by Beth Elliot
They were on a landing stage backed by a busy little square. It seemed like market day from the large numbers of people and goods. There was a mosque along one side and near it a large fountain with a shady roof jutting out over the structure. All around the square and behind it were houses similar to the yali they were staying in but not so grand. Larger houses were dotted up the hillside among trees and stretches of open grassland. In front of them lay the sea.
Rose had the impression that it was like a floating market. It was covered in boats, all full of moving figures. They were loading and unloading goods, or even selling things to people on the shore. Still more boats of all sizes bobbed along further out. She could see the men and oars moving in a steady rhythm, driving the boats along at a good speed. They were ferrying passengers across the channel. The air was full of noise, the flapping of sails, the shouts of the men, the cries of the market vendors and the squawking of seagulls. A youth carrying a huge case strapped over his shoulder came up to them, holding out a beaker. The huge guard waved him away, none too gently.
‘Calm!’ whispered Helena with a giggle.
Now their giant guard was pointing to a large, sleek vessel with gilded decorations along the prow. They stepped on board and followed Latife to a covered galley at the stern. Inside it was a large bench spread with mats and cushions.
‘This is such a graceful boat. It makes me think of the Venetian gondola,’ said Rose a little breathlessly, grasping at the frame of the cabin to keep upright.
‘So you have visited Venice,’ exclaimed Latife, giving the sign to their guards that they were ready to set off.
‘Oh.’ Rose wobbled and toppled onto the cushions as the boat surged forward. ‘That was sudden,’ she said, adjusting her veils and wraps as best she could. ‘No, I have only seen Venice in paintings. My uncle travelled there when he was young.’
Helena was still standing, clinging onto the frame of the cabin. She watched the rhythmic movement of the men and the oars. ‘Oh, how terrible!’ Her voice was shrill and horrified, causing Latife to break off what she was saying about the problems of visiting friends when they lived across the water.
‘Is something wrong?’ Latife asked.
‘Tha- that boat…’ Helena pointed a shaking finger. ‘we nearly smashed into him. And here comes another… I am sure our oarsmen will hit it. See, it has disappeared under the bow…’ She pressed a hand to her mouth.
‘Do not worry,’ Latife said, amused. ‘Look, there it is, he was not so close as it seems. This is a busy waterway. We are all used to dodging each other. Come, sit down. There will be no accidents.’
Rose shaded her eyes and gazed keenly ahead. ‘Every day I have been looking at these huge buildings from afar. At last I am seeing them in more detail.’
Latife pointed out the various palaces and mosques, as well as the turreted walls of the Sultan’s palace at the very end of the Golden Horn. Both Rose and Helena were thrilled. The scale of the buildings and the superb setting became almost overwhelming as they drew closer. Then their oarsmen swept into a little bay, quiet and green with tall trees that hid all the minarets and towers. It seemed as if they had reached open country. There was just one enormous red painted mansion with balconies that overhung the water.
‘My cousin’s home,’ said Latife, ‘this side is quite private but it is close to the heart of the city. The road is up there.’ She indicated the slope at the back of the mansion. She led the way ashore and patted at her veils. ‘Come and meet Princess Hulya. She is the wife of the Grand Vizir – the chief minister to the Sultan.’
Chapter Eight
The group of ladies were sitting on the divans drinking coffee when Latife brought her guests into the room. The delicious aroma hung in the air. The younger ladies rose with much fluttering of gauzy wraps and many exclamations of pleasure. There were a number of small children running around but at the new arrivals, they all stopped what they were doing and went to cling onto their mothers’ robes.
Rose and Helena saw all faces turn to examine them. They received smiles and gracious nods of approval. They curtsied in the English style to Princess Hulya, which caused even broader smiles. The princess indicated a divan close to her own and they sat down, doing their best to sit like the other ladies, cross-legged. The conversation started up again. Latife was answering endless questions and everyone was inspecting the sisters quite openly.
