Jacqueline de Belleville Pt. 02

Part 2: Jacqueline's Emerald.

Chapter 4: The floggings will continue.

"Hassan was impressed by your story, and would like to hear more of your life," says A'isha.

"I thought you said that I'd written enough for your library."

"Yes. But now you are being instructed to write more."

"About what?" I ask. "I've done a lot in my life and not all of it is something your brother might want to know about. Besides, a woman needs a certain amount of mystery about her."

"Hmmm ... OK ... You wrote in your first story that you've spent time at sea as a ship's 'boy'. Perhaps you can enlighten Hassan how that little episode ended."

"That's not an episode I remember fondly, but if it's what you want," I sigh.

"It is," replies A'isha. "And show more enthusiasm for the task or Samed's cane will persuade you."

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm all too familiar with 'the floggings will continue until morale improves' approach."

I go to what I regard as 'my' desk and take out some writing materials. At least spending the afternoon writing means I get out of washing the corridor floors. When A'isha said that my rank within the harem was that of an odalisque, I didn't know then that an odalisque is the lowest of the low. A life of cleaning toilets and floors, scrubbing clean huge cook pots, doing mountains of laundry, and running meaningless errands for women who simply like to have someone to boss about. If anyone thinks living in a harem is all about lying around looking pretty then they've never been inside the harem at Wadi Halaf.

So where do I begin my story ... hmmm ... yes ...

It is late February 1808. The Zafiro, the Spanish privateer which has been the centre of my life for five years, is docked in the Portuguese capital. Everything is muddle and confusion ashore as Portuguese royalty and government officials fall over each other in their haste to flee before the invading French army arrives. As usual Captain Iago Rodrigo of the Zafiro has a sharp eye for profit and the situation around us provides plenty of opportunity for that. Transporting passengers to the Portuguese settlements in Brazil at grossly inflated prices is an obvious money spinner. Unfortunately the Zafiro is short of passenger space without unloading some of its cargo and temporarily discharging all but a skeleton crew. Needless to say, the crew of the Zafiro aren't happy at the prospect of some them being stranded in the middle of what could soon become a battlefield.

A desperate merchant offers Iago a solution. Moored down the coast at Setubal is a two masted schooner the merchant is desperate to sell. The merchant spins a long winded, but plausible, story about why he wants to sell his ship rather than join the scores of other shipowners cashing in on the current situation. Iago agrees to take a look at the ship and if he likes what he sees, he promises to trade passage for the merchant and his wife to Brazil in exchange for the ship. By rights this is daylight robbery since even a small ship like that is worth many hundred times the cost of passage from Lisbon to Brazil. But desperate people do desperate things.

The Zafiro sails close to Setubal where the schooner is moored. From a distance I can see that the schooner is a pretty little craft and, although past her prime, she would indeed make Iago a handsome profit. However not everything goes to plan. There's the small matter of a French flag flying from the church tower. The French army must be closer to Lisbon than everyone thought. Until recently Spain and France were allies, and Napoleon's brother Joseph sits on the Spanish throne. But many Spaniards are unhappy about French rule, and rebellion has broken out around the country. The French army soon invaded the north of Spain to quell the rebellion, and despite fierce resistance, the French defeated the Spanish forces. Now the French army has marched into Portugal to settle old scores with the Portuguese monarchy. Iago is uncertain what sort of reception a Spanish ship will receive, so he decides to keep the Zafiro out of range of any cannon the French garrison may possess.

"Ship's boy to my cabin!" booms Captain Rodrigo.

That means me, of course. Either the captain has a daring plan involving me, or he's in a mood to ram his cock up my arse. More likely both. I should mention at this point of the story that my official rank of ship's 'boy' has long been a ridiculous fantasy. Superstitious seamen regard women sailors as bad luck, so notwithstanding that I'm blatantly an 18 year old woman, I'm still called a 'boy' and treated as an honorary male. In fact I'm quite capable of commanding a ship, and on occasion I've had to do so when the Zafiro has captured a prize.

"Study the map," says Iago as he ushers me into his cabin. Of course this is one of his ploys to have me bend over the table while Iago pulls down my trousers. Sure enough his hands are soon massaging my backside, although my trousers remain in place for once. His right hand works its way between my legs and he's soon toying with my clit.

