Captive of the Harem

It all felt very strange and she protested when she was told that she must put on a casacche before she went out. Since this was a huge cloak that would envelop her in its folds, and she must also wear a veil and a talpock to cover her head, she felt she would suffocate.

‘It is too much,’ she said. ‘I thought my own gowns were restricting enough—but this cloak thing is ridiculous.’

‘You will become accustomed to it,’ Roxana said. ‘When you are in the gardens of the harem you will be able to dispense with some of these layers if you choose. However, you will never be allowed to leave the palace wearing less.’

‘Shall I be allowed out? I thought that was forbidden—that once in a harem women disappeared forever.’

Roxana smiled. ‘You Western people do not understand our culture. Men of good family guard their women for their own protection. You would not be allowed to leave at will, of course, but the Sultan grants his favourite wives certain indulgences. You may be taken on a shopping expedition—or to some grand ceremonial occasion.’

‘But what of those women who do not have their master’s favour? What is it really like in a harem?’

‘You will discover that soon enough. Come, Eleanor, you must not keep your master waiting or he may become angry.’ The look Eleanor gave Roxana at that moment was so full of despair that the older woman’s heart was touched. She embraced her. ‘It is not always so very terrible. Try to please Suleiman Bakhar. If he keeps you for himself, you will not regret it.’

Eleanor nodded but said no more. She knew that Roxana could not help her, that she was free but had no power, no way of earning her living other than by selling herself. She lived here because she pleased Mohamed Ali Ben Ibn, and was as much at his whim as Eleanor would be at her master’s.

It was terribly unfair, but it was the way of the world. She had been spoiled, petted and indulged all her life—and now she had no loving father to protect her. She was completely alone. She did not even know if her dearest Richard was still alive, and her heart wrenched with pain at the thought of what might have happened to him. Richard might already be dead—but she would live and she would win her freedom one day.

She saw Suleiman Bakhar waiting for her in the courtyard, and her heart caught for one terrifying moment and then raced on. He was truly one of the most impressive men she had ever seen, and he looked…wild, an untamed creature and dangerous. She should be afraid of him, and yet…there was something that drew her to him, some thin, invisible thread that seemed to bind her to him as surely as any cruel chains they might put upon her.

She lifted her head as she reached him, eyes bright and challenging. ‘Am I to be chained?’

Suleiman’s gaze narrowed. ‘Should I chain you, Eleanor? Are you planning to try and escape?’

She had hoped there might be an opportunity to slip away from him and now realised that she had been foolish to put him on his guard. ‘What would you do—if you were in my place?’

‘I should kill my captors and run away,’ Suleiman replied truthfully. He laughed deep in his throat, a soft husky sound that Eleanor discovered was very attractive. ‘Foolish woman. I have never put chains on anything—beast or man—let alone a woman with skin as soft as yours.’

‘What has the softness of my skin to do with it?’ She gave him a haughty look.

‘Chains would mark you and mean you were worth less,’ he replied, his expression inscrutable.

‘Of course—I should have known.’ For a moment she had thought he was being compassionate. He was a barbarian and a savage—she should not expect anything from such a man. ‘How am I supposed to ride in this ridiculous thing?’

Suleiman looked at the cloak that enfolded her. ‘You could not ride like that. You will be carried in a litter. It is the usual mode of travel for a woman of class here. I did not know that you could ride.’

‘I would prefer to ride.’

‘Then perhaps I shall allow it one day,’ Suleiman replied. ‘However, today you will be carried in the litter. Come, I am ready to leave.’

Eleanor looked round for Roxana, but she had slipped away as soon as she had delivered her charge. Besides, there was nothing the Morisco woman could have done to help her.

‘Are you afraid?’ Suleiman asked as he saw her hesitation. ‘You have no need to be. You are being taken to my apartments for the moment. I have decided I shall let the older women of my father’s household school you in the manners you need before you are fit to grace the harem of any man.’