Before they could feel too embarrassed by such avid curiosity, a smiling girl offered them coffee. It was a welcome distraction. Rose was also curious. This was the first time she had been in a harem. She tried to take in all the details of the furnishings and decoration. She wondered how many of these ladies belonged to the family and how many were visitors.
There were a number of younger girls standing at the back of the room, watching eagerly and whispering to each other. She could see that her fair hair was the subject of many comments. Whenever a lady finished her drink, one of these girls would hurry to pick up the empty cup. Each time, the girl would glance timidly at Rose and Helena.
After the coffee cups had all been taken away, the girls returned to set plates of dried fruits and nuts by each guest. One or two of the ladies had hubble-bubble pipes, which were now lit. The scent of tobacco smoke mingled with the varied fragrances of the fruits and the lemon cologne that was offered to the ladies when their fingers became sticky after eating the figs and mulberries.
Their hostess was seated alone on a red velvet covered divan under the latticed window facing the garden. She was about the same age as Latife but considerably plumper, which made her appear older. Rose noticed that her clothes were extremely ornate and she was adorned with many strings of pearls and gold chains and bracelets.
All heads kept turning to the two English girls and everyone seemed to be asking Latife questions. At length, the princess declared, ‘Mrs Rose, we say your yellow hair pretty -very much.’ She smiled and inclined her head.
‘Oh,’ Rose was embarrassed, ‘why, thank you, Your Highness.’
The princess gestured towards Helena but her voice was drowned by a sudden boom-boom, boom-boom and a prolonged blast of trumpets. Some of the small children started to wail and ran for their mothers again. Rose gave a start of alarm. It sounded ferocious. But Latife rose, curtsied to the princess and laid a hand on Rose’s arm.
‘How interesting for you,’ she said, with a meaningful squeeze of her fingers, ‘there is a military procession about to go past. Do come and see.’
Rose and Helena followed her across the wide room to an alcove and out onto a balcony, which was shaded from prying eyes by an intricate lattice in slats of varnished wood. The balcony overlooked the road and they could see out clearly.
‘One of our most important officials is on his way to visit a special shrine.’ explained Latife loudly and clearly, glancing round at the group of other ladies who had also come to see the spectacle. ‘The escort will be most colourful with foot soldiers and cavalry. And of course the military band is splendid, is it not?’ Her face showed real pride.
‘Yes,’ said Helena, trying not to wince as the trumpets blared even more loudly. As the procession marched into view she put her hands over her ears. The huge drums were booming so loudly that the echoes bounced off the walls. The trumpets played a strange, eastern rhythm. It was wild, evoking a fierce, warlike people. None of the ladies so much as blinked although Rose felt the floor vibrating under her feet at the volume of noise from the instruments.
Then the marching soldiers turned their heads towards the mansion and roared out a song.
‘They are saluting the Vizir’. Latife was forced to shout in Rose’s ear to be heard.
The men swung along in a swirl of bright colours. Rose stared, fascinated at this unbelievably exotic sight. She took in all the details: the long skirts of the soldiers’ robes, tucked back into their belts to make marching easier, the wide blue trousers, the white turbans wound over red caps, the enormous sashes stuffed full o
f knives and finally the red leather boots. It all made her feel she had slipped back in time.
She could not imagine these men fighting in the same battle as English soldiers in their trim modern uniforms. At last she understood why Kerim Pasha was so desperate for change. Indeed, why the Sultan wanted change and also how radical it would have to be. For the rest of the visit, Rose was absorbed by her thoughts. She thought it should be possible to keep the colours of the uniforms she had seen, while making them into modern jackets and trousers. But before she started, she needed to consult with Tom.
The rest of their visit dragged a little. The ladies ate pastries and sipped hoshaf. They chatted, some of them produced exquisite needlework and discussed it with each other as they sewed. Rose and her sister did their best to communicate and show an interest in everything. After a while the effort became tiring. The constant chatter of the ladies, the endless coming and going of the slave girls as they carried out their errands, began to irritate Rose. She found the smell of the scented tobacco in the water pipes sickly.
