The Sea and the Sand

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘If you scream, Mrs McGann,’ he said, ‘I shall hit you. And then I shall gag you. That will be unpleasant. Lie still. We have a long journey ahead of us.’

  She got her breathing under control, and licked her lips, tried to focus. It was still dark, but chill to suggest it was close to dawn, and they were going … she stared at the sky. Toby had taught her how to read the stars, and she could see the Plough. They were travelling south. But south of Lisbon was the river. Therefore they must have crossed the river while she was unconscious, and were going … where?

  She had to find that out. She had to find so many things out. But above all, she had to keep her wits and her nerve, and not give way to the blind panic which was clawing at her mind. If he wanted a ransom then she must simply agree to pay it. There was no reason for him to hurt her.

  ‘How much do you want?’ she asked. Marquand turned round again. ‘Want?’

  ‘How much money?’ she snapped, nerves already starting to fray. ‘You are doing this for money, are you not?’

  ‘Well, I suppose one does everything for money, Mrs McGann,’ he agreed. ‘But I am already well paid, thank you.’

  ‘Well paid?’ She could not stop her voice from rising. ‘For doing what?’

  ‘For returning you to your rightful master,’ Marquand told her.

  ‘To … oh, my God.’ Then she did nearly vomit. This voyage had been intended to put the nightmare of her past behind her forever. She had been going to do that without any aid from Toby, to prove herself that she could do it. And she had been afraid on the sea. But once she had reached Portugal, she had been so sure all her danger was behind her. She wanted to scream and scream and scream. But she slowly, carefully, got both her nerves and her breathing under control again.

  ‘But why?’ she asked, her voice trembling.

  ‘Because he is paying me to do so,’ Mar-quand told her. ‘As he paid me to keep a watch on you for these past seven years and seize my opportunity. He knew it would arise.’

  Again stark terror threatened to engulf her mind; everything this man had told her, so convincingly, then had to be a lie. Far from living in New Orleans, and fighting shoulder to shoulder with Andrew Jackson, he had been waiting and watching, in New York. Desperately she fought to regain control of her thoughts. Only by matching him, brain for brain, could she hope to survive.

  ‘You are speaking, I assume of Mohammed ben Idris,’ she said, amazed that she could even speak the name.

  ‘Why, so I am. Do you remember him? Or should I say, can you possibly have forgotten him?’

  ‘I remember him,’ Felicity said. ‘Just as I had supposed you were a white man with some aspirations to being a gentleman. Can you possibly consider returning me to … that?’

  ‘Idris and I have had business dealings for many years,’ he told her. ‘I am by way of being his American agent, and you would be surprised at the amount of business he conducts with the United States. We trust each other absolutely. As for giving a white woman to a Moor … the thought amuses me. It has amused me throughout the voyage, as I have studied you. You are really a most delightful creature, Mrs McGann. And I am sure Idris does not merely mean to return you to his bed, if that is what is bothering you. Not after you ran off with another man, and lived with that man for ten years. I think he will have some far more interesting ideas about what to do with you. So much so that I am going personally to accompany you to Algiers. I am sure he will let me watch.’

  She gasped. He spoke in such matter-of-fact tones. Thus she had meant absolutely nothing to him during the two previous days, when he had been so attentive — except, as he had just said, that he had allowed his imagination to roam over the possibilities of mistreatment of her. She had been totally hoodwinked, and would now pay most dreadfully for it. Except … that he was a man, and had said that his relationship with Idris was a business one.

  ‘Listen to me,’ she said. ‘I do not know how much Idris is paying you, but I will double it. I am on my way to England to collect an inheritance. You know this. And it is a considerable sum of money, better than ten thousand pounds, I am informed. It will be yours if you will take me back to Lisbon and restore me to the Dolphin.’ The packet would have sailed by now, of course, but Captain Car-ruthers would still be there. And perhaps even some of those passengers she had treated with contempt for making advances.

  ‘Do you really suppose I believe that?’

  ‘I will swear it,’ she gasped. ‘You may take any precautions you wish.’

