by Purple Hazel
She took on a new attitude; filled her days in port with activity, getting to know more of her fellow prisoners and even some of the concubines and guards protecting them from the crew. It made sense some of the girls assured her.
“Perhaps it will prevent being selected for removal,” one of them concluded, then added “One can only hope.” However, it may have been nothing more than good fortune that kept Tatyana from being dragged off and sold or given away to some wealthy Turk as part of a silk transaction.
Frankly, there didn't seem to be any sort of pattern to it. Sometimes it seemed like it was based on appearance or age. Sometimes it appeared as though it was based on hair color or body type. Small, young girls got taken away in some instances—then in other cases it was more voluptuous or buxom women (and Tatyana was certainly all of that!) But still as the days passed she was continually passed over. Of course, Tatyana did do some wise maneuvering that week to ensure she remained on board with the girls heading to Bursa. For Tatyana had guessed correctly that being “one of the girls” and “in with the right crowd” was something the concubines and guards would notice; so she tried hard to gain acceptance with them. It was easy. Her nature was to see the positives in most any situation; and now faced with what she’d seen, she chose to focus on what she should truly be thankful for.
She talked about it with the remaining girls whom she’d befriended, too. If she'd been sold to a merchant in Caffa, for instance, her life would have been miserable. She certainly saw why, when she'd been marched through the stinking streets of the town to the slave paddock. It didn't just smell like a sewer, it was a sewer. And what if she'd been sold to some wealthy Tatar? Living in a Yurt with nomads on the Crimean steppe—as the beautiful concubine of some Tatar Mirza? She'd be treated cruelly by his wives; and reduced to a status of lowly servitude that would age her rapidly. Oh, “Lyev” might find her someday; she told her new friends, but in less than ten years she'd look like a broken down old woman.
Tatyana now knew she should feel blessed for her good fortune, such as it was. Most certainly she did. However, Tatyana didn't stop there. She also started learning how to communicate with her Turkish captors. That above everything else likely saved her from being selected for removal.
It wasn't that difficult really. Several of them spoke Russian already. Frankly they had to, just to communicate with newly acquired slaves—though none of the male and female concubines or guards staying with the slave girls were ethnic Russians themselves. They were Circassians, Lithuanians, Poles, Arabs, or Black Africans—and one was even a male Turk! But this particular young man, who was a male concubine from Cappodocia, spoke plenty enough Russian to communicate with Tatyana.
Odalik was his name—or at least that was what he went by—and it was quite the ironic joke since that was essentially a term for a female slave given as a gift to a Sultan. In a small way it was true, in that Odalik had been purchased by Tuccar a year before to use for his personal pleasure whenever he desired male companionship; but since Odalik had never been called upon for such intimate activities and Tuccar had never presented him to a nobleman to become the man's body slave, Odalik simply remained in his status as a lowly servant.
It made no sense, really. Odalik was a rather attractive young man, with bold features, a wiry body, and smooth-skinned face. To a Turk who might be fond of men, Odalik would have been quite enticing; and for that matter it was indeed a big part of the male-dominated culture of the Ottomans, where men were part of a strong warrior society that valued male virtues and considered females to be lower class citizens at best. Being attracted to a man was merely a reflection of an older male's desire to be in the company of males who exhibited beauty they'd once held or still identified with. Homosexuality in Turkish high society was therefore quite acceptable among males; and a male concubine might offer an alternatively pleasurable sexual experience that certain noblemen might grow to prefer on occasion.
Yet Odalik was never utilized in such a manner. Tuccar kept him as a servant to the other concubines in his house, a translator for the captured slave girls who spoke only Russian, and, of course, when it pleased Tuccar to do so, he could be called upon to pleasure Tuccar's many personal bodyguards so that they'd not be inclined to partake of the female slaves when Tuccar was away!
Odalik took an immediate liking to the beautiful Tatyana. Her brunette hair and hazel eyes were as exotic to him as the many white-haired and golden-blonde slave girls on board. Her voluptuous features and fully-developed chest attracted him even more so than the skinny teenagers among them. It wasn't long before the two struck up a friendship; and it was via Odalik that Tatyana began to learn how to speak Turkish proficiently.