In spite of her best efforts, her mind wandered and her eyes began to glaze over. How long would this meeting last? Of course, for these ladies, it was an event simply to leave their own homes, so they were very happy to stay all day. If only she spoke their language, it would be so much more interesting.
At last, to her relief, she realised that Latife was on her feet and appeared to be taking leave of the princess. She nodded to Rose and Helena to rise also. They made their farewells, thanking the princess in English, which seemed to please her. She said something in her throaty voice, watching them closely.
‘Princess Hulya says you are welcome to stay here with her as her guests,’ translated Latife.
Beside her, Helena drew in a sharp breath. Rose smiled at their hostess. ‘Please thank the princess. She is most kind. But we must return to our aunt.’
This was duly translated and after more smiles and curtsies, they finally escaped. Rose was eager to get back and start making sketches. She walked along behind Latife and two other Turkish ladies but in a couple of minutes, it was obvious they were going a completely different way from the one they had used to enter.
‘I believe we have made a mistake,’ she said, stopping.
Latife seized her arm and drew her along. ‘Oh, but we are not going home.’
‘We are not?’ Helena looked alarmed, ‘but Aunt Emily…’
‘Your aunt knows all about it. Come, my dears. We ladies do not get many chances to go out. When we do, be sure that we do as much as possible.’
By now they were at the front of the vast house. A coach stood ready by the door and a bunch of armed guards, dressed in red and yellow, watched as the ladies piled into the vehicle. The other guests who had left the reception at the same time, squeezed in with them now, chatting merrily. They all seemed to think it was a good adventure.
Latife called out to the guards and the coach set off, lumbering slowly on the rough road. The guards marched along beside it, some on each side. Rose spent a good few minutes observing their costumes as well. In a short time they reached a paved road and high walls shut out the view. They were passing beside one of those enormous buildings she had been looking at from the other side of the Golden Horn.
She watched the passing scene eagerly. There were plenty of people in the street. She shook her head in puzzlement. ‘There is such a variety of dress,’ she said, ‘I cannot decide what is the general rule.’
‘There is none,’ Latife moved to sit next to Rose and peer out with her. ‘Those men are from Kosovo. See their white trousers and those strange little hats. Over there I think they must be from Georgia. It is very mixed in Constantinople.’
Over the clop-clop of the horses’ hooves came the cries of men hawking their wares and women’s voices calling down from their windows to buy the fruit and vegetables. Rose saw a merchant fill a basket with onions and then the basket was slowly pulled upwards. She was still watching the basket going up, twirling slowly on its piece of rope, when the coach turned a corner and creaked to a halt.
‘Where are you taking us?’ she heard Helena ask.
The ladies all laughed. Rose turned her attention back to her companions. She had to smile, there was such an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation. Everyone looked at Latife.
‘Why, we are going to do some shopping,’ she said, ‘in the Covered Bazaar. They have copper and silver, gold and gems, spices and leather goods. And the perfumes…’ her eyes sparkled, ‘We shall see what is new.’
Chapter Nine
When the message came, the following morning, that the visitor had come from the embassy for the daily report, Rose hurried downstairs. She was eager for the information she needed so she could do the military sketches quickly. She was so keen to do the task that this morning she was actually looking forward to discussing the matter with Tom. She knew he would understand all her questions and that she would clearly picture what he wanted. They could not change that insight they had into each other’s minds.
She went out to the kiosk but there she checked in surprise. The gentleman standing waiting for her was not Tom. Rose was conscious of a deep disappointment. But the young man was already sweeping off his hat and bowing.
‘Daresay you do not remember me, ma’am,’ he said bashfully. ‘Sebastian Welland, at your service.’
Rose could see that he had dressed with great care. She managed not to smile as she took in the striped waistcoat and the carefully pomaded hair. He looked very young and uncertain. His mouth was wide and sensitive. His large blue eyes were fixed anxiously on her.
