Bertrice Small - Adora

Slowly he moved within the girl, driving her to a fever pitch. Then suddenly Thamar felt a terrible and unbearable burning pain spreading throughout her belly. Frightened, she cried out and tried to twist away from him, but he held her firmly, driving deeper and harder into her. Then the pain began to recede, leaving only delight. It was as he had promised. No longer fearful, she moved with him until he brought her to a perfect climax. Satisfied that she was fulfilled in her first sexual encounter, he went on to find his own pleasure.

Thamar was still floating with delight as Murad sought his own perfection. The sisters had never told her how delicious this fucking really was. They had tried to frighten her, the bitches! Thamar tenderly held the man laboring over her, rubbing the small of his back with innocently skillful little fingertips, thrusting her hips up to meet his downward motion. Oh, heaven! It was sweet! Sweet!

Then suddenly the hardness of the manroot within her broke and she was flooded with warm wetness. The man above her collapsed, sobbing, “Adora! My own, sweet Adora!”

Thamar stiffened. She could not have heard it. She did not hear it! But once again Murad murmured into Thamar’s hair, “Adora, my own!” Then he rolled from her onto his side and fell into a sound sleep.

Thamar lay rigid with anger. It was bad enough to have been forced into a harem, a harem ruled by an exquisitely beautiful woman who obviously held the sultan’s heart. Here she stifled a sob. Not even to be free of that woman in the most intimate of moments! It was unforgivable! He was an unfeeling brute, and as for Theadora-the worst vengeance Thamar could think of was not enough.

Adora! Thamar felt a sour taste rise in the back of her throat. Adora! She was so beautiful, so assured, so safe in Murad’s love. There was nothing left for anyone else. The Byzantine had spoiled the sultan for anyone else. Thamar ached, for she too wanted to be loved.

The sultan would continue to bed with her until his seed found root in her womb. Then he would return to his beloved Adora, who was obviously never out of his thoughts even when he coupled with other women. A black and bitter hatred for Theadora was born in the Bulgarian girl. She knew not how she would do it, but someday she would be revenged.

Within a short time of her initial bedding Thamar was sure she was pregnant. Shortly, she was proved correct. But even here she was not to be the center of attention for Adora was also with child. This reminded Thamar that she was just one of the harem. She was resentful of the other women. At first they put this down to her nervous condition, but later they realized it was her true attitude. Those who might have been her friends faded quickly away. Thamar was left alone.

Adora understood the younger girl’s apparent misery for she had once been in a similar situation. She asked Murad to give Thamar the Court of the Blue Dolphins for her own. This was the smallest of the Island Serai’s six courts, but it would be Thamar’s own domain. Perhaps this mark of distinction would cheer her. Adora remembered well her own early days in the Bursa Palace with the unkind Anastatia sniping at her in an effort to make her miscarry Halil. She had been as frightened, unhappy, and miserable as young Thamar seemed to be.

For her show of kindness Adora was treated to a temper tantrum.

“Are you trying to isolate me?” snarled Thamar.

“I merely thought you would enjoy having your own private court, as I do,” replied Adora. “If you would prefer to remain in your apartment in the harem you are welcome to do so.”

“You need not have bothered to speak to my lord Murad on my behalf, but if this is truly my own domain then get out! I do not want you here! If this is mine I don’t have to have you here! Get out!”

The attending slaves were shocked. They waited, frightened, to see what would happen next. But Adora dismissed them with a wave of her hand. Then she turned to face her young antagonist. “Sit down, Thamar,” she commanded.

“I prefer to stand,” muttered the girl.

“Sit down!” Seeing the fury of Adora’s face, Thamar obeyed. “Now, Thamar, I think it is time we discussed this situation. From the moment you entered our lord Murad’s house I have treated you with kindness. I have offered my friendship. Perhaps there is something about me that prevents our being friends but there is no excuse for this hostility and rudeness. Tell me what it is that troubles you. Perhaps together we can ease your misery.”

“You would not understand.”

“You cannot know that unless you tell me.” Adora smiled encouragingly.