  He smiled. ‘Ten thousand pounds. That is indeed a fortune.’

  Her heart leapt.

  ‘But no,’ he decided. ‘It is not sufficient to be worth the risk. As you may now be understanding, Mohammed ben Idris never forgives or forgets an injury. Had he not wanted to hear you scream, he would have had you assassinated long ago. He would certainly hunt me down, wherever I chose to hide, were I to betray his trust.’

  ‘And do you not suppose my husband will hunt you down?’ Felicity asked.

  Marquand smiled again. ‘Your husband.’ He filled his tone with contempt. ‘The famous Toby McGann. My dear lady, your husband is a nothing. Do you not suppose Idris could have had him murdered as well, at any time, had he wished it?’

  ‘But he never dared,’ Felicity spat.

  ‘Dared? He wished him to live, Mrs McGann. He even worried, when McGann went off to war, that he might stop a bullet. Idris knows your husband will come after you, you see. It is what he most desires. I think he means that you shall die together, screaming each other’s names, as you watch each other’s bodies consumed. He is not a man to cross, Mohammed ben Idris.’

  He turned back to watch the road, while Felicity felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. Most damning of all was the understanding that for all their ten years of happiness, she and Toby had been under the surveillance of Idris’s creatures, waiting and watching, biding their time. But the Moors were not as omnipotent as they thought. They had never dared attempt to abduct her from the farm. They had known they would never get away with that. Yet had they waited with the patience of a vengeful spider. And at last she had walked into their web like the most innocent of flies.

  There was only one weapon left to her. But surely it was one she knew how to use: Idris himself had taught her. She waited until it was nearly dawn, and by then it was no longer subterfuge. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘I need to relieve myself.’

  Marquand looked back at her, appeared to consider, then nodded. ‘Stop the cart, Pedro,’ he said. ‘We don’t want the lady soiling herself.’

  He jumped down from the seat, came round the back, flicked the blanket off her, and released her ankles. Then he seized her feet and dragged her towards him.

  ‘Let me go.’ She tried to sit up, and fell over again, while now blood was starting to flow back down her legs to the accompaniment of the most painful pins and needles. ‘Wretch!’ Her gown had ridden up to her knees. But now she was at the back of the cart, and her legs fell down. He caught her under the armpits to lift her to the ground. Her knees gave way and she would have fallen, had he not caught her again, allowing himself to grasp one of her breasts. She was furiously angry, even if this had been a part of her plan.

  ‘Stamp your feet,’ he suggested. ‘It will restore your circulation.’

  She obeyed, panting because she was in real agony now. But after a few seconds that pain wore off and she could stand, her feet now aching from the pounding they had received on the uneven ground.

  ‘There.’ He released her.

  ‘Did you enjoy that?’ she asked as venomously as she could. He must not suspect what she had in mind.

  ‘Very much.’ He held her arm. ‘If we go over there you will not be overlooked by the driver.’ He pointed to some bushes, just visible as the dawn light began to spread across the landscape.

  ‘Untie my hands,’ she said.

  He shook his hands. ‘No, no, Mrs McGann. You might run off.’

  ‘Then how
… ?’

  ‘I will assist you.’

  She caught her breath at the effrontery of the man. But there was nothing for it … and perhaps he was digging his own trap. She allowed him to gather her skirts as she squatted, staring at him.

  ‘You are a remarkably beautiful woman,’ he commented.

  Felicity stood up again; her skirts fell into place. ‘Whom you are proposing to have torn apart by Mohammed ben Idris.’

  ‘I agree, it is a pity. But there it is.’

  ‘Would you not like to own such beauty, Mr Marquand? And ten thousand pounds as well? Believe me, I will grant you all of that not to be sent to Algiers. And I have no doubt at all that between us we can escape Mohammed ben Idris’s vengeance.’

