Suleyman & Roxelana

Sultan Suleyman the Magnificent and his wife and consort, the Sultana Roxelana, formerly known as Hurrem of the Laughing Golden Eyes.

Music of our Love - Part 2

From where she stood, she could see a narrow room covered with mirrors. She entered the room and studied the dazzling turquoise blue tiles of the rectangular washbasin. The sun blazed through the cut glass window. She liked her reflection on the mirror. Masses of long curly red locks adorned her tear-streaked face. She had never seen hair the color of Princess Hafsa’s Perhaps she used a substance? Well, she would find out soon enough.

“Ah! There you are” said an attractive woman, with a pleasant voice emanating from a green robe. From around her neck dangled an enormous five-pointed star, encrusted in turquoise.

“I am … I was Tatiana, but today, I think my old name no longer suits me. For the time being, Laughing Golden Eyes will do.“ She bowed her head gracefully and slightly, without hauteur, but with just the right amount of respect. ”You must be Lady Maryam.”

“I am she, and Laughing Golden Eyes suits you. In Turkish, it is Hurrem, not that any one of us is really fluent in it.” She took Hurrem by the hand. ”We must hurry. I assume along with your many talents you are a good rider?”

“I have bested many young men,” she replied, letting herself be led away

Maryam mused and chuckled within her, ”I think she is going to be more than any of us wished for. Princess Hafsa is wise in the ways of the world, especially the men’s universe. Being a woman, she is on to every feminine trick, as well.”

She displayed several gauzy veils for her to inspect. “You are thirteen. It is an Islamic custom for girls of that age to cover their face and hair with the veil. You will wear it among men who are strangers, except in the presence of your Prince- Suleyman, the Princess Mother, the Chief Black Eunuch, your father, Brother Dominic and all the girls and women inside the harem.”

“You left someone out of that list, yourself,” said Laughing Golden Eyes.

It had been deliberate on Maryam’s part. She was interested in knowing just how well the young girl listened while others spoke and how sensitive she was to those around her.

“Of course we shall see each other often. I shall be one of your teachers. I didn’t mean to take myself off the list,” she said.

“I should like that very much.”

Covering her face with a veil did not seem an excessive sacrifice to her. So long as she was free to continue her pursuit of music and knowledge, a silk veil over her face was perfectly acceptable. “Put on a good face,” she remembered her father’s last words.

“This is the bond of Hurrem, I shall and I will wear the veil. I hope someday, to have veils as opulent as the Princess Mother’s.”

Maryam’s robe was a deep burgundy, so she chose a frothy dark green one. Maryam showed her where the clips were to attach them properly.

“Once your eyes have been lined with Kachol, (kajal) they will jump out and devour most anyone.”

There stood a chestnut-maned Arabian mare, with the prettiest almond eyes she had ever seen. She ran her hands down her velvet neck. There was a hand-tooled saddle on her.

“What’s her name?”

Maryam replied, getting into her own Arabian horse effortlessly.

“That’s entirely up to you.”

Hurrem hesitated. She noticed it and reassured her she should first get on the saddle, try it on for size, and proceed on their journey through the streets of Istanbul, to the Palace in Pera, by the Bosporus. She could be thinking of it as they rode.

Never one to waver, Hurrem asked ”What’s the word in Arabic for beautiful?

“There must be hundreds of adjectives to describe beautiful. Arabic is an even richer language than Latin, and that is saying a great deal,” replied Maryam.

“Just tell me please, a word you know.”

“Jamila.“

“Jamila, it is. Thank you.” replied Hurrem. ”Come Jamila, show me a gallop!”

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A thousand thoughts ran over Hurrem’s mind, as she sat on a gilded chair, surrounded by musical instruments in silver.

“This will be your music room. You may play them as often and as late into the night as you wish … after you have done your lessons.”

These centered on a profound and daunting study of the Qur’an. She would commit all the shuras and hadiths of the Prophet Mohammed to memory. After she had mastered reading the Qur’an in Arabic, she could read the works of Ibn Batuta Ibn Khaldoun, and other names she could not remember just now.

The awe inspiring Arabic calligraphy was a must, as was Persian. In addition, to reading the works of the French Troubadours, she would take on Boccaccio, Petrarch and Dante, in the Tuscan dialect.

There would be endless court etiquette to learn. On top of all that, she had to learn Turkish, the language of the Turkic – Mongol tribe, the Othman – Ottoman, which had left the steppes of Central Asia a hundred years ago, to conquer all the Byzantine lands, especially Byzantium, now known as Turkey with its capital Istanbul (the former Constantinople).

“Listen carefully, Hurrem,” said the Princess Mother Hafsa.” Your most important duty will be as friend and companion to Prince Suleyman. Keep him amused, entertained, and charmed, play and sing together, ride together, and engage him in a duel at shahmat (chess). Do not let him win because you wish to please him. He’ll see through you and he’ll be disappointed. Challenge him enough so that he never loses his interest in you.”

“Never, never bed him nor allow him to kiss you or fondle you. Never show him your nakedness except that of your heart and mind. Remember, you are not his concubine. Your home is with me. You do not belong in the harem, although you are free to go into the harem as often as you wish and make friends with some of the odalisques. For the time being my motherly advice to you is to sty out of the harem.

Hurrem could smell the essence of pink roses on her skin. It wafted into her nostrils, intoxicating her. Her golden red hair was decorated with tiny scented white roses.

“These are all difficult tasks Princess Mother, but I shall endeavor to succeed.”

“I’m sure you will my dear child. I believe in your strong character and morality. Now let’s see…” she said gesturing jeweled hands and armlets towards a movable armoire of gilded wood. It was entirely hand decorated in blue colored bulbuls-nightingales. Three giggling slave girls glided it on wheels and stopped in front of Princess Mother. They slid the armoire open with graceful gestures.

“Let’s see,” she repeated, “what ensemble would you like to wear?”

