Chapter One : Hookah Dreams

Captain Peter Thorton, or more correctly since his confirmation in the Muslim religion the day before, Peter Rais Thorton, Sallee rover and newly sworn citizen of the Sallee Republic, woke with pain in a very sensitive portion of his anatomy. He lay blinking and disoriented. Something was wrong, very wrong. His head was muddled and his mouth was dry. The ship wasn't moving. There was no gentle rise and fall as it bobbed at anchor, no sound of water slapping against the rudder. The tapestries were not drawn round his cot. A tall rectangle of pale dimness told him it was dawn, but it wasn't his window. Or his bed. Or . . . He bolted upright as he discovered someone lying in bed with him. The movement jostled the aching portion of his anatomy and made it throb. He realized he was naked. What had happened?

Checking his lap, he saw the neat white bandage wrapped around the tip of his virile member. Memory came flooding back. At least the portion that had occurred before Captain Tangle had passed around the hookah did. After that he had only a hazy memory of singing, and of Shakil attempting to hold him up . . . He eyed the slender form clad in a white nightshirt next to him. Yes, it was Shakil bin Nakih, his commanding officer's brother-in-law. Had they had sex? He couldn't remember. Certainly he could not have performed the manly portion of such an encounter, thanks to his brand new circumcision. He tested his bum cautiously, but it seemed normal. How could he know if he had been sodded when he was so intoxicated with hashish he couldn't even remember how he had wound up in bed with Shakil? Now that he knew what hashish was he would never touch the stuff again. He did not even like to become drunk with wine.

The cool dawn air chilled him and brought with it the sound of birds (too loud for a man accustomed to the sea and afflicted with the start of a hashish hangover) and the smell of newly mown hay fields. He laid down and pulled the covers up to his chin and tried to remember.

He and Lt. Maynard had sworn their oaths of citizenship before the vizier of the Sallee Republic. The vizier, a tall thin man with a pointy beard going grey and the broad flat nose of a man who has some African ancestry, apparently saw nothing strange about a pair of Englishmen in turbans and purple uniforms. Then again, half the Sallee rovers were renegades—usually from the Mediterranean countries, but Spaniards, Germans, Swedes, French, Irish, Hungarians, Italians, Dalmatians, Greeks—even strangers from the Indian Ocean and beyond had taken the turban and turned corsair. It was a lucrative business that attracted adventurers from everywhere. Thorton and Maynard had received their passports. Thorton kept his passport and officer's commission close together. They proved he was an officer of a legitimate (albeit very small) navy, should he be captured. If the Spanish were inclined to be merciful, he would not be hanged but merely chained to the oar of a galley to live out the rest of his days without the possibility of ransom. In fact, the Arrow, the galiot of which he was now captain, was formerly the Spanish coastguard Santa Teresa de Ávila. His commander, Isam Rais Tangueli, had captured her after Thorton had rescued him from the galley San Bartolomeo. Well, that was a long story and did not bear repeating. Everyone in Zokhara knew that tale by now.

Thorton had worn his new uniform which consisted of buff pantaloons, a white shirt, white turban wrapped around a black fez, tall black boots, and a long purple coat with very full skirts cut in the Turkish fashion without cuffs on the sleeves. Gold buttons closed it to the waist and bars of gold lace crossed the chest. His insignia, two crossed scimitars, had been expertly embroidered on the standing collar and patch pockets by Jamila bint Nakih, Shakil's sister. She also happened to be the wife of Isam Rais al-Tangueli, whom the English called "Captain Tangle." Tangle was formerly the Captain of Corsairs for his home town of Tanguel, which was one of the satrapies that made up the Sallee Republic, but those forces had recently combined with the Sallee navy. Hence the new purple uniform. He was more or less a commodore in the English way of reckoning. Not to mention, Thorton's ex-lover. He blushed red at that. Thorton had gone from celibate and junior (very junior) British lieutenant to celebrated Sallee rover in a matter of weeks. The circumcision, required of all Muslim men, was usually administered when a boy was old enough to understand what it meant to submit to Allah. At twenty-nine Thorton was a little old but his faith was no less sincere. He was a genuine convert. There was no turning back now. His very body was marked apart from the Christians.

