The Kadin - Bertrice Small [13]
Janet looked up as a black eunuch touched her arm. “Come, little lady. It is almost time for the sale. I will pull the curtain aside a crack so that you may see the illustrious company you have attracted.”
Fascinated in spite of herself, Janet followed him and peeked through the curtain. She saw a room, neither large nor small, a little platform in its center, the walls covered with frescos of men, women, and animals whose activities left nothing to the imagination. There were only about twelve men in the room, one of them Pietro di San Lorenzo.
“Why are there so few buyers?” she asked the eunuch.
The eunuch smiled broadly. “My master, Abdul ben Abdul, blessings be upon him, has set an opening bid on you of five thousand pieces of gold. You are not merchandise for a camel driver!”
Janet had the ridiculous urge to laugh at the prissy attitude of the eunuch, but then Abdul ben Abdul entered the room, and the eunuch quickly led her out onto the platform. The buyers turned eager eyes upward to the platform where she stood. The beginnings of fear lightly touched Janet Leslie.
Abdul ben Abdul slipped his hand beneath her elbow and drew her toward the center of the stage. ‘Trench,” he said softly, “is the language of trade. You will understand all.”
“You are wasting your time and shaming me with this foolish charade,” she said. “Pietro di San Lorenzo will purchase me, and I shall be returned to my father.”
“Allah forbid,” returned the slave merchant, and he turned to his clientele. “My friends, we come now to the most important sale of this year. This high-born virgin with hair like a golden-red sunrise, skin as smooth and white as polished bone, and eyes the color of the rarest emeralds. Behold, gentlemen!” Quickly he removed the veil that covered her head. “The opening bid is five thousand gold pieces. Who will bid?”
“Five thousand,” came a voice.
Abdul ben Abdul smiled. “The agent of the sultan of Egypt bids five thousand.”
The bidding came thick and fast—six thousand, seven, eight, nine, ten thousand pieces of gold.
“Gentlemen,” said Abdul ben Abdul in a voice filled with hurt, “you insult my house by offering a mere ten thousand gold pieces. This is a rare and priceless jewel, a houri that would grace the harem of the Prophet himself. This maiden has never known a man.” He brushed a soft, flabby hand lightly across Janet’s belly. Instinctively, she recoiled. “She will bear many strong sons.”
“You have proof of her virginity?” said a voice.
“I have,” said Abdul. “I will give the purchaser three certificates of proof signed by three different doctors. If they have lied to me, I will refund the buyer triple his money, and he may keep the girl, besides.”
An excited buzz ran around the room. Abdul ben Abdul was considered an honest merchant, but not one to part lightly with a dinar. It was proof enough. The bidding began again.
Janet’s eyes swept the faces of the bidders for the first time. The agent of the sultan of Egypt stared back at her coldly, and she quickly looked away. There was something sinister about the man, and her stomach turned uneasily. The representative of the caliph of Baghdad reminded her of a small worried black owl, but her urge to laugh was quickly stifled when she glanced toward the man her prissy eunuch had identified as the prince of Samarkand. His cruel Mongol eyes swept her body lustfully, with an open passion that revolted her. Swiftly she turned her gaze to the kindly face of Pietro di San Lorenzo who nodded at her reassuringly. But he had yet to offer a bid.
At a nod from Abdul, the eunuch loosened the ribbons at her shoulder, and the tunic fell, baring her to the waist Sudden silence filled the room as a dozen pair of eyes greedily feasted upon the girl’s perfectly formed, rose-tipped breasts.
With the wisdom of his Semitic ancestors Abdul ben Abdul gave them a minute to look,