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 allow only the French flag 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 sell 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 appalled her. No! It must not happen. She would not let it happen. It was all a question of money. The Corsairs had taken prisoners to sell 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 galley 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 small. 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.
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 galleys 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 killed the monks had all died violently soon after and it was said that the 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 galley. 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 will pay a high ransom for me—twice my price in the slave market.’
He glowered at her. ‘Drink and eat, woman.’
It was all he ever said to her
She had begun to wonder if she had overestimated his intelligence. Perhaps they were the only words of French he knew? The next time he came she spoke to him in English, then Italian and finally she spoke the only words she could think of that might reach him.
‘Insh’allah…may the will of Allah prevail. And his blessings be upon you for your kindness…if you will ransom me and my brother to my family. My brother is Richard Nash…son of Sir William and—’
‘You speak too much, woman,’ Mohamed said harshly. ‘A woman should have a still tongue if she does not wish to be beaten.’
‘You are an educated man!’ Eleanor cried. ‘Why will you not listen to my requests? My family will 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 kill 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 Allah that I am not the barbarian you think me,’ Mohamed said. ‘I have plans for you, woman—but I may still beat you if you do not still 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 not like to be questioned by a woman, but she would not give up. If she kept talking about a ransom he was bound to at least think about it…
Suleiman Bakhar was laughing. He felt exhilarated by the sport he had just had with the man he knew was considered to be the champion of the Janissaries. It had been a fierce fight that could have gone either way, pressing each man to the limit—and he had won!
‘Come, my friend,’ he said, laying an arm about the shoulders of the man he had vanquished. ‘We shall bathe, drink and eat together—and then I shall give you a woman for your pleasure.’
‘You honour me, my lord.’
Suleiman nodded, accepting that he was being generous in victory, but he felt pleased with himself. His astronomer had that morning told him that he was about to enter a new cycle of his life—one that would bring him both torment and pleasure.
‘You will gain your heart’s desire,’ the old man had told him after consulting various charts, ‘but only if you are prepared to learn and to suffer.’
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