Pistoleer: Slavers

by Smith, Skye

  "Your family in Haarlem did not share in his wealth?" Robert asked.

  "We could not. The government would have confiscated it." Lysbeth waved away more questions. They were getting far too personal. "You have women passengers on your ship. I should go to them and instruct them in how to dress and how to behave when at the governor's palace. Will you take me to them?" She said this to the tall, young, handsome Daniel.

  Robert watched as Daniel led her away on his arm. Women usually ignored him when Daniel was around. He couldn't blame them, for in comparison he looked like a dark, squat toad. The prince and the toad. Wasn't there a children’s story about that?

  * * * * *

  Since the Pilgrim women on the Swift were Brownists, there was not much that Lysbeth needed to suggest about their general attire other than to show them how to pin scarves to their bonnets to be used as veils. The women were already covered from neck to toe, and had their hair tied up under their bonnets. "You must never show your cheeks in public,” she warned them.

  "It is best never to use your left hand for anything. Keep it in a pocket, or under your belt. Never offer it to someone, or touch someone with it, or touch food with it. Your left hand is for dirty tasks while your right hand is for clean tasks. Do not be surprised if we women are fed separately from the men and on their leftovers. Stay away from anything uncooked, from anything that has cooled, and from anything that has flies landing on it, especially the sweetmeats. Take small bites first, for the spices may burn your tongue if you are not used to them. In truth, it is safer not to eat anything at all. There will be no fermented drinks offered, so you must drink only hot drinks that have been boiled such as chai, or kofe, or mint water."

  "So why don't we just stay on the ship?" old gruff Anna grumbled.

  "Because you have been invited, and to refuse would be an insult. Besides, you will find the luxury of the palace most interesting. It is a luxury that once all of Spain enjoyed, but was lost to the Spaniards when they transported the Moriscos."

  "Transported seafood?"

  "Moriscos, not mariscos,” Lysbeth corrected with a laugh. "The last of the Iberian Moors. The ones who pretended to convert to Catholicism in order to stay in Spain. No matter, you will understand once you see the palace. It is fabulous, though the governor swears that it is humble compared to the Emperor's palace in Marrakech. To get to the palace we must walk through the Medina, the Arab town and its market. That will give you an idea of what luxuries to expect in the palace."

  "Will we be safe?" Anna asked. "Everyone we see has dark faces and long light-colored robes. We have light faces and long dark-colored robes. They look strange and threatening to us, so I assume that we must look strange and threatening to them. Will we be safe?"

  "You are the guests of the governor, so you could not be safer.... just keep your left hand in your pocket."

  One of the crew, a young lad from Lyme, called out from behind the women, "What are the ugly horses with the lumpy backs called?"

  "Camels, and stay away from them. They have foul tempers,” Lysbeth replied and then pointed to the young man and told him, "You stay close to the older men. It is forbidden for good Mussulmen to have sex with women other than their wives, so they take pleasure in the company of fair young men, and you would be a prize."

  "How do you know all of this?"

  "Because I lived at my father's palace at Qualidia these past two months."

  * * * * *

  The quay and the sea wall that created the harbour were ancient, and were made from what looked like mortar formed into huge blocks that were as hard as rock and had not dissolved in sea water. Daniel and Robert inspected the blocks with the port officer while they waited for all the women to gather on the quay. "It is said that it was made by Carthage before the time of the prophet Jesus,” the officer told them. "Sometimes we must repair it but our modern repairs last less than twenty years, whereas the original foundation is perhaps two thousand years old."

  When the women were assembled, crew and women followed in a procession led by the officer through the Medina. The high, white walls of the buildings, and the north-south run of the streets meant that there was always cool shade on one side or the other of the streets, except at high noon. They were told that at noon everyone took a nap under a roof or a tree. Not that it was hot today, although the sun was fierce. The soft breeze from the ocean cooled the air so that it was like a warm summer day in Somerset.