At that Eleanor’s head came up, eyes flashing with anger. ‘Afraid—of you? Why should I be? You are merely a man…’

‘Truly, this is so. Why should you be afraid of me? You have no need to be—if you please me.’ Suleiman’s smile flickered deep in the silver depths of his strange eyes. His remarks had had their desired effect. Her pride had leant her courage. ‘Your escort awaits you, lady.’

She felt a tingle at the base of her spine. He had addressed her as a woman of quality at last, and he was behaving as though she were his equal instead of a slave he had bought. Perhaps she might yet persuade him it would be better to ransom her.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she responded graciously. If he thought she needed to be taught manners, she would show him how an English gentlewoman behaved. ‘Will you see that Roxana is rewarded for her kindness to me, please?’

‘It has already been done.’ Suleiman smiled. What a proud beauty she was! Already he was beginning to regret that his father had need of a gift for the Sultan. ‘We should leave before the sun begins to set. It can come suddenly in this land, and my father’s house is outside the city…at times there are bands of lawless bandits who roam the countryside looking for unwary travellers to rob. We have guards to protect us, but I would not have you frightened by these rogues on your first night in your new country.’

‘You are considerate, my lord,’ she said and inclined her head. ‘But this is not my country—it is merely a place I must live in until I can regain my freedom.’

Suleiman’s gaze narrowed, but he refused to be drawn. She was like the hawks that fluttered desperately against the bars of their cage. When she had learned to be obedient to her master’s voice, she would learn that she could fly high and free once more—provided that she returned to his hand when called.

Had he really made up his mind to keep her? It was a risk, for the Sultan might learn of Suleiman’s treasure and be angry because it had not been given to him. If Suleiman kept this woman for himself, he must find another treasure for the Sultan—but not a woman. It would be an insult to give their lord an inferior treasure. Something else rare and precious must be found to take her place…

He was lost in his thoughts, and turned carelessly aside to speak to one of his men as they emerged into a street that was already beginning to fill with the shadows of night. Until one of his men gave a shout of alarm, he did not realise that Eleanor had dropped her casacche and started to run. What did she think she was doing? Foolish, foolish woman! Had she no idea of the dangers of this city? Alone and at night she would disappear into some stinking hovel and never be seen again.

‘Eleanor! Come here at once!’

He began to run as he shouted, sprinting after her down the narrow alley. She was fast, but she could not outrun him and it was not long before he caught up to her. He grabbed her arm, but she struggled and wrenched away again; he lunged at her and brought her down into the dust of the street. She scratched his face, fighting and kicking as she fought to throw him off, but he held her as easily as he would a child, laughing down at her as she raged in frustration.

‘You would make a fine Janissary, my little bird—but do not make me hurt you more than I already have.’ His eyes gleamed with triumph as he gazed down at her and Eleanor experienced the oddest feeling deep down inside her—it was as if a tide of molten heat had begun to rise up in her. ‘Come, defy me no more.’

‘You have not hurt me!’ she said defiantly, but it was a lie because the fall had hurt her shoulder and his weight had crushed the breath from her. ‘I hate you! You are a barbarian and a savage!’

Yet even as she lay beneath him and gazed into his fierce eyes, she felt the pull of his power and charm. He was not what she had named him, for if he had been she would have been treated more harshly. Her breath caught in her throat and she experienced a strange longing—a desire to be held in his arms and comforted.

Comforted by this man! What foolish idea was that? Her wits must be addled!

‘It was your own fault,’ he said as he pulled her roughly to her feet. ‘You were foolish to try and run from me—there are worse things than being in a harem. You would have been taken a dozen times before this night was out and worse…’

‘Nothing could be worse!’ She flung the words at him. ‘You will never take me willingly. No man will take me willingly…I shall fight to my last breath.’

‘Then you will suffer,’ Suleiman replied, his features harsh and unforgiving. ‘If I wanted you…and I do not think you worth the bother…I would soon have you eating from my hand like a dove.’

‘Hawks kill doves for their food,’ Eleanor retorted. ‘And you are a hawk—wild and dangerous.’

