by Zia Wesley
“I believe you are correct. It is a bit chilly. Good day, Mr. Braugham,” she smiled sweetly.
~ ~ ~
Late the next morning, the shore of Spain came into view. They were still a half-day’s sail away, but the excited passengers gathered on deck to mark the moment.
Aimée stood at the rail next to Mr. Braugham. Their mutual fondness was common knowledge among the other passengers, and an ease of relationship had developed following the leisurely days in each other’s company. In fact, most of the other passengers had come to think of them as “a couple.”
“Well, it’ll be another long journey for the two of us, then,” he said, raising his eyebrows and smiling down at her.
“Yes. Sometimes it seems as if I’ll never reach home,” she mused.
“Well, I canna speak for you, but for myself, I’ve quite enjoyed our little detour.”
Blushing, Aimée lowered her eyes to stare at her hands holding her parasol, but did not reply.
“Mademoiselle de Rivery,” he began and then nervously cleared his throat. “If you will permit me, when we arrive on Martinique, I would like to ask your uncle for your hand in marriage.”
Aimée bit her lower lip to keep from gasping, then looked up into his eyes and smiled. “I would like that very much, Mr. Braugham,” she replied.
“Well then, it’s settled,” he said, smiling broadly and squeezing both of her hands in his own. “Well then,” he said again, not quite knowing what else to say.
Just then, a female passenger approached, and they quickly dropped hands. Aimée looked down and smoothed the skirt of her dress nervously.
“Mademoiselle de Rivery, will you come to the parlor and play a few last lovely tunes for us?” she asked.
“Of course, Madame, I’d be delighted.” She smiled and nodded to Mr. Braugham, who doffed his hat and grinned from ear to ear. As she and the woman walked away, Aimée resolved to convince her uncle to allow her marriage to the captivating Mr. Braugham. He was not of her class, lacking both title and property, but he had helped to save her life, and that should account for something. He was honest and hardworking, with the promise of a good future and (most importantly) he had already captured her heart. Of course, she could not tell her uncle that. Her uncle was getting on in years, and if she married Mr. Braugham, he could take on management of the plantation. Since she was the only heir and would eventually inherit it, what better man to run the plantation than her husband?
Aimée looked back over her shoulder and smiled again at the handsome young man she now considered her betrothed, before going below.
The two women entered the salon, where passengers sat discussing their imminent arrival in port. Aimée made herself comfortable on the little stool before the harpsichord and began to play a lively tune by the young, popular composer named Mozart that she had learned from an Austrian woman at the convent. The women sipped tea and nibbled biscuits as they listened. Two men sat at the opposite end of the parlor playing cards. Aimée smiled as she played, excited beyond words by the declaration of Mr. Braugham’s intentions.
Suddenly, everyone’s attention was drawn to a commotion overhead—loud thumps, running feet and muffled shouts. Startled, the men stood and dropped their smoking pipes onto the tabletop to ready themselves for they knew not what. The women carefully put down their teacups and looked up at the ceiling. Aimée stopped playing but remained seated on the bench, also looking up. Fear registered on everyone’s faces as the noises increased, punctuated by men’s screams. Small explosions and popping sounds joined the cacophony of noise, as the women rose and moved instinctively towards the men. No one left the room. Heavy footsteps could be heard running up the ladder outside the salon. More shouts and screams followed.
Aimée watched one of the men close the salon door and cross the room to look out the porthole. There he saw another ship alongside their own, held close by long ropes with grappling hooks. It was a large galleon with black sails... the symbol of the dreaded Turkish corsairs. The color drained out of his face as he turned towards the others and whispered the word pirates! Aimée backed into a corner, terrified. She remembered Rose saying, “a pirate, silly” when she had asked what a corsair was.
One of the women fainted, as two others caught her. The men carefully laid her down on a settee as the women surrounded her, fanning her face with their handkerchiefs and loosening her garments.
The door burst open.
