Книга - Captive of the Harem

Captive of the Harem
Anne Herries


Slave to Love…Sold to Suleiman Bakhar after being taken prisoner on the high seas, Eleanor Nash is fearful of what will become of her. The all-powerful Suleiman will not allow her to leave Constantinople, while Eleanor is adamant that she will not willingly become his concubine.Impressed by his spirited captive, Suleiman seeks her out at every opportunity. To Eleanor's surprise, he's open to Western ways. The glimpses of the sensitive man behind the awesome public image tease and tantalize her–and his seduction is hard to resist. But can Eleanor ever hope to become his one true love?









“I cannot do what you expect of me.


“I hardly know you, my lord,” Eleanor said. “I am beginning to admire and respect you, but…I—I would be your friend if you…”

“You would be my friend?” Suleiman’s gaze narrowed and he appeared to be considering. “Why should I need a friend, Eleanor? Do you not think I have many about me who would call themselves my friends?”

“Yes, my lord. Forgive me for my presumption. It was only that we share an interest in ancient manuscripts. I enjoyed our talk when you asked me to help you read them and I would like to do something that would be of use to you. There are other women more skilled in the arts of love. I think I would provide poor sport for you.”

Suleiman nodded, a faint smile curving his mouth. “You argue convincingly, my lady. Yet I wonder…”




Captive of the Harem

Anne Herries





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ANNE HERRIES


lives in Cambridge but spends part of the winter in Spain, where she and her husband stay in a pretty resort nestled amid the hills that run from Malaga to Gibraltar. Gazing over a sparkling blue ocean, watching the sunbeams dance like silver confetti on the restless waves, Anne loves to dream up her stories of laughter, tears and romantic lovers. She is the author of over thirty published novels.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue




Chapter One


‘I shall miss you, my teacher. The days will seem long without the benefit of your words of wisdom, Kasim.’

‘I shall be sorry to leave you, Suleiman—the years we have had together have been truly a blessing for me, but the time has come for me to prepare to make my peace with God, my lord. I must go home to my own land to die…’

‘Yes, I know. I would not hold you. Go then…and may Allah guide your footsteps to Paradise.’

Suleiman Bakhar felt the sting of the unmanly tears that would shame him as the old man left and he knew that it was for the last time; they would never meet again in this life.

He moved away to gaze down at the gardens of his apartments in his father’s palace, his fierce, wild eyes lit by a silver flame in their depths. His expression for those who dared to look was at that moment much that of an untamed creature frustrated by the bars of its cage. The palace of Caliph Bakhar was a perfumed, luxuriously appointed cage—but nevertheless a prison to the man whose spirit wished to soar like the hawks he lavished with so much love and attention.

He was a strong, handsome man, though his features were at times harsh, his mouth capable of looking as cruel as the sharp beaks of his birds of prey. At other times his dark, mysterious eyes could be bright with laughter, and his mouth, slackened by desire, could look soft and deliciously sensuous—as was his voice when he chose to entertain the court with his singing. Now was not one of those times. He was bored, restless, and conscious of a growing anger inside himself that he did not understand. And he was losing the man who had been his teacher for many years, a man he revered and loved almost as a father. His life would be that much the poorer for the teacher’s going.

Yet he would not have held Kasim for he loved him as dearly as he loved his own father. He must seek elsewhere to fill the emptiness the teacher’s going would leave in his life.

Fluttering about the scented walks of the gardens below, the women of his harem twittered like brightly coloured birds in their scanty clothes as they paraded through sunlit walks. Here and there stone benches were placed in the shade, and the sound of tinkling water from fountains echoed the laughter of the women. They were all aware that Suleiman was watching them from his windows above. He was making his choice and one of them would be sent to his bed that night.

The favoured one would spend the afternoon being pampered by the other women. She would be washed in soft warm water in the baths of the harem, then perfumed lotions and creams would be massaged into her body and hair so that her skin would be smooth for the touch of her master, and finally she would be dressed in the finest silks…layer upon layer of diaphanous materials that he would either remove himself, or instruct her to remove as suited his whim.

It was an honour to be chosen by the Caliph’s favourite son, and also a pleasure. Suleiman was young and virile, his body honed to masculine perfection by hours of training in the courtyards with the Janissaries. His love-making was legendary amongst the ladies of the harem, and word had spread to the other harems, some of which had less well-favoured masters, and there were many sighs as envious eyes peered at him from behind pierced screens. It was forbidden for the ladies of one harem to mix with those of another, of course, but it happened—as other forbidden things happened in secret places: things that could bring a swift beating or worse if they were discovered by the eunuchs.

Sometimes, the ladies of the Caliph’s court were allowed to watch Suleiman at sport in the great courtyard of the palace. Suleiman delighted in trials of strength with the officers of the Janissaries, and it was very seldom that he lost his bouts.

‘He will choose me. I know he will choose me,’ Fatima said to Dinazade, who was her chief attendant. As Suleiman’s favourite, Fatima had her own rooms and slaves to wait on her. ‘He always chooses me.’ She gave a satisfied smile as the chief eunuch beckoned to her. ‘There, I told you so. Come with me, Dinazade. I must be beautiful to please my lord tonight.’

Suleiman moved back from the window as his chosen partner was led away. He had selected Fatima again because there was fire in her. Most of the concubines had been given to him as gifts, either by his father or merchants wishing to gain favour with the Caliph, and were too obedient to please him. He had dined too much on honey and wanted something with more spice.

His features were set like iron, his mouth thinned to a severe line. Sometimes he felt he would go mad if he were confined to this idle life for many more years. He could fight, ride out into the countryside beyond Constantinople with his hawks or spend the afternoon pouring over his manuscripts—but none of these pleasures held any real appeal for him that day. There was a hungry yearning in his soul—but for what? Suleiman did not know, unless it was simply to be free…to travel the world?

Such an idea was forbidden to him. His father had refused to let him enter the Janissaries in case he might be injured in a real battle—for his tussles with the elite guard could only ever be play-acting. No one would dare to inflict harm on the Caliph’s son for fear of the punishment that would certainly follow—not from Suleiman, but from his father.

‘Your place is here with me,’ the Caliph had told him when he had asked permission to leave and join the Sultan’s personal bodyguard. ‘Together we are strong. I am getting older, Suleiman. Soon you must prepare to take over from me.’

