SERAGLIO by Colin Falconer Read Free Book Online Page B

through the curtain and saw your face I knew the whispers must be true.'
    He stroked her hair and his face softened. 'What am I to do?'
    'May I see the letter, my Lord?'
    He still held it crumpled in his fist. She took it from his fingers and unfolded it. It was barely legible, badly creased and the sweat from his hand had smudged the ink. But she could still read the signature.
    Seraskier Sultan.
    Oh Rüstem, she thought. Abbas chose well. You have a rare genius for intrigue.
    'He sues for peace with the Shah under your name,' she said.
    'It is madness. What could have possessed him to do such a thing?'
    'Is this Defterdar Rüstem to be trusted?'
    'He is just a clerk. In his misguided way he thinks he does well by me. The treason is there written beneath my own seal. Seraskier Sultan! There is no circumstance, no provocation, under which any man might call himself Sultan other than me. To do so is rebellion. He knows it.'
    'But he is your friend.'
    'Yes, my friend, and much more than a friend. It only makes this even more unforgiveable.'
    'Do not act too rashly, my Lord.'
    He shook his head. 'You may be the only one t oda y who speaks for him. Suddenly he has enemies I did not even dream of. They have swarmed from every crevice in the Palace walls to denounce him.'
    Yes, I will speak for him, she thought, and when his head is rotting on the palace walls, you will remember that I did. There is nothing anyone can do to save him so I may not fear overstating my case. 'You must go to him.'
    He nodded. 'The longer I delay, the more damage this shall do to me. I cannot ignore this, but I cannot bring myself to harm him, little russelana . It would be like cutting out my own heart.'
    'If he is indeed your friend, there must be some way you can excuse him.'
    He snatched the letter from her hand. 'There is no way! What excuse can there be?' He jumped to his feet and went to the candle. He held it to the flame, twisting it in the flames, watching it burn.
    'Here, it is ashes now. He will tell me of this letter with his own lips when I arrive. If he is truly my friend he will not try to hide this from me.' He crushed the ashes with his boot.
    Hürrem stood up and wrapped her arms around him. She pulled his head to her breast and felt him cry in her arms.
    'Hürrem,' he said, 'what would I do without you?'
    'Shh,' she murmured and stroked his head, despising his weakness more than she had ever done.

Chapter 13
     
    The last hot days of august, the time of year when only the poor were left behind to swelter in the furnace of the city. No time to start a campaign, so hot in Europe and so dangerously close to winter in Asia. The prospect of the long, crushing ride across Anatolia depressed him deeply.
    He would cross the Bosphorus with three hundred cavalry and rode to Üsküdar and then head east across the baked plains towards Asia. There would be a full cycle of the moon before he reached his destination, a month of choking dust and aching muscles. Yet he did not wish ever to arrive.
    Sultan Seraskier!
     
    ***
     
    He followed the trail of Alexander through orchards of figs and olives, fields of cotton and wheat. They passed through Konia where he stooped to honour the tomb of Jalal-ud-din Rumi, the founder of the Dervish order. From Konia they roasted under the desert sun. The only other life they saw was the black tents of nomads and the baked walls of the caravanserais built as sanctuary for the camel trains from Samarkand and Medina.
    They passed through Edessa, the birthplace of Abraham, where old men sat in the shadow of the fortress and tossed chickpeas into a pool of sacred carp. From there they rode up into the mountains, and the air turned suddenly cool and the brown steppe gave way to bare rock and tumbling ravines. The wind savaged men and horses like a whip. Wild storms appeared from nowhere. It was a place only goats and sheep and the Kurds could survive.
    And the Shah.
    They rode twelve hours a day, stopping only when