Adora by Bertrice Small Page A

Godspeed, farewell. “If you canhelp the Christian captives and slaves, Highness,” said Mother Marie Josepha, “please do. Their lot is so bad, and it is your duty. We stand ready here to aid you in all your charitable endeavors.”
    Theadora nodded dumbly and allowed them to help her into the large litter. Iris climbed in after her, drawing the curtains shut, and they were away. The slavewoman looked at the pale girl opposite her. The princess said nothing, made no sound at all, yet the tears continued to pour down her cheeks. Iris was worried.
    She had been a slave for only five years, but her knowledge of the world was greater than most. These were not the tears of a frightened bride. They were the tears of a brokenhearted woman. But what had
she
to be broken-hearted about? Iris knew that Theadora did not wish to become a nun, so that was not it. There was only one other possibility, and it was so farfetched as to be absurd. Still…looking back over the princess’s behavior during these last two months, Iris began to understand many things.
    Iris took a deep breath. What she was about to do was very dangerous. She had no proof and, cornered, the princess could instantly order her death. Iris leaned forward and said, very quietly, “If we are to talk, Highness, it must be now. Once we are in the palace we will be constantly spied upon, not only by the chief eunuch’s underlings, but by those in the pay of the sultan’s other two wives—and God only knows how many of his favorites. They will all seek to discredit you in an effort to advance themselves. If you would unburden yourself and tell me what troubles you, it
must
be now. Please, Highness. I wish to remain your friend, and it is obvious to me that you weep for a man.”
    The violet eyes that raised themselves to hers were so filled with raw pain that Iris nearly wept herself. “I will tell you,” said Theadora, “for I must tell someone, or I will go mad. If you betray me you would be doing me a kindness for Iwould as soon be dead now.” And slowly the tender little story came out, haltingly, until there was nothing left to say.
    Iris sighed. It would not be easy, but having allowed her mistress to shift some of the burden to her own shoulders, she could now concentrate on preparing the girl for what was to come.
    “I will try to speak with the prince myself,” she promised Theadora, and was rewarded by a smile that lit the girl’s whole being. “But, my lady, you must accept the fact that you are the sultan’s wife. Tonight he will consummate that marriage, and you must accept that as fact also.”
    “I thought he had forgotten me, Iris. Never since he brought me to St. Catherine’s has he even acknowledged my existence. Why now?”
    “I do not know, my princess, but I think the answers we seek are to be found at the sultan’s palace. A word of warning, however, my princess. You are so innocent, and do not know the wicked ways of people. At the palace you must trust
no one
but me. When we wish to speak privately we must do so out of doors only. There are listeners everywhere.”
    “You have been in the palace, Iris. What is it like? Will I have privacy, or do all the women live together?”
    “One section of the palace is set aside for the women, but the wives and the favorites have their own apartments and rooms within this section. The chief eunuch appointed me your waiting woman, but you will be assigned other slaves and eunuchs. Your rank demands it.”
    “Can we trust them, Iris?”
    “No! They will all be spies for someone or other. But we will tolerate them for now, until we can choose our own people. Do not fear, my princess, I will protect you.”
    The litter stopped, the curtains were drawn back, and Ali Yahya was handing Theadora out into a tiled courtyard. “Please to follow me, Your Highness,” he said. They followed him through a maze of corridors until he stopped before asingle carved door and, opening it, led them into a