Love Slave

by Terry Wakelin

  Ignoring the armed soldiers and sweating sailors, the young man nodded amiably at the guard. From where she stood, Charlotte could clearly hear what was said. “I am sorry to trouble you, friend, but I seek passage to Valencia. Is your captain aboard? ”The young man’s Spanish was excellent, just a slight hint of an accent betraying the fact that it was perhaps not his native tongue.

  The sailor’s demeanour was immediately deferential. Charlotte understood why. Fare-paying passengers were few and far between and the richness of the man’s garments more than hinted at his ability to pay. Half of all passenger fares went straight into the captain’s pocket and no sailor would care to risk his displeasure by turning one such away . . . even a Moor.

  “Yes, sir! ” replied the sailor, saluting smartly. “Captain Diaz’s cabin is on the after deck. ”He pointed up to where Charlotte stood. “The small deck, Excellency - up there. ”

  The dark-faced man nodded and glanced sideways at his companion. “Wait here, Zamil! ” he ordered. “I shall not be long. ”He climbed aboard, then made his way along the raised centre-deck between the rows of sun-blackened figures slumped across the great sweeps. These were the oarsmen; wretched whip-scarred slaves drawn from the ranks of criminals, prisoners-of-war, heretics and other so-called ‘enemies’ of the State. One or two dirty bearded faces looked upwards momentarily as the man passed, but for the most part the rowers remained slumped as they were.

  As he approached, Charlotte noticed one stubbornly stray lock of black hair straggling out from under the kuffiaya, or hooded part of his robe, a lock that partially covered a four-inch, pale scar running lengthways down his temple. Now just where he had obtained that? she wondered, her curiosity increasing still further as she noticed the startling blueness of his eyes.

  The uniformed figure of the ship’s captain appeared in the doorway of the stern cabin just as the visitor reached the deck and Charlotte turned away, feigning disinterest. Nevertheless, she listened closely to what was being said.

  “My compliments, Señor,” said the young man pleasantly, holding out his hand. “My name is Salim bin Rahdi. My friend Bashir suggested I see you. I wish to book passage to Valencia for myself and my servant. ”

  The Captain took the outstretched hand soberly, his eyes taking in the richness and cut of his visitor’s apparel in one quick glance. He knew of Bashir, of course. Who had not heard of the second richest merchant in Valletta?

  “Moor? ” he asked gruffly.

  Salim smiled affably and nodded his head. “Yes, Captain . . . though like you I am a good subject of Spain, which has long been my family’s home. ”

  Captain Diaz eyed the man shrewdly. “We sail on tomorrow’s dawn tide,” he said gruffly. “Can you be aboard by then? ”

  Salim nodded. “Easily. My baggage is small and easily packed. ”

  “Just yourself and your servant? No women . . . er . . . harem or anything? ”

  The Moor grinned. “No, Captain; no women. Just myself and Zamil. ”

  Obviously relieved, the captain made a gesture towards the open cabin door. “Very well then,” he said. “Let us go inside! There we can discuss the matter of the passage fee in private. ” . . .

  In the large, ornately decorated stern cabin of the ship, the two men faced each other across the large desk. With a smile, Salim bin Rahdi brought out a weighty little leather bag that he tossed carelessly onto the desk. “I trust this will be sufficient, sir? ”

  The Spaniard’s dark eyes lit up as he picked up and weighed the little bag of gold coins. Quite obviously it contained considerably more than the usual amount of passage-money. Instantly his manner became more gracious. “You are most generous,” he remarked, reaching for a bottle and two glasses. “Will you take a glass? ”

  Salim shook his head. “It is very kind of you,” he smiled, “but, like most of my countrymen, I’m afraid I have no head for wine. ”He grinned apologetically. “Even one glass makes my head swim. Please forgive me! ”

  Disappointed, the captain set down the bottle. It would be extremely rude of him to take a glass if his guest would not. “Very well,” he sighed, reaching for his quill. “In that case, I will just write you a receipt for your gold. ”

  The young man shook his head again. “A receipt is hardly necessary between gentlemen. ”With another friendly smile, he turned to leave. “I am very grateful that you allow us to travel with you. ”

  The captain’s hand closed over the gold and swept it into his pocket. “A great pleasure, your Excellency! But please be aboard by first light. We sail on the tide. I will give instructions for a cabin to be prepared. What about your servant? Do wish him quartered with the crew, or will you keep him with you? ”

  The young man smiled. “Zamil will sleep in my cabin. I am used to having him close. ”

  The captain sniffed. The peculiar sexual habits of the Moors were well known. This one was probably no different.

