The Kadin - Bertrice Small [11]
“We are businessmen, not kidnappers. My dear young lady, is it possible you do not realize how beautiful you are? All the money in San Lorenzo could not purchase your freedom You are worth a king’s ransom, and now the matter is closed. Please do not distress yourself by trying to escape. Your every move will be watched. I hope you will be comfortable here. If you desire anything, simply ask the slave at the door.” Then he left her, locking the door behind him.
For the next six days the ship sailed smoothly across the waters of the Mediterranean. Captain Venutti allowed Janet a small measure of freedom and gave her a portion of the upper deck for exercise and air. In order to take her mind off her predicament, he pointed out the different islands and their characteristics.
Corfu, second largest of the Ionian isles, and very, very fertile. Mount Aenos, towering over mountainous little Cephalonia. Tiny Zante, which not only raised sheep and goats but somehow managed to grow grapes, olives, wheat, and a variety of fruits. And, of course, the Peloponnesus of southern Greece, also called Morea, and now under Turkish rule. Here, aside from the usual grapes and olives, tobacco was also raised, a small silk industry flourished, and there was an enormous fishing fleet
On the evening of the sixth day, the ship reached Candia. The pleasant cruise was at an end, and Janet faced the frightening reality of her situation, and the fact that she might never see her family again.
5
LORD PATRICK LESLIE had gone wild on learning of his daughter’s disappearance. The slave Mamud, coming from a world where women counted for less than animals, had read his lord wrong. The noble Scot did not reward him with gold and his freedom for his alleged valor in defense of his young mistress. Instead, the enraged father had him clapped in irons and thrown into the duke’s dungeons pending a thorough investigation of his story. Mamud had been right about one thing—Patrick Leslie wanted the slave out of his sight]
Duke Sebastian’s executioners questioned Mamud carefully and with great skill. Their first discovery was that the eunuch was not a eunuch after all—a situation they quickly remedied.
Then he was tortured, and throughout the process, one nonparticipant watched Standing stoically in her dark silk gown and starched coif, clutching a plaid shawl about her shoulders to keep out the dampness of the dungeons, Mary MacKay’s blue eyes never left Mamud’e face. The slave was, and always had been, deathly afraid of the old woman’s light-colored eyes. He felt they saw things that mortal eyes did not She knew what he had done, he thought She waited only for his verbal confirmation and the details.
Slowly, with care, his toenails were removed with red-hot pincers. Mamud shrieked prayers to his tribal gods as this new pain ripped up his legs, through his thighs, and slammed into his chest almost suffocating him. Rivers of sweat poured down his body.
He closed his eyes to blot out the pain. When he opened them again, he found that woman standing at his side. Her eyes bored into his, and he felt his little strength ebb away.
“What hae ye done with my granddaughter? Who has her?”
He did not want to answer. He wanted to confound and curse the old witch, but he couldn’t Those terrible blue eyes were the strongest magic he had ever encountered.
“Who has my granddaughter?” she repeated.
“Captain Venutti,” he heard his own voice croak. “Captain Gian-Carlo Venutti of the Venetian Levant!”
She touched his chest and he shivered violently.
“Go, laddie,” she said, and he died.
Mamud’s confession was substantiated when a ship’s captain putting in from Crete spoke in a tavern of a young, red-haired Christian slave girl to be auctioned within a month. Brought before the duke and the Scots ambassador, the captain repeated his story.
It was common knowledge in the Mediterranean community, said the seaman. An old trick to excite interest and bring in the top connoisseurs. Yes, Captain Venutti of the Venetian Levant was the