Bedazzled

by Bertrice Small

  Before she might voice her protest to Aruj Agha, her litter was lifted up by four of the janissaries who had come off the galley. The procession moved off the docks, and onto the narrow, winding streets of the city. Realizing that there was nothing she could do to help Adrian, India took the agha’s advice and lay back amid the brightly colored silk pillows in the litter. She could see that the white walls of the buildings were devoid of windows on the street level. Some of the structures had lattice-covered windows on the upper levels, but most did not. Looking into the courtyard entrances she saw tubs and ceramic jars of flowers in a riotous profusion of shapes, sizes, and colors. Sometimes she saw a bubbling fountain. The streets were amazingly clean, and the populace appeared very orderly, going about their daily business without much ado. India quickly realized that the veiled figures were females, but there were actually very few of them. They passed through a large, open market square. There were stalls set up selling all kinds of produce and flowers; meat, poultry, and fish; household goods; fabrics; leather goods; song birds in wooden cages, and live animals. Then she shuddered seeing a block upon which slaves were even now being auctioned off. The people in the market jeered at the captive seamen, but made no other hostile move toward them.

  The street they entered on the other side of the market square was slightly steeper, and gently terraced with wide stairs. The houses along it were larger, obviously belonging to a more affluent class of citizen. The street itself began to widen as they moved up it. India could see the dome of the grande mosque, and realized if the dey’s palace were just below it, they must be getting closer. The procession entered another square; this one empty of people. There were no buildings on either side of the square; it was walled, and above it was nothing more than cloudless blue sky. The square was paved in blocks of cream and red marble. Ahead of them stood the dey’s white marble palace.

  They passed beneath a deep, wide entry arch into an open courtyard. Armed guards lined the entry and the courtyard. Their procession moved through another wide archway flanked with heavy wooden doors entering into another courtyard, this one planted, with a tiled fountain in its center. India’s litter was set carefully down, and a moment later Aruj Agha opened the curtains and offered her his hand, helping her out. He looked at her a moment, and then nodded as if satisfied.

  “You will follow me, my beauty. Do not speak unless the dey gives you his permission to do so. If he questions you, you may answer him. Now, let us go. The time of the dey’s audience is almost over.”

  India looked quickly about her, but her cousin and the other English captives had been already taken away . . . but to where? She couldn’t be afraid. She must not be. She genuinely believed her life depended upon her being strong, and so she followed quickly after the janisarry captain. He led her down a wide corridor, and finally into a large, pillared room with an opaque dome through which sunlight filtered softly. The room was crowded, and hot, but she shivered nonetheless. Seated cross-legged on a pillowed dais at the far end of the room from the entry was a man garbed all in white but for a cloth-of-gold sash about his waist. His broad pantaloons were white with wide embroidered bands of gold and pearls, and, most extraordinary, his feet were bare. He wore an open-necked white silk shirt, and she could see a heavy gold chain with a pendant upon his smooth bronze chest. A white satin cape lined in cloth-of-gold was fastened about his neck with a thin gold chain. On his head was a small, low turban, from whose front and center wrapping sprouted an aigrette feather set in a perfectly round diamond.

  “Aruj Agha, my lord,” the large black slave who was the doorkeeper boomed in stentorian tones.

  “Stay here,” the janissary commanded her. “When I call you, you may come forward, my beauty.” The he hurried up to the foot of the dais, and, falling to his knees, kissed the dey’s foot.

  “Arise, Aruj Agha. You have returned sooner than I expected. You have had good hunting then, I assume?”

  “Indeed, my lord Caynan Reis, I have.” The agha scrambled to his feet once again, bowing as he did so.

  “What have you brought us?” the dey asked. His face was an oval, and a short, well-barbered black beard fringed his jaw, making a circle about his mouth.