  “Just one other thing,” continued Salim. “The lovely lady outside? She is a passenger also? ”

  The Captain’s face clouded. “Ah yes, of course, the English Milady. She also travels with us to Valencia. ”He raised his hands in the age-old gesture of helplessness. “You understand that it was not my wish to have such on board as a passenger . . . but in this instance I had no choice. The lady’s uncle is a man of great influence. ”

  Salim looked interested. “Really, captain? An English Milady? Her uncle a man of great influence . . . and you do not like her? ”

  The Captain flushed. “You know what I mean,” he rejoined. “It is not a question of like or dislike. It is just that . . . well . . . in my experience unescorted women passengers have no place aboard ship. They are unlucky; and they cause trouble amongst the crew. ”

  “Yes, I have heard this,” replied Salim easily. “Still, if we are to be shipmates . . . ? ”His expression was curious. “Unescorted, you say? An English Milady who travels alone? Surely this is not usual? ”

  Captain Diaz grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, she has her duenna . . . er . . . companion, of course. A slave called Meylissah or some such heathenish name. ”The captain coughed, then continued. “The circumstances are a little exceptional. The Lady herself is niece to Sir James Brandon. ”

  Salim lifted an eyebrow. “The English Special Envoy? ”

  The Spaniard nodded. “The same. Lady Charlotte was ill of a fever when Sir James was called urgently back to England on some diplomatic business or other and he was forced to leave her here under the protection of his friend, the Sheikh Omar ibn Saiid. Now that she is recovered, she goes to join him. ”He stood up and held out a hand. Clearly, he did not wish to enlarge on the conversation. “Now sir, I wish you a pleasant voyage. Please be aboard before first light! ”

  The young man smiled, white teeth gleaming in the dark face as he took the outstretched hand. “Thank you again, Captain. Until tomorrow, then! ”

  “Until tomorrow,” echoed the captain.

  Of the blonde Lady Charlotte there was no sign as Salim bin Rahdi came out of the cabin, but as he made his way back along the centre deck towards the gangway, one of the sun-blackened figures at the oars hissed at him: “Remember me, Cap’n? ”

  Stopping abruptly, the Moor looked up as if interested in the complicated rigging of the big ship. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.

  A whisper drifted up again. “No matter . . . I know you, Cap’n. Saw you in Algiers two years ago with that old devil Dragut. ”The man’s eyes gleamed. “Knew you the minute I saw you talkin’ to that Dago captain on the aft deck. Hawkins . . . Matthew Hawkins is my name; Cap’n of the ‘Bonaventure’ out of Bizerta . . . taken these eight months past by a Dago squadron off the Azores! ”He gestured towards the oarsman on his right. “This here’s my Master Gunner, John Frith. ”

  “Privateers? ” asked Salim so
ftly.

  The man nodded. “Two ships; my ‘Bonaventure’ and Fletcher’s ‘Corso’. You remember ‘Mad’ Jack? ”

  The Moor nodded.

  “Well, the Corso managed to show the Dagos a clean pair o’ heels, while we was rammed and boarded. They took most of us alive, ‘cept for a dozen or so . . . and I reckon they were the lucky ones. Forty-nine souls wounded or took prisoner; forty eight men and a wench. The wounded they just heaved overboard with their hands and feet tied. ”

  Salim looked down squarely for a moment; his expression hardening at the sight of the whip-marks criss-crossing the sun-blackened flesh. “A wench, you say? ” he asked softly.

