Captive of the Harem. Anne Herries

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