“I would like to try the white robe embroidered in silver thread,” she glanced at the Princess Mother to gauge her reaction.

“A wise choice,” she replied, ”White symbolizes light.”

“And purity Princess Mother Hafsa,” she murmured.

“I am certain that the colors will not be lost on Suleyman,” reflected Princess Hamsa.

“Have you seen first blood yet?”

“Oh no. It will come when I’m ready,” she smiled, showing off her three dimples, one on each cheek and another one on her chin.

“The slave girls are your dressers and assistants. Be kind and patient with them. I do not tolerate mistreatment of any sort, not even rudeness. Ah, here’s Lady Maryam, my best friend.”

Both young women hugged affectionately. Princess Hamsa spoke to Hurrem.

“You remember her this morning at my house near the slave merchants?” Tatiana nodded. “She may have informed you that she will be your teacher and confidante. I am now confirming it,” said Princess Hamsa.

“I think the Lady Maryam will be an inspiring teacher,” replied Laughing Golden Eyes.

Princess Hafsa seemed pleased. “We shall meet again later in the day. Remember, you and I must always converse in Russian, is that clear?”

Without waiting for a reply, she whirled and strode imperiously down the wide halls of her palace so quickly that Tatiana stopped breathing for a few seconds.

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“Take a deep breath, Hurrem, the girl of the Golden Laughing Eyes who used to be Tatiana not so long ago,” said Lady Maryam. “We are rather pressed for time and there is much to do. Follow me.”

So the gilded armoire stuffed with gowns and robes one more beautiful than the other was to be for her exclusive use. “ I don’t know what to think I’m so excited.”

She lost herself in a maze of thoughts and emotions and did not pay attention to the corridors and halls they traversed. Soon, she found herself inside a large yellow room that reminded her of a prism. She gasped. Every window refracted light in a different way because the colors of the stained glass designs created those patterns and illuminations.

Lady Maryam smiled and spoke first. “Before you take in your surroundings, and examine your suite of rooms, I would like you to get to know your slaves.

The tallest blonde in the emerald green robe is the eldest at twenty. She is Zelfa. She comes from Circassia.

Suheyla, the dark-haired girl in orange is Persian. She will teach you how to play Shahmat (chess) and become a skillful player.

Zahira is the other blonde with her hair in plaits. She is Serbian and no one knows gems and minerals better than she.

All the girls will familiarize you with your surroundings and your toilette. I must go and assist with the preparations for the celebrations and receptions which will take place until well into the night.”

Lady Maryam hugged Hurrem and planted a light kiss atop her mass of golden-red hair. “ Be of good cheer. You are in good hands,” she murmured.

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Hurrem observed that her three slave girls entered the gilt and blue tiled bathroom with her.

“Ah that will not do. I am not going to undress in the presence of any one, not even women. I am quite capable of washing and cleansing myself,” she mused

“Please don’t take offense Zelfa, Suheyla and Zahira. I am used to doing all my ablutions by myself.”

They smiled with compassion and told her.” We understand your modesty Golden Laughing Eyes.”

She is only thirteen, a virgin and inviolate. We are not here to give her a hard time, on the contrary. We are here to look after her wellbeing.

“Allow us to show you a few things like how your bath pool works and how to regulate the flow of warm water and the degree of heat you wish for your bath.”

“You need to know how to use the steam room properly, you where to find your bathrobes and towels and the use of the different herbs for your hair and body.”

I must not be churlish to the … towards my slaves. I consider them more my helpers and friends, as Cleopatra with her handmaidens. Let them show me everything and then I can be alone and feel comfortable with my thoughts. “You are right of course, how silly of me. Please show me everything I need to know,” Tatiana replied by way of an apology.

All four entered the magnificent bathroom, which in Arabic is called a hammam. Tatiana gasped once again. Porcelain tiles of blue tulips tiles tinged with white covered the ceiling and the walls. The floor was a contrast in white tulips with a shade of blue. The washbowl was an iridescent blue and its two porcelain spigots seemed to have been crafted by a master for they seemed like real tulips. Tatiana took a closer look at the washbowl and the tulip spigots with specks of gold to numerous to count.

"They remind me of the dark blue heavens with all the stars blazing,” stated Tatiana excitedly.

“It’s lapis lazuli,” said Zahira.

“This semi-precious gem is mined in Central Asia close to the …

“I know, the Russian steppes.” Tatiana interrupted Zelfa.

The pool, which she presumed to be her bath, was also in the same lapis lazuli. Garlands of jasmine surrounded its edge. Seven wide steps led down to the pool that was devoid of water at the moment.

“It must come up to my shoulders!” exclaimed Tatiana.

“The ancient Romans had pools like these. The former occupants of this Villa were Byzantines but clearly influenced by things Roman,” explained Suheyla.

“Who would not be if they had any sense of civility? In Russia we had huge metal round tubs. The servants poured warm water from big pots that boiled in the fireplace. Papa always said Cleanliness was next to Godliness. I spent at least an hour or more every day on that tub. This will be heaven,” Tatiana declared.

She swirled around in delight and then asked perplexed.” But where are the windows. I shall surely suffocate with all that steamy water.”

Her slaves showed her that three large windows had been embedded into the tiled walls. When you opened them, sunshine streamed through the latticed windows.

An armoire of carved wrought iron shaped like leaves gave it a light and airy feeling. Through the leaves she espied what she took to be her bathrobes and towels.

Two matching wrought iron tables held blue and green porcelain and ceramic bowls and bottles shaped like butterflies that surprised and delighted her.

“These contain essential oils like bergamot from Sicily, camellia from China, camphor from Yemen and olive oil from Tuscany. The Princess Mother observed that you do not decorate your face with either henna or cosmetics, nor do you line your eyes. She likes that. You are a natural beauty after all,” explained Zelfa whom Tatiana deduced to be the eldest among the three.

