Captured For The Sultan’s Pleasure

Roksolana stopped in her tracks, looking at her left-hand side with a smile. She bent down to smell the forget me not flowers which bloomed happily. Their purple petals shone like the glory of the sun, and a speck of white scattered across among the purple made it look like there was pure life breathing in them. They swirled gently from left to right, and then forward and backward, like a shy bride dancing.

The flower was Roksolana’s favorite of all the flowers blooming around. And some of those flowers include the Lilly, the red rose, the hibiscus, the coneflowers, the daisy, and the sunflowers. There was also the milkweed which attracts butterflies and other wildlife around it. All of which any other lady wouldn’t mind gazing at. All but Roksolana. Even her maids sometimes asked her why she loved the flowers so much.

She remembered when she was little and her father would go to look for a new settlement for them, he would pluck a couple of forget-me-not flowers and lay them beside her bed when she was sleeping. She would wake up to find them beside her the next morning and knew instantly that her father was gone for the meantime. But, his gesture of love was felt through the flowers.

Roksolana belonged to a group of tribes called Dar Sila. They were a group of people always wandering around the world, and they recently found a settlement in Chad. Compared to other places they had settled down, this was the longest time the tribe had stayed put.

Roksolana looked at the sultanate they made home this time. They were not that far from the sea, thus, there was always fresh water and beast of the sea available for them. There were more than enough flowers growing around beautifying the place more than anything else. Huts were scattered throughout the sultanate, each looking beautiful and different from the other. There was a forest of trees south of them where they hunt for fresh kills and fruit.

There was a training ground in the north area, where all the men trained. Women were not allowed near the ground, the only exception being Roksolana. While the men trained, the women could be seen going about other things. Things like cooking, cleaning, washing, pruning the flowers and taking care of the kids. Some would sit around and gossip about things and sometimes men.

Some of the kids would go about playing and chasing after each other. Some would set up traps to get small animals like rodents for their parents. Others would simply help their parents do their daily jobs. The boys old enough to train would be on the training ground, learning the basic principles of fighting.

They weren’t always wanderers. Their root was originally placed on the soil of Sudan. They were peaceful people who never engaged in the affairs of the world unless it would have an impact on them. Her father would always tell her that peace was the only way the world can unify and grow, not the war that people believed in.

Roksolana had never understood why the tribe could never stay in a place for so long, especially after her mum died in 1947. Her father, Selim Bayezyd had moved the entire tribe away from the only home they had ever known. She was only ten years at the time and her brother, Abaan, a mere five years old. No matter how many times she asked, her father would simply say that it was in the best interest of the tribe.

Her father was the Sultan of the tribe. And, unlike most other Sultans, her father was loved and respected by all tribe members. And why not, when the man always puts the interest of his people first before his needs, before even that of his family. Even when their mother had gone to rest in Almighty Allah’s blossom, their father was out on a peace talk with some other Sultans.

Roksolana fingered the necklace resting peacefully between her chest. After the death of her mum, she had inherited the necklace. It helps her feel connected to her mum, especially when she was nervous. The necklace had been a gift from her father to her mother as a token of love and her mother had transferred it to her just before she died.

While other Sultans would decorate their harem with women, her father didn’t even set one up. He only had eyes for her mother while she was alive. Even in her death, the man was still faithful. Roksolana wished she could find a man like her father who would always love her, regardless of whether they were together or not.

Their house was a little bit different from the other houses around, her father being the Sultan. But the servants were kept to the barest minimum and they were treated like family by the members of the Sultan’s family. Her father even made sure each one of them has their huts to live in separately and not get bundled together like a pack of cigarettes.

The sound of drums beating from afar brought Roksolana out of her thinking, back to reality. She had nearly forgotten what her original mission was. A smile surfaced on her face. After all, it was her one day in the entire year to do what she knew how to do the best.

“Lady Roksolana, if you don’t hurry up now, we will be late.” One of her ladies told her.

“Then, let’s hurry up,” Roksolana shouted while running as fast as her legs could carry her.

She could see men hurrying up to get to the venue, while the women hurried in their huts putting on their hijabs and kimoruns. Roksolana stroked her open head and thought just how much freedom her father had allowed her to make decisions for herself. She smiled to herself.

“Hurry up,” Roksolana told her escorts.

The hall of fame as it was called was located at the end of the sultanate. Roksolana laughed at the futile attempt her maids made to catch up with her. She knew they would never be able to do that. After all, she had been training ever since the incident that took her mum happened 7 years ago. Her father had made sure she was diligent and never missed training.

Roksolana stopped in her tracks as she nearly crashed into a figure standing by the door to the hall of fame. She looked up to find Asleem standing like a doll without emotions.

“When will you learn to stop running around, my lady?” Asleem asked her.

Roksolana felt hot all over. Asleem was a part of the janissary of their tribe. In other words, he was a member of the elites that formed the tribe troops. And not just a member, he was the general. His father was a best friend of her father and Roksolana had heard them discuss a possible marriage alliance between the two families.

She didn’t mind. She had always liked Asleem since they were young. Only he didn’t mind training with her when others simply made entertainment of her. He had helped her convince her father to allow her to wear trousers to practice adequately, something her religion frowned upon. It was a battle he had worn through perseverance and playing on her father’s weak spot, which was her learning well to protect herself.

“Are you going to perform dressed as you are?” Asleem asked her.

She looked down at the said clothing and grimaced. She was in trousers again. It wasn’t her fault. As the years rolled by, she had simply found them much more comfortable than women’s clothing.

