Tim Severin - Corsair

The woman did as she was ordered, and Zidana demanded of Dan, ‘Can you do better?’

Dan looked at the patterns drawn on the servant’s skin and murmured, ‘They are well drawn but could be more striking and colourful.’

Zidana waved the servant aside and heaved her bulk closer to the edge of the couch. She extended her right arm and pulled back the silk sleeve. The arm was very fat. ‘Could you make good colours on my skin?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Then proceed.’

‘First I must tell you that what I will paint is not permanent,’ Dan said. ‘The colours will last only a few days.’

‘That is not important. If I like your work, I will summon you again when the colours fade. You can paint them again or make different pictures for me. You will paint no one else.’ It was clear that Zidana was used to giving orders.

Dan opened the cloth satchel he had given Hector to carry, and took out several small clay pots and jars. Hector knew that his friend had found the necessary ingredients for his skin paints in the Meknes marketplace which sold all manner of brightly coloured spices and powders. He had mixed them with coloured minerals that Sean Allen used in his foundry work.

Carefully licking the end of a brush, Dan dipped it into one of the jars, advanced on the plump arm and began to draw on it carefully. Zidana looked on in critical fascination.

‘My assistant here,’ said Dan casually as if making light conversation, ‘believes he has a sister among the Emperor’s women. He has not seen her in a long time and, with your permission, would like to speak with her.’ He had drawn the outline of a flower on the pudgy arm, and was beginning to colour in the first of the petals.

‘What is the name of his sister?’ Zidana was so intrigued with the pictures appearing on her skin, that she hardly seemed to listen for the answer.

‘His sister is called Elizabeth, but she may have another name here.’

Zidana withdrew her fat arm and held it up in the air, turning it this way and that to admire the first pictures that Dan had drawn. The images gleamed brightly, the paints still wet. Abruptly Zidana called across to one of the eunuchs. She spoke rapidly in a dialect that Hector could not understand, and the man beckoned to him to follow. Leaving Dan to continue with his drawing and painting, Hector followed his guide through a door concealed behind a heavy velvet curtain, and down several empty corridors until he was brought into a plain unfurnished room with bare walls. The room had two windows, both screened with a fine lattice of stucco. The window facing him was already blank, shuttered from the far side. His escort crossed to the open window where the sunlight entered the room and closed its shutters. ‘Stay here,’ he said and left the room, leaving Hector in near-darkness.

Hector did not know how long he would have to wait. His heart was pounding in his ears, and the dense gloom and stifling airlessness of the room made him feel adrift from the real world. As the minutes dragged past, he slowly became aware that the shutter facing him had swung open. He heard a soft footfall behind him and he sensed that the eunuch had returned. A moment later he felt a hand guide him forward so that he stood with his face close to the lattice of the window in front of him. His eyes had grown used to the dim light, yet he could see nothing except the pattern of the stucco a few inches away. He shifted sideways, trying to squint through the gaps. As far as he could make out, the room on the far side was similar to the one where he now stood. It, too, was in darkness except for a small glimmer of light seeping under a door to one side. He could just distinguish a dark figure standing in the middle of the floor.

‘Elizabeth?’ he blurted out. ‘Is that you?’ His mouth was dry with excitement and anticipation, and the fear of imminent disappointment.

There was no reply. ‘Elizabeth. It’s me, Hector.’ What he had thought was a single figure, was in fact two people standing close together. One of them moved aside, and the shadowy outline came a little closer.

‘Elizabeth,’ he repeated. ‘If it’s you, please say something.’

There was a long silence and he could hear the wheezing breath of the eunuch standing somewhere behind him. Again the figure moved slightly. Hector’s nostrils detected a slight musky perfume. He did not remember his sister ever smelling that way.

Finally, a woman’s voice, barely audible, said, ‘Are you well?’

Fighting down his anxiety Hector tried desperately to remember his sister’s voice. It had been so long since he had seen her that he had forgotten what her voice sounded like.

‘It’s me, Hector,’ he said again. ‘Is that really you, Elizabeth?’

The answer was so soft that he had to strain to hear. ‘Yes.’

Hector sagged against the latticework, his head pressed against the stucco. He felt dizzy.

‘Are you keeping well?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice gentle though his head was in a whirl.

‘I am . . .’ there was a pause. ‘I am healthy.’

Hector swallowed hard. Suddenly his throat was unnaturally tight. He wanted to speak in a normal voice but somehow it seemed that if he did, it would break the spell and destroy his fragile link with his sister.

‘How long have you been here?’ he croaked.

But he was answered with a question. ‘What happened to you? And the others?’

‘We were sold as slaves in Algiers. I don’t know what happened to the others afterwards, but I worked for a Turkish sea captain for a time, then was aboard a French galley. Now I’m here in Meknes.’

‘Are you still a slave?’

‘No. I’m not. I’m here with friends, and one day we may be allowed to leave. I want to take you with us, to bring you away.’

There was a long silence as the dark figure stood silent. Then Elizabeth’s voice said,

‘That’s not possible.’

‘Yes, it is,’ said Hector fiercely. He was feeling better now, more sure of himself. ‘The Emperor has promised to give you your freedom if I and my friends serve him well.’

Elizabeth seemed not to grasp the importance of what he had just said. She ignored his answer and instead enquired, ‘Have you news of our mother?’

‘I have heard nothing from home, nothing at all since we were taken. I’m hoping that she went back to Spain to live with her own people. You and I will go to find her as soon as you are released.’

Again, a long pause followed by a low whisper, ‘I told you, Hector. That’s not possible.’

‘Elizabeth, listen to me,’ Hector pleaded. ‘I’m sure that I can get you set free. My friends will help me. We can get Moulay to agree. You must not give up hope.’

‘You don’t understand. That is not how it can be. Please don’t ask again.’

‘But what of our mother? You want to see her again, don’t you?’

‘Of course.’

Hector could tell that his sister was very close to tears. He could hear the tremor in her voice. But he knew that he had to insist.

‘Please, Elizabeth, please. You must not give up hope. You will not be here forever.’

He heard a stifled sob, and then Elizabeth’s voice said, ‘It is not so bad here. We look after one another. I’ve learned to speak languages, and we try to keep ourselves busy. Our servants look after us so there’s no drudgery. We gossip and amuse ourselves.’

‘Elizabeth, I made myself a promise long ago, when I was first a slave in Algiers. I told myself that I would find you and bring you home.’

When Elizabeth spoke next, her voice was firm, and her response came like a blow. ‘Hector, please go away.’

Hector felt his stomach turn hollow. For a moment he could not believe his sister’s words. He was stunned at the rebuff.