“It would make me ever so happy if you Zelfa, Suheyla and Zahira would prepare my bath and my hammam every day. Please lay out my bathrobe and my intimate apparel and the oils for my skin. I would like to use fresh lemons on my face every day and infused camomille on my hair. Then and only then shall I remain alone with my thoughts. What do you think?” she asked, gazing into the eyes of all three slaves.

From the expressions that emanated from their eyes and their faces, Tatiana knew she had struck the right chord.

“It is a clever compromise. Everyone will be happy with the arrangement. The Princess Hafsa in particular since she has chosen Zelfa, Suheyla and Zahira with meticulous care for their loyalty, integrity and the quality of their education. Yes! They will make good companions. I will learn a great deal from them.

Oh! Ah! I’ve never felt water so warm and caressing. It comes up to my shoulders. The water soothes my sore body. It’s pure bliss. The pool is wide enough to allow me to float. Let me see if I can do it. Yes! I am doing it. I am floating. I could stay in this position forever.

She surrendered to the torpor that was slowly traversing her body from her toes to her ankles then slowly towards her knees and then her belly.

Suddenly the vision of Princess Mother Hafsa and her firm admonitions jolted her.

“You will be Suleyman’s best female friend and companion. Let there be no carnal relationship between you. He must not touch you or caress you in a way that you and your father and I would consider lustful. Never use your body to entice my son. Enchant him with your songs and your music. Delight him with the Russian dances of dexterity and grace. I might even join you in some of joyful dances. Dazzle him with your intelligence. Do not be afraid to possess opinions even if they are contrary to his. Disregard your breathtaking beauty. Act as if you are plain or even ugly. Ask questions continuously- from Suleyman, from me and from your tutors. Learn to best him at Shahmat (Chess). It is my duty to warn you. Be ever watchful, for you have enemies in the harem whom you have yet to meet.”

She lost her balance and sank to the bottom. She held her breath and propelled herself out of the water with her legs. She decided standing on the tiles was safer for the moment since she was still adjusting from all the events that had taken place to her father and to herself since this November’s early light.

I don’t like the idea of enemies that I don’t know and have not even as mush as glimpsed. But the situation is what it is. I trust Princess Hafsa. I am in her powerful hands. Lady Maryam is someone I should cultivate. I think the Princess Mother would like that.

She saw tulip shaped soap bars for her body and distilled camomille to wash her hair.

Sing Tatiana of the Golden Laughing Eyes. Sing your fears away Hurrem.

And she sang in a sweet and crystal voice. The arches in the hammam amplified her voice so that Zelfa, Suheyla and Zahira, who stood outside her door, listened and smiled with pleasure.

“There once was a girl from a far country,
Who met a Lord of high degree,
They liked each other so tenderly,
Sing Glory,
Sing glory.
Now she lives in a Villa by the sea,
No one knows she’s frightened,
But herself and God.”

“This is going to be a most intriguing evening. That beautiful young girl has Music and Derring-do in her heart. Let us hope she develops her skills of intrigue as well as she manipulates all those instruments,” said Princess Mother Hafsa to Lady Maryam as they both took sips of Mokha coffee out of their tiny Dresden porcelain cups.

She was across the hall from Hurrem, and she was lying langorously in her own hammam as Lady Maryam sat on a golden chair on the tiles of porphyry beside her.

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“Aaah! My Golden Laughing Eyes. You are breathtaking in this virginal white robe. Let me adjust the folds of your Al-Amira,” exclaimed Princess Hafsa.

Al-Amira was Arabic and it described a veil in two transparent pieces, also in the purest white cloth. One piece rested on a matching toque on her head and the other a tubular foulard that enfolded her swan’s neck.

“Thank you, my Princess Mother,” she replied curtsying gracefully and lightly.

“Now you must forget about your physical beauty and concentrate only on your beautiful mind and your character full of light and song,” she instructed Hurrem

“I shall do that Princess Mother,” she replied in her melodious voice

“Walk with me to the theater, krasivaya maya. You memorize thousands of musical notes so it should be easy for you to remember your way back through all the halls and passages. Zelfa, Suheyla and Zahira will be waiting for you in your bedroom suite.”

“I think that I will be able to find my way back easily enough. I might make a few wrong turns but in the end with the help of Allah and my wits I shall prevail in this endeavor.

Tatiana…Ah No! I must get used to calling her Hurrem of Golden Laughing Eyes in front of others, particularly in the presence of my son, will prove to be a formidable presence in his life, she mused.

“Hurrem, I cannot stress enough the importance of this first meeting. First impressions are memorable. It is up to you to set the tone of the meeting as well as the success of the musical fest,” she said.

“I realize that Princess Mother. I shall do my utmost to be my natural charming, musical and spontaneous self. That is all I can do.

“Here we are.” She lifted both of her hands indicating the theater, which stood in regal splendor before them.

It was only then that she saw the unique rings on all her fingers. They fitted her just above the joint after her golden lacquered nails.

“Why they’re all yellow gems! I wonder what they are?”

She would learn much later that the Princess Hafsa was partial to diamonds of every color and shape.

Hurrem took in her breath and remained wordless for a bit, and then leaped as high as she could for joy and hugged the Princess Hafsa.

“It’s beautiful! It’s Beautiful! Thank the Lord. I am so happy.”

I am sorry I had even the slightest misgivings. Something tells me she is The One, decided the Princess Mother.

“Enter Hurrem. This will be your world with Suleyman, for the time being. Who knows what the future will rain down upon us?

She felt her eyes cloud with tears. Don’t cry, you silly girl, you’ll spoil your looks and your mood. Be happy.

Go and survey your world by yourself. I must supervise the birthday celebrations for my son, Prince Suleyman. I have not forgotten that today you turn thirteen. I have a surprise for you too. Give me a hug and kiss me on both cheeks. You don’t mind if I leave you alone with all these musical instruments? Some, like the oudth and the kanoun, the nay and shahnay may be unfamiliar to you. I’m sure my son will be happy to teach you.”

