Captive of the Harem

‘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.’

‘What does that mean?’ Eleanor asked. ‘Am I to stay here, then? I thought…’ She let the words die unspoken. Roxana had told her she would be lucky if Suleiman Bakhar kept her for himself, and she was beginning to believe that that might be the case. Better a young, intelligent master who spoke her tongue and might just be persuaded to let her go home, than the Sultan who would scarcely notice her amongst his other women. ‘No, it does not matter. You could not know what is in his mind. Please take me to my rooms. I am tired and I should like to sleep now.’

‘Would you like me to bring you food from the kitchens?’ Morna asked, sounding eager. ‘Surely you are hungry, my lady?’

Eleanor was about to reply that she had eaten earlier and was not hungry, but she realised that Morna might not get enough to eat and was hoping that some of her mistress’s food might be left for her.

‘Yes, bring me something,’ she said. ‘You can share it with me.’

‘Thank you, my lady. You are generous.’

Eleanor nodded, but did not reply. She supposed there were probably hundreds of servants in this vast palace, which sprawled over a large area of land and consisted of a mass of different buildings. Many of the slaves were probably forced to live on the scraps left by others. The world was a cruel place, especially for slaves, and she was angry that people like the Caliph and his arrogant son believed they had the right to dispose of the lives of others as they chose.

‘Where is the Caliph’s son?’ she asked. ‘Has he returned to the palace?’