Love's Odyssey (25 page)

"Hurry!" Sora whispered.

Romell stepped aside and pushed Sora through the opening. "Get down!" she hissed, and when she saw Sora duck down, she dropped the door shut.

Quickly, she yanked the rug over the trapdoor and smoothed it. Then, with the telltale thud of the closing door echoing in her mind, she raced about the room, toppling first a bronze statue, then an ivory statue from their niches. Not quite the same sound, but close enough.

She looked frantically about for another way to escape, but before she could make any move, three men burst into the room. They stared from the fallen statues to her. The tallest, a man with a long thin moustache, laughed aloud and sprang at Romell. All three had the slanted eyes she'd noticed in the features of the Chinese workers at Batavia.

Romell had no chance to evade the moustached man. He caught her hands at the wrists, and a second man bound her wrists behind her back. They pulled her with them as they searched the room, yanking the gold discs from the walls and wrapping them in a silk drapery they had pulled down. The moustached man directed the others in an unknown language she took to be Chinese.

Nicholas' men, without a doubt. Chinese pirates. Despite this, Romell breathed a thankful sigh when they hurried her from the room without finding the secret hiding place where Sora and the others crouched.

She was taken out of the kraton and into the hills. From here a small army of men trotted briskly seaward along a rough trail, torchbearers lighting the way. Romell couldn't keep up the pace. After she'd fallen twice and twice been jerked to her feet, her captor tossed her over his shoulder as if she were a sack of rice.

Blood beat in her head as she was jolted along upside down, and she swam in and out of consciousness. Finally, she became aware of being stretched out, face down, on a wooden surface. She smelled the freshness of the sea, heard the creak of ship's timbers.

Turning her head, she saw slatted bamboo sails above her in the flare of torchlight. Then the boat began to rise and fall--the pirates had put to sea.

Moments later, rough hands flipped her onto her back and fingers pulled at her sarong, stripping it from her. She saw a grinning face with slanting eyes, a face that looked yellow in the light.

"No!" she gasped, feeling the sea wind caress her nakedness. "No!"

Chapter 25

Romell closed her eyes when the pirate's face came so close to hers that the ends of his moustache touched her breasts. She tensed in horrified anticipation. Even if she had been able to free herself, there was no place to run. The pirate grunted in what sounded like surprise, and Romell’s eyes flew open.

He stared at her naked body, at her breasts, her thighs, then turned and shouted. After a moment, a sailor ran up with a lantern. Her captor grabbed the lantern and held it so close to her skin that she flinched away.

Both men now stared at her, then the two began talking in what Romell assumed was Chinese. Finally, her captor reached down to pick up something and tossed it at her. She blinked in astonishment. He had given her back her sarong. 

She quickly covered herself. Why had she been granted a reprieve? Romell thought of the Raden examining her fair skin. Did the Chinese dislike the color of her skin? 

Relieved, she thanked God for whatever had changed the man's mind. The men left her. Warily, Romell stood up and tucked in the batik securely. A woman screamed.

Romell jerked her head up, staring into the darkness. Underfoot the boat swayed and overhead the rigging creaked, but she could see nothing.

She was afraid to move from the spot where the men had left her and tried to close her mind to the sounds she heard, for it was obvious another woman was onboard and suffering the violation Romell had feared for herself.

Who was the woman? A palace servant? A dancing girl-concubine? Romell bit her lip and tried not to think of what the woman must be feeling—the horror, the pain and revulsion.

The ship rolled and pitched as they hit rougher water, the timbers creaking. Romell huddled in her nook, hearing alien language, men's laughter, but no more from the woman.

Are we headed for China? she wondered. Despite her terror, she dozed off now and then, only to jerk awake at each unfamiliar sound. No one came near her. When dawn painted the horizon scarlet, Romell rose cautiously and stretched her cramped muscles.

Above her, bamboo-battened sails on their slanted yards bent before the wind. She was aboard a junk. She found she'd been lying next to the cabin, and she stared in amazement at the dragon painted in greens and golds that writhed across the entire length of the bamboo side.

She turned away from the dragon to look at the sea, and jumped back with a muffled shriek.

In front of her stood a tall Chinese with a long thin moustache. She recognized her captor and, forcing herself to keep calm, eyed him warily. He took a strand of her hair between his fingers, grinning as he examined it, then pinched the skin of her upper arm so hard she cried out.

He spoke words she didn't understand, pointed to her and said something else. The only word she understood was 'Nicholas.'"

Romell licked her lips and swallowed. "Nicholas?" she repeated, pointing at him.

He laughed hugely, shaking with mirth.

