She'd shuddered, but managed to ask another question.
"Well, why haven't they—done that already?"
Rossmann smiled again, the way a man smiles when he has a secret.
"I have told them that uninjured, you are worth a large ransom."
* * *
Upon the plain, the trees dwindled away until they were nothing more than bushy scrub. All around golden grasses hissed in an ever present wind.
Rossmann announced with ill concealed delight that they were on the plains of Hungary. It was his home place!
As they rode knee to knee, Rossmann began to tell stories about his past, about how his family had herded cattle and horses on these very plains. With a chill, Cat realized that all he said was clear confirmation of everything Goran—now a body left behind—had said of him. "I thought you said you were from the land of the South Slavs."
"I am a South Slav by blood, a Bogomil, but my people converted to the true religion—Islam—in my grandfather's time. He followed a war lord into Hungary in the reign of Selim the Great."
Rossmann smiled; Caterina felt her face pale.
"Ah, yes, Goran was right. Your husband knew, but he's not a believer. A non-believer can never entirely understand the strength of those of us who do."
Caterina's head spun with so many questions, so many suppositions, but she dared not speak. Her rage and sorrow at his betrayal and her folly left her heartsick.
"The Graf von Hagen," Rossmann was slyly cheerful after they'd ridden for awhile in silence, "is a man who might have been happier had he been born in this part of the world."
"Why?"
Rossmann had been waiting for that, like a cat by a mouse hole.
"Why, Caterina," he said, all pretense of deference abruptly thrown aside, "because a rich man here may lawfully have as many women as he can keep."
"Here or there, he wouldn't wish for more than me."
Rossmann threw back his head and laughed, showing a plenitude of white teeth. "No man made like him, in our world or yours, remains celibate for a year, in the midst of a war or anywhere else."
Her thoughts whirling, Cat closed her eyes and rode, praying for the thousandth time that she would suddenly wake and find this all a dream, but there was no peace there either. In waking reverie as they plodded along, or in the unconscious night, the cold gray eyes of Goran haunted her, accusing scornful of her folly.
* * *
The fearsome soldiers kept their distance. Sometimes Cat understood they were talking about her, their eyes and gestures clearly indicated the offensive tenor, but no one tried to touch her. Clearly, she was to be brought unmolested to wherever it was they were going.
"It will be in the hands of their Pasha," explained Rossmann, when she, unable to bear her imaginings, began to speculate upon what her fate might be. "He'll decide."
"Decide what?"
"Whether he wants you or not. The Ban says that while it is true that you are very beautiful, the Pasha has never liked women with red hair."
"You were my husband's friend, Herr Rossmann. You must escape. You said you know the country! Find him, tell him how to find me!"
"Impossible. As soon as I was gone, well, I've told you what would happen. No, no, I must stay by your side."
Then he'd looked away, wearing that same expression of contentment he'd worn since they'd entered the plains. Caterina shuddered, but even the new fear of him didn't completely distract her from the idea that he had not yet told her the whole truth.
* * *
In the center of a heavily fortified town they were paraded, the captured horses, the arms, and Caterina. She and Star were much stared at. An enormous grinning soldier approached, offering to lift her from the horse.
The crowd laughed at how both woman and horse defended themselves. Star reared and kicked. Caterina slapped the soldier across the face with the reins.
While this was going on, a commanding black man marched forward. When he appeared, the crowd promptly fell away. At a clap of his hands, soldiers surged from all sides. They roped Star, head and feet. When the ropes pulled tight, the mare grew quiet. She knew quite well what would happen if the foot ropes were pulled.
With the mare hobbled, Caterina dismounted. At once the enormous soldier stepped forward. His burly hand caught her neck and forced her down, onto her knees and further, into a head-on-the-ground obeisance. Her red braid fell into the dust.
