Love Slave

by Terry Wakelin

  “How is it you know all this? ” she asked.

  “I listen to the Lord Dragut and the ‘Rais’,” replied Leila.

  “And what about the Rais Khalif? ” asked Charlotte softly, a blossoming pinkness in her cheeks somewhat betraying her inner feelings. “Who is he really? Where does he come from? ”

  Leila was immediately forthcoming. “It is well known that the Rais Khalif was born in land called Albania. Family killed by nasrani slavers when him just a boy. Rais sold as slave to very bad Spanish man. One time Rais kill bad Master and escape. He join corsairs. Now adopted son of Lord Dragut. ”

  “Slavers, Leila? Where from? Were they Spanish? ”

  “Not know. ”The slave girl managed to blush, prettily. “Zamil tell me of this when he take pleasure with me last night. He say Rais’ sister cut face of slaver chief very bad. She very young; not want slaver to . . . to . . . ” She hesitated, as if not quite sure of the English word.

  “Rape her? ”

  “Oh yes . . . rape. She fight, have knife. Slaver chief very angry. Torture girl then nail to cross. ”

  “Nail . . . ? You mean . . . like . . . like . . . crucify? ”

  Leila nodded gravely. “Yes. Like nasrani Jésus. Kill slowly. Rais saw. ”

  Charlotte breathed hard, shocked into sudden, horrified understanding by the slave girl’s casual description of the girl’s fate. Little wonder indeed that the enigmatic corsair hated the Spanish, if the men who had done this terrible thing to his sister and the rest of his family were indeed of that race.

  She was silent for a while, digesting what Leila had told her; then her thoughts turned towards the beautiful Egyptian. She was curious. How was it that the girl spoke English so well? Meylissah, of course, had been taught by Suleiman. But surely this was not common practice. “How is it you speak my language, Leila? ” she asked. “Have you met English people before? ”

  Leila frowned. “Some . . . not much! Master travel plenty; many times command Leila serve sailormen. Serve French, Spanish and Portugee, sometime English too! Earn much silver for Master; learn speak many tongues. ”She smiled proudly“Speak English and French little! Spanish, Portugee more! ”

  Charlotte was horrified. The girl’s meaning was perfectly clear. Leila’s previous Master had obviously not only been a slave merchant but also a whoremaster, renting out his girl’s sexual services to any who would pay.

  Seeing Charlotte’s disquiet, Leila sought to explain. “Leila not mind to serve sailormen,” she explained softly. “Most kind to slave girl. No hurt; give plenty candy and sweetmeats. ”She smiled proudly. “Plenty sailormen want buy Leila - take back to ship! Offer much gold - Master not sell! ”

  Charlotte’s feelings showed plainly on her face and Meylissah hastened to explain further. Leila was a slave, yes . . . but from what she said, she had always been fed - usually very well - most of the time clothed more than adequately, and had hardly ever suffered from lack of a place to sleep. Mostly she had always been cared for and looked after like the valuable piece of property she was. So what if it was part of her duties to service a Master, and those others who, from time to time, he might decree? Women had served men like this since the dawn of time. Did the peasant’s wife in Egypt or the Bedouin’s chattel in the desert live as well? No, of course not! In fact, in Meylissah’s considered opinion, there were many worse things than being a slave. Women served men and, however you dressed the matter up, no man was really very much better, or worse, than the next. So why not make the best of it? It was certainly better than starving in the slums.

  Charlotte sighed. It was no use arguing. Quite obviously European values had no place here. “This fortress, where is it? ” she asked.

  Leila shook her head. “Not sure,” she replied. “Island maybe . . . not far! ”

  Charlotte’s expression betrayed her disquiet. “What else, Meylissah? Are we to be sold in Algiers, or will they keep us for themselves? ”

  Meylissah shook her head. “Perhaps Leila and Meylissah sold . . . not Mistress,” she replied. “Mistress maybe just held for ransom, then set free! ”

  “Oh no! My uncle will surely ransom you as well . . . and Leila, too, if I ask. ”Both girls looked pleased at the prospect and, over the next half-hour or so, prompted from time to time by Charlotte, they recounted most of what they could remember from the men’s conversation.

