Farouk stared unblinkingly. “We are rich here in Tripoli.”
Xavier forced a small smile. Tripoli was rich because they plundered at will. Tripoli was built on other men’s gold, on other men’s blood. “Yes, you have a very rich land.”
Farouk continued eating.
The bashaw grinned and belched. “Good food, eh? Makes a man happy, yes?”
“Very good, thank you,” Xavier said politely.
“We are so sorry for the mistake which placed you in thebedestantoday,” the bashaw said.
Xavier nodded, knowing the bashaw lied.
“Tripoli. A land of slaves, gold, and sunshine.” The bashaw smiled widely. “Have you ever been here before, Captain Blackwell?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”But my brother died here,he thought. He refused to entertain the quick slabbing of grief.
“But you know our coast so well.”
“Pilots can be bought.”
“Ah yes, gold can buy anything, everything, can it not?” The bashaw gestured expansively.
Xavier wondered if the bashaw had bought Fernandez, paying him to lead them into an ambush. He did not think so. He wasn’t sure who his worst enemy was. Farouk seemed clever enough to arrange such a plot. Jovar had equal motive, and greater lust. Or, perhaps, he had been sabotaged from more distant shores.
“You are by far the best captain these seas have ever seen,” the bashaw continued.
Jovar slammed down his knife. He was seated just across the table from Xavier and he glowered murderously.
Xavier did not respond.
“Jovar, you understand, is not from Tripoli. He is from Scotland.”
Xavier listened.
“He was once a captive, as you now are. But he chose to embrace the Moslem faith and he has since married one of my daughters,” the bashaw continued. “He has a big house, many slaves, horses, concubines. He has many jewels and much gold and silver—and an entire fleet to command.”
Xavier folded his arms.
“A good life, eh, Jovar? Fifteen percent of every prize is directly his,” the bashaw stated.
“A very good life.” Jovar looked at Xavier. “We want you to join us, Blackwell. You will lack for nothing.” His expression did not match his words.
Xavier would never turn renegade, forsaking his country, his kin, and his faith, not in a hundred years, but he could not say so yet.
And a double cross was not possible. The bashaw would never put him to sea with his crew, in which case they could simply escape. He’d sail after his own people with a crew of Turks, closely watched. If he did not perform as a true renegade, he would quickly be incarcerated, or worse. “I will have to consider your offer,” Xavier said dispassionately. “I will do so carefully.”
The bashaw was pleased. He clapped his hands. “We shall find you a rich Moslem wife,” he promised. “After you embrace Islam. And I shall personally oversee the construction of a large home for you. You may command the vessel of your choosing.” The bashaw smiled. It reached his dark eyes.
Jovar glowered.
Xavier managed a smile. “A very enticing proposal,” he said.
The bashaw folded his arms and grunted. “Consider it swiftly, Captain.”
Jovar leaned forward. “While you are considering whether to turn renegade or not, keep in mind the alternatives.” His blue eyes flashed.
Xavier stared into Jovar’s eyes. Jovar’s smile widened and he turned and lifted a manacle from behind. He dangled it from his hand, which was badly scarred.