"Are you getting wet, Jacqueline?" he asks mischievously. He knows full well how easily I can be aroused. "Would you like me to fuck you for once?"

His question alerts me to the dangers of the plan he's about to tell me. Iago's cock is no stranger to my arse, but like the rest of the Zafiro's crew, he's never tried to claim my cunt before. Another stupid superstition. Not that my cunt is virgin territory, but that's not something relevant to this story.

"Is the mission you are sending me on is going to be that dangerous?" I ask once he's brought me to an orgasm with his skilful hands.

A friendly swat across my arse ends that particular game and its down to serious business.

"There's some danger, but nothing I'm sure you can't handle. Take ten men and talk your way onto the schooner. You're a Frenchie, so any French sentries might be more inclined to let you pass. If you can, slip her moorings and bring her out to sea. Rendezvous with the Zafiro twenty miles west of Cabo Espichel."

He points to the Cabo Espichel peninsula on the map.

"You want me to steal the schooner that you've just agreed to purchase?" I ask.

"Well the Frenchies aren't likely to respect a bill of sale for her. They have probably commandeered her for their navy."

"OK. But what if we can't take the ship."

"Then make your way overland to Cabo Espichel and I'll pick you up from there in ten days time."

I would have preferred to choose the men who will accompany me, but Iago has other ideas. As soon as it is dark, the longboat is lowered and four of Zafiro's remaining crew row my party ashore. We land on a deserted beach not far from Setubal. The longboat crew promptly return to the Zafiro.

There's no sign of any French troops in the area but we don't take any chances. We slowly make our way to the harbour where we find that the schooner is deserted. This seems all too easy. While Carlos and Felipe keep watch, the rest of us explore the ship. The ship is the Zomorod, an Arabic name which translates as Emerald in English. The name suggests that she's once sailed from one of the Barbary Coast ports in North Africa. The reason for the absence of any crew is soon obvious. The ship has been in a battle and is undergoing repairs. Most of the damage seems to have been repaired, but the main mast looks as though it will break in anything stronger than a light breeze. That shouldn't be a problem here in the harbour, but beyond the harbour mouth is the Atlantic ocean, which in winter is another matter entirely.

Daylight is approaching and the dockside is coming to life. We soon learn that the French flag flying from the church tower is nothing more than a ruse to deter the fleeing gentry of Lisbon from causing chaos in Setubal. It's not a very patriotic act, but that's none of our business. While the mystery of the French flag is solved, we have a bigger problem facing us. The repairs to the Zomorod have halted over the matter of non-payment for the repair work done to date. It looks as though we may need to steal the Zomorod after all.

"We have a bill of sale for this ship," says Felipe to the foreman of the men repairing the ship. "If the former owner has failed to pay you for your work, then you need to take up the matter with him."

I always allow one of the male crew to handle these sorts of discussions on our behalf. For some reason men around the world seem to have extreme difficulty in entering into serious business discussions with a young woman.

"Well the ship ain't seaworthy, and until we get paid, it's going to remain that way," says the foreman.

It's obvious from the way the foreman is looking at me that he's open to some form of compromise which will undoubtedly involve him getting to fuck me. I'm used to my body being lusted over by men. Now that I've filled out in all the right places, I can't deny that I have a body that drives men crazy with desire. It's a weapon I shamelessly use on occasion. You can call me whatever dirty names that you like, but if a quick fuck with this man will get us on our way without a fight, then I'm okay with that. A deal is struck and I escort Juan the foreman to one of the small cabins at the rear of the Zomorod.

"Bed or table?" I ask when we study the layout of the room. The presence of one of the ship's six cannon in the room makes it extremely cramped.

"How about you bend over the cannon and I take you from behind?"

"Umm ... Okay. If that's what you want to do."

I unpin my hair and let it cascade down over my shoulders. Then I remove my shirt and trousers myself since I learned a long time ago that allowing a man to do that usually results in my clothes needing hours of repair work with a needle and thread.

"God! Your tits are gorgeous," says Juan gawping at the objects of his admiration.

"Do you like them?" I flirt, giving him a closer look.

"A man could die happy sampling those delightful beauties."

