Murad was now confident that he could continue to manipulate both sides in the Paleaologi’s dynastic struggles. Andronicus was dethroned, pardoned, and sent to his brother’s old city of Salonika to be governor. John and Manuel were restored to Constantinople as co-emperors. The price was high. A larger annual cash tribute, a substantial contingent of Byzantine soldiers to serve in the Ottoman’s army, and the city of Philadelphia. Philadelphia had been the last remaining bastion of Byzantium in Asia Minor.

The Philadelphians objected to being ceded to the Ottoman empire. Thus Adora had her first chance to go on campaign. In this instance, Murad would lead his armies personally. Fighting in the ranks of the Ottoman army were the two Byzantine co-emperors who now openly admitted to ruling only by the grace and favor of the Turkish sultan.

The Ottoman army marched from Bursa in early spring, crossing mountains whose tops were still covered with snow. Adora did not intend being shaken to death in a heaving palanquin, so she devised a costume that was both practical and modest. Murad at first was offended at the thought of his wife riding astride. He changed his mind when she modeled her costume for him.

It was all white and consisted of wide light wool pantaloons, a high necked, long-sleeved silk shirt which was tight at the wrists, a silk sash at the waist, and a fur-lined white wool cape with a gold and turquoise buckle. She wore high boots of Cordoba leather with a low heel, and matching warm brown riding gloves. There was also a small turban with long side drapes in the manner of the tribesmen of the steppe. This could cover her face, should she choose to veil herself.

“Do you approve, my lord?” She pirouetted for him. She was so excited, so gay with the prospect of accompanying him.

He couldn’t resist smiling back at her, and he did approve her choice of clothing for her public appearance. He had never, in fact, seen her so well clothed. There was barely an inch of skin showing. Had she been younger he would not have allowed it, but maturity had given her a youthful dignity. There would be no familiarity among his men.

“I do approve, my dove. You have, as always, been clever in your choice of clothing. I understand from Ali Yahya that you have also been learning to ride. I have a surprise for you. Come!” And he led her to the windows overlooking the courtyard.

There, standing quietly with its groom, was a coal black palfrey, caparisoned with an azure and silver silken throw, and a saddle and bridle. Adora gave a squeal of excitement. “Is she mine? Oh, Murad! She is beautiful! What is her name?”

“She is called Wind Song. If I had known that such a simple gift would please you so, I could have saved a fortune in jewels all these years.”

She turned, and the sunlight lit one side of her face. He caught his breath at her beauty, astounded at how lovely she still was. Or was it because he loved her so much? Her arms slid around his neck, and standing on her toes, she kissed him.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said simply. He felt an ache in his throat he couldn’t explain.

When they rode out from Bursa, Adora rode by his side. Wind Song matched the elegant prancing steps of Murad’s great white Arabian stallion, Ivory. It was not unusual for a sultan’s wife to accompany her lord on campaign, but it was unusual for her to ride with him. The effect of Adora’s unorthodox behavior was favorable. The Ottoman troops were impressed that Prince Bajazet’s mother rode with them. It enhanced the heir’s position greatly.

When they reached Philadelphia, she watched the battle from a hillside opposite the town’s main gates. By rights the city now belonged to Murad. But the population had been stirred up by its governor, who feared to lose his place, and by its clergy, who hated the sultan. The people refused to accept the new overlord.

The emperor John entered the city under a flag of truce and pleaded with the inhabitants to accept their new master. If they accepted Murad willingly, there would be no destruction. Philadelphians would face only what other Christian inhabitants of the Ottoman Empire faced. They would pay a yearly head tax, and their sons between the ages of six and twelve would be eligible for a draft into the Corps of Janissaries. Other than that their lives would go on as before. They might, of course, convert to Islam in which case they would escape the head tax and the Janissaries.

The governor and the clergy were insulting when John suggested that they played lightly with the lives of Philadelphia’s citizens. “You cannot hope to win,” he pleaded. “You are surrounded by Islam. Have you told the people the truth, or have you filled them full of foolishness about resisting the infidel? Murad is generous, but he did not march all the way from Bursa to be denied. He will take the city.”

