by Zia Wesley
The day passed into dusk, and she had never been so thirsty, hungry or tired. The small cabin was stiflingly hot. She climbed off the bunk to examine the contents of the tray more closely. Holding her nose against the rotten smell, she noticed a small glass of light green liquid. She picked it up and brought it to her nose, where the scent of mint almost made her feel relieved. Taking a tiny sip, she found it to be sweet mint tea, and she drained the glass in several gulps. Replacing the empty glass onto the tray, she examined each of the four small bowls of food, finding nothing she was willing to sample.
She was exhausted from lack of sleep and food, with barely the strength to climb onto the bunk and curl up. She fought to keep her eyes open, but lost the battle and was soon fast asleep.
~ ~ ~
The next thing she knew, she felt rough hands running up her legs and probing between her thighs. She screamed before she was even fully awake and screamed a second time before the drunken sailor clamped his hand over her mouth and crushed her beneath him. The stench of his unwashed body filled her nostrils as he grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back to turn her face up to his. He babbled incoherently in his foreign tongue, and with his free hand, lifted her skirts and tore at her underclothes as she struggled uselessly beneath him.
Suddenly, the cabin door flew open and another man moved across the room in one stride. He yanked the besotted man off Aimée and struck him across the jaw with his fist. Even through her screams, Aimée heard the crack of bone as the mate crumpled to the floor. The second man kicked the unconscious body and yelled something out the cabin door that brought two men running to his aid. They dragged the unconscious sailor from the room, while the one who had saved her stood in the doorway catching his breath. He spoke some words quietly to Aimée, who sat upright on the narrow bunk, clutching the filthy blanket to her body.
The pirate backed out of the room still speaking softly, perhaps apologizing, in words that brought her no comfort because she could not comprehend them.
After he had closed and bolted her door, she crumpled into a ball on the bunk. Her head was throbbing and she could only focus on her fear. Her situation was utterly hopeless. She vowed not to sleep again, to fight them off with all her strength. Despite her best efforts to stay awake, exhaustion and hunger soon lulled her back to sleep.
~ ~ ~
She did not stir until the next morning, when there was a soft knock on her door. She scrambled to cover herself as fully as possible as the door slowly opened.
A small boy stood in the doorway. The man who had thwarted her attacker of the previous night stood in the passageway behind him. The boy made a deep bow, then walked over to the table and picked up the untouched tray of food. He bowed again and backed out of the room. The man remained in the open doorway, and a moment later the boy returned with a new tray of food. He gingerly raised the tray towards Aimée to show her its contents, and then slowly inched forward into the room. He knelt to place the tray onto the low table. Straightening up once again, he made an eating motion with his hand, nodding his head yes to indicate that she should eat. He could not have been more than eight or nine years old, and sported a huge grin on his face throughout his entire performance. The man carefully observed the boy’s every move, and when his job was done, hurried him out of the cabin, closing and bolting the door.
It seemed apparent to Aimée that the man who had come to her rescue must be in charge, maybe a captain of sorts. She waited several minutes before her empty stomach propelled her forward toward the table that held the tray. Kneeling down before it while keeping her eyes on the door, she picked up the familiar glass of pale green tea and drank the whole thing. She gingerly lifted one of the bowls and gave it a sniff. Wrinkling her nose in disgust at the fishy smell, she set it back down on the tray and picked up a bowl that held what appeared to be some type of grain. Taking a small pinch in her fingers, she sniffed it and found it appealing, surprised by a combination of both sweet and spicy tastes. She identified cinnamon and honey, but there were other unfamiliar tastes as well. Finding the combination to be quite edible and using her fingers—as the barbarians had not thought to include utensils—she quickly finished off the entire contents of the bowl.