“I will be delighted to have Prince Suleyman as my musical tutor, but these instruments, extravagant though they may appear, are my oldest friends and companions.”

Ahead of her lay the blue Bosporus. What an inspiring place to play. She took a lyre, strummed it a little. It won’t do. It was out of tune. She wondered if the golden strings affected their sonority and clarity. She examined the lyre. The strings appeared taut.

“Ah, someone knew enough not to use pure gold, else the strings would all be bent out of shape.”

Gold was too malleable a metal. She took the lyre, ran her hands slowly and lightly on it strings. She did not hesitate. She began tuning it.

“Now. Instruments, I am speaking to you. I would like to sing an Ode on the occasion of Prince Suleyman’s birthday. There was no time for me to compose something expressly for him on this occasion. I will adapt a joyous Ode I wrote before…our capture and simply insert the name of Suleyman, wherever it’s required.“

She played around with the melody and the Latin lyrics for a bit, “ I think I’ve got it. Yes. Yes, I‘ve got it.”

On orders of Princess Hafsa, the doors of the music room were left wide open, so that her entire household and entourage could take delight at the joy of Hurrem’s music, and the music of her joy. She was facing her instruments and perforce her back was turned. She could not see the only spectator who counted.

“It was wise of the Princess Mother to have thought of that detail. I just want to concentrate on playing and singing.“

She was filled with mixed emotions. My carefree life with no responsibilities is over. Destiny will force me to make many decisions and adjustments.

Some inevitably would bring on unendurable anguish, but she had no idea of any of that yet.

I don’t wish to think about my new life today, any more than I have to. I need a retreat, an escape, albeit a temporary one. Music has always given me pleasure and solace. Today on Prince Suleyman’s birthday and mine. It will also give me a matchless opportunity.

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Prince Suleyman bent down to kiss his mother’s hand.

“A good afternoon to you my Beloved Mater. You urged me to come alone. Here I am. Indeed, Ibrahim will join us for the singing round the cake. I shall summon him whenever I’m ready. This year, I shall be blowing 15 beeswax candles, over one meter high. I think I’m ready. Meanwhile, I am too curious about your cadeaux. Truly I cannot stifle my anticipation for I know you are the most original gift-giver I know.”

His mother placed her forefinger, entirely covered in yellow diamonds from India, over her son’s lips. She took his hand and smoothly guided him towards the music room.

“Now is the time, dear girl, to make your musical entry.” She prayed silently that Hurrem’s intuition would be put to good use .

Then Hurrem’s voice flooded the palace with wonder.

“Oh, the sun is slowly sinking,
Oh the sun is slowly sinking,
And you know not my name… Su- ley -Su–ley-man.
And you know not my name… Su – ley –Su-ley-man.

Now the moon is rising bit-by-bit…Su-ley-man.
Now the moon is rising bit-by-bit…Su-ley – man
And you know not my name…Su-ley-Su-ley-man
And you know not my name Su-ley-Su-leyman.

What we need is you, my Su-ley- Su-ley-man.
To resonate with our music together.
What we need is you, my Su-ley- Su-ley-man.
To resonate with our music together.

She beat and thumped on a small round tambour (drum) as she chanted what she had just sang.

Suleyman stood mesmerized. He dared not enter the hall, lest he break the spell. He took a very slow and careful peek.

”Her beautiful angelic presence overpowers me for the moment.”

He tiptoed on his soft handcrafted leather boots, to where his mother was standing, less than a few feet away.

“She’s a peri (A Muslim angel). She is adorable and I could get used to this,” he whispered into his mother’s ear as he enveloped her in a tight embrace. ”Thank you, dearest Mater.”

“That is my birthday present. She is singing and playing only for you so … enter as quietly as you dare, sit down and listen. Why not join her in song or in the instrumentation.”

“Mater, you have gone beyond my imagination. This is heaven sent.”

But when he turned to face his mother, she had vanished. He was now alone with the beatific creature for at least an hour until it would be time for his small dinner party, which his mother was hosting.

He entered the hall, walking on eggshells. The Peri was chanting Gregorian vespers. Once in a while he caught the name Su-ley-man.

Is she praying for me? I am overwhelmed.

He reclined on the softest looking cushions, afraid to breathe and hoping not to cough involuntarily. She began to sing a Russian song on the zithara,

At that point, he forgot himself. He was transported into the music.

I know that song! My mother sang it to me when I was a child, I can still remember the words.

He could no longer contain his excitement. He bounded from the cushions and ran to join her in a duet of “The Birch Trees.” His fine baritone voice singing as he walked swiftly towards the immense dais to join the divine shade.

If only I had learnt to play the zithara, he thought with regret. He realized with a start that she was still singing ”The Birch Trees”. At his questioning look, she explained during a musical pause, ”My lyrics.”

He waited for the next pause, ”May I have them?”

She nodded but continued singing and playing. He hummed, La La La along with her, and swayed gently to the rhythm.

This is the first time I share a wonderful experience like music with anyone, much less a breathtaking girl. I have that impression. I have not had the time to observe her closely. Her singing and playing have overcome me.

I think this must be Prince Suleyman, but I’m not sure. His bearing is regal, like one born to wear a crown, or many crowns. I am too involved with the music to really have a good look.

When the song ended, Suleyman and Hurrem remained in silence. For both, it was the famous “Pausa” in a musical composition. The ethereal flow between them felt natural and right. Her oval face was almost lost in a sea of long, golden red locks. Her eyes blazed, as if she was drunk. Indeed she was, from the music!

“Oh! Please forgive me, I am usually not so distracted, that I forget my good upbringing. Your music has so affected me. What is your name, my musical sorceress?”

He was addressing her in Russian. She decided to reply in French. ”I used to be Tatiana, but now I’m called Hurrem.”

“Hurrem, may I compliment you on your golden laughing eyes? It is a pleasure and a rare treat to come upon a creature such as you. I am Suleyman,” he stated simply.