That must mean he's not Nicholas, she told herself.

The pirate motioned toward the sea ahead of the junk. "Nicholas," he said. "Amoy."

In Batavia, she'd heard Hendrik mention Amoy, and remembered now that it was a seaport in China.

The man jabbed his finger at her again, repeating, "Nicholas," then pointed seaward again, saying, "Amoy."

This time his meaning was unmistakable. She was being taken to the pirate chief Nicholas, in Amoy.

As the day passed, the men of the crew approached Romell to stare at her or touch her hair or skin. None of them tried to molest her further, and after a time she relaxed, deciding that since she was intended as a prize for Nicholas, the pirate crew wouldn't bother her.

The other woman aboard wasn't so fortunate. Romell heard her moan as the men visited her in the cabin one after the other. Who was she? I can't help her at all, she told herself sorrowfully, sick at heart as she thought of the Javanese woman's degradation.

To turn her mind from the woman's misfortune, she began to walk about the deck, avoiding the cabin as much as she could aboard the forty-foot junk. She saw heavy swiveling cannon fore and aft, noted that the bow and stern were short and the poop high. She counted ten men in the crew.

The second day passed much like the first as the little ship flew along with the wind. Sometimes Romell caught sight of the sails of another junk off to star-board. At mealtime she was brought balls of fish mixed with rice to eat, and late in the day found the courage to look into the cabin for the Javanese woman. She recognized the doll-like woman as Fatima, one of the dancing girls, a bedaya.

To Romell's surprise, Fatima was smiling and patting the arm of the moustached pirate, who Romell now knew was the junk's captain. When he strolled out of the cabin, past Romell, he grinned at her. Romell edged inside, staring at Fatima.

"Are you well?" she asked.

Fatima sighed, "I think the big man called Ying favors me, and that is good."

"You—you like him?" Romell couldn't keep the shock out of her voice.

Fatima looked impassively at her. "One is better than many. The chief is better than the tribesmen. You are fortunate, I hear you are a gift to Nicholas."

"Who is this Nicholas?" Romell asked.

"He rules all the pirates of the China Sea. Long ago, he is adopted by Captain China, who teaches him to be a pirate, and now no one conquers Nicholas. His ships are as the stars in the sky—too many to count."

"What will he want with me?"

"What does any man want with a woman? You must make him desire to keep you for himself alone, or--" Fatima paused and gestured toward the cabin door.

Or I'll belong to all the men, Romell thought. 

"Do you know their language?" she asked.

"A little. Not many words. It pleases Ying that I can speak in his tongue."

"Teach me the words you know," Romell begged.

"If Ying permits," Fatima said.

The third day dawned sunny, and the junk rode the sparkling sea before a brisk breeze. Twice, Romell saw flying fish shoal off in iridescent flight, and once a giant ray startled her when it dove under water with a slap like thunder.

The fourth day no one offered Romell food, and she noticed all the men were busy securing loose gear. The junk rolled and pitched more than usual, and a bank of clouds rose in the northeast, ominous-looking clouds.

"Maybe typhoon," Fatima said, nodding her head toward the clouds.

"But they haven't reefed the sails," Romell pro-tested, staring up at the billowing lateen sails with their horizontal bamboo strips. "I thought sails were always furled when a storm was coming."

"They think to run before the wind and reach port. Otherwise--" Fatima shrugged.

The junk scudded along in the choppy sea under darkening clouds towering high above. Sailors rigged lines along the deck, and Romell realized these ropes were for handholds to prevent them from being washed overboard if the storm caught them in the open sea.

A man high on the mast shouted and pointed.

"He says 'land,'" Fatima reported.

Spray blew aboard as the junk tacked toward the dark smudge to the north. The captain ordered Fatima and Romell into the tiny bamboo cabin, where they huddled together listening to the junk groan and creak as it raced for shore.

"Ying will sail safe into Amoy," Fatima said. "He is strong and brave."

Romell said nothing. Ying looked to her to be as great a rogue as any of his crewmen, but perhaps he was as good a sailor as Fatima seemed to believe. How could Fatima make such a quick alliance with a man who had not only raped her, but had permitted the rest of his crew to do the same, although it was true that during the last two days no man other than Ying had touched Fatima.

Romell listened to the wind wail as it whipped about the cabin and wondered if she was to be forced into a position where she would have to do as Fatima had done. What was the king of the pirates like? All she could imagine was a more exaggerated version of the junk captain, Ying.

I can't face such a man, she thought. I won't be able to tolerate Nicholas, much less be 'nice' to him. But as the junk rolled in the increasingly heavy seas, Romell began to think she wouldn't live to face Nicholas, for surely this small ship would never survive the typhoon.

