The Sea and the Sand

by Christopher Nicole

  The door opened, and she gazed at a lantern, held by Mohammed ben Idris.

  *

  She knew it was him before she even saw his face. Instinctively she rose to her haunches, and then her feet, and pressed her back against the bulkhead. Only then did he raise the lantern high enough to illuminate his own face.

  ‘It is good to have you back, Felicity,’ he said, ‘after so many years.’

  His tone was almost friendly. And yet she knew that the torment was already beginning. She gasped for breath, and licked her lips, which had suddenly become as dry as dust.

  ‘Have you nothing to say to me?’ Idris enquired. ‘After so long a separation?’

  At last, saliva. ‘I …’ But she did have nothing to say.

  ‘Do you not wish to beg for mercy?’ Almost she was tempted. But that would be to compound her misery and her humiliation. She had expended that line, with every hope of success, with Marquand. There was no hope of success with Idris. She met his gaze. ‘I have nothing to beg for, Idris. It is you should beg my pardon for this crime.’

  He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I was betrothed to Mr McGann long before you kidnapped me,’ she said. Because surely, if Toby had truly fallen in love with her at first sight, then that was not a lie. ‘Thus it is you who committed a crime, even then. And have compounded it now. You have taken another man’s wife, Mohammed ben Idris. Allah will not look kindly on you for this.’

  So now flog me, she thought, as he continued to stare at her for several seconds.

  Then he said, still quietly, ‘Allah looks kindly on those men who serve his cause to his best advantage. You were a virgin when I took you, thus you are mine, above all other men. You have betrayed my bed and my honour. For that you will suffer anything and everything that this brain of mine can imagine, before I take your life. Do not expect any mercy from me.’

  ‘Mercy?’ she asked. ‘Does one expect mercy from a scorpion?’

  Perhaps she hoped to make him lose his temper and kill her there and then. But she should have known better. He merely snapped his fingers to summon the men who waited behind him. ‘Strip her.’

  Felicity’s head jerked. But it was necessary to remain in control of herself, and her fate, for as long as she possibly could. ‘I can undress myself, Mohammed,’ she said. ‘If that is what you wish.’

  He smiled at her. ‘I wish you stripped.’ There were four men. She considered resistance, but decided against it. She would lose her dignity, and she might well be hurt. And she had no chance of success. Two of the men took an arm each, holding it behind her. The other two simply tore the clothes from her body. When opposed by gathers or straps they cut the material free with their knives, while they raised her legs to tear her sorely tattered stockings from her feet. She could not stop herself from panting with outrage and suppressed effort, and Mohammed ben Idris continued to smile at her.

  But at last they were finished, and stood back.

  ‘By Allah, but you are more lovely now than when I knew you as a girl,’ Mohammed said. ‘I had supposed you might be old and fat. And you are a mother, I am told.’

  ‘I am three times a mother,’ she said. ‘My husband is a man.’

  ‘We shall see,’ he remarked. ‘We shall see. Well, let us go ashore.’

  ‘I have no haik,’ she said.

  His teeth gleamed at her. ‘No, Felicity, you have no haik. What, are you afraid of the sun on your flesh?’

  For a moment the full import of his words did not sink in. Only when the men had secured her wrists behind her back and were placing a noose around her neck, attached to a length of rope, did she realise that he meant to lead her naked through the streets of Algiers like the most miserable malefactor. But she was the most miserable malefactor, in his eyes.

  He was continuing to gaze at her, awaiting a protest, or a plea for mercy. For a woman to be so exposed was the very worst fate that could overtake her in a Muslim country. Well, was it not one of the worst fates that could overtake her in a Christian country, as well? But she was not going to beg him, no matter what he did to her. She returned his gaze.

  ‘Bring her,’ he said, and went on deck.

  One of the men went in front of her, the other three walked immediately behind her; it was clearly no part of Idris’s plan to risk having her fall, or throw herself down, and attempt to strangle her there and then. She climbed the ladder and emerged into the waist of the ship, and hot sunshine. She had felt hot sunshine on her naked back before; but then she had been in Toby’s arms.