Prone, she choked back tears. Once more scenes of battle came crowding into her mind, of the broken and bleeding bodies of the men who had died to save her. There was Goran, swinging his bright sword, trying to clear a path for her escape…
The dreadful reverie did not last long, however, for in the next moment, she was hauled upright for the inspection of a pair of lively dark eyes, eyes set in a round black face. Having only a short time before seen her very first black man, Cat stared back.
His hand, fat and pink-palmed, oddly like a woman's, reached out and pulled the improvised veil away. To her chagrin, the plump fingers, fastening on either side of her jaw, forced her mouth open. He then proceeded to look inside, exactly as if he were buying a horse. She tried to jerk her head away, but the huge soldier now held a handful of her hair. When the black man, who was very richly dressed, finished with his examination, he spoke. Cat was astonished to hear German.
"Can this man of yours control the mare?"
He pointed at Rossmann, who from his knees replied, "Servant of the Mighty Lord Pasha, I am the lady's horsemaster, but am only too glad that the fortunes of war have brought me home to my own people and away from the sinful infidel. Accept my services in the stable, sir, for I know the commands that rule the red mare."
Caterina stifled the desire to spit at him, although she also prayed that Star, at least, would be well cared for.
"Sir! He can groom my horse and handle her, but she'll refuse anyone on her back but me."
The Pasha's emissary turned and smiled, revealing a mouth spectacularly full of beautiful teeth.
"Then he shall take care of the mare. With the Pasha's Arab stud, she'll drop splendid foals."
A wave of his plump, black, hand and Rossmann arose, bowed low, and then took Star's bridle. When she went with him quietly, the crowd having seen her battling wildly before, watched in wonder.
The pink palm made another gesture and Caterina was dragged away, across the bustling courtyard into a crowded market. As she was hauled along, Caterina saw rugs, jewels and cloth for sale—and human flesh.
They stood chained while buyers flocked around, looking in mouths, touching and prodding as if they were buying livestock. A group of fair skinned girls and boys were being pulled to their feet for inspection. A girl, close to Caterina's age, stood like a marble statue, her black robe discarded upon the ground, her face a blank, while a potential buyer handled her breasts.
This final tableau of degradation sent her senses reeling. She could barely recall anything of the rest of her journey through that terrible market, or of the imposing building she was taken to, or of the labyrinthine corridors she was hurried along. When Caterina was finally thrown into a small, dark room, she ran and crouched in the darkest corner, shuddering like some captive wild thing.
* * *
Time passed. After what seemed an eternity, there was the shuffling sound of feet outside. A jingle of keys followed, the squeal of a lock, and then light entered the room.
Two more black men, dressed in long white robes, stood there. At once she sprang to her feet, ready to use the locket, but another figure, black robed, veiled, and squatly female, made an appearance between them.
"Don't do anything stupid." Although heavily accented, again the ringing words were German. "You are in the Pasha's harem now. Nothing can harm you here—except your own folly."
Caterina took her hand away from the locket and stared at the woman. She felt herself shaking with fear and exhaustion.
"We've come to take you for a bath, Red One, and the
n you shall be clothed and fed."
"Bathe?" It seemed crazy, and for a moment Caterina's fear rose in a choking cloud, but the events of the past days had played her nerves almost to deadness.
"Yes."
The old woman's eyes, the only part of her face Cat could see, twinkled. "Even a dirty German barbarian like you can wash. Now take off those boots and put these on." Wrinkled, ringed hands held out a pair of high pattens, ornate, but basically the same kind of shoe that Cat was accustomed to use on muddy days walking in Passau. After a moment's hesitation, she sat and began to tug at her riding boots.
"You are German?"
"Long ago. That is why the Lady Mother sends me to teach you, to make a barbarian fit to live in her son's house."
"I am not a barbarian. I am Caterina von Hagen, born to a noble family."
"And I am Ayhan, not 'you'. You will respect and obey me or you will end up back in the slave market. Did you see enough of that to understand what that kind of slavery means?"
"Yes—Ayhan." Caterina swallowed hard.