Everyone froze in a moment of total silence. Standing in the passageway were two huge, swarthy men with long black hair partially wrapped in dirty turbans and full, unkempt black beards. Each held a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, which they now waved as they screamed something in a language that no one understood. The women shrieked uncontrollably. Aimée slid down the bulkhead to sit upon the floor, still conscious but in shock. The two male passengers backed away from the pirates, spreading their arms protectively in front of the women who huddled behind them. The pirates continued waving their arms and screaming incomprehensible gibberish.
Three more pirates entered the salon.
Quickly assessing the situation, the five brigands conversed amongst themselves. When their private conversation was finished, they forcibly herded the two older and unarmed men from the room, using their swords to slash at them. The women screamed incessantly as they were physically removed leaving Aimée alone amongst the pirates.
Three of them discussed her quietly as they approached where she sat stunned in the corner. They gently lifted her to her feet. She shook uncontrollably, keeping her head down, afraid to look at them, and instinctively covered her bosom with her arms. The pirates exchanged conspiratorial looks as they appraised her—apparently finding her quite desirable. When Aimée found the courage to lift her head and look into their faces, she fainted dead away. However, her direct look gave them a glimpse of her sapphire-blue eyes, which caused a collective gasp.
Aimée remained unconscious as one of the pirates lifted her limp body to carry her above deck. He made his way carefully up the narrow stairs and began crossing towards his waiting ship. When Mr. Braugham saw Aimée’s limp body in the pirate’s arms, he broke free from the struggle in which he was engaged to leap at the brigand who carried her. In an instant, two other pirates came to their shipmate’s aid and beat the young man unconscious with the hilts of their swords. As he crumpled to the deck one of them thrust a sword deep into his body just beneath the ribs. When he pulled out the sword, blood seeped onto the deck forming a large red puddle.
Da Angelique peered over the top of the stairwell as two pirates passed Aimée’s unconscious body over the side to waiting hands on the pirate ship. The old woman’s weathered black face contorted in a scream as she lunged forward flailing her arms, attempting to stop them. She was too late and quick as lightning, a sword flashed behind her, piercing through her back and silencing her forever.
The male passengers had been tied to the mast, and looked on helplessly as the pirates sacked the ship for valuable goods. They took pistols and swords, jewelry, chests of personal items and barrels of Madeira wine. When their work was complete, they freed the grappling hooks holding them to the Spanish ship, and left as quickly as they had appeared.
As the pirate’s ship moved away, the women untied the men and rushed to the rail to watch its departure. When they were certain that it was no longer a threat, they began to tend to the wounded. People staggered around in shock, gathering pieces of their personal possessions that had been cast aside by the thieves.
Madame Leveaux sat on the deck with the lifeless body of young Mr. Braugham gently cradled in her lap. She stroked his handsome face, now streaked with blood, and wept for his terrible fate. The other widow approached her friend. “Is he...?” she gingerly inquired.
“Dead, Madame. Dead before his time.”
“And what of the girl, Madame Leveaux? The poor child the pirates abducted. What will become of her?” Knowing the answer, she crumpled to the d
eck and began to weep uncontrollably into her handkerchief.
Later that day when the vanquished galleon arrived in Palma de Majorca, the ship’s first mate wrote a letter to Aimée’s uncle telling him of the death of his would-be employee, and of the abduction of his niece by Turkish corsairs. He signed the letter, and shuddered at the thought of the beautiful young woman in the hands of brigands, most likely bound for Al Djazāir, known to Europeans as Algiers, the largest slave market in the world.
Chapter 15
Aimée opened her eyes. She was lying on a narrow bunk in an unfamiliar cabin. Afraid to move, she scanned the small quarters with her eyes, making sure she was alone. She was, indeed. Her hands shook as she ran them over her body to see if her clothing and person were intact. Everything seemed to be in order, except that her heart was pounding madly and she was beginning to panic. She remembered the pirates rushing into the ship’s salon, looking into one of their faces and seeing the devil himself. She must have fainted. How long have I been unconscious—and where am I?
