A shudder ran through his listeners, but, apparently unmoved, Scander went on as if he were reciting by rote. “They killed, and they killed, and they killed,” he deliberately pronounced. “Then I felt my head swim. I tried to get to the door—slipped—went down—” His voice broke, and he put his hand hastily over his mouth. “It was all warm and slimy down there—blood and spice mixed up together—”
“Go on,” Abel hastily interposed. “Get to the rest of it.”
“I promised myself,” the sailor said slowly, “I’d never go over this, but seeing you all so keen on this spice business—these young chaps in particular—I thought you ought to hear the other side.” He clutched his throat and swallowed hard. “That smell of warm blood and spice makes my stomach heave yet!”
“How about the spice merchant? Ever see him?” Nicolo inquired.
Scander ran his tongue around his lips before he answered. “I’ll come to him in a minute. By the time we’d got through with the sorting shed, we could hear a terrible commotion all over the place and we could see the warehouse afire. ‘Here’s my chance to warn the Franji’ thinks I, and I made a rush for the house, when—down jumps Captain from a wall behind me! ‘Come on,’ says he, ‘you’re the man I want,’ and he drove me in front of him with that red, dripping blade of his at my back. I knew, then, he suspected what I had in mind.
“The moment we reached the house, we saw that others had been there before us. The place looked like the tail end of a typhoon; everything upside down, cupboards open, clothes scattered around. ‘Where is he?’ Captain kept asking. ‘Where’s the Franji?’ We looked around for a while, and then, as we went into the court, we saw something on the stairs that led to the roof—something all huddled together. ‘Go on up,’ Captain orders me, ‘till we make sure,’ and he made me stand by whilst he jabbed at it with his foot—curse him. ’Twas a man with his arms around a woman, and a sword right through the two of them—the spice merchant and his wife. You could tell from his features that he was a Franji. She was an Arab; a real queen, poor creature, with long, black braids and big, dark eyes and slender hands.
“Well—that’s about all,” he ended, sombrely. “I stayed right by Captain, took his orders, and went back to the ship with him, quiet as a lamb. But I’d had enough. A night or two after, when we were to leave Aden first thing in the morning, I slipped over the side, got ashore, and shipped with a big slave vessel bound for Egypt.”
There was a brevity in this winding up of the story that struck everyone with a feeling of something omitted.
Diaz drew a long breath. “You never heard any more of the Franj ship, I suppose?”
“Never a word, sir.”
“Did your captain try to follow you?” asked Nicolo.
“If he did, I never got wind of it. From the minute I quit him I was right on my way, and I never stopped till I saw Alexandria and knew I was in western waters. I wanted to get as far as I could from spice! And here I’ve stuck my nose right into the cursed stuff again. I hate the sight and the smell of it,” Scander spat out. “Smells like blood to me!”
“Why, man,” said Abel, “there’s always been quarrels and bloodshed over trade. What you saw the Arabs do to that European merchant is no more than the Europeans will do to each other in trade rivalry.”
“Of course,” Diaz agreed. “If anyone has doubts about what Spain, or England, or the Dutch would do to us, suppose we found the Way of the Spices first, I haven’t!”
“How about what we’d do, if they happened to be first?” Ferdinand slyly retorted.
In the laughter that followed this sally, Diaz reached out and tweaked the boy’s ear. “You young jackanapes!” he said, with a gruffness that deceived no one.
“Well, gentlemen”—the sailor shrugged—“war’s what you’ll get, any of you who’re going in for spice, and don’t make any mistake about that. And for every hatchful, take my word, you’ll pay in blood. Way of the Spices! Way of Blood is more like it!”
“But look here,” Gama insisted, “what if we beat the Arabs at their own game?”
“How are you going to, with them running the whole trade, and the carrying, too?”
“Well,” Gama coolly maintained, “these Arab pirates aren’t invincible!”
“‘Pirates!’” Scander shot back. “They’re no pirates, and don’t you forget that for a minute. In their own eyes they’re defenders of their faith, and it’s the Franj that are infidels and thieves sneaking in where they don’t belong and ’ve no right to go!”