Now probably isn't the time to tell Juan that more than one would be ravisher has suffocated while I pinned him between my tits. But Juan is going to be safe enough today. The crew of the Zafiro always honour a deal made in good faith.

"And such luxurious hair," he says pushing my hair behind me so that he has an unobstructed view of my tits. I let him fondle them for a while before I turn around and bend over the cannon as Juan has asked me to do. Now he gets a fine view of my arse.

"What delightful peaches," sighs Juan as he runs his hand over my backside. I give a little wiggle to excite him some more.

"So smooth and soft. Perfection itself," continues Juan.

Yeah, yeah. I've heard all this before. How about we get on with the main event. It's several weeks since I was last properly fucked. While I like my arse being reamed, it's nice to do something different once in a while. Fortunately Juan has a good strong shaft and he's obviously fucked women before. I wasn't expecting an orgasm, so I'm pleasantly surprised when he works me up into achieving one. He considerately withdraws at the last second and spills his seed over my back rather than leave me worrying whether I'll end up pregnant. I regularly use a concoction of herbs to prevent pregnancy but getting them at this time of year is problematic. Deed done, we clean ourselves up and return to the others. I make a mental note to nickname that cannon 'Fucking Juan'. That's another seafaring tradition; seamen never call cannon by boring names like 'port-side number one' but by nicknames like 'Flaming Fanny' or 'the widow maker'.

We set sail onboard the fully repaired Zomorod two days later, along with a larger group than I first anticipated. Juan the foreman insists on coming along to ensure that he and his men get paid for their work. He's out of luck if he wants to fuck me again. My cunt is always off limits while I'm commanding a ship under sail. We are also taking two passengers, brother and sister, who have paid a ridiculous sum of money for the Zomorod to take them to Cape Verde islands in search of four of their relations. Of course you might be wondering why I don't use the money Sophie and Pedro Sanchez y Torres have paid me to settle Juan's outstanding bill. Put simply Juan's bill is something for Iago to sort out, while Pedro's and Sophie's fare is income for those of us on the Zomorod. Iago made it clear that he intends to split his crew so that the Zafiro can sail to Brazil with as many passengers as possible, so a profitable side trip for the Zomorod is going to fit in nicely with his plans.

We rendezvous with with the Zafiro several days later than planned, but Iago doesn't seem to mind. I suspect the price of passage to Brazil has increased dramatically over the last few days as most of the ships which were in Lisbon harbour when we first arrived have apparently already sailed for Brazil. Those toffs remaining in Lisbon must be getting desperate, particularly as the unmistakable sound of artillery can be heard coming from the north and east. Juan transfers to the Zafiro and we load some of the Zafiro's surplus cargo into the hold of the Zomorod. Most of the transferred cargo is left over booty from captured ships which nobody wants to buy and Iago refuses to dump overboard. He has some weird thing about not wanting to pollute the oceans. Consequently there's not much in the transferred cargo which we can use on our mission. A few hours later the two ships go our separate ways; the Zafiro into Lisbon to pick up passengers, and the Zomorod on a course for West Africa.

When I ask Pedro and Sophie about where in the Cape Verde Islands they want to go, it turns out that they don't know. In fact, worse still, they aren't even sure that the people they are seeking are there at all.

"My cousins Victoria, Isabella, and Renata were travelling with their mother Maria from Setubal to Brazil. They bought passage on board an American ship called the Petrel under the command of a Scottish captain by the name of Angus McTavish," says Sophie. "We saw them leave Setubal, but the Petrel returned a week or so later under the command of different captain. The Petrel couldn't possibly have reached Brazil and returned in such a short time. The new captain was later identified as a Portuguese pirate."

"Do you know anything about what happened to your cousins?"

"The Petrel had already left Setubal again by the time we started making enquiries. But there were dockworkers who had heard the crew talk. It seems that when the Petrel left Setubal with our cousins and aunt, it only made it as far the Cape Verde Islands. That's why we want to go there."

The route from Portugal to Brazil passes close to the Cape Verde Islands, so it seems reasonable for a ship to stop there for supplies if necessary. A few days later I'm taking my regular after breakfast walk around the deck of the Zomorod when I'm interrupted by Sophie and Pedro, who have been talking by the starboard rail. I join them and before long we are discussing our mission to find and rescue their aunt and cousins.