“Yes.” She simply replied, knowing that saying anything else would result in more arguments about whatnot. “Announce my presence.” She told him, ending any argument he might have. It wasn’t his duty as a general, but Roksolana loved railing him up.

“Yes, my lady,” Asleem responded in a mocking voice. Roksolana let it slide, knowing that she started it. “Princess Roksolana Selim.” He shouted as much as his lungs would permit.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

Roksolana summoned her best smile, held her hands in front of her, and squared her shoulder high. When the door opened, she walked as gently as she could bring herself to. She didn’t want to mess up, especially not today. She knew just how much her father had gone through to make her get a chance to do what she truly loved doing, which was dancing.

She smiled her greetings at the people standing as custom demands. She paid her respect to the elites seated at the high table close to the Sultan. When she got to her seat, she ruffled Abaan’s hair which got her a scowl from the twelve years old man. She smiled at her father, who nodded his head slightly as a sign of acknowledgment.

She and her father had come to a compromise back then, six years ago, after giving him and her tutors trouble her first year of training. As long as she was obedient and practiced sword skills, he would let her dance every year at the hall of fame. It was a compromise that Roksolana wasn’t ready to accept, knowing that women were not allowed to participate in anything according to the law. But, when her father had made it possible the first year, she had agreed faster than a moving ball of cannon fire.

When she had asked her father why he was breaking protocols for her. He had told her it wasn’t just for her, it was for every girl child in the Dar Sila tribe. He told her that through what he was doing with her, he hoped the other parents would let their daughters be someone fulfilled by doing what they wanted to do, not just being a housewife.

So, Roksolana had turned into a rebel this year after getting approval from the Sultan and convinced some other ladies to join her in dancing and some of the others in joining the competition. It took her a lot of effort and cajoling to get them to change their minds. She hoped that doing this would help men realize that women aren’t just good for marriage alone. She also hoped that the women themselves would be fulfilled by the end of the day.

“Assalam Alaikum.” The Sultan greeted everyone.

Everyone stood up and responded, “Wa Alaikum Assalam,” bowing their heads as a sign of respect to their Sultan. Her father gestured for them to sit down.

“Everyone. We are gathered here today for our one day of the test. As we all know, it is a day we test our strengths in our chosen fields to know our strengths and weaknesses. I hope everyone will join in. Allah’s blessings are upon us.” The Sultan finished.

Everyone moved out of the hall to the training ground where the first competition would take place. The rules of the game were simple. There were 20 competitors in the game and they were divided into groups of two where they were to fight amongst themselves until only two people were standing to compete. The last person standing would be the winner of the year and bestowed upon the title of the fiercest fighter.

The younger generation was allowed to start with the competition. It was a fight of honor between them all, as they consider it an initiation into adulthood. Abaan came first and Roksolana smiled as she saw her father ruffled the young man’s hair, which got the Sultan a scowl. Then, it was the turn of the adults.

General Asleem was the first to compete with his opponent and it was a quick match. Everyone already knew the other man would never have been able to even scratch a single hair off the general’s head. Three more matches followed in quick succession, and it was Roksolana’s turn.

Her opponent was a man who resented her fighting among men, so she already expected a tough match. As they drew their sword, Roksolana could see the killing intent on the man’s face and she smiled. The smile must have made the man even more furious because he rushed forward, uncalculating. Roksolana dodged the first attack with her sword and jabbed the man in his stomach with her left hand at the same time. While that wasn’t supposed to affect the man, he still staggered a bit backward because he wasn’t expecting it.

The man kicked her in the stomach with his legs and Roksolana doubled over. Her opponent took advantage of that and slashed her right arm with his sword. Roksolana didn’t have time to think about the wound as she saw the sword hovering over her head. She quickly halted the harsh move raising her sword over her neck, and the result was a clashing sound.

Surprised by her action, the man repeated the frontal attack which gave Roksolana the advantage she needed. She rolled over and slashed the man by his thigh and his left arm. Roksolana heard some of the women cheer for her and chuckled. She brought her focus back on the man now standing again.

The man threw his sword away and rushed over to Roksolana. He held her right hand at the site where she was injured and she cried out in pain, nearly dropping the sword in her hand. And that was when the man’s plan made sense to her. He wanted her to drop the sword. Roksolana smiled and did exactly what her opponent wanted.

Before the sword could get to the ground, she grabbed it with her left hand, and tilted the hilt forward, smacking the man’s head with it. Her opponent was unconscious in a matter of seconds. Roksolana allowed the sword to fall and grabbed her injured arm. The shout of joy from the women made the pain a little bearable.

The competition continued and they got thinned out until it was just her and general Asleem left. As she moved into the ring demarcation, she swallowed some saliva. This was the first time she would be formally competing against Asleem. They had always fought against themselves, but it was for practice purposes. And as far as she knew, he was the strongest among their groups. The general had always stayed away from competing. Roksolana wondered why he chose differently this year.

“I had hoped that you would come this far, my lady,” Asleem told her, circling the ring.

“Why?” Roksolana asked, copying his action.

“Sultan said I can only marry you if I overthrow you in this fight. And just so you know, I won’t go easy on you.” He explained to her.

Roksolana threw a glance at her father and frowned. Her father had promised to let her know who he would choose for her and let her decide if she wanted him. But with this action, an alliance had been agreed upon by the Sultan and his best friend.

“Watch out,” Asleem warned her just before he attacked.