captain of the galey would be prepared to sel them to their
friends—rather than either kiling them or seling them in the slave
markets of Algiers.
She was trembling inwardly as she went up on deck. Their
lives were truly in the hands of a higher being now. They could
be dead within minutes—or prisoners. She held her head erect
as she went to join her father. He kissed her on both cheeks.
‘Forgive me, child. When I jested with you, I never dreamed
this would happen.’
‘Your jest did not make it happen, Father,’ she replied,
refusing to show her fear. Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘The
storm brought us to this—and these barbarians take advantage
storm brought us to this—and these barbarians take advantage
of our plight. Now tel me they are civilized people, Father!’
The galey had drawn alongside as she spoke and she could
see the grinning faces of the men who had begun to swarm up
the sides of the ship. They were strange, fearsome faces and she
felt close to fainting—but she would not give in to such
weakness! She would stand up to these heathen devils if she
died for it.
The screaming and kiling had begun as the sailors prepared
to defend themselves from the invaders. They knew their fate if
they were taken, and many preferred a swift death to being
chained in a galey until they were flogged to death or starved at
the oars. Eleanor watched the carnage about her, her face
remarkably unmoved—but inside she was shocked and horrified
by the cruelty of the invaders. They gave no mercy…even when
a cabin boy, who had at first tried to fight, sank to his knees and
begged to live.
Eleanor put her arm about Richard’s shoulders. If they were
to die, then they would die together.
One of the Corsairs—a tal man with swarthy looks and cruel
eyes—had seen them. He appeared to be the leader of these
men and he pointed towards Eleanor, giving what was obviously
a command.
She lifted her head, meeting those cruel eyes proudly, daring
him to touch her. He grinned suddenly as if he recognized the
chalenge and said something more to his men. Three of them
were coming towards them, their manner purposeful.
‘Do not be frightened,’ she said to Richard. ‘Be true to your
‘Do not be frightened,’ she said to Richard. ‘Be true to your
inner self whatever they do. Remember, you are Richard Nash,
and—’
The men had arrived and started to grab at her. She pushed
her brother behind her, trying to shield him, but one of the men
swooped on her, lifting her and throwing her over his shoulder.
‘Father!’ she cried. ‘I love you—I love Richard.’
She kicked and struggled for al she was worth, but knew it
was useless. The man carried her as though she were a sack of
straw. He was taking her towards the side of the ship where she
was lifted over into the arms of their leader, who was waiting to
receive her. The pirates were gathering what they could now and
retreating to their galey. Eleanor looked back and saw her
father. He was trying to talk to one of the pirates, but the man
struck him a blow to the side of the head and he fel to the deck,
bleeding profusely.
‘Father…’ she cried despairingly. She saw that another of the
pirates had her brother, who was kicking and struggling valiantly
against his captor. ‘Don’t fight, Richard…try to live…’ It was
her father’s instruction to her and she vowed that she would try.
‘I love you, Father,’ she murmured. ‘I wish they had kiled me
too…but I shal try to do what you asked of me…’
She could hear the Corsairs shouting and pointing. Glancing
out towards the sea, she saw another, larger, faster galey
approaching them swiftly. It was a Spanish war galey—and the
Spaniards were sworn enemies of the Corsairs.
‘Oh, please God let them be in time,’ Eleanor prayed. ‘Let
the Spanish captain of the galey wreak vengeance on these
the Spanish captain of the galey wreak vengeance on these
murdering devils. Let us be rescued…’
Tears were trickling down her cheeks as she was dumped on
cabin of the Corsairs’ leader. She was thrust inside what was an
airless hole and she fel to the ground, hitting her head against an
iron chest as she did so.
Eleanor was claimed by the merciful blackness and did not
know that the Spanish galey had chosen not to pursue their
enemy. Its captain was even now climbing aboard the crippled
merchant vessel, intent on rescuing the remaining crew of a
Christian ship, unaware that the Corsairs had taken prisoners
before they ran…
Chapter Two
Eleanor could not be sure how long she had lain in the stuffy, airless cabin. When she first came to herself, she had been aware
of pain in her head and very little else. She lay in a state of semi-consciousness, drifting in and out of awareness. Hours passed
before she felt her shoulder being roughly shaken and then found
herself looking up into the bearded face of the man who had
captured her. His fierce eyes snapped with what she thought was
anger, sending a ripple of terror winging through her. She gave a
moan of fear and shrank back, but instead of cruely ravishing
her as she half expected, he thrust a cup of water into her hand.