  She was surrounded by men grinning at her. Amongst them were Mansur and Marquand. She turned away from them, looking instead at the faces she did not know, and which were therefore meaningless to her. But then it was necessary to go ashore. Now the temptation to leap from the gangplank and either drown or throttle herself was enormous. But again she knew she would not succeed. The men were very close, and they would haul her back long before she could die. While the crowd would laugh.

  Because there was a crowd, and it was laughing anyway. The women and children were worst. How she wished she had never learned Arabic. They called her names and then jeered at her when her bare toes scuffed stones and she stumbled. One or two even threw clods of earth, but these were chased away by Mohammed ben Idris’s guards. She was still reserved. As long as she could remain reserved, she could survive.

  She climbed that well-remembered hill, amidst the dogs and the donkeys, and the people. When last she had made this climb people had averted their eyes. Now they stopped to watch, and laugh, and jeer. Amongst them were men and women with pale complexions and blue eyes. I am one of you, she wanted to shout. Will you not help me? But no one could help her now. Only Toby. Once again, after fourteen years, she was back to that simple prayer, that simple belief.

  She passed the doorway to Abd er Rahman’s house, and expected to see him standing there. He was not, but in the crowd of women and children outside the door and looking down from the roof she assumed were his wives. They would remember her, and would be jeering as loudly as anyone.

  On her first visit to Algiers she had not climbed higher than this, and she had worn sandals. Now the heated stones over which she stumbled seemed to be burning holes in her feet. She panted, and would have fallen from sheer exhaustion, but was jerked back to her feet by the men at her elbow. The sun seemed to be boiling her scalp, and her hair, trailing down her back, was sticking to her shoulders with sweat. But it was necessary to climb another hundred feet or more before they emerged into the open area before the gateway to a palace set only just below the citadel itself. Here at last there was blessed shade, and a bowing majordomo whom she recognised.

  Painfully she licked her lips. ‘Ibrahim,’ she said. ‘Do you mean he has not thrown you to the dogs yet?’

  Ibrahim looked at his master, who gave a brief bark of laughter. ‘She defies us to the end, Ibrahim. Well, if she did not, would there be any sport in it? Prepare her for me.’

  So he did mean to take her after all. A spark of hope surged into her brain, and was fanned by the iced drink which was now offered her by a serving girl. Behind the girl there were eunuchs, waiting. She knew what they wanted, and heaved a sigh of relief. For an hour at least she would be cool, and even comfortable.

  She was taken to the bathing chamber, shaved and shampooed. She desperately need a bath after her four days of confinement, and as she had anticipated, the cool of the water was heavenly. She could have lain there forever. The only sinister aspect of her situation was the presence of Ibrahim. A whole man would never have been allowed to be present had she been about to return to the harem. So, her respite was only a temporary one.

  But Idris still wanted her. That was what really mattered, at the moment.

  While her nails were painted, one of the girls gave her food to eat, dates and sweetmeats and honey. She had not realised how hungry she was, and was almost beginning to feel relaxed when Ibrahim snapped an order, and her wrists were bound behin
d her back again. Wellbeing fled in anticipated horror as she was led from the bathing chamber and up a flight of stairs, along another corridor, and then into Idris’s bedchamber.

  He stood by the window, looking out, but turned as she came in. ‘Now you are more as I remember you,’ he remarked.

  ‘My lord is too kind,’ she answered. ‘Especially as I had not breakfasted.’

  ‘You are a woman of great courage, Felicity,’ he said. ‘But I always knew this. I will be interested to discover how far your courage takes you. But first …’

  He came towards her, loosing his robe as he did so. He wore nothing underneath, and had clearly been anticipating this moment.

  ‘Can you wish me with my hands bound behind my back?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘That is how I want you, Felicity. Besides, being bound will remove any temptation you might have to scratch my face.’

  He seized her by the shoulders and threw her across the bed. She had not supposed it could be possible to be raped by a man who had bedded her so often before. But rape is in the mind, not the deed. He savaged her, possessing every orifice she owned, hurting her even as he drove his own passion to the limits. The pain and the horror drove tears from her eyes, but she kept her mouth tight shut, except when he actually forced it open. She was not going to cry out, and she was not going to surrender to her temptations to the extent of biting him, which could only mean her immediate death. I will survive, she told herself. I will survive.

  But at last even he was sated, and lay beside her panting, equally exhausted. Her wrists ached from having to take the weight of her body whenever she had been rolled on her back, and from sawing against each other as even she had not been able to prevent that instinctive movement. But at least her blood was still circulating. And he had not yet conquered her.

  He sat up, pulled on his robe, went to the door. ‘Attend to her,’ he snapped.

  The eunuchs hurried in, plucked her from the bed, applied powder where it was necessary to hide a bruise, combed and brushed her tangled hair into a smooth sheen, smothered her in perfume.

  While Idris watched. Then he said, ‘Enough. Bring her.’

  He walked in front of her, and she followed, surrounded and urged on by the eunuchs. She dared not try to anticipate what might be going to happen to her now, because it was most likely, as he had avenged himself upon her body, that it was to summary execution. Then all her determination would have been in vain. But she would not have surrendered to him, and she would not have begged him for mercy. He would not have that satisfaction.

  They climbed several flights of stairs, until she thought he was going to take her on to the roof, but he stopped on the floor beneath. This was a large and airy room, stretching the full width of the palace, with huge windows at each end. No doubt the inner windows looked out over the internal gardens. But the outer … She caught her breath as she was marched to it, for it looked down over the square above the city, and there was a considerable crowd gathered down there. Was she to be thrown to them, like Jezebel, to be devoured by dogs?

  Mohammed ben Idris smiled, and stroked his beard. He seemed able to read her thoughts. ‘That would be too quick, my Felicity,’ he said. ‘No, no, first we must let them all look at you, and desire you.’

  He snapped his fingers, and she discovered that the room was actually full of men, six of them bearing a wooden frame, shaped like an X. She was led across the room and made to he on this frame, her wrists at last being freed, but immediately her arms and legs were extended and secured by wrist and ankle, so that she was, in fact, crucified, except that it was not a Christian cross, and therefore, when erected, she would not suffer the discomfort of having her shoulders dislocated: her feet would actually be touching the ground. But, again unlike the Christian cross, it left her as exposed as any woman could be.

  While she was being secured, Idris stood above her, and now she realised that Ibrahim and Mansur and Marquand were also in the room, standing against the far wall. She cast them only a hasty glance, finishing with Marquand, and looked away again as she felt herself flush with humiliation. Instead she closed her eyes, but opened them again as she heard another man enter the room.

  ‘Great Idris, is it true then? By Allah, but it is. You have regained her?’

  She gazed at Abd er Raham, older and plumper and even more gentle looking than she remembered him.

  ‘Did you not always know I would?’ Idris asked contemptuously.

  Abd er Rahman stood above her, looking down at her. ‘And now you torture her?’

  ‘Now I intend to execute her, but in my own time. When she has finished amusing me.’ Abd er Rahman licked his lips. ‘Would that not be a waste, great one? She is a most remarkably beautiful woman. Far more beautiful than I remember her as a girl. If she is for sale …’

  ‘You would buy her?’ Idris gave a peal of laughter.

  Abd er Rahman looked embarrassed, but not abashed. ‘Yes, great one. I would buy her. As you appear to have no further use for her.’

  ‘Then you are a fool,’ Idris said. ‘Do you not realise this woman is thirty-two years old? She is a hag.’

  ‘That is not so,’ Abd er Rahman insisted. ‘I have heard that infidel women do not age as do ours. And she has certainly not.’

  ‘She is also three times a mother. By another man.’

  ‘I care nothing for that.’

  ‘She would also betray you, run away from you, without a moment’s hesitation, if she is given the chance.’

  ‘I shall not give her the chance,’ Abd said.

  Idris studied him. ‘I do believe you are serious. Truly they say there is no fool like an old fool. Suppose I asked … ten thousand dinars?’

  Felicity caught her breath. The average price for a female slave was twenty dinars.

  Abd nodded. ‘I will return with that amount.’ He went to the door, while the room was for a moment silent. Then Idris checked him with a bellow of laughter.

  ‘You are a fool, old man,’ he said. ‘A besotted fool. But I will not rob you of your money, much as you deserve it. The woman is not for sale.’

  Felicity discovered she had been holding her breath. Although she had been sure no man would pay a fortune to possess a single woman, to have been sold to Abd er Rahman would have seemed like being taken straight away to heaven. Abd’s household had been filled with laughter, and his women had been happy. Now her body sagged in renewed despair.

  ‘But you have no use for her,’ Abd was protesting.

  ‘I have a great many uses for her,’ Idris told him. ‘I mean to expose her, from that window, to all the people of Algiers. And any man who looks upon her, and wishes her, may do so, once he has paid for the privilege. Should I not make a profit out of her? She has cost me enough to regain. But Abd, old friend, you may place your name on the list. There are only two ahead of you: Mansur, my faithful captain, and the gaiour, Marquand, who has served me faithfully.’

  Felicity found herself panting. She had anticipated extreme agony. Nothing like this.

  ‘So you can be the third,’ Idris said. ‘There is only one condition: I wish to watch.’ He smiled. ‘Just to prove to myself that you can still do it.’

  ‘You are a monster,’ Abd er Rahman said. ‘And afterwards?’

  ‘Afterwards? After she has serviced every man in the city? Then, my dear Abd, I am going to have her flayed alive.’

  Felicity’s brain seemed to grow cold.

  ‘And her skin I will have stuffed and mounted, and placed in my entry hall as an ornament. As you say, she is too beautiful to be forgotten. The rest of her, the carcass, I shall throw to my dogs, still living. And you may come and watch the feed, Abd.’

  Abd er Rahman stared at him, while the room began to spin around Felicity; she realised that for the second time in her life she was about to faint.

  ‘You are a devil,’ Abd said, correcting his former statement. ‘Give me the woman, Idris. I will pay you twenty thousand dinars.
’ Mohammed ben Idris stroked his beard.

  CHAPTER 13

  The Mediterranean — 1815

  What memories these seas brought back. Toby stood by the helm of the Eagle and gazed at the sparkling waters of the Atlantic. He had just taken a noon sight, and placed his ship, and therefore the entire squadron strung out to the south-west, some three hundred nautical miles west north-west of Cape St Vincent, beyond which the Portuguese coast receded, via the Algarve, towards Spain. It was ten years since last he had sailed here, but then he had been going the other way. Memory was more inclined to return a full fourteen years, almost to the day, when he had first crossed the Atlantic.

  He could remember the day before that never-to-be-forgotten storm as if it were yesterday, the ships of the convoy lying north of Essex and President, on one of which Felicity had apparently been, gazing at him, and the black clouds scudding up out of the western sky. He wondered what she must have felt as she had sailed over here, not five weeks before. What memories did she still have of that dreadful day which followed?

  But no doubt on this occasion the ocean had been for her, as it now was for him, singularly empty. Save that he was part of the strongest squadron the United States had ever sent to sea, eight big frigates and two schooners as scouts. They made a magnificent sight, stretched away behind him; he guarded the port wing. And perhaps Felicity was less fanciful than he; certainly he had no doubt that she possessed stronger nerves. Her reaction to realising that it might have been agents of Mohammed ben Idris scouting the farm had been simply the protective instinct of a mother for her children.

  Mohammed ben Idris! How he wished he had done as she asked, and killed him ten years ago. But not even Mohammed ben Idris could have been so fortunate as to assault the one vessel on which Felicity McGann would be travelling. He had told himself this time and again, ever since the news of this latest war with the Barbary pirates had become known to him. To suppose Felicity could have been captured at sea, for the second time in her life, would have been to accept that there was no justice in this world. And once she reached Portugal she would certainly be safe. While Mohammed ben Idris’s days were numbered. There was a reassuring thought — he should have been dealt with long before Felicity commenced her return voyage.