The Sea and the Sand

by Christopher Nicole

  She gazed at him in bewilderment for a moment, then gave a little gasp herself. ‘Toby?’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Toby.’

  ‘See how she calls his name!’ Idris asked Abd er Rahman. ‘There is a woman who loves. Yes, my dear, it is Toby, come to look for you. With my aid, of course.’

  Felicity glanced at him, then looked at Toby again. ‘You came alone?’

  Toby decided it was time to make his play. ‘I came with the United States’ fleet,’ he said, looking at Idris. ‘Which is waiting to pull the city down about your ears, if either of us is harmed.’

  ‘Ha ha!’ Idris cried. ‘Do you seek to frighten me? I would have thought better of you, McGann. That fleet is the same as waited three years outside Tripoli, and then gave in to my demands. It is manned by a pack of posturing cowards.’

  ‘What will you do to the woman?’ Abd asked gloomily.

  ‘Many things,’ Idris promised him. ‘And you may watch. But to begin with, I would have them couple. I have long wished to observe the infidels’ way of making love, for I have heard that it is truly a limited exercise. So, you shall possess your wife to my satisfaction, McGann, and before me.’

  ‘And if I refuse to humour your filthy desires?’

  ‘Then I shall commence flaying her before your eyes.’

  ‘But you will spare her if I agree?’

  ‘I will spare her being flayed alive,’ Idris agreed. ‘But this is a duty you should be pleased to perform, McGann. Not only because it must be a considerable time since last you knew your wife, but because it is the last time you will ever know anyone. I have an amusing programme worked out for you. When you have shown us what you can do, I will have Mansur show you how an Arab makes love. I have no doubt that he will send your Felicity into the utter realms of ecstasy. Then I propose to have you castrated. Felicity will watch. Then I am going to cut off your arms and your legs, where they join your body. Oh, do not fear, you will not die. My surgeons are too skilful for that. But when they are finished, you will watch your wife die, slowly. Then, when you have screamed in agony, and begged in vain, I will take out your tongue. So you will live, fed every day, rolling about my palace, that every time I pass by I may kick you out of the way. Does that not sound interesting?’

  Felicity fell to her knees. ‘Idris, my lord …’ Idris smiled. ‘As I said, Abd, true love. Do you know that this is the first time in the fourteen years I have known her that she has deigned to beg me for anything, no matter how often I beat her?’

  ‘Then savour your triumph, Idris,’ Felicity said. ‘For I do beg you to spare my husband.’

  ‘Get up, Felicity’ Toby said. ‘He’ll not harm either of us.’ He had been listening to a steadily growing commotion outside. And now there came a banging on the door, and a moment later Marquand was admitted. He stared at Felicity, then at Toby, turning pale as he did so, then turned to Idris.

  ‘My lord,’ he gasped.

  Idris was frowning. ‘What is the meaning of this intrusion?’

  ‘The Dey himself has sent me to seek you, my lord. My lord, the American squadron stands for the harbour.’

  Idris’s frown deepened. Then he snapped his fingers. ‘Bring them both,’ he told Mansur, and hurried for the street, Marquand at his side.

  ‘Once you served me well, Mansur,’ Abd er Rahman remembered as the door closed. ‘Now I would reward you more than generously, were you to serve me again. I would not have the woman die.’

  ‘Now I serve a greater man than you can ever be, Abd er Rahman,’ Mansur replied. ‘Look to yourself. You …’ he addressed his men, ‘Bind the woman.’

  Felicity’s arms were roped behind her back. As the knot was tied there was a rumbling crash, followed by several more, immediately accompanied by a chorus of screams from the street.

  ‘May Allah strike down Mohammed ben Idris,’ Abd er Rahman cried. ‘He has brought this catastrophe upon us.’

  ‘Be sure that I shall inform Lord Idris of your opinions,’ Mansur promised. ‘Haste,’ he told his men.

  Toby and Felicity were bundled into the street, to find themselves surrounded by a crowd of terrified people, running from their houses at the sound of the guns, although there was no evidence of any damage to the city as yet.

  ‘Toby,’ Felicity gasped.

