Your hate has already plundered two ships and brought me dishonor, he thought. “Continue,” he said.
“They are responsible for something horrible, Alessandro. You see, I was with the earl’s half-brother at the time of my capture. He was an innocent young man, and he was swiftly put to death. I believe that the earl distrusted his half-brother and was glad to be rid of him. Cesare Bellini was his name, and he was a brilliant man, a man who possibly could have taken over the earl’s holdings in Genoa.”
“The Countess of Clare—is she still living?”
“Yes. And they have two children, grown now, just as are you. They have become but richer with the fruits of their deceit.”
“Why did you simply not tell me this? Why did you act behind my back? Does it please you to have made me a liar and a murderer?”
“No one, my son, will ever know that the earl’s ships were taken by Barbary pirates. No one will ever suspect you. I have protected you.”
“Protected me.” He gave a furious bark of laughter. “This is beyond reason. If you wished vengeance, Mother, why did you not ask Hamil to help you?”
Hamil would have laughed in my face. Giovanna was expecting this and answered readily enough, “Alessandro, it is your responsibility, as my son, to avenge me. Your father saw me as naught but a plaything for his bed, and Hamil saw me only as his half-brother’s Christian mother, not worthy of his exalted notice.”
But Hamil hadn’t been that way at all, Kamal thought, staring down at his coffee. He said slowly, “Now that you have toyed with the earl, do you wish me to have him killed? Is that the favor you ask, Mother?”
Giovanna leaned toward him, unable to contain her excitement. “I want them to suffer, as I suffered. I want them both brought here so that I may face them with their treachery. Perhaps the harlot could be sold in the slave market and spend the rest of her days treated as the miserable slut she is. As for the earl, I would see him in the mines.”
“Your reason is poisoned with your vengeance,” Kamal said, feeling distaste at the venom in her voice. “When the Earl of Clare discovers that we did indeed destroy his ships, do you think he will not take action against us? Do you not realize what the English could do to us with all their warships?”
Timely tears glistened in her eyes, and she stammered, “I . . . I promise you, my son, that not one man escaped to tell what happened. The earl cannot be certain it was the Barbary pirates who were responsible. I was careful. Indeed, I have let his men discover that most of the goods from his two ships have appeared in Naples. Soon, my son, the proud earl will travel to the court of Naples to discover the truth. Then I will have him.”
Kamal stared at the woman who was his mother. “Then you wish me to send men to Naples to capture the earl when he appears? We could do that just as easily in Genoa.”
“No, Alessandro. I myself will travel to Naples, not using my real name, of course, for the earl would recognize it. When he appears, I wish to confront him myself. He will be away from his armed fortress in Genoa, away from all his friends, and all his men. I will bring him here to you, for justice.”
“You have planned this for a long time, have you not?” Kamal asked her, his blue eyes steady on hers.
“Oh yes,” she said, again lowering her eyes. “For a very long time. A woman does not have much to do, after all, in a harem, even the Bey’s mother. Even my choice of Naples works beautifully, for there are many French dissidents in the court itself, unknown to the king and queen. I am using one of the more dishonorable young noblemen for my purposes. You needn’t worry, my son. He will do exactly as I wish once I am there to control him. When the earl arrives, his disappearance will be blamed on the French dissidents. There will be no taint of dishonor on your name.”
“What of the earl’s children?”
Giovanna knew Kamal would shield the earl’s children, who were innocent in his mind. He was damnably soft, not nearly as ruthless as his father had been, and she was more cunning and ruthless than Khar El-Din had ever imagined, the old fool.
She said softly, with a touch of compassion in her voice, “After the earl is gone, his son will take his place. The daughter will doubtless wed an Englishman. They are both grown; they will survive.”
“I asked you once if you wished to return to Italy, to Genoa, and you refused. You refused because in Italy you had not the power to act against the Earl of Clare, is that not true?”
“Yes, my son, I wanted it done.”
