A WHITE SLAVE IN TURKEY
Book One
Jane and the ruthless Pasha
by
ALLAN ALDISS
Copyright remains with author
Bondage Books
First Smashwords Edition 2011
INTRODUCTION
This is a considerably expanded and unexpurgated version of the popular and highly erotic story, originally called Barbary Pasha and now out of print, of a young Englishwoman who goes out to Turkey at the turn of the 19th and 20th Centuries to marry her archaeologist fiancé.
It is an uncensored story about the life of a white slavegirl in the Ottoman Empire: a story of innocent and educated European women, including a mother and daughter, enslaved and used for pleasure and forced breeding in a Pasha’s harem. But is also much more than that.
It is also a story of extraordinary slave training: of female circumcision: of slave dealers; of expectant work slaves chained to their looms in a carpet factory under the control of a cruel overseer; of life in a very special brothel; of the strange breeding hobby of a Turkish lady; of the heroine being mated with a dwarf and then tarred and feathered and kept like a bird in a cage; of strict black eunuchs - and all in a world where white women slaves are ruled by fear of the cane, the whip and the bastinado.
This is one of Allan Aldiss’s best and most original of his stories about harems and slavery and the historic setting is a very erotic and unusual one.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Present day readers of this story may be surprised at the apparent racism regarding the mutual antagonism between the black eunuchs and the white women in their charge.
Please accept that this is simply a reflection of actual attitudes in Turkey a hundred years ago.
This was a time when black eunuchs had been employed to take charge of the harems of the ruling officials and of the wealthy for hundreds of years - mainly because they were black. White eunuchs were not normally employed in harems because experience had shown that they were too easy-going. Black eunuchs were not.
PART I
JANE MEETS THE PASHA
1 - MALIK 1895
Jane Dudley pushed her way through the crowd of fat merchants, Turkish soldiers, shrieking children and veiled women and at last secured a place at the guard rail of the small vessel, desperate for a sight of the man she had come all this way to marry.
She had been up since dawn, watching as they slowly approached the little port of Malik, with its low white buildings interspersed with the domes and minarets of mosques.
Already she fancied she could smell that distinctive odour of an Oriental town. It was early morning and as usual the warm sun was already bright, reflecting vividly off the mirror-like surface of the crystal clear Mediterranean - it was springtime in the Levant at the turn of the century.
Jane's petite slender figure, golden hair, blue eyes, vivacious smile and blue muslin dress, all these made her stand out from the olive complexions, Oriental clothes and passive demeanour of the other passengers. Indeed, the very fact that she was a pretty European girl had marked her as unique ever since she had come aboard at Smyrna to take passage along the beautiful, wild and mountainous southern coast of Turkey to this little known port, close to where the northern border of Syria lies.
As they turned past the breakwater and manoeuvred to moor stern-on to the quay, she looked anxiously amongst the watching crowd.
There were Turks in European suits and dark red tarbouches and other Turks in the more traditional wide Turkish breeches and embroidered waistcoats.
There were Arabs, some wearing simple robes and greasy strips of cloth wound round their heads, others, obviously of a superior class, wearing immaculate white kaftans under black flowing cloaks, picked out with gold thread, with white kuffayiah head cloths and black aighal headbands.
She saw women completely covered in long black shapeless burkhas that gave no inkling of the age or beauty of the woman underneath it and provided only a strip of black lace, over the eyes, to see through. Other women wore an opaque white veil over their faces that left their eyes uncovered.
But there was no sign of William.
She had been thrilled by his talk of wealthy Beys and Pashas, of Sheiks and Caids, of camels and beautiful Arab horses, of harems and of black eunuchs, of deserts and snow covered mountains, of raids and revolts against the rule of the autocratic Turkish Sultan in Constantinople, of fierce Moslem fanatics and their despised Christian subjects, of the crisp dry air and of the distinctive smells and scents of the Near East.
They had become secretly engaged before he returned to Turkey to carry on with his excavations in the Syrian Desert. Then the aunt she lived with had died. The shock of this was followed by the shattering discovery that most of her aunt's capital had recently been lost in a series of unfortunate investments. The house would have to be sold to pay outstanding debts and there would be little left.
With no other relatives she could turn to, her aunt's aged solicitor suggested that, unless she married quickly, she would have to become a governess. Become a governess! With her vivacious character and her romantic leanings, such an idea was abhorrent.
