Prisoner
of the Seraglio
A
Cordelia Delacourt Adventure
Chapter
4
Bandits
Cordelia started awake as the door to Liz’s tiny room was wrenched open. “It’s alright, luv; it’s just me.” Liz entered carrying a pot of soup. “Got the cook to put a bit more into it this time.” She set down the steaming pot and took out a spoon from her dress pocket. “Just one spoon though. We’ll ‘ave to share.”
Cordelia did not ask what Liz had had to do to get the soup, she ate greedily, glad for once to get something other than the usual thin broth. It wasn’t until she was halfway through that the thought struck her that she should have allowed Liz to eat first.
“Oh,” she stammered. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Liz replied. “Ye need it more than me.”
“You’re very kind,” Cordelia said. “Not at all like….” She stopped realizing where her words were taking her.
“A ladybird?” Liz finished for her. “Don’t worry, it’s what I am. Been one since I was eleven.”
“Eleven!” Cordelia repeated, aghast. “But you would have been just a child.”
“Ye grows up fast on the streets,” Liz replied matter-of-factly. “Me mum died when I was eleven. Never had no dad. It was either whorin’ or thievin’ and I wasn’t bad looking.”
“I… I think you’re beautiful,” Cordelia blurted out.
Liz gave her a strange look. For a few seconds her fair complexion actually darkened. “I think that’s the first time anyone ever told me that,” she said finally. “Mostly blokes just have their way and pay me.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps descending into the hold. They looked out to see one of the sailors. He leered unsympathetically. “Yer master wants ye topside.”
Hurriedly both she and Liz scrambled to their feet. They were both cramped from sleeping in the small space. Since her brutal ordeal in Janessic’s cabin her vicious captor had left her alone. Exactly why, neither woman could fathom, but they were both glad of the reprieve. Five days had passed since the incident and they had remained in Liz’s tiny room, emerging only for calls of nature and to obtain a pot of soup from the cook. They had made every effort to avoid Janessic during that time, but now he wanted them and both girls were filled with apprehension.
Janessic was waiting in his cabin, along with Simmons. “Come here, girl,” he ordered Cordelia. Obediently, but fearing some sort of punishment she stepped forward. Producing a key Janessic removed the collar from her throat. “In less than half a day we will be reaching our destination. When we arrive you will both wear these.” He tossed a pair of rather moth-eaten robes toward them.
Neither girl complained. Cordelia was glad of something that afforded more privacy that her rather sheer nightdress and Liz was not about to object to a garment to cover her torn dress. “You will also wear these,” Janessic ordered, throwing each of them a long dark scarf. “Wear them so that it covers both your heads and faces.”
It seemed a strange request after confining them in a semi-nude condition for most of the voyage, but they quickly complied. Janessic surveyed them critically. “Excellent,” he said. “Now go below until you are called.”
Cordelia and Liz tried to catch sight of the land that they knew must be near. After more than a week at sea both girls wondered where they might be. Cordelia suspected that they had traveled south. The temperature had risen steadily each day and they were now sailing into cloudless skies, however, there was no sign of land. Disappointed they went below and waited.
Ibrahim Deslaurier bowed as the Englishman moved down the gangway. He had gone to the harbour as soon as he received word that the ship had arrived. “You have the woman?” he asked.
Janessic nodded. “I have, and her maid as well.”
“And she is still pure?”
“As the driven snow,” Janessic
replied. “Not that you’d
have any idea what snow is about in this infernal
climate.” He took out his
handkerchief and wiped his brow. He
was not looking forward to the return voyage to
“I am familiar with the substance,” Deslaurier replied. “I have been to the high Atlas. Now I must see the girl. And you say she has a maid. Is she also pure?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Janessic replied, suppressing a grin. “But she is part of the bargain. I want no witnesses.”
Deslaurier shrugged. One girl or two mattered little to him. He was already transporting several others. One extra would make no difference. “The girl?” he asked.
“Follow me,” Janessic said, moving up the gangplank.
Deslaurier trailed behind Janessic.
