The Slaves Of Love

Chapter One 1855-2

After a short distance, he turned into a narrow alley to the left that held nothing more fearsome than a few tired-looking donkeys bringing fresh provisions into the City from the villages outside.

Soon they were clear even of the alleyways and, after passing a Mosque and a few unimportant houses, they were on open ground.

“I think we would be wise at the moment to make a detour,” Lord Castleford said. “If you will tell me where you live, we will approach the City from the other side which will certainly be safer and more savoury than the way I have just come.”

He had an idea where the crowd was taking their prisoner, but he intended to take no chances.

At the rumour of an execution, with or without the law, mobs would be hastening from all parts of the City and, although they had been fortunate so far in escaping without incident, the execution of one foreigner might easily make the crowds thirst for the execution of others.

“That poor man!” the lady Lord Castleford was conveying said in a soft voice. “I cannot bear to – think of what he is – suffering!”

“I imagine he is past having feelings of any sort by now,” Lord Castleford replied.

Now they were safe he looked at her for the first time and realised that she was very lovely.

She looked different, he thought, from any woman he had seen before and he wondered what nationality she was.

She was certainly not English, although she spoke the language extremely well. Her eyes were very large and dark and her hair was dark too.

But her skin, which had an almost magnolia quality about it, was very white.

Looking down at her, he could see that her face was heart-shaped with a small pointed chin. She had a tiny straight nose and her mouth, he thought, was almost perfect in its soft curves.

It struck him immediately that she was far too beautiful to be walking about Constantinople with only the protection of one elderly Turkish servant.

Because he was curious, he asked,

“I think we should introduce ourselves. I am English and my name is Castleford – Lord Castleford. I am staying at the British Embassy.”

“I am French, monsieur, and I am extremely grateful to you for coming to my rescue.”

She spoke in French, a correct classical French which was quite faultless and yet Lord Castleford thought that she did not actually look or even sound French.

Then he told himself that, living away from her own country, she might easily be harder to identify than if he had in fact met her in France.

“And your name?” he enquired.

“Yamina.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“That is hardly a French name.”

“I have lived in this part of the world all my life.”

That accounted for the fact that she did not seem French, he thought.

He realised too that she did not wish to give him her surname and, although he wished that she would assuage his curiosity, at the same time he applauded her prudence.

After all they had met only casually and a well bred young woman would not be precipitate in becoming closely acquainted with a stranger.

“Will you tell me where you live?” he asked.

She explained and he looked a trifle surprised.

It was near one of the outer walls of the City and he knew that there were few houses in that vicinity where a European would live.

Because he was definitely intrigued by the woman sitting elegantly in front of him, he did not hurry his horse, but walked him quietly over the grass-covered ground.

“You like Constantinople?” he asked conversationally.

“Sometimes I hate it!” she answered. “As I did a few minutes ago, when the crowd was being so cruel, even bestial!”

There was a little tremor in her voice and Lord Castleford knew that she was still unhappy over the spy, who had doubtless suffered torture and, even if he was now dead, was still being abused.

“The Turk can be very cruel,” he said. “At the same time he is a good fighter and is, I hear, highly commended by the British and the French for his fighting qualities in the Crimea.”

“It is a senseless and unnecessary war!” Yamina replied.

“I agree with you and Heaven knows our Ambassador did everything he could to prevent it.”

“Not very successfully!” Yamina answered and there was a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

“The Russians were impossible!” Lord Castleford exclaimed. “After all, it was they who bombarded Sinope on the South coast of the Black Sea, destroying a Turkish Squadron.”

“Perhaps they had reason,” Yamina suggested.

“Reason?” Lord Castleford ejaculated sharply. “The conflict at Sinope was more like a slaughter than a battle, rather what you have just seen in the Bazaar on a smaller scale.”

Yamina did not speak and after a moment he went on,

“The excellent behaviour of the Turkish land forces aroused the sympathy and admiration of Europe. You cannot be surprised that last year Great Britain and France declared war on Russia.”

“All war is wrong and wicked!” Yamina said violently.

Lord Castleford smiled.

“That is a woman’s point of view. Sometimes war means justice and that is what we are seeking in our support of the Turks.”

“I only hope that the men on both sides who are being killed in the effort appreciate what you are doing for them,” Yamina remarked.

Now there was no doubt that she was being sarcastic.

“You do not sound as if you are whole-heartedly in support of your countrymen and mine in this war which, I would remind you, started originally from a dispute over the Guardianship of the Holy places in Jerusalem.”

“That question was settled two years ago,” Yamina said sharply.

Lord Castleford was surprised that she was so knowledgeable.

There was a faint smile on his lips as he added,

“I agree the question was settled by the British, Russian and French Ambassadors. But then, as doubtless you know, the Russian Ambassador, Menshikov, demanded further Russian rights that could not be acceded to by the Turks.”

Lord Castleford’s voice was cold as he went on,

“He was very aggressive and, in my opinion, he was determined to force Turkey into a humiliating position.”

“Do you really think that – we can win this war?” Yamina asked in a low voice and there was just a little pause before the word ‘we’, which Lord Castleford noticed.

