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TITLE: The Mistress of Caravans chapter 2 exerpt By Janet Molnar 01/28/09 |
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At Granada they were to take on passengers. That day had begun hopeful and merry. Though mainly a merchant ship, the Glendonald had cabins for a few paying customers, so certain officials had joined them. One was a prelate returning to Vatican City, and the other two were mayors from coastal towns with their wives.
Continuing on to Italy, they headed due east. Once his chores were completed, Anthony climbed the bow and faced into the trade winds, feeling the ship creak, rising and falling on the waves. He remembered the feeling of exhilaration as he had watched the dolphins swim before the bow and seagulls glide on the airstreams. It had been soon after that another ship appeared to the south. Closer inspection revealed a distress flag and the captain, being an honest and kind man, decided to lend aid. Even knowing it could be a trap, MacDuff felt it his duty to help other mariners.
Upon nearing the vessel the captain realized in horror that it was pirates, but too late to turn away, all hell broke loose. They were attacked viciously, large cannons blowing a hole in the Scottish ship’s starboard side. Pirates boarded in droves, like the rats that found their way onto ships at every port. It was over quickly, the merchant vessel subdued, the prisoners loaded onto the waiting slave ship. Young Anthony had been terrified at first. However, he’d always been an optimist. That gave him an advantage where none existed and being a bit foolhardy at that young age, what happened next was probably and simply, good fortune.
The screaming women had been taken to cabins, and the men were divided up. The Scottish sailors were being put into leg irons. The paying passengers were stripped. Effectively humiliated, the priest and officials soon stood for inspection in nothing but their boots. Not only were their clothes checked for hidden valuables, Anthony was surprised to learn, males were also checked for circumcision. The Muslim pirates did this to see if Jews were masquerading as Gentiles.
It was while the pirates were making sport of the naked men, that Anthony first spied his opportunity. Still waiting in line to be tethered, he’d not yet lost his chance. The captors had erred in tying his hands before him instead of behind his back. He’d also noticed that a lantern had been left burning too near a bucket of pitch. Seizing the moment, he flung himself against his distracted captor and kicked the lantern into the pitch. The flames that burst forth, catching the ropes and masthead, engulfed the lower sails in mere moments. Pandemonium ensued as other captives used their arm restraints to choke some pirates who had foolishly dropped their guard.
His captor’s cutlass had fallen to the deck when Anthony had shoved him, and it lay between the youth and his enemy. Both lunging for it, the pirate was agile, but Anthony had a longer reach, being larger. Foiled, the pirate next reached for the knife in his waistband and stabbed at him. Adrenaline rushing in his veins, Anthony raised the cutlass to fend off the knife and brought the weapon down hard with all his might, striking the pirate’s arm. Blood spurted freely as the man screamed wildly, his severed limb sliding along the deck and into the burning mess. Anthony did not consider anything at that moment but escape. Without a backward glance, he threw himself over the edge of the ship, into the sea.
Holding his breath, Anthony dived deeper and swam for all his might, until his lungs almost burst. He’d spent many summers in Scotland at the ocean and lochs, loving the water. This is probably what saved him. When he had to surface or die, he came up on the other side of the crippled Scottish vessel. Finding a splintered plank from the foundering ship, he pushed it, kicking away from the scene, until the currents took the exhausted young man far away.
He wondered that he was never pursued, but realized in the melee that it would have been quite some time before the pirates were able to control the fire, round up the survivors and count heads, if the vessel itself had not been destroyed and sunk into the deep.
For almost two days he had drifted in the hot sun, bereft of fresh water, until a fisherman in a small vessel had pulled him on board and tended to his needs. Sunburned and dehydrated, he almost didn’t make it.
His rescuer lived in the fishing village of Asilah in northeastern Morocco and took Anthony home with him. Without income or opportunity, Anthony stayed on with the man’s family, working as a servant for a time. At least he had food and shelter, if little else. He learned to fish and mend nets, always keeping an eye open for ships on the horizon. He had been lucky or blessed, depending on what one believed.
His one possession in the world was with him even still. The day he left home, his worldly possessions packed in one small duffel bag, his father Iain had laid a hand on the boy’s arm as he prepared to leave the cottage. “Here son, I canna nae give ye a fairer gift than this and my heart.” His father had handed him the small bundle, wrapped in oilskin and tied with a leather thong. The son noticed tears forming in his father’s eyes, and lest he remain out of compassion or melancholy, the boy had nodded, stuffed it in his boot top and strode away.
Once at sea, he had opened the oilskin and beheld the gift. It was a King James Bible. They had been first published in 1611 and his father, being vicar of his town, procured an early copy. Bibles began to spread across Europe to the faithful. That was twenty years before. Since his escape, it had become precious to Anthony, his one link to his past.
Growing up in a Vicar’s home and hearing the weekly sermons, Anthony had been like other boys he supposed, not really appreciating his Christian heritage and taking it for granted. He had always believed in a benevolent God, but didn’t really listen when his father preached. Preferring to daydream, Anthony had sailed through childhood in the care of his loving parents until his dear mother died. Blaming God for her untimely death, he listened even less after that, and grudgingly learned the Bible verses his father made him memorize.
But in this far off place, alone and in need of familiar things, the little book had taken on new meaning, and he had voraciously soaked up each chapter and line. His faith soared to new heights as the words leapt from the pages to his heart. Over the years it had been his lifeline.
Antun’s thoughts were interrupted then, as the joy of his life rose from the stairwell before him. Farah Jada smiled at her father. She was the very picture of Mariam, but with his own determined jawline, and that bright hair. She ran to him and gave him a warm embrace, giggling with excitement.
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