Caliph Bakhar was known for his wisdom and fairness throughout the empire. It was he who dispensed justice and kept the common people in order in the city for his royal master Suleiman the Magnificent. The Sultan was the supreme ruler of the great Ottoman Empire, and under his rule the empire had reached new heights of power and splendour. Suleiman Bakhar had been named for him.

‘Forgive me, my lord.’ One of the eunuchs approached, his slippered feet making no sound on the marble floors. ‘Your honoured father, the great Caliph Bakhar, requests your presence in his apartments.’

Suleiman’s eyes were very hawkish as he let them sweep over the fleshy face of the eunuch. It was necessary to have such creatures to guard the women of the harem, but he did not like or trust them. They were sly, calculating creatures—especially this one.

‘Very well,’ he said curtly. ‘I shall attend the Caliph.’

For a moment Suleiman thought he saw a flash of resentment in the eunuch’s eyes. Abu was the child of one of his father’s older concubines, and perhaps resented the fact that Suleiman and he shared the same blood but were treated in very different ways. Abu’s mother had been a Nubian slave and of very little value, while Suleiman’s mother had been the daughter of an English nobleman and the Caliph’s favourite wife.

Taken from a shipwreck more dead than alive, Margaret Westbury had been presented as a gift to Caliph Bakhar. He had found her fascinating and taken her as his wife, but after she had given him a son he had offered to return her to her homeland. Margaret had preferred to stay on as his chief wife, and though she had been allowed little say in her son’s upbringing, she had been allowed to see him twice a week in the gardens.

Yet another soft-footed eunuch with doe-like eyes conducted Suleiman into his father’s presence. He fell on his knees before the Caliph as was the custom, but was immediately told to rise.

‘The Caliph wished to see his unworthy son?’

‘Suleiman is a most worthy son,’ Caliph Bakhar replied after the ritual salute. ‘I have a problem, Suleiman. The Sultan has made it clear that he is displeased over certain disorders in the city—there was a riot in the streets and the mob passed close to the palace walls.’

‘The disturbance was swiftly quelled by the Janissaries.’

‘But it should not have been allowed to happen so near the palace,’ his father said. ‘I have displeased our master, therefore, I must find gifts to regain favour in his eyes.’

‘What does my father have in mind?’

‘Something of rare beauty—an important piece of Venetian glass, perhaps?’

‘Or a beautiful woman?’

‘She would have to be an exceptional woman. The Sultan has many Kadins.’

The Kadins or Sultanas were women who had pleased their royal master and were given their own luxurious apartments—much as Fatima was favoured in Suleiman Bakhar’s much smaller harem.

‘Of course.’ Suleiman frowned. ‘Does my father wish me to visit the slave markets of Istanbul—or travel to Algiers?’

‘You are not to leave our shores,’ the Caliph said with a frown. ‘We have too many enemies. Send word that we are looking for something special. She must be lovely beyond price and untouched.’

‘It would be rare to find such a jewel,’ Suleiman replied. ‘Perhaps I should look for some other treasure that would please the Sultan?’

‘It would be wise,’ the Caliph said, nodding. ‘And now, my son—will you hunt with your father? I have a new hawk I would match against your champion.’

‘None can match Scheherazade—she flys higher, swifter and her bravery puts all others to shame.’ His pupils were lit from within by a silver flame as he spoke of his favourite hawk.

‘She is truly a bird to prize above all others. Find a woman as beautiful, clever and brave as your hawk, Suleiman, and the Sultan will forgive me a hundred riots.’

‘If such a woman exists, she would be a prize above all others,’ Suleiman replied. ‘I do not think we shall find this woman, my father—though we search all the markets in the Ottoman Empire!’



Eleanor stood at the top of the cliff gazing out towards the sea. The view was magnificent—sparkling blue water, gently wooded slopes and a dazzling variety of oleander and wisteria. The wisteria had spread from the gardens of the villa behind her, she thought, and inhaled its wonderful perfume.

Such a glorious day and yet her thoughts at that moment were of the house they had left behind five months earlier. It would be autumn in England now, the mists just beginning to curl in from the sea, swirling into the Manor gardens. The Manor was the home she had shared with her father and brother for the first eighteen years of her life, and she doubted she would ever see it again.

‘Why so sad, Madonna? Does the view not please you?’

Eleanor turned to look at the man who had spoken, her deep azure eyes seeming to reflect the blue of the Mediterranean sky. Beneath the severe French hood she wore, her hair was long and thick, the colour of ripe corn in sunlight. She kept it well hidden, even though she had thought herself safe from being observed here, but wisps had escaped to tangle betrayingly about her face. She could do nothing to disguise the loveliness of her classic features, though she chose dark colours that did nothing to enhance her beauty.

‘I was thinking of my home,’ she replied, unable to hide a wistful note in her voice. ‘It will be misty now and the fires will be lit in the library.’

‘You cannot prefer the cold damp climate of your country to Italy?’ His eyebrows arched in disbelief. ‘But perhaps there was a lover…a young man who holds your heart in his hand?’

For a moment Eleanor was tempted to invent a handsome fiancé, but she was an honest girl and did not wish to lie.

‘No, sir. I was thinking of my books. We were unable to bring many with us. As my father has told you, we were forced to leave in a hurry.’

Count Giovani Salvadore nodded, his expression sympathetic. He was a man of moderate height, not fat but well built with rather loose features. His hair and small beard were dark brown, his eyes grey and serious. Eleanor supposed he would be considered attractive, and his wealth made him an important man in the banking circles of Italy.

‘It was an unpleasant experience for you,’ the Count replied. ‘Fortunately, your father had already placed much of his fortune with the House of Salvadore for safe keeping.’

‘Yes, that was very fortunate,’ Eleanor agreed, hiding her smile behind her fan. He was so pompous, so sure of himself! Yet she should not be ungrateful. He had generously made his villa available to her family until they should find somewhere they wished to settle. Sir William Nash had spoken of this part of Italy as being pleasant but Eleanor knew that he meant to travel on to Cyprus very soon. He had friends there: an English merchant who had settled on the island some years earlier and had offered both a home and an opportunity for Sir William to join him in business.

‘Shall we go in?’ The Count offered Eleanor his arm. ‘Your skin may suffer in this heat if you stand in it too long.’

Eleanor had come out to be alone for a while. The Count’s mother and sister chattered like magpies all day long, and they did not speak much English. She had hoped to escape for a while, so that she could have a little time to herself—but he had pursued her.

As she had feared, the Count was too interested in her for comfort. At home in the west of England, she had been allowed to do much as she pleased, and it pleased her to keep her distance from any gentleman she had considered a threat to her peaceful existence.

