The Sea and the Sand

by Christopher Nicole

  For she was to undergo much more than a bath. She was escorted into what was certainly a bathing chamber, although with certain attributes she had never seen before, not all of them reassuring. The floor was on three descending levels, the lowest being in slats and drains to allow the water to run off, while on the second level there was a glowing fire, over which there was a huge pot suspended on a spit, which gave off a sickly sweet odour, akin to that of boiling toffee.

  The room was quite large, but became distinctly crowded when all eight of the women, accompanied by their children, as well as the three eunuchs, filed in behind her. The women and children, including the little boys, promptly removed all of their clothing, and the eunuchs most of theirs — to Felicity’s enormous relief they retained a loin cloth each.

  But in fact she realised that she was temporarily inured to shock; in the past three days her nerves had been exposed to so many horrors, so many sights she would not have supposed possible. She felt very like a drunken man, staggering from support to support, always surprised and relieved to find that there was yet another support on which he could lean. Thus she would have supposed that the sight of her friends and shipmates being raped and butchered and drowned would have driven her irresistably mad; but it had not. Similarly with her being flung across the cannon to be examined, or exposed time and again on the decks of the corsair, or being led like an animal through the streets of Algiers.

  Yet she had not gone mad, and so far she had not even been harmed. Simply by bending before the irresistible forces with which she was presently surrounded, rather than attempting to defy them, and snapping like a twig.

  So once again she determined to submit to whatever her new captors chose to do to her, although she could not help but shudder when she discovered she was to be shaved, most meticulously, from the neck down, including her armpits and crotch. The shaving was done by one of the eunuchs, but the women were eager to assist him, as the children were to gather round and watch. Felicity felt as if she were a huge toy, being unwrapped for their pleasure — but she kept trying to hold her breath as the very sharp razor was passed over her skin, again and again, being forced to gasp every time there was a new sensation, her breasts being touched, or her legs pulled apart.

  Nor was being shaved the end of her ordeal, for her body was then coated with the toffeelike mixture, ladled from the cooking pot on to her stomach, and then spread with great enjoyment over every inch of her body by the eager assistants. The mixture was just short of boiling and she could not stop herself giving a whimper of discomfort and anticipated agony, but the women laughed and made reassuring sounds, while they created an entirely new set of sensations as they forced the toffee into every available crevice.

  In fact it did cool very rapidly, leaving her in an almost unbearable condition of half arousal and half total discomfort, while the wildest of thoughts plunged through her brain. For a moment she even wondered if these people were actually cannibals, who were preparing her for the oven.

  But now she was made to lie absolutely still, while one of the eunuchs produced a length of silken cord. The women ceased their chatter, and even the children were enjoined to be quiet as with the greatest of concentration the eunuch, holding the cord in both hands, pressed it into the coating on Felicity’s arm, at the shoulder, and then slowly drew it down the entire length of the limb, to the wrist. Felicity found that she was again holding her breath; she did not need to be told that she could be skinned if he was careless or she made a sudden move. But he was an expert, and her arm was left absolutely smooth and white and hairless.

  Then she did want to move, as she realised he was not only going to treat her arm, but now she was held still by some ten pairs of hands, while the elder woman spoke to her in quiet but authoritative tones. She obeyed with an enormous effort, closing her eyes and knowing only the tumultuous desires which raced away from her groin.

  Her front completed to the eunuch’s satisfaction, she was made to lie on her belly while the whole operation was repeated on her back. This was easier to accept, although once again she reflected that if anyone, a week earlier, had told her that she would one day be held naked on a cold stone floor, by eight naked women and two eunuchs, as well as a family of children, while a third eunuch drew a silken cord down the inside of her thighs, she would have slapped his or her face in outrage.

