“I am sorry also,” Julia replied, “though I cannot think I would have done otherwise in your place.”
“Now, I must go to the audience and make certain that Ali Dey keeps his word to me concerning this of my brother. So, Jullanar, will you come?”
Rud must be there surely, and Basim. She would learn at first hand what had occurred and what would be done with those who had engaged in this disastrous plot. “Yes, I would like to very much. Thank you, Isabel.”
“Good. It shall be arranged.”
The audience chamber was much as it had been that day long ago when Julia had first been given the privilege of sitting behind the pierced screen. It was dim, the air heavy with lantern smoke and the emanations of the perfume censers. Jewels, gold and silver, silk and satins shimmered in the gloom as impatient men shifted. The dey sat in straight-backed splendor upon his royal divan, his presence stern and fearsome, and the scimitar at his side glittering with every movement.
Scanning the crowd below, Julia found Rud. The magnificence of his raiment, his turban held by a large sapphire, his midnight-blue brocade tunic slashed to reveal one of peach silk beneath, and his cream pantaloons pushed into soft leather boots sewn with gold thread gave him the look of a Turkish pasha of great wealth and power. His stance was commanding, and there was a grim look about his mouth. As Julia stared at him, he lifted his eyes to the pierced screen, and she had the curious feeling that he was aware of her hidden behind it. There was a tightness in her throat that grew until she thought she would have to cry out to relieve the pain of being so close, and yet, so distant.
Beside Rud, coming barely to his thigh, was a childish figure dressed splendidly in cloth-of-gold. Seeing him, Julia smiled, blinking at the rise of foolish tears to her eyes. Basim had survived.
The women had hardly seated themselves before Kemal was led into the room. His anger, and the courage it had given him to curse Ali Dey, had passed. So great was his terror now that his eyes were unfocused, rolling in his head, and he had to be supported on either side by his guards. His clothing, still that of an Arab street beggar, was torn and dusty, and his beard and hair were unkempt. Behind him came a blond youth, the brother of Isabel, who drew in her breath at the sight of him. He was in little better case than his master. After these two came Marcel de Gruys, with his head thrown back and a look of rage in his bruised and battered countenance.
The three men were placed in a line before the dais. They salaamed, each according to his temper. Marcel’s bow was curt, almost European. The blond boy’s obeisance was profound, while Kemal sank to his haunches, touching his head to the floor, and had to be hauled bodily upward again.
Had Kemal been tortured? Julia could see little sign of it beneath his Arab robes, although he was far from strong. She swallowed, thinking of it, trying to tell herself that it was a small thing compared to what Kemal had done to the women of the harem, and had attempted to do to Ali Dey; that it was no more than he deserved for the evil of his life. Such justification helped little.
A long statement was read by the grand vizier, listing the crimes of which the men were accused and the manner in which they had been apprehended. Against Marcel had been leveled the charge, in addition to those against Kemal, of willful damage of the property of another, his attack upon Julia. Otherwise, the assault upon the dey appeared to have occurred much as Isabel had indicated.
When the grand vizier had stepped back into his place, Ali Dey looked down upon the three men. “Have you anything to say in your defense?” he queried.
Marcel stepped forward. “I am a free Christian attached to the French consulate in this country. You do not have the right to hold me, nor do you have jurisdiction over my actions. I demand the right of diplomatic immunity as guaranteed under international law.”
“You have papers to support your claim?”
“They are at my lodging in the city,” Marcel said, his expression impatient.
Ali Dey turned to the grand vizier. “These papers have been found?”
“No, O illustrious dey, they have not. A thorough search was made. No such documents were revealed,” the court official declared.
“Then, they were stolen or destroyed,” Marcel accused. “But it does not matter. Proof of what I say can be obtained by the simple means of a message to the French consul.”
“Let this be done then,” the dey decreed.
The grand vizier said, “Knowing your great love of justice, O Ruler of the Time, your command was anticipated. We have already applied to the French consul. His answer to us is as follows: Although one Marcel de Gruys has made himself useful in and about the consular offices, he has no official connection with the consulate. They take no responsibility for his behavior, nor do they wish to become involved in his defense.”