“Then it will be over our dead bodies,” pronounced the governor pompously.

“I never knew a governor to lead an army or to die in the fighting,” said the emperor scathingly. “Be well advised that when the sultan enters the city I will seek you out myself.”

“Our people will be martyrs in God’s holy war against the infidel,” intoned the city’s patriarch.

The emperor looked on the priest pityingly. “My poor people will suffer fire and the sword because of your vanity, Father. I do not think God will reward you for all the souls who will be on your conscience when this battle is over.”

But they would not listen. They hustled him out of the city before he could talk to the populace. Murad was disappointed. He would have preferred a peaceful entry. Now Philadelphia must be made an example, so that other cities would think twice before resisting the Ottoman.

In less than a week Philadelphia fell to Murad. The Sultan’s soldiers, both Christian and Muslim, were allowed the traditional three days of pillage before order was restored.

Those caught with weapons, soldiers and citizens alike, were immediately put to the sword. The first night the city rang with screams as every woman and girl, ferreted out by the sultan’s soldiers, was raped again and again. Neither age nor vocation nor status was any protection. Little girls as young as six suffered, as did nuns, who were dragged from their convents to satisfy the furious lust of battle-weary soldiers.

By morning of the fourth day there wasn’t a woman in the city who had escaped the sultan’s army. They and the children and the other survivors were herded into the marketplace to be sold into slavery. Eager bidders had arrived from the surrounding Muslim territories.

It was each soldier’s right to sell any captive he had caught unless that person converted to Islam. There were few conversions. Not all the captives were sold, as many of the soldiers who had fought with Murad would now bring their families to recolonize the city. They would need slaves.

A percentage of each sale went into the sultan’s coffers. The remainder was split between the soldier and the merchant who conducted the sale.

All the valuables found within the city were confiscated for the sultan’s treasury. The churches were emptied, purified, and turned into mosques. Both the governor and the religious patriarch who had so boldly defied the emperor and the sultan were beheaded for causing Murad trouble and for inciting his city to rebellion. Thus the last Christian city left in Asia Minor, except Trebizon, fell to the Ottomans.

Adora had viewed the battle for Philadelphia and the ensuing pillage with a stoic interest that fascinated Murad. Finally, unable to control his curiosity, he asked her her thoughts on the campaign. She toyed with a pillow before answering.

“You were more than fair, my lord,” she answered.

“Have you no feeling for your people, Mother?” asked Bajazet.

Murad stifled a smile at Adora’s frown of annoyance. “My dear son,” she replied, her voice dripping sarcasm, “though I am but an infidel dog, and a lowly female at that, I am still an Ottoman. Your uncle John legally ceded Philadelphia to your father for certain aid and favors. Its governor chose not to obey his overlord, and incited the people to resistance. They have only reaped the rewards of their disobedience. If we had chosen to let them defy us until they chose to stop, it would have cost many Ottoman lives in the future. Though it is not so, many people believe that to show mercy is a sign of weakness. Therefore we can rarely allow ourselves that gentle luxury. Remember, Bajazet, always strike quickly, before your enemies have a chance to think, else they defeat you.”

Murad nodded. She had learned a great deal of battle strategy from him, he thought. He was surprised and flattered. “Listen to your mother, my son,” he said, and his eyes twinkled teasingly, “for though she is but a woman, she is a clever Greek. And her words are given weight by virtue of her vast age.” And he laughed as she launched herself at him.

Prince Bajazet looked horrified as his parents wrestled together amid the pillows. He was a grown man with a pregnant wife and did not think of his mother and father as being physical with each other. To be sure, his father kept a harem, and his mother was yet young, but-they were his parents!

“Scoundrel!” hissed Adora, yanking at Murad’s thick silver-black hair.

“Witch,” murmured the sultan, “how is it you still have the ability to inflame me?”

“My vast age has given me the power to stir the watery blood of an older man!” she retorted wickedly.

He laughed again. Then he found her angry mouth and kissed it thoroughly before moving on to more interesting parts of her anatomy. Adora began to make soft, contented noises. Flushing crimson, Prince Bajazet fled the room. His parents never noticed that he had gone.