“I wish you a most festive and happy Natal day,” she replied and whispered so low he could barely make out the words ”Today, is my 13th birthday.”

“Well, now we are sharing birthdays as well as music,” he found it difficult to suppress a series of deep chuckles. His mother was smarter than his father. That was a fact. Oh, he was a warrior and often led his armies to victory, but she read human beings as adroitly as she did books. This was the principal reason why his mother was his father’s favorite concubine. Indeed, she was the only woman who lived, strictly speaking, outside the boundaries of the harem. The Sultan wanted to avoid gossip of the worst kind … that in deepest secret - he sought the counsel of a woman and a concubine, in matters of state!

“Princess Hafsa, your mother, has ensured that as much as possible my turning 13 is also to be a memorable occasion.“

“So, you’re not too sad or homesick?”

She thought about that for a while, before responding. “There is mostly sweetness, and a dollop of sadness. My father is in Istanbul, which gives me strength. Soon, I will be immersed in so many studies and activities, that I won’t have time to miss him too much.”

He liked her manner and choice of words. A bright girl. Strong willed. Brave. She began tuning a silver lyre.

“I have an idea,” he said. ”Why don’t you compose something here and now in honor of my birthday, I shall do the same to honor your day.”

“It’s a splendid idea,” she replied, the dazzle in her eyes was unmistakable. She laughed heartily. “If we are still friends next year and the year after next, and so on … we can continue this tradition ad infinitum.”

“It is a promise! You have the word of Suleyman: he exclaimed with delight.

She picked up a tambourine, tapped it, shook it in syncopated rhythm and burst into a song in French, “ Suleyman, est ma Bel ami.”

“I have never wished for a long lasting friendship with any boy or man, other than with my tutors and spiritual Advisors. Except for Ibrahim and Karash. Girls and women let alone a young girl were something that never came to my mind. I would like to share an everlasting friendship with the golden laughing Hurrem. She of the many talents. God please deign to grant me this,” he prayed silently, as he abandoned himself to her music. Soon it would be his turn to compose a merry Ode in her honor.

This is my best birthday yet, reflected Prince Suleyman.

Music of our Love - Part 1

Author's Note:

The story of Suleyman and Roxelana is one of the great love stories of all time. Suleyman, the most powerful man of his era could have had his choice of women. In fact - this is exactly what he had when he just a young prince -- but as a man, he chose only one woman ... and stayed in love with her his whole life.

This is story tells of how Roxelana and Suleyman met. I am posting it in two parts. I hope you enjoy it.

By the way -- the art is mine.






THE MUSIC OF OUR LOVE

Istanbul. The Sublime Port: November 6, The Year Of Our Lord 1507

The Palace of Topkapi

“Allaa-hu Akbar. Allaa-hu Akbar. La illah ha illah lah, illa lah Allaaah.”

The sonorous voice of the Muezzin, chanting the Bismillah, from the Qura’n, atop the minaret of the Blue Mosque, rang out calling the people to prayer.

God is great. God is great. In the name of God, the Merciful and the Compassionate.

Prince Suleyman was up long before he heard the Muezzin’s chants. He had experienced a fitful night. He always endured these nights on the eve of his birthday. Something about the anticipation excited him. His mother never failed to surprise him with the most unusual gifts.

Mamushka does not consider the price of anyone or anything to be of primary importance, she concentrates on the value of an individual or a book. In addition, I have never known my mother to stress anything more strongly than service to my people. She must know something I don’t. I am just 7th in line for the Sultanate.

His teachers: the Kurd Kemal, the Arab Malik, and the Sufi Karash, always reminded him, especially on his birthday, that he was born under a unique confluence of planets and stars. Even his father’s Persian astrologers had observed it.

“Which may explain why, my father, the Sultan, sometimes called by our people as Selim the Cruel, has singled me out for preferential treatment.” He pondered on that. The Sultan always places me in the thick of battle. Could he be testing me? Kismet? Or both? I could do with a little less of that sort of preferential treatment.

On the other hand, five of his half brothers had died, in battle a few days apart from each other, suddenly placing him in the 7th slot. His mother and her entourage of elders kept a meticulous count of the deaths and illnesses of his brothers.

No, I do not want to have such thoughts before going to the mosque to pray. I find the chanting and the singing of the Qura’n absolutely sublime. It gives me a thrill to hear such music.

I must remember to inform the new Purser of Topkapi Palace who is probably unfamiliar with my customs, that my allowance in gold and silver coins will be doubled today on the occasion of my birthday. As always, that is to be given as zikat (alms) for those in need.

Suleyman was gifted and talented. He was skilled in the martial arts. Thanks to his mother’s scouring the world for the best teachers and preceptors, he was cultured, and possessed a penetrating intelligence.

He spoke Arabic fluently and practiced calligraphy every day. He was well versed in Persian, because his mother had convinced him it was of prime importance to study the ancient texts of the Zend Avesta, but also those of the Shah Nameh.

He found the juridical aspects of Islam fascinating. His Arab teachers of Philosophy considered his grasp of abstract thought astounding in one so young.

Mathematics and Algebra attracted him greatly.

He had learned the Torah in Aramaic and in Hebrew, from Mordechai, his Judean teacher. Aramaic was the language spoken by the people during the time of Jesus. It was similar to classical Arabic.

Suleyman found it difficult to resist reading the New Testament. Brother Dominic, a Franciscan friar who followed the precepts of Saint Francis of Assisi, intrigued him. He wore leather sandals, regardless of the weather and a coarse brown cassock encircled at the waist by long prayer beads, called a rosary.

Tall, close to one meter and 82 centimeters, well muscled but slim, blonde … endowed with his mother’s intense cerulean gaze, her fair skin and flawless teeth … Suleyman was what everyone would call handsome. All the girls in his harem were under his spell. He was also overflowing with a ferocious sexual appetite.