  “A fine English round ship, my lord. It is not even a year old, and was meant for the East Indies run, but its captain was breaking it in gently by sailing it between London and Istanbul for the last few months. Its cargo, I regret, is not particularly valuable. Just Portuguese hides, English wool, and tinware, oranges and lemons from Cadiz, and a number of barrels of sherry from Málaga, which we dumped into the sea, remembering the prophet’s admonition on wine. Its crew, however, is made up of well-disciplined seamen, quite a cut above the usual scurvy creatures we generally take off these ships. Many, including the captain, have already said they are willing to convert to Islam. and sail beneath the flags of the sultan’s government, and El Sinut. And, the vessel carried two passengers. A young English milord, who will undoubtedly fetch a respectable ransom, and the captain’s cousin, a young noblewoman, said to be an heiress of great wealth. She was being escorted to visit her grandmother in Naples. I am assured she is a virgin, my lord Caynan Reis. She is, I believe, quite a prize.”

  “Beautiful?” the dey asked. His long fingers toyed with his beard.

  “Of course, my lord,” the agha replied.

  The dey laughed. “First things first,” he said. “Bring me the captain of this ship that I may assure myself of his honesty.”

  Thomas Southwood was escorted in by two janissaries. He first bowed, and then, making obeisance as he had been instructed, touched his forehead to the dey’s bare foot. Remaining upon his knees, he straightened his body, and waited.

  “Tell me your name, and who your family are,” the dey instructed.

  “Captain Thomas Southwood, master of the Royal Charles out of London, my lord. I am the fourth son of the earl of Lynmouth. The vessel I sailed belonged to the O’Malley-Small Trading Company, in which I have a small share. I am now at your service, my lord.”

  “You are willing to convert to Islam, and sail for me?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “You are quick with your answers, Captain, and I am suspicious of such a cooperative attitude. Is it possible you are considering escape? That you believe you will be given your freedom if you convert and then may flee? I am not such a fool as you may think. You may speak.”

  “My lord dey, you would know me for a liar if I said I had no thought of escape. Surely every captive dreams of escape. However, once many, many years ago, my grandmother was a captive of Islam. She eventually returned home, and told her children and grandchildren that to suffer for dogma is both foolish, and wasteful of the talents we have been given. That the Christians, the Jews, and the Muslims all worship the same God, no matter the name they call him by. I willingly accept Islam, and I offer to you my services as both a ship’s captain and a navigator. It would be a shame if my talents were wasted at an oar, or in the mines, or the fields. I have no wife to return home to, and so I am content for the time being to remain here in El Sinut serving the sultan, as many before me have done. If you will have me, of course, my lord dey. I realize you have the power of life and death over me, but if you will have me, I am your servant.”

  “You have a facile tongue,” the dey remarked. He looked at Aruj Agha, and, speaking in Arabic rather than French, asked, “What think you, my old friend? Is the English captain trustworthy?”

  “For the present I believe so, my lord dey. He has certainly been more than candid with you. You could ransom him, of course, if he is indeed the son of a noble.”

  “Ransoming these people is more trouble than it is worth,” the dey replied. “I am giving you my new galley, the Gazelle, Aruj Agha. Take this Englishman with you as a navigator. That way you can lock him up when you attack other ships. At least until he proves his loyalty to us. In the meantime, you will have his skill, if indeed he has not lied about that.”

  �
��I do not believe so, my lord. He is exactly what you see. No more. My gracious thanks for the Gazelle. I shall take her out almost immediately, with your lordship’s permission,” the agha said. “What will you do with the round ship?”

  “I think I shall keep her, and perhaps after your Englishman has proven he can be trusted, he will teach our people how to sail such a vessel. Now, where is this other Englishman of rank?”

  The agha signaled, and two janissaries brought Viscount Twyford forward. Adrian Leigh, however, refused to kneel, or even bow, before the dey. Instead, he immediately began a harangue. “I am the heir of the earl of Oxton, sir. I can be ransomed for a handsome sum. Do so immediately that I may be quit of this savage place.”

  “On your knees, dog!” Aruj Agha roared.

  “What? Bow to some infidel?” the viscount returned.

  “Get on your knees, you damned fool!” Tom Southwood growled. “They will separate your head from your shoulders without a thought!”

