Captive of the Harem

‘Thank Allah that I am not the barbarian you think me,’ Mohamed said. ‘I have plans for you, woman—but I may still beat you if you do not still your clacking tongue.’

Somehow Eleanor did not believe him. If he had meant to harm her, he would have done it by now. It was clear that he did not like to be questioned by a woman, but she would not give up. If she kept talking about a ransom he was bound to at least think about it…

Suleiman Bakhar was laughing. He felt exhilarated by the sport he had just had with the man he knew was considered to be the champion of the Janissaries. It had been a fierce fight that could have gone either way, pressing each man to the limit—and he had won!

‘Come, my friend,’ he said, laying an arm about the shoulders of the man he had vanquished. ‘We shall bathe, drink and eat together—and then I shall give you a woman for your pleasure.’

‘You honour me, my lord.’

Suleiman nodded, accepting that he was being generous in victory, but he felt pleased with himself. His astronomer had that morning told him that he was about to enter a new cycle of his life—one that would bring him both torment and pleasure.

‘You will gain your heart’s desire,’ the old man had told him after consulting various charts, ‘but only if you are prepared to learn and to suffer.’

‘To learn and to suffer?’ Suleiman’s expression had caused the astronomer’s pulses to race for a moment. ‘Explain your predictions.’

‘All is not yet clear,’ Ali Bakr told him. ‘I see only that a bright flame has moved into the heaven of your chart. This flame will burn you and yet it will eventually bring you all that you long for in the secret places of your heart.’

‘You speak in riddles as always.’ Suleiman dismissed the astronomer with a handful of silver. ‘Come to me when I send for you—and give me a clearer reading next time.’

Suleiman had dismissed the old man’s ramblings as a misguided attempt to please him. It had happened often enough in the past. Most of his kind were charlatans and liars, pretending to a knowledge they did not have—yet he had heard much good of this one.

Suleiman had trained and fought for most of the day, and now his body was free of the restless energy that so often plagued him. The afternoon would be spent eating and drinking the rich dark coffee he enjoyed, talking with the men he knew as friends. Then perhaps he would send for Fatima…and yet he had no real desire for her.

Perhaps he should visit some of the better slave merchants? The Circassian women were beautiful and much prized; if he were lucky, he might find one that tempted him.

It was as he was being massaged with perfumed, healing oils by one of the eunuchs that the news came.

‘There is a message from Mohamed Ali Ben Ibn, my lord,’ the slave said. ‘He asks if you will grant him the favour of seeing him.’

Suleiman rose from the massage bench, wrapping a cloth around his waist. His back and shoulders glistened with the oil that had been rubbed into his skin, enhancing the honed beauty of his muscular torso. He had a presence, an air of power and confidence that kept others in awe of him, but also created a distance so that he had few true friends.

What could the Corsair want with him? Suleiman was aware of a tingling sensation at the nape of his neck and experienced the first prickles of a strange excitement. The Corsair’s reputation was known to him, though they had never met.

‘Ask him to come to my private room.’ He glanced at the officers who were also enjoying the benefits of being massaged by Suleiman’s slaves. ‘Excuse me, my friends. This will not take long. Please, eat, drink—and the women will entertain you.’

He gave an order to the eunuchs for dancing girls to be brought as he retired to his inner chamber, where only a very few were ever permitted.

‘Bring coffee and food,’ he told one of the slaves, ‘then leave us.’

Suleiman was seated on a silken divan, clad now in simple white trousers and a long white caftan belted at the waist, when the Corsair captain was shown into his presence. He fell on his knees but was immediately told to sit, which he did on the cushions provided.

‘We are both men,’ Suleiman said, his eyes narrowed and intent on the other’s face. ‘We shall speak as equals. You will take coffee with me?’

‘You honour me, my lord.’

‘You have something for me?’

Mohamed smiled. The Caliph’s son wasted no time. ‘I have been told you seek something rare and beautiful?’

‘This is true. What have you to sell?’ Suleiman frowned. It was said of this man that he had an eye for quality. When he had merchandise for sale it was always the best—always highly priced. Again he felt that tingling sensation in his spine and was conscious of excitement. ‘Is it treasure—or a woman?’

‘Some would say this woman is a treasure beyond price.’

‘Why?’ Suleiman’s hard gaze intensified. ‘There are already many beautiful women in my harem—what makes this one worthy of special attention?’

‘Her hair is the colour of ripe corn in the sunlight and reaches to below her waist,’ Mohamed said. ‘Her body is perfect, her eyes are azure like a summer sky and—’

‘And?’ Suleiman was demanding, imperious, dismissive of such details. ‘What else?’

‘She is clever. She speaks three languages, and I believe she reads Arabic. She is the daughter of an English baronet—curse all unbelievers!’

The prickling at Suleiman’s nape had become almost painful. He felt as if a thousand hot pins had been stuck into him, and it was all he could do to stop himself gasping. A feeling of intense excitement had come over him, but he had no intention of showing it.

‘Her mind is of little account,’ he said with a studied carelessness. ‘If her body is perfect, I may be interested. Where did you find her?’

‘I attacked the ship of a merchant of Cyprus,’ Mohamed said. He was not in the least put off by Suleiman’s apparent indifference. It was expected that they would bargain. ‘The ship was damaged and becalmed after the storm, and we thought it ripe for plucking—but a Spanish war galley bore down on us. We were able to take only the woman, her servant and a boy before escaping.’

‘How do you know she is the daughter of an English noble?’

‘She told me, my lord—in three languages. She insists her family would pay twice her price in the market for her return.’

‘And yet you come to me?’

‘I would not sell this woman in the market, my lord. Nor would I entrust her to the slave merchants, who might defile her. She is safe in a house I know of—and will stay there until I sell her.’

Suleiman nodded, his face expressionless. ‘What is your price for this woman?’

‘One thousand gold pieces, my lord.’

‘For a woman?’ Suleiman laughed scornfully. ‘No woman is worth a third of such a sum.’

‘Forgive me for wasting your time, my lord.’ It was clearly the Corsair’s intention to leave as he rose to his feet. Suleiman rose too, matching the Corsair for height and build. ‘I was told you sought something rare, a treasure beyond price but—I see I was misinformed.’

‘Stay!’ Suleiman’s face was very hawkish at that moment, his pupils more silver than black. ‘We have not yet concluded our business.’

Mohamed Ali Ben Ibn smiled inwardly. He had not thought for one moment that he would be allowed to leave.

‘She is truly beyond price, my lord. I would not have offered her to you if I had not thought the woman a rare prize. I swear you will not be disappointed in her.’

‘Eight hundred if she is what you claim.’

‘One thousand gold pieces—her family would pay more.’

‘For a woman?’ Suleiman scorned and yet he knew he would pay the price asked if she was all this man claimed. ‘A thousand then, but I will take the boy you spoke of, too.’

‘He has been sent to the slave market.’

‘Get him back,’ Suleiman commanded, determined that he must assert his authority in some way. The boy was of little importance, but a Corsair must not best the Caliph’s son in business. ‘One thousand for them both or you may send the woman to the market too.’