Still hungry, she turned her attention to some small, leathery-looking items sitting on a flat wooden plate. Picking one up, she sniffed it and found it fruity. A tiny nibble confirmed her nose’s analysis. It was tough on the outside, but soft and seedy on the inside—dried fruit, a fig to be exact, but a type she’d never tasted. She ate all of the little dried bits and climbed up onto the bunk, facing the door with her back to the wall, to take stock of her situation. She was alone and helpless against her captors, but when the man had attacked her, the other one had stopped him. Why? Did he want her for himself? What if the food is poisoned or drugged to make me compliant? She hugged her knees in close to her body, determined not to cry. What could she do? She must pray more. She slid off the bunk and knelt beside it, bowing her head, saying penance and begging forgiveness for her transgressions, both known and unknown.
For the remainder of the day, the only time she ceased praying was to use the chamber pot. As darkness descended in the little cabin, she heard a soft knocking on her door. Her heart began to pound, but she made no reply and remained curled up on the bunk as the door slowly opened. The boy who had brought the tray of food stood holding a tray with a lighted oil lamp and another glass of tea. There was also a small bowl of nuts and dried fruit. He bowed slightly, then held up the glass of mint tea and said something in Turkish, which of course Aimée could not understand. What he actually said was, “You like?”
Recognizing the tea, Aimée nodded her head and pointed to the table. The boy understood and entered the room to place the tray there. Then he picked up the tray that held mostly empty dishes, and bowed several times as he backed out of the room.
When he had gone, she got off the bunk and walked to the table to get the glass of tea. On the tray was her portrait, the one that Signore Cavalieri had painted three years earlier, the one that she had carefully packed in her trunk to bring to her aunt and uncle in Martinique. She picked it up and gently ran her fingertips over its smooth, cool surface. Her eyes filled with tears and the sadness that comes with the loss of one’s dreams. She held her framed likeness to her heart and wept for everything she had lost: her dreams of a life in Paris, the happiness of her youth on Martinique, her dear cousin Rose, the peacefulness and security of the convent, Da Angelique, and her true love, Mister Braugham. She was so filled with sorrow that, for the first time in her life, she wished to die. She sank down onto the filthy cushions, still clutching the portrait, awash in utter despair, wishing they would kill her and be done with it. Feeling that there was no end to her misery, her despondency was so deep that she could not even bring herself to pray.
Spent and unable to cry anymore, she drank the sweet tea and looked out the porthole at the black expanse of ocean. The moonless sky was filled with stars, but they brought her no solace. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her and she slumped down onto the cushions and fell asleep.
She was sleeping soundly when something brushed across her face. As she opened her eyes and screamed, a large, gray rat ran across her chest. She continued screaming as she climbed up onto the bunk and the cabin door flew open. The captain rushed in, ready to encounter another man, but found it empty of anyone other than the girl. Aimée misunderstood his intent and began shouting at him. “Keep your distance or I will claw out your eyes!”
The captain raised the palms of his hands towards her and spoke quietly until she calmed down. He remained in the doorway and stared at her, unsure of what to do next. By the light of the oil lamp she was able to see his face clearly for the first time. Beneath the black beard and long unkempt hair, his striking handsomeness surprised her. He extended his right hand to her and made a motion for her to come towards him or with him. It did not matter what he meant, as Aimée backed further into the corne
r of the bunk and shook her head, “no.” The captain continued to speak quietly and sweep his arm out the door as if she could leave.
Where does he wish me to go?
When she did not respond, he began moving towards her, and once again, she screamed.
Much taller and stronger than she, he quickly overpowered her and flung her upside down over one shoulder. In this manner, he carried her, kicking, flailing and screaming, up onto the deck, where he dumped her onto the wet planks. Standing over her, he spoke a short command to the few sailors who were on deck and all, except the one who held the wheel, went below. He continued to stare at her creamy, white skin and extraordinary golden hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Even in the darkness of night, her eyes shone like bright, blue jewels. Yes, if I did not love gold so much, she would be mine. His breathing became regular again, and he slowly turned his back to her and sauntered across the deck to gaze out over the black ocean.
