Love and Adventure Collection - Part 1 (Love and Adventure Boxed Sets)

by Jennifer Blake

  There was more than one person in concealment, she realized, as she heard a deep voice speak and the answer come in another quieter tone. They were discussing her, like a mare or a heifer up for auction, she thought as another wave of color spread over her. The man was the Arab physician, she was almost certain. The other was a stranger, but one used to command.

  “You will turn about.”

  Julia obeyed the order as one in a dream, turning stiffly and without grace or attempt to please.

  “Have you any accomplishments?”

  Julia hesitated, at a loss. “Of what kind, effendi?” she inquired at last. “I can do many things.”

  “Do you sing, or play the dulcimer?”

  “My voice is fair only. I have never played the dulcimer, but I have some skill on the pianoforte.”

  “These other accomplishments, what among them might be of use in distracting a man from his cares?” the disembodied voice asked.

  “I can ride and shoot—”

  “Useless, if not an idle boast for which you deserve to be punished.”

  Julia searched her mind. Running her tongue over her lips, she said, “I have some skill with games of chance, and I was accustomed to playing chess with my father before his death.”

  “Do you dance?”

  “Why, yes,” Julia began, then recognized that the man on the other side of the screen could not possibly mean the kind of dancing executed by western women upon a ballroom floor.

  “That much is in your favor.”

  Behind the screen, the second man murmured something, and the first spoke again. “It is said you are acquainted with Napoleon Bonaparte of great fame, and that you bear his token. Are you his kinswoman, perhaps?”

  “No, effendi. My father was his follower.”

  “But you have spoken to him face to face, unveiled, as is the Frankistani custom?”

  “‘Yes, effendi.”

  “I wish to see this token.”

  Julia put her hand to her throat, where the bee had rested for many a day. It was not there. “I don’t have it. It was removed with my other clothing.”

  An order was snapped, and one of the slave girls bowed and hurried away. She returned with the gold bee on the palm of her hand. Bowing once more, she passed it through the screen.

  Julia stilled herself for the loss of the bee. She had lost so much else, so much she would not let herself think about it. What was one small jewel more?

  “Curious,” the man behind the screen said. “Most curious. Why a bee, I wonder? Eagles, falcons, lions, dragons; these I understand. But, why a bee?”

  Julia moistened her lips. “In ancient times, it was thought that the supreme ruler of a beehive was an emperor who served for the good of his subject bees, while they in turn brought their bounty to him in the natural order of things. I have heard my father say that this is the reason,

  effendi, though I cannot be sure of it.” There was no answer. After a moment, Julia went on, “The bee is dear to me, effendi. May — might I be permitted to keep it?”

  The assent was careless, offhand, as though the speaker had weightier matters to consider. With the press of tears in her throat, Julia accepted her brooch from the hand of the slave girl who plucked it from through the design in the screen. She curled her fingers so tightly around it that the wings cut into her palms.

  There came a rustle of clothing, as though the men on the other side of the screen had risen. Dread moved through Julia, though she could not have said whether its cause was fear that she would be rejected or alarm that the decision might be in her favor.

  “Conduct her to a chamber in the harem,” came the pronouncement. “See that she lacks for nothing.”

  Julia had thought that she was in the harem. She discovered her mistake as she was given back into the custody of Abdullah. She traversed with him miles of corridors before they came at last to a great Arabesque door of cedar inlaid with ivory and guarded by a pair of Ethiopian eunuchs as black as Hades itself.

  Once more Abdullah used a key at his belt. They entered an enormous chamber with a vaulted ceiling. Closed and shuttered against the night, it was dimly lit by brass lanterns. Low divans piled high with silken cushions were set here and there, with small tables of ebony and ivory holding fruit and sweetmeats before them. Faintly, through the gloom could be seen walls covered with vivid tiles in geometric designs. Rugs, soft and glowing with color, covered the polished marble floor. In one corner was a small grove of orange trees planted in tubs, and attached to their branches by small gold chains were a number of jewel-colored birds.

  From this communal room branched several hallways, each lined with curtained door openings. Abdullah led her down the hall farthest from the entrance. Choosing a doorway halfway down the hall, he whipped back the curtain, heavy with metal beads that clattered with every movement, and indicated with a jerk of his head that she was to enter. Remembering the admonition of the Arab physician, Julia inclined her head in a formal bow and obeyed.

  The chamber was not large, but it boasted a window casement fitted with an ornate iron grill through which filtered a cool night breeze. There was a sleeping couch against one wall, and on the other, a carved chest redolent of cedar. These things Julia saw by holding back the curtain at the door after Abdullah’s footsteps had faded back down the hall. Though a lamp hung on a chain from the ceiling, it had not been lighted. The only illumination came from the star shine filling the garden beyond her window and the faint glow of the lantern at the entrance to the hallway.

  She let the curtain fall to with a noisy clacking sound. There seemed nothing to do except seek her couch. She slipped out of the barracan and draped the silk garment over the chest. After an instant of indecision, she gave up all thought of a nightgown. Even if she could find one in the semidarkness, she was not certain she wanted such a thing. She had lain for too many days aboard the ship in the same day gown. As long as she was away from prying eyes, she found she enjoyed the lack of confinement. The low couch had a satin coverlet that would be cool and soothing to the skin.

  Julia was certain she would lie sleepless in such strange surroundings. So much had happened that she needed to sort out in her mind. She should make plans, decide what she was going to do, make some plan of escape. But her brain mocked such exercise. Escape? How? She was locked away behind thick doors with guards posted night and day. Beyond the harem stretched the unknown corridors of the palace, where she would quickly become lost without a guide, even if she wasn’t stopped by the ranks of guards at every door and gate. And, outside the palace lay the streets of the city, where a woman would be at the mercy of men like jackals. Then, if she got so far, how was she to find a ship to carry her to America or England? Who would dare to take a harem slave of the dey of Algiers aboard unauthorized, even if she had the money to pay for her passage?

  No, she must not think of such things, not yet. Later, perhaps, when she was better prepared. For now, she was a slave. She must, for the sake of survival, have no will except that of her master. Her future would be planned for her. She would be told what she must do.

  In the meantime, a current of air circulated through the room, passing lightly over her bare arms and making the beads on the curtains rattle gently. She could hear the dry clatter of palm-tree fronds, a sound with much the same calming properties as slow, persistent rain. The couch beneath her was softer by far than her rag bed on the ship. Clean, wrapped in comfort and the scent of roses, she drifted into sleep.

  14

  Julia was awakened by the clash of the bead curtain being thrown violently open. Bright light streamed into the room. It was noticeably warmer than it had been the night before. From the garden beyond the window came the cheerful cries of birds, and something more, the chatter of feminine voices.

  Memory returned with a rush. Julia raised herself, turning toward the doorway. In the opening stood a woman with her hands propped on her hips and her face twisted with fury. She was Circassian, Julia thoug
ht, having heard much of the breed. From the Caucasian mountains, her hair was silver-blonde, and her blue eyes were set at a slant in her face. Her cheekbones were high, and her mouth was formed of sharp, chiseled angles, which gave her a cruel look. Perhaps two or three years older than Julia, she was not quite so tall. Her shape was lithe and muscular, marred only by a slight heaviness in the thighs and ankles.

  Her eyes raked over Julia’s form beneath the satin coverlet. A spate of furious Turkish fell from her lips.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand you,” Julia said, first in French and then in Spanish.

  “Faugh!” the woman exclaimed and whirled from the room.

  Julia sat up on the couch. Before her feet could touch the floor, a serving woman entered. She carried a small round table upon which were set a morning repast of fried lamb, wheat cakes, fresh figs, and candied apricots, with hot mint tea to drink. There were also a bowl of hot water and a small linen towel. While Julia bathed her face and hands and turned her attention to this meal, the woman moved to the cedar chest. From its depths, she drew a pair of aqua cotton-gauze pantaloons, and a loose, embroidered blouse in turquoise silk that tied beneath the breasts. These she laid out for Julia, adding a pair of velvet slippers embroidered across their turned-up toes. The servant folded the rose barracan and put it away with gestures which seemed to indicate that such a flowing garment and its matching veil would not be needed within the harem.

  When Julia had eaten and donned the set of clothing, the woman made pushing motions in the direction of the communal chamber. Though reluctant to leave the safety of her room, Julia followed her suggestion.

  This morning, the main room was light and airy. The solid blinds had been thrown open, giving free access to the sunlit garden. Women were everywhere. They reclined upon the divans, sat upon cushions thrown upon the floor, strolled about, passing in and out of the garden and stopping to feed the live birds on the branches of the orange trees and croon to them in soft voices. The smell of food hung on the air. Serving girls scurried here and there with tray like tables laden with all manner of food and drink. Near the top of the vaulted ceiling hung a pall of smoke from the perfume censers sitting at intervals about the room.

  It seemed to Julia that among the women was represented every nation under the sun. There were coal-black Ethiopian women with skin that gleamed like ebony, Egyptian women with eyes outlined in kohl and thin lips, Syrians with pouting lips and long noses, dusky-skinned Turkish and Indian women with hair that reached to their knees. Tiny, pale-skinned beauties with slit eyes from the Far East stood beside savage-looking women from the Mongolian steppes. There was a sultry Italian beauty, a Macedonian Greek goddess, and a Navarran with auburn in her brown tresses. Though they each wore some version of the costume given to Julia, no two wore precisely the same color. Some wore small turbans, while others wore soft velvet caps hung with long silken tassels, or woven fillets to hold back their hair. Shimmering with gold and silver embroidery, with silk braiding and metallic fringes, and gleaming with gold and silver jewelry, they were like gaudy-plumaged birds themselves. The sound they made as they laughed and talked among themselves was not unlike that of a foraging flock. There were nearly two hundred. One and all ceased speaking and turned to stare as Julia advanced into the room.

  From their midst rose the Circassian woman who had visited Julia earlier. She beckoned imperiously to the auburn-haired Navarran. Followed by the woman, the fair-haired Circassian approached Julia with a swift, insolent stride. At arm’s length, she stopped and spoke. The Navarran, obviously brought forth as a translator, hurried into speech.

  “Mariyah, named for the beautiful concubine of Mohammed, demands to know who you are, by whose will you have come among us, and why.”

  “As for who I am, I am Julia. I have come among you because I was chosen by the dey, and I expect the purpose was the same as that for which all of you were chosen.”

  The two women held a brief consultation, then the Navarran spoke again. “You lie. Though several women have been sent as gifts to the harem of the dey, the mighty and illustrious ruler of Algiers has not troubled to choose a woman for himself since he chose Mariyah more than a decade past. Mariyah was the last woman sought as a vessel for his spilled seed, and that happened nearly three years ago. Have the loins of the dey grown suddenly youthful at the sight of your skinny form? Such a thing cannot be. It is ludicrous that you could stir him to desire, aged as you are, when a nubile and tender virgin has failed to make his ardor rise.”

  “That may be,” Julia said, flushing a little. “I only know I was captured by Bayezid Reis and brought here.”

  “You are a spy, installed by Abdullah to report on our discontent, to tell him who escapes into opium dreams and who indulges in the vices of Sappho.”

  “That is not true,” Julia declared.

  “We say it is! What other explanation is there?”

  Turning to the other women, Mariyah began to harangue them. Vehement in her denunciation of the traitor she professed to believe Julia to be, she worked herself to a fever pitch, shouting and shaking her fist, throwing her hair back behind her shoulders with a righteous toss of her head. There were sullen murmurs from the women around her. They began to edge closer, darting looks of venom in Julia’s direction. Handicapped by her inability to communicate with them, Julia could only put her case to the Navarran woman.

  An ugly feeling grew in the room. There were shouts from among the crowd of women that Julia took for threats or recommendations for violent reprisals. Surely, Julia thought, if they believed she was Abdullah’s tool they would not harm her for fear of angering him. They pressed closer and closer around Mariyah and Julia. The perfume of their bodies, heated by their emotions, became a rank and suffocating miasma. A hand reached out and tweaked at her hair. Another pinched her forearm, twisting the flesh. Julia lurched forward as she was pushed from behind. Spinning around, she set herself to strike out at her attackers, but she could not tell which in the press of women had touched her.