He sat back in his chair, his arms folded tightly across his chest. “If you were not my mother, you would die for what you have done. You have broken trust with me, and dishonored me. I will send Hassan to take back my seal. I will inform you tomorrow of my decision. But when it is over, you will no longer live in my household.”
She sucked in her breath, unable to believe his words. Her hand fluttered, and her eyes filled with tears, but Kamal rose quickly.
She gave a small sob, realizing how much she had won and what she had lost. “Please, Alessandro.”
“Thank you for the dinner, madam,” he said, and turned on his heel.
He returned to his bedchamber and looked with annoyance at the young girl who approached him, until he remembered who she was. His gift from the Sudan. She wore a soft yellow silk harem jacket that fastened under her high, pointed breasts, and silk trousers bound at her ankles. She was really quite lovely, he thought dispassionately, with her thick chestnut hair and green eyes, and very young. She peeped at him from beneath her lashes and smiled.
“Master,” she whispered, and knelt before him, touching her lips to his leather slippers.
“You may rise,” he said abruptly. The smile faded from her face, and he saw she was trembling. He sighed deeply, knowing she was afraid she displeased him.
He gentled his voice. “Your name is Maya?”
“Yes, highness.”
“You are lovely, Maya,” he lightly caressed her silken hair. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen, highness.”
He heard a tremor in her voice. She was not to blame that the last thing he wanted this night was a fifteen-year-old virgin in his bed.
“Shall I disrobe, highness?”
“Yes.” Hoping she would not see the flat disinterest in his eyes, he added, “It would give me great pleasure, Maya.”
He reclined on his fur-covered bed, pillowed his head on his arms, and stared a long moment at the ceiling. He heard the rustle of clothing, and forced his eyes back to the girl.
She was undressing slowly, with great skill, her every movement meant to whet his desire. He found he was unstirred by the sight of her pale breasts and dark pink nipples. Her woman’s mound was shaved, her nether lips lightly rouged with henna.
She stood uncertainly, her young body gleaming in the pale candlelight, staring toward him. Kamal knew he did not have to treat her gently, though she was a virgin. She was likely as skilled as any courtesan in Europe, her maidenhead merely a technicality. For a moment he was angered that this girl had known little of childhood, that her training had likely begun before she had even begun her monthly flow. He knew his anger would change nothing. He must take her, else she would be shamed.
“Come here, Maya,” he said.
She walked seductively toward him, her hips swaying, and sank to her knees beside him. He rose from his bed and allowed her to undress him. He was relieved at her skill, relieved that her fingers were well trained to heighten his senses. When he was naked, he discovered to his chagrin that his thoughts were still on his incredible conversation with his mother, and not the anxious girl who hovered over him.
“Tell me of your home, Maya,” he said, drawing her down beside him on the bed.
She stared at him in dismay. “Alexandria is a large city, highness,” she managed after a few pained moments. “I did not live in the city. I do not miss it. I want only to make you happy, master.”
Kamal sighed and reached for her. She mewled and whimpered softly as
he caressed her. He did not know whether she feigned pleasure at his touch. He knew she did not expect him to care what any of his harem girls felt. She was here for his pleasure, and not her own.
He kissed her soft mouth and let his hand rove over her breasts and belly. She parted her thighs as he gently stroked her. He knew a moment of surprise that she was warm and moist, until he realized that her maiden’s passage had been oiled. It was a reminder she wasn’t a woman who desired him, but a slave whose body belonged to him. He stretched out on his back, knowing she would know how to arouse him. He closed his eyes and let himself respond to her fingers and mouth. He was at the point of taking her when he chanced to look into her eyes. They were wide with fright. I am being a pig, he thought, treating her as if she had not a thought or a feeling.
“I will try not to hurt you, Maya,” he said softly. Slowly, as gently as he could, he pushed into her. He felt her taut maidenhead, and stilled, waiting for her to absorb the feel of him inside her. To his surprise, she suddenly thrust up her hips against him, drawing him deep within her. He heard her cry out. He had the cynical thought that she had likely been taught to cry out. She started to writhe beneath him, and he said sharply, “Maya, hold still. You but hurt yourself needlessly.”
