Zoe frowned, stamping her foot. “I want to know about Jebal’s other wife!”
The old woman’s expression did not change. “I have warned you, then. So be it.”
Zoe scowled. Danger? Blood? Fire? Death? That was life in Tripoli. The old crone made no sense.
“She is Alexandra Thornton. She is like no woman—or man—you have ever known. She is not from this time. She is from a place far away, a big country, across many oceans. She has come to Tripoli to find a man.”
Zoe’s pulse raced. She stared, filled with questions and swept with excitement. “She is from America,” she murmured. “I do not understand. Why is she different? What do you mean—that she is from another time?”
The old bedouin squinted. “She is from another time. She is not one of us. She will never be one of us. She will not remain in Tripoli.”
Zoe quickly absorbed that last fact. “How can she be from another time? There is no other time!”
“She is from the future. From many years ahead of us.”
Zoe gaped. “You are not making sense,” she cried, growing angry. The future? That was ridiculous! Then, “What man has she come here to find?”
The crone did not hesitate. “The ship captain from this land called America. The man now consigned to the bagnio. The man calling himself Xavier Blackwell.”
18
THE SUN HADN’Trisen when the guards entered the compound and began roughly waking up the prisoners.
Xavier was awake. He had not been able to do more than doze last night in spite of his exhaustion. Alexandra’s betrayal had haunted him.
And with it, the question why.
He lay motionless now, eyes open, listening to the Turkish soldiers snapping out commands. Several of the Turks nudged various captives with their booted feet. More than a few men received full-fledged kicks and cried out in protest and pain.
Xavier lay on a hard straw mat in the crowded courtyard, like everyone else—except for those fortunate few who had the means with which to pay off Kadar and ‘rent’ cubbyhole rooms or the right to sleep on the terrace above them.
He rose cautiously to his feet in time to see Timmy kicked viciously in the shoulder. The boy had been sleeping; he cried out. The Turk, a small man with crooked teeth, met Xavier’s gaze and grinned. Xavier straightened, eyeing the scimitar that the Turk held loosely in his hand. He had to fight the violent urge to attack the janissary; but he would quickly be beaten to a pulp, and in the end no one would gain. Had he not told his men to resist all provocation? He had an example to set, no matter how difficult it might be.
The Turk laughed and turned his back on Xavier.
Xavier moved to Timmy, who was holding his shoulder, his blue eyes filled with tears of humiliation and pain. Xavier laid his palm gently on the boy’s back. “Are you all right, lad?” he asked softly.
Timmy nodded, but his eyes were bewildered. “Them bastards like to be mean. I did nothing. I hate ‘em!”
“Yes, they do like to be mean,” Xavier agreed. Behind Timmy, he could see the arches at the far end of the bagnio, and the night sky beyond that. Stars still winked from the inky blue-blackness, which melted into the dark, rippling sea. The prisoners were mumbling now, mostly complaints. Not only were Xavier’s thirty-five crew members present, but about a hundred other slaves of various European nationalities. The compound was overcrowded and unpleasant.
Tubbs came up to Xavier and Timmy, holding out a small loaf of bread and a small wooden bowl that contained a few spoonfuls of red wine vinegar. “Breakfast,” he said bitterly.
Xavier glanced from the meager meal to the soldiers distributing the morning’s fare. And each and every slave would be expected to work a full day on such rations. Most of the captives were seriously emaciated. Many had vacant eyes. It was insane, inhumane. He had to free his men. Soon. But first thePearlmust be destroyed.
Everyone ate their bread and vinegar quickly, silently. Xavier gave half of his loaf to Timmy, regretting now that he had shared the Frenchman’s bowl of soup last night. He felt guilty for having had the single morsel of lamb and the three spoonfuls of vegetables and the half cup of broth.
Kadar stepped out of the vaulted tunnel. His glance roamed the men and settled abruptly on Xavier. Xavier could not read the large man’s dark eyes. For a moment they stared impassively at one another, and then Kadar turned to his soldiers, nodding. The soldiers stepped forward, brandishing whips without using them.“Tout le monde!Everyone!Saree! Delwatee!”
Xavier moved forward with Timmy and Tubbs, all of the slaves herded together tightly and pushed forward into the tunnel. No one spoke. Occasionally a whip cracked and a laggard cried out. Xavier moved closer to Timmy, shielding him with his body. In unspoken agreement, Tubbs closed ranks on the boy’s other side.
Outside, the sky was still dark, but it was turning gray now and lightening. Streaks of pink cut across the horizon. The slaves were marched through the dozing city and then through one of the city gates. Xavier’s bare feet were callused, but not sufficiently, and the road was stony and pitted with sharp shells. The soles of his feet quickly became bruised and cut. He ignored it, but grimly noticed that Timmy was already limping, as were many of his crew.
His thoughts drifted in the silence of the dawn. Alexandra Thornton. Jebal’s second wife. Had Jebal sent her to him to seduce him, perhaps to entice him to turn Turk? Or to ferret out information?
A whip cracked. Someone cried out.
Xavier turned instinctively. A tall, thin slave had fallen behind the group, and Xavier turned now just in time to see the laggard receive another whiplash on his bare, sun-blackened back. The man fell to his knees. A soldier moved forward to whip him again.
