son seated on the throne, to take her rightful place in the harem, to no longer have to serve as Mehmed's whore… Sitt Hatun wiped away her tears. Crying would not change her fate. Only she could do that.
Chapter 3
DECEMBER 1448: CONSTANTINOPLE
'I proclaim you, Demetrius Dragases, Emperor of Rome, heir to Caesar, ruler of Constantinople, Selymbria and Morea,' Patriarch Mammas intoned. His gold-embroidered white robe was heavy with rain, and tiny drops of water ran off his nose in a continual stream as he made the sign of the cross over the kneeling Demetrius. 'Rise, Emperor Demetrius.'
Demetrius stood to the half-hearted acclamation of the nobles who surrounded him. Notaras had promised five hundred men, but the day had dawned grey with a drenching rain that had turned the streets to mud and the forum of Theodosius into a quagmire. Less than four hundred nobles had braved the weather, and they were soaked and cold. 'Hail Demetrius, Emperor of the Romans,' they grumbled once or twice. It was clear that they were ready to move on to the warmth of the Blachernae Palace.
'May God grant me the wisdom to rule with justice and the strength to guard with steel the empire of which he has made me the emperor,' Demetrius declared, his words concluding the ceremony. All around him, men were already hurrying to their horses. Patriarch Mammas had disappeared, no doubt eager to dry off. The moment was not how Demetrius had envisioned it. He had dreamed of cheering crowds, proud speeches, himself framed majestically in the towering Triumphal Arch of Theodosius. Instead, the ceremony had been cut short, and other than the nobles, there were only a handful of citizens who had come out in the rain to watch the spectacle. Behind him, the Triumphal Arch had been transformed into a waterfall, with rainwater cascading down the front from its broad, flat top. Still, he was emperor, rain or no.
A servant handed Demetrius the reins to his horse. He mounted and led a dreary procession through the city and to the imperial palace. He arrived in a foul mood and stormed into the great hall, followed closely by the nobles. The hall was dim, the high windows shuttered. In the flickering torchlight, Demetrius was surprised to see his mother, Helena, seated on the throne with the entire court flanking her.
'Welcome, my son. I have been expecting you. I am disappointed that you could not arrive in time for your brother's funeral. Selymbria is so close.'
'I came as soon as I heard the tragic news, Mother,' Demetrius said.
'Of course,' Helena replied. 'Fortunately, you have arrived well in advance of your brother, Constantine. You will not also miss the entrance of our next emperor.'
'You are in error, Mother. It is I who am to be crowned. Surely you have heard that I was proclaimed emperor this morning.'
'Were you indeed?' Helena feigned surprise. 'And who was it that proclaimed you emperor?' Demetrius thought he saw her make a single, sharp signal with her right hand, and behind him he heard a muffled thump, as if something very heavy were being moved into place. What was it? he wondered. No matter, he had more than enough men to subdue the palace guard. His mother could do nothing to stop him.
'The very men who stand before you, nobles all, proclaimed me emperor. Patriarch Mammas gave his blessing to my reign.'
'Did he?' Helena arched an eyebrow. 'I fear your reign will be a short one.'
'Do not fear, Mother. The men with me are sworn to protect their emperor, with their lives if needs be.' Demetrius drew his sword, and the nobles gathered behind him followed suit. 'I have come for the crown, Mother.' His voice was flat and menacing. 'Give it to me.'
'Demetrius, surely you would not harm your own mother?' Helena seemed to blanch a shade whiter at the sight of drawn steel. Good, Demetrius thought. She was afraid.
'Of course not, Mother. These men are here only to protect their emperor. They strike only those who defy me. They would never dream of harming you.'
'Do you swear it?' Helena asked.
'Of course, Mother.' Demetrius had never intended to harm her. Once he had the crown, he would send her to a convent in the country.
'Good,' Helena said. 'Then this audience is at an end.' She nodded her head once, curtly. In an instant the shutters flew back from the windows above them, flooding the hall with light. Archers with bows drawn stood in each opening, their forms black against the white light.
'The doors!' Demetrius shouted. His men rushed to the entrance, but the doors held fast, barred from the other side. What a fool he had been! He looked to the small door at the far side of the room, past the throne. Already, the courtiers had filed out, replaced by guardsmen. The small door closed, and Demetrius heard the thump of the lock bar sliding into place. They were trapped.
Behind Demetrius, the nobles swirled noisily, a panic-stricken mass. Several were feverishly hacking at the thick doors to the hall, doing more damage to their swords than to the wood. Others tried in vain to scale the sheer stone walls and reach the windows. Here and there, Demetrius heard cries of fear rising above the general clamour. 'We're dead men!' 'Charge the door!' 'Take Helena!'
A man charged forward from the crowd, making for Helena. Demetrius heard the twang of bowstrings, and the man fell dead, his body riddled with arrows. A few more men charged, and suddenly the room was filled with the hiss of arrows and the cries of the wounded. A noble, arrows protruding from his chest, lurched towards Helena, and Demetrius himself stepped forward and struck the man down. He had sworn, fool that he was, that no harm would come to his mother.
'Silence!' Helena's voice rang out imperiously above the din. She stood imposingly before the throne, bathed in light, her hand held high in a sign to desist. The arrows stopped, and the hall fell silent.
'Gentlemen,' Helena said. 'You have been deceived. The man you have sworn to protect is no emperor. No royal blood flows in his veins, for he is not my son. My son, Demetrius, would not bring armed men into this hall. My son would not defy his mother's wish, or his brother's right to rule. This man is no son of mine. He is an impostor.'
Demetrius was dumbfounded. What was she saying? Had his mother lost her mind? Was she disowning him? Would he be blinded? Killed?
'You have sworn allegiance to this impostor, this false emperor,' Helena continued. 'But, since he is not of the royal family, your vows mean nothing. I release you from them. Swear, now, eternal allegiance to the true emperor, Constantine, and as sign of your allegiance, leave your swords here before me.'