In ancient times, when King Charles IV. with his wisdom let the land flourish and after him Wenceslas IV. ascended the throne, the heart of Prague trade pulsed in Ungelt, in the Týn Courtyard. It was a fortified courtyard where foreign merchants from distant lands found safe refuge for themselves and their precious goods. Within the walls that protected it from the world’s pitfalls, stood houses, warehouses, and many an inn where weary travelers could rest and refresh themselves. The air here was always full of exotic scents – spices from the Orient, leather from Russia, wines from Hungary – and the murmur of many languages could be heard, mingling with the clinking of coins and the neighing of horses. Ungelt was located behind the majestic Týn Church, whose towers overlooked the bustling streets of Týnská, Malá Štupartská, and Štupartská, and not far from the hustle and bustle of Old Town Square.

In one of those Ungelt inns, where excellent beer was tapped and hearty meals were served, lived the charming daughter of the innkeeper. Jarmila, as she was sometimes called, was a girl with hair the color of ripe grain and eyes as blue as the summer sky. She had the spark of youth and cheerfulness, so it was no wonder that a wealthy Turkish merchant, who regularly stayed at the inn, fell in love with her. Some called him Ozan, others Onur, but everyone knew he was a respected man, dressed in expensive silk, with a turban on his head and eyes burning with passion.

The Turkish merchant fell in love with Jarmila with all his heart. He spent long hours with her, telling her about distant lands, about the sun that shone stronger there, and about the sea that was bluer than anything she could imagine. Jarmila listened to his stories with wonder, and soon she too succumbed to the charm of his exotic origin and sincere love. They arranged a wedding, dreaming of a life together, full of happiness and wealth. However, before their destinies could unite, the Turk had to return to his homeland to settle important matters there and bring back a dowry that would ensure Jarmila a life of luxury. They promised each other fidelity and a swift return.

Days dragged into weeks, weeks into months. The Turkish merchant did not return. Jarmila, full of hope and anxiety, looked out for his arrival every day. Her heart pounded at every rustle of a cloak, at every foreign voice she heard in Ungelt. But the Turk did not come. The innkeeper and his wife, concerned by their daughter’s sadness and fate, began to urge her to marry someone else. They thought that the Turkish merchant had either died on his long journey or had simply forgotten her, seduced by the allure of other women.

After a long wait, when hope had faded like a candle flame in the wind, Jarmila, broken by grief and under family pressure, married another man. He was an honest wool merchant from nearby Kropáčova Vrutice, a man of good heart who loved her and promised her a peaceful and secure life. Ungelt was preparing for the wedding. Baking was done in the houses, and great merriment was being prepared in the inn. Everyone rejoiced, only Jarmila harbored a quiet sorrow for her lost love.

And on that very day, when the wedding bell rang in Ungelt and Jarmila, dressed in a pristine white wedding gown, walked towards the altar, something terrible happened. In the midst of the wedding festivities, as everyone danced and sang, the gate of Ungelt opened and the Turkish merchant entered. He had returned. His eyes, which once burned with love, now blazed with anger and pain. He saw Jarmila, his beloved, in the arms of another man. At that moment, a dark fury awoke within him, incomprehensible to those who had not known the depth of his passion and the betrayal he felt.

In a fit of unimaginable rage, without uttering a single word, he drew his sharp sword, which he carried at his waist. With a single, swift, and deadly blow, he severed Jarmila’s head. Blood splattered the white dress, merriment turned to horror and screams. The girl’s body collapsed to the ground, her head rolled across the cobblestones of Ungelt. Chaos, terror, and confusion followed. The Turkish merchant, whose act was a moment of madness, disappeared into the crowd; some say he vanished as suddenly as he appeared.

Jarmila’s body in her wedding dress and her severed head were found later. Some witnesses claimed they found them in one of Ungelt’s cellars, where the cold mingled with the smell of dampness and old barrels. Since then, it is said that peace never fully returned to Ungelt.

For since then, on dark and moonless nights, when the wind whistles through Týnská Street and shadows stretch around the Courtyard, the ghost of the Turkish merchant appears in Ungelt. He is dressed in expensive silk, wears a turban on his head, and his figure hovers above the cobblestones. In one hand, however, he carries the severed head of his beloved Jarmila, holding it by her fair braids, which gleam like silver in the moonlight. The Turk wanders through Ungelt, walks through the cellars, passes the House at the Golden Ring (No. 630) and roams the dark nooks and crannies he once shared with his love. His face is contorted by eternal grief and loss. He is a harmless ghost, merely lost in his endless sorrow, bound to the place of his tragic love and terrible deed. And so the Turk of Ungelt will wander forever, reminding people of the power of love and how cruelly it can transform into a fatal wound that transcends the boundaries of life and death.