The Lioness of Morocco

by Julia Drosten

  “Well, I had help.” She thought of André.

  “Yes, right!” he sneered. “You went with Rouston to see the sultan. And I’m quite sure you compensated him generously for his support.”

  “How dare you?”

  “Why so virtuous all of a sudden, my dear?” The hem of his djellaba undulated through the air as he took a quick step toward her. “You mean it’s not true, what everyone in Mogador is saying?”

  Sibylla was speechless as he went on. “That you squandered my gold by giving it to these good-for-nothing Moors? That you had houses, schools, and even a water-supply system built for those who had me arrested? I wouldn’t have thought that you were so stupid and sentimental.”

  Benjamin struck the desk angrily with his fists. Oh, how he had dug, first with a shovel, then with his bare hands, only to discover that everything was gone, that not a single gold sovereign was left under his sundial! Afterward, he had returned to the tiny room he had rented in the fondouk and sat and brooded until he realized that only Sibylla could have found his gold. He himself had given her a clue during her visit to his cell on the Island of Mogador when he had asked her how much money Qaid Hash-Hash’s soldiers had found and where they had searched. The bitch must have turned the whole house upside down until she had finally found it.

  “You were the intruder in my house!” she whispered. “You wanted to retrieve your bloody slave gold.”

  He gave her a hateful look. “Enough talk! Let’s get down to business: How do you plan to compensate me for my loss?”

  Sibylla desperately searched for an answer, an escape from this nightmare. Then she recalled the weapon in the desk drawer: André’s old service revolver that he had given her for protection in a warehouse chockful of valuable merchandise. If she could get ahold of it, she would be able to keep Benjamin at bay and yell for Emily to summon help. It was risky, but it was her only chance. Her fingers felt for the drawer handle. When she pulled it, the wood creaked. She froze, but Benjamin, still basking in his triumph, had apparently heard nothing.

  “I want 16,625 English gold sovereigns! And not one penny less. Consider yourself lucky that I’m not charging interest. Borrow the money from the Toledanos or one of the other moneylenders in town. You have until tomorrow morning.”

  Sibylla carefully slipped her right hand into the drawer until her fingers made contact with cold metal.

  “Why only until tomorrow morning?” she asked to stall him.

  “That’s when my ship leaves.”

  “Your ship?” She almost let go of the revolver in surprise.

  “If everything had gone according to plan, I would be long gone. I’m stuck here only because you had to give away my gold. But at least I learned a few interesting things while I waited.” He shook his head slowly to mock her. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Sibylla, who knew you were so wanton! You let that Frenchman knock you up and then had people believe the bastard was mine.” He gloated over her shocked expression. “Surprised, are you, Sibylla? For a few dirham, people will tell you all kinds of things. For example, that Rouston had trouble with some Berbers. In exchange for some weapons, they were happy to attack his estate and shoot your brat. I’m sure you can understand I couldn’t have you passing her off as my child with all of Mogador—from the qaid to the beggars by the city gate—laughing about how I was cuckolded!” He smirked. He had waited so long for his revenge, had imagined it a thousand times, but now the reality of it was even sweeter than he had hoped.

  “You were behind the assault on Qasr el Bahia?” Sibylla stammered. “You hired killers to murder my daughter? No, that can’t be true! You wouldn’t!”

  He didn’t flinch. “It’s your own fault. If you had just left my gold under the sundial, I would have left town without learning about your sordid escapades. Well, I shouldn’t keep you any longer, seeing as you don’t have much time to get my money. And don’t mourn that child too much. She was only a bastard.” He took a mocking bow and turned to leave.

  “Don’t move!” Sibylla’s voice whipped through the room. Benjamin turned around in surprise and looked down the barrel of the revolver. The hammer clicked as Sibylla pulled it back. However, before she could fire, he hurled himself toward her. She stumbled and fell hard, the revolver slipping from her hand. There was a deafening bang as it fell to the ground and the shot went off, wood splintering as the bullet hit the desk. Then there was another bang as Emily flung the door open. Sibylla wanted to reach down to pick up the revolver, but the pain in her back made it almost impossible for her to move. Benjamin grabbed the weapon and pointed the smoking barrel at Emily.

