The Rape of Venice (28 page)

‘My unlucky star must be in the ascendant today. The arrival of three Roumis in the city has come to the ears of His Highness, and learning that I had you here he has ordered me to bring you before him. This is a misfortune for both of us. It is certain that he will regard you as his property, and state slaves are far more harshly treated than those who are owned privately.' Glancing at Clarissa, he added, with a heavy sigh, ‘And to think that I could have sold her to a merchant of my acquaintance for at least five thousand
dinars
, whereas now she'll go to the Vali's harem and I'll get nothing.'

Pleasing as it was to know that the eunuch was to be deprived of the handsome sum he had hoped to make out of their misfortune, Roger felt that he was right in his assertion that they would have fared better in his hands than in those of the Vali, particularly as far as Clarissa was concerned. Either way there was no escape for her from becoming the concubine of an Arab and perhaps one whose approaches would make her shudder with repulsion, but a rich merchant might later have raised her to the status of wife and given her all the amenities that went with such a position; whereas as one of a large harem all the chances were that, after her Lord had enjoyed her for a while, she would remain for ever a prisoner, wasting her life in the company of a score or more of other jealous neglected women.

Naturally he kept these gloomy thoughts to himself; but he told Clarissa and Bodkin that they were to be taken before the Vali, and the three of them obeyed the eunuch's order to follow him. He led them out across the court, down a long arcade, then through a beautifully carved doorway, at which two guards were standing, and into another, smaller court.

Its four sides were colonnades each of a dozen arches formed by slender pillars of various coloured marbles. The walls beyond them were covered shoulder high with brighly painted tiles, and between and above the arches stonework fretted like lace gave the whole a delightfully light and airy appearance. From the centre of each arch hung a brass lantern with many little panes of different coloured glass, diffusing a warm, gentle light. In the middle of the court a fountain played into a sunken marble basin, and the floor was a mosaic of black and white marble squares.

At its far end, opposite the doorway, there was a group of people. In the centre Abdul ben Mazuri sat cross-legged on a
broad divan with many cushions. Below him on his left, half lying on more cushions and leaning on the side of the divan, there reposed a young woman. She was wearing voluminous trousers caught in at the ankles, and a bright red sleeveless Turkish jacket. On her bare arms there were several jewelled bangles and, although her face was veiled, she was, judging by its upper half, very beautiful. A little to the right of the divan an elderly grey-bearded man was seated on a leather pouf. In the background stood two more men. One, wearing a brass corselet and plumed helmet, was obviously the Captain of the Guard; the other, who wore only a leopard-skin about his middle and held resting against his shoulder a gleaming scimitar, was a huge negro.

As they advanced, Roger's gaze was riveted on the Vali. He was a well-made man, probably in his early forties. He had a black beard and moustache, a full red mouth, a hooked nose and piercing black eyes. Upon his head he wore a green turban, showing that he had made the pilgrimage to Mecca; in its centre there was a splendid diamond, and rising from it an aigrette. He was dressed in a loose silk robe, from which protruded the hilt of a dagger heavily damascened with gold. Round his neck there were four ropes of pearls.

‘Down on your knees!' piped the eunuch in his high falsetto.

Clarissa and Bodkin did not understand the order, so the one made a low curtsey and the other an awkward bob. Roger ignored it, and made his most graceful bow. Then, before anyone else could speak, he got out the few sentences of Persian that he had been preparing on their way there.

‘Noble Vali, may the peace and blessing of Allah—praised be his name and that of his Prophet—be upon you. I too am a lord in my own country but, as it says in the Holy Koran, “the fate of every man is bound about his brow”. It was decreed that I should come before you in rags and craving your protection. Yet Allah is the Merciful, the Compassionate. By His will I have been spared this unworthy trinket; so that on arriving at your court I may not be found lacking in politeness.'

With his last sentence he produced from his fob pocket the diamond brooch that he usually wore in his cravat. It was a beautiful jewel worth several hundred pounds, and had been given to him by Georgina; so he was loath to part with it, but he knew that now was the time to do so, for if he did not it would certainly be taken from him later.