But what was she to do? To whom could she turn? Obviously this was the moment for William Lascelles to have appeared and taken charge of her life. But he was away somewhere in Turkey!
Suddenly and impetuously she had decided that she would go and join him. There was nothing now to keep her in England. The solicitors had advanced her a small sum from her aunt's modest estate, with a warning that no more would be forthcoming for some months and then probably only a small amount.
It was now or never! She must act quickly whilst she at least had some money, or see it all frittered away. Driving her on was the terrifying thought that William would hardly be keen on marrying a governess!
Without telling anyone - and indeed who was there to tell? - She bought a couple of suitcases and a train ticket to Marseilles. She had telegraphed and written to William that she was coming out to join him, and then quickly left before he'd had time to reply, lest he tried to put her off.
From Marseilles she had taken ship to Athens and from there taken another ship to Smyrna and then this small coaster to Malik, the small Turkish port where William had his base. It had all been so exciting. Travelling alone across Europe and the Mediterranean. How her aunt would have disapproved.
However, she told herself, this was now almost the Twentieth Century, she told herself, a time when women were fighting to be free to do what they liked, a time when women would no longer be the chattels of men, a time of would-be Suffragettes and of the Married Woman's Property Act, certainly a time when a young woman could decide to go and join her fiancé.
But now she had arrived and where was William? A feeling of despair and anti-climax began to creep over her as she scanned the jetty in vain. She began to feel perhaps that she had been very foolish in rushing out here. At the back of her mind was the realisation that she now had very little money left.
And yet she had to admit, it was very exciting - even more exciting than William had described. She inhaled the strange smells of the Levant. She saw trains of camels being led down a narrow street, dirty-looking Arabs riding flea-ridden donkeys, well-dressed Turkish gentlemen in immaculate European suits being driven in smart carriages by Negro grooms behind a pair of beautiful matched horses.
She saw two veiled women, half walking, half running, alongside a well-dressed man riding a beautifully harnessed mule. Instantly her English upbringing made her rebel against the sight. Why were the women not riding and the man walking? She saw other women walking respectfully behind men, carrying parcels and loads, whilst the men smoked long Turkish cigarettes and chatted amongst themselves. It was not right.
She remembered how William had said that in the Moslem world, women, especially Christian 'roumi' women, were considered to be of little account. Were these women concubines or slavegirls? Jealously she watched the other passengers being greeted by their friends and relations. She felt very alone and rather frightened, alone in a strange land whose language and even whose alphabet she did not understand. Thank heavens so many of the more educated Turks spoke a little French, as she did. Schoolgirl French! Little had she thought that she would be using it in the Levant.
She waited on board for an hour in the warm spring sunshine. The ship would soon be leaving for its next port of call. One of the ship's officers had suggested that she should go to the main hotel and had called a ghari, one of the local horse-drawn cabs. The Hotel de Paris had been William's permanent address. No doubt, she thought, he would be waiting for her there, not knowing on which boat she would be arriving.
The friendly Turkish ghari driver loaded her two suitcases. She saw that the men on the quayside were looking at her strangely. Clearly the sight of a lone, unveiled, European woman was a rarity in Malik.
The cab drove through narrow streets, crowded with people and animals, before coming out onto a wide boulevard lined with high palm trees. Spacious looking houses, the windows covered in Arabesque stone tracery or ironwork grilles, could just be seen over high walls.
Then they arrived in the courtyard of the Hotel de Paris.
The Greek booking clerk was courteous but firm.
Mais non, he explained, Monsieur Lascelles was not staying at the hotel. He had left two weeks previously to explore some remote Roman remains deep in the desert. He was not expected back for some time, perhaps a month, perhaps longer. No, he had no idea just where he was doing excavations, for M. Lascelles always kept that secret.
He showed Jane her telegram and letter announcing her arrival - still sitting in a pigeonhole, unopened, behind the reception desk of the hotel.
‘Oh God! What am I going to do?’
‘There is a boat leaving for Genoa in two weeks time, Mademoiselle, meanwhile you could stay here.’
‘But I don't have any money!’ wailed Jane.
The smile on the face of the Greek clerk froze.
‘In that case ...’
‘I want to speak to the British Consul,’ said Jane in a suddenly decisive tone.
‘There are no Consuls in this part of Turkey, Mademoiselle.’ It was the voice of the Hotel Manager, who had come to see what all the trouble was about. ‘The nearest British Consul is in Damascus, several hundred miles away ... Did Mr Lascelles know anyone in Malik?’