They began with common nouns, such as bread, food, chair, wall, door, floor, and table. And from there they went on to words she'd have to know that described things she'd see in a palace like bed, pillow, man, room, and (unfortunately for Tatyana) penis. From there they went right on to verbs for things Tatyana would eventually have to do when she was a concubine, like make, sit, wash, eat, stand, come, go, or (again unfortunately for Tatyana) make love. Before long, he was teaching Tatyana how to form sentences; and after a couple more days in that ship’s hold with Odalik sitting next to her and several other girls who chose to sit in for the lessons, Tatyana was slowly getting the hang of it.
Tatyana also made big strides with the other concubines and guards by adhering to the practices of their religion. She was one of the first to do so, and when the crew on deck as well as the Muslim converts among Tuccar's staff heeded the daily calls to prayer emitting from the city's Minarets, Tatyana quickly learned to join them in facing Mecca and kneeling to make prayers to Allah in the Muslim fashion. Odalik would kneel next to her and translate the words spoken from the Koran; and to Tatyana they made sense. Christianity after all was essentially the same concept, at least in her mind. The principles were very similar.
Submission to the will of the Lord? Humbling oneself before God and accepting His judgment? Seeking guidance and strength from God in following a righteous path in life? She found the words of the Koran to be downright soothing. It was not much different than going to Holy Confession…or the words spoken at an Orthodox Christian Mass. Tatyana decided she had no qualms with it.
Of course, others did reject Islam outright, and Tatyana quickly noticed many of them were later hauled away. She never made this mistake. It was just one of her many wise choices. Her new friends among the remaining slave girls followed suit, and in time Odalik was translating The Adhan, or Call to Prayer, into Russian for them.
“Allahu Akbar,” he taught them, then bid them repeat it. “Allahu Akbar,” he said again, and once more gestured for them to say it back to him two more times. “Ash-hadu alla ilaha illa-llah,” he then said and subsequently translated it for them. “This means ‘I bear witness that there is none worthy of worship but Allah.’ Now please say it back to me, “Ash-hadu alla ilaha illa-llah.” And the girls did so.
“Ash-hadu anna Muhammadar-Rasulullah, that is the next part. Now you try,” he continued, and when the girls fumbled through it, he repeated until they’d learned it. “It means ‘I bear witness that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah.’ Then we say, ‘Hayya ‘ala-s-Salah, hayya ‘ala -s-Salah.’ It means ‘hasten to prayer, hasten to prayer.’ That’s why this, too, is said twice. Then we say ‘Hayya ‘ala-l-falah, hayya ‘ala-l-falah.’ That means ‘hasten to real success, hasten to real success.” This elicited a few giggles from the girls, but Odalik ignored them. “After this is spoken, the faithful will often say ‘La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah’…there is no might or power except with Allah. And we finish like this…’Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar. La ilaha illa-llah’…there is none worthy of worship but Allah.”
He then showed them how to kneel and bow their heads to the floor, saying, “Allahumma rabba hadhihi-d-da’awati-t-tammati wa-s-Salati-l-qa’imati, ati Muhammadan il-wasilata wa-l-fadilata wa-d-darajata-r-rafi’ati wa-b’a
th-hu maqamam mahmudan illadhi wa’adtahu…O Allah, Lord of this most perfect call, and of the Prayer that is about to be established, grant to Muhammad the favor of nearness to You and excellence and a place of distinction, and exalt him to a position of glory that You have promised…”
By the time the ship set sail again and went on to the port leading to the city of Bursa, their numbers had declined to a mere twenty-three—twenty-three lucky souls who could now hope for a future that ironically enough was everything they'd been taught to abhor when they were little girls back home in Russia. They’d been through hell to get there, oh, yes, but before they knew it, they were making port. The journey to their magical wonderland was nearing its end. Bursa! The city once referred to as Hüdavendigar (God’s gift) by the Ottomans.