As the import of the grand vizier’s words reached Marcel, the blood receded from his face. His country, for which he had risked so much, had disavowed him. If he had been successful, they would have lauded his exploits and weighted him with honors. As it was, they wanted no part of his failure. He was an embarrassment to them, a liability, which they had jettisoned without a second’s hesitation. Had employees of the French consulate gone into his rooms and removed his papers to weaken the embarrassing connection, or had the deed been done by the men of the guard at the orders of either the grand vizier or Ali Dey himself? The answer might never be known.
“Is there anything more you wish to say?” Ali Dey asked, his manner imperious and faintly sardonic.
Marcel de Gruys shook his head. Kemal, taking heart, staggered forward a step. “Have mercy,” he bleated.
Ali Dey stared down upon his cousin. “You must apply to Allah, whose name be exalted, for mercy. I have none for you.”
From somewhere in the depths of the room, a gong sounded. Quiet descended over the gathered men. When not so much as a fly stirred, the dey of Algiers spoke. “It is my decision that the slave boy of Kemal, because of his youth and his station, which did not allow him to refuse the criminal orders of his master, be given over to the bastinado, thereafter to be taken into my service. The other two before me I sentence to be strangled, the fate they had planned for me.”
Kemal moaned, sagging between his guards. Marcel began to struggle. “You can’t do this, not to me,” he shouted. “I am a citizen of France. You have no right. I will not submit to your sentence.”
Ali Dey made a weary gesture. Kemal’s slave boy, with tears streaming down his face, was taken away. The other two men remained in place. A buzz of comment ran through the audience chamber, then all was quiet once more. In the hush could be heard the sound of marching feet. Four large-muscled men with their bare arms folded across their chests entered the chamber. As the crowd parted before them, they advanced toward the throne.
Salaaming, the men positioned themselves, two on either side of the condemned prisoners. As they unfolded their arms, they revealed the slender cords of stout hemp they held in their fingers. A sighing gasp traveled over the room. Behind the screen, one of the wives of the dey suddenly tittered with nerves, a sound that ended on an indrawn breath.
Marcel, silent now, looked around him with a trapped, frantic gaze. His eyes were drawn in disbelief to the hempen cord dangling in front of him. Kemal, completely unable to control himself, began to sob.
Once more Ali Dey moved his imperial hand. The cords were fitted over the heads of the men. There came a gurgling grunt, a shriek suddenly cut off. Silence.
Julia clapped her hand to her mouth and leaned over, resting her forehead on her knees. She could not watch, could not feel the same vicious satisfaction that she sensed around her in the other women. If she had dreamed she would be called upon to witness such a savage spectacle, she would never have come. Despite what Marcel had done to her, she would not have wished this fate upon him. She did not look up again until she heard the scuffle of footsteps and the dragging scrape of burdens being carried from the chamber.
“My next duty is a
much more pleasant one,” Ali Dey said when the great doors had clanged shut upon the guards and executioners and the room was still once more. “I must reward my good friend Reuben for his extraordinary service to the throne. In token of my enormous gratitude, I hereby present to him these few baubles.”
The dey clapped his hands, and from a rear entrance came a procession of slaves, each laden with a gift. There was a coffer filled with jewels, another filled with gold, and another with silver. There was a pair of pure white Arabian horses, a stallion and a mare, with gentle eyes and perfect lines. There were works of art and bundles of rugs and carpets, and last of all, a small model of a ship with the rakish lines of a Baltimore clipper. Rud’s gaze rested longest upon this last gift, which was but a symbol of the ship which lay in the harbor, now his to possess. He did not look happy.
Rud bowed. “You do me too much honor, O Illustrious Ruler of the Age. The magnificence of your reward overwhelms me. I have no words adequate to express my gratitude.”
“Do not be so hasty,” Ali Dey replied. “I have not yet done with gifts. I have saved that which I am sure you will consider most valuable until last.”