‘Drink, woman,’ he muttered in French.
‘You speak French?’ Eleanor asked in the same tongue.
‘Please—tel me what has happened to my brother. Is Richard
alive?’
‘Be silent, woman. Drink now—food later.’
Eleanor sat up as the door of the officers’ cabin closed
behind him. She sipped the water gratefuly. It was cool, fresh
and sweet on her lips, taking the taste of ashes from her mouth.
For the first time she was able to think clearly and began to
wonder how long she had been on board the galey—was it
merely hours or days?
Gingerly, she put a hand to the back of her head and found
that her hood had been removed, and that there was a patch of
dried blood in her hair. Someone must have taken the headdress
off while she was unconscious, probably to see what had
rendered her that way. It was the blow to the side of her head as
she fel that had done the damage, but she ached al over and
wondered if she had suffered some kind of a fever. Perhaps the
effects of the storm combined with the terror of the pirates attack
had… Her father was dead! The pain of knowledge returned
like the thrust of a sword in her breast.
Tears weled up in her eyes and fel in a hot cascade down
her cheeks. She sobbed for several minutes as her grief
overwhelmed her. It was hard to believe that the man she had
loved so dearly was lost to her forever…but she had seen the
blow that had feled him and believed he must have died of it.
What of her brother? Eleanor’s eyes were becoming
accustomed to the gloom of the cabin now, and
she began to
glance around her, trying to make out what the shapes were.
There were no bunks or divans here, merely a colection of sea
chests—one of which had caused her to have a nasty headache
—and a table and stool pushed hard against one wal. Did these
men never sleep? But there was a rol of blanket spread on the
ground near her—perhaps that served as a bed on this war
galey?
One thing was clear: she was alone. Her brother had not been
thrown in here after her. Where was he? What had happened to
him? Their captor had so far been gentle enough to her…but had
Richard been treated differently? Was he stil alive? The
Richard been treated differently? Was he stil alive? The
questions tortured her, increasing her own fear of what was to
happen.
She tried to get up and found that she could stand, although
her head was stil spinning and she felt sick, but she kept upright
and did not fal. After a moment or two she managed to walk
towards the table on which were spread what she realised were
charts and maps of the sea, also various instruments for
calculating distance by the stars. Clearly the captain of this vessel was more educated than his appearance alowed, and with that
knowledge came a lessening of her fear.
If he was inteligent she might be able to reason with him
herself, to arrange for a ransom to be paid. Sir John often traded
to him…he would pay for her and Richard’s release. Perhaps al
was not yet lost.
She finished her water and sat down to look at the charts
before her. The captain had clearly been plotting a chart—and
seemed to be heading for the great city the Christians stil caled
Constantinople, though it had been renamed Istanbul by its
conquerors, which lay on the shores of the Bosphorus Straits.
She was being taken there to be sold in the slave markets! She
had imagined the galey’s base would be Algiers, perhaps
because the captain spoke French so wel.
The French were more at home in these waters than most of
the other Western countries. Some years earlier the Turks had
signed an agreement that they would alow only the French flag
to trade freely and safely in their waters, though of course there
to trade freely and safely in their waters, though of course there
were other merchants who made individual agreements. There
were also those who roamed where they would and took the
consequences, as their kinsman’s ship had—but only the French
had the protection of the Sultan himself.
Her fate would be the same wherever she was taken!
Eleanor shivered as the realisation hit her. It was easy to
make the decision to be bold and demand she be ransomed, but
why should the Corsair captain listen? He could quite easily sel
her—perhaps to the Grand Turk himself—and then she would
disappear into a harem, never to be seen again. She shuddered
at the thought of what her life would be like in such a place.
The idea of being a man’s concubine appaled her. No! It
must not happen. She would not let it happen. It was al a
question of money. The Corsairs had taken prisoners to sel them
in the slave market. What would her value be on the auction
block? She had no way of knowing—but surely it could not be
so very much? Her mother’s cousin would pay twice as much to
have her back.
Eleanor had no doubts that Sir John would do his utmost to
recover both her and Richard. If he had heard of the fate of his
ship, he might even now be trying to trace them. Her head lifted,
her expression proud and determined. No matter what happened
to her she would fight—she would live as her father had bid her
—and perhaps one day she would be returned to her family.
But where was Richard?
Mohamed Ali Ben Ibn frowned as he thought about the
woman they had captured; she had lain in a fever for several
hours after they had taken flight from the Spanish war galey and
at first he had thought she might die. That would have been a
great loss.
