He rose and Sara followed suit. “Sibylla, perhaps you should take your children and return to London,” Sara reflected. “No one there knows about this terrible affair, and you can rest assured that they will not learn of it from us. But here in Mogador, all the foreigners will be affected by your husband’s offense.”
Sibylla stared at her, shocked that Benjamin had apparently already been found guilty. Consul Willshire bowed slightly. “Good-bye, Mrs. Hopkins. I am truly sorry.”
“You are sorry?” Sibylla responded listlessly. “We are English citizens. It is your duty to stand by our side in this country.”
He was unable to conceal his discomfort as he looked at her. “Mrs. Hopkins, the qaid was eager to see your husband thrown in the dungeon. It was only thanks to my intervention—made at some personal risk—that he was taken to a guarded room. Early tomorrow morning, he will be transferred to the bastion of the Island of Mogador. If you want to see your husband, this is your last opportunity. I am unable to do anything more for you or him at this time. I am sorry.”
Dawn was breaking when Sibylla hurried to the harbor. Misty rain blew in her face. She had wrapped herself in a thick woolen shawl, but still, for the first time since she had come to Morocco, Sibylla felt cold. Her head lowered, she rushed along the empty alleyways and through the Bab El Mersa, which the guards had just opened. Fog hung heavy over the water. She could make out the outlines of some anchored ships, and, out on the water, the hazy lights of the fishing boats.
Off to the side, there was a single skiff. The captain stood looking in the direction of the city gate, and the rowers had taken their places. Sibylla sat down on the quay wall and watched. It was high tide, and below her, the waves quietly sloshed against the quay. Above her, seagulls were soaring in the wind and screeching hoarsely. With tears in her eyes, she squinted toward the harbor exit. There lay, at about one mile’s distance, a small, craggy island, from which rose a few towers and fortress walls: the Island of Mogador.
The rhythmic sound of boot-shod steps cut through the morning stillness. Sibylla turned around and saw five men coming through the city gate. At the head was a Black Guard captain, Benjamin behind him. He was flanked on the right and the left by soldiers. Another followed. Sibylla jumped up and ran to the small group. The captain immediately drew his saber. “Stay back, Mrs. Hopkins!”
She obediently kept her distance but ran alongside the men. Benjamin looked disheveled and bleary. His frockcoat was rumpled, his pants stained. She was shocked to see that his wrists were chained together.
“Benjamin! Are you all right? What has happened?”
He turned his head and she saw his reddened eyes. “Hasn’t Willshire told you?”
“Yes, but I cannot believe that it is true.”
“You must help me!” he groaned. “Go to Toledano and force him to recant!”
By now, the group had arrived at the boat. The soldiers shoved Benjamin in and the captain shouted orders to cast off. The oars were plunged into the water and the boat glided swiftly away. Sibylla watched as it disappeared in the morning mist.
Chapter Fourteen
“The master is not at home,” the Toledanos’ gatekeeper announced to Sibylla, though she was sure she had glimpsed him through the windows of the second floor.
“Please let me in! I must speak with him!” she begged, but he crossed his arms in front of his muscular chest and turned away.
Dejected, she returned home. She wanted nothing more than to lock herself in her bedroom and cry. But there were the concerned and anxious looks of the servants. And her distraught children, who would not leave her side.
“Where’s Daddy?” Johnny asked. Tom wanted to know if the soldiers had hurt him.
Sibylla resorted to a white lie. “Daddy has had to go on a trip and the soldiers are going with him. You know that he travels often. But he will come back home.”
“And he’ll bring us presents,” Johnny added with satisfaction. Tom, however, was not so easily comforted. He looked up at his mother with large doubting eyes.
Nadira knocked on the door of the drawing room, where Sibylla was sitting on the divan with the boys. She entered carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming couscous.
“Please take it away again. I’m not hungry,” Sibylla said and massaged her aching temples.
Nadira placed the bowl on the table. “You have to eat, my lady. And you must rest. Come, children, there are freshly baked gazelle horns waiting in the kitchen for you.”
For Nadira’s sake, Sibylla tried a spoonful of couscous. It tasted surprisingly good and she quickly finished the entire bowl. Then she collapsed on the divan. She must have fallen asleep, because a knock at the door shook her from bizarre dreams. The tray was gone, and someone—probably Nadira—had covered her with a blanket.
“Yes?” She quickly sat up and smoothed her hair.
The door opened hesitantly and Firyal appeared. “Monsieur Rouston is downstairs at the gate and wishes to speak with you, my lady.”
André! Sibylla’s heart began to beat wildly. So news of the events had reached him. How she longed to take refuge in his arms and relive the sweet, carefree moments of a few days ago! But she forced herself not to remember.
“Ask Monsieur Rouston in.”
But the young woman did not budge.
“What are you waiting for?” Sibylla asked impatiently.
The servant haltingly came closer. Once she stood in front of Sibylla, she fell to her knees. “Please, my lady,” she stammered. “How is the master?”
“How dare you!” Sibylla exploded. But when she saw Firyal’s distress, she was ashamed at her lack of self-control. “Your master is being treated decently,” she answered in a calmer tone. “That is all I can tell you. Now go and get Monsieur Rouston!”
Firyal hurried away, and after a few moments, André entered. He looked serious. The French consul had informed him of the arrest.
“I can imagine how difficult all this must be for you,” he said.
She looked into his honest, sympathetic face and was seized by a crazy idea. “Ride to Abd al-Rahman! The sultan respects you. Tell him that I wish to have an audience with him to clear up this matter!”
“Is that what you truly want?” Her wish to use his relationship with the sultan on Benjamin’s behalf took him by surprise, and he did not like it. “If there is anything to the accusations, I cannot help your husband.”
But she was not to be deterred. “I know what a great favor I am asking. But I must ask! Benjamin is the father of my children, and he has not yet been proven guilty.”
André frowned. Like many others, he thought Benjamin quite capable of being a slave trader. “All right. I’ll ride to Marrakesh. But not for him. I’m doing it because I do not wish you to suffer for his mistakes.”
“Thank you,” she breathed.
Sibylla’s courage moved him deeply. He crossed to her, took her in his arms, and kissed her passionately. But her lips stayed lifeless and cold.