  “Run!” Sibylla panted, although the pain almost took her breath away. “Get help! Quickly!”

  But Emily was paralyzed by fear. She saw only her mother, doubled over in pain as though she had been hit by a bullet. “Mummy!” she screamed before Benjamin grabbed her by the hair and pulled her so forcefully that she fell to her knees.

  “Mummy?” He leaned over her and stared at her face. “You’re not dead? So who the devil did those good-for-nothings shoot?”

  “Hel—” Emily began to howl before he pistol-whipped her in the neck and she collapsed with a groan.

  “Please, Benjamin!” Sibylla pleaded. “I’ll do anything. Anything you want, just don’t hurt her!”

  Without releasing Emily, he turned around and grinned at her. “All the Muslims are at the mosque praying. No one is going to come to your aid, Sibylla.”

  There was a moment of silence. Sibylla struggled for words. Then she heard footsteps running over the stone floor beneath them. A man’s voice called, “Sibylla, Emily! What’s going on?”

  Benjamin’s grin dissolved. He knew it was too late to flee. He looked at Emily, lying motionless on the floor, and bit his lips. Then he took a deep breath, cocked the gun again, and pressed the barrel against Emily’s head.

  “No!” André burst in through the open door, his scream reverberating through the entire warehouse.

  Now Benjamin pointed the weapon at the Frenchman.

  “André, look out!” Sibylla shouted.

  Benjamin pulled the trigger.

  Sibylla covered her eyes, but no shot rang out. The old gun had jammed. Cursing, he threw it down. As it hit the ground, it slid along the floor and out of his reach. Sibylla lowered her hands just in time to see André charging Benjamin, lifting him up by the hood of his djellaba, and throwing him out the office door. Sabri, who had been right on André’s heels, managed to jump out of the way as Benjamin smashed against the railing. The wooden banister broke apart with a great crash, and he plunged into the darkness with a bloodcurdling shriek before landing with a thud on the stone floor of the warehouse below. John and Thomas, who were still on the stairs, gawked in disbelief at the motionless body with the black cloak still billowing over it like a sail.

  “You go to Mother and Emily!” Thomas panted. “I’ll see if he’s still alive.”

  John ran up but stopped on the threshold. His sister lay on the floor just as still as the stranger in the warehouse. His mother was holding her head and gently stroking her pale face and closed eyes, André was squeezing her limp hands, and Sabri had placed two fingers on her neck.

  “Is she . . . ?” John swallowed.

  Sabri wiped his brow. “She’s alive,” he said in a choked voice.

  “Dieu merci!” André’s voice broke.

  “Thanks be to you.” Sibylla laid one hand on his tearstained cheek. “If it hadn’t been for you, Benjamin would have killed us both.”

  “Benjamin?” André stared at her. “Do you mean that man was—”

  “—our father?” John finished flatly.

  Emily groaned softly. She moved her head and cried out in pain. Then she opened her eyes and tried to understand why four people were surrounding her with worried expressions. “What’s going on?” Then she remembered. “Mummy! He didn’t shoot you!”

  There were steps approaching the office. Emily flinched. “We have to get
away! He has a gun!” She tried in vain to sit up.

  “It’s all right!” André helped her up. “I have it.” He had tucked it away even before seeing to Emily—a precaution in case the intruder was not alone.

  “Emily! Dear God!” Thomas stood in the doorway, looking as shocked as John had a moment earlier.

  “She’s fine. She was hit in the neck with the revolver, but all she will suffer is a bruise,” Sabri quickly assured him.

  “The intruder who did that to her was our father,” John informed his brother with a husky voice.

  Thomas stared first at him, then at his mother. Sibylla just nodded.

  “Is he still alive?” André inquired with concern.

  Slowly, as though in a trance, Thomas shook his head. “The fall broke his neck.”