The ship was typical of many that stopped in at
Essaouira. It had seen better
days, but could handle the short voyage from
“Up on deck,” the burly crewman ordered. “Janessic wants ye.”
“So it’s come,” Cordelia thought. Swaddled in her heavy robe in the heat and humidity of the hold, she was distinctly uncomfortable. Being on deck would be infinitely preferable despite the fear of the unknown. Janessic must have brought her on the voyage for some reason. Now she expected she would find out what it was.
She headed up the ladder followed by Liz. Climbing in her heavy robes was awkward, but she made it without incident. Gaining the deck she and Liz stood blinking in the sunlight.
She caught sight of Janessic first and then another
man. He was tall and slender
and dressed in what she assumed were robes traditional to the country the
she had sailed to.
“
A quick look ashore confirmed her suspicions. The ship was docked in the harbour of a small coastal village. Its collection of drab mud architecture was right out of the picture books she had read as a child.
“Bonjour mademoiselle,” the tall, dark-complexioned man said, bowing slightly.
Cordelia was caught a bit off-guard. She had not expected so courteous a greeting after the way Janessic had treated her, but she recovered enough to reply in the same language. “|Bonjour monsieur.” Her accent was flawless, French being one of the languages she had mastered.
“C'est bon,” the stranger continued. “We can communicate. That makes it so much easier. Your companion – does she speak French as well?”
Cordelia shook her head, certain that Liz did not. The girl’s version of English was actually painful to her ears. It was a bit much to expect that she understood anything other than the language she had picked up from the gutter.
The man gave a Gaulic shrug. “It matters not; I doubt that I have much to communicate to your maid. Tell me, have you been treated well?”
Cordelia looked quickly at Janessic and decided that it was best not to make an issue of the brutal treatment she had endured at his hands. Perhaps it would be safe to do so once she was off the ship, but until then she was in his power. “I am well,” she replied. “The voyage was not pleasant.”
“Ah yes,” the man replied, misinterpreting her reply. “Perhaps a bit of mal de mer.”
Cordelia nodded and the man continued. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Ibrahim Deslaurier. I will be your guide from now on.”
“Guide?” thought Cordelia. “He is acting as if I am on some sort of tour.”
At that point Liz interrupted. “Ere, what’s all this Frenchy talk? I can’t understand a word.”
“It’s alright, Liz,” Cordelia replied. “I think this man is our new master.”
Deslaurier caught the word. “Not master,” he corrected. “Guide. I am taking you to your master. However, before we depart there is something I want you to write. Mr. Janessic will deliver it.”
“Finally,” Cordelia thought. “The ransom note. Perhaps my father will be able to purchase my freedom.”
Janessic took them to his cabin, where Cordelia was seated at the table and handed pen and paper. Placing a bottle of ink in front of her DesLaurier spoke. “You may write whatever personal message you desire, but this is what I want included in the letter.”
Cordelia listened and her gut wrenched. It was not what she had expected.
Dearest
Father,
I
have been given this one opportunity to write to
you. I am being watched as I
write and dare not express my full emotions as I am to be allowed only a
short note. Suffice to say that
the love I feel for you is deeper that can ever be truly
stated.
I
am well and have not been badly treated.
Please do not grieve for me.
I do not know why I have been taken from
you. My captors will only tell
me that I may never return. This
letter is my goodbye. Please
do not search for me as I have been told that if you do your life will be
in danger. It would be unbearable
if your life was sacrificed because of
me.
I
must go now. My captors have
ordered me to finish.
I
remain your loving daughter,
Cordelia
“Excellent,” sneered Janessic.
“Very stiff upper lip.
I think it will have the desired
effect.” He sat across from
her as he read her note, sipping a glass of red wine.
“Why did you make me do this?” Cordelia asked. “The letter will tear my father apart. Why am I not being ransomed?”
“Since you are never going to escape I do not see why you should not know,” Janessic answered. His tone of voice suggested that he was enjoying the mental anguish he was putting her through.
“As you might well imagine,” Janessic began, “a High Court justice makes many enemies. Your father made one too many. I am not at liberty to divulge the identity of my employer, but suffice to say he is someone who makes a very bad enemy.”