  ‘Courage,’ he told her, speaking English. ‘That is Stephen Decatur out there.’

  If only he could free his hands, he had no doubt he could escape there and then. All around them was the utmost confusion, people running to and fro, screaming and shouting, dogs barking, asses braying, while the houses trembled to the noise of the explosions. Toby could not help but consider that it would be ironic were Decatur to smother Felicity and himself in the ruins of Algiers while endeavouring to save them, as just in front of them a wall collapsed into the street in a cloud of dust and rubble, its obviously rotten foundations shattered by the trembling of the earth.

  They stumbled through the confusion, and reached the comparative fresh air of the square before Idris’s house. From here they could look at the sea and watch the American squadron, flags and pennants flying proudly as the ships brought up, guns now silent. But that they had been fired with considerable effect was obvious — at last two of the batteries on the moles had been reduced to shambles.

  ‘They are going away again,’ Mansur said, in mingled relief and contempt.

  ‘I wouldn’t count on that,’ Toby told him.

  ‘Come,’ the captain snapped, and led them into the house, hesitating there uncertainly as Idris was not to be seen. ‘To the roof,’ he decided. ‘You may watch the defeat of your people.’

  They were taken up several flights of stairs to emerge panting on to the roof, which was flat and reached by a large wooden trap door at the top of a flight of stone steps. Several times Toby and Felicity bumped against each other and looked at each other, but he could do nothing more than give her an encouraging smile. Whatever now happened, they would be together at the end.

  Mansur stood at the parapet and stared down at the harbour. A boat could be seen leaving the American flagship and pulling for the entrance, a huge white flag fluttering in its bow. ‘Does he think we will deal with him now?’ the captain growled.

  ‘I think he means to deal with you,’ Toby suggested.

  ‘They will all die,’ Mansur declared.

  As he spoke, one of the guns on the citadel exploded, the ball falling into the sea some fifty feet from the boat. Oars were at once checked, and the boat turned. Then the firing from the citadel became general, and several of the balls struck close to the ships, as Toby could see with concern. The harbour would not be forced without casualties.

  But Stephen Decatur commanded the squadron, and he was not the man to be put off by a few cannon balls. He waited to regain his boat and his flag of truce, and then the ships were got under way again, approaching in line ahead while they accepted the fire from the citadel, and those of the harbour forts which had been remanned, before swinging up into the wind to present their broadsides when they were within a hundred yards of the shore; there were no sandbanks here, as outside Tripoli, to hamper their manoeuvres. The naval guns exploded in unison, and it was as if Algiers had been seized by a giant hand and shaken. No doubt the Americans had elevated their cannon to the maximum to reach the hill fortress, but necessarily many of the shots fell short amongst the houses.

  The city seemed to erupt into flying masonry, rising dust, and an enormous wail of misery which arose from its inhabitants. Idris’s own house shook, and there came a tremendous crash from beneath them, while Felicity tumbled her length on the floor. Mansur gave a startled exclamation, and ran for the stairs, involuntarily followed by most of his men. Only one remained, glancing uncertainly from the stairs to the ships to the captives. Toby took a long breath, waited for the next glance away, and hurled himself at the man, feet up. He struck him on the side with such force that he flew across the roof and came to rest against the far parapet, blood streaming from
his head.

  ‘Toby,’ Felicity gasped, trying to get up.

  But she would have to fend for herself for the moment. Toby ran behind his victim, knelt, and turned his back, fumbling for the man’s scimitar, locating the haft, and drawing the weapon from his sash, before turning the razor-sharp blade uppermost, and spreading his wrists over it. He could not of course see what he was doing, and his first effort sent the steel slicing into his flesh, but he gritted his teeth and found the right angle, and a moment later was free.

  Then he ran to Felicity, freed her also, and faced the trap door and the steps, and the city was enveloped in another searing broadside, which, judging by the noise, caused even more havoc than the first. The sound of the explosions echoed into the distant mountains and was absorbed. The wails and the shrieks and the rumble of collapsing masonry continued, but the gunfire ceased once more, even from the citadel, and as Toby watched, the green flag of Islam came fluttering down from the flagpole, to be replaced by a white sheet. Yusuf Ali was surrendering.