  They had expected to be assailed on all sides by market folk offering their wares, but there was none of this. Most of the folk bowed politely as they passed and the only selling tactic was to hold things up for them to see. It took a half an hour to get the twenty-five pilgrim women through the market area, for they were forever stopping and staring. Strangely, the market vendors were all men. Their women, when seen at all, were hiding in doorways and peering out at them. In England and in Holland, the market folk were usually women.

  The last stretch of street that led up the hill to the palace was lined with beggars. They stayed bowed on their knees and pushed small bowls forward to the passersby, and two of the officer's men put dried fruit from a large sack into each of the bowls. It was quite unnerving to see so many beggars, and yet the beggars were far from threatening.

  The palace was more sumptuous than Lysbeth could have ever described. Behind the high walls there were gardens with fountains and fruit trees and flowers. Everything that was man made seemed to be made of stone, either a pink stone like sand stone, or cool polished marble, or colorfully glazed tiles. Cool was the look and the function and the places under roofs were open to the breezes.

  Where softness was desired, there were carpets and rugs and pillows of every shape and length. It was a palace where one either stood, or lounged, but never sat straight-backed on chairs. Everyone was led into the great hall where they were received by the governor, then the womenfolk were led away into the women's garden by the governor's wife, presumably to await the delivery of the leftovers from the men's banquet.

  Once the women were gone, the men feasted and the governor had Robert come close and sit beside him. Seated on his other side was the Dutch Consul, who had arrived in December on the same ship from Haarlem that brought Lysbeth. The exact same fluyt that the Swift had just escorted into Safi.

  "While my ship is at the convenience of our Consul here,” the fluyt's master told Robert, "we are paying his expenses by carrying saltpetre back to Rotterdam. It has been a most profitable trade due to the amount of gunpowder that our navy has been using lately."

  Robert was tempted to tell him that more than once he had helped his uncle to sell Moroccan saltpetre to the Dutch naval yards at Rotterdam. Of course, his uncle's saltpetre was always listed on the manifests as 'salts to preserve meat' rather than 'salts for black powder', because he was the factor of an English company.

  Just then, servants entered carrying large trays. Robert looked up expectantly - he was hungry, and this was a welcome indication that the feast was about to commence. The Consul noted Robert's eager look, and leaned over confidingly as he gestured toward the table.

  "You should warn your men that according to local law, they must eat all of the first course they are served,” he told Robert. He spoke in English, for the governor understood more English than he did Dutch. The warning was given just as a plate of what looked like fried insects was put down in front of Robert. As Robert pulled back from the grisly plate the Consul added, "They are just grasshoppers. By law everyone in Morocco must eat ten grasshoppers per day. These ones are of the best quality and quite delicious fried in butter and garlic and ginger. Try one. They are sweet and crispy."

  "First tell me why I should put one of them into my mouth."

  "Ah, well you see, the Moroccans believe that when there are too many grasshoppers, they transform themselves, much as caterpillars transform into butterflies, so that they can fly to new feeding grounds. They believe that grasshoppers are the cause of the biblical plag
ues of locusts, and so by law, during grasshopper season everyone must eat them to keep the numbers down. Supposedly they are as healthy to eat as beef, being grass fed and all."

  "By law?"

  "By law,” the Consul confirmed. "You had best tell your men before they do something silly and insult our host."

  "So where is your uncle, the real Robert Blake?" the governor asked in halting English once Robert had passed on the word about the insects.

  "I had hoped to visit him here," Robert lied. He knew his uncle was living on a king's pension in Wiltshire. "I have been living in Rotterdam and have lost contact with him. Do you expect him back soon? Should I wait for him?"

  "He has not been here for three years now, not since he escorted our Embassy to London,” the governor replied, with a worried look on his face as if he were at fault for the absence. "I hope he has not been waylaid by those scoundrels in Salee."

  "Speaking of the Republic of Salee, why hasn't your master the Emperor closed down those pirates?" Robert asked.