  Thomas examined his mother’s back to make sure there was no serious injury from her fall. While he was gently palpating her, Sibylla informed the others that Benjamin had been behind not only today’s attack but also the break-in at the riad and the raid on Qasr el Bahia—and that the shots that had cost Tamra and Aynur their lives had been meant for Emily.

  “Maudit soit le diable!” André cursed. “That devil! I don’t regret that he died by my hand. Even if he was your father,” he added, looking at John and Thomas.

  They were all silent for a few seconds. “The criminal who tried to murder our sister is no longer my father,” John calmly stated. Thomas nodded emphatically, but there was profound sorrow in his eyes.

  Sibylla’s heart broke to see her sons so confused and humiliated. She wanted to embrace them, dry their tears the way she had when they were little, but John turned his face without a word and Thomas gently pushed her away.

  “Perhaps one day it will be possible for us to remember the father of our childhood instead of the monster he became.”

  It was at that moment that she decided to reveal Benjamin’s last secret to her family, to have everything aired out at last. But she would do so at home—Victoria also deserved to know the whole truth.

  She felt for André’s arm. “Let’s go home. I don’t wish to stay here any longer.”

  When she saw the splintered banister, Emily pressed her face into Sabri’s shoulder. She stifled a gasp at the sight of Benjamin’s motionless body under the blanket that Thomas had found.

  John cleared his throat. “We have to lock the warehouse. Mother, please give me the key. I’m going to go inform the qaid.”

  The peaceful atmosphere outside seemed at odds with what they had left behind. Out here, the sun was shining in a clear blue sky, seagulls sailed screeching over the harbor, and the masts of the anchored ships bobbed gently in the breeze.

  They all jumped when a little boy’s voice squeaked behind them, “Is the gentleman coming out too?”

  A little Arab boy approached. He was holding the reins of a mule carrying two packing crates.

  “What gentleman are you talking about?” André asked.

  “Why, the tall one, with the black djellaba. I’m watching his mule,” the little one replied earnestly. “What was all that noise inside?” He tried to peer inside.

  Emily gasped.

  But John replied, “Something fell over, that’s all,” and quickly closed the door.

  Sibylla looked at the mule. “Benjamin mentioned that he was leaving Mogador tomorrow morning. This must be his luggage.”

  “Then we had better take a look inside,” said André.

  “I’ll take care of that.” John fished a few coins out of his jacket pocket and held them out to the boy. “The gentleman is not coming. But I’ll give you these if you’ll run to the governor’s office. Tell the guard that John Hopkins must meet Qaid Samir in the harbor regarding some important business.”

  “But what about the mule?” the boy objected.

  “I’ll take care of it. Now run along!”

  “It must have been providence that brought all four of you at just the right moment,” said Sibylla when they sat in the salon having tea and biscuits and waiting for John.

  She was sitting on the divan, propped against several cushions, next to Emily, who had a cold compress on her neck. Sabri had placed it there for her. The young physician had not left Emily’s side and continued to give her concerned looks.

  Victoria sat up very straight, trying to maintain her composure. Only her fingers, which kept turning her teacup, betrayed how difficult it was for her to comprehend the outrageous news she had just heard.

  “You were providence, Monsieur Rouston.” Thomas smiled at André.

  When Sibylla looked confused, he explained, “Monsieur Rouston came here to visit Emily. When he ran into John and me, he suggested that we all go to meet the two of you. And on the way, we met Sabri coming from his office.” Thomas nodded to Sabri.

  “I missed you so much that I didn’t care that we weren’t supposed to see each other,” Sabri confessed and lovingly caressed Emily’s curls.

  “Thank goodness!” she answered softly.

  Sibylla kept stirring her tea. “What could have brought you to Mogador before the wedding?” she asked André.

  “Ah, yes!” He nodded. “The sheikh of the Ait Zelten came to tell me that his sons had killed the men who attacked the estate. They also found out that there was a mastermind behind the assault and he was hiding somewhere in Mogador. I immediately came to see the qaid and ask for his help. But, of course, the mastermind is now dead.”

  They heard voices and steps outside. John entered. “The packing crates have revealed some surprises,” he announced and gestured to Hamid, directly behind him. The gatekeeper was carrying four linen sacks, which he placed in the middle of the room.

  “I cannot believe it!” André cried. “Benjamin stole my saffron from your office!” He had immediately recognized the Qasr el Bahia imprint on the sacks. He quickly opened one and took out a handful of tiny red-gold pistils while shaking his head.

  Sibylla was thunderstruck. Yet another disgraceful deed of her husband’s.

  Then John placed the cash box on the table in front of his mother. “The lock was broken, but I’ve counted the money. Most of it is still there. I also found this.” He pulled a leather portfolio out of his jacket and handed it to his mother.

  “I hope this is not another nasty surprise!” she muttered.

  “Take your time,” he said.

  She opened the portfolio and found several papers with the letterhead of a well-known London law firm. The top page had the words “Sales Contract” written in large letters and bore many stamps and signatures. She immediately recognized Benjamin’s.

  “Well, Mother, what is it?” Thomas inquired anxiously.

  “It’s a contract for a sugar plantation in Cuba that Benjamin purchased.” She took another piece of paper with an outline map of Cuba with a large X marked to show the location of the plantation and handed it to Thomas. There were also inventories: lists of equipment and lists of slaves.

  “It appears to be a large plantation. He had, however, made only an initial payment,” Sibylla concluded. “Benjamin was going to pay the balance once he arrived in Cuba.”

  “I’ve taken the liberty of looking at the papers as well, Mother,” John interjected, “and I questioned a few sailors at the harbor right away. At this time, there is only one ship anchored in the harbor destined for Cuba: the Infanta Isabella, a Spanish ship that is leaving early tomorrow.”

  “I know the ship!” Sibylla exclaimed. “She set sail just before Christmas, got caught in a storm, and only just made it back to Mogador. One of the masts was broken, the sails were torn. And she had sprung a leak. It took all winter to make her seaworthy again.”

  “And if he had not been forced to wait these months, today’s terrible events would not have transpired,” André added. “I only wonder where he’s been hiding all this time.”

  “Qaid Samir is starting an investigation,” John reassured everyone. “And he’s also having the body buried in the Christian cemetery in
front of the city wall. That’s what you want, isn’t it, Mother?”

  Sibylla cleared her throat. “Yes, yes, of course. You did the right thing.”

  “As his widow, I suppose you are now the owner of a sugar plantation in Cuba,” Thomas declared.

  “A sugar plantation that has not been paid for yet,” Sibylla corrected him.

  “Why did Hopkins not travel directly from London to Cuba?” Sabri wanted to know. “Did he expect to come by some money here to finance the plantation?”

  “I believe I can explain that.” Sibylla took a deep breath, steeling herself to divulge the secret she would rather have kept buried forever. “Your father traded not only in leather, spices, and ivory, but also in human beings.”

  Little by little, she told the whole story. She began with Benjamin’s arrest by Qaid Hash-Hash, then told how André had managed to get her an audience with Sultan Abd al-Rahman and that she fought for Benjamin’s release because she had believed in his innocence, and how, only a short time later, she had learned the terrible truth when Thomas’s marble fell under the damaged foundation of the sundial.

  “Then, last October, he came back for his blood money.”

  “You told us at the time he was on a business trip,” Thomas marveled. “When he was really in prison on the island. So that’s how he came to die in that fire! I remember you said something about him stopping at the island on his way back from his business trip, but that never quite made sense . . .” He looked exhausted as he ran his fingers through his hair. “But what came of the money, Mother?”

  “You were so little—I had to shield you from the truth. And I could never keep money that had caused so much suffering. That’s why I donated it for the reconstruction of Mogador. In return, Qaid Hash-Hash let it be known that all accusations against your father were false.”

  “I always wondered where you got all that money for the reconstruction!” John said, shaking his head.

  “I wanted you two to grow up unburdened and with fond memories of your father. Unfortunately, it appears as though I’ve failed,” Sibylla replied sadly.