  She was jostled and shoved now from both sides. Her hair was given a harder yank. Her blouse was snatched from her shoulder, exposing a breast. She flailed out, catching an arm there, a sly face there, but her foes were too many. Pinching, pulling, scratching, they came at her with vicious, smiling faces.

  Abruptly, there came a high-pitched scream from the rear of the crowd. Another rang out, followed by the shrill shouting of eunuchs and the whistle of the rhinoceros-hide whip known as the kurbash. Like magic, the women parted, leaving Julia standing alone, disheveled, her clothes torn and blood trickling from the scratches on her arms.

  Facing her across the room was Abdullah, with a kurbash in his hand. With slow and cold enmity, he allowed his gaze to move over the women. Certain they were properly cowed before his mastery, he gestured for the two guards to return to their posts. With ponderous steps, he moved down the room toward Julia.

  “What is the meaning of this disturbance?” he asked in a voice thin and high for his enormous bulk.

  Julia ran her tongue over her lips, searching her mind for Spanish phrases. Before she had time to speak, Mariyah began a rapid explanation. Abdullah gave a slow nod and made a brief movement of his hand that stopped her words as though they had been sliced off with a knife. As he swung back toward Julia, the light gleamed in the red-orange jacinth in his turban and slid over the scimitar he wore in a scabbard at his side. Julia had no way of knowing what lies the woman had told, but lies they must have been to bring that look of bestial rage to Abdullah’s black, close-spaced eyes. A cold, sick feeling moved in the pit of her stomach as he stumbled toward her on small feet ridiculous in their yellow slippers with upturned toes. She watched in paralyzed disbelief as his arm moved, swinging upward, the kurbash arching its limber length before it began its whistling, downward slash.

  “Enough!”

  The cry came from the first corridor branching from the common room. It was neither loud nor harsh, but it carr
ied with it a final and unquestionable authority.

  Abdullah nearly fell on his face, so great was the effort he put forth to stop the descent of the kurbash. With staring eyes, he turned to face the elderly woman who came toward them with a stately tread. He bent himself almost double with the depth of his salaam. Since the woman had spoken in Spanish, he answered in the same tongue, though he had not deigned to share his knowledge of it with Julia the evening before. “O beloved and most high lady,” the eunuch said. “What is your will?”

  “I stand as witness that this newest addition to the harem is without guilt. She has been vilely slandered by Mariyah out of jealous spite. She did not call you a fat, sexless pig, most deadly of insults, nor did she in any way incite the unwarranted attack upon herself. That also was Mariyah’s work. Having placed these facts before you, I now give you leave to take what steps you may consider necessary to restore order and ensure justice.”

  “You are all-seeing and all-knowing, my Lady Fatima! What say you to ten lashes with the kurbash for this one who seeks to cause strife in the harem?”

  The Lady Fatima inclined her head in assent. Abdullah clapped his hands and the guards appeared once more. An order was given, and they advanced upon Mariyah.

  White to the lips, the woman began to protest, turning to Abdullah with words that had the sound of pleading. He did not relent. Julia stared, horrified, as the guards stripped Mariyah naked and threw her down across a large fat cushion. They grasped her wrists and ankles, holding her still. Abdullah strutted forward, sending the kurbash whipping through the air once, twice. Then, with a mighty effort, he brought it slashing down upon the woman’s shoulders.

  It was possible to cut the flesh from the bones with a kurbash; it was also possible to do no more than bring welts to the skin. The latter was Abdullah’s choice. Mariyah did not cry out at the first blow, though it left her shoulders red-striped. She took the second lash, the third, each spaced evenly down her back. As the whip cut across her waist, she gave a grunt. With the next blow, a shriek came from her throat. She began to writhe, jerking her legs and arms, a scream gurgling in her throat. Mercilessly, Abdullah brought the kurbash down across her buttocks, her thighs, and to the backs of her knees. When the tenth lash was laid on and he stopped, beads of sweat stood on his face, trickling to the point of his chin. He stood back, surveying his handiwork for a moment. Mariyah’s flesh was not broken, but her body was marked with ten fiery red ridges of pain, and her head lolled on her neck as she sobbed brokenly into the pillow.