‘I suppose he must have done - I don't know - oh, there was a man who helped him get permission for his excavations - a Mr Zaid, I think.’
The manager seemed to freeze.
‘Not - His Excellency - ‘
‘No, no, not an Excellency, just a - a Pasha I think it was - ‘
‘By the beard of the Prophet - His Excellency Zaid Pasha!’
‘Do you know him? Does he live near here?’
The Manager suddenly became very obsequious in manner.
‘Mademoiselle, Zaid Pasha is the Vail, the Governor, the representative of the Sultan and one of the biggest land owners here, a man of great wealth and power - a man of authority. Of course we all know Zaid Pasha!’
‘Then send him a message! Explain what has happened.’
‘Of course, Mademoiselle, of course! And if you will be so kind as to accept the hospitality of this humble hotel meanwhile.’ He turned upon the Greek clerk. ‘A room, you fool! Hurry! Our best room!’
Jane lay resting on the bed of the comfortable hotel room, thinking over what had happened and, in particular, the extraordinary change in the attitude of the hotel staff once she mentioned the name of Zaid Pasha. What sort of a man was he? How would he react to her message, asking for his assistance?
A Pasha! Even the title sounded exciting.
She remembered William telling her about the Pasha of Acre, a man with an impossible name, who had held up Napoleon not far from here. With the help of Sir Sydney Smith and a tiny force of Royal Navy ships and Marines, he had forced Napoleon to give up his plans to invade Turkey from Egypt after Nelson had sunk his fleet at the Battle of the Nile.
She suddenly remembered his name: Djezzar Pasha. His personality and leadership had played a key role in inspiring the handful of Turkish and Arab troops to perform miracles of endurance. Backed by the small British force they had beaten off the cream of the French Army.
People still talked of Djezzar Pasha, William said. But, he had added with a laugh, one of the main reasons why his troops so respected him was that, even in his sixties, he was still known to have eighteen white European women in his harem as well as many Levantine and Arab girls.
In their eyes it was his possession of Christian women in his harem that made him a real man, a leader. William had explained that to have European women as your slaves, the woman of the hated Christians, the despised 'roumis', was a sign of power and success.
The hotel manager knocking on the door interrupted her reverie.
‘Mademoiselle! I have myself been to see his Excellency, the Pasha. He has sent his carriage to convey you to his Palace. He begs you to accept his hospitality and protection whilst your affairs are sorted out.’
‘There!’ said Jane triumphantly. ‘I knew everything would be all right!’
2 - THE PASHA'S PALACE
Jane followed the Hotel Manager into the courtyard where a small-enclosed carriage was waiting, a crest of two crossed scimitars and a star painted on the door.
A smartly dressed coachman held two sleek and carefully matched Arab horses - the same crest was branded on their quarters. Her suitcases had already been strapped to the back of the carriage.
Clearly, she thought, this Pasha was someone who did things in style, who acted quickly and decisively. If only William had more style and was more decisive!
Then she saw a huge Negro holding the door of the carriage open for her. He was hideous! His jet-black face was covered with tribal scars. His small eyes glittered menacingly, seemingly particularly black and repulsive looking. He did not hold himself as a servant in her presence, but rather as a superior. His very size made her feel small and helpless.
‘This is Mansour, His Excellency's Chief Black Eunuch,’ murmured the Hotel Manager, noticing the way Jane had recoiled in horror on seeing him. ‘It is a great honour that the Pasha should have sent him. The Chief Black Eunuch of a Pasha is a man of influence and importance.’
Jane looked baffled. A Chief Black Eunuch? Like any well brought-up young woman in the Victorian and Edwardian eras, Jane had never heard of eunuchs. She saw he was dressed expensively in a long white rob, trimmed with fur and was wearing a strange conical felt hat. Later she was to learn that this was the emblem of a trusted eunuch, employed to guard and control the women of a rich Turk or Arab. Or, at least one of the emblems, for she saw that he also carried a thin whippy cane with a handle curved over like that of a walking stick. It was just like the canes used in schools in England - but how strange that a eunuch should carry one in public and obviously with pride.
‘His Excellency sent me to take you to the Palace,’ said the huge Negro in broken French. His voice was a strange high-pitched rasping falsetto that came strangely from such a huge muscular frame.
