Anne Hampson

by Beyond the Sweet Waters [HR-1467, MB-433] (epub)

  Their way ran along the coast, past the Ceregan and Dolmabahce Palaces in a southerly direction towards the Galata Bridge. On the bridge itself the usual chaos prevailed. There was congestion and confusion everywhere as the teeming mass of vehicles and pedestrians surged in both directions. The car crawled, the delay being caused by a cart drawn by oxen. No one appeared to mind, no one was in a hurry.

  Although she had fitted into the life as naturally as if she had lived there some considerable time, Jeanette was still fascinated by the city, that meeting place of east and west with its three thousand years of history. Ancient capital of the Ottoman Empire, it had the mysterious fairy-tale-like quality of the Orient in spite of the fact that it was rapidly becoming westernized. Strange contrasts were everywhere apparent. American luxury cars moved alongside little grey donkeys, their backs laden with fruit and vegetables; modern German buses were held up by horse-drawn carts. The architecture, too, presented the same diversity. The old wooden houses and modern blocks of buildings; the Ottoman mosques and Byzantine churches. There were the wealthy ladies with their hired hamals, carrying their parcels; there were the black-capped, moustached Anatolian peasants, hollow-cheeked and careworn, scouring the city in search of work, their wives trudging wearily a few paces behind.

  'What an antiquated custom!' Jeanette frowned her disgust. 'Why does it persist, I wonder?'

  'Quite a good idea.' Craig followed the direction of her gaze. 'Keeps the woman in her place.'

  Jeanette's eyes flashed as she turned to look up at him. His glance was half amused, half mocking. Impossible to tell whether or not the remark was to be taken seriously. It certainly did not reflect his opinion of all women, she decided, thinking for a moment of Diane.

  The old Seraglio, or Topkapi-Saray, as the Palace was called by the Turks, had no systematic plan, for successive Sultans had made their own additions throughout the years. It followed the idea of the ancient Byzantine imperial palaces in that it consisted of kiosks, mosques, fountains, gateways and numerous other ornate buildings dotted about the gardens amid cypresses and plane trees.

  'Take your sun-glasses,' Gwen had warned. 'Topkapi just drips with diamonds and rubies and gold and silver!'

  That, Jeanette soon decided, was in fact an understatement. Never had she dreamed that so much wealth could have been brought together in one collection. Moving from one massive hall full of treasure to another, she became almost speechless with wonder. In one room alone, Craig told her, the gems were estimated to be worth ten million pounds. The throne, encrusted with thousands of emeralds, rubies and pearls, had been taken as spoil from the Shah of Persia's fabulous treasury. The royal cradle glittered with its fantastic ornamentation of precious stones.

  'For the heir, I suppose.' Jeanette became lost in thought as she reflected on the fate of the Sultan's numerous younger sons. On his death they were strangled with a silken cord by order of their brother, the new Sultan. Some were only babies, but others were older, and she wondered how they could have resigned themselves to such a terrible fate. She mentioned this to Craig, who merely shrugged his shoulders before saying, without much interest,

  'It was traditional. They were brought up to accept the inevitable.'

  Frowning at this, Jeanette considered it for a while.

  'They could have tried to escape,' she commented at length. 'I think they were stupid to accept it.'

  'One must have somewhere to escape to,' replied Craig on an odd note. 'Quite often there isn't anywhere, in which case the sensible course is to resign oneself and accept what... life has to offer.' He turned to look at her squarely, and she knew he was not referring to the fate of the young princes.

  'I — don't understand you,' she murmured, finding herself unable to hold his gaze.

  'No? Then let me put it this way; those young men accepted death, but they also accepted life - took everything it had to give. There are some people, Jeanette, who persist in trying to escape from life.'

  The precise meaning of his words still eluded her, though she had the sure conviction that it held both censure and warning. He could not mean that she was trying to escape from life ... and yet. ... Her brow creased in doubt. Was she accepting all that life had to offer? True, for three years she had lived almost as a recluse, her only interest being the lectures she had attended on archaeology at the university, but all that was now changed. She had friends, and belonged to the young and happy crowd that frequented the flat at Tophane. Her life was normal except for her attitude towards marriage. As she owed all her loyalty to Ned's memory, she could, never marry, but Craig did not refer to that because he knew nothing about it - or did he? For the first time Jeanette fell to wondering just how much her brother had revealed about her.