* * * *
Arriving in the town, Tatyana had already learned about the city. Odalik had told her quite a bit about it in a mix of Russian and Turkish during the long wagon ride from the port of Incir. The city was certainly all he'd described—if not much, much more.
Situated at the base of a giant mountain the Turks called Uludag, which towers 8,343 feet above the city, she could gradually make out the swath of red-tiled roofs and quaint architecture. She could also see the Ulu Camii (Great Mosque) looming over the skyline. Odalik said it had been built over a hundred and seventy years earlier by Bayezid I and when they got closer, Tatyana could see the twenty gleaming domes which made up the roof.
Odalik intimated to her that this had likely been a compromise by the clever Sultan: “You see, he promised the city that as an offering to God for a great victory in battle, he'd build twenty mosques in the city as a demonstration of his piousness. However, the shrewd fellow apparently chose to save money by building them all at the same time…on the same site!” Tatyana giggled when she saw the place, especially when she remembered how careful Odalik had been in telling her this well-known but discretely-spoken little morsel of local trivia.
Just like Odalik had told her to expect, they were immediately sent up to the sulphur baths at Keceli Hamami to be bathed and scrubbed once more before the next Muslim call to prayer. He had told her not to dread this.
“These baths are fed by volcanic aquifers far beneath the surface,” he informed her, “and their amazing healing properties have been well known for centuries. The Byzantines many years before discovered and regularly visited them.” Tatyana saw the facility from down in the city and looked forward to getting herself cleaned. She was terribly dirty and her clothes were soiled from the bilge and crud of the ship’s hold. Odalik had also informed her the bathing process was quite “thorough,” but then added with a grin, “Don’t worry, my dear girl…Tadını çıkaracaksınız (You will enjoy it my friend).”
Arriving at the Keceli Hamami, the women were told to enter the facility and remove their garments which had once been brand new when they'd first left Caffa. The sun felt spectacular on their faces during the long walk up the hill to the baths, but by the time they arrived, most of them were quite breathless from the rise in altitude and thinner mountain air. Nevertheless, it had been refreshing to finally get off that infernal ship and stretch their legs! Once completely disrobed, their dirty clothing was taken away, and naked slave girls (mostly young black Africans and a few Arab girls of varying ages) came forward to escort them into the main bath area.
It was an amazing building! Big archways surrounded the main bath which was only about five feet deep at the center, but had steps leading down into the steaming water. Already a hundred people were inside the main room and the pool itself was quite massive: oval shaped and nearly thirty yards across at the widest point. The steam coming off the milky looking water added to the mystical appearance of the place, and above them towered a massive dome supported by the many archways surrounding the pool and marble stone walkway.
Naked women were everywhere, bathing or languishing in the hot water, or cooling off in nearby alcoves. Spouts emitted cool mountain runoff for them to wash off the dirt and dust of the city and many used hook-shaped scrapers made of shiny metal to remove olive oil which they’d slathered their skin with as protection from the unrelenting Anatolian sun.
The odors of bodies and olive oil, when mixed with the smell of sulphur, was something Tatyana and the other Russian girls had never experienced before. For that matter, none of them had ever seen an African woman either! Thus, Tatyana was not sure exactly where all the smells were coming from. The olive oil smelled sweet, and the Sulphur smelled peculiar—almost like a sweaty armpit. Even the tavern never smelled quite like these combined aromas! It was like summer mornings when Bogdan would be baking bread or brewing ale…windows open and with all the smells of the city wafting in to combine with the scent of yeast and barley and drying floors from cleaning up the night before.
The slave attendants were quite gentle but businesslike, leading in each girl to sit naked on a cool marble bench where they were given rather strange looking platform sandals made of cork. A leather band on the sandals ran across the top of their feet but didn't strap in the back. Instead, the girls were able to stand on them precariously for a moment or two as they got used to the rise in height, but soon they found they could walk in them across the sandy floor of the baths without getting their feet dirty and easily slip them off to enter the pool. Each attendant led a girl to the enormous thermal bath and helped her into the hot water, then she would be encouraged to enjoy the warm soothing waters while the attendant went back to fetch another.