"As for who you were before you came here, best you forget. If the Lady Mother permits you to remain, she will give you another name."
"Who is the—Lady Mother?"
"That is how we speak of our Pasha's mother. Now, no more questions. There will be plenty of time to learn. By the way, these creatures," Ayhan said, gesturing at the two blacks, "are not men; they are eunuchs."
As Caterina stood now, she could not help but study them. They were shiny black and dressed in long, fine white linen robes. Although they were tall, they had the same slope shoulders, round hairless cheeks and soft, plump bodies as the Italian castrato singers she'd seen at the carnival operas down in Passau.
* * *
There was a dream quality to everything that followed. She was so tired, and had been afraid for so long. Now she was walking down a long hall, clacking along on the wooden high pattens. There were corridors and doors, torches and candles, but no windows. From unseen nearby rooms came the babble of woman speaking in languages she did not understand.
When the door at the end of the hallway was opened, a gust of heat met her. She'd entered a long room with stone floors, light entering through high, dripping glass windows. A thin sheet of water flowed over the tightly stoned floor, which was barely visible at first because of all the steam.
In the middle of the room was a pool. Two plump, fair skinned girls were sitting in it, giggling and splashing each other.
"You!" The old woman shouted. The girls started guiltily. Apparently they'd been so engrossed in their play that they had not noticed her entry. They turned, pink-tipped high breasts buoyed by the water.
Ayhan shouted something and pulled a slender and pliant birch rod out of some hiding place within the elaborate folds of her robes. At this they both leapt, squealing out of the pool and dashed away through a far door.
The old woman glared after them while returning the birch rod to her sash.
"Undress and get in."
When Caterina simply stared, she shrugged, turned and said something to the two blacks. In an instant, they both descended upon her and began pulling at her clothes. She fought, struggling and kicking, but found right away that for all their look of softness, they were sufficiently strong to enforce their will.
"All that will happen is a bath!" the old woman shouted. "You stink!"
Just as one of those black hands seized her locket, Cat landed a punch, the quickest, hardest blow of which she was capable. The eunuch staggered backwards, blood spurting from his nose.
Ayhan and the other eunuch displayed not an ounce of sympathy. Instead, they both began to laugh. Sulmuh, you fool. She quickly interposed herself between the injured eunuch and Caterina, barked something that sounded like a warning, accompanied by a rapidly shaking finger.
Turning back to Caterina, she said approvingly, "A good arm and a good eye. The Pasha will certainly sire warriors on you."
"Make them leave and then I will obey," said Caterina, rubbing her aching knuckles.
"All right, Red One. But remember that Sulmuh would love to beat you now. Believe me, he knows a thousand ways of hurting and not leaving marks. If you don't obey me, I'll let him do it."
The eunuchs, now involved in a shrill quarrel, went out. Caterina sat upon a stool which looked like an upended wooden cage and began to undress. She was hoping that this demonstration would discourage any further attempts at taking her locket. As it was only made of wood, it wouldn't be, she hoped, as endlessly attractive as if it were of gold or silver. During the last week's captivity, Cat had thought much about the protector, but wasn't sure exactly what good use one little blade could be put to—unless, of course, she finally decided to use it upon herself.
Another woman arrived in the room, stout, dark and dressed very lightly in a loose tunic. She carried a pail and an enormous sponge. When Ayhan pointed and growled orders, she went to one of the spigots set along the walls above catch basins and filled the pail.
"You are to sit still while Zehra scrubs you."
The pail was set down beside Cat and the woman, with a cautious look, squatted down beside Caterina and began to work a fine, pale liquid she poured from a pitcher into the sponge.
"Let's see this precious thing," Ayhan suddenly rasped, stabbing a bony finger at the locket.
"It's only my Saint," said Caterina, keeping a tight hold on it. "My Aunt said I was never to take it off," she added ingenuously. She opened it for Ayhan's inspection, displayed the picture of Saint Brigitte.