Suleiman’s anger faded as swiftly as it had flared. He considered her words a compliment rather than the insult she had intended and was amused. He smiled and took her arm, leading her firmly back to where the litter and horses were waiting.

‘I’m not going to wear that thing,’ Eleanor said as she saw that one of his men had picked up her cloak. ‘And I am not going to be carried in that stupid litter.’

‘Then you will ride with me,’ Suleiman said, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. ‘And you have only yourself to blame for this, Eleanor.’

He picked her up and flung her over his saddle so that she lay face down, then mounted swiftly before she could attempt to wriggle free. His knees were pressed against her, the reins firmly gripped above her head and she knew she could not free herself.

‘You devil! Let me down at once! You cannot treat me like this! I am a lady…if you know what that means.’

‘Be careful, Eleanor,’ he warned, but there was laughter in his voice. ‘I may have to beat you if you continue to flaunt my orders. My men are watching and I cannot allow a woman to dictate to me. You will lie there quietly until I decide to let you up—or you will be sorry.’

As he kicked his horse into a sudden canter at the same time as he spoke these words, Eleanor was unable to do anything. She was fuming, but she was also very uncomfortable. How dare he do this to her? She was indignant.

‘You are a brute,’ she muttered into the blanket that lay beneath his leather saddle. ‘I hate you. You are just like those murdering pirates who killed my father. I would have killed them if I could—I will kill you if I get the chance!’

‘Speak louder, Eleanor,’ Suleiman said. ‘I cannot hear you.’

She could hear the mockery in his voice and knew that he was laughing at her. He did not believe she could touch him—because he was too arrogant and sure of himself. He was accustomed to being obeyed instantly, and thought himself all-powerful. Well, just let him wait! One of these days she would make him sorry!

They had left the city walls behind before Suleiman stopped and lifted her into a sitting position, his arm about her waist pressing her to him, as much his prisoner as before. She had seen nothing but a blur of stone walls and dirt streets, keeping her eyes closed most of the time because she had been afraid of falling if she did not concentrate.

‘Is that better?’ he asked softly against her hair. ‘I am sorry, little bird. That was unkind of me—but you made me angry. Besides, I had to make sure you could not get away from me. Constantinople is a dangerous place for a woman—especially one as lovely as you.’

‘I know…Roxana told me.’ Eleanor was leaning back against him; she had been feeling dizzy when he raised her, but now the unpleasant sensation was beginning to fade and she was oddly comforted by the feel of his strong arms about her as they rode. ‘I would not have run…but I was afraid.’

‘You told me you were not.’

‘How could I not be?’ Eleanor turned her head to glance at his face. ‘You are going to give me to the Sultan. I cannot bear to be the concubine of a man I do not know—a much older man…’

‘Would you prefer to be my concubine?’ Suleiman whispered huskily against her hair, his voice so soft and low that she was not sure she had heard him correctly.

‘I—I do not—’

What she was about to say was lost, for one of Suleiman’s men gave a warning shout and, looking over his shoulder, Suleiman cursed. A small group of black robed men were riding fast towards them.

‘Bandits,’ he said. ‘Hold tight, Eleanor. If you are taken by these men, you will wish you had died…’

Suleiman kicked at his horse’s flank and they set off at a tremendous pace across the open countryside. She could see the pinkish stone walls of a great sprawling palace looming up ahead of them in the gathering darkness. Behind her she heard shouting and screaming as Suleiman’s men joined battle with the bandits to allow him to reach the palace in safety, and then, as they drew close to the huge wooden gates they opened and a small troupe of horsemen raced out to join the escort guards.

‘You are safe now, little one,’ Suleiman whispered in her ear. ‘You must not be afraid. Do what the women tell you and no harm will come to you. I give you my word.’

‘The word of a barbarian?’

‘The word of Caliph Bakhar’s son,’ Suleiman replied. ‘You will discover soon that that means more than you might imagine…’

Eleanor waited as he leapt down from his horse’s back and lifted her to the ground. Men had come running, and also an older woman dressed all in black. At a command from her master, she took Eleanor’s arm and led her away. Eleanor looked back and saw that Suleiman had mounted a fresh horse. He was going back outside the gates to fight with his men. She wanted to stop him, to beg him not to risk his life, but he would not have listened. She was nothing, merely a slave he had bought as a gift for another man.

