Love Slave

by Terry Wakelin

  Gebhr frowned. “You know I cannot do this, warrior. A slaver’s word is his bond and, as I told you earlier, the Aga has already paid for her. Were I to do as you suggest, I would be no better than a thief. ”

  Khalif shook his head regretfully. “Still, I would purchase her if I could. Perhaps three times the amount might make your decision a little easier. ”

  Gebhr looked angry. “You impugn my honour, warrior. Had we not taken salt together this insult would warrant bloodletting! ”He turned and tugged sharply at Charlotte’s leash. “Come slave! ” he growled. “It is time we were on our way. ”

  Khalif was disappointed. Quite obviously, Gebhr was genuinely insulted. Even as he pulled on his robes to go back to his campfire, Khalif could hear the slaver giving harsh orders to his men to secure the slaves and strike camp.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Reunited’

  Gebhr’s slave caravan moved slowly into the rocky defile at

  dusk, the slaver’s keen eyes darting keenly around at the surrounding rocks. In front of them the floor of the pass was dotted around with bushes and small trees twice the height of a man. The Sudanese was nervous. He had travelled this ground many times before and, although he had faith in his mercenaries, he knew from experience that this was an ideal place for an ambush. Also, the tall warrior had been very, very persistent regarding the whiteskin. Briefly, Gebhr wondered if it would not have been more prudent to have negotiated for her back at the campsite.

  He was right!

  From behind the slow moving wagon came the rumble of falling rock and he jerked his head round to see an avalanche of boulders and earth sliding down the almost perpendicular rock face, totally blocking the pass behind them. He cursed, volubly. The narrow, rocky ravine ahead, cluttered with rocks on either side, now looked very, very uninviting.

  The sudden hiss of an arrow passing close to his head to stick, quivering, in the wood of the wagon seat, heralded his worst fears. Gebhr reined in the horses and sat stock still, dark eyes darting around desperately trying to spot the attacker. Behind the wagon, the six mercenaries quickly urged their horses apart. The arrow, of course, had merely been a warning. Had he wanted, the archer might just as easily have killed; but even so it made good sense not to present him with an easy, bunched-up target where one arrow might well do the work of two.

  Up in the rocks, with Leila and Fleur safely out of sight, Hawkins fitted another arrow to his bow. “Get ready! ” he whispered to John Frith. “The guards are behind the wagon.

  Frith nodded, and moved to where he could see Zamil and Khalif on the other side of the ravine. Zamil was armed with a crossbow. Waving to attract their attention, Frith held up six fingers and pointed to the rear of the wagon.

  The message was clear and, down below, Zamil nodded, moving carefully to where he could command a better view of the defile.

  Gebhr’s shout was hoarse with tension and suppressed anger. “Well thieves? What do you want? ”

  For a moment there was no reply, then Khalif walked out into view, hands empty and held out so that it was clear he had not drawn his sword. The corsair’s face was grave. “I want the white skin, Gebhr,” he said quietly. “She was stolen from me and I have sworn to have her back. There is no need for bloodshed. I will pay treble what the Janissary Aga paid you for her. ”

  The Sudanese scowled. “I have already told you. The white skin now belongs to him. I but deliver her. ”

  Khalif sighed. “I understand, friend,” he tried persuasively. “But surely your Janissary can have no knowledge that you have actually managed to secure a white skin for him this trip? I offer you the chance to make a fair profit here and now. Treble what he paid! The Aga need never know. ”

  Gebhr’s eyes flashed angrily. “I would know! ” he growled. “I, too, was once a warrior. Would you have me break my word? ”

  Zamil’s shout was clear . . . as clear as the warning made by the still quivering arrow in the wooden seat. “Better that and keep your life, slaver! ”

  The Sudanese shook his head sadly. “I took salt with you . . . and honoured your request for a sojourn with the girl. Is this how you repay me? ”

  “I am sorry it has come to this, Gebhr,” said Khalif gravely. “But our salt-taking was honoured, as well you know. While you were at my fire you were treated as any honoured guest should be . . . and I paid good gold for my sojourn. Now then, I ask you to be reasonable! My claim is just. Sell her to me so that we may all be on our way and no-one the worse! ”

  It was Frith who spotted the danger first; three riders charging in a dead run from behind the wagon, long swords flashing in the dying light while at the same time the three others broke out on the other side.