Thamar shot her an angry look, and then the words burst forth. “I was raised to be the wife of a Christian lord. To love him. To support him in all things. To bear his children. To be his only chatelaine. Instead I am sent to an infidel’s harem. Very well, I told myself, it is God’s will and I will accept it meekly as a good Christian daughter. What I cannot accept, however, is that on my wedding night, at the height of our passion Murad cried out your name! Not only once! I will never forgive either of you for that! Never!”

Oh, God! thought Adora, her heart constricting painfully. Thamar had been so needlessly hurt. And Murad was apparently still preoccupied by her virginity. That it had been lost to another man was still hurting him. She reached out and touched the girl’s arm. Wet-eyed, Thamar looked angrily at her. “It will not help,” said Adora softly, “but I am truly sorry you have suffered on my account. But you must forgive Murad, Thamar. He is, it seems, haunted by the ghost of something that cannot be changed, but he is a good man, and he would be grieved to know that he has hurt you.”

“You are right,” said Thamar bitterly. “Your words do not help. I can understand his loving you. You are so beautiful, and so assured. But why can he not love me a little also?” she wailed. “I carry his child too!”

“Perhaps if you will stop snarling at everyone, he will. Give him time, Thamar. I have known my lord Murad since I was younger than you. I was the last and the youngest of his father‘s wives. I left Byzantium when I was but a little maid. I had been married to Sultan Orkhan by proxy in Constantinople. Like you, I was not required to renounce my religion. And until I was old enough, and the sultan took me to his bed, I lived in the Convent of St. Catherine in Bursa. Murad’s younger brother, Prince Halil, is my son. After Sultan Orkhan died I was remarried to the lord of Mesembria, and when he died Sultan Murad offered me his favor.”

“Having been a wife, you became a concubine?” Thamar was incredulous.

“Yes.”

“But why? Surely if Emperor John had insisted, Sultan Murad would have married you.”

Adora laughed gently. “No, Thamar, he would not. He did not have to, you see. In the beginning the Ottomans wed legally with Christian royalty in order to further their cause. Now, however, the Ottoman is stronger than the Christians around him, and though he may take their daughters into his bed as a bribe, he feels he need no longer formally wed with them.

“My brother-in-law, Emperor John, is as much a vassal to my lord Murad as is your father, Tsar Ivan.”

Thamar looked discomfited. “How did you reconcile yourself to this situation?” she asked.

“Firstly,” answered Adora, “I love my lord Murad. Secondly, I daily practice my faith, which gives me strength. I accept the fact that I am still naught but a woman, and ‘tis the men who rule this world. I do not believe God will hold either of us responsible for the situation our families have placed us in. By obeying them, we are only being good Christian daughters. If what they have done is wrong, then it is they who will suffer-not us.”

“But should we enjoy our situation, Adora?”

“I do not see why not, Thamar. After all, if we are not pleasant and loving we will displease the sultan who is a very intuitive man. This will make him unhappy with our families who have sent us to him to please him. It is our duty to enjoy our life in our lord Murad’s house.”

If the sultan had heard Adora’s conversation with Thamar he would have laughed at first, and then he would have accused her of being a devious Greek. If there was one thing Adora did not accept it was the fact that women were the inferiors of men.

Though Murad did not hear the conversation, he did benefit from it. Thamar had taken Adora’s words very much to heart, and the young Bulgarian took on a very different attitude.

She was brighter than the harem beauties, but she had very little wit and was therefore a natural foil for the clever Murad. He delighted in teasing her just so he might see her cheeks turn rosy in pretty confusion. She took to treating the sultan as a demigod. This attitude soothed Murad, but infuriated Adora, especially when Murad began referring to Thamar as his “kitten” and to Adora as his “tigress”.

Then too, as Adora’s pregnancy advanced she became pear-shaped while Thamar barely showed her condition.

“She looks as if she has swallowed an olive,” said Adora petulantly to her son, Halil, “while I appear to have consumed a giant melon!”

He laughed. “I don’t suppose, then, that this is the time to tell you that you are to become a grandmother.”

“Halil! How could you? You are only sixteen!”

“But Alexis is almost eighteen, mother, and very eager to begin our family. She is such an adorable creature that I could not refuse her. And,” his eyes twinkled, “quite frankly, I enjoyed filling her request by filling her belly.” He ducked as she swatted at him. “Besides, I was Bajazet’s age when you were eighteen.”