  Some things remained vague, but the one thing Meylissah was certain about was Dragut Bey’s reference to an important meeting with the Dey of Algiers and the fact that Khalif was to follow him there after delivering the gold to this fortress, wherever that was. And it was not until Algiers that the ship . . . and the slaves . . . were to be sold!

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Jahwar Takes His Revenge’

  Any hopes Khalif might have had of a speedy passage across

  the Gulf were quickly dashed as, within the hour, the fickle wind had backed so that, even with sails close-hauled and the struggling galley-slaves whipped to maximum effort, the San Cristoba’ was able to make little headway. For two whole days the weather remained hostile and even Jahwar in the escorting Persephone struggled to maintain station.

  Throughout this time Khalif kept his new slave close, using her whenever and however he wished. Mostly she enjoyed the usage, though there were times when, almost as if her were angry with her for some undefined reason, he took her so savagely and quickly that she was left painfully unfulfilled. Even this she had not really minded. The sight of his features in the full flow of passion never failed to stir her, and the thought that it was she who provoked this apparently all-consuming desire was a ready balm for her bruised flesh.

  Though she was permitted clothing during periods of exercise with the other girls on the deck, in private Khalif kept her naked most of the time; a state of affairs which, had she been asked, she would have admitted she did not really mind. It was not cold and clothes merely constituted a hindrance to his frequent demands on her body; demands which . . . were she honest . . . delighted her as much as they did him.

  She did not tell him about Leila’s uterine sponge which, for all this time, remained lodged deep in her body. Her feelings were confused. On the one hand, it would obviously be better for her not to conceive at this time . . . and yet, if it did happen, would she really be so unhappy about it? She was unable to deny that already she was deeply in love with the man. Did he love her? She was not sure, yet there were indications that he cared. He was so possessive, so fiercely protective of her, and, much of the time, so gentle and caring she could hardly believe he didn’t. And now, padlocked around her neck by his own hand, was a silver collar! She was strangely proud of this; even more so when Leila translated the script engraved at each side of the hinge, which read: ‘The slave of Khalif’. How could she not take it to be a declaration of his feelings for her?

  Then, as she lay in his arms after a particularly exhausting bout of lovemaking, her bubble was brutally burst. “May I speak, Master? ” she whispered softly.

  He nodded.

  “What will happen when we reach Algiers? ” she whispered.

  He frowned. “What do you know about Algiers? ” he asked sharply.

  “Leila told me,” she replied in a small voice. “She overheard your conversation with Dragut. ”

  He looked at her silently for a moment with a strange look on his face. For a moment, she thought he was about to declare his love, then his measured reply crushed her girlish romantic hopes as savagely as if he had ground her heart under his boot. “What will happen is what always happens,” he said slowly. “The slaves, the ship and the cargo will be disposed of and the money divided amongst the crew, each according to his proper share. ”

  She flinched, visibly, as if he had struck her. White-faced, she looked deep into his eyes as if searching for some inner truth which might belie what
she was sure he was about to say. She could see no sign of compassion in his expression. Nevertheless, she forced herself to ask the question.

  “I am a slave? ”

  He nodded.

  “Am I also to be . . . disposed of? ”

  He looked at her and frowned. For some reason he looked angry. “Yes! ” he growled. . . .

  That day the weather worsened and for many hours Charlotte, together with Leila and the French girl, Fleur, were confined together in the large stern cabin while Khalif took personal charge of the running of the ship. Meylissah was employed in the ship’s galley, preparing food for the crew.

  Charlotte was inconsolable, the undeniable fact that Khalif intended to sell her after all blazing in her brain. Inwardly she berated herself for being so stupid. Of course, a man like him. . . a corsair chief . . . would have his pick of beautiful slavegirls; in fact, if the truth were known, he probably had a whole harem of them somewhere.

