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.  

 

DreamingDaysThe PastPassingToCome

To Come :: The Trebizond Concubine