  ‘Toby,’ Felicity panted.

  A man was coming up the steps. Toby ran at him scimitar extended, struck him in the chest and sent him tumbling back down the steps with a dying shriek. Then he slammed the trap, and looked right and left for some means of securing it, but found nothing. And the man he had knocked down was beginning to move, writhing and groaning.

  For the moment there was no one on the steps, so far as he could tell by listening. He ran back across the roof, tore off the man’s belts; he carried a pistol and several spare balls as well as powder, and a dagger. These Toby laid on the roof, then he picked up the man, watched by Felicity, and returned to the trap, raising to reveal three men cautiously advancing. He dropped their comrade into their arms to send them tumbling, and again closed the trap.

  ‘What must I do?’ Felicity said.

  ‘We must hold this roof until Stephen comes for us,’ Toby told her. It was the highest part of the building, and was far above the nearest rooftop of the kasbah. Only the battlements of the citadel overlooked it; he would have to hope that Yusuf Ali did indeed mean to surrender. ‘I believe I can hold the door, but should I fail, can you support me with the pistol?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, picking it up with the bag of powder and shot.

  ‘Take the dagger too,’ he said. ‘And Felicity, use it this time if they do get past me.’ She stared at him and he smiled. ‘I will be already dead, and we must go together, if we have to go.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Together.’

  He heard feet on the steps. He stood beside the trap, waiting for it to be hurled upwards and struck down with an enormous swinging double-handed blow. Blood flew, a man gave an unearthly shriek and went tumbling backwards. Several bullets were discharged at the opening, but they either struck the masonry or flew harmlessly into the air.

  Toby reached round and threw the trap shut once again. So long as they could only come at him one at a time, they could not defeat him; his only fear was a marksman on the citadel battlement, but although that was crowded with people, they were all watching the harbour, where boats filled with marines and bluejackets were rowing ashore. Help was very close.

  Then he heard Mohammed ben Idris’s voice below him. ‘Fools,’ the corsair was shouting. ‘Twenty of you, and you cannot take one man? Would you stay here to be hanged by the Americans? We must leave this place.’

  ‘The giant is inaccessible, great lord,’ Mansur protested.

  ‘Bah! And the woman?’

  ‘She is there with him.’

  ‘Then charge that door and take them. They at least must be settled before we leave.’

  ‘Great lord,’ Mansur protested, ‘are they worth our lives?’

  There was a crisp sound and a gasp. ‘I will be the judge of that,’ Idris snapped. ‘Well then, we will still listen to their screams.’

  Toby waited, listening for some indication of what was coming next, but the voices faded.

  ‘Toby,’ Felicity said in a low voice. She was crouching by the inner parapet, looking down on the courtyard of the palace.

  ‘Do not expose yourself to their fire,’ he warned.

  ‘They are hardly looking up,’ she said. ‘But they are packing up. Toby, a caravan is forming down there.’

  ‘Well,’ Toby said, ‘if he wants to run, then we are safe. But he is not. I mean to follow him this time. The moment you are …’ He checked, frowning, as he smelt smoke.

  ‘Toby!’ Felicity’s voice quavered.

  Toby snapped his fingers. It had not occurred to him that Idris might consider destroying his own house just to be avenged on them. But if he was abandoning Algiers in any event … He raised the trapdoor, looked down. As he had supposed, the floor beneath had been evacuated, but wisps of smoke were seeping up the stairs.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said over his shoulder, and went down the steps, cautiously approaching the staircase on the far side. A shot rang out and he felt the wind of the bullet as it smashed into the wall beside his head. He turned, his sword brought up, faced a second pistol, held by the same man, who must have volunteered for this suicidal post. And he would succeed in his task, Toby knew, as the pistol was levelled; he was too far away to be reached before he fired. But then there was another shot, and the man collapsed; Felicity stood on the steps, her smoking pistol in her hand.

  ‘By God,’ he said, ‘but you would be worth dying for, my dearest girl.’

  ‘I would rather live,’ she said.

  ‘And so you shall.’ He went to the stairhead, looked down, and caught his breath; the floor beneath was a mass of flame. There could be no one on that floor, but there was no way past the fire; smoke was rolling up the stairwell in huge puffs, and breathing was already difficult — it could only be a few minutes before the entire house was engulfed.