  "Ah, because my Emperor is also a Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. The Turks need slaves, and of course, only non-believers can be enslaved, and the Republic of Salee keeps sending them thousands of Christian non-believer slaves. Besides, so long as the Salee Rovers are patrolling our coasts with their galliots, my master has no need of a navy. This is important because the Christian navies are always passing along our coast."

  "We just sailed south past Salee in our galliot, and we saw no other galliots. Are they off raiding Spain now that Spain has lost their Armada to the Dutch?"

  "In a way, yes,” the governor whispered. "They have sailed to the Canary islands to see what spoils are on offer now that the Spanish navy is so weak."

  This news turned Robert's stomach more than the ginger fried hoppers had. The Canaries were still to the south of them. This meant that there was a huge corsair fleet between them and the New World. This was the end of this voyage. They would have no choice but to turn back to England. "Thank you for telling me this, your highness, for it saves us the need to travel further south. We were to turn west at the Canaries to cross the Atlantic. Instead it seems we will be turning North."

  "Why? Because of the corsair fleet?" the governor replied. "With the winds at this time of year you would be better to travel all the way to the Cape Verde islands before turning west, so you see, you do not need to go to the Canaries."

  "But there is still a pirate fleet between me and Cape Verde."

  "That is not a problem,” the governor said with hopper legs stuck in his grand mustache. "To show my pleasure at being visited by the nephew of my old friend, I will have a passport drawn up for your ship. The same kind of passport that the Consul's ship carries, which assures it free passage by the Salee Rovers. A scroll signed and sealed by me, and a mast pennant that declares to all corsair ships that you carry such a scroll."

  "That would be most kind of you."

  "Not at all. My clerks have still not put away the spare they created when I gave one to the English slaver who stopped here not a week ago."

  "English slaver?" Robert jerked at the words and what they implied. "But English ships do not carry slaves."

  "The captain swore he was commissioned by King Charles himself, or at least his Deputy in Ireland."

  "Lord Strafford?"

  "That was the name. In truth, I must confess that none of the slaves I bought from the captain seemed to be English and only a few spoke English. It matters not, of course, for I needed them only as labourers to harvest Chinese Snow."

  "Chinese Snow?" Robert questioned. Perhaps the governor's English was failing him.

  "Saltpetre," the Consul confirmed. "It was an English ship carrying slaves cleared from Ireland, but not the tall red-headed Irishmen. These were the small dark ones. The Gaels."

  "As I said," the governor continued, "this matters not for harvesting Chinese Snow, so long as they are non-believers and have strong backs. I will give you some kegs of the Snow to take with you. You will find it a handy cargo to take to strange places, for these days everyone needs it to make gunpowder, and ships can always use it to preserve food. When do you set sail again?"

  "When you give your permission, your Excellency,” Robert said in a stiffly polite voice. The information and the gift of saltpetre were generous, but knowing that Irish slaves would have dug the precious white powder dulled the gleam of it. As soon as the formalities of the meal were finished he made a normal after-meal excuse to leave the hall and went out to sit in the soft moist air of the water garden.

  "May we sit with you?" Lysbeth asked of Robert, who was sitting alone on a stone bench beside a fountain looking at the bright stars. He glanced up at Lysbeth, who had Daniel's arm, and he shuffled along the bench to make room for them. She sat right beside him and pulled Daniel down onto the bench so that she was in the middle. "So you are not just a Puritan, but an abolitionist?" she whispered, for the movement was hated in Morocco where the elite made such profits from slavery.

  "I was once a slave for twenty-one days,” Robert whispered back, "at a time when your father was the President of the pirate republic of Salee. Are you surprised that I would loathe the practice? Worse, I have just found out that my king is complicit in enslaving his own people and shipping them here for profit."

  "Some folk are destined to be slaves," Lysbeth replied, "because they are lesser beings."

  "You imply that some folk are born to be beasts of burden, like plough horses,” Daniel said softly. "These are the words of a conquering race."

  "There have always been conquerors and the conquered,” she replied.