‘Of course I remember you, Mr Welland. You were the kind gentleman who helped us the day we arrived in Constantinople.’
His expression lightened. ‘Just so -er- that is to say -it was my pleasure, ma’am.’ He swallowed. ‘The Ambassador sends his compliments. What news of Lady Westacote? Is there any improvement?’
‘Thank you, sir. She is gaining strength every day.’
He nodded. ‘And…er…your sister…I-is she well?’ His face was red.
‘Yes. Thank you.’ Rose felt a twinge of sympathy. Helena often had this effect on young men. She was so wrapped up in her language studies, she scarcely noticed. But in any case, she was now obviously attracted to Max Kendal, an attachment that seemed to have started when they discovered they shared an interest in ancient languages. But Rose could hardly tell this young man any of that.
There was a short pause. Then Sebastian cleared his throat. ‘Well, better return and take the good news to our Ambassador.’
Rose held up a hand to check him. ‘What has happened to our usual visitor?’
‘Indisposed.’ stammered the young man, too hastily. He fumbled with his hat.
Rose raised her eyebrows.
Sebastian looked harassed. ‘Dare say he will explain tomorrow.’ He took a step back, bowed and left.
Rose gave a sigh of exasperation. What could Tom have done to render himself incapable? Was he going to disappear again just when she really needed him? The ever-present memory of his last desertion made her clench her teeth. Surely he would not just leave? After standing and staring absently at the spring blossoms on the bushes, she forced her fingers to uncurl and slowly turned back towards the house. Perhaps Aunt Emily would like her to do some drawings in preparation for the talk she was planning to give in London. Or maybe Latife would come for another portrait session.
Rose stepped into the cool, shady salon – and stood transfixed by the sight of Kerim Pasha as she had never yet seen him. He was in a towering rage. His face was a mask, his eyes cold as ice. He stood in the centre of the room, one hand on his sword hilt. His other hand chopped the air, clenching and unclenching as he launched a furious tirade at his sister. When he realised that Rose had joined them, he changed to English.
Bewildered, Rose looked from him to Latife, standing before him with her hands clasped nervously in front of her. The woman’s head was bent d
own and her shoulders slumped. Gone was her usual graceful poise.
‘I am most displeased, Mrs Charteris.’ Kerim Pasha’s voice was low and harsh. ‘In fact, I am beside myself with rage. I learn that yesterday, my sister not only took you to visit our cousin, Princess Hulya, as agreed, but that she was then imprudent enough to take you to the Covered Bazaar.’ He showed his white teeth in a snarl. ‘In the middle of the city!’
Rose was astonished at his anger. ‘We enjoyed the visit very much. It was all fascinating and… and we were perfectly discreet and safe all the time.’
‘And did you visit many shops?’
Rose shot a glance at Latife but she had not moved. ‘Yes, we visited a number of jeweller’s shops and a leather shop…’
He took a step away, smashed his fist down hard on a cupboard and said something under his breath. It did not sound very nice. Rose saw Latife wince. She transferred her gaze to Kerim Pasha and saw his broad shoulders heave as he drew in a deep, deep breath. Then he whirled round to face her. His eyes were uncomfortably fierce.
‘You do not understand my anger. But my sister had you in her care and she betrayed my trust. I ordered that you were to be kept safe.’
‘But we were safe,’ protested Rose hotly in defence of her kind hostess. She held his gaze, her own eyes flashing now. ‘We had so many guards and servants with us and we were a large group of ladies. They all knew which shops to go to…’ She broke off at his growl of fury.
‘You have advertised their presence to the whole city,’ he accused Latife. Then he threw up his hands. ‘Ladies, ladies! Will I ever understand you? Now we must work even harder to keep them safe.’
He strode away. Gradually Latife raised her head. She dashed something from her cheek. Rose could see how her hand trembled but she managed a smile in her usual manner.
‘I am sorry you had to see that quarrel,’ she said, her voice more husky than usual.