and tried to put her from his thoughts, but being saved from drowning does strange things to the mind. Her courage in the service of a man, whose motives were, at best, questionable, had a profound effect on him. She had risked her life without a moment’s hesitation, and it was the most selfless act any other human being had ever undertaken on his behalf.
He felt ashamed. He had decided to seduce Anyush, and, watching her shivering and half naked on the stones, he knew she was his for the taking. A bit of harmless fun to stave off the boredom of being banished to the back end of the Empire. But it didn’t seem so harmless any more.
A year previously Jahan had been in Paris finishing his officer’s training at the French Military Academy. Enver Pasha, the commanding officer of the Turkish army, was determined to rid the ranks ofthe older
alaylı
, those officers who had been appointed without going to military school, and replace them with the
mektepli
, young, eager graduates of the Military Academy such as Jahan. Like other cadets sent to Berlin, Vienna, Rome, London and St Petersburg, Jahan’s head was full of the modern advances he would bring home with him. He was determined to establish the first Ottoman aviation corps, and an armoured vehicle squadron, and his superiors were suitably impressed. But the outbreak of war put an end to all Jahan’s dreams. The cadets were recalled to Constantinople to bolster a decimated Ottoman army. The military had never recovered from the disastrous Balkan War which had destroyed it as an effective fighting force. As the events of 1914 lumbered towards the inevitable, the Ottoman army found itself understaffed, ill-equipped and totally unprepared for another war.
Not every aspect of the war was unfavourable for the Orfalea family. Jahan’s father, a leading figure in the Ottoman military, had substantially increased his fortune during the Balkan War and since the advent of the Great War. The family tannery in Constantinople had become the biggest army supplier of saddles, bandoliers and boots, and, being the only son and heir of his father’s business, Jahan ought to have been grateful for an armed conflict.
In reality, he was disenchanted with all things military and disturbed by the nationalistic fervour spreading throughout the country like fire. ‘Armenian,’ he thought, looking up at the darkening sky, had become a dirty word.
Over the course of a few restless nights, Jahan had decided never to see Anyush again. His company was moving to the Russian front in a couple of days, and it would be his parting gift to her, a sincere thank you for saving his life. So sincere in fact, that he had come to the ruin in the hope of saying it in person.
A stiff breeze blew up. The sky and sea merged in a heaving mass of grey and the first drops of rain hit against his face, presaging the storm to come. Pushing his cap firmly onto his head, he stepped into the wind to walk back to the base.
Anyush
‘S hort, Anyush,’ Bayan Stewart said. ‘Keep a little length on top but cut the rest short.’
‘I don’t need a woman to cut my hair,’ Robert complained. ‘I like it long.’
‘Sit still, Master Robert,’ Anyush said, holding the scissors away from him.
‘Nobody complains about Mahmoud Agha’s hair. Nobody makes
him
cut it off.’
‘Mahmoud is a Kurd,’ his mother said. ‘Cut it like you did Thomas’s, Anyush dear.’
‘Think how much cooler it will be,’ Anyush said, snipping off a lock. ‘Short hair is easier in the heat.’
‘That’s what hats are for,’ Robert muttered.
‘Told you you’d have to cut it,’ Eleanor smirked.
Her brother made a face.
‘Charles … I was wondering when we’d see you.’ Bayan Stewart rose to greet her husband who seemed a little distracted.
‘
Barev
, Dr Stewart.’
‘
Barev dyzez
, Anyush. You’re here today? I expected you at the clinic.’
‘Clinic tomorrow,
Doktor
.’
‘Oh … yes, that’s
He felt ashamed. He had decided to seduce Anyush, and, watching her shivering and half naked on the stones, he knew she was his for the taking. A bit of harmless fun to stave off the boredom of being banished to the back end of the Empire. But it didn’t seem so harmless any more.
A year previously Jahan had been in Paris finishing his officer’s training at the French Military Academy. Enver Pasha, the commanding officer of the Turkish army, was determined to rid the ranks ofthe older
alaylı
, those officers who had been appointed without going to military school, and replace them with the
mektepli
, young, eager graduates of the Military Academy such as Jahan. Like other cadets sent to Berlin, Vienna, Rome, London and St Petersburg, Jahan’s head was full of the modern advances he would bring home with him. He was determined to establish the first Ottoman aviation corps, and an armoured vehicle squadron, and his superiors were suitably impressed. But the outbreak of war put an end to all Jahan’s dreams. The cadets were recalled to Constantinople to bolster a decimated Ottoman army. The military had never recovered from the disastrous Balkan War which had destroyed it as an effective fighting force. As the events of 1914 lumbered towards the inevitable, the Ottoman army found itself understaffed, ill-equipped and totally unprepared for another war.
Not every aspect of the war was unfavourable for the Orfalea family. Jahan’s father, a leading figure in the Ottoman military, had substantially increased his fortune during the Balkan War and since the advent of the Great War. The family tannery in Constantinople had become the biggest army supplier of saddles, bandoliers and boots, and, being the only son and heir of his father’s business, Jahan ought to have been grateful for an armed conflict.
In reality, he was disenchanted with all things military and disturbed by the nationalistic fervour spreading throughout the country like fire. ‘Armenian,’ he thought, looking up at the darkening sky, had become a dirty word.
Over the course of a few restless nights, Jahan had decided never to see Anyush again. His company was moving to the Russian front in a couple of days, and it would be his parting gift to her, a sincere thank you for saving his life. So sincere in fact, that he had come to the ruin in the hope of saying it in person.
A stiff breeze blew up. The sky and sea merged in a heaving mass of grey and the first drops of rain hit against his face, presaging the storm to come. Pushing his cap firmly onto his head, he stepped into the wind to walk back to the base.
Anyush
‘S hort, Anyush,’ Bayan Stewart said. ‘Keep a little length on top but cut the rest short.’
‘I don’t need a woman to cut my hair,’ Robert complained. ‘I like it long.’
‘Sit still, Master Robert,’ Anyush said, holding the scissors away from him.
‘Nobody complains about Mahmoud Agha’s hair. Nobody makes
him
cut it off.’
‘Mahmoud is a Kurd,’ his mother said. ‘Cut it like you did Thomas’s, Anyush dear.’
‘Think how much cooler it will be,’ Anyush said, snipping off a lock. ‘Short hair is easier in the heat.’
‘That’s what hats are for,’ Robert muttered.
‘Told you you’d have to cut it,’ Eleanor smirked.
Her brother made a face.
‘Charles … I was wondering when we’d see you.’ Bayan Stewart rose to greet her husband who seemed a little distracted.
‘
Barev
, Dr Stewart.’
‘
Barev dyzez
, Anyush. You’re here today? I expected you at the clinic.’
‘Clinic tomorrow,
Doktor
.’
‘Oh … yes, that’s
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