Holding it in the palm of his hand, he flashed it for a moment
so that it sparkled in the light of the lanterns; then taking a swift step forward, he laid it on the divan beside Abdul ben Mazuri's left knee and within easy reach of his lovely houri's hand.

At the first sight of it she had smiled, and he had seen her big doe-like eyes light up with excitement. As he was desperately hoping she would, she reached out for it. The Vali made a quick gesture to stop her, but he was too late. Her slender brown fingers had closed upon the jewel.

With an angry mutter, the Vali gave her a sharp slap on her bare shoulder with his ivory fan. Her thinly pencilled brows creased in swift dismay and uncertainty. Throwing herself forward she kissed his slipper, but she still held on to her prize. Frowning, Abdul ben Mazuri looked over her head at Roger. Upon Roger's face there was a broad smile. The eagle features of the Arab relaxed, and a moment later he too was smiling.

Without a word said both men knew the implications of the little scene that had just taken place. Had the girl not touched the brooch, the Vali could have refused the gift and sent Roger to the slaves' quarters, then ordered the jewel to be brought to him. But by picking up the brooch the girl had accepted it on her lord's behalf; and honour would not permit a noble Arab to make a slave of a man who had just made him a present.

Suddenly Abdul ben Mazuri began to laugh. With a heavily beringed hand he turned his favourite's lovely face up towards his own, pinched her ear and caressed her cheek. Her eyes, which had begun to brim with tears, smiled again and chattering in Arabic her delighted thanks that she might keep the brooch, she pinned it in her dark hair.

Turning back to Roger, the Vali pointed at Bill Bodkin and asked in Persian, ‘Who is that man?'

‘He is my servant, Illustrious One,' Roger replied, ‘and I crave your gracious permission to keep him with me.'

Abdul ben Mazuri nodded. ‘So be it,' and Roger breathed a sigh of relief. Not only had his trick to save himself worked, but everything was going magnificently. Yet, next moment, he knew that he had counted his chickens before they were hatched. The Vali's dark eyes were resting on Clarissa, and he said:

‘The woman you have brought is in an ill state from your journey. But scratches and sunburns soon heal and beneath them I discern a haughty beauty which pleases me. I have, too,
never owned a woman of such astonishing fairness. Owing to that you no doubt had to pay a high price for her and I do not wish to rob you. But I can provide you with a good choice of darker beauties, and I would have this one for my harem. How much will you take for her?'

For a moment Roger was silent. His heart seemed to have stopped beating; but it started again with a violent thump. His lips had suddenly gone dry and he moistened them with the tip of his tongue. Then he made the only reply that he could think of; and, even in that tense moment, it struck him as a bitter mockery by Fate that it had needed their being brought to such a desperate pass for him to claim a thing that he might never now enjoy.

‘Illustrious One,' he said, a little hoarsely, ‘Allah, who is witness to the good deeds and the bad deeds of every man—praise be on His name and that of His Prophet—has placed us in your power. Should you demand it of me, I must give her to you. But I cannot sell her; for that would bring upon me eternal shame. She is my wife.'

Clarissa lay upon a broad low divan. She was waiting for her lover to come to her and she gave a heavy sigh.

Her long slim legs were easily discernible through the filmy muslin of the balloon-like trousers worn by Mohammedan ladies; above, she had on a short sleeveless jacket of a blue to match her eyes, heavily worked with an intricate pattern in gold thread. Her only other garment was a diaphanous veil, caught by a jewel to her left ear, and having a clip by which she could hook it to a jewel in the other; but now it hung down beside her leaving her fair face fully revealed. The skin of her stomach, arms, hands and feet were an even deeper shade of golden brown than they had been when the
Minerva
went down, and by contrast her hair seemed an even paler glory of fine spun golden tinted silk. Upon her skin, too, there was not a single blemish; for perfumed unguents had soon charmed away the bruises, burns and scratches that she had come by on the raft and during her journey through the jungle.