Janessic paused to sip at his wine and then
continued. “My employer
lost fifteen years of his life because of you
father. He did not enjoy
Cordelia sat in shock. Only now was the realization sinking in that she was never to see her home again. “You are a monster,” she said. “How could you do such a thing?”
Janessic shrugged. “I get paid well for what I do. This job was a little different, but it was well worth my while.”
“Have you no conscience? How could you take a father’s only child from him?
“It is what I do,” Janessic said, finishing his wine. I’m very good at it.”
“What’s going to happen to me?” Cordelia asked, the impact of Janessic’s words finally coming home to her.
Janessic smiled. “I am finished with you. I will let Monsieur Deslaurier answer that.”
“I too, am just a courier,” Deslaurier stated. “Our mutual employer was most efficient. He chose me because I can deliver you to your final destination.”
Cordelia held her breath. What was going to be done to her?
Deslaurier hesitated and then finally
finished. “I am to take
you to the desert city of
“No,” she protested. “You cannot consign me to the life of a prostitute.” She realized as she blurted out the words that Liz was standing next to her. Fortunately since she had spoken in French the girl was unaware of the implied insult.
“I assure you, that to be a member of the royal harem is considered a great honour. You will be treated well.”
“And my… my maid,” Cordelia asked going along with Janessic’s description of the street girl.
Deslaurier shrugged. “As she is not…pure, then she is not suitable as a member of the harem. However, she is quite pretty and no doubt the bey will be able to find other uses for her.”
The implication of Deslaurier’s words was all too clear. “You will sell her into slavery. How could you do so despicable a thing?”
“No more than what she is used to,” interjected Janessic. “I doubt that she will even notice.” He got to his feet as he finished. “Farewell, Miss Delacourt. I wish we had gotten to know one another better, but now I must turn you over to your new escort. Monsieur Deslaurier is most anxious to be on his way.”
Cordelia saw that it was no good protesting. Resignedly she waited to see what Deslaurier had planned for her.
Cordelia sighed in relief as she dismounted from the back of the
donkey. She had nothing against
the little beast, but riding one from morning to late afternoon was
exhausting. She looked at
Liz. The girl was suffering a
great deal more than she was.
Cordelia had ridden since childhood, but the street girl had never
been on horse or donkey prior to her ordeal in
“How are you, Liz?” Cordelia asked.
“Me bum feels like its black and blue, maam,” Liz replied. “Hain’t got any skin left on it I don’t doubt.”
Cordelia smiled. She had grown
attached to Liz during five days that they had spent moving toward the
Deslaurier was close by as always. His watchfulness was unnecessary. Alone in a strange country, and unable to speak the language of the inhabitants, there was little chance that Cordelia would have been able to escape even if she had not been guarded.
Cordelia helped set up the tent, much to Liz’s exasperation. Liz did not believe that a lady of quality should have to do such work, but Cordelia knew that the girl was just as tired as she was. Their captivity was slowly wearing both of them down. Poor quality food and the seemingly endless trek into the mountains left them tired even before the day began.
The one thing Deslaurier had done for her during the journey into the mountains had been to provide her and Liz with a decent change of clothing, replacing the moth eaten rags Janessic had forced them to wear. The robes were much warmer, actually consisting of several robes worn one over the other.
“You’ll need these,” Deslaurier had explained. “The nights in the mountains are quite cool.”
He had been right. The
Right now, however, the beauty of the mountains was lost on the two young women. Too weary to care much about what was happening around them, they finished erecting the tent, ate their meagre evening meal and crawled into the tent. Cordelia suspected that Deslaurier was deliberately subjecting them to privation to ensure that they were too weak to entertain any ideas of escape, but there was nothing she could do about the situation. She was completely in the power of her captor.
Cordelia looked at Liz. The girl returned a rather wan smile. During the week it had taken to reach the foothills she had rarely commented on their situation, other than to complain about how sore her backside was from the constant pounding it took from the donkey. Surprisingly, she had asked Cordelia to teach her French so that she could understand what Cordelia and Deslaurier were talking about. Cordelia was happy to comply. The long hours on the donkey gave her little else to do and helped to divert her attention from the heat and discomfort of the ride.