Jane looked around wildly for moral support. The man was so frightening! But the Hotel Manager was bowing her out of the hotel, clearly glad to be rid of an awkward and unexpected guest. ‘Come!’ said the Negro impatiently. ‘Pasha not want English lady stay alone in hotel. Not safe! Maybe abducted.’
‘Abducted!’ cried Jane. What on earth had she let herself in for? How stupid she had been to rush out here to Malik!
The Negro gripped her arm and she let herself be bundled into the carriage as if she were a child. He was so strong! He sat down beside her, still gripping her arm. The carriage door was slammed shut and he pulled the curtains across the windows. No one could see into the carriage and she could only vaguely see out. The Negro had removed his strange headwear, revealing a shiny shaven skull that made him an even more frightening figure.
Jane felt the carriage lurch as the coachman climbed up into his seat and lurch again as the two horses moved off at a fast trot. She tried to pull back the curtain, but the Negro restrained her, waving an admonishing finger. She could not even see properly where they were going - she felt helpless, but also strangely excited.
Soon the coach slowed down. She could vaguely make out a high wall and glimpsed armed Negro guards. There was the noise of a gate being opened, the carriage moved on again and she heard the crunch of gravel. The carriage stopped once more.
The big Negro opened the door and lifted her out as if she were a child.
Jane looked around. She was in a courtyard, surrounded on two sides by a high wall and on another by a large building with terraces, hidden by arches covered with beautiful Arabesque traceries. It was set in a large and beautifully kept park and a large doorway led into the Palace.
But the Negro pointed with his cane across the park towards a smaller separate building. Obviously, she thought, this must be the guesthouse. He led her along a winding path to this smaller building, unlocked the grilled door and let her through. Then he turned and locked it again. Security was tight in the Palace! She shivered as she realised that she was locked in.
He led her into a simple whitewashed hallway, spotlessly clean. The floors were made of marble and precious rugs hung in the walls. In an inside courtyard a fountain tinkled and there was a burst of colour from the flowerbeds. Then he led her into a spacious room, brightly coloured and intricately patterned tiles on the floor and bold swirling designs, apparently in Arabic writing, on the walls.
The only windows looked out onto the interior courtyard she had just left. Large curved iron bars forming an attractive shaped grille protected them. Against the wall were several heavy chests and there were some low tables surrounded by long, brightly coloured, leather covered cushions. There were also several large ottomans. Numerous mirrors reflected into each other giving an impression of limitless space.
A curtained archway led off into another large room, clearly a bedroom, with a large couch in the centre. Off the bedroom was an alcove in which she could see a bath. The Negro pointed to the couch. ‘You rest! I send someone come soon.’
Then he was gone. She heard the grilled door close behind him and the noise of the key in the lock.
So this was the Palace of Zaid Pasha, the Governor of Malik! It all seemed a very long way from the quiet Wiltshire village of Upper Handley, where her Aunt had lived.
She took off her shoes and lay down on the comfortable bed and looked around the room. Immediately facing the bed was a large photograph hanging on the wall - a man in military uniform.
Intrigued, Jane slipped off the bed to have a closer look. The man in the photograph was tall, well built, in his forties or early fifties with a rather arrogant and nonchalant air, certainly a good looking enough fellow. This must be the mysterious Zaid Pasha! He seemed European looking and very civilised.
She thought about the repulsive Negro who had brought her here. The Hotel Manager had said that he was the Pasha's Chief Black Eunuch. Did that mean that a civilised looking man like him had a harem of slave-girls? Of course not even if, as she had heard, the Sultan in Constantinople still had a huge harem...
Startled she turned round. The door was opening. A black hand came round it.
3 - THE ENGLISH CONCUBINE
The young Negro who entered the room was just as huge and repulsive as the one who had escorted her from the hotel. However, instead of being dressed in a gorgeous fur-trimmed robe, he wore bright red Turkish breeches and an embroidered waistcoat that left his gleaming and hairless muscular chest quite bare. Like the other Negro, his head was shaved and glistening.
Behind him came a witch-like figure, completely shrouded in one of the all-enveloping ugly black burkas she had seen women wearing on the quayside.
The Negro, who seemed to be exceptionally black, held a light chain in his hand. It was similar to the type often used in England as a dog lead. She was shocked to see that the other end of the chain divided into two short lengths. Each of these was apparently locked onto metal bracelets fastened round each of the hidden woman's wrists. The wrists and hands of this witch were the only part of her that could be seen, but Jane saw that even they were hidden under ugly black gloves - just as her ankles were hidden by ugly great black boots.
