Shaking, both Charlotte and Meylissah looked away from the ghastly sight.
Jahwar had been listening to the comments from the crowd around them. “Nasrani . . . escaped slave! ” he explained, as the troops began to lift the wriggling captive into the air preparatory to seating him on the sharpened stake. “He killed a guard. . . so he dies! ”
The leash tightened once more on Charlotte’s throat as the piteous screams of the victim rang out over the cheers of the onlookers. The English girl was sobbing uncontrollably, tears running down her cheeks and dampening the material veiling her face. “Come! ” ordered the uncaring Jahwar, turning away to stride on through the square and into the maze of little streets beyond.
Behind them the agonised shrieks of the martyred young man grew fainter and fainter and the two girls followed helplessly, from time to time stumbling painfully on the cobbled, often completely unpaved, streets and alleyways, each trying her best to keep up with their long-striding captor.
Eventually they turned off the crowded streets into narrower passageways. There were no shops here, just shadowy recessed doorways and the odd barred window through which the occasional dark face might be seen looking out. Both Meylissah and Charlotte were sweating freely now, forced into an ungainly trot in an effort to keep up with their long-striding captor.
Jahwar led the way through the passages and alleyways until, eventually, they stopped in front of the ramparted walls of a large and imposing building guarded by half a dozen blue-cloaked soldiers like those at the dockyard.
In sharp contrast to the semi-darkness of the alleyway, the square in front of the building was open to the sunlight, the stone flags under Charlotte’s bare feet warm to the touch. She glanced at the high walls and the massive, metal-studded gate and shivered with a sudden dread. What was this place? she wondered as Jahwar led them forward.
“I have slaves for sale,” said the big corsair gruffly to the blue-cloaked guard who met them. The Janissary glanced briefly at the two leashed figures, then tersely, waved them through the gateway.
Inside the confines of the building, one of the guards led them into an antechamber where a robed man sat at a large table covered with papers. The man looked up as they entered the cool, shaded room and Charlotte shivered again. Tall and barrel-chested, running a little to fat and beard beginning to streak with grey, there was yet something about him that instilled dread in her breast.
“Salaam aleyk! ” intoned Jahwar, touching his forehead, lips and breast with his fingers in the age-old gesture of respect and peace.
“Aleykom es-salaam! ” replied the older man, repeating the motion.
“I am Jahwar, of the corsair galley Persephone. I wish to sell two slaves. ”
The robed man rose and, filled with apprehension, Charlotte almost took a step backwards. He too was a giant! Now that he was standing, she could see that he was as tall and nearly as broad in the shoulder as Jahwar. A long, curved sword hung at his belt, as a warrior might wear it. “I am Ali bin Hussein, of the House of Slaves, servant of Lord Mulay Aruj, Bey of Tunis,” he replied, bowing politely.
Jahwar bowed in return, then turned to swiftly strip the two girls of their sack-like garments. Once more he clicked his fingers. “Kneel! ” he grunted.
The older man’s face showed some surprise as both girls dropped to their knees. “Well now . . . what have we here? ” he said softly, reaching out to touch Charlotte’s mane of blonde hair. “What is she . . . Circassian? ”
Jahwar grinned proudly and shook his head. “An Inglése Milady. Her uncle, it seems, is a Lord in her own country. She is untrained, of course, but good slaveflesh, even so. The other was her body slave. She is Circassian. ”
“There was a need to punish her? ”The steward was examining Charlotte’s back and buttocks, fingers tracing the raised weals left by the slave whip.
Jahwar frowned. “She was but recently captured. A lesson in obedience was needed. ”
“Hmm . . . ,” mused the man, his hands on her wounded nakedness provoking little gasps of pain from the humiliated English girl. “And the collar . . . it is yours? ”
“No . . . he from whom I took them. ”Jahwar paused for a moment, almost as if for effect. “Both sluts belonged to the corsair Rais, Khalif Barbar! ”
Ali bin Hussein’s eyes widened a little and he bent down to study Charlotte’s face. “So,” he mused, speaking slowly so that she might understand. “You were the slave of Khalif the Barbarian! ”
Charlotte caught her breath in a sob and nodded her head weakly. “Yes, Master” she managed, in a whisper.