  Frith met the immediate threat on his side of the pass, his arrow taking the leading attacker smack in the centre of the chest and knocking him out of the saddle. Hawkins, meantime, had loosed an arrow at the other assailant, his shaft taking the man in the throat and passing almost right through before the fletchings stopped further passage. The guard gave a strangled scream and pitched from his steed’s back.

  Meanwhile, on the other side of the ravine, Zamil had already brought down the first of the three other attackers with a well-placed bolt from his crossbow while Frith, turning back once he saw that Hawkins was in no further danger, had already loosed a shaft at a second. The English gunner’s hurried bowshot missed the man, but managed to bring down the man’s horse, sending the unfortunate mercenary tumbling head over heels to the hard ground, where he lay with blood pouring from a deep wound on his forehead. Frith grunted with satisfaction, certain that the man would take no further part in the proceedings.

  All this left Khalif and the remaining two mercenaries facing each other in the narrow defile. The two Arabs reined in their horses and looked around warily. With bowmen on either side, they would have little chance if they continued the attack.

  Khalif recognised one of the men as the commander of the mercenaries and spoke to him reasonably. “The choice is yours, Chasim. Stay and be killed . . . or leave this place with your comrade! ” he said softly. “Think about it! Would you lose your lives for a mere slave . . . even a white-skinned one? ”

  Gebhr’s order to his escort echoed clearly around the ravine as, drawing his sword, the Sudanese dismounted from the halted wagon:“Chasim . . . Touati! ” he shouted. “Withdraw now! This is now between myself and the thief. ”

  Chasim hesitated for a long moment then, as his employer began to walk forward purposefully, slowly turned his horse and, gesturing for his remaining man to follow, rode back the way he had come.

  “There is no need for this, Gebhr,” shouted Khalif reasonably to the advancing Sudanese. “Why not sell me the slave? Surely she is not worth dying for? ”

  Gebhr laughed grimly and hefted his sword. “Perhaps you also should think about this, thief! Perhaps it will be you who goes to Paradise this day! ”

  Khalif smiled easily. “Perhaps, if Allah wills; but I have sworn to recover my property and I WILL fight for her if I have to. ”

  “What about your bowmen? ” queried Gebhr. “Are you warrior enough to do battle honourably, or will you have me shot down without a chance to defend myself?

  Khalif shrugged. “Hawkins, Frith . . . Zamil,” he shouted, “this is between the slaver and myself! You will not interfere . . . understand? ”

  The Nubian’s reluctant shout of assent could be clearly heard. “I understand, Khalif, but why not let me kill him where he stands? I can spit him easily from here. ”

  The Sudanese looked sharply at his antagonist. “Zamil? Khalif? Khalif Barbar, the Barbarian? You are he? ”

  Khalif nodded. “You know me? ” he asked.

  “I have heard of you. ”The admission came reluctantly.

  Khalif again spoke reasonably. “I have no quarrel with y
ou, Gebhr. I but seek to reclaim my property,” he said. “I ask again; will you not let me purchase her? ”

  Pale-faced but stubborn, Gebhr shook his head. “I am sorry, Khalif. I cannot . . . will not . . . break my word to the Aga! ”He lifted his sword. “Defend yourself, warrior! ” he snarled.

  Khalif, too, shook his head regretfully as he lifted his own weapon into the ‘on guard’ position.

  A cold wind stirred the dust and the shadows lengthened a little in the defile as, for a long moment neither man moved. Then, suddenly, Gebhr rushed forward, the heavy blade in his hand striking down savagely at the corsair’s unhelmeted head.

  Khalif was not there!

  Three times Sudanese charged and each time the corsair moved easily aside from the killing blows. The fourth time, Khalif slipped inside the other man’s guard, the point of his sword just nudging at Gebhr’s throat. The Sudanese stood very still. Then Khalif stepped back, his sword falling to his side.