Rud’s blue glance flicked in the direction of the pierced screen, then returned to the face of Ali Dey. “Your generosity shall be noted with awe a thousand years hence, O Mighty Ruler,” he said at last.
“Perhaps,” Ali Dey answered, pleased, “or it may be said I was a foolish ruler who cut off his own right hand. The gift of which I speak, O Reuben of the strong arm and stout heart, is one which I know you crave, the freedom to return to your own country.”
Julia saw Rud’s eyes narrow momentarily, as though he was certain of a trap in such affability. His response was smooth and polished, however, expressing in courtly terms, his reluctance to leave the sun of Ali Dey’s presence. In the same sonorous fashion, his royal friend assured him of a welcome, with much music and feasting, if he should ever return.
When the dey had finished, Rud lifted his head and squared his shoulders. “There is one boon more I must ask, if I may presume upon your generosity, Most Illustrious One. I would beg your permission to take with me, when I go, the Frankistani slave girl, Jullanar.”
A black scowl crossed the face of the dey. Quiet fell once more over the room, positive testimony to the efficiency of the news system of the palace, and of the interest those present had in the decision regarding Julia’s fate. Julia herself sat perfectly still, breathing not at all.
At last Ali Dey spoke. “You know the woman was brought under the mantle of my protection when she was left alone and unguarded. What else was I to think except that you did not value her as you should? She has suffered much for your neglect.”
“It was not my wish or command which left her unprotected,” Rud declared. “I regret that my duty to the throne left me ignorant of her plight, but I feel her pain as my own, and would soothe it with my love. She is as necessary to me as life itself, and I will sorrow all my days if these eyes never behold the loveliness of her face again.”
“Well spoken, my friend, but does she feel the same? Would she choose to return to her own country with you, or would she choose in good time to become the wife of the dey of Algiers? This is a question which I think can be answered by the beauteous Jullanar alone. A message shall be sent to her in the harem. If she chooses to go with you, I will see personally that she is transported in safety and comfort to your ship in the harbor. If she does not come, then you will know that she decided to remain, and you must sail without her.”
The disbelief in the faces below her echoed that in Julia’s own mind. That the all-powerful dey of Algiers would allow a slave girl to decide her own destiny and control the gratification of his desires defied all tradition and knowledge of the personality of the man who sat upon the dais. Rud must also have realized this; still, there was nothing he could do except bow in acquiescence.
“You are all-wise,” Rud answered. “Whatever the decision, I shall know it is the will of Allah, and I shall sail as the sun sets into the sea.”
“So be it,” Ali Dey said.
At the small sign of dismissal, Rud departed the audience chamber, his strides long and purposeful.
Rud loved her. He had declared it before the dey and the supercilious nobles of the court, risking everything on the chance that she might be free. If she was never allowed to see him again, she would have that much to remember.
As the hours passed, following the return of the women to the harem, it began to look as though that was all she would ever have. No message came to her. No choice was presented for her decision. She was left alone in her cubicle to contemplate the walls and to remember. Her disappointment was not great, as she had never dared allow herself to hope. At least, this was what she told herself. And yet, as the sun dropped like a copper weight down the sky, her heart grew constricted in her chest. The purple stillness of the twilight creeping in from the garden, bringing shadows into the room, found her lying on her couch with one clenched fist held to her lips and her eyes liquid with desolation.
At full dark, a serving woman came to light the lantern on its chain. Isabel followed her, standing to one side until the woman had gone out again. Her manner was so stiff and silent that Julia turned her head.
“What is it?” she asked in a voice thick with unshed tears.
“The ship of Reuben Effendi is no longer in the harbor.”
Julia stared at her. In her mind’s eye, she could visualize the ship skimming westward with the light of the dying sun red upon her sails. Would Rud stand upon the quarterdeck and strain backward toward Algiers? Would he suspect that she had been detained against her will, or would he think that she had chosen the sybaritic life of the harem, with the artificial grandeur of being the wife of the dey?
