“I thought you were a Moslem now, and one of us,” Zoe said.
Their gazes locked. Alex wet her lips. “Old habits die hard.”
“What?!”
“Nothing. I am a human being and I happen to have compassion for a man who was once my countryman,” Alex said.
“I see.”
“What will they do with him? Will they ransom him?”
“Oh, no!” Zoe said fervently, her eyes gleaming. “Rais Jovar will not even consider ransom. Not after all he has done. Rais Jovar wishes to punish him, to make him suffer—to humiliate him the way the bashaw humiliated Jovar for the destruction of theMirabouka.”
“What does he intend to do?” Alex whispered.
“He will follow custom.” Zoe smirked.
Alex was afraid her every emotion showed very clearly on her face, but she gripped her hands, pacing forward. “Custom? What custom?”
“You have been here a year and you do not know the custom for our captives?”
Alex shook her head, trying to think.
Zoe’s bitchy smile faded. Her eyes narrowed. “He will treat the American dog the way he would treat any other male captive. Dali Capitan will be publicly viewed tomorrow in thebedestan.”
“Publically viewed?”
“And then he will be sold to the highest bidder.”
Thebedestanwas thronged.
The capture of the Dali Capitan, who had wreaked such havoc upon four of the bashaw’s ships in such a short span of time, was a momentuous victory for all of Tripoli. Unhappily, Murad followed Alex as she pushed and weaved her way through the crowds filling up the slave market. Alex was in her disguise as a simple bedouin man.
The auction of the entire crew of thePearlwould be held three days hence. Including the sale of Blackwell.
Murad jerked on Alex’s sleeve.“Hasib!Keep your eyes down, Alex!”
Alex could not bear the suspense and she did not answer Murad. She was out of breath. It was midsummer, but she was thoroughly chilled. She would finally meet Blackwell, finally lay her eyes upon him, but the circumstances were horrifying.
She had reached the edge of the crowd. The center of thebedestanwas a cobbled courtyard; at the far end was an auction block. Its perimeter consisted of converging streets of sand. White stone houses were jumbled behind the slave market, in every direction, except to the east, where a mosque framed by date trees stood. Usually other captives were on parade in the human marketplace, but not today. Today thebedestanwas spectacularly—peculiarly—empty.
“The bashaw wishes to insult and humiliate Dali Capitan, too,” Murad whispered in her ear. “For he has ordered no other captives to be viewed today.”
Alex’s heart flipped hard. Anger surged in her veins. “What will the bashaw do. Murad? Will he buy Blackwell? Hurt him?”
“I do not know.”
The crowd suddenly murmured, shifting restlessly. Alex tensed. Suddenly the bashaw appeared on a black stallion, flanked by his son. Alex quickly looked away from Jebal, but the two men, surrounded by Turkish soldiers in full military dress, were interested only in the parade soon to take place.
“He’s coming,” Murad whispered harshly.
Alex’s heart plummeted. She saw a group of men approaching from the street that ran behind the auction block. Rais Jovar was in their forefront and he was smiling coldly.
The other men in the group were soldiers, too. Janissaries. Then Alex gasped.
The man in their midst was not just in chains—he was stark naked.
Blackwell walked forward, surrounded by the soldiers, into the center of the slave market. He held his head erect. He was taller than Alex had thought, perhaps six foot four, and he towered over the others. He had an incredible body—the build of a soccer player—broad shouldered and narrow-hipped, his long legs corded with muscle. A huge iron shackle was on his left ankle, and a chain was attached from that to both of his manacled wrists.