  The galley slave nodded again. “A young French bawd I picked up from a Somali slaver just before we sailed. She was sent here with us. They got her in the forrard cable tier . . . for use of the officers. ”

  Salim looked up as if to gaze at the ship’s rigging. “The rest of your crew? ” he whispered. “How many left? ”

  “Just the two of us here. ”The galley slave coughed weakly. “Thirty of us made it into Valencia as captives. Twenty they burned in the main square within the month. ‘Auto-da-fe’, they called it. Said we was heretics. The rest they sentenced to the galleys. Four of us, John here, myself, Jacob Longthorpe, my First Mate and Richard Proctor found ourselves together on this hell ship. Richard and Jacob ha’ both been weakening fast these past weeks. ”He indicated the two conspicuously vacant places on the oar with a grim look. “This morning, just before first light, the Dagos weighted ‘em down and tossed ‘em over the side. ”He coughed again and wiped his mouth with a grimy hand. “Jacob was still alive, I think! Good job the little Frenchy didn’t see that. She had a soft spot for him. ”

  “I am sorry for your bad fortune, friend,” whispered Salim. “But don’t give up hope just yet! ”

  Hawkins tried to smile. “Too late for us, I think, Cap’n. But please . . . do what you can for the little Frenchy! Bawd she might be, but she don’t deserve what those devils ha’ been doing to her. ”

  The Moor’s expression was carefully neutral as he turned and made his way down the gangway to the dock. The sailor on guard saluted smartly.

  “Everything all right, Excellency? ”

  “Yes, thank you. We sail with you tomorrow. ”He indicated the big Nubian. “Zamil will bring my luggage later. Will you see it is placed in our cabin? ”He brought a gold piece from under his robe and held it out.

  The sailor’s eyes lit up. “Of course, Excellency. Just leave it to me!”

  Salim clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you, friend,” he said. “Until tomorrow then. ”

  Rejoining Zamil, Salim walked away, his smile quickly fading as he passed the black-painted, rakish-looking slaver tied up in the next berth. Although she had been unloaded earlier in the day, the disagreeable stench still drifted, miasma like, from her open ports and hatches.

  A little further along both he and the black stood aside to allow two men and a female to pass by. One of the men, a fat, disagreeable-looking fellow, was richly dressed; the other smaller, dark and swarthy, was obviously a servant. Of the female, veiled and dressed in a voluminous, all-concealing Arab ha’ik, there was little to be seen, though her dark eyes, mysterious above the veil, looked at them with some interest as they passed by. She was taking quick, very small steps and, from beneath the long cotton garment, came the chink of chain and the sound of a small bell.

  Salim bin Rahdi smiled. It was an old slaver’s trick. Underneath the ha’ik the girl would be chained and belled. Just enough chain at the ankles so that she could walk but not run and belled so that she might easily be found even on the darkest of nights. He looked boldly at the swathed female and the suddenly startled, kohl-lined eyes widened at his temerity.

  The fat man intercepted the glance and a look of anger clouded his face, although it was very carefully not directed at the men.

  “Come, slut! ” he growled, reaching out to grab the girl viciously by the shoulder. “Must I leash you every time a man passes by? I shall punish you later! Hurry now! We have business to attend to. ”

  Chapter Four

  ‘A Girl is Kissed’

  For three days the San Cristobal sailed seemingly alone on

  an empty sea, a favourable wind driving her steadily on towards Marsala on the eastern tip of Sicily. From there she would set course for the safer, Spanish-patrolled Straits of Bonafacio, that narrow strip of water separating the island of Corsica from its more southerly cousin, Sardinia.

  Once past Marsala, however, the capricious wind fell off,greatly slowing the ship’s passage, so that the unfortunate wretches on the oars were forced to labour long and hard under the ever-present lash of the unrelenting Spanish oar-master. Salim bin Rahdi spoke no more to the galley slave, though an observant onlooker might have noticed his expression darkening each time his gaze fell on the sweating, straining wretches who, urged cruelly on by the constant crack of the whip across naked backs, continued to heave mightily on the giant sweeps.