“I am certain we can!” he replied. “Our troops have suffered acutely during the winter months in the Crimea, but now at last we are becoming more organised and I do not think it will be long before the Czar asks for our peace terms.”

Yamina was silent and they rode on.

The sunshine was warm on their faces and the scent of the flowers mingled with the soft salt breeze blowing in from the sea.

She was very light against Lord Castleford’s arms and he knew that this was due entirely to her poise and grace, which made her sit on a saddle without a pommel as if it was no effort at all.

“Do you often ride yourself?” he asked, following the trend of his thoughts.

“I used to,” she replied, “but not lately. It is a pleasure being on a horse such as this.”

“It belongs to the Ambassador,” Lord Castleford explained, “and he is as good a judge of horseflesh as he is about everything else.”

“You admire him?”

“Who does not admire him when he is more important even than the Sultan? It was said often enough in the past that Sir Stratford de Redcliffe was the real King of Turkey and now he is back again, it is still true.”

There was an enthusiasm in Lord Castleford’s voice that had not been there previously.

Yamina glanced up at him.

She had thought at first that, although he was handsome, he had seemed cold and austere with that superior English attitude which, in common with most other peoples, she found disconcerting.

For the moment the warmth in his voice surprised her, even while she told herself that she was sure he was far too busy admiring himself to admire anyone else.

He was not the type of man that she thought attractive, although at the same time she knew that she must be grateful to him for rescuing her from what might have been a very difficult, if not dangerous, situation.

It was taking them some time to reach the district where she lived, but she was well aware that Lord Castleford had been wise in avoiding streets where they might have encountered more violence.

Now they were descending slowly between dark cypresses and bushes covered with white and yellow blossom.

“You must be more careful another time,” Lord Castleford said, almost as if he spoke to a child, “before you go shopping with only one elderly servant to protect you.”

“It is something I don’t often do,” Yamina replied. “But my father is ill and I needed some special herbs. I wished to discuss with the herbalist what would be most suitable.”

“Would it not have been wiser to call in a physician?” Lord Castleford asked.

“In this part of the world there are herbal remedies for almost every ailment,” Yamina answered. “Many of them have been handed down for centuries by word of mouth from family to family and from father to son. They are not written down, they do not appear in books, but nevertheless they are extremely efficacious.”

“But surely taking them without guidance is somewhat of a risk?” Lord Castleford persisted.

“No more of a risk than accepting blindly what is ordered by a physician,” Yamina replied.

She paused and then, as if she could not help taunting him, she continued,

“From what we have heard of the hospital arrangements at Scutari, the physicians have produced little or nothing to help the men who have been wounded in the war.”

“There you are right!” Lord Castleford agreed, “but I assure you it is most unjust and unfair to blame Lord Stratford, as the Press in England has been doing.”

“So the British are incensed!” Yamina exclaimed. “I am glad about that!”

“The administrative muddle, I am perfectly prepared to admit, has been a disgrace!” Lord Castleford said scathingly. “At the same time our Ambassador here was kept in ignorance through sheer departmental jealousy!”

He paused to add more quietly,

“But the Ambassadress, Lady Stratford, has certainly tried to right a wrong and now everything possible is being done to help Miss Florence Nightingale.”

Yamina did not answer and after a moment he enquired,

“You have heard of Miss Nightingale?”

“Everyone, I think, has heard of her,” Yamina replied. “The Turkish newspapers are full of stories of her courage, even though naturally the people here still believe that a woman should be veiled. They are horrified at the idea of female nurses!”

“And you?” Lord Castleford asked. “You don’t feel like joining Miss Nightingale in her campaign, not only to bring relief to our suffering soldiers but also to establish once and for all that women have a place even in war?”

There was a slightly taunting note in his voice, as if, just as Yamina had tried to score off him, he would score off her.

“As it happens, I am at the moment in the position of being a nurse,” she answered after a moment. “My father is very ill.”

“I am sorry about that,” Lord Castleford said.

“And because I know how necessary I am to him,” Yamina went on, “I think that women should be nurses whether a nation is at war or peace.”

“There I must disagree with you,” he replied. “In the past we have always managed to fight a war without women being involved and quite frankly I am absolutely convinced that they are more of a nuisance than a help.”

Yamina smiled and it seemed to illuminate her small face.

“That is just what I would expect you to say, my Lord,” she remarked and there was a note of satisfaction in her voice.

“Meaning that I am bigoted and old-fashioned?” Lord Castleford enquired.

“You put the words into my mouth,” she answered sweetly and he had a feeling that they had declared war against each other.

It could not but amuse him.

She was so small and so lovely and he thought there was something mysterious and in a way very Eastern about her.

Perhaps it was the mystery in her dark eyes. Perhaps it was her faint fragrance, which he found hard to identify. It might have been the scent of jasmine or tuberose, or perhaps a mixture of them both.

He only knew it was different from any scent he had ever known before and it had a strange allure that he could not describe even to himself. He was also aware that her body was very soft and not straight-backed as most women were.