Chapter 5: Into a trap

"Are you related to the Sanchez shipping magnates?" I ask.

"Yes," replies Pedro. "Our father and uncles run the various parts of the business. But they're no help to us at the moment. All their ships on this side of the Atlantic have been commandeered by either the French or Spanish navies. That's why we needed to charter your ship."

We make a brief stop in Casablanca in case the Petrel discharged its passengers there. Although there's no sign of the missing women, we at least learn of a plausible explanation of what happened to the Petrel in the Cape Verde Islands. It appears the Petrel's captain, Angus McTavish, had a number of mistresses in different ports, none of whom were aware of the others. That is, until recently, when his mistress in Casablanca learned of the existence of his mistress in the Cape Verde Islands. There is some suggestion the two mistresses met in the Cape Verde Islands and McTavish arrived there to a very hot reception. There are different versions of what happened next, but all of them involve a very unhappy time for McTavish. It is possible, therefore, that the Petrel was acquired by the Portuguese pirate by legitimate means, rather than capturing the ship while at sea.

We can't be certain though, and none of the rumours and stories give us any clue as to the fate of Pedro's and Sophie's kin. But we should be able to find out something once we arrive in the Cape Verde Islands, which are now only a day away if this wind holds.

As we get closer to the Cape Verde Islands we need to work out what to do when we get there. One of my crew, Mattis, was born on one of the islands and knows many of the islands quite well. I ask Mattis, Pedro and Sophie to join me in the main cabin so we can work out a plan.

Mattis firstly describes the islands to us. There are ten inhabited islands, all volcanic, spread over 1,500 square miles of ocean. The islands are a Portuguese colony and small Portuguese garrisons are stationed on two of the islands. The main towns are Praia on the island of Santiago, Mindelo on Sao Vicente, and Sao Filipe on Fogo. Mattis recommends Mindelo as our first port of call as it is not only the closest to us, but its deep harbour attracts more shipping than Praia or Sao Filipe.

If those we seek have not been captured by pirates then Mattis believes they are likely to be at Mindelo or Praia. If they are prisoners of pirates, then Fogo or one of the smaller islands are likely to be where they're held. Assuming, that is, they haven't been taken further afield and sold as slaves. If that fate has befallen them then we have very little chance of ever finding them.

A shout from the lookout confirms my navigation has been accurate and we are approaching the island of Sao Vicente. We should reach Mindelo by late afternoon. Mattis speaks both the local creole and Portuguese. Apparently many of the islands' traders also speak some Spanish and French, so we should be able to get around any language difficulties. We split into two groups when we dock. Pedro, Felipe and Carlos make enquiries with the local Portuguese officials while Mattis, Sophie and I do the rounds of the local traders and merchants.

Mattis advises against carrying too many weapons. Although the islands are home to slave traders and the occasional pirate, they are generally peaceful, and soldiers of the Portuguese garrison would arrest anyone who looked as though they were going to cause trouble. So the weapons we carry are small and well concealed.

Mindelo is a lot smaller than I thought it would be and there is only a small market, most of which is closed for the rest of the day. After a fruitless hour of searching we find an inn and stop for a drink. We've had no word from Pedro, Felipe, and Carlos. I hope they've had more success than us. We are due to meet back at the Zomorod in an hour's time.

We are sitting around a table, not knowing what to do next, when music starts up from the far corner of the inn. We realise an area has been cleared for a stage. There is to be a performance of some sort and we move nearer to watch. A short while later, two young women come dancing onto the stage and Sophie's mouth drops open in astonishment. She quickly informs Mattis and I that there on the stage before us are Renata and Victoria, giving a very sensual dance for the thirty or so men and women crowded around the stage. Their performance is well appreciated and when it finishes a few coins are thrown in their direction from a grateful audience.

They leave the stage through a back door and as quick as a flash I follow them. Only to be stopped the second I pass through the door by a knife pointing at my throat. Foolish, careless girl. I gulp and try to see who has pulled the knife on me. Sophie is close behind me and promptly calms her Aunt Maria's wrath. Her aunt is obviously acting as minder for Renata and Victoria, to make sure none of the audience come looking for extra entertainment from the young women. She fortunately recognises Sophie before any harm comes to me, and they are soon all embracing each other.