Deslaurier sometimes joined in the lessons and Cordelia was able to learn
a bit about him. His mother had
been employed in a
Cordelia awoke to the sound of screaming. Beside her, Liz mumbled something in her sleep, but did not awaken. Cordelia shook her roughly. “Liz wake up, something’s wrong.”
It took a few seconds to rouse the sleeping girl. “What is it, maam?” she muttered, still half asleep.
“Get up,” Cordelia urged. “Something is happening.” She crawled to the entrance to the tent. At that moment a form blocked the entrance. It was Deslaurier.
“Stay here,” he ordered. “The camp is under attack.” A second later he was gone.
Cordelia turned to Liz. “Come on,” she whispered. “This might be our chance.”
She poked her head from the tent. Around them the camp had erupted into pandemonium with people running in every direction and horses and donkeys neighing and braying in panic.
Cordelia opened the flap and stepped outside, Liz following. She was struck by how cold the air was. She had never been allowed outside at night before, but now there was no one to stop her. Liz, now fully awake, followed her from the tent. Cordelia had no real plan. She simply knew that no better opportunity was likely to present itself. “This way,” she urged, grabbing Liz by her sleeve. She headed them toward the area where the donkeys were tethered. If she and Liz could grab a couple of animals they might be able to make their escape.
It was not a well thought out plan, but she had little time for anything else. All around them the camp had erupted into chaos. Men were dashing this way and that, most of them carrying muskets. No one seemed to have time to pay any attention to two girls concealed by their desert robes. Cordelia saw no sign of Deslaurier, but supposed that he was off somewhere defending the camp against whomever was attacking. More importantly as she and Liz moved toward the donkey paddock, no one tried to stop them.
They stumbled through the darkness, tripping over guy ropes and tent pegs as they made their way toward the donkeys. It was a section of the camp that was normally heavily guarded but the disturbance on the other side had pulled the guards away from it. Several men rushed past them in the dark, heading the other way. The path to the paddock was clear.
Cordelia wondered how many raiders there were. Musket fire sounded from behind her, but she sensed that the majority of the shots were coming from the camp’s defenders. Perhaps the attack had already been beaten off.
Liz stumbled and fell flat. “Bloody ‘ell,” she muttered as Cordelia helped her to her feet.
“Come on,” Cordelia urged, “we’re almost there.” She hurried on. Speed was of the utmost importance. She and Liz had to get away before their disappearance was noted. Once into the darkness she doubted that anyone would follow them until morning.
The braying of hundreds of excited animals greeted them as they reached the paddock. Cordelia was glad of the noise; it would help to disguise their escape. She had formulated a plan of sorts. She and Liz would each take two donkeys. By changing mounts on a regular basis they would be able to make better time.
It was still a desperate gamble. Without food or any supplies they would not make it far, however, the donkeys might be a solution to that problem. The route the caravan had traveled had been lined with small farms. It should be possible to trade one or more of the donkeys for food and the other things that they needed to make it back to Essaouira. The language barrier would be the biggest problem. A week of traveling in the caravan had allowed her to pick up a few phrases in Arabic, but not enough to hold an intelligent conversation. However, she had no choice. She would just have to muddle through and hope for the best.
It never occurred to Cordelia that she might appeal to anyone for help. A stranger in a strange land, she trusted no one. Her hope was that she would make it to Essaouira and contact a European trader.
Quickly she slipped a halter over the nearest animal. She did it quite competently, her familiarity with horses allowing her to work quickly. Liz was a little less adept and she heard the girl muttering under her breath.
“Bloody ‘ell. Stupid beast. ‘old still or I’ll ‘ave your knackers.”
Cordelia could not suppress a smile. The donkeys were either jennies or gelded males. They had no knackers to remove. Placing a halter on her second animal she led the two donkeys over to where Liz was still struggling with her first. “Hold these,” she said, taking the halter from Liz. Quickly she slipped it over the head of the donkey Liz had been attempting to harness and pulled it tight and then went to the next donkey. A few seconds later the two girls led the animals from the paddock and into the night.