Aimée remained where she had been dropped, until the captain turned toward her and made a gesture with his hands, indicating that she was free to walk about. It was the first time she had been out of the stifling cabin in three days, and the night air felt cool and refreshing on her skin. But her heart still pounded with fear and the uncertainty of his intent. Slowly, she rose to her feet, backing away to put distance between them, sensing that he was a man who could be dangerous in ways that she did not understand.
She kept him in her peripheral vision as she gazed at the churning sea and wondered if she had the courage to throw herself in. As if reading her mind he crossed the deck towards her. She backed away instinctively, then realized there was no place for her to go except overboard, and she had not found that courage. So, heart pounding, she resigned herself to her fate and stood her ground. But she could not look up at him. He stood so close that she could feel his breath as he gently lifted her chin to see her face. His large, black eyes held her gaze, and she shivered as he carefully lifted a handful of her hair and brought it to his face. Inhaling her scent, he whispered in Turkish, “If you were mine for a night you would be mine forever.” She did not understand his words, but the gist of their meaning was somehow communicated.
Releasing her hair, he sauntered away and lay down on his back on the deck, folding his arms beneath his head, not seeming to care about her anymore.
Aimée remained standing at the rail, trying to comprehend the meaning of his gesture and the unexpected feeling it ignited in her. She reached for the rail to steady herself, fearing she might faint. Now she was more confused than ever. She gazed at the churning sea, but kept watch on the pirate out of the corner of her eye, hoping he would not come near her again, and yet, hoping that he would.
When the night air chilled her, she indicated that she wished to return below, and he rose to lead her back to the dingy cabin. As he closed the door behind her, she listened for the bolt sliding closed, but did not hear it. Standing alone in her small, stuffy quarters, she knew that something had changed. She was still apprehensive, but the pirate’s actions had given her a sense of her own power. He had seemed apprehensive of her. For the first time in several days, she felt safe enough to sleep soundly through the night.
~ ~ ~
The next morning she was awakened by a gentle tapping on her door and once again, the young boy stood with a tray of food and tea. She did not move from her place on the bunk as he entered and set the tray down, picking up the one that had held the lamp and bowl of nuts and fruit.
“You don’t like figs and nuts?” he asked in Turkish, which of course she could not understand. But he was very young and sweet and did not appear to have sinister motives. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled at him, causing his smile to broaden as he bowed several times and backed out of the room.
When he had gone, she went to the small table and sipped the warm mint tea. The strange occurrences of the previous night were truly confusing. Why had the pirate acted so and what exactly had she felt? Surely, that excited feeling could not have been the same as she felt in Mr. Braugham’s presence. But something about it made her think of Signore Cavalieri. Maybe it was just the headiness of the fresh night air on the open sea. She absently ate some of the grain and nuts and sipped her tea. If the pirates did not mean to ravish her, what were they going to do? Certainly they had some plan for her, or they would not have taken her. She sipped the tea and pondered her situation, trying to ascertain their purpose by going over each thing that they had done. The one in charge had protected her from the man who tried to force himself upon her. He spoke to her in a soft, reassuring manner. They served her food and tea, brought her a lamp when it became dark and bowed as they came and went. She found that odd. People only bowed to royalty.
They’re treating me like a queen.
All of a sudden, the exact words of Euphemia David’s prediction came pouring into her head.
Your ship will be taken by corsairs and you will be placed in a seraglio. The words echoed in her ears. She remembered Mimi squealing, “You gone be a queen!” Then she remembered Rose telling her what a seraglio was. Why did I not remember until now? She was going to be sold into a harem. She was to be a concubine to a sultan.
Seized with panic, she stood up and began to pace the tiny room. Being a queen in this manner held no romantic image. For the fiftieth time she looked out of the small porthole at nothing but open sea. This must not happen. How could she possibly escape? If only someone knew her plight. Mr. Braugham and Angelique knew what had happened. They will tell my uncle. He will be enraged and demand that an envoy be sent from King Louis to force the Sultan to return me to my rightful home.
This thought gave her the hope she had tried so desperately to find. I can be saved. There is real hope. It would of course take time, many months at the least, but she would be saved.
