THIRTY-NINE

ZABANA RETURNED TO ALGIERS WITH THIRTY-FOUR SLAVES. THE LAST ship he’d taken, a Maltese trader, carried the captain’s wife. Zabana had attempted to rape her the first night she was aboard, but the woman had fought back valiantly, even producing a knife to defend herself—whereupon Zabana figured she wasn’t worth the trouble and had her chained in the hold. At some point the next night one of his crew had snuck below decks and raped her himself, as she wasn’t able to defend herself because she was chained. Serpent eventually reached port and all the slaves were taken ashore to a pen in the bagnio to be held until they were sold. Likely, not long.

Mustapha Pasha personally congratulated Zabana on his good fortune and, indeed, on the good fortune of all the returning corsairs. Over 150 Christians had been taken by Zabana’s fleet and not half the corsairs had returned from their cruises to Northern Europe. Zabana took his own tally, of course, and noted that Rogers and Hasim had not returned yet. He expected to see them at any time, however, as food and water would be a problem by now. He did not expect them to disappoint him.

After meeting Zabana at the quay, Mustapha’s entourage slowly made its way up the bent streets to his palace. It was guarded day and night by palace guards he had handpicked for the job, not fully trusting the powerful janissaries. A coup had left his predecessor dead, strangled by those very elite soldiers.

The dey was a fatalist who knew he served as ruler at the pleasure of the sultan of the Ottoman Empire in Constantinople, and he sent monthly gifts to stay in the sultan’s good graces. One of Zabana’s corsairs had captured a timber ship, another a trader carrying ceramics, and both ships would be sent to the sultan to curry his favor. He’d noticed a woman among Zabana’s captures, and he would send her as a gift, as well.

As he entered the gleaming qasba, the dey looked out over the rampart to the harbor below. His view overlooked both the upper and lower cities on the hillside and the homes of their inhabitants, a mixed group of shop owners and tradesmen, barterers, and merchants of all stripes who kept Algiers vibrant and teeming. Most of them owned slaves, from many to one, and they were a ready market for the new slaves just captured.

As he looked over the rooftops to the harbor he was hoping to see a French ship, perhaps a brig or frigate, but he did not. He was expecting a message from Napoleon Bonaparte himself to confirm an agreement long whispered but never enacted. It would make the dey wealthier than any dey had ever been; wealthier than even the sultan in Constantinople, perhaps. The dey rubbed his beard and smiled to himself.

At word from Bonaparte he would set Zabana and his corsairs on the British like hounds on a fox.

Zabana had not left Serpent to go ashore yet, for he had a punishment to carry out. He had learned through an informant of the rape of the Maltese captain’s wife, and he was incensed. Truthfully, he might have also been embarrassed that one of his crewmen had accomplished what he hadn’t. This was a serious assault on Zabana’s pride and would require a serious punishment. He called for the beheading cart.

The quaking prisoner had to be forcibly dragged from below decks where he had been kept in chains. He was naked and whimpering and wailing by turns, pleading for forgiveness. But his captain was not a forgiving man.

The beheading cart stood ready, the evil blade high in the air, silent and cold. The man was led to the cart and placed in position before it on his knees while a sword tip pricked the back of his neck lest he pull away. Zabana’s eyes showed no emotion as he raised his face to heaven. In truth, this would be a lesson for all the crew to learn. One they would never forget.

Two guards held the poor man in position and pulled his arms behind his back. The man was crying and praying at the same time, begging for mercy and forgiveness—but none would be forthcoming.

At Zabana’s nod the blade came hurtling down in a blur, smoothly and silently, past the prisoner’s wincing face to cut off his testicles, which were lying in the cradle.