  “It has been a long time since you were a warrior, Gebhr. Clearly I am your Master with a sword,” he said quietly. “Yet I do not wish to kill you. Give up now! Just sell me the slave and we can all be on our way! ”

  Warily, the two men faced each other for long moments, Gebhr white-faced and angry, Khalif calm and self-possessed. Then the Sudanese charged in one frantic, violent final effort. This time, Khalif met the charge head on, striking the other’s blade to one side and, with the speed of a striking snake, countered with a vicious thrust of his own. Gebhr wheeled back with a grunt of pain, the sword dropping from his suddenly nerveless fingers as he fell to his knees, hands scrabbling vainly at the blood welling from the deep wound in his chest.

  For a moment there was silence, then the clatter of hoofs heralded the reappearance of the two mercenaries. The Arabs approached warily to where their employer kicked his last in the bloody sand.

  Khalif lifted his sword once more and Chasim held up empty hands to show his peaceful intention. “You have won, Barbarian,” he said slowly. “It was a fair fight and the slaves are yours. ”He looked to where Gebhr now lay ominously still. “Is he . . . ? ”

  Grimly, Khalif nodded. “He gave me no choice. Yet, truthfully, I did not wish to kill him! He was a brave man. ”

  The mercenary agreed. “He had the warrior’s code. Yet he was a fool! He knew the white skin truly belonged to you, of this I am sure. ”He hesitated for a moment, then went on. “I do not blame you for fighting for her, Khalif. Truly, she is superb slave meat! Where she mine, I would never part with her. ”

  Khalif lifted an eyebrow. “I hope she served you well, Chasim. I would whip her myself, if she did not. ”

  Chasim looked a little uncomfortable but answered boldly nevertheless. “Gebhr judged her to be, in his words, unpleasing. This was a lie, told merely as an excuse to whip her. Last night, she was belled and hunted in the circle. I was last to have her. ”He smiled. “Four men were before me, yet she was still, as I say, superb! ”He began to dismount. “Do we have your permission to bury Gebhr and the others? ”

  “Will you give me your word that you will depart from this place and say nothing of what has happened? ”

  “I will,” said the mercenary, slowly, “but only until we reach Sousse. There, Gebhr’s Janissary friend will demand a true accounting and I have my own code to honour. ”

  “Fair enough,” replied Khalif. “You may do your burying and I give you my word that you and your comrades may depart in peace. There has been enough killing today. ”Slowly and carefully, he wiped the bloody blade of his sword on a corner of his robe before sheathing the weapon. “The ground is hard,” he said quietly as the Arab dismounted. “Do you wish my men to help you? ”

  “No. He was my employer; the others my friends. It will be our task to see to them. ”

  “Very well then! ” Khalif agreed. “Bury them deep so the wolves do not disturb their bodies. They too had honour. Such men should not be defiled in death. ”He looked across to where the mercenary whose horse Zamil had brought down was struggling to his feet. The man’s right arm hung limply at his side, obviously broken, and blood ran freely from a gash on his temple.

  Hawkins and Frith came slithering down through the rocks closely followed by the dusty figures of Leila and Fleur. “Dead? ” enquired the English captain, indicating the prone body of the Sudanese.

  Khalif nodded and shouted to the approaching Zamil. “See to that one! ” he ordered, indicating the man with the broken arm. “Dress his wounds! ”

  Zamil scowled and glanced darkly at the shovel-wielding Achmed. “Better to cut their throats and be done with it,” he muttered.

  Khalif half-smiled to himself. The big black was full of contradictions. On the one hand he was a savage and ruthless warrior, yet was capable also of great gentleness, as his growing relationship with the Egyptian dancer clearly demonstrated. Clearly Zamil had fallen hard and woe-betide anyone who tried to take the girl from him now. “Catch up the horses and release the male slaves! ” he said quietly to Hawkins and Frith. . . .

