A Love for All Time by Bertrice Small

Author:Bertrice Small
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2015-11-27T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

The sultan’s reception to welcome Prince Javid Khan, the ambassador from the Khanate of the Crimea, was held that evening in the sultan’s private garden which opened directly off his quarters. Although it was night, the large garden was well lit by torches and lanterns that had been strung across the fountains and paths, and in the trees. The garden was carefully and beautifully landscaped, its paths of pristine white marble chips raked smooth. At the end of the garden nearest the palace there was an open lawn where a large baldachin had been fashioned from wood, carved and gilded to look like the canopy was actually pure gold. Beneath it was a large divan of crimson satin embroidered with golden stars upon which sat Sultan Murad and his honored guest.

Nur-U-Banu’s son was in his middle thirties. He was slender, and of medium height with languid dark eyes, and pale skin. His hair, and his close-cropped beard were of a golden-red color. He was every inch the Oriental monarch in his robe of red velvet tulips which were set upon a heavy gold brocade edged in lustrous dark fur. Upon his head he wore a cloth-of-gold turban which was hung with a rope of fiery rubies, and sported a golden aigrette which sprouted forth from a square of pure gold in its center.

To his left sat his mother, resplendent in her midnight blue tunic dress which was embroidered in gold threads, pearls, and diamonds. Upon her blond head Nur-U-Banu wore a veil of gold gauze shot through with sparkling, metallic threads. Her jewelry, an incredible rope of diamonds and baroque pearls, was magnificent. Because of her position as the sultan’s mother she wore no covering over her face, although for that matter none of the sultan’s women did this night for Murad enjoyed showing this new ambassador from the Crimea the fabled beauties of his harem. Normally he would not have done such a thing, but he was in the privacy of his own apartments, and other than himself, Prince Javid Khan was the only real man in the garden.

Below the divan seated upon an array of brightly colored velvet cushions sat his beautiful kadin, Safiye, and some half-dozen other of his favorites, women who pleased him in his bed, called ikbals. Some of these women had even borne him daughters. They had positioned themselves like so many dazzling, colored butterflies, Safiye being seated closest to him with her head resting against his knee. The bas kadin had arrayed herself in greens and gold tonight.

Among the rose beds there had been placed tall cages of singing birds for the night was warm. The women of the harem, all arrayed in their very best garments, strolled arm in arm along the paths, admiring the September flowers, and enjoying the delicious fruit-flavored sherbets, and tasty pastries. It was an extremely pleasing picture, and no one appreciated it more than Prince Javid Khan.

“I would wish,” he said to the sultan, “that all

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