  'I still don't understand you,' she said at last, aware that he waited inquiringly for some comment.

  'Don't you?' His tone was clipped and impatient 'Very well, let's forget it.' And he moved to examine with apparent interest a collection of belts and clasps from the royal robes. Picking out certain items, he told her about the history, and the values, his eyes remaining cold even though Jeanette's widened in almost childish wonderment.

  'A hundred thousand pounds for one clasp!' It was formed of three emeralds with a gold setting. 'Where did it all come from?'

  'Gifts from monarchs to the reigning Sultan, mainly. It was collected over a period of five hundred years, remember.'

  'Yes, of course.' They passed into other rooms, where in the great showcases gold and silver plate lay sadly covered with the dust of ages. So vast was the treasure that it was obviously impossible to keep it all clean.

  'The rooms of the harem aren't open to the public,' Craig said, and she found herself sighing with relief. She felt so dazzled that she could not take in much more, she told him apologetically.

  'I know how you feel; you'll derive greater benefit from small doses. We must come again in a week or two.' Despite this reference to another outing his tone remained cool and distant. The easy manner which had existed between them during the last couple of hours was gone and Jeanette sighed for its loss.

  'You might like to see the kitchens, and then we'll go and have some tea.'

  The kitchens were staggering in their size. Jeanette could not understand why they were so vast, or why there were so many of them.

  'Not only the Sultan, but his mother, the wives, the chief eunuch and numerous other officials had their own private kitchens,' Craig explained as Jeanette stared in disbelief at the giant-sized utensils.

  The kitchens housed a collection of over three-thousand pieces of Chinese porcelain. There was a great deal of Ming, which Jeanette did not find particularly attractive; and the dishes and bowls which had huge rubies and emeralds stuck into their sides she found positively ugly. After wandering round on her own for a while she returned to Craig, who was so absorbed in the contents of one showcase that he appeared to be oblivious of everything going on around him.

  'Oh, how lovely!' she exclaimed, and he turned in some surprise.

  'Do you know anything about Celadons?' he asked curiously, his surprise increasing as she nodded.

  'I studied the Sung dynasty for a while, and also attended a course on the pottery of the period. Then I was lucky enough to be invited to view the private collection of one of the lecturers.'

  'You were lucky indeed. Did he happen to have a private fortune, too, this lecturer? He certainly didn't buy Celadons out of his salary.'

  'His father left him money, and he used it in that way. He bought most of his pieces in China, but would travel to any part of the world if he knew there was a Celadon for sale.'

  They stood in silence for some time, intent only on the exquisite simplicity of the Vessels and bowls of incredible shades of blues and greens. Some bore faint marks of decoration; others were unadorned, and all had survived for nearly a thousand years.

  An intimacy crept into their relationship as they stood together side by side, an intimacy born of their com
mon interest, a love of beauty and antiquity. It swept away all restraint and brought them close for the very first time. Jeanette felt a strange happiness envelop her; it became revealed in her eyes and her smile as she moved her glance for a moment to turn to Craig. His own smile formed in quick response and he took her arm when, reluctantly, they both moved away.

  Passing, out through the 'Gate of Peace', they stopped for Craig to read the inscription which was written in Arabic above. It expressed the basic creed of Mohammedanism.

  'There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is the Prophet of Allah.'

  The gate was flanked by tall towers; the chambers on the left were equipped with everything required for executions, Craig informed her. Here condemned high court officials were beheaded.

  'Only the Sultan was allowed to enter through this gate,' he went on, and then, in some amusement, 'If you're a romantic you can probably imagine him, in his splendid robes and jewelled turban, riding his magnificent steed— Or perhaps you would not consider that romantic?' He ended on a quizzical note and she laughed. When she spoke, however, her tones were serious.

