by Anne Herries
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!
he had won!
‘Come, my friend,’ he said, laying an arm about the shoulders
of the man he had vanquished. ‘We shal bathe, drink and eat
together—and then I shal 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 wil 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.’
‘Al 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
wil burn you and yet it wil eventualy bring you al 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
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 wil 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 wil not take
long. Please, eat, drink—and the women wil entertain you.’
long. Please, eat, drink—and the women wil 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 fel 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 shal speak as equals. You wil
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 sel?’ 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?’
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
al 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 al 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 galey 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?’
‘And yet you come to me?’
‘I would not sel 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 wil stay there until I sel
her.’
Suleiman nodded, his
face expressionless. ‘What is your price
for this woman?’
‘One thousand gold pieces, my lord.’
‘For a woman?’ Suleiman laughed scornfuly. ‘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 alowed 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 wil 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 al this man claimed. ‘A thousand
then, but I wil take the boy you spoke of, too.’
then, but I wil 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 galey
for so many days. Bathe and rest and you wil 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 alowed 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 caled Roxana and I am what some
people cal 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
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 skil 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 sel 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 wil 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 wil soon cure that. Come, now, and cleanse yourself. Then
we shal 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 wil take a wife and go far away. Then I shal not
see him again.’
‘He wil not marry you?’
Roxana shook her head. ‘He wil 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 galeys 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 franticaly
looking for a way of escaping as her hostess led her into a waled
garden, which was planted with many bushes and flowers that
gave out a heady perfume. They walked through little paths
gave out a heady perfume. They walked through little paths
between the bushes and wooden trelises, 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 wil disturb you.’ Roxana smiled at her. ‘I shal 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
smal, pert breasts, the nipples the colou
r 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 shalow pool, dipping
down into the water and splashing in it in sheer delight. She
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 normaly have
considered—but perhaps she was worth it. He frowned as she
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
kiling themselves rather than being forced to submit to slavery.
