Often I had looked across the narrow strip of water and felt there was a world unknown to me, a world strangely different from Victorian England perhaps a little like that of India which I had known in my youth, for that had seemed different before I had seen it through adult eyes and it had lost so much of its romance.
We had been warned that we must be careful. We knew that there were really two cities one was called Christian Constantinople and that other, which was often called Stamboul, was the Turkish quarter and lay on the south side of the Golden Horn. There were bridges connecting the two and we were told on no account to venture into Stamboul.
It was so exciting to be among all that Saracenic and Byzantine architecture and I was longing to explore.
I suppose we were conspicuous in our uniforms with our holland scarves on which was embroidered Scutari Hospital in red. I noticed how people glanced at us and stood aside to let us pass.
It was the bazaars and little alleys which attracted most of the nurses. These were crowded and it was difficult to keep together.
Henrietta slipped her arm through mine.
“Don’t lose me,” she whispered.
“I’d be a bit scared if you did.”
The streets grew narrower; the shops were like dark caves in which all sorts of merchandise was displayed . brass, ornaments, jewellery, silks. Here and there one of the owners sat at his door smoking a hubble-bubble pipe; strange music came from somewhere; barefooted boys ran through the crowds, pushing against us, reminding us that we must take care of what little money we had.
We stopped at a stall to look at some earrings. There were various colours in enamel and they were very pretty.
“Hardly suitable for ward duty,” I commented.
“My dear girl, we are not going to be here forever. You wait.
Sebastopol will fall, and it will be home for us. “
“I hope you are right.”
“I am going to buy some. These blue ones. You should have the green.”
The old man set aside his hubble-bubble pipe, scenting business, and the transaction took a little time. We were expected to bargain but did not know how, and I think we disappointed our salesman, who would rather have had a lower price and a little entertainment.
And when we had paid for our earrings we discovered that we were no longer with the party.
“Never mind,” said Henrietta.
“We’ll find our way back.”
“And I think we should set about doing it immediately,” I replied.
We attempted to retrace our steps but instead of coming out of the maze of bazaars we found ourselves getting deeper into it.
I noticed a dark man watching us, and it seemed to me that he might be following us.
We came to an alley.
“Let’s try this,” said Henrietta.
“It’s less crowded. Perhaps we could find someone who speaks English and could direct us.”
We had not gone far when, to our dismay we realized that the alley was a cul-de-sac, and as we attempted to retrace our steps, several boys they must have been in their early teens came towards us. Two slipped behind us and the others barred our way.
I took Henrietta’s arm and attempted to push past them; but they had surrounded us. One of them seized my cloak; the others had Henrietta by the sleeve.
I said: “We want to get to the caiques. We have to get back to the hospital.”
One of them came closer and held out his hand.
“Money,” he said.
“You give poor boy.”
Henrietta looked at me.
“We’re poor nurses,” she said.
“We have no money.”
It was clear that they did not understand a word. They were glaring at us menacingly.
I don’t know what would have happened then but the dark man whom I had seen in the bazaar came into the alley.
He made straight for us and let out a stream of words which must have been abuse at the boys; and it was effective for it sent them scurrying away.
He turned to us. He had only a few words of English, which made communication difficult, but I imagined he was asking us if he could help.
I said: “We want to go to the caiques. We must get back to the hospital.”
“Hospital,” he said, nodding and pointing to our scarves. I looked at Henrietta with relief. This seemed like a stroke of good fortune.
“Follow,” said our rescuer.
We did and he led us out of the cul-de-sac to a spot where two or three horse-drawn carriages were waiting, evidently for hire.
I said: “We do not need a carriage. We cannot be far from the waterfront.”
But he was already handing Henrietta into one of them. I got in beside her, protesting, and while I was trying to get Henrietta out, the carriage started and our rescuer was giving the driver instructions.
It was not long before I noticed that we were not going in the direction of the waterfront.
“This is not the way,” I muttered to Henrietta.
Her eyes were wide with alarm.
“Oh … Anna, what do you think it means?”
I shook my head. I dared not imagine what this man’s intentions were when, to my horror, I realized we were crossing one of the bridges which spanned the Golden Horn and so were being taken out of Christian Constantinople to that other part of the city into which we had been warned not to enter.
The horse increased its pace and I thought that any moment we should overturn; this did not happen, though I feared that those children and old people in our path would be ridden down; somehow they always managed to escape. We had come to a street of several tall houses; they looked dark and mysterious because there were few windows.
Then our carriage turned into a gateway and we were in a courtyard.
“Out,” said the man.
I looked at Henrietta, wondering whether we should refuse to get out.
It was not, however, our choice. Our captor had made it clear that we must obey. He pulled first Henrietta and then me out of the carriage; and gripping our arms, he led us through a doorway to a dark passage.
Before us was a flight of stairs.
“Up,” said our captor.
I turned to him.
“Listen,” I said loudly.
“Where is this? I demand to know. We are nurses. English nurses. You implied that you were taking us to the waterfront. Where is this? I will not go a step further.”
His answer was to take my arm and push me up the stairs. I heard Henrietta gasp.
“Anna …”
“We have to get away,” I said.
“How …?”
A man appeared at the top of the stairs. Our captor spoke to him and he stood aside. They talked together excitedly for a few seconds; then the man who had brought us here took our arms and forced us into a corridor.
We were pushed into a small dark room, heavily curtained, with divans along the walls; and the door shut on us.
I ran to it and tried to open it. I could not do so, for it was locked.
“It’s no use,” said Henrietta.
“We’re prisoners.”
We stared at each other, each trying to pretend that we were only half as frightened as we felt.
“What does it mean?” asked Henrietta.
I shook my head.
“We were idiots. Why did we get lost? These wretched earrings ..”
“I thought the others were with us.”
“What is going to happen to us?”
I saw the thoughts forming in her mind. She said: “I’ve heard of this sort of thing. There have been many cases of women … taken … made into slaves … in harems.”
“Oh no!”
“Why not? That’s how the sultans live, isn’t it? They have women in all those harems. They take them captive during wars and they become slaves.”