A few hundred feet from the
Cordelia didn’t dare try to find the track they had followed. Instead she headed straight into the desert trusting that she could use the stars to find her way. The unfettered desert sky provided Cordelia with the only direction she needed, Polaris gleamed brightly, showing the way north. But she went east first, attempting to get as far away from the camp as possible before trying to pick up the trail they had taken.
“Gor blimey, it’s cold,” Liz exclaimed after a few minutes of riding.
Cordelia had to agree. If it had been light it was almost certain her breath would have been visible. The desert air held very little heat, and it was a case of being too hot during the day and freezing at night. It was the first time since the trek began that she had been outside her tent at night and the chill air surprised her.
They rode in silence for the next few minutes until Liz spoke again. “I ‘ope ye know where we are because I’m bloomin’ ‘lost.”
“I can tell directions from the stars,” Cordelia replied. “See that bright star? That’s Polaris, the North Star.”
“Blimey, you’re a bloomin’ jimmy,” Liz exclaimed. “usin’ the stars. Never thought of that.”
“Shush,” Cordelia said suddenly. “I think I heard something.” She brought her donkey to a halt and climbed off and stood listening.
Liz halted as well and immediately slid off her beast, no doubt glad to have her feet on the ground again. “I don’t hear nuffink,” she whispered.
Cordelia clapped her hand over Liz’s mouth. She had heard the clink of metal as of the trappings of a horse. Liz heard it too. The girl froze realizing that they were not alone.
The sound became more distinct, revealing itself as the noise made by a number of horses moving slowly in the night. Less that a hundred feet away in the night a number of men and animals was moving across their path.
Stock still, their heats beating like those of birds, the two girls waited for the danger to pass. If they could just remain undiscovered for a few minutes the invisible riders might move off, leaving them safe once more. And then Cordelia’s donkey began to bray.
The other three joined in almost at once and they were answered by both horses and donkeys from directly ahead of them. Several voices immediately shouted in Arabic and there was the sound of horses moving toward them.
“Come on,” Cordelia cried, grabbing Liz’s arm. She began to run into the darkness, hoping somehow to avoid discovery.
Running in the dark brought predictable results. She slammed her foot into a rock and fell full-length, taking Liz down with her. She scrambled to her feet only to see a dark shape loom out of the darkness. Bewildered, she and Liz crouched on the ground as horses and men swept around them.
Choking dust blanketed them and then there was more shouting in Arabic as the horses were brought to a halt. As the dust cleared Cordelia saw that she and Liz were completely surrounded by a number of dark shapes. One of the horses spurred toward her and Cordelia saw an armed raised and the starlight glinting off the blade of a sword.
“No, we’re women,” she cried out in panic. She staggered back and saw with relief the rider lower the sword. Then a couple of horses were spurred toward them. Before Cordelia knew what was happening, the rider closest to her reached down and without seeming to exert any real effort, caught her under the arm and swept her up before him.
Cordelia was too surprised to do more than lie where she was as she found herself face down across the withers of the horse, the rider holding her in place. She heard a muffled cry from Liz and realized that the same thing had happened to her and then she was too busy trying to get her breath as the rider spurred his horse into a bone-jarring trot that threatened to make her lose her last meal.
The rider kept up the pace for what seemed like hours, although it was probably much less than that, before slowing his horse to a walk. Draped like a bag of grain over the horse, Cordelia was unable to move, her every attempt to shift her position prevented by the strong arm of the man that held her in place.
Cordelia realized that her escape attempt had gone horribly wrong. Instead of escaping she and Liz had blundered into the men attacking the camp and now faced an unknown future. Whether their fate would be any better than what DesLaurier had planned for them was far from certain. They could only wait and see.
Their captors rode until just before dawn, finally entering a desert camp. Cordelia was able to raise her head enough to see a number of dark tents and she could hear the sound of many voices as the riders were welcomed into the camp. Then without ceremony she was lifted from the horse and dropped to the sand. She was immediately surrounded by a number of men and women, all babbling in Arabic or some language close to it. Here and there Cordelia could pick up the occasional word, but not enough to know what was being said.
