But Xavier sensed possibilities. Instinct told him that Quixande was not a spy, but a survivor.
Pierre might have sensed them, too. “Our rations are meager, but a few coins buys an added portion—perhaps a bowl of broth with a few pieces of onion and mutton. Would you join me tonight, Captain? I will share what is mine with you.”
Xavier nodded slowly. “How long have you been in Barbary, Quixande?”
“A dozen years,” the scribe replied. “Anything that you wish to know, I can undoubtedly tell you.”
Their gazes met. And Xavier thought about the American captive, Alexandra.
“I have to go to him,” Alex cried. “Please, Murad.”
Murad did not answer her. He stood beside her bed, where Alex lay, covering her face with her hands.
She dropped her palms and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Is it as bad as they say?”
“It is not good.”
“What does that mean?” she shouted at him.
“Alex, there is little you can do.”
“I want to see him.”
“Alex, that is impossible.”
“Is it?” she challenged. Alex stood. She was so terrified. “I’ve lived here for more than a year. I do know one thing about the Middle East, something that hasn’t changed in two hundred years.”
“What’s that?” he asked carefully.
“Grease. Money greases everyone, Murad. I refuse to believe that we cannot bribe the guards to let me inside the bagnio in order to visit him. And while we’re at it, we can bring him some things that he might need.”
Murad stared at her, his expression dismayed. “That would take gold, Alex, a lot of gold.”
“I will sell all of my jewelry,” she gritted. “I am determined.”
“Allah protect her, protect us.”
Alex wet her lips. She was sick, like a dog, and it had nothing to do with any medical condition. She knew what a beylik slave was, and she had heard all about the bagnio.
Beylik slaves were worked as if they were not human. In the quarries, where conditions were intolerable. Today Xavier was in the bagnio, where the conditions were wretched, inhumane. Alex had never seen the prison, but she imagined it to be like a twentieth-century concentration camp. Tomorrow Xavier would be sent to the quarries, and forced to labor like an animal. Alex was determined to help Xavier in any way that she could. She wanted him out of the quarries before the grueling labor killed him. “Will it kill him? Working in the quarries?”
Murad hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“What does that mean, goddamn it!”
He blanched. “Don’t talk that way, not even to your Christian God. It’s means that I don’t know. Men die there all the time. But usually from starvation. Sometimes, though, there are accidents.”
Alex stared, her pulse skipping. “Accidents? Real or contrived?”
“Usually real.” Murad wet his lips.
“Oh God. Do you think they will kill him there? What a convenient way to get rid of a political prisoner.”
“I don’t know.”
“You are not helping!” Alex shouted.
“What do you want me to do?” Murad shouted back.