“Perfectly normal for a young man who was expected to lead vast armies on the fields of battle and the fair sex in bed. Lately, he had begun making acute observations regarding polygamy.

I am not certain that it is in the best interests of a family and of a nation. The Prophet, may God bless him, seems not to have taken his own advice to the rest of us. He may have been guided more by political expediency rather than the call of his loins.

“It is preferable to have only one wife, but if necessary one should not have more than four legal wives.”

His teachers could only listen dumbstruck as he continued. “I have my favorites. I can’t help it. So did our Prophet. Am I right in presuming that Aisha was his favorite wife?” As they persisted in their silence, he pressed them further.

“The girls are, each in their own way very beautiful. Ebony-haired, golden-haired, flaxen, auburn, red, dark, brown, shapely, curvaceous, slim, heavy … it’s like eating baklava. (A pastry made of almond paste, almonds and honey in paper-thin layers of baked dough). “But” …. he stopped to look directly into the eyes of his teacher Malik, “outside of coupling like a tiger in heat, all night long, I find their arts of seduction very tempting, but only for a short time. Please don’t think I’m being unkind or loutish, the girls are artists in arousing me, and stimulating my sword of flesh so that it stands erect for hours, until we almost die from the pleasure. But, after the coupling, they won’t or can’t or don’t know how to talk to me. None of them can sing or play a musical instrument, nor play shahmat (chess). After I bed them, I study them, I find that some are silly, others are stupid and the rest are too much in awe of me to be my true friends.”

The Imam Malik listened and understood. The young Prince needed a friendship with a girl he did not bed. Someone he could talk to, play and sing with. An individual who was not afraid of him and thus would tell him things he did not like to hear.

Princess Mother Hafsa was delighted with the news. She was not at all happy about the presence of too many girls in her son’s harem. Aaay! It was dangerous. It bred intrigues, machinations and ultimately conspiracies. Polygamy rendered the spread of incurable and fiendish diseases of Venere, transmitted by fornicating, fellating and sodomizing. Most of all, it had been her experience that waiting long weeks, days, even hours for their Prince to pick the one fortunate girl he would spend the night with was dangerous, Bored young girls, whose sole purpose in life was to serve as playthings and to breed sons for the Prince, turned into scheming and malevolent creatures. She knew some of the girls in the harem smoked opium and hashish incessantly. The eunuchs participated in lesbian orgies with the girls. They also drank copious amounts of wine. This was all “haram” forbidden by Islam.

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“These customs and systems are corrupt. They will not work as time goes by,” the Imam Malik confided to the Princess Hafsa.

At the moment, Hafsa was concerned about Suleyman’s infatuation with an Indian girl, Rose of Spring who was nearly eighteen years old. She was as ravishing as she was unintelligent and malicious, but she was a sorceress in the art of lust and in spite of himself Suleyman yielded to her. There was no doubt that she was his favorite, among his 120 girls in the harem.

“In two years at the most Rose of Spring will give birth to a son,” said Imam Malik gazing sadly into the Princess Mother’s eyes.

“That is going to change drastically and soon. My line of action calls for stealth and careful plotting,” she promised the Imam.

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Today was Suleyman"s 15th birthday.

“I am going to take a cavalcade of 50 horsemen, clad entirely in white to the Mosque of Mehmet the Conqueror, my great grandfather.”

As a warrior he had taken Constantinople from the decadent and corrupt Christian rulers – the Paleologos in 1453, sixty-two years ago,

“Are you pleased with your father’s gift,” asked Ibrahim, a bright and studious young Greek, a year older than Suleyman. Ibrahim was his best and dearest friend. He was referring to a magnificent white Arab stallion, Jamil, which Sultan Selim had given his son for his natal day.

“I am more than pleased.” He smiled his dimpled smile at Ibrahim, who was, technically a slave. “I am beside myself with joy. My father sent along 50 of the best Arabian horses, along with 48 Serbo–Croat, Albanian and Mongol horsemen.”

Ibrahim was puzzled. Suleyman bent over with laughter. “Silly, the other Arabian horse is for you, my best fried.”

“Thank you, my Prince. You are kind to think of others on your birthday,” replied a happy Ibrahim.

“Now we must get ready for our ride through the streets of Istanbul, on our way to the Mosque. I have ordered the grooms to pad all 50 of the horse’s hooves. My horse will be caparisoned in ivory and gold; another gift from the Sultan, but his hooves will be padded, as well. We shall be riding at around five in the morning on Friday, our day of rest and prayer. I want to pay my respects to our people. I intend to set an example that Friday, our day of rest, should be spent quietly, with one’s family, not raucously and wildly in a bazaar as some of my half-brothers do,”

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Rose of Spring shivered in the warm pool. Suleyman had come up with the idea because he savored bathing and coupling with her in the blue tiled pool.

“It is for your exclusive use when I am not here,” he said.

“My Prince, may I dare to ask your permission to invite a few of my friends to share in this bounty in your absence?”

One of her Albanian slaves Anya, a statuesque girl was fondling her intimate butterfly folds while the Moroccan Nuba massaged her breasts and nipples ever so lightly. She was preoccupied, but decided to abandon herself to the thrill of their caresses.

“Today is my Beloved’s birthday. He will not come to me, he never does. I’m sure his mother and the elders will keep him busy with affairs of state. I might as well have my fill of pleasure.”

"Anya, I want your magical tongue down there. It always reminds me of the little soft tendrils the priests used on me to drive me wild with ecstasy when I was a devadas in training in the Temple of Kali. It was done to teach me the power of yoni.”

Anya took a deep breath, lowered herself down towards the bottom and slowly lifted the chocolate colored buttocks of her mistress out of the water and placed them upon her shoulders. She begun licking them, keeping in mind the description used by Rose of Spring regarding the soft tendrils weaving in and out of her yoni.

Rose of Spring began to sigh softly. She ran her fingers through Nuba’s blue-black hair.

