|
The
fortuneteller, Anna, prophesized that I would live through the sack of the
city
but be sold into slavery. This has come to pass. She said, too, that
I would be ransomed and return to Trebizond. I long to see my home, the
castles by the dark sea, the shrouded mountains. I dream of entering my
father's house, combing my mother's hair. But God allows His
will in His time.
For now, I endure a familiar service in the household of Hamza Bey, the Master of Ships. When the city was still ablaze, I was taken to Rumeli Hisar; from the seraglio, I can see the firelight on the Bosphorus. Nothing that the fortuneteller said would let us foresee this destruction. Constantinople is no more. Would that God had stayed the Turk's hand.
|
To Come :: The Trebizond Concubine |