  Both Leila and Fleur understood their companion’s distress perfectly; Leila especially. And yet it had been good that the girl’s first real experience should have been at the hands of such a man, she thought. From what she had seen of Charlotte the morning after his first usage of her, Khalif had obviously been quite considerate of her inexperience, even to the point of allowing her pleasure during the act. She wished it had been so in her case. The memory of her first rape . . . at the age of twelve, by the evil-smelling, cruel brothel-keeper who had purchased her from her desperate parents, still haunted her dreams. Afterwards, it had been he who, grinning, had first tied her down and then, while she’d screamed and begged for mercy, callously pierced the tender flesh of her labia and nipples with the red-hot saddler’s needle in order to fit the golden rings and padlock. Oh yes, Charlotte had been lucky indeed.

  By late evening, the wind began to abate and, once more able to make headway, the ship’s movement took on a more comfortable motion.

  The sound of the cabin door opening sent all three girls to their knees. Charlotte, desperately hoping it was Khalif come to claim her again; perhaps to tell her that he had changed his mind; that he loved her and would not sell her, was bitterly disappointed she saw that it was the young lad, Achmed, who entered.

  “Come, Leila! Zamil summons you. ”

  The dancer’s smile lit up her face and suddenly, and with a sudden flash of understanding, Charlotte realised that Leila was more than happy about serving the big Nubian.

  Achmed smiled at the French girl. “And you, Fleur . . . there is a certain English Captain who seems very anxious to see you. ”

  Fleur’s face lit up. “Captain . . . my Captain? ” she squealed.

  Achmed smiled and nodded. Turning again, he reached down to pat Charlotte gently on the head, much as one would pat a kitten or a pet dog. “Sleep now! ” he said softly. “Maybe someone comes for you later. ”

  Charlotte awoke to the noise of the door opening and her heart leapt. Khalif! He had come for her! Perhaps, after all, he had changed his mind . . . and would now tell her that he intended to keep her for himself. Still half-asleep, she pushed back the covers.

  Then a familiar, hate-filled voice made itself heard over the thumping of her heart. “So . . . nasrani! ” it whispered. “Once again we meet; and this time there is no-one to interfere. ”

  Terror-stricken, Charlotte looked up into the twisted, shadowy features of Jahwar, who had come so close to taking her life. She shrank back as the big hands reached down for her. “Oh, no! ” she gasped. “Please . . . no! ”

  “Come, slave! ” growled the huge Berber, “it is time to leave! ”He drew a long-bladed knife from his robe and pressed it to her throat. “One sound . . . any tricks . . . and I send you straight to Allah! Understand?

  Charlotte groaned as, tangling his fingers in her hair, Jahwar dragged her to her feet. Where was he taking her? Where was Khalif? Where was Achmed? These and a hundred other questions ran screaming through her brain as the tall corsair lifted her to her feet and opened the cabin door. The answer to one question lay outside on the deck. Achmed, a pool of blood at the side of his head, lay still in a crumpled heap; unconscious or dead, she couldn’t tell. Swiftly and silently, Jahwar pushed her forward, past the inert body of another corsair . . . one of the deck guards, obviously. She looked back at the ship’s tiller. Another body lay there. At the other end of the ship a light gleamed from the foredeck cabin and, behind the half-open door, she could hear the buzz of conversation. She hesitated for a moment, thinking she might scream, then Jahwar’s blade pricked at her throat, urging her forward. It was no use, if she tried to raise the alarm she would be dead in seconds. At the ship’s side, she looked down and, as her eyes became more accustomed to the darkness, she saw a corsair galley drawn tight alongside.

  “Quickly! ” hissed the Berber, thrusting a stout rope into her hands. “Over the side! Your companion is already my prisoner. No tricks now . . . or you both die! ”

  With a shiver, Charlotte took hold of the rope. The Berber meant every word, she could see it engraved on his dark, implacable face. Momentarily she wondered whom he meant by ‘companion’? Was it Meylissah, Fleur or Leila? Obediently, she swung her legs over the side and slithered down the rope, straight into the arms of a waiting corsair.

  With a satisfied grunt, Jahwar followed. Whispered orders were given, ropes cast loose and, using the oars as poles, they pushed away from the San Cristobal’s side. With a terse command to be quiet, Jahwar shoved Charlotte to her knees and took the tiller, softly calling out the beat as the sweeps bit into the waves. Kneeling on the planked deck of the galley, shivering in the cold night air, Charlotte’s heart sank as the dark bulk of the ship faded into the night.