”Nuba suckle my nipples to prepare them for Suleyman’s visit tomorrow. He loves to suck my engorged and rosy nipples. Little does he know that I always come prepared, thanks to you my darling pleasure–givers.”

Hadji the Berber Eunuch tiptoed inside the three rooms used by Rose of Spring. He smiled and gloated inwardly.

“I know just where that little vixen is. All I have to do is follow the heavy scent of patchouli and rose and the trail of moans and gasps of erotic abandon.”

There she was with her usual slaves and playmates. Now it was time to bring her the one she craved the most, the oval faced and voluptuous Fawzia.

“Rose of Spring,” whispered Hadji kneeling as close to her as he dared without falling into the pool. She gazed at him "Ah, dear friend, you have brought me the most delicious yoni after mine.”

Fawzia was a perfectly formed midget. She looked like a child, although she was as old as Rose of Spring. She was all of four feet six inches. Rose of Spring indulged her every perversion because it also happened to be what she desired.

“My sexual doll,” she called her,

She was always scantily clad except when Suleyman came for his trysts with Rose of Spring, when she was kept out of sight. At the moment she was naked and she knew just what to do. She squatted on the edge of the pool and waited for Rose of Spring to execute her tantric movement, which only she could perform with ease. Anya ‘s pink tongue flickered back and forth over her swollen yoni. Nuba was now sucking hard at her nipples and massaging them with feathery strokes. Then the Sultan’s favorite bent backwards, and rested her head on the edge of the pool. Fawzia kept squatting, except that her clitoris was poised right above Rose of Spring’s tongue.

“My Goddess, I am yours, eat me for your delight,” said Fawzia.

Hadji dipped his fingertips in oil of roses. His huge hands made a comfortable seat for Fawzia. While Rose of Spring attempted to satiate herself with Fawzia his rose soaked fingertips run like spiders around her rectal and anal areas, taking care never to insert them.

“Fawzia had insisted on these caresses and the one who held the young Sultan in lust had granted them. Soon her tantric position will be difficult to maintain. Then she will ascend the steps of the pool and give herself to me. No one has the patience, the subtlety or knows the art of cunnilingus better than a eunuch. I am the best. I only do the best, in this case Rose of Spring.”

Fawzia would then take turns sexually frolicking with Anya and Nuba. “Anya’s yellow hair down there excites me. Nuba’s is so dark that I can always see her juices. Maybe if I continue to please my Goddess she will allow me to be penetrated. I am consumed by hunger for a hard stalk.”

But Rose of Spring did something unexpected. “Tell me first Hadji, I know you went for a stroll this morning to meet your cousin at the Princess Mother’s Palace. What then is the latest news?”

He caught the smell of the roses and the clitoral and vaginal juices on the Favorite’s mouth even as she addressed him. He did not betray his emotions by even a flicker of his eyelashes that he had been caught off guard and that her bodily fluids excited as well as unnerved him.

“Mysterious news comes from Princess Hafsa’s palace. She has acquired a thirteen year old Russian girl who can sing, dance, play musical instruments, compose odes and poems, and is supposed to be very gifted and talented,” he said.

All eunuchs had savoir vivre, Hadji possessed it in spades. Oftentimes the only way to break what could prove to be bad news was to say it in the most straightforward manner.

Rose of Spring’s bosom heaved in cold fury. “Where is she? I’ll see that someone gouges out her eyes, burns her hands and disfigures her face.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Keep in mind that your position is insecure to say the least,” he gazed into her eyes, which reminded him of burning coals. “She is not in the harem. She is staying with the Princess Mother. There are no plans to bring her to the harem. That’s what I heard from my cousin. For the time being the smart thing to do is to relax and consolidate your position.”

She stretched her naked spine like a feral creature and lay down in one graceful plop against the wet blue tiles and motioned for Hadji to approach her.

“You are right of course. This girl is only thirteen. What have I to fear? As soon as the probable Sultan - Suleyman turns 17, his son by me will be well on the way. Now let’s go back to our exciting games. My lips below are hungry for your tongue. Be good to me Hadji and you will be richly rewarded,” said Rose of Spring almost crushing his head as she squeezed her thighs together.

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“I hate this place!” ranted thirteen-year-old Tatiana, trying not to sob. The taste of her tears deepened her longing for her city of Kiev, in Russia. She turned to her father, a Russian Orthodox Bishop.

”Oh, Papa. Why did you listen to the summons of the Metropolitan? Now, look at us, captured slaves by this savage Mujiks, this … these ill mannered and foul smelling Turks. What a bitter way to celebrate my 13th birthday. I’m not surprised it’s considered the unluckiest of numbers!”

“Hush Tatiana. I swore to obey the Head of our Church (Russian Orthodox). I knew the Turks were raiding the coasts and the steppes. That is true ... I postponed the trip as long as I could. It’s God’s will.” Her father, Bishop Dimitri, looked anguished.

“Listen to the sounds of hawking by that odious Greek slave master. I suppose we should thank God, we are waiting for our turn to be sold, inside someone’s small if clean house … rather than being paraded in the nude and examined like animals,” exclaimed Tatiana.

“You must indeed thank God. This is your most propitious day, although you may not think so,” declared a honey-toned woman’s voice in Russian.

Bishop Dimitri and Tatiana turned their heads in shock and surprise. They were sitting on immensely thick woolen cushions in every shade of red. Tatiana found their intricate flower and geometric designs fascinating. Bishop Dimitri rose to his feet a little unsteadily because he was not used to rising from the floor. Tatiana bounded up, almost smiling, at the sound of her mother tongue spoken with such command.

“I am Princess Hafsa, favorite concubine of Sultan Selim, and I am, like you, a Russian.”