After a few minutes she felt someone take her arm and she was led toward one of the tents. She went quietly, having little other choice, and found herself in a large tent. It was almost black in the tent, but she quickly realized that the person who had guided her was a woman. The woman said something Cordelia did not understand, but she did understand her motion to sit and Cordelia sat herself on a large mat. Liz sat next to her. The girl was quiet for once, no doubt too confused and exhausted by what had happened to them to find anything to say.
After a few seconds something was pressed into Cordelia’s hand. It was a water skin and she raised it to her lips and drank, realizing that she was completely parched. She was allowed several swallows before the water skin was removed and handed to Liz. The girl also drank and then Cordelia was handed a bowl containing what she supposed was food. She dipped her hand into it and found that she was right. It seemed to be a mixture of rice and dates, a combination she had eaten before, and she realized that she was famished. The long ride had somehow generated an appetite and she ate until the bowl was empty.
The woman serving her made a sound as if she was satisfied and then indicated that Cordelia and Liz should lie down. Neither woman had to be told twice. Exhausted and still fearful, they quickly lapsed into a deep sleep.
She awoke to the sound of a man’s voice. Cordelia sat up and saw that along with the woman who had brought them food and water, there was a man shrouded in desert robes sitting across from her.
“Ah good, you awake now,” the man said in horribly accented French. “I have some question for you. You understand?”
“I do,” Cordelia replied in the same language.
“Who you be and why you in desert dressed like Bedou?” the man asked. Cordelia could only see his eyes as he spoke, the rest of his face concealed by his robes.
“I am Cordelia Delacourt, and this is my companion Miss
Brown. We were kidnapped in
After this statement the man was quiet and Cordelia could guess what was going through his mind. That was finally confirmed by the man’s next question. “Your father very rich?”
“He has some money,” Cordelia answered cautiously. “Enough to see you suitably rewarded for your trouble.”
The man thought again for a few seconds and then responded, his question catching Cordelia off-guard. “Where caravan taking you? And who you being taken to.”
Cordelia thought for a second, not wanting to give too much away to this total stranger. There was no telling what he might do with her and she wanted to give him as few options as possible. “I don’t know anything about the caravan,” she lied. “I was told nothing about why I was abducted.”
“I think you lie,” the man said slowly. “You too smart not to know where you go. You tell now.” The last three words were spoken in a tone that sent chills down Cordelia’s spine.
She didn’t know what to do.
What would their new captor do if he knew of their intended
destination? She and Liz were
completely at his mercy and their only hope of returning to
“Tell me,” the man prompted. “No lies.”
“We were going to Timbuctou,” Cordelia replied. It was a harmless admission. Almost certainly the desert bandits who had captured them would know where the caravan was going.
“And who waiting for you in Timbuctou?”
“I wasn’t told,” Cordelia answered. At all cost she did not want her captors to know who was intended as her master.
The man grunted, but did not challenge her answer. Instead he got to his feet and spoke to the woman in Arabic. She answered and looked at Cordelia and then nodded, leaving Cordelia wondering what had just transpired.
A few minutes later several women entered the tent; one of them, from her bent posture incredibly old. Their body language signaled that something of importance was about to occur but what it was caught both her and Liz unprepared.
Two women helped Cordelia to her feet and immediately began to remove her robes. Two others began to do the same with Liz.
“’Ere, what you doing?” Liz protested, but her complaints were ignored. As she began to raise her voice Cordelia interjected.
“Let them be, Liz. They’ll just force us. Take off your robe.”
“This ain’t decent,” Liz complained, a strange remark for a girl who had spent most of her working life lying on her back, but she stopped her struggles and let them undress her.
Completely nude both girls stood awkwardly while the old woman proceeded with the next part of the inspection. If Liz had complained before this time her protests were almost heroic.
“Touch me again and I’ll ‘ave your ‘ead,” the girl shouted as she kicked at the crone, forcing the two women beside her to grab her arms and force her to the floor.