“I suppose it was religion made them kill that Frankish merchant!” Nicolo said, sarcastically.
“Well, yes “—Scander laughed a little—“religion and business, together. It’s religion with them to keep foreigners out, no matter how they do it. You have to live with them to see how ’tis,” he continued. “Now, you’ll go to your churches and mumble before images or whisper your sins to a priest, and then you’ll come out into the streets and do business, and forget all about prayers and the saints till the next time. Not but what that’s all right,” he hastily interposed. “I make out to say an Ave once ’n a while, myself. But with the Arabs, religion’s the whole thing all the time. Take that captain of mine now; he said his prayers three times a day, and so did his crews.”
“What did you do—turn Mohammedan?” someone inquired.
“For the time being, yes.”
“Show us how they say their prayers!” Ferdinand proposed.
The sailor gave him a glum look. “I’m not so particular about reminding myself of all that, but if ’twould amuse you—”
He dropped on his knees, arms crossed on his breast. Even Ruth left her seat, and eagerly peered over Abel’s shoulder.
“They begin by calling out, twice, God is great—this way.” His upturned face seemed to search an imaginary sky, and, with a savage fervor, “Allahu Akbar!” he cried, delivering each syllable with a sonorous precision. He bowed profoundly, forehead to ground, and as he swayed back, “Allahu Akbar!” he called again. “Allahu—”
A shriek from some distant part of the house froze the unfinished words on his lips. Everyone started up. Ferdinand jumped to his feet. Abel and Ruth exchanged frightened glances. They heard a door flung open…a rush of soft footsteps through the next room. Then—into the workshop burst the Girl—the Girl, as she had leaped from bed, black hair streaming loose, slender body rigid, eyes, as on that first night, oblivious of all but a madness of fear.
CHAPTER 9
Sugar
In a flash Scander was forgotten. With one impulse Abel and Ruth sprang to the Girl. Ferdinand still stood, transfixed. The others looked at each other in blank bewilderment. No one saw Nicolo start up, and then immediately sit down; yet anyone who had watched him closely would have seen that his face was working with strong emotion.
But no one was heeding Nicolo. No one had eyes for anything save the astounding scene before them, more astounding than even the Girl’s appearance.
Motionless, rigid, she was staring at Scander. He, still on his knees, hands grotesquely arrested in the gesture of prayer, eyes dilated past expression, was staring back. But in their faces was recognition, terrified, yet unmistakable, recognition.
For moments that deathlike silence lasted. Then, gradually, as if moved by common impulse, those two speechless figures drew near each other. Still kneeling, the sailor crept, inch by inch, toward the Girl, as, imperceptibly, she moved toward him. In horrified fascination the others watched that slow, ghastly approach, as if spectres, meeting in some dim unknown, should so peer into each other’s faces.
The man’s lips were moving, but no words came. They saw his throat twitch, heard him make what to them were unintelligible sounds. Then, slowly, with eyes locked on the Girl, he drew himself up by inches. And now, staring into his face, the Girl answered in those same strange sounds.
Slowly he looked around. “I—I—didn’t tell all—all of the—Aden story. She—” he jerked his head towar
d the Girl—“she was on the steps, too—huddled up alongside of those—”
Ruth was first to understand. “Child! Child! Were they your father and mother?”
The Girl shuddered as if something had struck her. Abel snatched up the cloak hanging on his chair and threw it around her. The gesture seemed to make her suddenly aware of the presence of others besides Scander. They saw her eyes drop and the colour rush to her neck and face. Gently Abel pressed her into a seat, and then he turned and looked deliberately around the table.
“Bartholomew—all of you—for this child’s sake we—Ruth, Ferdinand, myself—have kept her a secret. Where she came from, who she is, her name, her language, no one of us has known.”
“She came one night, months ago, after you’d all gone,” Ruth breathlessly added. “She just stepped in here out of the dark. That’s all we know—and that now she’s ours.” She moved nearer the Girl, with a protecting little caress.
“What?” cried Scander. “Stepped in here, did you say, ma’am?” He turned to the Girl and began to speak rapidly in the language of their first meeting, when Abel gently stopped him.
“She understands Portuguese, now, you know—and we all want to hear your story!”
“Well, then,” Scander took him up, “how in heaven’s name, did she get here, when I’ve been thinking she was dead—or worse?”
From where she sat between Abel and Ruth, the Girl looked amazedly up at him, and above the folds of the dark cloak her face was like shadowed ivory.
“That’s what I thought about you,” she whispered, “that when you rolled into the sea—”
“Just a minute, mates!” Scander wheeled around. “You’ve heard two ends of a story with the middle chopped out. You see, there was a big night’s work between where I left off—with the spice merchant and his wife dead on the stairs—and took up again with me on my way to Egypt. As I was telling you, this child was lying alongside of them, and we thought she was dead, too, till we turned her over. I never could figure how she escaped alive. What did save you?” he asked the Girl.
In a voice that was barely audible, she said, “We had started up the stairs to the roof when—when—men rushed into the court. For a minute they didn’t see us, and my father pushed me into a closet under the stairs. Then there were shouts and running. I heard my mother scream out to my father that she wouldn’t leave him. And then—then—” she paused, struggling with herself—“there was no more noise. It was—all—quiet. I crept out—and I found—” Her face dropped to her knees. “I didn’t want to hide any more,” she sobbed out. “I wanted to be seen! I lay down beside them—to wait—”
Abel threw back his head, as if in need of air. Nicolo’s hands, clenched on the table, were white at the knuckles. Ferdinand kept his eyes on the ground. Diaz pulled at his beard, and Abraham and Gama turned away. Over the Girl’s bowed shoulders Ruth openly wept.
“I’ll never forget,” Scander solemnly declared, “how she looked when we found her. Just like what she said ‘waiting’! I thought of course Captain would make an end of her, and, quick as a flash, I whipped out my knife to get him first. You could have knocked me over when he said, quiet-like, ‘She’ll bring a good price.’ And to make a long story short, we took her down to the slave market.”
“You mean,” Nicolo fiercely demanded, “that you stood by, and saw her—sold!”
At his voice the Girl raised her eyes, and looked directly at him. Instantly she dropped them, but Nicolo had caught the signal: yesterday’s meeting was to be still a secret!
“Yes,” the sailor admitted, “in a way I did. My eyes saw her sold, but inside of me I knew, while they were haggling over her price and counting coin, that—that, somehow, I was going to do something about it. All the time Captain and I were going back to the ship I couldn’t see anything but her: the only white thing among those naked, black cattle with their big, white teeth and lips”—he held thumb and finger apart—“that thick!… I couldn’t get her out of mind! ‘What’ll come of saving her, suppose I could?’ says I to myself. ‘Nothing,’ says myself back, ‘but a sword up to the hilt somewhere in me. Go on, and forget her.’ What’d I do with her, suppose I could buy her? thinks I. Anyway, I didn’t have the price—and I walked on with Captain. All the while something inside me was snickering: ‘Haven’t the price?’ I could hear it jeer. ‘What’s the matter with the price your captain just took for her?’”
He paused to survey the mystified faces about him. “I didn’t see at first, either,” he laughed softly, “same as you. But all of a sudden it came to me.” Again he paused, and his hand tightened on the knife-hilt above his girdle, “What to do came to me at midnight when—everyone was asleep.”
The Girl was leaning toward him. “You did—that—for me?” she asked, under her breath.
“Yes, thinking I’d buy you right back with what I’d taken from—him. But when I got down to the slave market, they told me you’d been shipped out just after you’d been bought.”
“Yes—that very night,” she shuddered.
“It goes against you folks to hear talk of buying and selling her.” Apologetically he met Nicolo’s and Ferdinand’s angry eyes. “But how else could I save her?”
“You’re all right, man!” Diaz told him. “Go on with your story.”
“I traced her,” Scander resumed, “by her fair skin, to Alexandria, but there I lost her, till one day, in the big slave square, I noticed a ring of traders bidding—and there she was! I was just in time to see a big, handsome chap—a Moor he was—in a seaman’s dress, leading her away. ‘What’d he give for her?’ I asked around, and the figure they named swamped me.
“What was I to do? I followed along behind them, turning my brains inside out for the answer. Finally, we got down to the water-front and I could see there was a heavy sea running. The tall chap walked her right along to a beached skiff, with a man in it, who grinned when his eyes lighted on her—and then my mind was made up: I was going where she went!”
There was a restless stir through the room, and men’s eyes avoided meeting.
“Just as the Moor lifted her into the boat, she looked off at the water, and her face changed—as if lightning had flashed in the dark. Remember what happened, then?” he asked the Girl.
She drew a long, tremulous breath. “I meant to jump into the water,” she said, in a low voice.
“The Moor saw what was up, too,” Scander continued, “and in a minute he’d put her into the stern, and was holding her arms. I could have praised Allah, for then I knew the other chap couldn’t make it alone, through that sea. ‘Need another hand, Chief?’ says I, with my heart in my throat, and before he even nodded, I shoved off the boat and scrambled in. The two men looked at me queer-like, and then sidewise at each other. ‘Where to?’ I asked, and they pointed out a fair-sized vessel that wasn’t flying any colours, and I had a mind to ask why, but I thought better of it.
“I can handle a sail if I do say it, and I did my prettiest that day, so I wasn’t surprised when they asked if I minded rough weather. ‘The sea and I are like sweethearts’ said I, and they grinned and wanted to know if I’d ever had a pilot’s job. ’Twas my specialty, I told them!
“All the time this girl, here, never made a move; just sat there, head down; but I noticed he never quit watching her, never took his hands off her, either.
“When we came alongside I saw the ship’s name was the Sultana. I made fast, and asked what to do with the skiff. ‘Could you take us out?’ said the tall chap, jerking his head toward the big craft. ‘Sure job?’ I asks, and he nodded, and then the two of them laughed. By this time the rail above us was thick with faces grinning down on us.” Scander paused, with a significant look. “Five minutes after the girl was lifted aboard, I was there, too, skiff all shipshape and lashed down.
“The crew looked me over pretty sharp—as rough a gang as I ever saw. I edged forward as near as I dared to where she was standing between the tall fellow and another, who was
older, and shorter by a head, but square-built and powerful. Moorish, too, he was. For all anyone could tell she might have been a corpse, with her face like ashes, and eyes blind-like. I listened a bit, and I made out they were talking a mixture of Franji and Arabic.
“‘With a jewel like this,’ the tall chap was saying, ‘we can make what terms we want, anywhere.’ What did he mean?—and I edged nearer. ‘The Sultan himself wouldn’t be contemptuous of such a prize,’ the older man answered, ‘and we might even get a post in the royal navy out of it, Abdul, my boy! Shall we make the run to Constantinople, and bargain?’ Abdul—the tall chap—looked up, surprised-like, and the other one threw back his head and laughed and laughed; and I didn’t know why, but I wanted to kick him. Then Abdul says, easy and smiling-like one that’s been caught off his guard but doesn’t mean to be caught again—‘First, though, Captain, you recollect we’ve an appointment at Tripoli with the San Marco, bound out of Venice.’”
The Girl glanced up, and a look of understanding flashed between them.
“What?” Nicolo was asking, in a puzzled tone. “The San Marco, from Venice, did you say?”
Scander surveyed him in surprise. “Yes, why?”
“Nothing. Go on,” with a careless gesture that contradicted a peculiar expression that had come into his eyes.
“Then, in a minute,” Scander resumed, “I knew what kind of an outfit I’d shipped with, and why they’d all laughed when I’d come aboard so innocent: only one kind of crews has ‘appointments’ with merchant ships, and that’s pirate crews!
“Well, a gale was blowing up, but I took the helm, and we began the run for Tripoli, all the way through head winds and heavy seas. We were so close to shore, you couldn’t tell which yelled louder, the storm or the reefs. Sometimes, what with a black sky hissing above us, and the water like foaming jaws that couldn’t wait to lap us down, I used to wonder if we’d make it.”
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