“Your uncle? ” queried the slaver softly. “He really is an Inglése Lord? What is his name? ”
Charlotte fought to keep her voice from shaking as the man’s fingers gently swept, feather-light over her body. “Yes - it is true. My uncle is Sir James Brandon. He will pay much for my release. ”She recoiled as the man’s fingers touched her intimately between her legs. “Please, I beg of you . . . send a message to him. ”
“The English Envoy? ”The slaver was silent for a moment. “Then I am afraid I have bad news for you. Your uncle is dead, killed a month past when his ship was taken by my Lord Mulay’s corsairs in the Gulf. ”
“Uncle James . . . dead? ” whispered Charlotte. “Oh, no . . . no . . it cannot be true! ”
“It is true,” he said. “I am sorry . . . for both of us. I am sure he would have paid a large ransom for you; more even than your slave price, maybe. If it comforts you, I can tell you that he died well with a sword in his hand, refusing to surrender despite the odds. He killed five men and wounded a half-dozen others before he died. ”
Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears and she choked back a broken sob.
“Is there anyone else who would pay for your release? ” he asked.
Charlotte shook her head hopelessly. “No . . . no . . . there is no-one. ”
The older man turned back to Jahwar. “I think perhaps my Lord Mulay will wish to speak to you on the subject of the Barbarian. He pays well for information. ”
Jahwar nodded. “Of course. I will tell what I know. ”
Ali bin Hussein smiled. “Well, then . . . to business. Do you wish to sell outright, or risk them on the block? You understand that, if this is your choice, no guarantee can be given on how much they might make. Also, of course, the House takes one third of the final amount! ”
Jahwar nodded agreeably. “How much will you pay? ”
“Well now,” mused Ali. “Unchain them and have them stand up, and perhaps we shall see! ”
Wearily, at Jahwar’s gesture, Charlotte struggled to her feet, standing meekly as he unlocked and removed her chains.
“Legs apart! ” snapped Jahwar.
She jumped to obey, blushing a little as Ali walked slowly around as if to study her from every angle while Jahwar unchained Meylissah. The slave dealer gestured at Charlotte’s collar. “This will have to come off, of course. ”He chuckled. “And I take it neither is virgin? ”
Jahwar laughed shortly. “No! ”
The steward smiled. “No matter; virgins are not greatly prized here . . . and the blacksmith will have the means to remove the collar. ”The man moved around, both hands cupping and weighing Charlotte’s big breasts, then reaching out to probe boldly with his fingers between her thighs. Her legs shook violently at the invasion of her private place, yet she made no move to close her legs, the sudden slickness of her passage clutching at his fingers telling its own story.
Expressionlessly, Ali removed his fingers and held them up in front of Charlotte’s face. His meaning was obvious and, trembling, she took the shiny digits into her mouth to lick them clean. Having tasted Meylissah intimately so many times in the past months, tasting her own juices held no revulsion for her, though there was a certain amount of embarrassment at doing s
o in front of the two men.
“As you see, I have already impressed upon this one the need for obedience,” snapped Jahwar.
Without comment, Ali turned his attention to Meylissah, running his hands all over her body and even inspecting her teeth to make sure all was well. She, too, was subjected to the same intimate examination as Charlotte and, like her companion, made no demur at licking clean the penetrative fingers. “I will not haggle and waste your time,” said the slaver briskly. “I offer fifteen pieces of gold for each. What do you say? ”
The corsair thought for a moment, then shook his head. “To be honest, I expected more,” he admitted. “Perhaps it would be better to risk them on the block. My men, of course, will expect to share in the price. ”
Ali bin Hussein nodded and smiled. “You may be right. ”He glanced at Charlotte. “Young whiteskin slaves are always in demand and, though as yet untrained, this one looks to be of better than average quality. He grinned at the Berber. “You would know this already, of course. So is this your wish? To risk them on the block? ”
Jahwar hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
“It is agreed, then. Both will need the proper training, of course, especially the Inglése. The charge for this will be one gold piece each, deducted from the final price. Is this agreeable? ”
A little reluctantly, Jahwar nodded.