  But at last the long, slow tickling sweeps were done. Then she had to endure the caress of his hand, as he made sure no hairs had been overlooked, a task in which he was joined by the two older women, while the others giggled and chattered. Then she was pulled to her feet and conducted to the lowest level to be bathed. She was soaped and rinsed, time and again, by the women, while two of the eunuchs concentrated on washing her hair. The intimacy of the bath, the sensuality of the fingers and the warmth of the sweet scent of the perfumed water, coming on top of all that had happened before, combined to make her mind wander away into a dream world she had never known before, but in which she felt she was trembling on the verge of an experience she would never forget — and which would change her forever.

  But, she thought, as she gazed at herself in the full-length mirror which filled the entire inner wall of the bath chamber, actually seeing herself in the nude for the first time in her life as opposed to a hasty and self-embarrassed glance in the course of dressing, was she not already changed forever? Could anyone undergo such a physical experience and not be changed forever?

  Yet when the door at the top of the room suddenly opened to admit a man, she instinctively gave a little shriek of alarm and sank to her knees, endeavouring to hide behind her hands.

  The women and the eunuchs were bowing, while the children also fell to their knees; none of them seemed embarrassed by their nakedness, however anxious they might be to illustrate their servility, and Felicity realised she was in the presence of Abd er Rahman. Her new master! She allowed herself a hasty glance at him, and was decidedly reassured. Abd er Rahman was short and stout, with a flowing beard and carefully waxed moustaches, which stood away from his lips like the wings of an enormous butterfly. His dress was in keeping with everything else in his house, ornate and luxurious. The sash over his red tunic was cloth of gold, he wore an enormous jewelled pin at his throat, and the haft of the little dagger which hung from his waist, as well as the toes of his upturned velvet slippers, glittered with rubies and emeralds. Even the beard and moustache could not hide the dimples beside his mouth, the soft curve of the cheeks, and his eyes were like pools of shallow black liquid, sliding to and fro, but principally concentrating upon her.

  She found it difficult to be afraid of him, as indeed down to three days ago she had never actually been afraid of any man. Yet he had the right, which he might at any moment choose to exercise, to throw her on the ground and … she had no idea, her brain crowded with the memory of the pirates kneeling between the legs of Peggy Flemming and her mother while they had shrieked their agony and horror at what was being done to them. Therefore it could in no way approximate any of the sensations she had just experienced.

  Yet whatever it was, it would have to be endured. Not only because she had no doubt at all that everyone else in the room would be anxious to assist their master, but because only by enduring, and even pleasing, as Mansur the pirate had told her, could she hope to survive. And now she was more than ever determined to survive.

  But she could not stop her muscles from tensing as Abd er Rahman spoke, in a voice as gentle as his appearance, and the eunuchs gripped her arms to raise her to her feet. She stood there, water rolling down her arms and legs, dripping from hair, nipples and chin, while he came down the levels to look at her, and subject her to the inevitable examination, stranding her hair through his fingers, opening her mouth to peer inside, fingering her breasts, watching her intently as he stroked a nipple into tumescence, then stooping to examine her genitals, the women making her part her legs to accommodate him.

  They were also, she realised for the first ti
me, themselves almost holding their breaths with anxiety; she might have been a rare animal, or a statue, which they had produced for their master’s approbation, or perhaps angry distaste, and in fact, as she was keeping as still as she possibly could, presumably she did suggest a statue. But she was flesh and blood, and she knew she wasn’t going to be able to remain still much longer, when he moved away, speaking rapidly.

  The women clapped their hands with pleasure, and some relief, she thought — not only because he was obviously pleased, but because of something additional in his commands. She guessed, as he left the room and they immediately fell to work again, that they had been apprehensive that he might be going to keep her for himself, to their mutual disadvantage. Whereas now she was obviously being prepared for display. She didn’t know whether to protest or not, and in any event could not, as she was carefully patted dry with huge towels, the eunuchs meanwhile wrapping up her head and hair in other towels and gently drying it, and was then made to sit on a stool while they painted her fingernails and toenails with henna. While this process was taking place, the eunuchs completed the drying of her hair, which was then brushed and combed and perfumed and brushed again, until it lay in a long dark brown sheen down her back.