  Inside the wagon, Charlotte had heard the sounds of conflict, but of course was unaware of the outcome. Re-chained and hooded by Gebhr before they had set off, she’d had no chance to warn Meylissah of Khalif’s plan. Obviously there had been an ambush, but who had triumphed? Was the Sudanese still Master, or had Kahlif been victorious? Still spread-eagled against the side of the wagon, the sweat-sheened, hooded young black groaned in misery and anguish. He too had distantly heard the sounds of conflict under the suffocating hood, but the entire focus of his attention was on the agonisingly tight cord noosing his testicles and the fact that, soon, he would no longer be a man. So great was the pain that he even found himself wishing that the operation would be over quickly.

  Charlotte alone had hope. Then the wagon tipped suddenly as someone climbed aboard. Fingers fumbled at the cords of her hood and she gasped with relief as the leather was removed from her face and she saw Khalif’s concerned face.

  Knife in hand, the corsair moved to where the youth stood strapped against the frame of the wagon. He looked closely at the noosed genitalia and muttered an oath, then reached round swiftly to cut the lacings at the back of the hood. Gently, he pulled the sweat-sodden leather away from its wearer’s head. The young man’s eyes were glazed with pain, with no sign of recognition in them.

  “What is his name? ” he snapped to Charlotte.

  “Khigali. He was with us at the House of Slaves. ”

  Khalif spoke slowly and carefully. “Khigali! ” he said urgently. “I know you are in pain, but you must listen to me carefully. ”

  The boy groaned and swung his head from side to side.

  “Khigali! Can you hear me? Do you understand what I am saying? ”

  “Yes . . . yes . . . I hear you! ”

  “Listen! I am going to cut the cord around your balls, but it has sunk very deep into the flesh . . . so if you want to keep them, stay absolutely still! Do you understand? ”

  The boy’s eyes widened with sudden hope. “Yes . . . yes . . . I understand. I will not move; but do it quickly . . . please! ”

  Khalif’s voice was hardly more than a whisper as he eased the point of the knife as gently as possible under the waxed cord. “No movement then . . . unless you wish me to finish the job Gebhr began! ”

  Khigali groaned pitifully as the sharp blade sawed momentarily at the deeply-embedded cord, yet with great effort of will managed to stand perfectly still until the noose finally released its agonising grip on his genitals. Then, with a great sigh, he went limp in his bonds. He had fainted.

  Swiftly, Khalif unbuckled the holding straps and, very carefully, laid him down on the floor of the wagon. Then he turned his attention to Meylissah. “Gebhr is dead, Meylissah,” he said quietly to the wide-eyed girl as he removed her hood and unshackled her. “I take Charlotte with me.
Do you wish to come? ”

  She nodded eagerly. “Oh yes, Lord. Of course. ”

  Khalif turned his attention to a large chest in one corner of the wagon. Opening it, he discovered to his satisfaction that it contained a large quantity of clothing. “Clothe yourselves! ” he ordered.

  “What about Khigali? ” asked a much relieved, but still shaky Charlotte as she pulled a robe about her.

  Khalif looked at her sternly.

  “. . . Master! ” she added hastily.

  He shrugged. “I think the cord was released in time, but he will be in pain for a while yet, I think. ”

  “Will you leave him here . . . Master? ”

  “We must be on our way before Gebhr’s men or perhaps the Janissaries get on our trail. ” said Khalif tersely. “I for one have no wish to be seated on a sharpened stake or nailed to a cross. ”He frowned. “We have a choice. Leave him; in which case he will probably be quickly caught and crucified as a runaway; or we can take him with us. ”He looked down at her seriously. “Charlotte, I leave the choice to you. He will slow us down, but I would rather not leave him here. What do you say? ”

  Charlotte hesitated only for a moment, a vivid memory of the ghastly impaling she had seen in the city springing into her mind. “No, do not leave him! ” she replied firmly. “Let him come with us, at least until we are safely away from this place! ”

  Meylissah, well acquainted with the cruelties practised on runaway slaves by the blue-cloaked soldiers of the Sultan, also nodded.

  Khalif turned to leave the wagon. “So be it, then,” he said gruffly. “Make ready to leave as soon as possible! ”

  Chapter Twenty