A Cruel Passing of Innocence Page 3

  Somewhere behind, mounted on desert beasts, rode the other whip-men. Nassara could not see them, but she felt their proximity, their eyes as vigilant as ever. Nassara knew better than to turn around, fearful of their evil presence.

  Further behind them came the remainder of the camp followers, pack animals loaded high with the general paraphernalia of the decampment.

  As far as the eye could see sand dunes stretched out into the shimmering haze of heat. What dreadful place at the edge of the earth was this procession of misery taking them to? How long would the journey last? Could Nassara endure it?

  Closing her eyes against the fierce glare she let her body adapt to the unfamiliar motion. Settling as comfortably as she could between her companions, she felt their moist flesh rubbing and gliding against hers. She smelt their scent, as well as the strange odour of the desert beast.

  They rode silently, but occasionally she could hear a moan coming from one of the girls on the beast behind. The endless landscape seemed never to change, although they must have already travelled a great distance, for the sun was nearly down, yet the heat under the drape was undiminished. After a while she dared to whisper in Belithza’s ear, but kept a sharp sideways lookout for any whip-men. The girls had learned that talking was not a prerogative of their captivity.

  Behind her the black girl, whose name Nassara discovered was Ugimba, eventually mumbled something in her ear, but she could not understand her words. For some time now she had felt the girl becoming restless, her breasts moving agitatedly against her back, yet it was not she, Ugimba, who was suffering pain from the whip, as both Nassara and Belithza were. Nevertheless, it seemed that Ugimba was in discomfort, growing more restless with every lurch of the beast beneath them, and she squirmed agitatedly behind Nassara. Then suddenly she groaned, her breath coming quickly, and she shuddered against Nassara’s back.

  Not understanding at first, Nassara felt a sudden flow between her own buttocks, flooding down around her thighs and cascading down her legs, and she realised the cause of the girl’s discomfort, her bladder unable to sustain the pressure any longer. They had been without a break for many hours, and the poor girl whimpered words of apology in Nassara’s ear, choking back tears of shame. But Nassara gently and kindly squeezed Ugimba’s arm, which encircled her waist so earnestly. Now Nassara’s mind was focused on her own growing discomfort, her own bladder aching for release.

  The youth leading the beast by a rein walked just ahead of it, seemingly unaffected by the distance of the journey, his bare feet oblivious to the hot sand, as though accustomed to such exertion and extremity of heat. Sometimes he hummed quietly to himself, or mumbled, or spat into the dust. At other times he would hang back, walking beside the beast, glancing slyly up at the three half-exposed legs of the girls, ever ready for any mischievous torment of his charges. Now he saw the flood of warm liquid running down, and laughing gleefully he pointed at the trickling wetness. Then turning and walking backwards he fumbled for the vent in his ragged clothing, pulling out his puny flesh, thrusting it upward as high as he could, and he began to urinate, laughing inanely as his feet scuttled backwards in the sand, leaving a fresh trail of steaming wetness as they went.

  Nassara looked away, forcing herself to close her eyes again, making her mind go blank to shut out the nagging, growing pressure in her belly and the ache that seemed to consume every part of her weary body. She ventured a glance at the shackled men, herded along like cattle, trying to take her thoughts off her pressing discomfort.

  Some of them seemed near to the end of their endurance, shuffling along in a daze, scarcely seeing or caring and almost delirious with the heat and thirst. Once one of them stumbled to the ground, making the others stop abruptly, pulled up by the sudden pressure on their collars. The horseman was immediately upon him, lashing out indiscriminately with his whip, making the others move on, dragging the fallen prisoner to his feet by the cruel tautness of the chain.

  Eventually Nassara could no longer take the pressure in her bloated abdomen and she let go, gasping her apology to Belithza, who felt the rush of the flood around her buttocks and thighs, and mumbled that Nassara should have no shame for nature’s work.