“He is gone,” she whispered experimentally, trying to bring some reality to her brain. What else had she expected? Did she want him to endanger his life by mounting an assault upon the palace to rescue her? No, that would be foolhardy. It was impossible for him to demand that the dey release her, with Ali Dey declaring that she had stayed of her own free choice. What else was there for him to do except to bow his head and sail away?
He could have stayed, her heart whispered. He could have stayed and shared her exile, waiting for another opportunity to take her with him.
“Do not despair,” Isabel said, dropping to her knees beside the couch, her voice so low it would not be audible for more than a few inches away. “If you will take your courage in both hands, there is still a chance you can escape the clutches of our master.”
“What do you mean?” Julia’s voice was soft, a zephyr of sound.
“A message has come to you through the serving women. The sender was Basim the dwarf, beloved bringer of good luck to all. He bids you make ready. He will come to you in the night in obedience to the orders of his old master, Mehemet Dey, who rests tonight in paradise in the arms of houris he would pretend are you.”
When the girl did not go on, Julia said, “Is that all? He did not say how he would come, or when I might expect him?”
“He did not, though if he comes, it must be through the garden. As to the time, it must either be before moon rise or after its set. You must hold yourself ready.”
“Why has the message come through you?” It occurred to Julia how convenient it would be for Isabel if she were gone. For the girl’s purpose, it would not matter if she escaped or was merely caught in the attempt. The effect would be the same, for if she was caught, the dey would have little choice but to kill her; all-powerful he might be, but only within the customs and laws of Islam. Isabel would have the attention of the dey to herself, until the next attractive slave girl chanced upon his sight.
“I do not blame you for your suspicions,” Isabel said. “In your place, I would be the same. The message came to me because I am known to the serving woman who is a sister of one of the women given to Reuben Effendi by the dey, and because the woman could not come to
your chamber without attracting attention that might be remembered later. It was also given, perhaps a little, because I am expected to be sympathetic to your cause, both for the debt I owe you for helping me to my place, and for my interest in removing you as a rival. There is no way I can prove that I will not betray you. I can only swear by the Most Exalted Name that it is so, and hope that you will believe me.”
It was the wry self-knowledge of the last sentence which caused Julia to relax and extend her trust. Their whispered consultation lasted a few moments more, and then, the girl slipped away.
Julia refused the evening meal. The thought of food was sickening to her, and she had no desire to face the other women in the common room. In addition, although she did not think Ali Dey would force himself upon her in her present condition, while stiff and sore from her whipping, it seemed best to prepare in this manner a tale that she was ill, too ill to obey a summons.
She had nothing to do, nothing to gather together. She had only the clothing she had on, and it did not in truth belong to her. Not that she was troubled by the lack. The only thing she would miss would be her gold bee, though doubtless the yellow diamond would have come in handy in the months ahead. She wondered what had become of them, who had picked them up from where they had landed on the floor. Had they been given to Rud, or were they reposing now in some servant’s pocket?
What would she do when she had quitted the palace? Where would she go, and how? She must trust to Basim and hope he had some definite plan in mind, perhaps a plan suggested months ago by Mehemet Dey for use under other circumstances. Before, she had thought to travel overland until she was well away from Algiers, and then at some other seaport along the coast of Africa take a ship to either Malta or Gibraltar, where an English or American ship might lie at anchor. This might still be possible. There would be many problems, not the least of which would be that she would be a woman traveling virtually alone in a country where women hardly dared step outside their doors without an armed guard. Despite these things, the more she thought of it, the more her spirits unfurled and began to rise. She felt no fear or uncertainty, only a great readiness. Someday, months from now, she must at last set foot on English soil and make her way to the home of Thaddeus and Lucinda Baxter. What would her welcome be? Would Rud be there? Would he be angry that she had not come to him before? Would he believe that she could not? Would he, perhaps, welcome her with widespread arms? Such questions would have to wait upon that day for an answer.
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 1 (Love and Adventure Boxed Sets) Page 44