Tatiana gasped but remained silent. She studied the Princess with very curious eyes. She was tall, dressed in a flowing yellow caftan, with crimson red hair, which flowed to her waist, and penetrating, gray blue eyes, which bore into you. She was covered by a pectoral of amber and gold. Her veil, which was carefully draped along one shoulder, glittered like the night sky, with thousands, or so it seemed to Tatiana, of minute amber and gold stones encrusted on them. She smelled of power.

Bishop Dimitri, never at a loss for words, replied in Russian. “It is as you say, my Lady Hafsa. Today, the 17th of November is a blessed day for us.”

Princess Hafsa smiled a secretive, knowing smile. “Indeed” she replied. “It is my son, Suleyman’s 15th birthday. I wish to give him something unusual and unique.“

She addressed Tatiana directly. ”Is it true that you are familiar with many musical instruments, compose and sing your own songs?” I want the truth with no exaggerations or you’ll be flayed alive,” implied her tone of voice, even if she did not suppress a chuckle.

There were five things Tatiana had learned at her father’s knee. One, she was musically gifted and had a lovely voice as well. Two, she was bright, which is why she was taught to speak, read and write in Russian, German. French and Latin. Three, she had an independent spirit and must never lose it. Four, she was incredibly beautiful. Fifth and last, she was a virgin in every sense of the word. She had not even been kissed. Oh she was aware of the physical and the erotic. She did not intend to give herself to anyone just yet.

“This is your dowry. In today’s humanistic, materialistic world, your qualities are worth more than gold coins," her father had told her.

I believe, respect and love my father. In these four things, he was not wrong. She reminded herself yet again.

In a strong, unwavering voice she replied. ”Yes. My Lady Hafsa, I am very,” she stressed the word very, “conversant with the lyre, the Psalter, the harp, the flute, and drums and drones of all kinds. I have been composing odes and hymns since I was 9 years old. I also sing and usually accompany myself on the musical instruments and enjoy singing a Capella.”

“In Russian, German, French and Latin,“ added Bishop Dimitri, just in case, the Lady Hafsa was not aware.

Princess Hafsa seemed pleased with their replies and smiled that radiant smile again. ”You and your father are to leave this house. I shall send two horses for you presently. My slaves will escort you to my private Villa which forms part of the Palace of the Harem. You will like it. It faces the Bosporus.”

“This can’t be happening to me,” sobbed a shocked Tatiana. She instinctively opened her mouth to protest.

Princess Hafsa anticipated her. ”You will not live in the harem. You will live with me. My villa Krasivaya is independent of the harem, although I have swift access to it. My word is Law inside the Prince’s harem as it is in my Villa.”

Bishop Dimitri waited for his own orders. They came. Princess Hafsa looked straight at him. “As for you, a most learned man who has proven to be a skillful educator, in turning out such an outstanding daughter, Sultan Selim and I have decided to give you the Church of Saints Cyril and Methodius to run as you see fit. My son Suleyman concurs. We take pride in our religious tolerance, then again, you will see that for yourself.”

Tatiana felt the tears sting her eyes, but she made no sound. She had a premonition that she would not see her dear father for a long time. The Princess confirmed it. “For the time being, it’s best that there be no direct communication between the two of you, except through me, and my messengers. Your Excellency, I will keep you informed regularly of your daughter’s progress.”

Tatiana could no longer control her emotions, she began to weep.

“Ah! Don’t spoil those lovely golden, laughing eyes with useless tears,” said Princess Hafsa, adapting a softer approach. “Think! Dear One. He will be alive and in close proximity. I was not so lucky. My family were Boyars (Russian noblemen and warriors) my father and all my brothers fought the Turks to the death, before my very eyes. I was the sole survivor and ….” She left the rest unfinished.

“It will always be painful to remember,” whispered Bishop Dimitri.

They were allowed one last embrace. “Papa. I shall miss you,” she hiccupped in between her sobs.

“Daughter of my heart, trust no one, except the Princess Mother and her son. As I have taught you, so has she done with the Prince. Learn as much as you can. Be curious about everything in Life. Perfect the art of cleverness,” Bishop Dimitri had murmured in Latin, a language he was reasonably sure the Princess would not understand.”

A monk dressed in the Tertiary habit of Saint Francis of Assisi, a Catholic saint, had silently entered the small house. He cleared his throat and spoke in Latin, ”Your Excellency. I am Brother Dominic, your escort to your new Church.”

“But you’re … you’re,” Bishop Dimitri stammered and almost lost his balance in surprise.

“A Catholic cleric? True enough. We are very tolerant of one another’s beliefs here.”

There was that word again - tolerance. The Princess had also mentioned it. Brother Dominic went on. “Many Russians are in need of a religious man such as you, a Bishop no less. The Church of Saints Cyril and Methodius has been abandoned for at least 20 years since its Bishop died at the age of ninety.”

As he explained, he ably guided the Bishop out of the door. Just before stepping out into the cobble-stoned courtyard, which led to the street, he turned, bowed slightly towards Princess Hafsa and said, ”Good day, my Princess. Good day, my maiden.”

Bishop Dimitri could only repeat, “My respects and gratitude, Princess Hafsa.” He gave his daughter one fleeting, loving glance.

“Beloved daughter. Till we meet again.” 

An old Florentine aphorism came to mind, ”Buon viso a cattiva sorte.” Put on a good face on what looks like bad luck.

Princess Hafsa gazed at Tatiana, whose face was a fountain of tears. “Now. Now, Go and wash away the sadness from your face. Women cry enough in their lives. They do it from joy, rapture, jealousy, hate, love, and the never-ending loss of children and loved ones. Save them for those occasions.”

She placed an amber jeweled arm around her. “I must go. Lady Maryam will be along shortly with your horse and some new clothes. I am expecting you for luncheon in Villa Krasivaya. Look your very best. It will not be difficult, with those golden laughing eyes of yours.”

With that, she was out the door with nary a backward glance. Tatiana was hesitant. She had heard her father’s last thoughts. “Put on a good face.” Per Bacco! She was going to do just that.