  It was nightfall by the time the convoy came upon its destination. Single-storey mud huts nestled untidily around each other. Smoky oil lamps flickered at the open doorways, and a pervasive odour of dung and cooking hung over the place. There was another smell too, that was unfamiliar to Nassara – a kind of salty richness in the air. It was cooler here, too, and nudging at the folds of her headdress was a pleasant breeze that came from her right, and there, opening out beyond a fringe of nearby palm trees, was a black expanse she could not at first identify.

  Then with a twinge of shock she realised they had come to the sea, something she’d never seen before. As far as she knew it could have been the edge of the world, and a lifetime away from her village that not so long ago had been the centre of her life.

  A number of men emerged noisily to greet the convoy, and Nassara heard muffled laughter and guttural banter. The youths leading the desert beasts clearly knew where to go, leading them towards a large hut that stood alone. In front of it the beasts were made to kneel in the sand, ready to unload their reluctant cargo. Nassara saw that the young men, still in their shackles and near to collapse, were being herded towards another hut.

  The whip-men circled the sitting beasts and gesticulated, shouting for the girls to discard their covering and dismount.

  Other men approached, holding lanterns. Evil eyes glinted in the dark, sweeping lecherously over the naked arrivals. The men joked with one another, pointing and gesturing, exchanging vulgar comments. But Nassara was beyond caring, glad to put her feet on soft sand again, her body stiff and aching, her legs sore from the rubbing motion. Belithza moaned quietly, stumbling to the ground, and she staggered to where Nassara and Ugimba waited.

  ‘I could not have endured…’ she started to say, her voice tailing off, remembering the whip-men’s presence. But they were, it seemed, too tired for cruelty, and they ordered the girls into the large hut, gesticulating with their whips.

  It was warm inside; a fire had been lit at one end. An old woman was stirring some steaming food in a large pot, and soon the girls, ravenous and parched, were fed and watered. Heavy blankets were issued to each of them, and almost gratefully they settled down to sleep, fretful in their troubled slumbers, fearing the next rise of the sun.

  Nassara huddled in her blanket, her eyes seeking Belithza’s, but she’d already fallen into an exhausted sleep beside her. Alone in the darkness, hearing only the restless breathing and occasional mutterings from her companions, Nassara closed her eyes at last, and drifted into a troubled sleep of unwanted dreams.

  She awoke with a start, the sense of dread instantly upon her. Stiff and aching she sat up. From outside came the unwelcome sounds of activity. Men were shouting, and somewhere nearby Nassara could hear the muffled sound of clanking metal and chains. Bright rays of the early sun shone dustily through the open doorway. The other girls were stirring unwillingly from their sleep, groggy yawns turning quickly to awareness.

  A whip-man appeared at the entrance, his implement held menacingly at the ready. He shouted and gesticulated for the girls to get up and go outside, his evil eyes darting around, enjoying the fearful looks that greeted him.

  The girls stumbled out into the glare of the sun. Naked once more they formed up in a line, no longer heeding the now familiar lecherous stares of the men gathered there, nor their jeering remarks and obscene gestures.

  Nassara looked discretely about, avoiding any eye contact with the men. Before them lay the sea, and even in her fearful dejection she marvelled at the glittering beauty and vastness. Nearby, alongside a jetty, was a large boat, its pointed bow rising high above the descending sweep of its decks. A furled sail fluttered from its tall, swaying mast, as the craft rocked lazily from side to
side with every swell of a wave.

  ‘Where do they take us?’ Belithza whispered urgently in Nassara’s ear, and then, as if in answer, the girls’ attention was drawn at once to movement in front of one of the other huts. Chained as before, the ragged young men were filing out into the sunlight, bleary-eyed, their raw, dusty skin showing all too clearly the cruel ravages of the lash and the relentless sun on their nakedness. The guard with the long black whip ushered them towards the boat, making them shuffle quickly to where a gangplank led up onto the deck. Noisily their bare feet rattled the crude planking as they stumbled aboard, chains jangling in unmelodic despondency.