Eleanor had no wish to marry. She had become the mistress of her father’s home when her mother died. She had been fourteen then, already a pretty girl but inclined to solitary walks and study. Lady Nash had spoken often of her lovely daughter’s future marriage, but after her death it had been forgotten. Eleanor liked it that way.

To be a wife meant servitude. As a much-loved and indulged daughter, Eleanor had a freedom she might lose if she married. Sir William was an enlightened man. He had taught his daughter to enjoy study for its own sake, and her intelligence delighted him. She spoke French fluently, a little Italian, and could read some Arabic and Latin, of course. Her main interest was ancient history, which she could discuss at a level above most men of equal rank, and she had thought that when the time came for them to leave England, she would enjoy seeing the places of which she had only read.

Indeed, she had enjoyed her visits to Venice and Rome, drinking in the beauty of old palaces and wonderful scenery. It was only since they had come to the villa that she had begun to feel restless.

Count Giovani Salvadore was too attentive! He made Eleanor feel as if he were trying to smother her with his generosity and his compliments caused her to be uneasy. She was afraid he meant to ask for her hand in marriage. Eleanor was almost sure Sir William would consult her in the matter, but she could not be certain. She would not feel comfortable until they were on the ship taking them to Cyprus!

‘There you are, Eleanor! Father sent me to find you.’

Eleanor saw her brother coming towards them and went forward eagerly to meet him. At fifteen, he was slight and fair, a merry, happy boy—and she loved him dearly.

‘I am sorry if I worried you, Dickon.’

‘Father wants to talk to you,’ Richard said, his smile shy and engaging. ‘He has something to show you—an illuminated manuscript. He wants you to help him decipher it.’

At last! Eleanor felt her spirits lift. She had missed working with her beloved father on his collection of old manuscripts. He was beginning to build them up again. When they had their own house, everything would be as it always had been. Sir William would not force her to marry. He cared for her too much!

She glanced at the Count and smiled. ‘Forgive me, signor. I must go. My father waits for me.’



‘Oh, Father!’ Eleanor cried as she saw the manuscript for the first time. ‘I do not think I have ever seen anything quite as lovely.’

The manuscript was tiny, and when rolled could be stored in a space no larger than the handle of a woman’s fan. Its container was made of pure gold and inlaid with emeralds and pearls, and there was a loop to suspend it from a chain or a ribbon so that it could be worn on the person.

‘It is writ in Arabic,’ Sir William said. ‘But my eyes are not good enough to make out the words.’

The script was very small, though the decoration of gold leaf, rich crimson and deep blue was as clear and bright as the day it had been painstakingly inscribed.

‘It is a part of the Qur’an,’ Eleanor said. ‘Or the Koran, as the Western world would name the Muslim’s holy script. But there is an introduction…it praises the goodness of Allah, and asks for his blessing…’ She paused. ‘I think it says for the Abbey of the Far Cross…surely that cannot be, Father? I do not understand—would an Islamic prayer ask for Allah’s blessing on a monastery?’

‘Yes, that it is correct,’ her father said and she saw the gleam of excitement in his eyes. ‘It is the work of Abbot Gregorio. He was a very learned man who lived at an Abbey on an isolated island in Greek waters some three centuries ago. The monks were a silent order, but they had many secrets and there were legends of their fabulous wealth—though where it came from no one knew. According to the story, the Abbot believed that all religions stemmed from the same source and it is said that he was very interested in Islam—but his great wisdom did him little good. Not long after this manuscript would have been created, the Abbey was burned to the ground by Saracens and all the monks were slaughtered. No one knew what had happened to the treasures of the Abbey. They were thought lost…’ Sir William’s excitement was intense. ‘This was discovered in an iron pot in the ground on Cyprus—on our land, Eleanor. Who knows what more we may find hidden away?’

‘No, indeed, if the story be true—we might find untold treasures.’ Eleanor caught her father’s excitement. ‘It is very intriguing,’ she said and smiled at him. ‘This must be worth a great deal in itself. Did Sir John send this to you?’

‘He writes that it was discovered when the gardeners were working near to the house he purchased in my name. Knowing of my interest in such things, he sent it with his warm wishes for our speedy arrival.’

‘Does that mean that we are to leave Italy soon?

‘Yes. It pleases you that we are to leave this house?’ Sir William’s eyes were a faded blue, his hair silvered by age but showing traces of the gold it had once been. ‘Have you not been happy here, daughter? The Count has been kind…’

‘Very kind, Father—but I shall be happier when we are in our own home and may begin to gather our things about us again.’

‘My poor daughter,’ Sir William said, tenderness in his eyes. ‘You miss your books, I dare say. It was a pity we could not bring more of them with us.’

‘We dare not seem to be packing everything,’ Eleanor replied, a flicker of fear in her eyes as she recalled the way they had been forced to flee in the night. ‘You were likely to be arrested at any time. Your life is more important than books—however precious.’

‘England is a dangerous place for a man who was known to be a friend to Cranmer,’ Sir William said. ‘Queen Mary senses treachery in the actions of any man not of her own faith.’

‘But you took no part in any plot against her.’

‘No—yet I knew those who did,’ Sir William said and shuddered. ‘Several of my friends had been seized and put to the torture. I was warned that the same was planned for me. Had it been myself alone…but I had you and your brother to consider, Eleanor. Better a life in exile than a painful death. Fortunately, I have long traded with the merchants of Venice, and much of my fortune was safe in Italy. We have good friends here and in Venice—and Cyprus. But it is there that I believe we should settle. Sir John is brother to your mother and a good, kindly man. If anything should happen to me, he would take care of you and Richard.’

‘Pray, Father—do not speak of such things,’ Eleanor begged him. A chill wind had seemed to blow across her heart as he spoke and she was afraid, though she saw no reason for it. ‘You are safe from those who would see you burned.’

She shuddered as she thought of the cruel deaths suffered by the Archbishop Cranmer and others—and all done in God’s name. She did not believe that the God she knew in her heart would demand such wickedness—for it was surely wicked to kill a man simply for worshipping in his own way. She thought that she quite liked the ideas of the Abbot, who had embraced both Christianity and Islam, though of course she would never dare to voice those opinions aloud. The question of religion had caused fierce fighting all over this region of the Mediterranean for centuries, Christian against Muslim, west against east—and, indeed, she could not condone the culture of the Eastern potentates!

