Adora by Bertrice Small Page B

Theadora in an equally low voice. “Besides he already has four wives, and he can have no more. I will be no man’s concubine!”
    “Pah! It is easy enough for him to divorce one of his wives. They are only slaves. You are a princess.” She looked slyly at her mistress, her eyes bright. “Do not tell me you do not long for a young man’s love, a young man’s caress. You move about your room half the night. A few good tumbles with a lusty man would cure you of your restlessness.”
    “You are impertinent, Iris! Beware, or I will have you whipped!” Damn the woman! Iris was far too observant.
    Halil chose that moment to burst in upon his mother. “Look! I can walk again, Mother, without the crutches!” He ran into her arms and she almost wept at the sight of his very pronounced limp. His right foot was twisted inward.
    “I am so proud of you,” she said kissing him soundly as he squirmed away, making a face. “Rude boy!” she scolded teasingly, drawing him down by her side. “Tell me, Halil, does it still hurt?”
    “Only a little.” But he said it so quickly that she knew it probably hurt him a great deal.
    Impulsively she asked, “How would you like to take a sea voyage, my son?”
    “To where, Mother?”
    “Thessaly, my love. There are ancient hot springs there whose waters would aid the soreness in your foot.”
    “Will you come with me?”
    “If your father will allow it,” she answered him, surprised that she hadn’t considered it before.
    He struggled up, tugging at her hand. “Let us go now,”
    Theadora laughed at his impatience but then thought, why not? She quickly followed her small son through the winding corridors that led from the haremlik to the selamlik, which were in turn followed by several panting eunuchs. They arrived quickly at the doors to the sultan’s apartments.
    “Tell my father, the sultan, that Prince Halil and his mother, Princess Theadora, seek audience with him immediately.”
    A few moments later the janissary returned. “The sultan will see you both now, Your Highness.” And he flung open one of the great oak doors.
    They walked through into the lush chamber where Orkhan sat cross-legged upon a pile of cushions. Several young girls sat to his left playing softly upon stringed instruments. The most current of Orkhan’s favorites, a sulky mouthed, dark-haired Italian beauty, reclined next to him. Theadora and her son moved to the foot of the dais, but when Theadora moved to kneel, her son restrained her, glowering at his father’s concubine. “On your face, woman! My mother kneels only to my father and to her God!” And when the girl had the temerity to look to the sultan for confirmation, the child was on her with a roar of outrage. Pulling her from the cushions onto the floor, he cried, “Insolent one! You beg for a beating!”
    Orkhan’s laughter rumbled through the room. “You have given me a true Ottoman, my Adora. Halil, my son, go gentlywith the girl. A slave such as this one is valuable merchandise.” He turned his gaze on the woman at his feet. “Leave me, Pakize. You will receive ten lashes for your lapse in manners. My wives are to be treated with the respect they deserve.”
    The girl scrambled up and, body bent, backed her way out of the room.
    Theadora now knelt and made a respectful obeisance to her husband while her son, Halil, bowed beautifully to his father.
    “Sit next to me,” Orkhan commanded them, “and tell me why I have been honored by this visit today.”
    Theadora settled herself by her husband and then said, “I wish to take Halil to Thessaly to the Springs of Apollo near Mount Ossa. The waters there are famous for healing, and though Halil will not admit it to me, I know he is in great pain. His foot and leg will never really mend properly, but at least the waters might help with his pain.”
    “And you want to go with him?” asked the sultan.
    “Yes, my lord, I do. He is still a little boy, and needs his mother. I know that