  He came close to her, and touched her breasts again, stroking them through the material of her gown. Then his hands slid round her back to hold her buttocks, and bring her against him. He stooped, his body sliding down hers, partly to bury his face in her breasts, partly to raise her skirts again. His fingers stroked the flesh of her legs, and it required all her willpower not to kick him in the groin. Then he reached her buttocks again, beneath the petticoats now, and she felt sick with shame and disgust. But she kept still.

  ‘I could take you now,’ he said ‘Idris could never know. You are not a virgin.’

  ‘Do you not suppose I would tell him,’ she asked, ‘without a bargain between us?’

  ‘Do you think he would believe you?’ he replied, his eyes only inches from her own.

  ‘But why should we fight over what we both so desire,’ she said softly, ‘when we could come to an arrangement suitable to us both.’

  ‘And your husband? The giant?’

  Felicity shrugged. ‘He is but a man. I am sure he lacks your refinements, Mr Marquand. Indeed, I already have proof of it.’

  Still he held her close, his fingers biting into her flesh, and she almost began to think she had won a victory. Then he suddenly released her, and stood away from her. ‘You are a bitch,’ he said. ‘And you take me for a fool. You’ll keep your mouth shut, from now on, Mrs McGann, or I’ll stuff a gag in there. Now get back to the cart.’

  *

  Felicity wanted to weep, less with fear than with sheer angry frustration. She had failed. And the failure had entailed such self-humiliation. And such betrayal of Toby, even if the betrayal had been entirely false. And now …

  Marquand lifted her back into the cart, and bound her ankles back together, and they set off again, travelling all day as they had travelled all night; her two captors seemed tireless. As it was daylight, the blanket was again thrown right across her, and she lay beneath it and sweated, while the bumping and grinding of the cart continued to bring her discomfort.

  Worse followed when it appeared they neared other people, for the cart was then stopped, and Marquand climbed into the back to gag her. She wanted to promise him that she would not cry out, but she could not bring herself to speak to him, so instead glared at him with all the anger she could summon; he merely grinned at her, subjected her breasts and buttocks to another brief massage, and covered her up again.

  Then she became truly uncomfortable, as even breathing was difficult because of the foul-tasting cloth which filled her mouth. She thought she was certain to choke, and was tempted to allow herself to do so. And then reminded herself, fiercely, that she must survive, as she had done fifteen years before. Had she succumbed then, she would never have had her ten years of happiness with Toby. If she succumbed now, she would never have all the other years of happiness with Toby. Because they were there, and she would reach them, or die fighting to do so. She must never give up.

  Yet just keeping her breathing even was an immense and exhausting task, and when they stopped, just after noon, in a lonely valley, she could not stand at all. Marquand actually showed a hint of concern at this, released both her wrists and ankles, and carried her to the bank of a fast-running stream, where he laid her on the grass. She moaned and writhed as circulation returned, gasped with relief as he removed the gag as well, and hated the tears which rolled down her cheeks.

  He gathered water from the stream and poured it over her head. It was cool and refreshing, and when he held a cup of it to her lips, she might have been drinking nectar. Then he gave her bread and cheese to eat, and some rough wine to drink, which she accepted very readily; she was going to need all of her strength, she knew, and she was intensely hungry after fasting for eighteen hours.

  ‘Tonight we will reach our destination,’ he said, squatting opposite her and staring at her.

  She pushed her hair from her face. She had no intention of speaking with him again. And when, as she knew he was going to, he came closer to lift her skirt, she kicked at him with all of her strength. But as before, her actions were futile. He caught her foot and twisted it, so that she rolled on to her face. Then he dragged her down the bank and into the water while she had to use her hands to stop her face from bumping on the pebbles and being torn to ribbons. She gasped and spluttered as the stream suddenly deepened and her head went beneath the surface, while he laughed, and still holding her foot, twisted her to and fro in the water, before clawing wet hair from her eyes, once again furiously angry and utterly humiliated.

  ‘Now, Mrs McGann,’ he said. ‘I give you a choice. You may strip and ride the rest of the day naked, while your clothes dry, or you may lie in those wet things.’

  She kept her mouth tight closed.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will make the decision for you. I think I will …’ he pretended to consider, ‘strip you. I would not have you catching cold.’

  ‘No,’ she snapped before she could stop herself, and scrambled to her feet. ‘I will ride as I am.’

  ‘It will be uncomfortable.’

  ‘I will ride as I am,’ she spat at him.

  He shrugged, and took her back to the cart, and tied her up again, lingering even longer over the task this time, as her clothes clung to her. She knew he was having a very difficult time resisting the temptation to rape her, his mind flickering between the thought that as she was not a virgin he could not be forestalling Idris, and yet too afraid that his master might consider anything as an infringement of his prerogatives. His master! She shuddered. Her master, too. She was being returned, a runaway. When she remembered the fate of runaway slaves in the West Indies, her heart nearly stopped beating.

  Being wet through was actually something of a relief in the beginning, but as her clothes dried they became stiff and uncomfortable, and she could do nothing to straighten them. She was exhausted, and actually slept from time to time, but always awoke with a start to the realisation of the terrible fate which hung over her.

  Yet she knew that it was her will which would matter in the end; Idris of course could cut off her head, or impale her, and then she would die. But if he really sought only to torment her, and wait for Toby to attempt to rescue her, then she could survive. Simply by gritting her teeth, whatever the pain and the humiliation to which she was going to be exposed, and closing her mind to everything but her rescue. She had done that before. And succeeded.

  Despair always followed resolution. Before, she had been a girl, with the eternal optimism of youth. And besides, her rescue: how would Toby manage that? Oh, he would attempt it, she knew. But it would require him once again to throw up the career he wanted so badly. He would do that, too, she knew. He would recruit his own force, and come after her. And rescue her, or die in the attempt. But the one was at least as likely as the other.

  She wept and nearly choked, and gasped with relief when the gag was removed with the blanket, and she discovered that it was again dusk, and that they were at the sea shore, in a secluded cove. But at sea there was a flashing light.

  ‘As I said,’ Marquand remarked, standing beside her on the sand while he released her feet and wrists, all danger of her escaping now being past, ‘the British cruisers have made life uncomfortable over the past few months. But now they are distracted by the
French, once again. And we have sea captains who can outwit even the British. This man you have met already. His name is Mansur.’

  Mansur! He had been almost a friend. But that had been fourteen years ago. Now she stared at the grim visage as she was ferried out to the corsair in the boat, and then assisted aboard.

  ‘Mansur,’ she said. ‘Do you not remember me?’

  He gazed at her. He was older and more grizzled than she recalled, but he did remember her, that was obvious. ‘I gave you advice once, white woman,’ he said. ‘Which you have not heeded. Now your death will be a long time coming. Take her below.’

  ‘Mansur,’ she gasped, prepared to try anything. ‘I am sorely in need of a bath …’

  ‘Take her below,’ he said again. ‘And confine her there. I do not wish to look upon her face.’ Perhaps it was the same ship. Certainly it appeared as the same black hole in which she had been confined fourteen years before. But with the difference that she was no longer an object of value, to be pampered so as not to have her beauty tarnished. Yet she was fed twice a day. And she was not ill treated in any way. She was not even stripped, as on the previous occasion. Her destruction was to be the privilege of Mohammed ben Idris.

  They spent four days at sea, as near she could judge, as she never saw daylight. More than once she heard the oars being used, to row the corsair away, she presumed, from the vicinity of a British frigate. But the British had the French to think about, as Marquand had reminded her, and there would be no visible evidence that Algeria had committed any crime. They would need to board her to discover that, and there was no reason for them to do so: Algiers was not at war with Great Britain.

  On the fifth morning there were familiar shouts and commands, and she could feel the ship losing speed. Then there were sounds, and even smells, she recognised, the clatter of mooring warps being thrown, and the thuds of the ship being drawn alongside the dock. Then the clumping of feet above her. What should happen next? The eunuchs should come down to fetch her. She listened to feet outside the door, and braced herself. How their lips would curl at the sight of her soiled clothing and dishevelled hair.