‘What is happening?’ she asked the old woman, who was pulling at her arm. ‘Is the palace being attacked? Why has Suleiman gone back out there?’

The woman shook her head, clearly not understanding a word she said. Eleanor tried the same question in French, but there was no response.

The woman began to talk to her in what was probably Arabic. Eleanor thought she recognised a few words, but was not certain—though it was obvious that the woman wanted Eleanor to go with her. There was no point in resisting any further for the moment; besides, all the fight had suddenly gone out of her. Oddly, her fears at this moment were more for the man who had brought her here than for herself.

He had told her she would not be harmed if she did as the women told her and somehow she believed him. But what of him? It was obvious that those men who had followed them were armed and dangerous—would Suleiman be killed in the fighting? She suddenly discovered that the thought appalled her.

Nothing must happen to Suleiman Bakhar! He was her only chance of ever being allowed to return to her family. She had called him a savage and a barbarian, but in her heart she knew he was not that—though she did not know what kind of a man he really was. He looked fierce and proud, and undoubtedly he was—but she believed there was a softer side to him. If she could reach that inner core, then there might be a faint hope for her…nothing must happen to him.

‘May Allah keep you safe,’ she whispered. ‘And may God be with you this night.’

Let her prayers be heard by his god or hers. It did not matter at this moment as long as he lived. For, despite her attempts to escape him, and her anger at the way she had been treated, something deep inside her told her that she had been fortunate to be bought by this man…

‘Allah be praised!’ Caliph Bakhar said when they brought him the news that Suleiman had returned to the palace triumphant with his prisoners, who would be speedily dispatched the next morning at dawn. ‘These bandits have been a thorn in my side for too long. My son has done well.’

He had been furious that Suleiman had put his own life at risk, but now that he was safe and the bandits taken, the Caliph’s pride knew no bounds. Suleiman was a worthy son!

‘Ask my son to eat with me this evening,’ Ahmed Bakhar said to the chief eunuch. ‘I wish to tell him of my pleasure in his victory.’

Suleiman was emerging from his bath as the request was brought to him. He frowned, wrapping himself in a large white towel and waving the slave away.

‘Tell my honoured father that I will come soon,’ he said. ‘Ask him to forgive me that I do not come at once.’

Another eunuch was waiting to help him dress. He allowed the creature to help him on with a simple white tunic and trousers. He would put on his costly robes when he went to his father’s apartments—but for the moment he must visit the injured. His men had fought bravely against the bandits and one had died. Suleiman must make arrangements for him to be given a funeral worthy of a hero, and for recompense to be sent to his family.

He would have liked to send for Eleanor this evening, to talk to her—for he understood how strange it must be for a Western woman to suddenly find herself cast into an alien world. His mother had spoken to him of her own feelings when she first entered his father’s harem, and although she had been very different from Eleanor—a quietly spoken, gentle woman—she had feared what she did not understand.

‘I had been told that all Turks were savages,’ she had said to her son as they sat talking together during their privileged afternoons. ‘I was afraid that my new master would rape and beat me—but your father was kind and considerate and very soon I came to love him.’

Before he went to see his men, he must make sure that Eleanor was being treated as a woman of her class was entitled to be, even in a harem. She ought to have her own rooms and a servant to wait on her. He believed there was an Englishwoman in the palace…an old crone who had long since been put to work in the kitchens. She must be fetched and told to wait on her new mistress, and the older women must take care of Eleanor…prepare her for her new life.

He was not yet sure what her new life was to be. If she was not to be given to the Sultan he must find another gift…something rare and unusual that would pacify their illustrious master. For the moment he had other things on his mind. She would come to no harm within the palace—and he would have her sent for when he was ready to decide what to do with her.