  'No, not when I remember the despotism of the rule. Turkey did well to rid herself of the Sultans.' Recalling that it was only forty-seven years since the last Sultan was deposed, she went on to ask curiously, 'I wonder what happened to the ladies of the harem ? Some of them must be still living.'

  'Many were returned to their families; the others -some of whom are now over eighty — are being cared for by the State.'

  After having tea they wandered round the city for a while, as though anxious to prolong an afternoon that had proved so pleasant. They looked at the shops, at the colourful boats warped to the Galata Bridge, and at the fishermen, just standing about, apparently in no hurry to sell the fish they had caught.

  'They have so many different kinds,' observed Jeanette watching two men unload their boat. 'I've never seen so many fish.'

  Graig explained that there were so many different currents and temperatures that the variety of plankton varied enormously and, consequently, the fish varied greatly, too.

  There were street vendors everywhere, and rows of boot-blacks with their gleaming brass equipment. Suddenly realizing that she was constantly stopping to stare, Jeanette glanced up rather anxiously to discover what effect this had on Craig. Was he amused, bored, or actually impatient? Impossible to tell, for his calm demeanour revealed nothing. This did encourage her, however, as they neared the Sultan Ahmet Mosque, to suggest they enter it for a few moments. He nodded at once, as though the idea had already occurred to him.

  In keeping with the Mohammedan ritual, they removed, their shoes and, placing them on the rack, stepped out of the bright sunlight into the cool and dim interior of the mosque. A Turkish gentleman approached them. Tall and cultured, with bronzed skin and a mystic smile, he asked if they required a guide. Craig declined, but thanked him. He continued to accompany them, however, as they moved slowly over the thick carpets towards the while marble minber, talking of famous people who had visited the mosque. He talked a good deal of Mecca, though he had not yet made the sacred pilgrimage himself. Then, with a slight bow, he left them for a group of tourists who were staring somewhat vacantly about as if not quite knowing what they should do.

  Jeanette stared up at the great towering dome and felt very small. She and Craig stood watching the row of workmen who, having taken time off from their labours, stood barefooted, their heads bowed in prayer.

  'The Koran says the faithful must pray five times a day,' Craig whispered. 'They always pray at this hour — just before sunset.'

  'He lapsed into silence again and Jeanette gazed around her, marvelling at the massive pillars, the beautifully coloured windows and the numerous gold inscriptions — sacred writings from the Koran.

  Over everything there shone the mysterious radiance effected by the blue tiles which decorated the walls; and in the atmosphere was felt the ever-present mellowness of age. Jeanette gave herself up to that sense of peace which she had experienced on a previous visit. Craig's hand on her arm, as he pointed out the highly ornate mihrab, awoke her from the sublime apathy into which she had fallen. She became profoundly aware of his nearness, and of the strengthening of the intimacy which had come upon them before leaving Topkapi.

  The sun was setting as they came out into the court, yard again, and the great granite pillars were bathed in deep crimson glow which contrasted eerily with the backcloth of ancient plane trees and the dark outlines of buildings scattered about the grounds. Lights began to appear all over the old part of the city, and also in Galata and Tophane through which they passed on their way home.

  'Tired?' A mingling of gentleness and concern entered Craig's tone, for Jeanette had become oddly silent.

  'A happy tiredness,' she smiled. 'I do thank you, Craig for a wonderful afternoon.' Her smile deepened as she turned jn the car, and her eyes were wide and filled with a new expression of which she was unaware. 'I shall always remember it.'

  'So shall I,' he returned, and then, 'We must have another trip out soon. There's so much for you to see. Next week-end is out because of the Queen's official birthday celebrations on Saturday, and I shall be going down to Buyuk Ada on Sunday — what about the following week-end?'

  'That will be lovely!' Her eagerness brought a faint smile to Craig's lips. 'Where shall we go then?' She thought again about his book, wondering at his willingness to neglect it, for he had told Mark that he hoped to finish it by the end of the year.