On Cordelia’s part, she stood quiet, but acutely embarrassed while the ancient woman peered at the most private regions of her body. Finally, finished her inspection, the crone signaled that she was done and exited the tent, followed by the other four women.
“Bloody ‘ell, what was that about; bloomin’ glocks,” Liz raged.
“We’ve have just had our virtue tested,” Cordelia answered as she pulled her robe back on.
“Sizing up our value,” Liz commented. “I’m sure they was disappointed in me.”
Cordelia did not answer as at that moment the tent flap was turned aside and the woman who had served them entered, followed by the man who had interrogated her.
The woman took Liz by the arm and began to lead her from the tent. The girl looked at Cordelia. “I’ll be alright,” Cordelia said. “It won’t do you any good to make a scene.”
“Shout if you needs ‘elp.” Liz remarked as she reluctantly left the tent.
Cordelia turned to face the man who had questioned her, fully conscious of the fact that the tent was now deserted except for the two of them. The man said nothing, but slid his hood from his head, revealing a bearded, swarthy visage.
“Where are you taking my friend?” Cordelia asked. “I prefer that we stay together.”
“From now on you do what I say,” the man answered. “I leader. Do with you what I want.”
“Where are you taking my companion,” Cordelia repeated, suddenly understanding her peril.
“She not pure. Take her to my men. You, I keep for me.”
“You can’t do this,” Cordelia protested. She was so frightened that she could hardly get the words out. “Have you no honour to prey upon two helpless women?”
“I am bandit. Honour is for those who not steal to survive. I take what I want when I want.”
“If you dishonour me I will have no value,” Cordelia replied. “I am promised to the bey.”
For the first time the swarthy bandit smiled. “So now I have all of story. That who waits for you in Timbuctou?”
Cordelia saw now that she had been tricked. Reluctantly she confirmed the bandit chief’s comment. “Yes, but my father will pay more. Take me to Essaouira and you will never have to work again.”
“So your father is very rich, no.”
“He is one of the wealthiest men in
“I think you lie again. I
will ransom you to the bey. He
is sure to pay. This father of
yours in far off
“Please,” Cordelia begged. “You must have children. How can you separate a father from his daughter?”
The bandit smiled. “I not do the separating. And my children must be fed. You fetch good price from bey.”
Cordelia saw that further arguments were useless, and she changed her tack. “My companion. What of her, surely you do not mean to have your men dishonour her?”
“She not a virgin. There no loss of honour. And now it time for you to honour me.”
“Honour you?” Cordelia gasped. A shiver ran down her back and her stomach clenched. “What do you mean?”
In answer the bandit chief began to remove his outer robe.
“No,” Cordelia cried. “You can’t do this. I will lose my value.”
“I not going to fuck you,” the bandit said. “But you will pleasure me.” He dropped his robe and stood nude before her. Cordelia immediately averted her eyes.
The bandit stepped up to her and throwing back her hood grabbed her by the hair. “You don’t have to look at me to serve me, but you do have to touch me.”
“What are you going to do?” Cordelia quavered, her legs buckling from fear.
In answer the bandit pushed her to her knees and went down with her. He leaned back on the carpet, his erect phallus sticking up at a forty-five degree angle. Sizing her right wrist he forced her hand to touch the throbbing organ.
“Hold it,” he ordered, “and then slide hand up and down. Do it well or I take your maidenhead instead.”
Trembling with fear, her head hung low in mortification, Cordelia did as she was bid. The bandit groaned and arched his back as her hand massaged his heavy member.
His breathing increased until he was gasping. Cordelia noted to her chagrin that a glistening bead of moisture had formed at the tip of his penis. It dripped down the glans and splashed onto her finger. Resisting the urge to shake it off she continued caressing the bandit chief’s rigid phallus until suddenly he tightened the grip on her hair and drew her head down.
Having seen Liz forced to perform the same action Cordelia knew what was expected of her, but her stomach almost revolted at the thought of taking the bandit leader into her mouth. She tried to pull back but succeeded only in tearing loose several strands of her hair. He was much too strong for her to escape his grasp and her mouth was drawn down to his throbbing member.