  "At Oxford I read history rather than law,” Robert said, "for I wanted to learn about my own roots." At the pregnant pause he added, "Well, look at me. I am short and dark. I have some Briton blood in me for sure, and why not, since Bridgwater sits between Cornwall and Wales. All of my life I have wondered at how so many different races have conquered Britain over the centuries and yet still there are pockets of pure blood Britons. And now, now, to find out that our king is sending those that are left into slavery...."

  "I thought the slaves were Irish?"

  "There are pockets of Britons in Cornwall, Wales and Ireland. The Irish being cleared into slavery are the Irish Britons, the Gaels. They would look like me, short and dark. Perhaps that is why I was enslaved when I visited here ten years ago, because I looked like their other slaves. Daniel, you are strangely quiet."

  "What can I say? My folk invaded England a thousand years ago, and doubtless pushed the Britons out of our way to do so."

  "Look at this palace,” Robert said while waving an arm towards the magnificent building, "and at the fortress that protects the harbour. My reading in Oxford told me one thing for sure. All grand stone buildings and walls throughout history have been built for conquerors by their slaves. The knowledge has always spoiled my enjoyment of such outstanding structures. I do not see the grace of this build, just the backs that built it, bloodied by the slaver's lash."

  "I pity you,” she said, "for this palace is a wondrous achievement, a marvel that should be enjoyed. Even its protective walls are graceful and are put to good use to add shade to these gardens."

  "So you will refuse the governor's generous gift of saltpetre dug by slaves?" Daniel asked Robert.

  "Or refuse more of his hospitality in this fine palace, which I agree was probably built by slaves?" Lysbeth added.

  "Don't mock me,” Robert stood and stomped off back to the governor. After three steps he turned and hissed, "Do you agree that slavery is an abomination, especially when it is determined by race or religion?" He didn't wait for their answer. He was afraid to.

  * * * * *

  The Swift crested another wave and everyone aboard leaned a bit to keep their balance. "At least a dozen of them,” Robert said as he passed the looker to Daniel and put one hand on the wheel so that Daniel could leave go. "All less than thirty feet, one short mast each, simple lateen rigs. Locals f
or sure. Could be pirates."

  "More likely fishermen or coastal traders making for the Canaries,” Daniel replied as he focused the looker on the ships.

  "You show me a fisherman with an opportunity, and I'll show you a pirate. Why else would they be trying to cut us off?"

  "Because they are on course to the Canaries."

  "They're pirates, Danny. You can tell by the lateen sails."

  "We have lateen sails,” Daniel replied as he tried to do a head count of the crew of the closest boats.

  "What's yer point?" Robert said as he pushed the wheel over a few spokes so that the Swift would go around the fleet of small boats on the sea side.

  "They can see our size and our rigging clearly so they must know that the Swift can outsail them on any course, so why would they put the effort into trying to catch us? It would be different if the wind was onshore. Then they might be able to herd us towards the shore and into a trap."

  "Maybe they are trying to herd us towards the Canaries."

  "Then they'd be doing us a favour. My fear is that we pass the islands in the dark without knowing it. If that happens then we won't know where we are."

  As Daniel predicted, the Swift easily outsailed the fleet of small boats and went around them. Each boat seemed to have many more heads than a fishing or trading boat would need. To Robert, of course, this proved that they were pirates, and he refused to listen to the explanation that the extra heads could be those of passengers.

  Robert turned the Swift so that it would cut closer to the lead boat and be within hailing distance, and then handed the wheel back to Daniel. With the hailing trumpet to his lips Robert yelled out one word to them ... Canaria ... and then held his arms up to gesture ... where? The men aboard the boat were well tanned and wore sun hats made from rolls of white cloth. Two of the men pointed in the same direction straight ahead of them, but then Robert saw that there was something else being pointed from the boat.

  He ducked down onto all fours and scrambled to Daniel to pull him down. There was a splintering sound from the wheel, and then a bang from the boat. "Muskets,” Robert told Daniel, who was looking up at the splinters on the polished wood of the wheel.