He had seen her quality immediately and ordered her taken as
his personal share of the plunder from the merchant ship.
Unfortunately, they had not managed to snatch much else of
value before they were forced to abandon their prize.
There was the boy, of course. His delicate features would
appeal to certain men in the slave markets of Constantinople,
and another woman. She was young but not beautiful and would
fetch a moderate price—but his woman was more of a prize than
he had imagined when he first spotted her.
That glorious hair! He had been shocked when he removed
the hood that covered it to attend to her wound, and at first was
elated by the value of his prize. But now there were rumblings
amongst the crew because their prize was so smal. He had been
determined to bring the woman to Istanbul at once—and he
knew exactly what he was going to do with her—but the crew
was dissatisfied with their share.
He must make sure that none of them got near enough to her
to see what a beauty she was. Not a hair of her head must be
touched—and she must not be violated, for then her value would
be lost. He would take her to a certain house on the shores of
the Bosphorus where she would be safe from prying eyes—and
then he would begin his bargaining.
then he would begin his bargaining.
In the meantime he must find a way of pacifying the crew. He
took out the gold ornament he had discovered tucked beneath
the girl’s dress when he tried to loosen her bodice—Western
women wore such ugly, restricting clothes it was a wonder any
of them could breathe!
He saw that the little cylinder of gold was studded with
precious stones, and noticed the stopper at the top. Opening
what he had imagined was a scent flask, he discovered the tiny
manuscript and drew it out. His face paled as he discovered
what it was and he dropped it as though his fingers had been
burned.
Mohamed Ali Ben Ibn was a Corsair by necessity, not birth.
He had been educated in the best schools of his homeland
before being captured by Spaniards, and forced to work in their
galeys for long years before he had escaped, vowing revenge on
the men he hated. Since then he had roamed the seas in search
of prey—and he had been successful. He was now a wealthy
man and owned a beautiful house, to which he would one day
take a woman of his own beliefs, and make sons with her.
His brow furrowed as he looked at what he knew to be
cursed. That manuscript was a part of the treasure of the Abbot
of the Far Cross—and the legend was that anyone who sought
to benefit from the sale of this treasure was doomed to a terrible
death. The Saracens who had looted the Abbey and kiled the
monks had al died violently soon after and it was said that the
treasure was scattered far and wide. How had the wom
an come
treasure was scattered far and wide. How had the woman come
by it? And why did she wear it around her neck like a talisman?
Was she of the true faith and not a Christian as he had
supposed?
He was a superstitious man. The treasure must be returned to
the girl! Mohamed would find some other way of satisfying his
crew. He would give them gold from his own coffers—and he
would make sure he recouped his loss from the sale of the girl!
Eleanor was visited twice a day by the captain of the galey.
He brought her food and water, and he returned her father’s
treasure to her. She had not noticed its loss at first, and was
surprised when he gave it to her.
‘Why have you returned this?’ she asked. ‘It is valuable. My
family has money. My kinsman wil pay a high ransom for me—
twice my price in the slave market.’
He glowered at her. ‘Drink and eat, woman.’
It was al he ever said to her
She had begun to wonder if she had overestimated his
inteligence. Perhaps they were the only words of French he
knew? The next time he came she spoke to him in English, then
Italian and finaly she spoke the only words she could think of
that might reach him.
‘ Insh’allah…may the wil of Alah prevail. And his blessings
be upon you for your kindness…if you wil ransom me and my
brother to my family. My brother is Richard Nash…son of Sir
Wiliam and—’
Wiliam and—’
‘You speak too much, woman,’ Mohamed said harshly. ‘A
woman should have a stil tongue if she does not wish to be
beaten.’
‘You are an educated man!’ Eleanor cried. ‘Why wil you not
listen to my requests? My family wil make you a rich man if you
ransom me to them. My uncle is Sir John Faversham of Cyprus
—’
His look darkened to one of anger. ‘I do not trade with
infidels! I kil them. You are not to question me, woman. Be
thankful that I do not give you to my men for their sport.’
Eleanor shrank back, the fear writ plain in her face. ‘You
would not…be so cruel?’
‘Thank Alah that I am not the barbarian you think me,’
Mohamed said. ‘I have plans for you, woman—but I may stil
beat you if you do not stil your clacking tongue.’
Somehow Eleanor did not believe him. If he had meant to
harm her, he would have done it by now. It was clear that he did