Isabella Awakening Ch. 05

Isabella did know anything of the middle passages of Pergolesi's opera. She spent the entire time unconscious of herself and worldly matters. It was like death, but a glorious living wonderful death in which her soul took flight and circumnavigated the globe, spreading lust and light and love to everything. His hands alone had taken her to a higher, more beautiful, more complete, plain of existence, and it was his hands that slowly brought her back. As the final movement started its progression towards the final note, she caught flashes of him and of the music, drawing her back again, reluctantly. She realized that his body was hot and that that his cock was pressing into her back through his trousers. She was aware that the seat under her was saturated and cool and that her mouth was dry from her labored breathing. As his hands slowed to the music, he kissed her neck. At some point, she -- or more probably, he - had raised her knees and placed her legs over his, opening her wide and providing unrestricted access for his fingers. Quieter now, he gently lifted and closed her legs before rising and helping her move backwards so that she could rest against the chair's padded back. He stood, beside her, touching her face with the side of his hand. She turned and saw his pants straining with his erection.

Isabella knew the rules, but she gently raised a hand and touched him there, more as a question than a statement of her own desire, although she felt it keenly. He understood and unbuttoned the top few buttons and pulled his pants down to his knees, freeing his cock; his long, thin cock, from its cramped and strangled home. It was swollen and shaking and she took its head gently into her mouth and caressed it with her tongue. The applause of the audience below covered his moans. He shuddered and she moved forward, engulfing the shaft and easing the head into her throat. She did not gag. but waited a second before moving up the shaft, using her tongue and soft palette to provide a throbbing, and responsive cunt for him. He grunted and pushed back and she engulfed him again, letting her throat constrict on the pulsing head. He spasmed and came in her, as she knew he would. She held him there and sucked and licked his shaft until he was spent; then released him, holding his cock in her hand and kissing it before placing her other hand on his leg and helping him raise and re-button his pants.

The orchestra below was taking its final bows as he quietly left the booth, turning at the last minute to say a single word; "Stradivarius" and sigh. Isabella quickly took her dress from the hook and stepped into it, fixing the buttons as the door opened again and Anton entered. He helped her adjust the dress and used his hands to replace several strands of her hair that had come loose from her bun. Then he held her and looked into her eyes. He saw her familiar joy and satisfaction, but there was more now, much more, and he both envied her and rejoiced for her. He then removed a 'kerchief from his pocket and wiped a drop of the composer's semen from her chin before kissing her and escorting her down the stairs, through the pressing crown and out into the cool fresh air of the Naples night.

Isabella did not speak until they were back inside Anton's study and she had taken off the dress and reclined naked in one of Anton's armchairs, a large glass of brandy in her hand.

"Tell me Isabella, what can I get or do for you now?" he said with great love and real affection.

Isabella was still glowing with the emotional and spiritual fulfillment she had experienced at the hands of Giovanni, but her body ached for more. "Oh Anton, what I need right now is ....."

"A nice big Italian sausage, Marm?"

Isabella opened her eyes with a look of shock. The fat, balding, gap toothed cook stood before her in the Captain's cabin. He was holding a plate of food.

"Oh god, I'm sorry to startle you, missus. I didn't knows you was sleeping. I just wanted to offer you a nice sausage for lunch. We can do chops, if you'd rather a chop?"

"No. no, a sausage would be fine, thank you," said Isabella collecting herself and moving the manuscripts from the table. "I must have drifted off. Actually, I would rather like two big Italian sausages, if that was possible."

The cook smiled and said "Not a worry in the world, missus. I'll be right back with another nice juicy fat one for you." He left.

Isabella smiled and re-tied the ribbon around the Captain's sheet music before replacing it in the bookshelf. She then sat and ate her sausage, all the time marveling at her own wanton nature and her capacity to become aroused even in the face of real danger. She also re-experienced those incredible feelings of floating free of her mortal body and of her spirit expanding to fill the void.

The cook soon returned with her second sausage and she helped herself to the carafe of table wine on the sideboard, sitting quietly, waiting for Thomas's next move.