“Very well, then,” said the slaver. “Wait here while I see them confined. Then I will write you a receipt and make arrangements for an audience with the Bey. ”
Charlotte shook violently as the slave dealer took up her and Meylissah’s leashes. As brutal as Jahwar had been, he was the last link to the world she had known. Now, with Uncle James dead, she was quite alone in a strange and savage land with little or no possibility of rescue . . . even if anyone bothered to try.
“Goodbye, slave,” said the Berber gruffly, taking her by the hair to turn her face up to his. He had a strange, almost regretful, look on his face. “I wish you well. ”
Tears blinded her suddenly. “Good . . . goodbye, Master,” she choked. “I wish you well also. ”
A jerk on the leash brought her back to reality and she followed Ali bin Hussein through a door at the rear of the room into an unwindowed and badly-lit corridor at the end of which a dark and winding, hewed-stone staircase led them downward into foul vapoured semi-darkness, lit infrequently by smoking torches jammed into recesses in the damp, stone walls. The stone steps descended to a large, stone flagged, octagonal shaped chamber, empty except for a large, heavy wooden table standing in the centre, at the side of which lounged a pot-bellied man dressed in dirty robes. From the eight sides of the chamber, like the spokes of a wheel, ran dark and forbidding corridors. Her stomach lurched as the acrid smell of sweat on unwashed bodies combined with that of human wastes filled her nostrils.
Here, the tall slaver handed over the leashes to the other with a casual: “Slave rights are granted on these! ”
The pot-bellied man looked the naked girls up and down and grinned lecherously. Then, without a word, he led them into one of the corridors. Shaking with fear and cold, Charlotte struggled to keep up as they passed row upon row of heavy wooden cell doors, each set with a barred metal grille. Occasionally a face could be seen at one of these, but whether the occupants were male or female, it was impossible to tell.
Eventually, they came to where one of the doors stood open and the gaoler indicated that Meylissah should enter, Charlotte standing quietly as the man first chained her to the wall before slamming and bolting the heavy door behind her.
Further down the corridor, her own small, dark cell proved to be similar to Meylissah’s, floored with straw stinking of human excrement and urine. Charlotte, trying to breathe shallowly, struggled to keep the contents of her stomach down as the man forced her against the wall. Her large breasts seemed to take his fancy and he put out his hands to caress them. Charlotte took a sharp intake of breath, yet made no effort to pull away from his touch. Desperately, she wanted to avoid punishment. Soon the man’s hands were between her thighs, fingers jabbing roughly up inside her. She squirmed, as much from the pain caused by the man’s dirty, uncut fingernails as from any real sexual feeling.
The pot-bellied man was sweating now and grinned at her with evil intent. He pointed at the floor and grunted unintelligibly, obviously meaning her to lie down. Shaking with fear, she obeyed. Roughly kicking her legs apart, he fumbled with his robe to expose a short, stubby penis before kneeling between her splayed thighs. She offered no resistance and he entered her without preamble. It was not painful in that his shaft was so small that she hardly felt it enter her. In the event, her ordeal proved to be short, the man so intent on his own pleasure that he spilled his seed into the unresisting body beneath him very quickly. Then, breathing hard, he climbed to his feet and, readjusting his robe, left the cell without another glance at his sprawled victim.