"Listen," Fatima said. "I think Ying say we reach harbor."

Romell heard shouts, but recognized none of the words.

"Yes, yes!" Fatima cried, hugging Romell. "We are safe!"

They were not in Amoy, Romell soon discovered. The junk had set anchor in the harbor of a small island off the China coast, to ride out the storm. The wind soon lessened, and Romell decided they must have missed the full fury of the typhoon.

Ying came into the cabin and, grinning at Romell, put an arm about Fatima and began to fondle her breast. He picked her up, and the tiny dancer seemed like a doll in his huge hands. When he dropped Fatima onto the bunk, Romell fled from the cabin to the sound of Ying's laughter.

The sea was still making up and the junk bobbed like a seabird on the waves. At anchor near them, Romell saw a caravel flying the flag of Portugal. Sailors on the deck shouted and gestured to her, the words carrying clearly with the wind, but she knew no Portuguese.

Would they help me escape if I could find a way to get to their ship, she wondered excitedly. Not the sailors, they looked to be ruffians no better than the pirate crew, but surely their captain would be different. Could she swim across to the caravel? Doubtful, in that choppy water.

Romell prowled the deck, searching for something that would float and bear at least part of her weight, when Ying came out of the cabin.

He ordered the anchor raised, and the junk pulled out of the harbor. Before nightfall they were in Amoy. More junks than Romell could count snuggled together in the protected anchorage, some bigger than caravels, some smaller than their junk, some inbetween. All bristled with guns.

Ying approached Romell, a dark green scarf in his hand. Abruptly, he grasped her arm, jerked her directly in front of him, then tied the scarf on her head so her hair was entirely covered. He put Romell and Fatima over the side into a rowboat and climbed in after them. Once they'd been rowed ashore, he led the way to a red and yellow large-wheeled cart drawn by a pony.

As the cart pulled away from the wharves, Romell stared at the bustle in the streets. Men carried bundles and baskets on each end of poles slung across their shoulders, much as the Javanese did. A woman carried a baby bundled in a cloth sling while ahead of her a man trundled a strange one-wheeled stand with goods piled atop it. Four bearers trotted by, carrying a covered litter, curtained off so Romell couldn't see the occupant. Peddlers cried their wares in Chinese.

She clung to the side of the jolting cart and tried to keep from sobbing. She was being taken farther and farther away from everything she knew.

"Look!" Fatima cried, pointing upward to where a floating dragon caught the redness of the late afternoon sun. "A kite."

Romell watched the kite until a turn in the road hid it. The baked-mud and wooden buildings thinned, and soon the road twisted between groves of orange trees where the fruit hung green. They were in a valley following a river through forested hills on either side. Cultivated fields replaced the orange groves, and the land grew hillier. From the top of a rise, Romell caught a glimpse of red-tiled roofs in the distance.

Night had fallen before the cart stopped at the gates of a walled compound. Ying spoke to a guard dressed in a blue uniform, then directed Romell and Fatima to get down. They stood waiting while the guard unlocked the massive iron gate.

The gate swung open. Torches lined a broad tiled walk between pines and trees with delicate-leaved long drooping branches, a walk that led to a magnificent building with a triple-roofed tower, the roofs curving up at the ends. Otherwise there was only one story, with wings attached at each end of the main building.

Romell stared at the curving red-tiled roofs, seeing how they came to rounded peaks over the wood and slatted bamboo of the walls. Unlike the kraton, this palace didn't seem to consist of separate buildings.

Another guard, stationed inside the gate, escorted them along the walk and up three gold and red steps to a wide entry below the tower. An embossed dragon lay curled on the double bronze doors.

Servants opened the massive doors, bowing as Ying led the way inside. Two huge black men, dressed in brilliant yellow silk, beyond anything she could have imagined.

Jewels sparkled and gold glittered everywhere—on sword hilts, on scabbards, embedded in the furniture, on the walls, hanging from ceiling lamps. The entire room shimmered in the light of hundreds of candles in wall sconces and chandelier.

On a dais stood a gold throne where a man lounged carelessly. A woman in silks and jewels sat at his feet and six huge black men, dressed in apple green, stood three on each side of him. On the wall behind the throne a massive jeweled scabbard hung empty.

Nicholas . . . who else would be on the throne? He was amusing himself by cutting a tress of dark hair from the woman with a great curved sword. Romell wondered if she would even be able to close her hand around the sword's jewel-encrusted hilt, so heavy was the ornamentation. But the blade, sharp and wicked, would be able to sever a man's head almost as easily as it cut the woman's curl.