She did not have to wait long. Before she had finished her glass, Thomas entered the cabin followed by a huge African in canvass pants and sailor's jacket. This was obviously Black Ambrose, the tailor. Thomas introduced him and explained his role to Isabella. Ambrose was to fashion a disguise for her -- a full robe and habit that was designed to both hide her "charms", as Thomas referred to her femininity, and provide a, hopefully inviolate disguise by which she would avoid the worst of any half-civilized pirate's depredations. Isabella was not so sure, having heard plenty of tales of nuns being raped by marauders, but Thomas seemed set on the idea. He explained to her later that he had first considered having her dress as a sailor, but dismissed the idea when Ambrose had expressed doubt about his ability to fully conceal her shape. He had also reminded Thomas that a young, smooth-faced boy might prove an even more tempting morsel for some of the Algerines he had known.

Ambrose used a knotted string to take Isabella's vital measurements and left them to find the fabric to complete his task. Thomas sat with her and the cook returned with a plate of sausages for him, which he ate greedily. Once satiated, he sat back and smiled at Isabella.

"Thomas," she ventured, "where are we now?"

He leaned back in his chair and retrieved a rolled map from the receptacle behind him. Clearing the table in front of him, he spread it out, placing his now empty plate and glass on either side to hold it. Isabella rose to stand beside him.

"Here," he said, pointing to a coastline with the tip of his knife, "is the western-most tip of Sicily." Then tracing a line directly south, he described the Della Virago's course. "We are approximately here," he said pointing the tip of knife at a point the Isabella guessed was no more than fifty nautical miles from the Sicilian shore. "The winds have been light and not entirely propitious for our journey," he went on. "At our current rate of sailing," he used the knife to indicate a further southerly track, "we shall be around here by first light."

Isabella studied the map closely. "That's no more than twenty miles from Tripoli," she observed.

"Correct. At that point the Captain hopes to pick up the easterly breeze and make his escape through the Barbary waters at at least 10 knots, fast enough to outrun most of the known pirate shipping." He sat back and looked up at Isabella as she continued to study the map. Her slender index finger traced the route he had marked and continued it in a long arch up towards the Spanish coast. Her face fell a little as she did so.

"So, " she said, dispelling whatever thoughts had momentarily saddened her, "if we outrun or totally avoid the pirates, we shall make Barcelona within the week?"

"With God on our side," replied Thomas, but under his breath he intoned a different prayer.

Isabella rested her hand on Thomas's shoulder. "Then my fate is truly in your, and the Captain's, hands," she said. "I must admit that my faith in God, in worldly matters such as these, is perhaps not as strong as yours."

Thomas touched her hand and turned to look up at her. "Isabella, there is danger here, as you well know, but, you must be steadfast. Remember what I told you. I will not abandon you."

She looked into his eyes again and was comforted. Her fingers brushed his cheek and she felt a rising feeling of warmth and comfort. A momentary flash of passion bent her head to his and she placed her forehead against his. She felt his breath on her cheek and saw the flush of his cheeks.

"Isabella," he said, voice constricted but still carrying authority, "We must be careful here. If all goes to plan in the morning, by tomorrow evening we will be.."

He was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. They parted and Isabella turned to the wall quickly, smoothing her hair, breathing deeply and composing herself. Black Ambrose entered, a wide white smile splitting his jet face horizontally. Over his arm hung, not cassock or robe but a flimsy pair of what Isabella thought to be pantaloons. He placed them on the table in front of Thomas and looked to him for approval. Thomas stood and held the strange garment out in front of him. They were of white, or off-white, cotton. The two flaps hanging down were obviously some form of legging, but rather than a continuous tube of material, they were flat and were edged with ribbons. They each had four pockets of different shapes and sizes down their length, each with a buttoned flap at the top. Isabella did not understand, but Thomas smiled.

"Excellent work, Ambrose," he beamed to the huge African, who returned his approval with an even broader smile. "Thank you. We shall await the robe with high expectations. Did you find the material, I described?"

"Yessir!" said Ambrose in his deep African voice. "Just like you said, fine but heavy. The boys is dying it in the kitchen tubs right now. Should be dry by four bells and I'll make up the robe by sunset."

"Excellent, Ambrose," replied Thomas.

Ambrose left, smiling, and Thomas turned again to Isabella, now refocused on the immediate future.

"I had Ambrose make this apron as a added precaution," he explained. Isabella wondered if it was some kind of chastity belt, something to prevent easy access to her vagina, but allowed him to continue.

"These tie around your waist," he showed her, standing now and holding the garment in from of his own body. He wrapped the top of the apron around his own waist and tied the flat ribbons in a bow in front of him. "The legs tie on in the same way." He demonstrated, lifting his thigh and showing her the tie ribbons. "The flaps sit securely against you legs and provide suitable hiding places," he opened a pocket on his thigh, "for valuables or ... necessities."

Isabella grasped the clever idea at once. "And this pocket," she pointed at a pouch in the material about a foot long and six inches wide, lying against his left thigh, "is clearly designed to conceal Keira's Horn."

He nodded, "Exactly. I thought it best if you kept it close."

Isabella suddenly wondered if it was she or the Horn that Thomas was so keen to protect. Thomas caught her sudden change of mood and reacted immediately.

"Isabella, please do not think that I do not have your personal safety as my highest priority." He reached out and took her by the shoulders, searching her face and eyes. "You must understand that nothing, not the Horn, not my mission, not even my life, is more important to me that seeing you through the next twenty-four hours."

Isabella noticeably relaxed. "Yes, Thomas, I know that, and I am grateful. I know how important the Horn is to .... your people. I feel its power myself, even though I am not one of you. I will protect it until you decide to take it back." She lowered her eyes and moved closer to him, pressing herself against him as he enfolded her in his arms.

"Isabella, I cannot describe how much this means to me. Not yet, anyway. We will have our time together very soon and then I will show you that you are, indeed and without doubt, one of us. I know it in my heart and in my soul, and so will you." His hands traced her shoulder blades and gently stroked the small of her back before coming to rest on her hips. She nuzzled her face into his neck and kissed him there, gently.

They parted, both bleary eyed, and Thomas said he had to return to the deck to consult the Captain. He kissed the bridge of her nose and Isabella held his hands and released them reluctantly as he moved away.

Thomas spent the entire afternoon on the bridge with the Captain. The few times that Isabella saw them, they seemed deep in conversation. Bertrand had clearly come to rely on Thomas's counsel.

Isabella, meanwhile, busied herself in her room, selecting the few precious items to hide in her special apron. The Horn, obviously, took first place in its own pocket. Isabella then selected personal items, her jewelry, hairbrush, notebook and pens, Beatrice's bottle of honeyed oil and a few toiletries. That was it. She had already decided to take her new book, Secret Knowledge, clasped to her breast as a bible. In her satchel, she packed a selection of practical clothes, underwear, a seaman's cap and canvass trousers her father had included in her traveling kit. She then sat back, satisfied that she had completed her preparations. It was nearly five when she heard Simon call and knock.

"Come in, Simon. I am decent." She smiled.

Simon blushed and said he had been instructed to take her to the storeroom, to show her a hiding place should it be required. She followed him along the corridor to the bows and had to duck and squeeze through a narrow hatchway into the triangular room at the very front on the ship. She found she could stand quite comfortably and that the long side of the room was furnished with a long narrow grate through which air and light filtered in.

"The Cap'n an' the Padre reckon you should come in here if there's trouble, marm," he said, sounding a little scared himself.

"I understand, Simon, thank you," she smiled in an effort to dispel his nerves. "I shall do just that."

Standing on her tiptoes Isabella thought she could see the movement of sailors through the fine grate. She looked around to find something to stand on. She dragged a sturdy box to a position under the grate and stood on it. From here she could see the entire foredeck and even the bridge, where Bertrand and Thomas were standing together surveying the horizon as dusk fell. She realized that the relative darkness of the storeroom meant that she could observe everything from here without being noticed. She jumped down from the box and Simon took her back to her room.

Once again, dinner was a rushed affair and she had no time to see Thomas alone before he and Ambrose came to her cabin later in the evening. Ambrose held a large, dark reddish-brown robe over his arm and wore his now usual broad grin. Thomas was eager for her to try on the disguise and he helped her draw it over her head and over her clothes. The fit was comfortable, even with the extra bulk of her skirts and jacket. The wide sleeves fell below her hands and the large hood hung behind her, until Thomas pulled it gently over her hair and adjusted it. The effect was actually quite elegant, she thought. Simon and Ambrose obviously agreed. Thomas gave her a few final instructions and suggested that she rise before dawn and prepare herself, in case of an early morning encounter. He promised to have Simon bring coffee and food and wake her at the appropriate time. Isabella doubted that she would be able to sleep and held Thomas by the arm as he made to leave. She needed his comfort and wanted him to stay. He hesitated and held her for a moment before telling her that he was needed on deck by the Captain and that they should both try to sleep for at least a few hours tonight. He kissed her cheek and she released her hold on him, letting him depart.

Despite her fears and worry, Isabella found sleep quickly that night. She must have slept through the final hours of the crew's preparations because she was woken by the aroma of coffee and Simon's gentle tugging of her sleeve at five thirty.

"Padre says its time," he whispered.

Isabella sat up right and took a few moments to remember where she was and what was happening. "Thank you, er, Simon," she said, still emerging from a dream. "Give me a few minutes, please."

"Yes, marm," he said, backing out of doorway, but leaving her tray and coffee pot.

Isabella wrapped herself in her night robe and made her way to the little privy, possibly for the last time, she thought.

Back in her room, she moved methodically, pulling on tights and a cotton shirt before helping herself to coffee and pastries. She ate more than her fill, thinking that her next meal may be many hours away. When she had finished she retrieved the pantaloon apron, already stocked with its precious cargo. She tied it carefully around her waist, thighs and calves, making sure that it still allowed freedom of movement. Before donning the robe, she found her hairbrush in a pocket and combed her hair. She slipped on her plain black boots.

Fully dressed in her disguise, she realized that she could not leave her room. She sat on the edge of her cot, poured another cup of coffee and watched the slow dawn illuminate the clear Mediterranean sky through her porthole window.

The waiting went on. Isabella could hear the crew above and could feel the gentle rocking of the ship. Simon eventually returned to take her food basket and coffee pot.

"Simon," she asked, "have we reached the Barbary waters yet?"

"Yes'm" he replied. "Least I fink so. Cap'ns not saying much right now, but the lookout reckons he can see the Tunis coast."

"And have we reached the easterly breezes?"

"Not that I can tell, marm. Flat as a stove top out there right now. We's been drift'n like this for an hour. The whole crew's up there," he pointed to the deck above, "a whistlin' and a scratchin' at the backstays."

Isabella had seen sailors at this strange ritual before. They believed that wind could be summoned with their whistles and that the sails would respond to their scratching of the ropes.

"I do hope it works." She said

Simon looked worried. "Yes'm," he said, eyes downcast. He fidgeted for moment before adding, "We'll be right, don't you fret," but his wavering voice betrayed him.

Alone again, Isabella resumed her waiting. The sun was now fully visible above the horizon and the deck above was almost silent, save for the occasional order from the officers. At least half-an-hour passed like that and the ship continued to rock gently, its old timbers groaning and the sound of the bilge slopping slowly in the lower hold the only sounds.

Suddenly, a shout brought the ship alive. The lookout, high in the rigging was calling to the captain. Isabella could not make out the words but the thumping of feet above her told her that something serious was afoot. Yelled instructions and responses continued for several minutes until her door flew open and Simon and Black Ambrose entered, both talking together.

Finally, Simon yelled Ambrose down and looked to Isabella, "Padre says you should go up to the bow store," he said.

Isabella grabbed her satchel and was up and following them immediately, squeezing herself through the narrow entry door and settling onto a box. Ambrose handed her a small canvass bag and a bottle of water.

"Food," he said, pointing to the bag. He was not smiling this time.

They left Isabella and returned to the deck. As soon as they had gone, she pushed the box across the floor to her position under the grate and stood on it, peering through the narrow holes. Men ran across the deck, carrying bags of gunpowder and cannon balls. Beyond them, she could see the Captain and Thomas and the first officer standing together on the bridge. Thomas was stooped, resting the Captains telescope on the railing and studying something intently. The Captain fidgeted and the first Officer watched the preparations on deck. Simon rose and said something to the Captain, who nodded his serious agreement. He, in turn, spoke to the first officer who called to the crew to load the cannon on the port deck. There was a roar of assent as the crew followed his orders, ramming powder into the muzzles of the short cannon and dropping a single round black cannon ball into the mouth. Smoking kegs of what Isabella assumed to be wicks, stood behind the men at each of the four port cannon.