Twice more, in the next hours, the cell door opened to admit men. The first, a single blue-cloaked Janissary, was much like Charlotte’s original assailant, plunging into her for but a few moments before climbing to his feet and leaving the cell. The second took longer with her and, ignoring her gasps and moans of pain, seemed to gain much pleasure from suckling and biting fiercely at her breasts and nipples. Despite an initial feeling of loathing, the savage treatment only served to arouse her and soon she was shuddering in the first of several orgasms. From first to last neither assailant spoke even one word to their victim.
Later, two more soldiers entered. Taken slowly and carefully by one as the other watched and waited his turn, to her horror, she felt herself once more becoming aroused. Twice, as the first man took his pleasure with her helpless body, she found herself helplessly surrendering to her rising passions.
The second man, observing her reaction, was even more thorough, enjoying the inescapable fact that the girl was actually welcoming their attentions. He took his time, arousing her with yet more attention to her clitoris and sensitive nipples, causing her to cry out helplessly time and time again before, caught up in his own passion, he finally emptied himself into the delicious wet softness squirming so beautifully beneath him.
Lying underneath the sweating man, Lady Charlotte Brandon no longer thought of herself as an English aristocrat. In her mind she had now become nothing more than a sex slut, helpless slave meat for these terrible men to use and abuse just as they wished.
Chapter Ten
‘Branded! ’
Charlotte awoke with a start. For a moment she wondered
what awful sound had so frightened her from sleep. Then it came again. A scream, female, terrified, ringing down the corridor outside her tiny cell.
She heard the sound of heavy boots on the stone flags outside the cell and shrank back against the cold stone wall as the heavy door was thrown open. Two of the soldiers who had so recently abused her entered quickly and, without speaking, they unchained her.
Charlotte had no thought of resisting as they took her firmly by the elbows to march her from the cell. She was numb with terror. Where were they taking her? Who was it had screamed just now? Unbidden, her thoughts went back to Khalif. Oh God, was he looking for her? Would he . . . could he . . . rescue her from this Hell?
Arms held firmly by the guards she was marched along the corridor towards the central chamber of the slave-holding complex. Here, a new sickly sweet smell among the many unpleasant odours of the place began to make itself apparent. It was familiar, yet somehow she couldn’t place it.
She was shaking uncontrollably. What was happening? What were they about to do to her? In the large central chamber one of the guards forced to her knees while the other padlocked her neck chain to a slave ring set deep into the wall. She looked around the chamber, and had to fight hard to stop herself from being sick. There, spreadeagled face down on the heavy table in the centre of the chamber, was the na
ked figure of Meylissah! Heavy straps around wrists and ankles held them in place while another, wider strap, buckled tightly across her waist, held her immovable.
At the side of the table stood a brazier filled with red-hot coals.
Charlotte’s mind whirled and she stared, horrified, as the pot-bellied gaoler thrust a still-smoking branding iron back into the brazier before rubbing some kind of red powder into the deeply burnt wound on the Meylissah’s left buttock cheek. He stood up and beckoned, and the two soldiers hurried to unstrap the unconscious girl from the table. Charlotte felt her stomach heave as she saw the clear design of the Moorish red crescent incised deeply into Meylissah’s soft flesh. She also now recognised the sickly sweet smell for what it was; the odour of burning flesh! Her stomach heaved again and then her fluids were running down her legs, wetting the filthy straw beneath her.
From the table, the gaoler grinned at her. Senses whirling, Charlotte thought for one moment that she might faint. It took little imagination to know who the next victim was to be.
The two soldiers lifted the unconscious girl from the table and bore her away, the long matted hair hanging down to obscure the features which Charlotte knew without doubt would be contorted with pain and fear.
Within a short time they were back for her, swiftly cutting the bonds at her wrists before unlocking the neck chain. Swiftly, each taking an arm and a leg, they carried the desperately twisting and kicking body to the table where they threw her down brutally on to the wooden boards. Almost breathless with terror as they spread her arms and legs to each corner, Charlotte heard herself begging for mercy as the broad leather strap was finally tightened painfully across her middle.
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