‘Yes, we are all safe, child,’ Sir William said and smiled at her. ‘So you do not wish to marry Count Salvadore? You know that he means to ask you before we leave?’

‘Please do not allow it,’ Eleanor pleaded. ‘Tell him that you wish to settle in your own home before you consider the question of my marriage.’

‘Very well, Eleanor.’ He was not displeased by her decision, because there was no hurry for her to marry. Sir John had a son of twenty years. It was possible that the two might please each other. ‘We leave the day after tomorrow. Sir John has sent his own ship to carry us to our new home. It is a stout vessel and will have a precious cargo of rare treasures. Sir John trades much with the ruler of the Ottoman Empire and he has spent some months collecting pieces he thinks will tempt the Sultan.’

‘Surely my mother’s brother would not trade with such a man? From what you have told me, the Turks are barbaric! To keep others as slaves for their benefit is a terrible sin, Father.’

‘Yes, Eleanor. It is a terrible sin, but you must remember theirs is a different culture. These people are not all barbarians by any means, though the Corsairs that plague these waters most certainly are. I believe that amongst the ruling class there are extremely clever men—and they have wise teachers. The rich live in wonderful palaces; they are also advanced in many things…medicine, for instance.’

‘Because they have Arab slaves,’ Eleanor replied scornfully. ‘You told me that it was the Arabs who had wonderful knowledge and skills in such things—not the Turks!’

‘In the Ottoman Empire there are many races blended into a melting pot of talents and wisdom. These people have developed the Devisherme system, Eleanor. That means that slaves—and the children of slaves—who convert to the faith of Islam are accepted into their society and allowed to prosper from their various talents.’

‘Yet they remain slaves, subservient to the whim of their master!’

‘In theory, yes,’ Sir William admitted, his eyes alight with amusement. Such debates with his daughter were the bread of life to him. He was more tolerant than Eleanor, who could lose her temper when passionate about something—as she was now. ‘But I believe many of them rise to become powerful men—even Bey of a province.’

‘But they are still bound to their master!’

‘Every man, woman and child in the Empire is bound in some way to the Sultan,’ her father replied. ‘He could order the death of any subject who has displeased him—so the free men are no more at liberty to do as they please than the slaves.’ His eyes twinkled at her. ‘Are they so very different from us, Eleanor? We were forced to leave our home because of the whim of a Queen. I could have been seized, tortured and condemned for a crime I had not committed.’

‘Yes, I know, Father.’ She shuddered. ‘I am aware that your life was in danger and I thank God we escaped unharmed. But at least in England they do not shut women in a harem all their lives.’

‘No—but some Western women suffer as much as their Eastern sisters. Disobedient women have been sent to a nunnery against their will, Eleanor, which is perhaps an even more harsh life. I believe the Kadins are rather spoiled, pampered creatures.’ He chuckled deep in his throat. ‘If ever you find yourself in a harem, daughter, you must make yourself indispensable to your master—that is the way to an easy life.’

‘Never! I would rather die. I wonder that you can even say such a thing, Father.’

‘It was but a jest, my dear,’ Sir William said. ‘I pray that you never will find yourself in such a place. You are right. I should not have said anything of the kind. Please forgive me. Though I would rather you fought for your life, my child, always remember that whatever may be done to your body, your mind and soul remains your own. Be true to yourself and to God and nothing can harm you.’ He touched her head as if in blessing.

Eleanor closed her eyes and whispered a prayer. She had felt that chill wind again, but her father’s words comforted her. If she kept her faith and her pride, she could face anything.

Yet why should anything terrible happen? They had only a relatively short journey ahead of them, and were to travel on board a ship belonging to Sir William’s kinsman and friend. Surely they would arrive safely within a few days?



They had been sailing for twenty-four hours when the storm suddenly hit the ship. It came from nowhere, a great, swirling wind that whipped what had seemed to be a calm blue sea into huge waves. The merchant vessel was tossed about like a child’s toy, lurching and rolling in the grip of the atrocious weather.

‘You and your children must stay below,’ the captain had warned Sir William. ‘If you come on deck, I cannot be responsible for your safety.’

Eleanor had been forced to obey, though she would have preferred to be up on deck. It was terrifying to feel the ship shudder and buck, and she feared that they would all die.

She felt ill and was sick constantly, managing only to whisper a prayer between bouts of vomiting. Surely they would all drown!

It was a terrible end to their voyage of hope, and Eleanor touched the heavy silver cross and chain she wore around her neck, together with her father’s precious manuscript, which she was wearing beneath her gown for safe keeping.

‘Oh God, let us all live’ she prayed. In her terror she reached out to whoever was listening. ‘Whether you be Our Lord or Allah—let us live…’



All night the storm raged around them, but suddenly just before dawn it died and the silence was even stranger than the wind that had preceded it. The ship was not moving at all. It seemed that the god of the sea had worn itself out in its fury and was resting.

Their captain told Sir William that they were becalmed and could do nothing but drift until the wind returned.

‘How long before that happens?’ Sir William asked.

‘Perhaps hours…or days.’

There was nothing anyone could do except wait for a benevolent wind. At least the ship had survived the wild night. The sailors would spend their time clearing up the debris of a broken mast; the passengers could do nothing but sleep and wait.



Eleanor was woken by the sound of shouting from the deck above. Immediately, she sensed that something was wrong and struggled into her gown, which fastened at the front to make it easy for travelling. Although she had a maid, the girl was in the next cabin and still terribly ill from the sickness she had suffered during the storm. Eleanor did not know her well, and felt that it would be better to manage alone for the moment.

She paused, then took a few seconds to don her ugly cap, tucking all her hair beneath the veil at the back. She was already wearing her father’s treasure, but her cross and chain were lying on the chest beside her. She was about to snatch them up when her brother came rushing into the cabin.

‘Forgive me,’ he cried, clearly frightened. ‘But Father says you must come. We must all be together. He means to bargain with them…’

‘Bargain with whom?’ Eleanor asked. ‘I do not understand you, Dickon. What is happening?’

‘Corsairs,’ he said, his cheeks pale. ‘They have a fast galley and are bearing down on us hard. We cannot move, Eleanor—which means they will board us.’

‘May God have mercy!’

Eleanor knew what this meant. Every vessel feared an attack by the fearsome pirates who roamed these waters—but their ship was fast and powerful and would usually be capable of outrunning the pirates’ galley. Not without a wind! They were helpless, caught in a trap!

Now Eleanor understood what her father meant about bargaining with the Corsairs. Their only chance was that the captain of the galley would be prepared to sell them to their friends—rather than either killing them or selling them in the slave markets of Algiers.

She was trembling inwardly as she went up on deck. Their lives were truly in the hands of a higher being now. They could be dead within minutes—or prisoners. She held her head erect as she went to join her father. He kissed her on both cheeks.

‘Forgive me, child. When I jested with you, I never dreamed this would happen.’

‘Your jest did not make it happen, Father,’ she replied, refusing to show her fear. Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘The storm brought us to this—and these barbarians take advantage of our plight. Now tell me they are civilized people, Father!’

The galley had drawn alongside as she spoke and she could see the grinning faces of the men who had begun to swarm up the sides of the ship. They were strange, fearsome faces and she felt close to fainting—but she would not give in to such weakness! She would stand up to these heathen devils if she died for it.

The screaming and killing had begun as the sailors prepared to defend themselves from the invaders. They knew their fate if they were taken, and many preferred a swift death to being chained in a galley until they were flogged to death or starved at the oars. Eleanor watched the carnage about her, her face remarkably unmoved—but inside she was shocked and horrified by the cruelty of the invaders. They gave no mercy…even when a cabin boy, who had at first tried to fight, sank to his knees and begged to live.

Eleanor put her arm about Richard’s shoulders. If they were to die, then they would die together.

One of the Corsairs—a tall man with swarthy looks and cruel eyes—had seen them. He appeared to be the leader of these men and he pointed towards Eleanor, giving what was obviously a command.

She lifted her head, meeting those cruel eyes proudly, daring him to touch her. He grinned suddenly as if he recognized the challenge and said something more to his men. Three of them were coming towards them, their manner purposeful.

‘Do not be frightened,’ she said to Richard. ‘Be true to your inner self whatever they do. Remember, you are Richard Nash, and—’

The men had arrived and started to grab at her. She pushed her brother behind her, trying to shield him, but one of the men swooped on her, lifting her and throwing her over his shoulder.

‘Father!’ she cried. ‘I love you—I love Richard.’

She kicked and struggled for all she was worth, but knew it was useless. The man carried her as though she were a sack of straw. He was taking her towards the side of the ship where she was lifted over into the arms of their leader, who was waiting to receive her. The pirates were gathering what they could now and retreating to their galley. Eleanor looked back and saw her father. He was trying to talk to one of the pirates, but the man struck him a blow to the side of the head and he fell to the deck, bleeding profusely.

‘Father…’ she cried despairingly. She saw that another of the pirates had her brother, who was kicking and struggling valiantly against his captor. ‘Don’t fight, Richard…try to live…’ It was her father’s instruction to her and she vowed that she would try. ‘I love you, Father,’ she murmured. ‘I wish they had killed me too…but I shall try to do what you asked of me…’

She could hear the Corsairs shouting and pointing. Glancing out towards the sea, she saw another, larger, faster galley approaching them swiftly. It was a Spanish war galley—and the Spaniards were sworn enemies of the Corsairs.

‘Oh, please God let them be in time,’ Eleanor prayed. ‘Let the Spanish captain of the galley wreak vengeance on these murdering devils. Let us be rescued…’

Tears were trickling down her cheeks as she was dumped on board the galley and then dragged off to what was clearly the cabin of the Corsairs’ leader. She was thrust inside what was an airless hole and she fell to the ground, hitting her head against an iron chest as she did so.

Eleanor was claimed by the merciful blackness and did not know that the Spanish galley had chosen not to pursue their enemy. Its captain was even now climbing aboard the crippled merchant vessel, intent on rescuing the remaining crew of a Christian ship, unaware that the Corsairs had taken prisoners before they ran…




Chapter Two


Eleanor could not be sure how long she had lain in the stuffy, airless cabin. When she first came to herself, she had been aware of pain in her head and very little else. She lay in a state of semi-consciousness, drifting in and out of awareness. Hours passed before she felt her shoulder being roughly shaken and then found herself looking up into the bearded face of the man who had captured her. His fierce eyes snapped with what she thought was anger, sending a ripple of terror winging through her. She gave a moan of fear and shrank back, but instead of cruelly ravishing her as she half expected, he thrust a cup of water into her hand.

‘Drink, woman,’ he muttered in French.

‘You speak French?’ Eleanor asked in the same tongue. ‘Please—tell me what has happened to my brother. Is Richard alive?’

‘Be silent, woman. Drink now—food later.’

Eleanor sat up as the door of the officers’ cabin closed behind him. She sipped the water gratefully. It was cool, fresh and sweet on her lips, taking the taste of ashes from her mouth. For the first time she was able to think clearly and began to wonder how long she had been on board the galley—was it merely hours or days?

Gingerly, she put a hand to the back of her head and found that her hood had been removed, and that there was a patch of dried blood in her hair. Someone must have taken the headdress off while she was unconscious, probably to see what had rendered her that way. It was the blow to the side of her head as she fell that had done the damage, but she ached all over and wondered if she had suffered some kind of a fever. Perhaps the effects of the storm combined with the terror of the pirates attack had… Her father was dead! The pain of knowledge returned like the thrust of a sword in her breast.

Tears welled up in her eyes and fell in a hot cascade down her cheeks. She sobbed for several minutes as her grief overwhelmed her. It was hard to believe that the man she had loved so dearly was lost to her forever…but she had seen the blow that had felled him and believed he must have died of it.

What of her brother? Eleanor’s eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom of the cabin now, and she began to glance around her, trying to make out what the shapes were. There were no bunks or divans here, merely a collection of sea chests—one of which had caused her to have a nasty headache—and a table and stool pushed hard against one wall. Did these men never sleep? But there was a roll of blanket spread on the ground near her—perhaps that served as a bed on this war galley?

One thing was clear: she was alone. Her brother had not been thrown in here after her. Where was he? What had happened to him? Their captor had so far been gentle enough to her…but had Richard been treated differently? Was he still alive? The questions tortured her, increasing her own fear of what was to happen.

She tried to get up and found that she could stand, although her head was still spinning and she felt sick, but she kept upright and did not fall. After a moment or two she managed to walk towards the table on which were spread what she realised were charts and maps of the sea, also various instruments for calculating distance by the stars. Clearly the captain of this vessel was more educated than his appearance allowed, and with that knowledge came a lessening of her fear.

If he was intelligent she might be able to reason with him herself, to arrange for a ransom to be paid. Sir John often traded with the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. A message could be sent to him…he would pay for her and Richard’s release. Perhaps all was not yet lost.

She finished her water and sat down to look at the charts before her. The captain had clearly been plotting a chart—and seemed to be heading for the great city the Christians still called Constantinople, though it had been renamed Istanbul by its conquerors, which lay on the shores of the Bosphorus Straits. She was being taken there to be sold in the slave markets! She had imagined the galley’s base would be Algiers, perhaps because the captain spoke French so well.

The French were more at home in these waters than most of the other Western countries. Some years earlier the Turks had signed an agreement that they would allow only the French flag to trade freely and safely in their waters, though of course there were other merchants who made individual agreements. There were also those who roamed where they would and took the consequences, as their kinsman’s ship had—but only the French had the protection of the Sultan himself.

Her fate would be the same wherever she was taken!

Eleanor shivered as the realisation hit her. It was easy to make the decision to be bold and demand she be ransomed, but why should the Corsair captain listen? He could quite easily sell her—perhaps to the Grand Turk himself—and then she would disappear into a harem, never to be seen again. She shuddered at the thought of what her life would be like in such a place.

The idea of being a man’s concubine appalled her. No! It must not happen. She would not let it happen. It was all a question of money. The Corsairs had taken prisoners to sell them in the slave market. What would her value be on the auction block? She had no way of knowing—but surely it could not be so very much? Her mother’s cousin would pay twice as much to have her back.

Eleanor had no doubts that Sir John would do his utmost to recover both her and Richard. If he had heard of the fate of his ship, he might even now be trying to trace them. Her head lifted, her expression proud and determined. No matter what happened to her she would fight—she would live as her father had bid her—and perhaps one day she would be returned to her family.

But where was Richard?



Mohamed Ali Ben Ibn frowned as he thought about the woman they had captured; she had lain in a fever for several hours after they had taken flight from the Spanish war galley and at first he had thought she might die. That would have been a great loss.

He had seen her quality immediately and ordered her taken as his personal share of the plunder from the merchant ship. Unfortunately, they had not managed to snatch much else of value before they were forced to abandon their prize.

There was the boy, of course. His delicate features would appeal to certain men in the slave markets of Constantinople, and another woman. She was young but not beautiful and would fetch a moderate price—but his woman was more of a prize than he had imagined when he first spotted her.

That glorious hair! He had been shocked when he removed the hood that covered it to attend to her wound, and at first was elated by the value of his prize. But now there were rumblings amongst the crew because their prize was so small. He had been determined to bring the woman to Istanbul at once—and he knew exactly what he was going to do with her—but the crew was dissatisfied with their share.

He must make sure that none of them got near enough to her to see what a beauty she was. Not a hair of her head must be touched—and she must not be violated, for then her value would be lost. He would take her to a certain house on the shores of the Bosphorus where she would be safe from prying eyes—and then he would begin his bargaining.

In the meantime he must find a way of pacifying the crew. He took out the gold ornament he had discovered tucked beneath the girl’s dress when he tried to loosen her bodice—Western women wore such ugly, restricting clothes it was a wonder any of them could breathe!

He saw that the little cylinder of gold was studded with precious stones, and noticed the stopper at the top. Opening what he had imagined was a scent flask, he discovered the tiny manuscript and drew it out. His face paled as he discovered what it was and he dropped it as though his fingers had been burned.

Mohamed Ali Ben Ibn was a Corsair by necessity, not birth. He had been educated in the best schools of his homeland before being captured by Spaniards, and forced to work in their galleys for long years before he had escaped, vowing revenge on the men he hated. Since then he had roamed the seas in search of prey—and he had been successful. He was now a wealthy man and owned a beautiful house, to which he would one day take a woman of his own beliefs, and make sons with her.

His brow furrowed as he looked at what he knew to be cursed. That manuscript was a part of the treasure of the Abbot of the Far Cross—and the legend was that anyone who sought to benefit from the sale of this treasure was doomed to a terrible death. The Saracens who had looted the Abbey and killed the monks had all died violently soon after and it was said that the treasure was scattered far and wide. How had the woman come by it? And why did she wear it around her neck like a talisman? Was she of the true faith and not a Christian as he had supposed?

He was a superstitious man. The treasure must be returned to the girl! Mohamed would find some other way of satisfying his crew. He would give them gold from his own coffers—and he would make sure he recouped his loss from the sale of the girl!



Eleanor was visited twice a day by the captain of the galley. He brought her food and water, and he returned her father’s treasure to her. She had not noticed its loss at first, and was surprised when he gave it to her.

‘Why have you returned this?’ she asked. ‘It is valuable. My family has money. My kinsman will pay a high ransom for me—twice my price in the slave market.’

He glowered at her. ‘Drink and eat, woman.’

It was all he ever said to her

She had begun to wonder if she had overestimated his intelligence. Perhaps they were the only words of French he knew? The next time he came she spoke to him in English, then Italian and finally she spoke the only words she could think of that might reach him.

‘Insh’allah…may the will of Allah prevail. And his blessings be upon you for your kindness…if you will ransom me and my brother to my family. My brother is Richard Nash…son of Sir William and—’

‘You speak too much, woman,’ Mohamed said harshly. ‘A woman should have a still tongue if she does not wish to be beaten.’

‘You are an educated man!’ Eleanor cried. ‘Why will you not listen to my requests? My family will make you a rich man if you ransom me to them. My uncle is Sir John Faversham of Cyprus—’

His look darkened to one of anger. ‘I do not trade with infidels! I kill them. You are not to question me, woman. Be thankful that I do not give you to my men for their sport.’

Eleanor shrank back, the fear writ plain in her face. ‘You would not…be so cruel?’

‘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.’



‘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.’

He stood up, turning away so that he could not see her. He heard her moving in the water and was tempted to turn as she left the bath, but resisted.

‘You can look now.’

Suleiman turned. She had wrapped a towel around her body, leaving her shoulders and arms bare, and was clutching the cloth to her as if her life depended on it. He smiled, feeling oddly moved by her need for modesty. Most of the women were only too eager to show off their charms. He picked up the second towel.

‘Come here. I shall dry your hair.’

She made no move to obey, simply staring at him with her head up and her eyes proud. No one disobeyed Suleiman! To do so could mean instant punishment—even death. He was stunned by her obstinacy. Was she mad or merely foolish? Had she no idea how important he was—or what he could do to her if he chose?

‘You must obey me. I am your master.’

‘You may have bought me, but that does not mean that you can make me your slave.’

Suleiman saw the pride and defiance in her eyes and felt a surge of excitement. She was like one of his hawks—when they were fresh from the wild and untamed to the touch of his hand. Most of the birds succumbed to gentle persuasion in time, but now and then one would attempt to tear out his eyes. If that happened the bird was returned to the wild. Some men would have ordered it killed, but Suleiman understood the wild spirit that could not be tamed—and respected it.

He had never met a truly spirited woman before. They were always trained in their duties by the eunuchs and older women long before they were presented to their master.

‘What makes you say that? Do you not understand that I have absolute power over you? I can do with you as I will.’

‘You can do as you will with my body,’ Eleanor retorted, head high. She ought to be afraid of this man but she wasn’t. ‘But you cannot command my mind—or my soul.’

‘Ah…’ Suleiman nodded, enjoying this verbal tussle. ‘Yes, I see. You think you can rise above the indignity of being a slave. I understand. But you do not. You are fortunate that I paid a great deal of money for you—or you might even now feel pain. I do not think you have ever experienced true pain, Eleanor.’

‘Who gave you permission to use my name?’ Her eyes flashed blue fire.

Suleiman moved towards her, towering above her, menacing her with the power of his strength and masculinity—yet she did not flinch. Her hair had begun to dry at the edges in the hot sun, little wisps curling about her face. He could imagine what it would look like properly dressed in its natural waves, cascading down to the small of her back. He was pleased with his purchase and inclined to indulge her for the moment.

‘Here…’ He put the second towel around her shoulders to protect her from the fierce heat. ‘Go into the house and let Roxana help you to dress. We have a ride of some distance to my father’s palace.’

Eleanor was torn between anger and caution. This man was a noble of his own country. A barbarian, of course, but better than many she might have been sold to. She was foolish to antagonise him. If she tried persuasion instead, he might ransom her to her family.

‘I shall obey because I have no choice for the moment,’ she said with dignity. ‘But you do not understand either, sir. I am the daughter of an English baronet. I have powerful friends. They will look for me and they will pay a high price for my return—twice what you paid for me. You may name your own price, sir.’

‘You do not know how much I paid…’ A smile curved his mouth. ‘Would your family give ten thousand in your English gold coin? I might sell you for such a sum.’

It was a king’s ransom and her family could not pay anywhere near as much—and he knew it.

Eleanor paled from shock. ‘That is impossible. You did not pay any such sum!’

Suleiman laughed, much amused by her reaction. She had not tried to lie, and that pleased him. ‘No, I did not—but I am beginning to think I paid too much. You have too much to say for yourself, woman. Have you no respect for your betters? Do you not know that it becomes a woman to remain silent in the presence of her master—at least until she is given permission to speak?’

‘When I am in company that deserves my respect I give it.’ She felt a flash of temper. How dare this barbarian try to teach her manners? She was an English gentlewoman! ‘Here, I see only barbarians.’

‘Be careful, woman.’ Suleiman’s mouth hardened as he took a step towards her. ‘My patience wears thin. Go to the house before I drag you back in the pool and drown you!’

‘You wouldn’t…’ Eleanor began, but the look in those fierce eyes made her think he just might. She gave a little squeak of alarm, turned and fled.

Suleiman watched her flight, his eyes bright with laughter. He had won the first tussle—but what a fight she had put up. She was indeed a fine prize. A worthy gift for the Sultan…and yet perhaps she needed to be tamed a little first. She was too fiery, too defiant. From what he knew of the Sultan, her spirit would not be particularly appreciated.

Perhaps Suleiman would keep her for a while…




Chapter Three


‘You are beautiful,’ Roxana said as she brushed Eleanor’s long hair. She sighed and looked at her with sympathy. ‘It is a pity that you are destined for the Sultan’s harem and not Suleiman Bakhar’s own household.’

‘Why?’ Eleanor frowned at her.

‘Suleiman Bakhar is young and strong—and they say that to be loved by him is like dying and going to paradise. Though perhaps this is only gossip brought by servant women to the markets.’

‘I do not care if he is young and handsome,’ Eleanor said, shivering as she remembered the look in those fierce eyes when he had threatened to drown her. For a moment she had truly believed he might do it. ‘I do not want to be his concubine.’

‘He might marry you—if you are clever. Until now he has taken only concubines. They say he must marry soon, because he must give the Caliph an heir…’

‘I have no wish to be his wife!’ Eleanor stared at her in horror. ‘I can think of nothing worse.’

‘That is because you do not know what it is like to be the wife of an old man.’ Something flickered in the older woman’s eyes. ‘If you did, you would do all you could to make Suleiman notice you and want you for himself.’

‘Was it very hard for you, Roxana?’ Eleanor looked at her with sympathy. It was easy to see that the older woman had once been lovely—and that she had suffered.

‘Sometimes I prayed that I might die before night came.’

‘Is that why you left me alone in the garden? Did you think I might escape? Were you trying to help me?’

‘It is not in my power. Had you tried to escape, you could not have done so,’ Roxana replied. ‘The walls are high and there are guards outside. Besides, if you had got out you would have been noticed immediately. The clothes you were wearing marked you as an infidel and an unbeliever. You would have been chased and caught by the mob—then, when they saw how beautiful you are, they would have begun to quarrel over you. Unless Mohamed’s men rescued you, you might have been raped again and again…’

Eleanor turned pale. She held up her hands as if to ward off the pictures Roxana’s words had brought to life in her mind.

‘Enough! It is clearly useless to try and escape in the city—but if I managed to slip away outside its walls dressed like this…’

She was wearing a pair of drawers, very full, which reached down to her ankles; they were of a fine green material brocaded with gold. Over these, was a smock of a paler green silk gauze, edged with pearls; it had loose sleeves which covered as far as her elbows and closed at the throat with a cluster of pearls. And to Eleanor’s disgust, her breasts were clearly visible through it! The waistcoat fitted her close to her body and had very long sleeves fringed with gold tassels, and the buttons were again clusters of pearls. On top of all these was what Roxana had called a caftan, and that was a straight robe that covered her to the ankles. A girdle of gold threads woven with what looked like precious stones, but must surely be crystals, was fastened with a heavy clasp of gold, again set with jewels. If they were jewels. But Eleanor was certain they must be false. On her feet she wore soft boots that reached just to mid-thigh and were embroidered with gold thread.

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.’

‘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?’

‘Oh, yes, some time ago,’ Morna replied. ‘It is by his order that you have been given your own rooms.’

‘He has not asked for me?’

‘Our master’s son has not chosen a woman this night,’ Morna replied. ‘They say he is with the physicians who tend the wounded—and that he has spoken to the family of the man who died. The Janissaries are all Suleiman Bakhar’s friends. He trains with them every day. Sometimes there is much sport in the courtyard, and you may be allowed to watch him wrestling or fighting with the others if you are lucky.’

Eleanor was astonished. ‘Why should I wish to watch that barbarian at sport?’

‘Hush!’ Morna glanced over her shoulder nervously. ‘You should not say such things—ears may be listening. We are always watched in the harem. There are spies everywhere. Fatima will have heard that you have arrived by now and she will not be pleased that you have been given your own apartments.’

‘Who is Fatima?’

‘She is the lord Suleiman’s favourite. She rules the harem and all the other women are afraid of her.’

‘Why—what harm can she do them?’

‘Many unpleasant things can happen in this place,’ Morna warned. ‘Fatima is jealous of any woman she thinks might take her place as Suleiman’s chief concubine. She is hoping he will take her as his wife—but she has not yet given him a child, and they say he will not marry her unless she does.’

‘I have no wish to lie in Suleiman Bakhar’s bed,’ Eleanor said. ‘Besides, the other women will not understand what we say if we speak in English—will they?’

‘Most will not,’ Morna agreed, ‘but there are those who do—some of the eunuchs understand English, French or Spanish as well as many other languages. It is the eunuchs who spy on the harem all the time. Some do it from idle curiosity, some to discover what they can for their masters—but others have their own reasons.’

‘What do you mean?’ Eleanor looked at her curiously. ‘They…cannot desire a woman for themself, can they?’

‘No—not a true eunuch,’ Morna replied in a whisper. ‘But sometimes…no, I dare not say. It is forbidden and would cause trouble if it were discovered.’

Eleanor saw that the old woman was frightened and did not press her further, though she thought Morna must be hinting that the women were not as protected as their master imagined. It was clear that there were many mysteries and intrigues in the harem, and that life there was not quite as it had seemed as she’d watched the women amusing themselves earlier

Morna had led her to a room that was slightly apart from the main one that she had seen earlier. There were actually three small interconnecting rooms. One had a little pool for bathing and a place for relieving the bodily functions, one for sleeping (with a couch for her servant at the foot of her own divan) and one for sitting. All of them were luxuriously tiled and hung with silken drapes of pink and silver. There were cabinets of dark wood inlaid with silver, mother of pearl and small semi-precious stones, also stools and little tables.

‘The rooms are very nice,’ Eleanor said. ‘At least I shall be able to be private sometimes—but what am I supposed to do? What are my duties, Morna? Am I to be given no work—no occupation?’

‘The ladies of the harem are here to please their master,’ Morna replied. ‘You simply amuse yourself until you are called to the bedchamber and then…well, then you do as you are told, and smile if you do not wish to be beaten.’

A little shudder went through Eleanor. ‘That is truly a savage custom! I refuse to obey the whim of a man simply because he paid another man money for me.’

Morna shook her head at her sadly. ‘You will learn soon enough,’ she said. ‘I shall fetch food, my lady. You should eat and rest—for tomorrow you will meet the important women of the harem, and they will begin to school you for those duties you say you will not accept…’

Eleanor stared in frustration as the servant left her. She could not stay here! She would die of boredom. How could all those women out there be content to sit around and wait patiently until their master decided to send for them—and what if he never did?

What if she never saw Suleiman again? She would not be able to win her freedom unless she could persuade him to ransom her…



Fatima glared at the woman who had brought her the information that the new arrival had been given rooms of her own. She gave a little scream of rage and struck Shorah across the face, leaving a nasty red mark.

‘I told you to leave her with the other concubines. I gave orders that she was to be ignored!’

‘It was the order of Suleiman Bakhar himself,’ Shorah replied, her head bowed before the favourite, hiding the gleam of resentment in her eyes. ‘I had nothing to do with it, mistress.’

Fatima swore beneath her breath. Word had been brought to her that Suleiman had gone to the city to see a beautiful woman and that he had paid a fabulous price for her—but she had believed the woman was to be a gift for the Sultan. Now it looked as though Suleiman might be planning to keep her for himself. He might even take her as his wife…and that was a position Fatima wanted for herself. As a concubine she could be sold or given away to another man, but as the lord Suleiman’s wife she would be safe and ruler of the harem.

‘Is she beautiful?’ she demanded suddenly of the old woman. ‘This new woman—more beautiful than me?’

‘No one could be more beautiful than you, mistress.’

Fatima nodded. She knew that her dark hair was shiny from all the oils rubbed into it, and her skin was soft and smooth to the touch, exuding a heavy perfume that was guaranteed to drive men wild. And her lord had shown himself no different from others in that respect. She spent most of her time bathing and being prepared for the moment she would be sent for—but Suleiman had not sent for her that evening.

It was most unusual. He always sent for a woman after he had won one of his games of skill—and he was always in a good mood at these times—but he had not sent for Fatima that night. Her one consolation was that he had not sent for the new woman either, choosing to waste his time in comforting the family of the man who had died, and in visiting the wounded.

Yet she feared this woman she had not yet seen. It was said that she was an English gentlewoman—and therefore more dangerous than any of the other concubines. Suleiman’s mother had been English, and Fatima knew that he had fond memories of his childhood.

Suleiman was hard to fathom. When he fought with the Janissaries, Fatima understood the excitement and his feelings of triumph when he won—and she knew that he was a skilled and passionate lover when he chose. However, he often spent his evenings talking, either with his teacher or his friends…they spoke of strange, intricate matters that Fatima would have found boring had she been allowed to listen. She was not, of course. Women were for pleasure, and when Suleiman sent for her she knew how to please him…except that he had not seemed pleased on the last few occasions he had sent for her.

Indeed, she had felt that he did not really want her, and that he would have preferred to be talking with his teacher. She had been glad when she learned the teacher had gone away, thinking that Suleiman would want her more often. Instead he had chosen to invite his friends from the Janissaries to eat and drink with him, and, though, he ordered the dancing girls to perform and he allowed his friends to take their pick of them, he had not sent for Fatima.

She had feared that her lord might have heard whispers concerning her and yet that could not be—he could suspect nothing, for her creature would have told her.





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