Th’Adventures o’ Cap’n Dyke Continue…

When we last left Th’Cap’n…

Th’sea-goin’ Doctor/HelmsMaster cleared his throat. “They really don’t care for women in general, actually, except as objects of sexual gratification and child-bearing.”

Th’Sapphic Seafarer lifted her left eyebrow then continued. “We’ll be findin’ a nice, quiet inlet t’rest up until dark. Walnut, give Carin some extra rum; she be lookin’ like she’s goin’ t’be takin’ yer nose off in about two seconds.”

Chapter 17

Cap’n Margo preferred fighting th’Barbary Corsairs compared t’ th’women whose apparent job seemed t’be keepin’ th’females in th’Harem clean an’ tidy.

When she’d been abruptly given over t’them after her purchase by th’tall, black man dressed in nightclothes, she found out they were rougher than a shipload o’grinning Arab men.

After they had literally taken her in hand, she was summarily shoved down into a hot pool o’water an’ scrubbed near raw. Th’pirate captain had soundly clouted quite a few o’ th’large women an’ even managed t’bloody a nose or two afore they overcame her an’ finished their task. Now, it’s not that she minded bein’ clean, but th’gauzy froufrou clothes they replaced her torn, dirty ones with were not on-dit at all. After she was scrubbed an’ apparently fashionably fit for these climes, Margo was forced (Aye, what? Ye expect her t’be goin’ along with a big grin on her face?) into a large chamber with odd doorways shaped like domes an’ tons o’marble surroundin’ her. On one side o’ th’room sat a large couch – a very, very large couch an’ th’walls behind it were decorated with scenes that Cap’n Margo found most revoltin’, bein’ that it involved couplin’ by something other than two women – her dish o’choice an’ all as it was.

She was made t’sit down on’ th’floor on an intricately-embroidered cushion afore a low table filled with foodstuffs then one o’ th’Matrons (th’biggest, baddest one – had arms th’size o’ a bowsprit) sat behind her. Now, th’pirate cap’n was mighty hungry as she didn’t fain t’eat when she be aboard th’Barbary vessel, seein’ that it involved Quid Pro Quo, and this is what she saw in great an’ good quantity afore her…pastries that smelled o’lamb an’ beef; thick stews sharp with spices; sweet peppers filled with meat an’ veggies; a whole baby lamb layin’ in th’clay vessel it had been baked in, smellin’ powerfully like rosemary; small cakes o’dates, cinnamon an’ orange peel; tiny, roasted birds; a hot potato salad mixed with caraway seeds an’ more pastries full o’ground roast almonds an’ fruit. Flat bread lay alongside apricots, small, spicy sausages, cheeses, pomegranates, nuts, hard-boiled eggs an’ black an’ green olives.

Her mouth watered; th’smells rose warm to her nose. She reached out for a piece o’fruit. Th’woman behind her grasped her elbow an’ pinched her. She kindly returned th’favour by punchin’ th’cheeky chit an’ loosenin’ a few o’her teeth. Th’Matron screeched an’ raised long, sharp fingernails t’drive them towards Cap’n Margo’s face…

A sharp command in th’Barbary’s strange tongue arrested th’Matron’s attack an’ she recoiled back then laid her forehead flat on th’marble floor. Margo turned an’ espied a fat, little man with a large beard dressed in th’usual Arab garments that made it appear they were all were perpetually ready for nocturnal activities o’one sort or another.

“Forgive her.” He addressed Cap’n Margo in a rather squeaky voice (nay, she didn’t grin, but she wanted to) in French (come on, stay with me here; French be th’international language – dare we say th’language o’diplomacy?) as he approached th’table with sharp, bright eyes. “She will be punished as you choose, Suha. What would you have? Those horrid fingernails torn out? Her eyes set upon by carrion birds? Feet cut off…”

Cap’n Margo looked at him like he was a total idiot. “Just tell her not t’be touchin’ me an’ we’ll be square – an’ me name be not ‘Suha’, little man. It’s Cap’n Margo Moon.”

“Bi-La Kaifa.” He replied with a dismissing wave. “I have bought you and name you Suha. It means ‘star’. Mustafa says you are fierce as a warrior.”

“Then ye’d best savvy ye’ve bought more than ye bargained for because I’ll take yer beard out hair by hair iffin ye think ye own me self.”

******
Cap’n Dyke decided darkness was good. They slipped off Th’Mound an’ onto land with naught a care. Walnut had drawn a crude map (well, not really, but his handwritin’ was all ‘doctor crampy’, so it was hard t’read) t’enable them t’find their way into Tunis. Th’lesbian Pirate looked east to where they could see th’soft flickerglow of fires.

“Let’s be doin’ this then.” She ordered an’ th’intrepid band set off across th’rollin’ sand dunes an’ rocky desert.

Th’pirates were not hindered t’Tunis, save once when they heard a sharp barking followed by a hiss an’ a spit. Th’ Cap’n stayed th’others with a hand an’ crept closer t’a stony outcropping from whence th’night-demon sang. She saw luminous green eyes flash an’ then a triangular head with large, black-tipped ears an’ reddish streaks runnin’ across each cheek revealed as a cloud floated away from before the moon. She drew her cutlass an’ th’medium-sized catlike creature hissed an’ skulked away on low bent legs.

She didn’t turn her back until it was completely out of sight and then returned to her crew. Aye, she kept her cutlass drawn…

******

Pasha Oman-I Sālis. A man of forty-some summers, he was the nephew of the Sultan Osman III. Being a Favourite of his Uncle, he had been sent to Tunis to lord it over the regions as Bey in order to avoid being imprisoned in the ‘kafes’ (just be thinkin’ perpetual house arrest for any male in line for th’throne) once Osman III had ascended as Sultan.

He had been in Tunis for over a decade. He hated the place. He was bored out of his oiled, curly-haired skull. At first, it was easy to be sated by the pleasures he had been denied growing up – women, men, boys, but even the pleasures of the flesh had grown weak in his heart after a while. He moved on to pain. He found new thrill in watching men fight each other to the death. He made women do the same and then men battling with women. Oman had never found a woman who could beat a man in the arena.