When at last he lay on top of her, his head resting beside hers on an embroidered pillow, he realized she was stiff beneath him and came up on his elbows.
“Thank you, Maya,” he said, and lightly kissed her. He saw that she was staring at him uncertainly, and said in a weary voice, “You gave me great pleasure. You may go now, Maya, and rest. Hassan Aga is waiting outside. He will give you a token of my pleasure.”
“Yes, highness,” she said, and quietly left him.
His body was eased somewhat, but his mind was not. Maya was like all the other women in his possession. Even Elena would only pretend to listen to him, lower her lashes seductively, and tell him that she didn’t understand him. He remembered with vague regret the European women he had known. Though they lived by rules as rigid as any in the Muslim world, they knew freedom that neither a Muslim man nor a Muslim woman could conceive. They spoke their minds, loved with discretion, and had spoiled him with their willful and entrancing freedom.
Kamal sighed and rolled over on his belly. He knew he must take a wife soon; it was expected of him. It was his duty to his people and his position. If he did not marry and produce a son, his half-brother, Risan, now nearly twenty, would be his heir. Until Lella’s child was born. Risan could never cope with the com-plexities and the responsibilities that would face him as Bey of Oran. Risan was happiest among the rais, captaining his own ship, preying on the hapless merchant vessels that had not paid tribute to the Dey of Algiers.
“The girl, Maya, highness. She did not please you?”
Kamal looked up to see Hassan Aga standing uncertainly in the doorway. “Enough, old friend. I trust you gave her a jewel or something to compensate her for her maidenhead.”
“Indeed, merely a small token.”
Hassan turned to leave, but Kamal stayed him. “No, Hassan, remain with me a moment. Come, sit down.”
Kamal pulled on a bed robe of soft crimson silk and joined Hassan beside a small table surrounded with soft embroidered cushions.
“You do not act like a man who has just relieved his needs, highness. You are thinking about Europe, perhaps, and the Corsican who keeps England’s eyes focused away from us? Or perhaps”—his voice deepened—“you dwell on the two ships taken under your seal?”
“Yes, and ordered, as you suspected, by my mother.” Kamal rubbed his fingers over the knotted muscles in his neck. “At the moment, I think about honor. There is little of it in any of us, it appears. Do you know that I stopped years ago telling anyone in Italy and France that my home is in Algiers, indeed that I am half-Muslim, for they made me the butt of jokes and treated me like a rabid barbarian.”
“Intolerance is bred into every culture, highness,” Hassan said quietly. “A man, it appears, cannot be content with himself and his station unless there is another man he can disdain.”
There was silence between them for several minutes before Kamal recounted to Hassan, his voice expressionless, the story his mother had told him. “Do you know anything of this, Hassan?” he asked when he had finished.
“No, highness, I know nothing of what your mother told you. I have met the Earl of Clare—the Marchese di Parese, as he is known in Genoa. Your father and your half-brother Hamil knew him better. I met him but once, in Algiers, shortly after I arrived here, some ten years ago. He has paid tribute for many years.” He paused a moment, his eyes on his crooked fingers that pained him when the weather changed. “It is distressing,” he said finally, “that your mother took action against him without your knowledge or consent.”
Kamal’s lips tightened into a thin line. “ ‘Distressing’ is a mild word, Hassan. It scarce touches my feelings in the matter.”
“What do you intend to do, highness?”
“I have not as yet decided. As I told you, if I allow her her revenge, she will no longer be welcome in Oran. She will return to the life she forfeited over twenty-five years ago. This English nobleman, the Earl of Clare, what do you remember of him?”
Hassan spoke slowly, dusting the years off his memories. “I remember him as a man who understood his power, as a man of ability.”
“An honorable man?”
“I would have said so, yes.”