Because of the chain, her hands were held in front and the Negro was leading her as if she were an animal. The bracelets on her wrists each had a large ring to which the chain was locked together with a row of little bells that tinkled with every movement.
The Negro looked carefully around the room, into the bedroom and its bathroom in the alcove. Apparently satisfied that they were alone, he grasped the woman's hands and unlocked the chains from each of her wrists with a tiny key. Then he gave a signal. Obediently she took off the thick gloves and boots and lifted the hideous black garment off over her head, before handing them all to him with a respectful bow.
Jane gasped in astonishment when she saw that the apparently ugly witch had been transformed into a tall voluptuous young woman with grey eyes and long golden hair that hung down her back. Now barefooted, she moved gracefully and smiled hesitantly at Jane. She wore a long caftan of dark blue coloured silk with a cord under the bosom that pushed up her breasts suggestively. The caftan seemed almost transparent and scarcely hid her firm young bosom and swelling hips, which contrasted with her small waist. She was heavily made-up in the Levantine style, cheeks rouged and eyes outlined in black, which made them seem huge.
On her feet were Turkish slippers. On her head she wore a little satin pillbox hat, fastened by two ropes of pearls that drooped across her forehead in a pretty half moon.
She was one of the most gorgeous women Jane had ever seen. What a transformation! How awful to have been made to look so ugly and unattractive.
However, Jane noticed, she was clearly scared stiff of the Negro, who was now watching the two women. With his hugely fat but muscular naked torso, he seemed to tower over both Jane and this other woman.
Jane had raised her hand to her mouth in a gesture of surprise. Was this beautiful creature one of the Pasha's harem? But why had she been brought here and why veiled and chained? Did they have a common language? She was about to say something, when the Negro gave the young woman a curt word of command in Turkish which Jane, of course, did not understand.
The girl turned to Jane, smiling, eyes sparkling. She made a little Oriental salaam. Jane saw that she seemed to have a curious shiny stainless steel collar round her neck.
‘I have been sent here to welcome you, Madam, on behalf of His Excellency, Zaid Pasha, my Master,’ she said in perfect English. ‘He hopes that you will enjoy your stay in his Palace until your fiancé can be found. He asks you to excuse him, as he has an important meeting, but he will come and meet you as soon as he can get away.’
‘But you're English!’ cried Jane, delighted and astonished to find someone who spoke English.
‘Yes, that's why I was sent to welcome you. I am Phileda.’
‘Phileda who?’ asked the astonished Jane.
‘Just Phileda.’ She held out her arm and Jane saw that Arabic numbers had been tattooed on the inside of her forearm, followed by a red rose. ‘Just Phileda, indentured servant, registered with the Police at Malik as number four five eight seven - and so to all intents and purposes just a slave.’
Jane raised her hands in horror.
‘What? A slave! It can't be true! And that tattooed number! It can't be true!’ Jane shifted uneasily and pointed nervously at the Negro, standing across the doorway as if on guard, hands folded across his bare chest, a long slender and whippy bamboo cane tucked under his arm. Jane saw that it had a curved handle, just like the one that the Negro who had brought her here had been carrying. ‘And why is that man carrying a cane?’
Seeing Jane was looking at his cane, the man grinned, took in both hands and bent it menacingly and then released it, as if testing its whippiness.
‘Oh he's very proud of it. The cane is the symbol of his authority over the Pasha's women. The Pasha's eunuchs always carry a cane.’
‘Eunuchs? What do you mean?’
‘Well you've knew the difference back in England between a stallion and gelding.’
‘Yes,’ replied Jane hesitantly. It was something she had never quite understood.
‘Well, you see, a eunuch is like a gelding. You're quite safe with him.’
‘Oh!’ gasped Jane. ‘But he looks so big and frightening.
‘Yes, these eunuchs are. I think they are chosen for their size - to make women scared of them. And they have complete power over us. The Pasha just leaves it to them to run his harem and supervise us.’
‘Black men in charge of white women!’ cried Jane aloud.
‘Yes, but keep your voice down,’ whispered Phileda, ‘or he'll take me away and punish me with his cane for getting you excited. The eunuchs like to see us always whispering like little girls. The cane is the symbol of their authority over the Pasha's women. The Pasha's eunuchs always carry a cane.’
