Chapter Eight
“Come, lalla, you must eat something.”
“Why?”
Hakeem stared worriedly at the girl curled up on the low bed.
Her eyes were bruised from lack of sleep.
Her hair was a tangled skein of silver knots that she wouldn’t brush herself and wouldn’t let him touch.
She wore the same dress she had put on four days ago, when her own bundle of clothes had been given to her—a tight-waisted lilac gown that added to her paleness.
She wouldn’t change it. She slept in it.
The only thing about her that wasn’t lackluster was her tone of voice, occasionally peevish, more often coldly hostile.
She didn’t appreciate the changes he had wrought in the small cabin.
Swaths of brightly colored silk had been hung from the walls.
Rugs of soft fur covered the entire floor now.
A thick mattress had been found and draped in silk, then adorned with wide pillows.
A copper hip bath sat in a corner behind a latticed screen.
A small chest of sweet-smelling soaps and oils rested beside it.
She hadn’t touched it. The water he heated for her each day went unused.
And she wasn’t eating, not a morsel since her capture.
The captain had even opened his own store of delicacies to tempt her, but nothing did.
Hakeem was at his wit’s end. He had told her she had nothing to fear.
He had told her she had a life of riches and wondrous pleasures awaiting her, that she would probably be bought by some high official wanting a wife, that wives had much more freedom than concubines.
He insisted she would be happy beyond her wildest dreams. She seemed not to care, or she simply didn’t believe him.
He didn’t know what to say to her anymore.
“You are wasting away to nothing, lalla. If you die, what purpose is served?”
“A good one,” Chantelle retorted. “I keep a Burke from becoming a slave.”
Hakeem sighed. “For men, it isn’t desirable. But for women, it is different. I have told you—”
“Nothing that matters!” she cut in heatedly. “I’d still be a slave!”
Hakeem stared at the uneaten food on the silver tray and stiffened his resolve. There was no help for it now. She had to be made to eat.
“Your strength is dwindling to nothing, lalla. Soon it will be too late to save you.”
“So?”
“So when it becomes apparent to Rais Mehmed that you will not live to reach Barikah, you will no longer be of value to him. He will give you to his crew for what use they can make of you until you die.”
She smothered a gasp at such barbarity and glared furiously at the little Turk. “I’ve already been raped once aboard this ship! A few more times isn’t going to matter.”
“Raped? Are you mad, woman? Your virginity doubles your value. Rais Mehmed would skin alive—”
“Your bloody captain helped to hold me down!”
Hakeem was speechless for a moment, and then he had to strain to keep from laughing. Could she really be that innocent? But of course she was, or she wouldn’t think she had been raped.
“Lalla, you are still a virgin,” Hakeem assured her gently.
“I’m not stupid!” she snapped.
“No, no, of course not. But you are young and—and it is easy to mistake what was done to you. The one who, ah, touched you—he couldn’t…what I mean is, he was incapable…he was a eunuch. Do you know what that means?”
Chantelle’s cheeks flooded with color. “Yes.”
“What he did was discover if you still possess the prized hymen, and you do. It was necessary, lalla, to determine your value. It is done to all female captives.”
She was no longer listening to his explanation.
She felt like a fool for having drawn the wrong conclusion, but she was surprised, too, at the overwhelming relief in knowing she was still a maiden.
But the humiliation of the experience would never be forgotten, and nothing had really changed.
She was still going to be sold into slavery.
“It doesn’t matter, Hakeem.”
He became angry at such stubbornness. “Then you don’t mind being raped by a dozen men?”
She flinched, but shook her head. What difference a dozen men now or one man later repeatedly? She was going to be raped either way. At least this way it would be over with, and how long could she last anyway, as weak as she was?
“Then you won’t mind a little pain first, will you?” Hakeem demanded.
Chantelle narrowed her eyes on him. “What do you mean?”
“Do you really think Rais Mehmed will sit by and do nothing to change your mind? You have until the end of this day, lalla, before he has you bastinadoed. And if you do not understand that this is a form of torture that does not mar the skin, and so does not decrease your value, then I will explain. The soles of your feet will be beaten with a stick. If your feet are sensitive, it is extremely painful. If not, it is still a most unpleasant experience. Are you willing to suffer for your death?”
Her answer was to push herself to a sitting position in front of the tray of food, but her eyes cut into him with furious venom. “You’re a bastard, Hakeem Bektash,” she said with cold intensity. “Why in hell didn’t you tell me about your bloody bastinado sooner?”
“I had hoped you would not prove so stubborn, lalla. It is not a good trait for a woman. If you had given in on your own, it would have been easier for me to help you.”
“The only way you can help me is to get me off this ship before it’s too late.”
He shook his head slowly, his expression rueful.
“That I cannot do. But there is much I can teach you—the customs of the East, the language. I can prepare you for your new life, if you’ll let me.
And is it not better to be prepared, to arm yourself with understanding, than to walk in blindly to this new life? ”
For a long moment Chantelle stared at him. And then she reached for the bread on her tray, her nod just barely perceptible. But it was a nod. She might be stubborn, but she wasn’t a fool.