It is the year 1258. Springtime in Domaniç is as beautiful as heaven. Its vast meadows, like spacious palace ballrooms in green, are surrounded by tall plane trees an even taller hornbeams. The nomads have set up their tents near the creek. Hayme Sultana sits under the huge oak tree. The young grandmother rocks the tiny cradle that hangs from a tree-branch. Her grandson Osman Gazi lies awake and whimpers, so vulnerable in this gigantic setting. She hums a lullaby. “ Do not lament, my baby boy, do not have any fears…” , The sweet song seems to please all who hear it. It is like a good omen, like a blessing from God.
Hayme Sultana is the mother of Ertuğtul Gazi, the valiant Victor of the Mongols. Her body is still slim and full of health. Her skin shines with a thirst for life and a generous spirit. The gentle breeze tousles her blond hair making it seem darker.
Hayme, the grandmother of Ottoman Sultans lovingly gazes at little Osman who is destined to become the founding father of a noble dynasty. His descendants will rule the known world even though he hails from a people who started their nation in four hundred tents. The Sultana’s green eyes piercingly gaze far into the distant horizon.