Red Magic (31 page)

"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 then 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 Caterina 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.