  Now at last she was taken from the bath chamber, still wrapped in her towels, and presented with a meal, in which the women and children shared, with much good humoured chatter and laughter. Felicity was more interested in the mouth-watering food, for there was sweet tea, bread and honey, and couscous, as well as a variety of the most delicious sherbets. Nothing had ever tasted so good, and following her experiences of a very long day, as well as the repeated shocks to her senses, she wished only to lie down and sleep when she was finished.

  To her surprise she was allowed to do this; escorted to a divan in one of the inner rooms, and there allowed to nestle naked amongst the cushions, a delightful sensation which was only a copy of what the other women were doing, while the children were chased out into the garden to play. She slept heavily and dreamlessly, until rudely awakened by a sharp slap on the face. She sat up, panting, for a moment unsure of where she was, and had her face covered with a wet towel before she had properly gathered her senses.

  Hurriedly she suppressed her anger, as she discovered that she was again surrounded by the eunuchs as well as the rest of the tribe, smoothing her eyebrows, re-brushing her hair, applying dabs of perfume to her neck and ears and armpits and groin. She was being prepared for … she had no idea. While the woman who had slapped her chattered at her, not scolding but certainly informing, all without Felicity having the slightest idea what she was saying.

  She supposed she was very rapidly going to find out, however. At last they seemed satisfied, and subjected her to another minute examination, which seemed satisfactory. Then she was wrapped in a fresh, clean linen cloak, or haik, given velvet slippers to wear, and had her face concealed behind another yashmak. After which the three eunuchs escorted her back out of the harem.

  She was desperately sorry to see the women remain behind — oddly enough, she felt that as long as she was in their company she was perfectly safe. Now she realised the truth: that she was about to be offered for sale, and her legs almost gave way. But the eunuchs held her arms to urge her onwards, and once again fear was at least neutralised by curiosity, as she discovered she was not actually being taken out of Abd er Rahman’s house, but instead along a succession of corridors until she entered a very large room, like all the others in this palace, sumptuously furnished with carpets and drapes and divans of incalculable value, and where there waited two men, seated on one of the divans, smoking water pipes and conversing in low tones. Both men rose to their feet at her entrance, but she suspected that had nothing to do with manners.

  One of them was of course Abd er Rahman, which was something of a relief. The other was a man she had never seen before, and she did not like the look of him at all. Where Abd er Rahman was plump and jolly looking, this man reminded her of the captain of the corsair, Mansur, save that he possessed a far greater aura of authority, and indeed wore the expression of a man of some power. Yet his dress was utterly simple, certainly when contrasted with that of the captain, while beside his simple white tunic and breeches and his brown kid boots, Abd er Rahman glowed like a lighted lantern. There were no jewels here, save for a ruby clasp on his green turban — although Felicity suspected that one stone was perhaps worth more than all of Abd er Rahman’s baubles added together — and his scimitar was clearly intended for use rather than show.

  Abd er Rahman certainly held him in awe, and hastily waved the eunuchs, who had led Felicity into the very centre of the room, away to stand against the far wall. She gazed at the two men, feeling as if there was a great void where her stomach had been, for all the satisfying meal she had had before her siesta, while they looked back, conversing in low tones and obviously discussing her. Then the stranger asked Abd er Rahman a question, to which Abd clearly replied in the affirmative, as he gestured his guest forward.

  The stranger advanced, and stood immediately in front of Felicity. It was all she could do to remain still as the dark eyes stared into hers, but she refused to lower her gaze. He stroked his beard, and then reached out and took the cowl of the haik from her head, before releasing the yashmak to look at her face. She had no doubt at all what he was going to do next, and tensed her muscles, but instead of removing the haik altogether, the man took her entirely by surprise by saying, in English, ‘Speak.’

  She could only stare at him.

