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