  'We certainly have plenty to choose from. Have you been over to the Asiatic side yet?' and when she shook her head, 'You'll like it. There are no large hotels, just quaint little fishing villages and ruined palaces - and, of course; the lovely stretch of country between Buyuk Gok Su and Kucuk Gok Su. Those are two little rivers that flow into the Bosphorus. The region is best known to us as the "Sweet Waters of Asia". When my grandmother was young it was the favourite rendezvous of high Ottoman society. The Turkish ladies would sail up Buyuk Gok Su in their gilded barges, and a most wonderful sight it was.'

  'It sounds fascinating.'

  'Much of its Orientalism is now lost, of course, but its natural beauty remains unchanged. I'm sure you'll be delighted with it.'

  By this time they had reached the drive and Jeanette offered to get out at the end, but Craig insisted on taking her to the door.

  'Metat is in, I suppose?' he asked as she entered the hall.

  'Oh, yes, he will be.' Jeanette looked about her vaguely. 'Well, Mrs. Baydur will be; she never goes out.'

  Not satisfied, Craig followed her into the sitting-room. There was no sign either of Mrs. Baydur or Metat.

  'Will Mark be very late?' he began, then saw Metat pass the window on his way in from the garden. 'Metat is in, so you'll be all right—' He broke off and, crossing the room, took a small object from the shelf in the corner. 'What's this?'

  'I meant to ask you about it. I picked it up in a little shop where Sally and Gwen buy small antiques. What do you think about it?' She waited anxiously, and as he remained silent, examining it critically, she added, 'I — didn't pay much for it.' Still Craig continued to examine it with the touch of an expert, and after a while Jeanette suggested it might be a perfume jar.

  'Yes, a perfume jar, certainly.' There was another long silence. 'It's exquisite. This is a real find, Jeanette.'

  'Oh, Craig, is it really something special? I couldn't be sure, but I thought it might be. It's European, don't you [agree?' His verdict had given her back the confidence she had had when buying it, and which she had begun to lose during his long deliberation. 'It has certain characteristics—' She broke off as Craig shook his head.

  'Definitely not European.'

  'But the clay, and texture?'

  'No.' His reply was emphatic. He turned the little jar over and over, handling it almost with reverence as his fingers moved across the surface with a gentleness that amazed her. What a strange man! One day he could be so arrogant and inf
lexible; another pleasant and companionable - and now.... She had never before seen him as human as this! He spoke at last, very quietly, but with conviction.

  'Egyptian; about two thousand years old.'

  Hey eyes sparkled; she accepted his verdict without question.

  'Two thousand? As old as that?'

  'A rare find, indeed. Where did you say you bought it?'

  'At a little shop - I don't think I could find it myself! Gwen and Sally took me. We went through the Grand Bazaar into a cobbled alleyway, and there was this shop tucked right behind, and all grimy and full of junk.

  'Junk!' he exclaimed, and they both laughed. 'You must go along and find some more of this - er - junk.'

  'We're going on Tuesday after school, but I don't suppose I'll find anything like this again.'

  'It's extremely doubtful,' he agreed, and then, with a surprising twinkle in his eye, 'But you never know what else you may find. You could pick up a Celadon.

  'That's a very remote possibility, too,' she laughed. 'I don't suppose I shall ever start collecting those.'

  He gave a gesture of agreement.

  'You'll have to find yourself a husband with a ready-made collection.' His eyes still held amusement and his voice was light. Clearly he was joking, yet she stiffened at the mention of marriage and found herself unable to reply.

  A change entered the atmosphere, almost imperceptible at first, but intensely apparent when, having replaced the jar, Craig turned to face her. Gone was the warmth of manner and amused expression. The more familiar hardness touched his mouth and his eyes glinted, cold as steel. Jeanette stared unbelievingly. What could have caused this sudden change in him?

  'I must go,' he said brusquely. 'Don't stay up too late, you've had a tiring afternoon.' And with that piece of advice he was gone.

  What a strange ending to the wonderful hours they had spent together. Jeanette suddenly thought of Diane, and wondered if she really knew Craig, if she knew what a moody, unpredictable man she was going to marry.