‘Oh! And that awful black man who brought me here ... the hotel manager said something about him being the Pasha's chief black eunuch.’
‘Yes, that would have been Mansour. He's in overall charge of the harem. He's the Pasha's right hand man.’ She dropped her voice. ‘He's the worst of them all - a really cruel swine who enjoys humiliating us white women. I think it's something to do with getting revenge for the way the Europeans enslaved so many blacks and used them as slaves in America and the West Indies.’
‘How awful! But can't you tell this one to go away? I don't like him here, not with that cane.’
‘Nor do I,’ said Phileda, ‘but he won't go away.’
‘But who is he?’
‘He's Mr. Ali, one of Mansour's assistant eunuchs and he's here to watch over me. It's very rare that we are allowed out of the harem or even out of the harem garden into the palace park and when we are we have to be completely veiled to prevent any man from seeing us. We also have to be chained to prevent us from trying to escape, or from someone trying to steal us, even in the Palace grounds.’
‘Steal you!’
‘Yes! As a blonde European, I am very valuable. Many a young Turk would like to steal one of the Pasha's European concubines for himself, or to sell her in Arabia to a wealthy Emir.’
‘My God! Are you serious?’
Phileda spoke sadly. ‘Yes, I'm afraid so. This is Turkey and the Pasha is a rich and influential man. His concubines always have to be under supervision of a eunuch at all times -even when we go to the loo!’
‘What!’ gasped Jane, horrified, but trying to keep her voice down. ‘You mean these black men ... these black eunuchs ... watch you when you ... spend a penny? It can't be true!’
‘I couldn't believe it either when I was first put into the harem - and got six strokes of the cane for trying to go into the loo without permission. And they do more than just watch you – standing over you there, they control you and inspect what you've done and keep a record of it for each girl.
‘But that's not all, they also keep a record of our monthly cycles and inspect us every day for signs of 'coming into season' as they so cruelly call it.’
‘What!’ murmured Jane incredulously?
‘Yes, in Europe a girl that state is more or less in purdah, but here in Turkey the men find the flightiness and petulance that we all show at that time of the month, very amusing. You won’t believe it, but the eunuchs actually enjoy specially parading girls ‘in season’ before the Pasha.’
‘But all this is incredible! ‘
‘Not really,’ said Phileda gravely. ‘It isn't really so extraordinary, not when you think about it. Not from the Turkish point of view, anyway. They all hate and despise Christians. `Nasranis' or `Roumis' they call us. They love having beautiful white Christian women in their harems where they can control and humiliate them.’
‘But how awful!’ Jane could hardly believe what she was hearing and yet somehow she was finding it rather exciting. ‘This just can't happen to an English girl these days.’
‘Oh yes it can! Officially slavery may have been abolished in the Turkish Empire to please the European Powers, but for women, especially for white Christian women, it still thrives - even if officially we are now indentured servants - indentured for life, to whatever man likes to buy our indentures. Anyway, who knows what goes on behind the walls of a rich man's harem? A man's harem and the women in it are the private concern of the Master alone, according to Moslem law.’
‘But ...’
‘But, nothing! It's true. The old slave markets may have been closed but the slave dealers are still thriving.’
‘Slave dealers!’
‘Yes’ said Phileda, ‘don't forget that here in the Moslem world, women are always kept veiled and shut up. So whereas in Europe a rich man might have a mistress, here he buys them from a slave dealer - and hands them over for safe-keeping and disciplining to his eunuchs.’
‘Disciplining?’
‘Oh yes, the eunuchs are far stricter in the Pasha's harem than even the mistress's were at my girls' school. Here if you ever answer one of them back or treat him with what they regard as 'lack of respect' or dumb insolence, then it's twelve strokes of the cane on your bare bottom in front of all the other girls - and twenty if it's to the Pasha himself.’
‘My God! How awful, but how did you end up here?’
‘Do you find me beautiful?’
‘Yes indeed, but ... ‘
‘Two years ago I was just Phileda Armstrong, a respectable and well-educated young Englishwoman. However as a penniless orphan I realised that I would have to earn my living as a governess. I was offered a post with a rich Greek family in Smyrna and jumped at the chance of seeing a bit of the world.’
‘Yes, but what happened?’ asked Jane.