  More turbaned men stood waiting on deck for the prisoners, whips at the ready. Once aboard the young men were made to crouch down low and descend through a hatch to somewhere below deck, to the goading shouts of the guards.

  ‘I think we are to be taken on a journey on the sea,’ Nassara murmured, and fear spread at once across Belithza’s face.

  ‘Oh, take me from here, save me from the water,’ she muttered, her eyes wide and apprehensive. ‘We shall be swallowed up.’

  ‘No, Belithza, fear not,’ Nassara encouraged. ‘The boat looks strong. See how it sits neatly in the water.’

  At that moment there was a renewed clanking sound of metal chains. The youths were bringing bunches of shackles, and the whip-men were shouting again at the girls, gesturing for them to kneel in the sand so the youths could lay out a long length of chain on the ground in front of them.

  Nassara’s same tormenting youth was standing at her side, leering again at her breasts. Trying to ignore him she kept her eyes fixed ahead and her body proudly rigid. Then she felt a collar being placed around her neck, an iron ring set in the leather, and several metal studs he secured with some kind of locking tool. He bent and pulled her roughly towards him, his breath against her ear as he cackled something wicked and tightened the studs. Wedging his fist between the collar and her throat, he took delight in tugging the seasoned leather brace, jerking it roughly so that Nassara had to struggle for breath and fight to keep her balance. Looking down at her breasts and watching them quiver with each deliberate jerk of his hand, he sniggered at each attempt she made to right herself.

  The chain was run quickly through each of the collar rings, shackling the girls together in yet further degradation and misery, prisoners beyond hope, deprived of all dignity. Nassara fought the tears that threatened to well up in her eyes, but she remained kneeling gracefully upright in the sand, feeling the sun hot upon her shoulders, fighting the surge of anger that tempted her to hit out at the loathsome youth.

  Fresh orders were barked and the whip-men snarled at the newly chained prisoners, shouting and gesticulating for them to get up and run to the boat. Unfamiliar with their new restraints, the girls trotted awkwardly towards the gangplank, stumbling and jerking against each other’s collar and chains.

  The wooden deck was already very warm from the bleaching sun. The smirking men onboard stood back to allow the girls to pass along the side of the vessel, watching with lustful eyes as their new cargo was herded towards the hatchway. Nassara’s tormentor led the way, beckoning the girls impatiently and exchanging ribald comments with the men. With a curt wave of a hand he signalled the lead girl to follow him below, disappearing down into darkness.

  When it was Nassara’s turn to descend the rough wooden steps she felt the chain between her and Belithza, who was just ahead, jerk tight against her collar, nearly unbalancing her. As she clambered down into the gloomy interior, her feet gingerly feeling for the wet floor below, it seemed as if she were entering hell itself. Once below the captives were led, scurrying almost blindly into the darkness, following the youth deeper into the hold.

  A rancid, pungent odour of damp, rotting waste and human sweat hung like an oppressive cloak of evil. Thin rays of sunlight scarcely penetrated the hatch, barely enough for the girls to see the claustrophobic confines of the hold that was their new prison. They were in the bowel of the boat’s hull, the skeleton of its frame tapering forward into a central valley of timber beams. The deck-head was so low there was no room to stand upright so she had to crouch and put her hand out on the damp bulkhead to steady herself, her feet picking their way over the raised timbers.

  Up ahead the youth had reached the place where the girls were to be tethered. The desperate clanking of chains was loud in the confined space, as the girls jostled in ungainly confusion for a sitting position against one side of the boat.

  Along the sloping bulkhead of the opposite side Nassara was surprised to see the sombre shapes of the young men. They were half-lying, half-crouching, their backs to the vertical timber struts, their feet resting in the dank gully that ran along the centre.