The divan on which she lay, propped up on cushions, was situated in a one-storeyed pavilion. Its front wall was composed only of lattice woodwork over which curtains of silk could be drawn for privacy, or at night. Centrally opposite the divan was an open archway through which she could look out onto a small court. In its centre a fountain tinkled into a circular basin that held brightly coloured fish. At intervals round the sides of the court were set tubs containing flowering shrubs or planted with exotic blossoms. They gave off a heady scent which mingled with that from the perfume burner beside the divan, and the all-pervading spicy odour wafted from the clove plantations.

The heat of the day was past and soon now she would know if she was to be allowed to remain there like a Princess in an Eastern fairy-tale, or if she was to be cast out of this earthly paradise. Lazily stretching out a hand to a silver filigree dish on a nearby table inlaid with mother-of-pearl, she picked up a piece of Rahat Lacoum. The sugar powdered jelly had pistachio nuts in it, and as she munched them she wondered how much longer Roger would be. At that moment she heard on the marble flags outside the swift padding of the soft leather boots he now always wore.

He, too, was dressed in Eastern fashion, and his face was now so bronzed that in his rich robe, with its crimson cummerbund and the dagger inlaid with gold thrust through it, any casual observer would have taken him for a Moorish nobleman. Coming quickly through the archway to the divan he bent and kissed Clarissa on the half-open mouth she held up to him.

Her arm curled round his neck and she closed her eyes, but she was too anxious to hear his news to wish to be made love to now; so, after a moment, she pulled her mouth away and asked:

‘Well? Has His Highness agreed?'

He nodded. ‘Yes. We leave tomorrow morning.'

She sighed. ‘Oh, Roger! Why did you have to do this? We have been so deliriously happy here.'

That was true. Roger's ready wit had enabled him to make the best possible use of all he could recall of his talks with Droopy Ned about Mohammedan customs. Abdul ben Mazuri had admired his spirit and been favourably impressed by the way in which, although an Infidel, he spoke with knowledge and respect of the ‘true religion'. For so powerful a Prince there could be no middle course; this Roumi who claimed to be a lord in his own distant land and, despite his rags, had the bearing of one, must either be accounted an enemy and enslaved, or treated as an honoured guest. The gift of the diamond brooch had made it impossible to enslave him, and his invocation of Allah as a witness to all that passed between them would have made it a flagrant sin to rob him of his wife. Refreshments had been brought; they had ceremoniously broken bread and eaten salt together. His Highness had then ordered the old grey-bearded man, who was his Vizier, to see to it that his guests lacked for nothing. Roger and Clarissa had been installed in the pavilion, where they now were, that
night, and the following day they had been provided with slaves and every sort of lovely raiment.

During the three weeks that had since elapsed their existence had been idyllic. It would have been impossible to find more delightful surroundings in which to give full expression to those feelings for one another that they had so long repressed and, during the warm starlit nights in the pavilion that they shared, their caresses had been mingled with a thousand murmured endearments coming truly from the hearts of both. Yet there was no danger of their becoming cloyed with a surfeit of passionate embraces from having no other thoughts to occupy their minds.

Every day Roger spent several hours with Abdul ben Mazuri, discussing military matters, geography, and the innumerable differences between their two civilisations; and Roger was fascinated to find that in many respects the Mohammedan culture was in advance of the European, particularly where cleanliness, medicine and knowledge of ancient civilisations were concerned.

Clarissa spent those hours in the Vali's harem. His beautiful favourite, Dár-el-Nairn—Dwelling of Delight—had shown the greatest friendliness, introduced her to all the other inmates of the harem, and soon taught her a few score words in Arabic which, eked out with gestures, were enough for simple conversation. The whole life of an Eastern beauty being love. Dár-el-Naim had also taught Clarissa certain things about love-making that she would never have dreamed of for herself, and several secrets of the toilette by which she might make herself even more beautiful and desirable. Then in the evenings they attended the Vali's court to dine off fabulous delicacies and witness entertainments by jugglers, dancing girls and conjurors.

It was, therefore, not to be wondered at that Clarissa was most reluctant to have this lotus-eating existence brought to an end. Yet Roger, on learning that an Arab merchant was shortly leaving in his ship for India, had insisted on asking Abdul ben Mazuri's permission for them to sail in it. Smiling down at her he said: