Bilal and Mistress Octavia Pt. 01

They say that the best stories start with the biggest mistakes. When I look back on the life I have lived, I cannot disagree. I am Bilal, son of Balam and my travels as a bard have taken me to the farthest corners of the world. Hopefully when I am gone my stories will live on.

This is a story about being far from home. You might think that I was used to being away from home, but that is not actually true. Where I have been there are always familiar things. Besides, even in my young days the empire was unimaginably big. One could go from one end of the Middle Sea to the other and go almost to the White Islands up north and still be in the empire.

But the empire had no stake in the New World. I supposed it was because we had our own local barbarians to subjugate and swindle. The western kingdoms had to cross the ocean to find their marks. It always struck me as odd that they called it that. The New World. It was just as old as our lands here, and there were people living there just as long as we had been here. Even today they will tell you that the New World is full of adventure, gold, and lonely native women. I suppose the last is true, but the rest are lies. What I found in the new world was swamp fever, alligators, and greed. Alligators are truly horrid beasts. I will speak more on them later.

This is another shisha den story, with details that would make an imam shit. I was a young fool back then, even though I had been a true man for several years. Some might say I am an old fool now, and again I cannot disagree.

Read this before you even think about coming to the New World. And pray to God you never encounter an alligator.

Mistress Octavia

In my past tales, you heard of the depths of my cowardice. I have been terrified and fled from battle. If it weren't for my cowardice, my mountain queen never would have found me. The tale I am about to tell comes from the first years of Sulieman's rule, and he had just declared his holy jihad with all the imams in the empire. He called for brave men to go out and do God's will in foreign lands.

It is against empire law to speak ill of the padishah, especially in writing. He was certainly brave, and strong as a bull. Kingdom after kingdom fell to him, and I'm sure I don't have to describe what happened to those who stood in his way, even accidentally. But wars have costs, both in lives and gold. When his ranks thinned he ordered his emirs and sheiks go through all the lands and pick out as many able-bodied men as they could.

Now when I said I was a coward, I surely meant it. I was terrified by these men, and I remembered my experience against Duke Ghostface several years earlier. Omar had been at war with just Ghostface, but Sulieman declared that all the heathen kingdoms were to come under his rule. I ran like a dog from firecrackers. The empire is vast, but the padisha's bureaucracy is meticulous. I had no choice but to escape to another kingdom. I chose the kingdom of Vaul in the west. I already spoke Vaulish, but it was ugly and blunt in my mouth and I struggled to make myself understood.

I quickly boarded a merchant ship for the kingdom and pondered my fate. I wanted to get as far away from the padishah's "recruiters" as I could. I didn't care where the ship went, really, as long as it took me far away.

We landed in the city of Turun, one of the biggest ports in Vaul. Even then, Vaul's New World colonies were booming, bringing in tobacco, sugar, and cannabis. I wondered what it was like there. I was no boy, but I was still quite naive. I thought of romantic New World tales. It was said the Vaulish king, Pepin, wore a robe woven entirely of New World gold.

I spoke to a captain at the docks. "Hello captain. I want go. New World."

The captain looked at me dubiously, "You're not from here."

"No. I Kashaki. New World. You go?"

"This ship sails for St. Tremay. Our next voyage out is in four days."

I knew St. Tremay. The viceroy of the Vaulish colonies lived there. In my mind I was certain there was a chance for opportunity there. "Yes. St. Tremay."

"The fare is eight gold coins, paid all in advance."

I thought I had got my words for gold and silver mixed up. "Eight silver very big. I do work on ship. I pay less."

"No, eight gold. Don't waste my time, foreigner." He scowled at me. I didn't know what to say. We stood there a moment and he continued. "Look, a lot of people want to go to the New World and it's a long voyage. Very expensive," he rubbed the tips of his fingers together. "Go down to the customs house and tell them you want to sign a servitude agreement. They'll give you passage if you agree to work."

I had only understood some of that. But I knew "customs house," "passage," and "work." I had planned to work anyway, so why not?

The customs house was a four story, opulent building near the docks. The value of cargo that went though here must be staggering. In my head I could see the king throwing handfuls of gold coins over his head and laughing triumphantly. That was what I would do if I had enough gold coins, I suppose.

A bell rang as I opened the door and a sea of eyes stared at me. Everyone was quiet and looking, I felt as if I had interrupted something unsavory. I made a note to myself to buy some Vaulish clothing as soon as I could. I certainly fancied those flat Tudor caps that were so popular in Vaul. Perhaps I could even afford one with a nice crimson plume in it. Wherever I went, it was always the Kashaki turban that stood out. I could get by in my pantaloons and plain tunic, but the turban was a dead giveaway.

I was in a large office area. Men haggled and scribbled in candlelight or the natural light from the windows. The walls were wood and ornately carved. The wall coverings alternated between business notices and fine paintings. I had only felt so poor during one of the padishah's victory parades. There were desks, chairs, official seals, strange equipment on desks that confounded me. It was a jungle of paper, coin, and old men.

I was a foreign traveler and I was at least a bit used to being stared at. When it was like this, I would diffuse the situation by buying a drink or singing a song. But seeing the dour rich merchants and clerks in here, I knew how a song would go over. I tried to look dignified and not too poor. There was a desk of sorts where I figured I could ask questions.

My heart was pounding. I was rarely nervous in front of a crowd. Usually I would encounter a hostile crowd in a tavern. Then men watching would be builders, soldiers, servants. Here, however, was a place of crown and commerce. There were harsh old men with gold chains, and prim, dour men clutching writing plumes. One of the plume-weiding men was right in front of me at this desk. "Hello," I choked out in my embarrassing Vaulish. "My name Bilal. I want..." What was the damn thing called? "Serve... umm serve agreement. New World."

The bureaucrat frowned, but seemed to know what I meant. He got up and disappeared into one of the connecting halls. I waited. Eventually people stopped staring. It made sense. Trade like this was a frantic business, and these stern men worked like ants on fruit to pinch their pennies.

The man returned with a tall man. He was wrinkled as a tortoise and wore an ornate hat that fit over his head and had a baggy top. He had a black velvet robe with a ruby studded silver necklace that hung halfway down his chest. I had faced down Duke Ghostface in battle, but this man chilled my heart with his gaze. "You are Bilal? Come with me. Perhaps we can arrange a servitude agreement." He spoke surprisingly proficient Kashaki, but it made me feel more uncomfortable, not less.

I followed him into an office. There was a heavy wood desk and a bookcase full of important-looking records. The office had a tall window that overlooked the harbor. A mechanical clock ticked on his desk. We sat across from each other. He donned a pair of spectacles.

"So you wish passage to our New World colonies, but you lack funds. Is that correct?"

"Yes, afendi," I said.

"What are your intentions once there?" His face was hard and piercing, I gulped involuntarily. I foolishly had not anticipated a question like this.

"Umm... well I am seeking my fortune! I play the qanun and I am clever with my hands. I am also a veteran of the padishah's army." All of this was true, but the last part was a bit misleading. I had fled screaming from my first battle, and the army was a mess of struggle and failure for me. Of course he didn't have to know all that. "I can play a song if you wish, afendi."

He harshly stared at me. I felt like a grub plucked from its safe hole in a tree, exposed and helpless. I squirmed in my seat. "No, that will not be necessary." He stood and produced a paper from one of his ornate wooden shelves. It was a wall of Vaulish text, and as he turned it toward me, I squinted and read. I had to give up after a few sentences. This was legal, scholarly language and I had no hope of understanding any of it. There was a space for my name, country of origin, and purpose.

I like to think of myself as somewhat shrewd, even clever at times. I thank God for my skill in reading and ability to pick up foreign tongues. But here I made one of the greatest, stupidest mistakes in my life. "What does it say?" I asked.

The man looked annoyed, but picked up a pair of spectacles and scanned the contract, explaining it in broad terms. Apparently the contact said that one Julian Fontaine would pay my fare to the city of St. Tremay. Once there, I would travel to Fontaine Manor and be bound to him as an indentured servant for seven years. "What's an indentured servant?"

"You will work for Mr. Fontaine. You will have a seven year term and when it's up, you will be released. Until then you are legally bound to Mr. Fontaine. Room and board will be provided at the manor, as Mr. Fontaine is legally bound to provide for indentured servants on the estate." The explanation was routine and practiced.

"So I am required to work for Mr. Fontaine only?"

"Yes. You will be released after seven years. Indentured servants also have certain legal protections outlined in the contract."

I wanted so badly to get to the New World. I had planned to work anyway, so it seemed like this wouldn't be much different than just paying for a ticket. I nodded my head and the man grinned for the first time I had seen. He slid the contract and quill and ink toward me. In my memory, he was like Shaitan, offering riches, power and love in exchange for one's eternal soul. I grabbed the quill and hastily signed my name. Little did I know how close to signing away my mortal soul I was.

--

After signing that infernal contract, I truly did feel like I was in hell on board the ship. We had cramped, smelly quarters where all we had to ourselves was a hammock. To eat we had hardtack and salt pork, and I always felt thirsty with our meager water rations. At least they provided us with drops of lemon juice in the water. Without lemons, oranges, or limes, a man will shit himself to death on a ship. It's something to do with the horrid food they give us. And the ship, by God the ship. It constantly creaked and groaned and slowly tossed and turned in the sea. On the vast ocean the waves were much worse than the Middle Sea I was used to. I spent most of the first week puking over the side of the ship.

And the final insult, the capstone, the ribbon tying it all together was that the voyage was to last four weeks. In the army we had crossed the sea in several days. Those few days were torture to me, and I thanked God and kissed the ground when I disembarked. Even now, looking back, I don't know how I survived the voyage with my sanity intact. This should have been my first indication.

On a ship like this, one is desperate for entertainment. I had my qanun, and when I played the other passengers sighed in relief for some kind of respite from the monotonous voyage. I also had my well-worn copy of the Good Book. When I read it I felt the holy spirit within me and it lifted my heart, if only slightly. The other book had lifted me, but in a different way. I discreetly perused a book of ribald tales I had bought in the capital city before departing. We were all exposed to each other and witnessed all manner of personal follies. I saw plenty of pukes, pisses, crying, laughing, and even attempted fucking. A husband and wife slept together and several times he tried, but she was having none of it.

I was frustrated and disheartened that I could not milk my ram while reading my erotic tales. I squirmed in frustration, trying to find some covert way of rubbing my anxious ram. But the other passengers eyed me as I did and I lost my nerve.

In Turun I had picked up a plumed cap and shirt and trousers of the Vauslish style. When I caught my reflection in the shop's mirror, I was pleased. The clothes definitely suited me, and I felt like a true world traveler. I even looked a bit like a real Vaul. My hooked nose stuck out a little and not many men in Vaul had a magnificent mustache like I did. It would definitely stay, even if it made it obvious I was a foreigner.

The first few days were a blur of dizziness and puke. But I acclimated, and never suffered from seasickness again in my travels. Of the dour, dirty faces on the ship, there was one that stood out. It was a woman, my age or a bit older. She was traveling alone, or so I thought since she seemed not to have anyone she was familiar with on board to talk to. I felt a bit protective, as it was dangerous for a woman to travel alone, especially among these sinful, bawdy sailors. Still, I felt wary. We would be trapped with each other for four weeks, and a misstep here would haunt me.

She was just a bit taller than me, and had a fit figure, as far as I could tell. Her dress was modest, but I could still tell that she had a round apple of an arse. Her tits too, though covered, looked enticing, even in the dingy ship. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, like the sky on a sunny day, and had an almost forlorn quality to them. She had a sharp nose that turned downward. But what I really noticed was her golden hair. Among my people, the Kashaki, blond hair is exceedingly rare. I love all shapes, sizes, and colors of women. They are beautiful in their sensual panoply. But I was unaccustomed to shining yellow hair like this and I was transfixed. You see it on people from the White Islands and even in the Zendalia Republic to the northeast of Vaul. Her hair was cut short, and only reached down to her jawline. She had neat bangs in the front.

I found my opportunity to approach her one evening when she watched the sunset on the ship's deck. She leaned on the rail, and her simple dress emphasized her hips and arse. This would be hard, and I wracked my brain to prepare the Vaulish words in my head. "The sunset, I like. Same as on land."

She looked back, smiling. There was something in her demeanor, confidence. She was not a bit startled by my approach. "Were you expecting it to be different?"

I shrugged, "I go on ship before, look the same then. Hard to be on a ship. Big seasick. My name Bilal. You?"

"Marguerite. You are Kashaki, Bilal?"

I nodded, "Yes, from empire."

"Well then, let's speak your language." She effortlessly switched to Kashaki. She had a noticeable accent, but her language was smooth and fluent. I smiled. This might be a little easier than I thought. When she spoke I noticed that her front teeth stuck out, but I found it endearing rather than unattractive.

"What a relief! I've been struggling with Vaulish for weeks now. It is a pleasure to meet you, Marguerite."

"Likewise. I wasn't expecting a Kashaki on the way to the New World."

"And I didn't expect to see a woman traveling alone."

"What makes you think I'm alone?" She had turned to face me now, and I could see her broad hips. Her legs looked strong and shapely, but I couldn't be sure because of her dress.

"Well, you've kept to yourself. If you had a brother or husband with you, you would be talking to them. You could be embarrassed in front of everyone, like the husband and wife the other night."

"Heavens, Bilal." She had heard the argument just as everyone had. The husband wanted very badly to fuck, and his wife refused to do so in front of so many people. "Is that what marriage is like?"

"I wouldn't know. No woman has yet to snare me." There was no way I could travel if I had a family. It just wouldn't be right. And of course being married meant giving up the chase I was so enjoying.

Her eyes flicked down to my chest. "That's an interesting necklace. Is it a bear's tooth?" The necklace was a simple fang on the end of a chain. I never explained it, since the tale was unbelievable and painful for me.

"It's not. This was given to me by someone very special, and I wear it to remember her." Her playful expression now was a bit more somber. It was then that I noticed she had a necklace too. It was a small wooden carving of God's holy sun. It was painted green. "You are a vestal?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm here to help establish the mission with the Amano. There's a village of theirs not that far from St. Tremay." She and I were of the same faith, though the western faith was a bit different than what we practiced in the empire. In the west, they were more lenient about alcohol, and had a Patriarch that acted as the king of their religion. Vestals were women taken at a young age to dedicate themselves to God. They followed a strict vow of chastity. "It's the first mission the Amano have agreed to. I'm blessed with this opportunity."

A vestal. I should have known. She would be safe here, as any man would fear the wrath of God and the other passengers if they were to harm her. Still, a woman was a woman, and I would enjoy talking to her and admiring her beauty. I was disappointed, still. I was hoping there would be some touch and pleasure in our future seeing how lovely and charming Marguerite was. I'm a scoundrel in many ways, but I'm certainly not the type to try to pry a vestal from her vow to God.

We were still talking when the stars came out, and I went to sleep content for the first time in quite a while.

--

As a boy, I had a friend named Fareed. He was nervous, serious, and very proper. One morning we met to play out in the woods and he looked positively disturbed. When I asked him what was wrong, he said that for a few nights in a row a strange thing happened to him in his sleep. When he woke up, he was covered with some kind of sticky slime, especially around his ram. I was at the age when a boy starts to notice girls and I knew what this slime was. I made my rain at least once every day when I milked my ram, but I had never had it come in my sleep.

It was an uncomfortable topic. I didn't want to admit to sinfully milking my ram and he was put off by my growing discomfort. Fareed was pious and didn't even like to touch his ram when he was washing. The way I figure it is that a man's rain will come out one way or another. I can be inside a woman, inside a fist, or in a dream.

In my dream, the ship was empty of all the sailors. I was confused and wandered in the dark below deck, scared that something horrible had happened. Then in a panic I decided to come topside and see if I could find anyone. All I could find was the impassive sea and the full moon. I swung my head left and right, then I heard a woman's voice. "Bilal, over here."

There stood Marguerite. She had on her same dress as before, and was intent on my eyes. "Where is everyone?" I asked. She leaned back on her elbows on the rail at the edge of the ship. It looked improper for a woman of her profession.

"God has a plan for you and me, Bilal. Now there's no one to watch us."