The horror of what she was being forced to do made her faint. Cordelia was not ignorant of the ways of the flesh; she had been around horses and dogs all of her life and was well aware of how mammals reproduced. She had even been present at a foaling on one occasion. However, like a truly virtuous Victorian maiden, she had never considered engaging in any premarital sexual activity. Not in her wildest fantasies or worst nightmares had she imagined that she would be subjected to the debasing trial she was being forced to undergo.
The stink of his unwashed body almost emptied her stomach, but she took his organ into her mouth and fought to keep from gagging.
“Now you suck me, girl,” the bandit ordered. “You do it or I beat you.”
Cordelia had no doubt the bandit would carry out his threat. Closing her lips about his rigid shaft she sucked. At the same time the bandit used his free hand to fondle her breasts through her robe.
The ordeal was crushingly humiliating, but her fear of punishment kept her obedient to the bandit’s wishes. The episode seemed to last forever, but finally the bandit cried out in carnal released and spewed his load into her mouth. Too frightened and ashamed to spit it out, Cordelia swallowed, using all of her willpower to keep it down.
Still breathing heavily, the bandit got to his feet and pulled on his robe. “You good,” he said. “We do again later.” On that depressing note he left the tent, leaving Cordelia alone with her shame and her thoughts.
Liz made no effort to resist as she was led from the tent. Her only fear was of what might happen to Cordelia. Her mistress had been sheltered from most of the cruel realities of the world and she was afraid of what the bandit chief might do to the inexperienced girl when he had her alone. She was less concerned about her own fate. During her nineteen years she had certainly faced situations at least as bad as this.
She was led into another tent. Inside it was as dark as the first tent, but Liz could sense that it was crowded with men. As they closed around her she gave a resigned sigh. “Alright, you Arab bastards, who’s first?”
It was a long session. She must have been serviced by every man in camp. Every man, except the bandit chief, a fact that worried Liz more than being the victim of a gang rape. As each man satisfied himself she kept her mind on Cordelia, hoping that the girl was not being subjected to the same treatment she was.
She tried not to show her discomfort as the last man finished with her. She stank of sex, her body drenched with sweat, and rank with the stench of semen. Slowly she got to her feet, quietly proud of the fact that she had remained silent during the ordeal in spite of the attempts of the men fucking her to generate a response. Fortunately, they had not resorted to violence. If they had, the experience would have been far worse. Even as it was she had to struggle to hide the fact that her loins ached from the relentless pounding they had received. She would have a hard time walking for the next day or so and hoped that she would be allowed to rest before being forced to submit once again.
Holding herself erect, she allowed herself to be led to the tent where she had left Cordelia. To her relief the bandit chief was not there and Cordelia sat up suddenly, apparently startled out of a sound sleep.
“Oh Liz, she cried, “I was so frightened without you. Are you alright? Were you hurt?”
“Nuffing I’m not used to I’m sure,” Liz answered, walking stiffly toward the sleeping mat. She was so sore she could hardly take a step without crying out, but she kept her face impassive so as not to alarm her mistress.
Cordelia, however, was not fooled. She scrambled to her feet and helped her toward the mat. “Oh Liz, are you in much pain? Did they hurt you badly?”
She didn’t ask what had been done to her, for which Liz was grateful, but she knew that Cordelia was too intelligent not to have guessed. As Cordelia helped her to sit down she protested the reversal of the servant-mistress relationship. “Ere, maam. You shouldn’t be ‘elping me. You’re a lady. It’s me should be asking about you.”
“I’m alright,” Cordelia answered. “I didn’t enjoy it, but nothing was done to me, really.”
Liz heard the last remark with relief, hoping that it meant her mistress’s virginity was still intact. “I just need a little rest,” she said. In truth, she could no longer hold herself up. The exhaustion of the escape attempt coupled with the ordeal of the gang rape caught up with her in a rush. She found that she was completely unable to move.
“Those beasts,” Cordelia cried. Her eyes were wet with tears, but she did not weep. Instead she put her arms around her friend and hugged her to sleep.
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