She sat up slowly, feeling slightly dizzy, and swung her legs over the side of the bunk. Feeling the ship under sail and moving quite fast, she tiptoed quietly to the porthole to look out upon an endless expanse of open sea. Engulfed by the enormity of her situation, she slumped down onto the floor, covered her face with her hands and wept. She did not know where she was, where she was going, or what would happen to her. And what happened to Mr. Braugham and the other passengers? Why did he not save me? No answers came to assuage the fear and panic she felt. The prophecy was coming true. She had been stolen by pirates and would surely be powerless against them. Her eyes searched the small cabin for something to use as a weapon to defend herself. Dear God, what shall I do?
Aimée dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands in an attempt to make herself stop crying. Lost and alone, with no hope of escape, she began to fear that the men who had abducted her would return soon to rape her. The panic made it difficult for her to take in full breaths. She trembled uncontrollably, as the last of the day’s light receded from the small, dirty cabin in which she huddled, alone and more frightened than she had ever been in her life.
In another cabin, the pirate captain, along with his first and second mates, sat on cushions, smoking hookahs and reveling in their good fortune. The young captain released a long stream of smoke.
“What a little jewel she is, an infidel with golden hair and eyes the color of sapphires. Never have I seen such a thing.”
The other men agreed, and the second mate moved his hand to his groin.
“I say we take a little taste right now, eh?”
Abruptly the captain slammed his hand on the table top making a loud noise that startled the others. “Do you have four thousand pieces of gold to pay for her, fool? Don’t be an idiot. No one goes near her.”
“Four thousand?”
“She is a gift worthy of a sultan,” the captain added. “When have we ever come upon a treasure that would bring such a price? She wears no ring of marriage and may even be a virgin. That’s how I will sell her anyway.”
Both of the men silently considered this enticing possibility, then nodded their heads in agreement and settled back to smoke.
“I will sell her to Baba Mohammed,” the captain said.
At the mention of the name both men ceased smoking. Baba Mohammed Ben Osman, the Dey of Al Djazāir, was the absolute ruler of all civilians, soldiers and pirates in the infamous port. Appointed by the Sultan to rule for life, he had governed the port autonomously for over thirty years. His reputation for cruelty was legendary, especially amongst Europeans, whose ships he had ravaged for three decades. The kings of Spain, France and Portugal had all placed substantial bounties on his head.
“Baba Mohammed, you say?” asked the first mate. “He will split her in two. They say his alet is the size of a full-grown horse’s.”
“For four thousand pieces of gold, he can split her into as many pieces as he likes,” the captain shrugged. “But if he is the wise old goat I know him to be, he will use her very carefully so that she will fetch him a good price as well.”
Both men laughed and continued to smoke.
A lascivious smile spread across the second mate’s face. “If he does not use her for his own sport, he is not the devil I know him to be. I have heard of how he enjoys women.”
The captain considered this. “It makes no difference to me what he does with her, as long as he pays my price.”
“Baba Mohammed,” the first mate mused. “I’ll wager she’ll be dead before the end of her first day with him.”
They all continued smoking, each enjoying their own private fantasies of what would happen to the girl in the demon’s hands.
The captain imagined what he’d like to do to her with his own hands, wishing he could keep her for himself. Unfortunately, he was in no position to throw away so much gold. “While she is on this ship no one goes near her. She is worth much less damaged. Understood?”
The men nodded in agreement, while silently resenting the loss of the exotic little jewel they would never possess.