Eleanor looked round the large chamber, which was the main one used by the harem for relaxing, talking and, perhaps, in the case of those concubines who did not have their own rooms, sleeping. There were divans covered in silks and satins, and piled with cushions for taking one’s ease, also little tables on which were placed what looked like dishes of nuts and sweetmeats, fountains that played into small pools and various chests or cabinets. One girl was strumming on a musical instrument, the music strange and sounding off key to Eleanor.

The women gathered in small groups, talking, whispering and looking at her curiously. None of them had as yet approached her though she had been sitting on a cushion since the old woman had brought her here and then vanished.

What was she supposed to do? After the terror of her capture and the drama of that ride to the palace, it all felt rather like an anti-climax, simply sitting here watching several lovely women idle the hours away. One girl was brushing the hair of another and braiding it with flowers or ribbons, others were painting their toenails with some kind of a dye—and one was having her body painted with a pattern in some black stuff.

At the far end of the room, Eleanor could see there was a door leading out to what looked like pleasant gardens. Was she allowed to go out there? She had certainly had enough of sitting here by herself. Oh, well, if it was forbidden, someone would stop her. She got up and wandered towards the door, thinking that the floors of mosaic tiling were very beautiful, as were some of the pierced screens that were painted in bright colours of red, blue and gold.

No one shouted at her to stop, so she went out into the garden. It was evening now and quite dark, but there were lanterns hanging amongst the trees and she was able to find her way along a winding path towards the sound of water. She found a stone seat by a pretty pool and sat down, staring into the darkness. Was she really going to be forced to spend the rest of her life in a place like this? If she were reduced to living the way the other women did, she would go mad.

Tears came to her eyes as she thought of her father and brother, and the evenings they had spent playing games of skill together. Her poor father! Her throat closed with emotion. How could she bear to live without the two people she loved most in the world?

Where was Richard? She had not seen him since they were both captured and did not even know if he were still alive. His fate was probably far worse than hers! She thought that he might have been tortured or beaten. Poor, poor Richard! She prayed that he was not in pain or desperately afraid. He was only a youth, and he would have had no chance against his captors. Her head went up as she renewed her vow not to give way to self-pity or despair. She would fight to survive and somehow she would win her freedom one day.

‘Are you there, my lady?’

The sound of a woman’s voice speaking to her in English brought her head up. How could that be? The old woman that had first taken charge of Eleanor and then abandoned her had not understood when she had tried to talk to her.

‘Who are you? Please come forward.’

A woman stepped out of the shadows and approached diffidently. She was obviously quite old, her face lined and her hair deeply streaked with grey.

‘I am Morna, my lady. I came to the palace many years ago as a gift to the Caliph, but he was never interested in me as one of his concubines because I was not beautiful. I was sent to the kitchens and I have worked there ever since.’

‘Morna?’ Eleanor looked at her. ‘I do not think I have ever heard that name before—it is pretty.’

‘My mother was English, but my father came from the hills of Wales,’ Morna replied. ‘I think it is an ancient Celtic name, though I cannot be sure.’ She smiled at Eleanor. ‘I am sorry Shorah deserted you earlier. I do not think she knew what to do with you, so she left you with the other concubines—and they ignored you because they were not sure why you were there either. It is dangerous to form relationships in the harem unless you know the status of those you befriend.’

‘Shorah—that is the old woman who took charge of me? I think she could not understand what I said to her.’

‘No, she understands only her native tongue,’ Morna replied. ‘When I was told you were here I was not sure I would remember how to speak English. It is so long since I have used our language—but as you see, it came back to me.’

‘Have you been here many years?’

‘Oh, yes, much of my life has been spent in this palace. But I am fortunate. I am not important, merely a servant—so I am allowed to come and go as I please. I visit the market to buy food and trinkets for the women sometimes. They repay me by giving me some of their food—so I live very well.’

‘Can you help me to leave the palace?’ Eleanor asked eagerly. ‘Is there any way I could escape?’

‘They would kill us both if you tried to leave,’ Morna told her gravely. ‘It seems that you have caught the eye of the Caliph’s son. You are to be given your own rooms and I am to wait upon you—as befits a lady of your rank.’