Captive of the Harem

‘Come with me, child,’ the woman said to Eleanor in a soft, melodious voice. ‘You must feel so dirty after being on the galley for so many days. Bathe and rest and you will feel better.’

‘Who are you?’ Eleanor asked. She had been too weary to notice much as she was brought to this house that morning, but she had been given a delicious meal of rice and vegetables in a sweet sauce, and allowed to rest in a room by herself and was feeling better. ‘And where am I? What is going to happen to me—and where is my brother? Has he been brought here too?’

‘So many questions! I cannot answer the half of them.’ The woman laughed. ‘I am called Roxana and I am what some people call a Morisco—but I have mixed blood. My father was a Moor but my mother was Spanish.’

‘Are you a Muslim or a Christian?’

‘I am of the true faith,’ Roxana replied, but did not meet her eyes as she spoke. ‘Mohamed thought you might be of the Muslim persuasion—are you?’

Eleanor hesitated. She might be spared much if she was thought to be a Muslim, but she did not wish to lie to this woman, who had treated her kindly.

‘No. I was raised as a Protestant—but I believe that everyone should have the right to worship as they please. How can any of us know that we alone are right in our religious beliefs?’

Roxana looked anxious. ‘You should not speak so openly, child. Men are fanatical about such things—you could be put to death for those words. In Spain you would have been given to the Inquisition for questioning. Here too you could be punished for voicing such an opinion. It is always best for a woman to be silent.’

‘But why?’ Eleanor sighed. Was there no one left to whom she could open her mind? Now that her father was dead she would never be able to speak freely again. But Roxana was only speaking the truth. ‘You are right, of course. But you have not answered my questions.’

‘You are in my house,’ Roxana said. ‘I was given it by Mohamed Ali Ben Ibn for saving his life some years ago. I have some skill with herbs and I nursed him when he was close to death. He comes here sometimes and I live because he lives. If it were not for him, I would have to sell myself to a master—and I would prefer to die.’

‘I do not think him a bad man. He was not unkind to me.’

‘That is because you will fetch a good price,’ Roxana told her. ‘You are very beautiful. Your skin is soft and smooth, and your body is comely—though a little thin for perfection. Good food will soon cure that. Come, now, and cleanse yourself. Then we shall sit and talk until your master comes for you.’

‘You are kind, Roxana.’

‘I have known what it is like to be in your position. I was sold by my family to an old man. He was…not kind.’ Roxana shuddered at the memory. ‘But he died and I ran away before his possessions were sold. I lived in a hut by the river and it was there I nursed Mohamed…’

‘You love him—don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Roxana smiled at her. ‘My wish is only to serve him, but one day he will take a wife and go far away. Then I shall not see him again.’

‘He will not marry you?’

Roxana shook her head. ‘He will take a young girl of his own…class. He came from a good family. He has suffered much at the hands of the Spanish—in their galleys as a slave.’

Eleanor nodded. She had been terrified of her captor at first, but she was beginning to see that she had been lucky. Instead of being taken directly to the slave market, she had been brought here to this house to rest and refresh herself. It could have been so much worse, and her mind shied away from what might have happened to her. She was safe here for the moment with this kind woman.

Yet she would escape if she could! Her mind was frantically looking for a way of escaping as her hostess led her into a walled garden, which was planted with many bushes and flowers that gave out a heady perfume. They walked through little paths between the bushes and wooden trellises, up which scrambled flowering shrubs. At a sunlit spot in the middle of a very secluded area, they came upon a sunken bath.

‘You may wash here,’ Roxana told her. ‘There is soap in the jars and towels to dry yourself when you have finished.’

‘I have never bathed in the open air before,’ Eleanor said, glancing round nervously.

‘No one will disturb you.’ Roxana smiled at her. ‘I shall leave you to bathe in private—and bring clothes to you in a while.’

It was very warm as Eleanor removed her clothes. Her dress felt stiff with dirt and sweat and she was glad to be rid of it. The sun was warm on her skin as she stood naked at the edge of the pool, relishing the warmth on her skin. It was many years since she had swum naked in the river at her home, for when she assumed the duties of a woman she had left the pranks of childhood behind her—but it did feel so good to be free of her restricting gown for once.

She was of medium height and slender with slim hips and small, pert breasts, the nipples the colour of a dark pink rose. Her skin was a warm cream in colour, and seemed to have a slightly golden sheen in the sunlight. Seen in her naked glory she was truly magnificent, a goddess come to earth—or so it might seem to any who saw her thus.