  ‘The Sheikh tells me you are English,’ the man said. ‘Are you not English?’

  Felicity licked her lips. ‘I am English.’

  ‘Ah. Good. I am pleased. When the Sheikh sent to me and said he had something of great interest to show me, I was sceptical. He is given to exaggeration. But in your case he was telling the truth. Yes. What is your name?’

  Felicity had to draw a deep breath. ‘My name is Felicity Crown.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said again. ‘I like that very much.

  Yes. I shall buy you, Felicity Crown. You will go with these eunuchs, and prepare yourself. We have a long journey ahead of us.’

  His courtesy was most reassuring. Boldly she asked, ‘Will you not tell me to whom I now belong, sir?’

  He frowned at her, and then almost smiled. ‘I am Mohammed ben Idris. I am the Vizier of the Dey of Tripoli, Greatest of the Faithful, Lord of the Mediterranean. That is where you are going, Felicity Crown, to Tripoli.’

  It occurred to Felicity that it might not be difficult to establish at least a mental rapport with this man, perhaps even a superiority; she was well on the way to doing that already. ‘And you say that you are not the greatest man in this Tripoli, my lord ben Idris? How can that be?’

  Once again he frowned, and as quickly smiled, and turned to Abd er Rahman, speaking brusquely. Abd er Rahman hesitated, and then nodded, glancing sharply at ben Idris as he spoke.

  Again the Vizier smiled, and nodded, and turned back to Felicity. ‘I have completed the purchase.’ he said, ‘and paid more than perhaps I should, indeed. You are very fortunate, you see, Felicity Crown. Abd er Rahman knew of my presence in Algiers, and he also knows my tastes, and so offered you to me privately, thus saving you the humiliation of the public block.’

  ‘And I am to your tastes, my lord?’ she asked.

  Mohammed ben Idris came right up to her, and now he did take the haik from her shoulders, and allow it to fall about her ankles, while he gazed at her. ‘Oh, indeed,’ he said. ‘You are to my taste. And will be more so when you are tamed. You English women are all the same. I had another once, and she I had to drown, slowly.’ He smiled, and Felicity caught her breath; she had never seen anything so unpleasant. ‘I sewed her up in a sack with two cats and two rats, and suspended her over the sea. In time they all fell in.’

  Felicity thought she was going to choke. And she had thought she could dominate this man.

  ‘Now you are similarly insolent,’
Mohammed ben Idris continued. ‘But you are too pretty to drown. At least until you have begun to bore me. Go with these men. They will prepare you for the bastinado.’

  ‘The … the bastinado?’ She had no idea what he was talking about, but the very word sounded highly unpleasant.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘Before we set out upon our journey, I am going to cane that splendidly shaped rear of yours, that you may know who is the master here, and who the slave.’

  CHAPTER 4

  The Mediterranean — 1803-4

  ‘Sometimes I think I am going mad.’ Toby leaned on the taffrail of the USS Essex and gazed down into the clear blue waters of Syracuse Harbour in Sicily, then up at the low, green hills which surrounded the huge, landlocked natural haven. Syracuse surely had to be one of the most beautiful and peaceful places on earth. And over the past two years he had come to hate it.

  ‘You don’t still dream of that girl taken by the pirates?’ asked his companion and immediate superior, Stephen Decatur, first lieutenant of the Essex. ‘Did you not only ever meet her once?’

  ‘Her? Oh, you mean Felicity Crown.’ Toby gave a false laugh. ‘Good heavens, Stephen, I have quite forgotten what she looked like. Although the circumstances were unusual, to be sure …’ He bit his lip before he carried the lie too far. Because he could still see her face before his eyes every time he closed them, even in daylight, much less in the dark solitude of his bunk. Of course, after three years the features had become fuzzy — and he knew nothing else about her. Yet quite without warning, she had become the symbol of what this war was all about, helpless captives being held in the vicious maw of a heathen, desperate, despotic power.