A Gypsy Spell

Each time they were together my heart would cry silent tears and as days turned into weeks and weeks into months the pain became almost unbearable. I longed for him to recognise me, to speak my name, to caress my skin with his gentle loving hands and to break the hold that she had on us both. Maybe that was it. Once this hold was broken we would be transported once more into the world to which we belonged.

I concentrated my thoughts on Greylin castle amidst the green dales of Cumberland. How could I win him back? Why did I feel so compelled to bring them together in spite of my own feelings? She had lured me into her world only to steal my husband right from under my nose. How was it possible to break the spell of a gypsy? I knew that I must find a way. Maybe the coming changes would solve my dilemma.

The Young Turks were growing in number and revolution would soon beat down the door.

Maybe ‘Hamdi Bey’ would find out about Rana’s lover and he would have her executed for conspiring against him. I prayed that this would never come to pass. I wondered what I would do if such a circumstance occurred and then at the same moment rebuked myself for having such terrible thoughts. I did not want to be the cause of her demise… Or did I? I wanted only to have all the way it was before. I wanted to wake in my own bed at Greylin with my husband beside me dreaming only of our wedded bliss.

Gurol would take on many disguises over the course of time. Many months passed in the glow of golden moments stolen from the the sultan and his entourage. Sometimes the moments were many and could be stretched into hours but at other times they were fleeting and passed so quickly that he and Rana barely had time to brush their lips together in the kiss of a gentle breeze. Often he would disguise himself as one of the servant girls.

At one time he even served the Valide Sultan without her even being remotely suspicious. If she had seen the moustache it would have been a dead give away but as he wore a long scarf draped from his left shoulder and clipped just beneath his right ear covering his mouth and nose only the eyes were exposed. Because those eyes were so light it was easy to mistake him for a foreigner. Even I was fooled by his disguises sometimes and it was a source of great amusement for all three of us that we were able to get away with such daring escapades.

There were times when we three would enjoy an hour or so together in the little apartment which Rana now occupied as befitting her status. The wife of the court painter, Elisabetta Pante, had been given permission to make sketches of Rana and myself. She had asked permission to bring a friend. Her friend was quite tall and given to wearing full robes at all times. The modest type especially in public.

The friend, of course, was none other than Gurol in one of his many guises. He would appear in a long kaftan with long dark veil carrying Elisabetta’s sketch books along with her sticks of charcoal and colour pastels in a basket. The four of us would dine on fruit and sweetmeats together whilst Rana and I posed. During the breaks he and Rana would embrace behind a screen while I helped Elisabetta prepare for the next drawing in the small servants room.

As Rana posed for Elisabetta I would look across at him but he did not seem to feel my pain and seemed blissfully unaware of the despair which dwelt just beneath my smile. If any of us were found out it would be certain death. If the charade were discovered and Gurol executed I could not go on. I wished I could make him recognise me.

Then one night as he passed me in the corridor on his way back to the guards he grabbed my hand and looked down into my eyes. He stared at me for a long period of time still with my hand in his and leaned across to whisper in my ear. “Why do you do this for us little one? What is in this for you? You risk your life every day for the honour of a love that is not even yours.” I looked down at the tiled floor shining in the blue light of dawn which peered in at us through the lattice. “Or is it?”, he cooed and lifted my chin to meet his gaze. At that moment I knew he recognised me as being more than just friend and confidante.I wanted him to declare it then and there but there were approaching footsteps and he pulled me back into the shadows behind the arched doorway.

Sultan Abdul Hamid and his mother were in deep conversation. They were followed by his first wife and two of his daughters, one of whom , was carrying a baby boy dressed in a blue velvet coat with fur trim. I surmised this must be the next Sultan in waiting. All seemed pale except for the rosy cheeks of the infant.
A sense of fear permeated the air. The Valide Sultan linked arms with her son “All will be clear in the morning. We are not without the means of defence. We have changed the guards just in time. Really you worry yourself for nothing.” Hamdi Bey furrowed his thickened brows. “Mother the Ottoman parliament has just been suspended replaced by a general assembly and you tell me to be calm? Even my own officers are turning against me.” He complained bitterly.
“This…. self proclaimed … ‘Army Of Liberty’ …. is bent on destroying everything I’ve worked for. I cannot … I will not let this happen!” he bellowed.
“You are scaring your daughters.” His mother retorted. “You want your grandchild to grow up to be afraid of every obstacle that crosses his path?”