"Heathen nonsense," the old woman pronounced sharply. Then in a softer tone she added, "If it is not a saint, just a picture, I don't need to take it from you. Do you understand, Red One?"
"I understand, Ayhan," Cat meekly replied. "It is only a picture."
"Good. The first thing you will learn is the true way of Islam. I shall begin your instruction tomorrow."
"I must become Muslim?"
"If you are to be an odalisque, at the rising of the next full moon. It is that or the marketplace."
A month or a year, thought Caterina, will make no difference, what I believe is what I believe. She thought of the peasants on Aunt Teresina's farm, wondered if in a month she'd be able to make the choice between martyrdom or survival…
"Ayhan, what is 'odalisque'?"
"Odalisques are slaves, handmaids of the kadins, the wives of the Pasha. They serve their kadin as a house servant does, but they also sing and dance for her. They bathe their kadin, just as Zehra is doing for you. You will learn to plait her hair, to sing or to play the songs she likes. Maybe, if you are very lucky, the Pasha will see you and make you one of his concubines."
For so many days she had been exhausted and terrified. Now, the heat and the awful feeling there was no escape left her weak, unable to even twitch. Caterina closed her eyes, and allowed the stout woman to lift her arm and scrub it.
There was the splash and tinkle of water. Ayhan was gathering up her clothes, the leather knee britches, the long drab jacket she'd been wearing.
"Ayhan, I must have clothes."
The woman muttered something in her language and then spoke in German, "These are filthy and immodest. Others will be brought."
Zehra said something, something that caused Ayhan to throw up her hands, shake her head and burst into a torrent of impatient speech. Cat didn't understand, but the gestures seemed to say, 'Why didn't you tell me that when you first came in?'
"I have to leave you now. Let Zehra wash your hair. The Lady Mother will whip us both if you bring lice into her house."
Ayhan growled something to Zehra, who cowered. Then she marched away, her squat form disappearing into the haze of steam. The penetrating heat touched Cat's aching bones. Mesmerized, she sat and allowed the ministrations of Zehra, who was alternatively soaping her with the sponge or scrubbing her with a strange scratchy fiber which looked like dried cucumber.
The heat continued to grow, reaching a point where Cateri
na felt she could hardly breathe. Large drops of perspiration ran down her body. It also fell from hard working Zehra, falling sometimes onto Caterina and sometimes onto the steaming floor. By the time Cat had had her hair soaped and rinsed in one of the basins set along the walls, in the magically endless flow of hot water, she was so weak she could hardly stand. Her lungs burned from the unaccustomed heat.
When she felt ready to faint, a large linen sheet was wrapped around her, and Zehra pointed to the pattens. With a sigh, Caterina stepped into them. With Zehra's arm around her waist, she walked through the same door that the two plump young females had used earlier.
Chapter Eighteen
The entered another large room. This one held another pool and a tinkling central fountain, but it was not as hot, nor as steamy. There were divans and Caterina was led to one. Feeling weak in every limb now, she subsided onto the sail cloth surface. A pillow was placed behind her head.
Here was Ayhan again, with a bowl and a rag in hand.
"This is to remove body hair," she said. "It will sting, but we will wash it off before it burns your fine white skin."
"What?" Caterina, horrified, tried to sit up.
"It is not only disgusting, but a sin for a woman to have hair on her body."
"Where will you put that stuff? On my legs? Under my arms?"
"You will lie still while I put it between your legs, too. Every part must be made smooth and soft and bare."
Apparently, the humiliations were to be endless.
Caterina bowed her head submissively. "Ayhan," she said, "I am very thirsty."
"And hungry, too, I expect. If you lie still and do as I say, a drink will be brought to you."
Caterina did as she was told, sitting up against the pillows.
"Now relax. Part your legs. After the paste is on, be still or it will get where it is not supposed to be and really hurt you. While it works, we'll cover you and you can rest. Zehra will get you drink."
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