“What a dirty trick!” Sibylla snorted.
André nodded. It was all true except for one particularly embarrassing detail. He had been snared not in a bar but in a brothel. He had gone with a prostitute who had taken all his money and promptly turned him over to a press gang for a bounty.
“At first, I was not that upset,” he continued. “I had wanted to go to sea anyhow. But then I realized that I was working for a slave trader.”
“How despicable!”
He had no idea whether her words referred to the slave trade or him. “Sibylla, know that I would never have done this work willingly. What I saw on that ship, how those poor devils were treated . . . I’ll never be able to forget that! And to my great shame, I must admit that I participated, if only to avoid the cat-o’-nine-tails myself. Do you despise me now?”
He felt for her hand.
Sibylla thought about her grandfather’s own dirty business. “God shall grant them repentance so that they may know the truth—isn’t that what the Bible says?” She squeezed André’s hand.
“I would gladly give my arm if I could erase that time,” he professed. “When we berthed in La Rochelle one year later, I fled without even waiting to be paid.”
“And what did you do next?”
“I had three options: a career as a harbor gangster, to enter into service as a farmhand for my brother, or to enlist in the military. I chose the military and that turned out to be a good decision. For the first time in my life, I met people who did not regard me as a scoundrel. I gradually climbed up to the higher ranks that were ordinarily reserved for the aristocracy. In 1830, I was transferred to Algeria and fought against Abd el-Kader there. After my discharge, I came to Morocco and here . . .”
“Is where our paths crossed,” Sibylla finished thoughtfully. “It’s late, André, I really must get home.”
He stood up. “I’ll accompany you.”
While he rolled up the rug and placed it on his shoulder, she packed the empty wine bottle and the rest of their picnic into the basket.
“How I wish we didn’t have to part,” she said with a sigh when they reached the church door.
“Will you meet me here again?” he asked, his heart beating fast.
She wrapped her shawl around her head so that her hair was completely covered. “Of course, I want to. But it doesn’t feel right to sneak around in this old ruin.”
“We have no other choice at the moment,” André replied, unsmiling. He opened his arms and pulled her close. “Let us leave the future up to fate. Inshallah, as the Arabs say.”
She looked at him and nodded solemnly. “Inshallah. God willing.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Get away from here, you good-for-nothing. What are you doing in front of my house?” Benjamin guided his stallion directly at the beggar crouching in front of the wall. The man ducked to the side, uttering a frightened cry.
Benjamin laughed and made his riding crop slice through the air. “There, see how able-bodied you still are?”
The man cowered against the wall and pulled the hood of his moth-eaten cloak over his face.
“All right now, I don’t want to be too harsh; business in Fez and Marrakesh was good, after all.” He reached into his jacket pocket, threw down a handful of coins, and watched with a shake of his head as the man scratched the coins out of the dust.
“That’s just how you Muslims are: a bunch of idlers. You’d rather beg than work!”
He swung one leg over his horse’s back, slipped out of the saddle, and tossed the reins to the servant who had accompanied him on the journey. “Take the animals to the stable and take good care of them. Put a blanket on my stallion so he doesn’t catch cold. If you forget, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
“Very well, sir,” the man answered obediently.
Benjamin entered the house cheerfully whistling a tune. Had he turned around, he would have seen the man spitting contemptuously in his direction before disappearing down the alleyway with astonishing alacrity. A few moments later, the supposed beggar was standing in front of the walls of the governor’s palace. He carefully peered in all directions and knocked on a narrow side door, which was immediately opened a crack.
“To the qaid, quickly!” he ordered the slave. “His Excellency is expecting me!”
“Daddy, Daddy! What did you bring us?” The two little boys came running across the riad’s courtyard and boisterously threw their arms around their father. Benjamin laughed, leaned forward, and picked them up, one in each arm. “Well, check inside my pocket, boys!”
He did not have to tell them twice. They squealed with excitement when they found two small horses carved in wood. “Wow, Daddy! Thank you!”
Benjamin looked around. “Where’s your mother?”
“Dunno,” said Tom.
“You mean ‘I don’t know,’” Benjamin corrected him.
“Mummy is gone!” Johnny shouted.
Benjamin frowned. “What do you mean? Nadira, where is your mistress?”
The servant stepped closer. “Mrs. Hopkins is not at home, sir. She has gone out.”
“Gone out? Where?”
“I do not know, sir.”
Benjamin scrutinized her ebony face.
Like hell you don’t, he thought. But Nadira silently stood her ground.
“Well, I’ll know soon enough.” He put his sons down and gave them each a pat on the bottom. “Run along and play, boys. But don’t throw the horses in the fishpond!”
He went to the stairs that led up to the living quarters. “I intend to take a bath,” he informed Nadira. “See to it that everything is made ready. And tell Firyal to bring me soap and towels.”
When the servant appeared bearing the requested items, clouds of steam were already wafting from the claw-footed porcelain tub in Benjamin’s bedroom. Just like his sundial and horse, the imported tub had caused quite a stir when it was unloaded in the harbor, but that did not bother him. He found the Arab custom of visiting a public bath unnatural—especially for a man. To avoid ever finding himself in that dreadful situation, he had had a cistern that always contained enough water for a bath installed on the roof of the house.
“Sayyid? Sir? Are you there?” Firyal called.
Benjamin stepped out from behind the screen. He was wearing nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist. “What took you so long? Don’t you like me anymore?”
“I do, sir.” She stood in the middle of the room, her head demurely bowed, pressing the towels against her chest. He was happy to see the little smile at the corners of her mouth and to think that she was looking forward to their rendezvous as much as he.
“Put that down and come here,” he commanded.