  He ran to the inner window, and looked down, keeping out of sight of the yard. The caravan was beginning to move towards the side gate, which debouched into the alleyway immediately beneath the roof. It consisted of several laden camels, and several more carrying howdahs for the ladies of the harem. But there was also a genuine wagon with a canvas roof; it was hitched to a team of oxen, and creaked across the yard.

  ‘Toby,’ Felicity said. ‘If we made a rope of our clothes and hung it from the roof …’

  He shook his head. ‘As a last resort, maybe. But everything we have would still leave us thirty feet short. Come.’ He held her hand, took her back to the front window; here at least they could breathe — the room behind them was filled with smoke. And from the window they looked down on the alley through which the caravan would have to pass to reach the square. ‘That wagon.’

  She drew a sharp breath.

  ‘It is safer than dangling naked from the window,’ he told her. ‘And less embarrassing. Now!’

  Before she could object, he picked her up, swung her through the window and dropped her. She gave a scream and went plummeting downwards, but landed exactly in the centre of the roof of the wagon, bounced, and almost rolled off, while her haik floated away to leave her only in her silk pantaloons and bolero — both her cap and her slippers had come off. She saved herself by desperately clutching at the canvas.

  Toby was already falling behind her, holding his scimitar above his head. His weight proved too much for the canvas; it sagged and then parted. He went through it feet first, while Felicity gave another scream and this time did fall off and on to the road. But the canvas had broken their fall, and neither was more than shaken.

  Men shouted, dogs barked, the curtains to the howdahs were parted to allow the women to see what was happening. Standing in the wagon, caught up in the canvas, Toby swung the scimitar left and right to cut himself free, bringing howls of terror from the dazed people who had been inside the vehicle. The driver stood up and turned, levelling a blunderbuss, but was thrown off-balance by the terrified oxen, who attempted to bolt and threw the wagon against the wall of the house. The driver fell one way, Toby jumped the
other, landing close to Felicity, who was sitting up in a dazed fashion.

  ‘Cut them to pieces,’ Mohammed ben Idris shrieked, and Mansur led a charge of several men.

  But Toby was now armed with a scimitar instead of a dagger, and he had waited for this moment for too long. He charged them equally, the razor-sharp blade whirling round his head. Mansur threw up his own sword, and had it swept from his hand before Toby’s steel crunched into his scalp and left him half-decapitated on the cobbles. Toby was already swinging the blade back, and had struck down two more men long before any of them could reach him. The rest shrank back, glaring and panting.

  ‘Fools!’ Idris bellowed from a safe distance. ‘Fetch pistols.’

  Indeed, the wagon driver was now regaining his feet and his blunderbuss, which would be a far more effective weapon.

  ‘Get down the hill to the harbour and our people,’ Toby snapped at Felicity.

  She hesitated only a moment, then ran into the crowd of people who were hurrying upwards, away from the dreaded Americans. Toby hardly waited for her to go before he charged again, once more scattering the swordsmen opposed to him to reach the driver before he could level his firearm. He fell to a single stroke, but then Toby was distracted by a shower of burning timber from above him: Idris’s palace was starting to disintegrate.

  The collapse of the wall and the accompanying surge of heat completed the rout; Idris’s retainers dropped their weapons and ran, and were followed by the ladies of the harem, who abandoned their howdahs and the now-stampeding camels to run into the crowd. Toby looked left and right, but Idris had disappeared. He went to the front of the house and encountered Marquand, attempting to mount a terrified donkey.

  ‘Mercy, for God’s sake,’ the renegade shrieked as he saw the huge, bloodstained figure approaching.

  ‘Not for you,’ Toby growled, and cut him down.

  But still Idris was not to be seen. And there was Felicity to think of. He ran down the hill, scimitar in hand, thrusting people and animals to left and right. Parts of the city were also in flames, but the main street seemed to have suffered least, and in a few minutes he found himself in front of Abd er Rahman’s palace, where the fat little man was supervising the loading of bags on to the backs of waiting donkeys.