Chapter Five
Beneath the woolen blanket, Chantelle lay shivering. It was a condition she had no control over, and it wouldn’t stop. Her hair had dried hours ago. The cabin was warm. It was her fear that was causing the trembling, and twice had made her sick to her stomach.
Dear God, she had come so close to escaping the corsairs. Her feet had actually touched bottom when the small boat bumped into her, pushing her under the water. When she came up for air, hands immediately hauled her inside the boat, and she knew she wouldn’t get another chance to escape.
She was brought back to the ship, carried back into this cabin.
Only this time two men had stayed to see her stripped down to nothing.
Too exhausted from her bid for freedom, she had been unable to stop them.
But they hadn’t touched her otherwise. They had left her alone in the dark cabin, taking her wet clothes with them.
She had eventually found the pillows and fur rug she remembered seeing from before, and the blanket to cover herself with.
She had crawled into a tight ball, and the shivering had begun as she wondered what would happen next, afraid she knew.
She didn’t sleep, terrified of being caught by surprise.
Morning came, and with it light from one small window, and still she was left alone.
She would rather have gotten it over with, whatever they would do to her next, than to lie here thinking about it.
She was certain she would be raped by the crew, certain that if she survived that, she would then be sold into slavery.
Both prospects were so inconceivable that she couldn’t bear thinking of them, and so there was just the fear of being hurt and abused.
Several times she wondered what had happened to the little man who had spoken to her before.
Why didn’t he come again? Any communication at all would have been a relief.
But perhaps it was standard procedure to let captives suffer the agonies of the unknown to wear them down.
Fear was debilitating. Yet he had spoken to her before.
He had said she wouldn’t be harmed. But what exactly to a corsair constituted harm?
God, if only she didn’t know what they were.
If only her tutors hadn’t thought to include world history and affairs in her studies.
But the Ottoman Turks, who for hundreds of years had been intruding on Christian Europe, were known to her, as were the Barbary States, members of the Turkish empire, and the Barbary corsairs, pirates of the Mediterranean.
They raided foreign coasts, they attacked foreign ships, they killed or sold all Christian captives into slavery without exception.
So what would such men consider harm to a woman?
Certainly not what she would reckon as harm.
When the door finally opened later that morning, it wasn’t to admit the sailor Chantelle had spoken with.
Four men entered, two bare-chested, one tall, thin man in a long white robe, and one more impressive fellow in a bright silk jacket over loose Turkish pants.
All wore turbans. All were sharp-featured, though light-skinned.
Only the one in the white robe didn’t have a long, curved sword attached to his belt.
Chantelle sat up immediately, but she didn’t try to rise with only the blanket to cover her.
She held it up to her chin, cowering back against the wall.
Trapped in the small room, eyes huge with fear, skin translucent without color, she didn’t realize that she stunned them, especially the captain, who was having his first look at her in good light.
Eyes like hers were unknown to them. And the hair, silver blond, with a lock falling over the blanket to reveal its glorious hip length, was prized in the East. Circassians were known to have blond hair, but sailors weren’t likely to ever see it, and these hadn’t.
Her face was exquisite. If she had a body to match, she would be worth a fortune.
If she was also a virgin, her price could increase tenfold.
It was precisely the latter that Rais Mehmed had come to judge, for her comfort on the voyage depended on her worth.
Then, too, if she wasn’t a virgin, there was no point in denying himself or his crew the use of her body for the long trip home.
Most of his crew were sodomites, but only by necessity.
A woman aboard was a blessing—if she wasn’t a virgin. Mehmed began to hope she wasn’t.
“She is terrified, Rais,” the white eunuch said quietly by his side. “Shouldn’t you get Hakeem in here to tell her this is just a simple procedure?”
Mehmed shook his head without taking his eyes off the girl.
“He must become her friend if he is to help her to adjust. The more he can teach her of her new life, the more malleable she will be, and so the more valuable. If he were here now, even to explain, she would never trust him later, never be willing to learn from him.”
“Then get it over with, before she faints.”
Chantelle didn’t faint. She screamed, piercingly, until a cloth was stuffed in her mouth to muffle the sound.
And she fought, wildly but uselessly. Her blanket was used against her, trapping her arms beneath it as she was pushed down onto her back, the man in the silk jacket lying across her upper body, pinning her to the floor.
She kicked, regardless that this dislodged the blanket from her legs, but in seconds, each foot was caught by a different man, and her legs were spread wide and held down with a hand pressed against each knee and ankle to keep them straight and still.
Her eyes were wild with horror, expecting the worst. She couldn’t see past the broad chest of Silk Jacket, who lay on her sideways, his hands on her shoulders, his heavy side gouging her stomach.
She didn’t know that the sailors holding her feet had been ordered not to look at her, that White Robe was a eunuch who couldn’t have raped her if he wanted to, that he did this to all female captives.
She could only feel what was happening, the shock of something pressing between her legs, being inserted into her body, probing painfully, then withdrawing.
She thought she had been raped. She didn’t know she had just passed the test that would save her from it, at least while she was on the ship.
The blanket was pulled down over her legs, alerting her that apparently only one man was to violate her for now.
Words were exchanged, and her legs were released.
She didn’t try to move them. Depression was already setting in.
She had feared the worst and the worst had happened. Nothing else mattered at the moment.
The two bare-chested sailors left the room before Silk Jacket removed his bulk from her. She didn’t care that he pulled her up with him. But she did snap out of her shock when he snatched her blanket away. She reached for it, only to drop her hands instinctively to cover herself instead.
It was the final humiliation, to be deprived of her dignity in this manner. They were animals, and she told them so, though they ignored her words, not understanding them. Her contempt and outrage were more easily understood, however.
“By the prophet’s beard, she’s magnificent,” Rais Mehmed got out, though he suddenly seemed breathless. Never in his life had he seen a woman like this.
“She does have spirit,” the eunuch allowed.
“Such curves—”
“She could be plumper.”
“I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Your tastes are not the usual,” the eunuch reminded him. “Nor is she for you. But Hamid Sharif will be pleased.”
Mehmed grunted, for the merchant Hamid Sharif, owner of their ship, already had four wives who nagged him to distraction.
“He would rather have the profit, which will put more coins in our pockets. He might even be able to tempt the Dey with this one, though it has been a long while since he has bought any new women for his harem.”
“It is not for us to be concerned with whoever eventually buys her, Rais. It is for you to see she is delivered to Hamid Sharif in good condition.”
With that he handed the blanket back to the girl, offering her an apologetic smile. Mehmed laughed to see her take the blanket, cover herself with it, then spit at the eunuch’s feet.