She held on to the comfort of this hope, replaying the scenario over in her mind. Of course, there was no way for her to know that both of her imagined saviors had already died trying to aid her.
Chapter 16
Algiers,
August 1781
By the morning of the sixth day on board the pirate’s ship, Aimée no longer shrank into the corner when the door of her cabin opened. Her guard had not been let down, and she still clung to the hope of rescue, but felt familiar with the daily routine. Now that she remembered more of Euphemia David’s prophecy, she mulled the words over in her mind, looking for clues to her fate. She did not recall the old woman saying she would come to harm, and even the rough corsairs had not harmed her... yet. So, she sat upon her bunk awaiting the boy’s knock on her door.
When he arrived with her morning meal, she found, to her surprise, a large copper bowl of water and a dingy cotton towel. Lest she not comprehend their purpose, the boy pantomimed washing his face and hands.
After he left, grateful for the chance to clean herself, she washed first, then drank her tea. She ate the entire contents of a small bowl of grains mixed with nuts and fruit, then climbed back onto her bunk to further assess her situation. Firstly, she reassured herself, even if all of the prediction were to come true, at least she would not be harmed. Then she yawned and tried to think of what came next, but felt too tired. A heavy lethargy fogged her brain, and her thoughts drifted away before she could focus on them. Lying on her side, her hands in prayer beneath her cheek, she thought the shabby little cabin actually looked rather cozy. Warmth enveloped her as her thoughts ceased altogether. She yawned again, smiled broadly for no apparent reason and fell asleep.
The ship was approaching the harbor at Al Djazāir, and the captain wished to transfer his precious package without incident. To facilitate this, he had added opium to her breakfast that morning.
Shortly after Aimée fell into a drugged sleep, the captain and two of his men opened the door to her cabin just wide enough to look in. Seeing that the opium had taken effect, they quietly entered the room. The captain carefully lifted her unconscious body into his arms. He gazed l
ongingly at her sleeping face, and placed a deep, passionate kiss on her mouth.
“Good-bye, little jewel,” he whispered.
He knelt to place her gently onto a large Turkish carpet, then carefully unfastened the gold chain and cross from her neck. “You’ll have no need of this where you’re going,” he whispered.
All three men helped to roll Aimée within the carpet like a big cocoon. Once she had been securely wrapped, one of the men slung the package deftly over his shoulder, and made his way up the narrow stairs to the ship’s deck. The captain picked up Aimée’s portrait and tucked it into his belt.
Outside, the scene was typical of a busy Mediterranean port, with ships loading and unloading cargo and passengers, and sellers hawking spices, food, woven goods, copperware and pots. Had Aimée been able to observe the scene, she would surely have noticed the absence of women. A wild mix of hundreds of men—Berbers, Arabs, Spaniards, Greeks, Black Africans and others—swarmed over the docks and narrow streets leading to the bay, but not one woman. She would have been surprised to learn that Arab women spent most of their time sequestered in their homes and were never actually seen in public. All women left their homes beneath the complete cover of a ferace, a garment that covered them from head to toe, with a yasmak, a veil that covered all of the face except the eyes. Women never shopped or visited friends alone, rather always accompanied by servants or slaves. It would have been even harder for Aimée to imagine that very soon she too would be sequestered in an even stricter fashion.
The group carrying the carpet descended the gangplank into the bustling crowd and wound their way through the narrow, cobbled streets of the Kasbah. For the next ten minutes, they ascended a hilly street, passing hundreds of whitewashed houses, until they finally came to a high walled fortress. A thick wooden door, built into the unadorned stucco wall, held a large iron knocker that one of the men sounded. Moments later the door swung open to reveal a splendid courtyard beautifully overgrown with an abundance of huge, tropical flowers and trees. A tall, colorful ceramic fountain splashed in the center, and a flock of songbirds took flight announcing their arrival. At the far end of the courtyard stood a palatial Moorish house, with white stucco walls, arched doorways and a red barrel-tiled roof. The pirates followed the servant beneath an ornate archway and through an intricately carved wooden door.