  Aruj Agha didn’t wait another moment. He grabbed Adrian Leigh by his iron collar, and kicked his legs from beneath him, slamming him to the floor, where his aristocratic nose, making hard contact with the marble floor, began to bleed profusely.

  The dey watched impassively. Then he said, “Send him to the galleys. I cannot be bothered with the arrogance of this young milord. Perhaps after he has rowed his way across the sea for a few months, he will be more amenable. Put him on the Gazelle. Take him away.”

  “What . . .what is happening?” Adrian Leigh demanded furiously, wiping his nose with his torn sleeve.

  “You’re going to the galleys for your stupidity,” Tom Southwood said dryly.

  “I am not being ransomed?” Viscount Twyford’s tone was incredulous.

  “You speak to the master of El Sinut like he is some stupid servant, and you expect him to ransom you? Jesu preserve you, Viscount. You are an incredible fool,” Tom Southwood told him as they were taken from the dey’s audience chamber. “And in all the time since we have been captured, you haven’t said one damned word about India. Don’t you care what happens to her? She has done nothing but fret over your fate, you selfish bastard, but you really don’t care, do you?”

  “We all know what happens to women in this sort of situation,” Adrian Leigh said coldly. “Even if we could all be ransomed, India is surely no longer fit to be my wife. That agha fellow was certainly most solicitous of her, wasn’t he? Knox told me he couldn’t do enough for the wench. She has undoubtedly saved her own skin by giving herself to him. She’s a passionate little bitch, you know.”

  Tom Southwood’s big fist slammed into Adrian Leigh’s bruised nose with the speed of lightning, and he actually heard the viscount’s nose break. “You miserable bastard!” he roared before their guards pulled him off the viscount, who was once again bleeding from his battered proboscis. “It was nothing more than her fortune, wasn’t it?” Tom Southwood said. “But she, poor innocent, wouldn’t believe us.

  “Of course it was her fortune,” Adrian Leigh half moaned. “Why the hell else would a man marry a woman but for her dowry?”

  India had watched Adrian and Tom depart the chamber. She had no idea what had happened to them, for she hadn’t been able to hear from her place in the rear of the audience chamber, which was now almost empty. Seeing the blood on the viscount’s face, she was not just a little frightened. Then she heard Aruj Agha’s voice call to her, and he came to lead her up to the foot of the dey’s throne. Quickly he removed the long cape she wore, and unveiled her face. India stood silently in her silk shirt and her dark silk skirts. The agha had warned her to keep her eyes lowered. Because she was as yet anxious, and fearful, she was more than willing to follow his instructions. There was not a sound in the hall, it seemed, but her own thundering heart.

  The dey arose, and stepped down, moving directly in front of India. Reaching out, he tipped her face up. “Let me see your eyes,” he commanded her. His voice was deep and rich, his French exquisite.

  She shyly raised her dark lashes, and was startled to see that his own eyes were a deep sapphire blue.

  Holding her chin between his thumb and forefinger, the dey gazed directly into her face, and India felt a blush firing her cheeks. “She has eyes like a young lioness,” the dey pronounced, speaking to his companions as if she wasn’t even there, or worse, didn’t understand.

  “She is very spirited, my lord dey,” Aruj Agha warned.

  “Is she?” The dey sounded amused. Then he said to India, “Does my captain speak the truth? Are you a thorny English rose?”

  “Please, my lord, what has happened to my cousin and Viscount Twyford?” India burst out, unable to help herself.

  “She is spirited,” the dey said, and then he told India, “Your cousin has accepted Islam, and will sail with Aruj Agha. As for that arrogant young milord, I have sent him to the galleys.”

  The galleys! The words burned into India’s brain. It was a death sentence. Adrian would not be able to survive such punishment. She had seen how hard the galley slaves had worked on the agha’s ship. And when they had not worked hard enough to suit the overseer, a whip had been applied to their backs to encourage them onward. India shrieked with her fury and her distress. Her eyes went to a dagger in the dey’s cloth-of-gold sash. Grabbing at the bejeweled handle, she pulled it out, and stabbed wildly at him with it. “You have killed Adrian! You have killed him!” she screamed.