  The youth made the leading girl in the line go right to the forward end, where the vessel narrowed. Then scuttling like an evil little scorpion, he made his way back towards the light from the open hatch and disappeared up the steps, and moments later the hatch was closed and bolted. Now it was almost completely dark, except for chinks of light that penetrated occasionally through cracks in the planking above. The immediate silence in the hold was heavy with despair, and somewhere in the gloom came the faint sound of a stifled sob.

  Shortly after there was commotion on deck and the boat started to creak and move a little more noticeably. Some of the girls began to weep, fearful at such unaccustomed motion. As the boat began to pitch and roll one girl started to wail pitifully, and some of the living cargo cried out in momentary panic as there was a loud scraping noise along the hull, which echoed horribly in the confines of the hold.

  At least there were no cruel whip-men here, Nassara thought, reaching out for Belithza’s hand, feeling the tremor in the girl’s body. She talked soothingly to her, but Belithza was lost in her misery, mumbling to herself.

  ‘This devil’s wooden urn takes us on the sea,’ she murmured. ‘Soon it will sink and the water will drown us like rats.’

  ‘Shhh, Belithza, have courage,’ Nassara comforted. ‘It will not sink. Feel how it rides on the water. Do you not hear the whispers of the sea against its sides? Listen how the water passes underneath, not coming in. We shall not drown.’

  The boat was soon far out to sea. It began to heave and fall through the water, the timber beams groaning with every pitch and yaw. At first the foetid, airless atmosphere inside the hold was unbearable. Its human cargo sweated and panted in misery and unseeing terror. But gradually the rushing water beneath the hull cooled the interior and the air became less oppressive. Soon the prisoners began to calm themselves, adjusting to the motion, and the anxious wails gradually subsided. Belithza closed her eyes, but her hand still gripped Nassara’s.

  Trying to lie as comfortably as she could against the hull, Nassara stretched her feet out in front of her, feeling an eddy of tepid water slopping around her toes. Moving her foot to one side it made contact suddenly and unexpectedly with the leg of one of the young men opposite her, and she could see from the stark whiteness of his eyes that he was looking back at her. Although scarcely able to make out his features in the gloom, she could see he had a handsome, angular face. Like most of the young men he was slim and lean, and although he bore a muscled frame, it was rangy and slightly wasted from hardship and lack of nourishment.

  ‘My name is Zheeno,’ he said in a soft yet strong voice, and despite the strangeness of his accent she was pleasantly surprised to hear him speak in her language. ‘What is yours?’

  She told, turning to introduce Belithza, but the girl’s eyes were closed, her head turned away in her lonely grief.

  ‘Where are we being taken?’ Nassara asked. ‘Do you know this, Zheeno?’

  ‘I know only that we are going as slaves to a place of great riches,’ he told her. ‘There is a king named sultan, and we are slaves of his pleasure. I know this only from what I can understand from our captors, so I cannot be sure what I tell you is
true.’

  It seemed many hours that the boat swept onward in its monotonous rhythm of creaking timbers, occasionally lurching up as the bows ploughed into some larger swell of water, before falling again to wallow briefly in the valley of its wake. Nassara and Zheeno talked together for hours, until they knew much of each other’s past lives, and by what cruel means they had been delivered into captivity.

  Zheeno had been travelling alone to his father’s farm one evening when a gang of men surrounded and overpowered him. Taken to a camp he was chained to other young men before embarking on a long, terrible journey, forced to walk great distances each day in the heat, with very little water or food. Two of his companions died along the way. He did not know how he survived, having been near to collapse during that last leg of the journey. Suffering torment of thirst and ceaseless beatings, they were marched at a merciless pace by their ruthless captors, herded until they dropped with fatigue and dehydration. At least now, even if it were only a brief respite, he was out of the heat and able to rest.

  It was late in the day and the hold of the boat had become cold, and the rhythm of the vessel’s motion seemed to change, the roll and pitch becoming more severe than before. The plaintive moaning from some of the girls resumed again, some retching or vomiting into the narrow gully, unable to take the increased movement of the boat.