Up on the ship’s deck, the sailors were tearing through the personal belongings they had stolen from the passenger ship. They had opened and finished a keg of Madeira wine, and were drunkenly tossing clothing, linens and small items onto the deck or overboard as their desires dictated. Jewelry, coins and other valuables went into a large trunk that had been previously emptied. Halfway through a leather traveling bag, from which an extravagant feather hat had been pulled and then discarded, a sailor extracted a small portrait in an ornate gold frame. After discerning that the frame was merely gilded wood, he was about to toss it overboard, when he realized that the image was of their young, female captive. He proudly displayed his find to the other sailors, who showed no interest in the worthless keepsake. But for some reason the sailor thought the captain might want it. Holding it to his breast, he took his find below and danced unsteadily into the captain’s quarters.
“What?” the captain asked.
Proudly, the sailor held the painting before him at arm’s length.
“Ah, the girl.” He reached out and took the painting. “I hope this is not the most valuable thing you’ve found,” he added. Then he dismissed the sailor with a wave of his hand, and continued studying the delicate image that looked back at him. Were I not so greedy I would take you for myself.
~ ~ ~
Aimée had not moved from where she sat crumpled on the floor beneath the porthole. She had been crying for hours when she noticed that the sky and the cabin were both completely dark. She crawled across the tiny space to the bunk and climbed up, then curled into a fetal position beneath the filthy blanket. The rough, straw mattress smelled of mold and sweat, and she pulled the blanket to her face to muffle her sobs. Exhausted but too afraid to sleep, she held onto the little cross around her neck and prayed for deliverance. Why is God allowing this to happen to me? Mother Superior was right. This must be His retribution for seeing the old obeah woman. But I made penance and am a good Catholic. How can God abandon me for one sin?
She lay there and wept until it seemed she had no more tears to cry. Fearing what might happen, she did not allow herself to fall asleep.
As the first light of dawn began to illuminate the room, she cast her sleepless eyes around its meager circumference. It was sparsely furnished with dirty, worn, roughly woven cushions strewn on the floor and one small, low wooden table. She could not identify a blackened object that sat to one side of the low table, and quietly slid down from the bunk to take a closer look. Sitting on the floor next to the table, she gingerly picked up a long hose that extended from a brass vessel that looked rather like a vase. A pungent, burnt odor rose from it, and she noticed charred bits in the brass bowl. Sniffing them, she identified tobacco and concluded that it must be a device for smoking. She turned her attention to the small table, running her hands over the hammered brass tray that held an oddly shaped copper po
t with a long, wooden handle and two small, badly chipped china cups.
The sound of her cabin door slowly opening startled her. A swarthy man, garishly dressed in a combination of Arabian and Spanish garb, took a step into the room. She grabbed the small copper pot by its handle, raised it above her head, and shouted, “Do not come closer! Do not!” The room was too dim for her to see him clearly, but he was obviously not European.
The captain, as if comprehending her foreign words, raised his hands, palms towards her to signify that he meant her no harm. He made no move towards her, and spoke soothingly in his unintelligible tongue. The purpose of his little speech seemed to be reassurance, and he continued to speak quietly. When he finished speaking, he bowed and touched his forehead with his fingers, then backed out of the doorway, and gently closed the door.
Fearing his return, Aimée remained frozen in place, still holding the pot over her head. Her heart pounded in her throat, and her head ached. She was thirsty, and her eyes were almost swollen shut from crying.
A few minutes later, the door slowly opened again. This time, another man, even filthier than the first, stood holding a round, brass tray of small bowls filled with food. The leer on his face almost made her heart stop. She inched herself back against the cabin wall to put as much distance between them as possible.
The pirate moved slowly into the cabin, never taking his eyes from hers, and whispering God only knew what in his native tongue. She brandished the pot over her head, which made him laugh softly as he placed the tray onto the little table. Then he backed out of the room, closing the door. She heard a heavy bolt slide into place.
Her stomach growled from hunger, and once she felt certain that he would not return, she inched forward toward the table. The stench of bad fish made her back away again. Soon the odor began to pervade the whole cabin and made her want to retch. She dropped her weary head into her hands and found more tears to cry.
~ ~ ~