  “Allah preserve us!” the agha cried out, and, leaping forward, disarmed India, throwing her to the floor. “My lord, are you seriously injured? Ahhhhh! I shall never forgive myself for having introduced this wretched girl into your presence. My lord! Speak to me!”

  The dey, however, was laughing. “Spirited” I do not think that begins to describe the wench,“ he said, rubbing his bruised shoulder. ”Do not fear, my good Agha. I am only slightly grazed. Her aim was most dreadful, but she has ripped my cloak.” Then he signaled to two of his startled servants.

  Immediately they pulled India up, and dragged her across the chamber where they fastened her between two marble pillars, her feet just barely touching the floor. The back of her shirt was ripped away, and her long, dark hair pushed aside. She saw his bare feet by her side.

  “You cannot be allowed to attack me without being punished,” he said softly. “The lash will be plied so that I do not break the skin on your back and seriously harm you. I will wield the whip myself, and you will receive five lashes. I am being merciful because you are new to our ways, although I am certain that attempted murder in England would be met with a far harsher judgment than that I will mete out to you.”

  “I do not care what you do to me,” India said brokenly. “Your cruelty will kill the viscount.”

  “Why should you care?” he asked her, his voice curious.

  “Because I love him!” she half sobbed.

  The dey did not answer her. Instead, he moved directly behind her, and India heard the whistle of the whip even before it hit her back. She cried out with the first blow. “I hate you!” Behind her the dey smiled grimly, and continued her punishment adding the second. third, fourth, and fifth lashes to her back, but India clamped her lips tightly together and did not cry out again.

  When he had finished, the agha said, “I shall take her to the marketplace and sell her, my lord dey.”

  “No,” Caynan Reis said. “I am going to keep her, Aruj Agha.”

  “But she tried to kill you, my lord! The wench is far too dangerous to keep. I would never forgive myself if she succeeded in a second attempt. No! Let me sell her.”

  The dey chuckled. “No,” he replied. “I enjoy a little danger. She is a virgin, is she not? Well, we all know how passionate virgins can be. She attacked me because she says she loves that arrogant little milord, and she believes I have given him a death sentence. I will turn her foolish heart because it will be a challenge to do so. She may one day become the pride of my harem. Now, let me get a better look at this prize you have brought me,
Aruj Agha. Strip her!” he told his servants.

  The slaves released India from her confinement between the two pillars. She was half carried, half dragged across the floor to the dais where the dey now stood. The remnants of her shirt and her chemise were pulled away, revealing her bare torso. India swallowed hard knowing that to struggle was futile. This dey would have his way. Her skirts and remaining undergarments were drawn off. One of the slaves knelt, and removed her leather slippers. She was half in shock. She had never felt so naked in her entire life.

  Caynan Reis stood silent as India’s charms were uncovered. His dark-blue eyes moved slowly over her. Her breasts were round and perhaps a bit small, yet they were incredibly lush. With the proper loving, those little fruits would ripen nicely. Her nipples were like unopened flower buds, all tight and hidden. The triangle of dark curls at the junction of her thighs would be removed, of course, but he could see the mound beneath those curls was plump.

  The dey stepped down and stood before her. “Look at me!” he commanded her, and when she did, he reached around her and fondled one of her buttocks. Then his hand smoothed its way down her back. “You have skin like the finest Bursa silk,” he told her. He then moved in a leisurely fashion about her. She had beautiful limbs, well shaped and not too thin. Her legs were long, her feet small and slender. He put his arm about her suddenly, and drew her back against his body, cupping one of her breasts in his hand. “Tell me the truth,” he whispered in her ear, his fingers caressing her bosom. “Are you truly a virgin?”

  India nodded vigorously, at first unable to speak. She was both hot and cold, and had to struggle to remain standing, for her legs felt as if they would give way at any minute. His large hand was splayed across her belly and felt fiery against her skin. She wondered if he could feel her trembling. Finally she was able to speak. “Of course I am a virgin,” she gasped. “Why would you think otherwise?”

  “Because you have told me you are in love with the milord,” the dey answered her.