“Did he deal well with my father?”
“As I recall, there was a certain coolness between them. But they were two vastly different men. He dealt quite well with Hamil.”
“Anyone with half a notion of honor dealt well with Hamil. Hassan, your eyes tell me there is something more you would say.”
“There are many motives, highness, that men may not understand. A motive of vengeance can be clear in one man’s mind and a tangle of confusion in another’s. I understand vengeance, highness, but in this matter I am not sure. I ask you to tread carefully in this.”
“I shall, old friend.”
“Your learning is important for our people,” Hassan continued after a thoughtful moment. “They live as they lived a hundred, nay, two hundred years ago. When I think of Cairo, my home, and its vast libraries, I would weep for what we have lost here. The Moors no longer hold learning above all else; the Turks are content to spit on the Jews and Christians and slaughter anyone who intrudes upon their sport. The Europeans loathe and fear us, and want only to crush us. I fear for the future, highness. The Grand Turk cannot help us. Your half-brother Hamil sought change for our people, but more than that, he sought honor.”
“I did not wish to become the Bey of Oran. You know that, Hassan. And never at the sacrifice of Hamil’s life.”
“Hamil was proud of you, highness. Each letter he received from you, he read proudly.” Hassan paused a moment, then added quietly, “I do not think he was a man to be governed by a woman.”
Kamal met Hassan’s wise old eyes. It was a bold statement for Hassan, who usually spoke obliquely, in the Muslim way.
“Nor am I, Hassan,” Kamal said, “though women in Europe are vastly different than they are here.”
“Women who understand guile are the most dangerous of creatures, here or in Europe. To trust a woman is folly.”
“Even if the woman is one’s mother?”
“Ah, that is different, and yet not different. I am pleased that you are bred to two cultures, highness. It gives you wisdom that is mysterious to a Muslim. I feared you would not be accepted by our people. Yet I see you, a young man, rendering justice that men twice your age accept without question.”
“Sometimes I feel very old, Hassan. Not particularly wise, just weary from what I have seen.”
“You are a young man, highness. I pray that your life is not cut short as was your half-brother Hamil’s. He was an excellent sailor, at home on a ship as he was on land. I still cannot believe that he fell overboard during that storm.”
“The Koran teaches us to accept such tragedy as Allah’s will, Hassan. You are tired, old friend. And I weary you with useless talk.”
Hassan waved a bony hand, and stared toward the heavy tapestry that draped from ceiling to floor on the opposite wall. “Remember that vengeance is for men, highness. A woman’s vengeance knows no honor.”
Kamal grinned suddenly. “I should have reminded my mother that if it were not for this hated earl and his countess, I would not be on this earth.”
“Such logic is not convincing to a woman, highness.” Hassan rose slowly to his feet and bowed deeply. “Do you wish to retire now?”
Kamal sighed. “Yes. There is much to consider.”
“May Allah guard you,” Hassan said, and walked silently from the chamber.
Chapter 5
Naples
A wispy fog swirled from the bay, curled over the docks, and crept through the narrow streets of Naples. Three men, shrouded to their feet in thick black cloaks, huddled against the side of a building in a crooked alley, waiting. One of them, by far the oldest of the three, eased his narrow shoulders around the corner of the building and stared through the murky fog down the street.
“Quiet, lads,” he hissed. “He’s coming, but not alone. There’s someone with him.”
“Give us some sport,” another of the men said. He spat neatly toward a mangy cat that was pawing a pile of refuse.
The Comte de la Valle negligently twirled his beribboned cane as he listened to his friend Celestino Genovesi.
“Gesù,” Celestino growled, “it’s as black as a pit in hell. You tempt fate, Gervaise. I’d feel uneasy walking here during the day, what with all the riffraff hanging about.”
“Stop whining,” Gervaise said. “As for its being a black night, it will give you practice for when you leave this earth.”
“You’re a cold-blooded bastard, Gervaise. I still don’t like it.”
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