  Jahwar took the tiller and jerked a thumb at Charlotte. “Hang this slut from the prow with the other one! ” he growled.

  Charlotte suppressed a scream as she was jerked to her feet and frog-marched forward to where Meylissah, as naked as herself, was hung by her hands and feet out over the water. Swiftly, two corsairs tied Charlotte’s arms and legs together behind the carved post, then turned her so that she, too, hung helplessly out over the water, back bent like a bow, side by side with Meylissah. The ropes at her wrists and ankles were cruelly tight and it was not long before pins and needles, then cramps, began to torment her limbs.

  Half and hour . . . an hour . . . and still the girls hung there, until, eventually, Charlotte drifted into a trance-like state where time all but stood still and the pain in her limbs was but a distant memory. Then, as the moon came out from behind the scurrying clouds, the sound of a furious commotion and men shouting filtered slowly into her consciousness. Painfully, she lifted her head and saw that they were sailing on a parallel course to the larger San Cristobal, no more than forty yards or so away. Shouting men crowded the rail of the great galleass and the yawning muzzles of cannon became clear.

  Straining her head around, Charlotte’s heart leapt as she made out the tall, unmistakable figure of Khalif on the after deck of the galleass.

  Jahwar’s triumphant shout came from behind. “Look to the prow, Khalif Barbar! As you once took a slave from me, I now take two from you. ”The Berber laughed harshly and tapped the large, brassbound box on which he sat. “Also, I claim our rightful share of the gold. ”

  There was a moment’s silence from the San Cristobal, then: “Why have you done this, Jahwar? What is it that you want? ”Khalif’s shout carried clearly from the surging galleass.

  “I have what I want, Khalif! ” shouted Jahwar. “The gold and the slaves are mine . . . by corsair law. I but claim my rights. ”

  Khalif’s shout came again, more placatory in tone this time. “Very well, but there was no need to steal; you and I both know there would have been a fair division of spoils in due time. ”There was a moment’s hesitation, then Khalif shouted again:“The matter of the slaves, however, is another ma
tter; a matter between us two. Come now; we have been comrades for a long time! Must we fight over something so trivial? Yet I admit both are valuable to me. Name your price! ”

  Charlotte heart jumped at his words. She was valuable to him! He admitted it! But was it too late? She felt the galley swing under her feet and, twisting her head, saw that they were fast turning away from the galleass.

  Jahwar’s shout was triumphant as they pulled away. “No, Khalif; I will not sell either to you . . . at any price. Look upon them for the last time! ”

  Charlotte’s mind was racing. Khalif wanted her back! The thought burst like a blinding light in her mind. Perhaps he had some feeling for her after all, despite what he had said about selling her! The galley continued to swing away and Charlotte was forced to strain her head around as she tried desperately to keep the galleasse . . . and Khalif . . . in sight for as long as possible. Her mind screamed for him to somehow rescue her from this nightmare. Yet she was forced to recognise the truth . . . there was very little he could do right at the moment! Persephone was very much faster and much more manoeuvrable than the larger, more cumbersome San Cristobal’.

  All too soon the galleass was left behind in the darkness. Distantly, she could hear someone shouting but she couldn’t make out the words. It might have been Khalif, but she couldn’t be sure.

  Throughout the long night she and Meylissah hung from the prow as, urged ever onwards by the sweating oarsmen, the galley headed through the lightening gloom towards . . . who knew where?

  Landfall, as dawn rose over the grey green waters of the Gulf, was a long range of russet cliffs and, behind, a distant snow-capped mountain with twin peaks. Charlotte, hanging in a kind of limbo-like state where time had all but stopped, was roused by the releasing of the ropes around her ankles so that she now hung straight down, her feet just brushing the surface of the ice cold water racing past the bow. Painfully she turned her head to look around as best she could, her whole weight now taken by the ropes cutting so cruelly into her wrists. She was unable to suppress a hopeless sob. The horizon was empty; the San Cristobal nowhere in sight.