‘Foolishly I let myself be seduced by the husband. He was very good looking and promised to marry me and divorce his wife. Meanwhile we continued our secret affair and were lovers. But then his wife must have found out. However, she said nothing and hid her jealousy.’
‘So what went wrong?’
‘Well, one day, when her husband was away, travelling on business, she called me down to meet a Turk, whom I later discovered to be Hamid Effendi, one of the leading dealers in white indentured servants here in Malik, the local centre for the slave trade in white girls. It is well away from prying European eyes and near enough to Arabia to attract many buyers from both there and Turkey itself.’
‘Oh no!’ Jane did not know whether to be shocked or secretly excited.
‘Anyway, he was on a buying expedition, acquiring Christian girls to be taken back to Malik to be trained as pleasure slaves in his special school, before being discreetly offered for sale. Apparently he decided that he could transform me into a really valuable slave girl. He must have made a deal with the wife of my employer and lover. I ate several delicious cakes he produced and that was the last thing I remember. It was also the last time I saw Smyrna. I woke up naked and chained in a cage in the hold of a small coaster, together with half a dozen other girls being taken back to Malik by Hamid Effendi. He had got an Englishwoman cheap and I was to be trained and offered for sale.’
She smiled ruefully.
‘When I was considered to be ready for sale, I was made to sign an official document saying that in exchange for all the money Hamid Effendi had spent taking me to Malik and training me, I agreed to becoming an indentured servant. For life! And my indentures can be transferred without my agreement. So I just became a slave to be bought, used and sold.’
‘But didn't you try to escape?’ asked Jane.
‘Oh there was no chance of that. I was always kept chained and locked up with a collar locked round my neck proclaiming that I am an indentured servant and offering a reward for my return - just like a dog back in England.’
Phileda sighed in resignation.
‘No, there was no escape and soon I was displayed at one of Hamid Effendi's monthly private auctions. I caught the eye of Zaid Pasha. He had me inspected by his eunuchs in front of him. Can you imagine the shame of having your hands fastened behind your neck, as these eunuchs men comment to their Master, or as they shamelessly feel the firmness of your breasts, weigh them in their hands and arouse your nipples?’
‘How dreadful!’
‘Yes but it's even worse when they make you part your legs and bend your knees so that they tickle your beauty bud to see how quickly you become aroused.’
‘Oh, no!’
‘Yes, and even that's not all; when a eunuch examines a girl for his Master ...’
‘What more can they do?’ cried Jane in horror.
‘They made me bend over so that they could come behind me and feel between my beauty lips and up my rear entrance to see how tight I'd be for him.’
‘Oh!’ cried Jane, deeply shocked. ‘And your rear ... you can't mean ... ‘
‘Oh, yes, Turks love humiliating a Christian woman by taking there too. They call it 'using her like a boy' and the they love that, too.’
‘Oh!’ gasped Jane, more horrified than ever. Like most respectable young Englishwomen of her time, she had a romantic idea about men and knew little of love-making.’
‘Anyway,’ went on Phileda, ‘the eunuchs recommended that he should buy me and he did.’ Phileda blushed. ‘But they also said that, as I was no longer a virgin and was used to making love regularly with my lover, my employer, I was too 'passionate'. I would therefore, they said, be constantly trying to ... ‘
‘Trying to what?’ asked Jane naively.
‘To ... play with myself,’ replied Phileda, blushing even harder.
‘You mean ...?’
‘Yes, masturbate.’
Masturbate! The very word took Jane back to her schooldays, to whispered conversations and feelings of secret shame.
‘It's something that's strictly forbidden in the harem by the eunuchs. We must be kept pure by them - pure for the Master.’
‘Oh!’ cried Jane deeply shocked. To be controlled by men in this way. How awful!
‘So they recommended to the Pasha that something should be done to me before they took delivery of me.’
‘Took delivery of you,’ repeated Jane, again shocked, ‘as if you were an animal?’
‘That's all slavegirls are here in Turkey,’ replied Phileda bitterly, ‘animals to be bought and sold - and used for pleasure and forced breeding.’
‘Forced breeding!’ repeated Jane, horrified.
‘Yes, and we never know when the Pasha will take it into his head to have us covered - for he always likes to see a few swollen bellies in his harem. The Turks think that having a nicely curved belly makes a girl look more beautiful.’
‘Oh no!’
‘And the more curved, the more desirable. He also likes his eunuchs to always have several girls in milk.’