When Tatyana slipped down into the water, she momentarily yelped with excited surprise! The water practically scalded her! It was like reaching into a pot of hot water where Father was soaking dirty plates—or picking out a piece of bone from a pot of chicken broth. Now it felt like she, too, was simmering like a chicken in a pot! But she gritted her teeth and gasped a few times until she acclimated to the steaming water. After a few moments, she was practically dizzy from it. It was quite relaxing! The African slave girl came back presently with another of the Russian girls and brought her over to the water’s edge.
“How is it, Tatyana?” asked her fellow captive—a girl named Olga who was originally from Tula. Olga got an odd look on her face from the odorous sulfur and crinkled up her nose. She then asked, “Actually, what is it exactly?” Tatyana laughed and could soon hear her voice echoing about the gigantic domed hall.
“I'm not sure podruga…but I must say it feels really good…making my head spin a bit!” she yelled back to Olga. “Come on in and try it…Odalik said these waters have magical powers!” This Tatyana added as she rubbed her breasts with the healing waters. Olga stood naked with her hands on her hips staring down at the steaming bath. She then scratched her sandy blonde tuft of hair between her legs, twisted her mouth ever-so-slightly, bit her lip humorously, and finally exclaimed, “Okay then …if Odalik says so…” and with no further hesitation she jumped in next to Tatyana causing an enormous splash as she whooped with excitement.
Eventually, all twenty-three of the girls were in that hot pool cavorting and splashing each other playfully. They felt like sisters now; these girls who'd survived the voyage and stuck together throughout (either through sheer good fortune or due to their adaptive abilities). And this was their first big party, all of them completely naked together in a pool full of piping hot sulfur spring water. Even the African slave girls giggled a bit watching them, realizing there was no real supervision in a private sanctuary like Keceli Hamami. It was created specifically for and visited exclusively by women. Here, females were able to be themselves, enjoy each other's company, and bathe their tired gritty bodies. Here they could be free of their overbearing husbands, free of their lowly status in Turkish society, and free of all the deprivations of the outside world. It was their own private paradise in a way. Only the peaceful tranquility of the Mosque could surpass this.
Perhaps for that reason, no one batted an eye as the slave girls wrestled and rough-housed with each other in the water. Their laugh
ter and giggles were a splendid release for them—after all they'd endured to get here—and yet there was still more in store for them! After they exited the bath, slaves led them over to alcoves with little marble benches where they could sit naked while the attendant poured cool water over their heads and shoulders to rinse the minerals off their skin and revive their senses. Some went to get rinsed off and came right back to rejoin the party. Some merely sat along the side and enjoyed the spectacle of all their friends horse-playing out there in that enormous pool. Turkish women nearby did so too; watching the ivory white beauties frolicking and splashing each other. Tatyana hadn’t enjoyed herself this much since bathing naked in the stream by Lyev's farm! These were her new friends, and she bonded with them like the sisters she never had growing up.
“I could learn to like this, you know?” she said to them once or twice. Everyone agreed. It was the happiest they’d been in months.
After their baths, one by one they were then taken over to a smooth marble bench where they were bid to lay comfortably on their stomachs—and later their backs—while an attendant rubbed their bodies from shoulders to toes with foaming soap, scrubbing and massaging everywhere, using their fingers and some puffy, odd-looking sea sponges. It felt amazing; and the girls simply loved it. The steam had opened up the pores of their soft skin. The sulphur had relaxed their bodies. And now the sudsy soap was cleaning out those pores until they glowed from head to toe. Such pampering was like a true-life fantasy made real. It suddenly felt like they'd been whisked away from the pathetic lives they'd known before; only to be delivered through some horrible nightmare to this mystical place. Bursa was where many of them would wish to spend the rest of their lives now: this beautiful and fantastic city of green grass, lovely parks, flowery gardens, red clay roofs, and a towering mountain capped with snow. “I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven,” commented Olga. Many felt the same.