She walked down the gently sloping steps into the water, which seemed to be perfumed and was cool to her skin. It felt delicious and she walked further into the shallow pool, dipping down into the water and splashing in it in sheer delight. She suddenly went right under, remembering that she had loved to swim beneath the water as a child. She was so dirty and her hair needed a good soaking to be rid of the filth of her imprisonment.

It was so good to relax here by herself. She would think about escape later. For the moment she was simply going to enjoy the luxury that had been granted her.

Suleiman caught his breath as he watched the woman bathing. She seemed to be content as she splashed and soaped her limbs, and then her hair. It was a wonderful colour. He did not think that he had ever seen such beautiful hair…so thick and wavy. Now that it was wet it had gone darker but he knew it would look even better once it was clean. It would be pleasurable to bury his face in hair like that, to stroke that skin and crush her to him.

He felt a stirring in his loins, and realised that she had affected him in a way no woman had for a long time. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he knew a fierce longing to take her there and then—but then his self-control asserted itself once more. He had not paid a thousand gold pieces for his own benefit. He needed something rare and beautiful to please the Grand Turk.

She was truly a gift fit for the Sultan, he thought as he continued to watch her. The money demanded for her price had been exorbitant, far more than he would normally have considered—but perhaps she was worth it. He frowned as she submerged beneath the water again, seeming to stay there longer than necessary.

Was she trying to drown herself? Such things were not unknown amongst infidel women—they did not always take kindly to the idea of becoming a slave. He had heard of women killing themselves rather than being forced to submit to slavery.

He moved out from behind the pierced wooden screen, which had served as his hiding place, just as the woman surfaced once more. At first she did not seem to see him, then, when she became aware that she was no longer alone, she stared at him for a moment, screamed and ducked beneath the water again.

Suleiman cursed loudly and waded into the pool. The foolish woman was trying to kill herself. He saw her beneath the surface and bent down to grab her, but she shot out of his grasp, swimming beneath the water to the far side. Then she came up gasping for air. He caught a glimpse of her lovely breasts, the nipples a deep rose, peaked and tempting, and then she crossed her arms over herself, her eyes meeting his in a cold stare.

She was angry! Suleiman was also angry. He was wet and uncomfortable and he realised that she had no intention of drowning herself—which made what he had done seem foolish.

‘Who are you?’ Eleanor demanded as he waded up the steps of the bath. He had been wearing a long, heavily embroidered robe over loose white pants and the tunic dragged against him in the water. ‘How dare you spy on me?’

‘I thought you meant to drown yourself. I did not intend to frighten you.’

Eleanor realised that she had spoken in English and that he had replied in the same language, clearly as at home in her native tongue as she. She had not expected that somehow.

‘Go away! You have no right to be here. Mohamed Ali Ben Ibn owns me and he will kill you if he finds you here.’

‘I do not think so.’ Suleiman was amused by her show of defiance. Did she not realise that she was completely at his mercy? He could strip off his wet clothes and join her in the bath… The temptation to do so made him harden beneath his robes. He could feel his manhood burning and throbbing with a fierce need—a need he had not felt in a long time. ‘Come out and dry yourself, woman.’

‘Not while you’re watching!’

‘Foolish one! You have nothing to show that I have not already seen a thousand times.’

‘I don’t care how many concubines you have!’ Eleanor retorted, stung by his mockery. How dare he speak to her so! ‘I am not one of them and I am not coming out until you go away.’

‘You will turn cold.’ Suleiman sat down on a tiled bench, his eyes intent on her face, his mouth softened by amusement. ‘I have no intention of leaving.’

‘You are also wet.’

‘But I shall dry in the sun.’ He laughed huskily, the cruel mouth softened and suddenly appealing. ‘What a fierce one you are, my little bird. You are truly worth the price asked. You will make a fine gift for the Sultan.’

Eleanor was chilled. So she was to be sold after all!

‘Have you bought me?’ He inclined his head, sending strange little sensations down her spine as she saw the brilliance of his eyes. ‘Who—who are you?’

‘My name is Suleiman Bakhar. I am the son of Caliph Bakhar—chief justice minister to the Sultan.’

Eleanor was silent, fighting her desire to weep. It seemed that all her hopes were at an end. She had hoped so much that she would be able to persuade her captor to ransom her—but it was already too late. There was something masterful about this man, an air of arrogance that told her he would not easily give up what was his.

Suleiman relented as he saw her shiver. ‘Come out, foolish woman. I shall turn my back.’