  Charlotte and Meylissah continued to make love as and when they wished in the privacy of the cabin and the English girl could not remember being happier. Twice each morning and in the afternoon, they would take the air on the canopied aft poop deck; as did the Moor, Salim bin Rahdi and his Nubian. Sometimes the fat Spanish merchant and his swathed and veiled slave-girl would join them for a time, though conversation seemed to be limited to a nod of the head and a brief word of greeting.

  It was on the third morning that Meylissah went down with a fever. It seemed to be not as severe as her Mistress’s had been, but even so Charlotte was worried and reluctant to leave her alone. It was only after repeated assurances from the slave girl that she really was all right, that Charlotte was finally persuaded to leave the stuffiness of the cabin for a turn on deck.

  She made several circuits of the small deck, listening with half an ear to the slap of canvas and the groan of the rigging, very much aware of the rolling deck under her feet and the tang of sea air in her nostrils, a clean smell which helped somewhat to offset the reek of salt embedded timbers and the unwashed bodies of the sailors. She was standing at the ship’s rail, senses alive and vibrating as she watched the gentle rolling swell of the grey-blue sea, when she suddenly became aware that she was not alone.

  Turning her head, she saw Salim bin Rahdi staring at her from the stern rail; a stare which sent the most curious icy sensation all the way down her spine. For a moment she met his eyes . . . eyes of the most startling blue in the dark face . . . then, seeking to evade the uncomfortable scrutiny, she turned back to look out over the vast expanse of sea.

  He made no sound as he crossed the deck and yet, seconds later, she somehow sensed that he was standing directly behind her. Charlotte was not normally nervous, but at that moment she tensed in every muscle of her body. Mouth dry, she spun around.

  “What is it? What do you want? ” she asked in English, then cursed herself for her stupidity. He would not understand, unless her tone of voice managed to convey the meaning of her words.

  Salim smiled and lifted his hands expressively, his eyes appearing to scan her every feature. “Forgive me, my Lady . . . I did not mean to frighten you,” he replied softly in Spanish.

  Charlotte shifted a little nervously. Up close, like this, the man was quite intimidating. Hesitantly she groped for the right words. “I am not frightened, señor . . . I was thinking of other things. My companion is ill,” she finally managed.

  The Moor frowned. “Meylissah? Not serious, I hope. ”

  “I don’t know. A touch of fever. I had it recently myself. ”

  “I have some knowledge of fevers and medicines. Would you like me to take a look at her? ”

  Charlotte considered for a moment. “Thank you,” she replied, “if she gets any worse that would be most kind of you. B
ut for the moment she is sleeping peacefully and I have no mind to disturb her. ”

  “Very well. But if her condition does give cause for concern, please let me know. ”

  For the rest of that morning, and again in the afternoon, Salim bin Rahdi accompanied her as she took her exercise, proving himself to be the most congenial of companions, though she remained very nervous of him. True, she found him attractive in his eastern, somewhat exotic way, and the chance to increase her limited knowledge of the language of the Moors was something she found difficult to resist. Obviously rich and well-travelled; he had that self-confident and commanding manner which goes hand in hand with the possession of great wealth and power. Beneath the handsome face and polite veneer, however, Charlotte could sense a hardness and ruthlessness about the man which frightened her. A dangerous man, her every instinct warned her; a man she might do well to avoid! And yet, while she might never have admitted it, even to herself, it was precisely these qualities . . . as much as the man’s natural magnetism and dark good looks . . . that attracted her. He was, in short, unlike any man she had ever known. . . .

  The unfriendly winds continued and it was three days more before the expected shout came from the main masthead.

  “Deck there! Land ho! ”A momentary pause, then: “And sail ho! ”

  Buffeted by the breeze, the warning shout drifted faintly down from the galleass’s topmast. On the shaded after-deck, the young immaculately turned-out lieutenant was immediately alert.

  “Where away, sail? ” he shouted.

  Back came the shout:“A point off the port bow, sir! ”

  Hurriedly, the lieutenant moved to the rail to lift his telescope.

  Boots clattered on the companionway steps behind him and the Captain puffed his way on deck, dragging at his jacket and pushing his hat in place as he tried to maintain some semblance of dignity.

  “What is it, Lieutenant? ”