After the oath of citizenship they had retired to Tangle's home, which was Jamila and Shakil's home. It was also Kasim's home, or had been until he had needed money and had sold his share to Tangle who had given it to his wife and her brother. Now the shoe was on the other foot. It was Kasim who captained Tangle's precious Sea Leopard and he wasn't giving her up. Neither Thorton nor Tangle had really wanted to invite him, but he was family, so they had. His first wife, whom he had divorced, and her children were there, but she kept in the background and avoided him. The patriarch of the family, Nakih himself, had attended with his young son by his second wife. Other guests had come as well: Zahid Amir, son of the governor of Tanguel and Tangle's new patron. Officers from the Arrow, friends of the family. All male, of course. The women stayed apart. The men were waited on by male servants. The black eunuch belonging to the family had presided over a motley assortment of men, including the officers' stewards from the ship and some boys hired from the neighboring cottages. Most of the household servants had been let go while their master had been imprisoned for two years in a Spanish galley. Without the rich prizes Tangle had brought home his family had been obliged to live off of the proceeds of the farm and their business investments. It was a comfortable but not luxurious life.

Thorton remembered the circumcision vividly. How nervous he had been! He didn't dare say a word. Not when he had seen the scars on Tangle's back from being whipped and abused by the Spanish while chained naked aboard a Spanish galley. Tangle had undergone his own circumcision when he was twelve. The very next day he seen his father die with his intestines sprawled across the quarterdeck of his xebec. Maynard, the other convert, was only fifteen and on crutches because his stump was still too tender to be fitted with a peg. A Spanish cannonball had blown it off during the glorious action in which Tangle had captured three out of four Spanish galleys. Days later, pale and drawn, Maynard had dragged himself back to his post to supervise his guns. To fret about a trivial operation like circumcision in the presence of such men would have branded Thorton a sniveler. So he kept quiet and sweated under his stock and wished it were over.

Maynard went under the knife first. Thorton had stared at the boy's face and seen him blink, but his smile never faltered. The deed was swiftly done. Maynard sat up and as he did up his pantaloons announced, "I have decided to take the name in religion of Aruj." If the older men thought there was hubris in naming himself after the founder of Turkish power in North Africa, they didn't show it. Instead they grinned and slapped his back and congratulated him. Aruj Silverarm had lost his arm while fighting the infidels, perhaps they saw a parallel between the young officer who had lost a leg fighting the Spanish. Either way there was no doubting Maynard's courage.

"Aruj," Thorton reminded himself. "Lt. Archibald Maynard Aruj." It would take some getting used to.

Thorton had gone under the knife next. Never a talkative man, he kept silent through the procedure. He had laid stiffly on the divan but in spite of himself flinched when it was done. He was very embarrassed by that but no one said anything. They helped him up and slapped him on the back. When they asked him what name he would take, he just shook his head and said, "'Peter Thorton' is good enough for me."

After that there had been food and the hookah pipe. Shakil, being a pious man, would not allow wine; the Qu'ran forbade it. He was scrupulous about the faith. The Qur'an said nothing about the American herb, tobacco, so it went around instead. Tangle, with a mischievous grin had said, "This will enliven the party!" and added something to the mixture. Thorton was not a smoker, but he was polite, so he had inhaled deeply as they watched him. Everyone partook except Shakil, his father Nakih and the young boys. Once the corsairs began to sing, Nakih had said good night and sent the boys to their beds and retired himself. That was where everything grew fuzzy. Thorton did remember that smoking separated his senses from his body so that he no longer felt the pain of having his member scalped, but beyond that he was lost.

Still, one thing was clear: he was in bed with Shakil. It was something he had longed for for weeks. His heart thudded in his chest and he rolled over to slip his arm around the other man's waist. He kissed the sleeping man's shoulder-blade through the cloth and felt the amorous warmth of his blood even though the affronted organ declined to rise to the occasion. He was still a little intoxicated from the hashish or he never would have been so bold, but even though his mouth was dry as cotton and a headache was starting, he kissed Shakil's shoulder more passionately.

Shakil woke and yawned. He made a little noise, then woke enough to whisper, "Peter?"

"I love you," Thorton replied.

Shakil sighed and yawned again. "You're slewed and spoony." He sounded mildly exasperated.

"No, really. I do. I swear it! I will show you." He kissed the other man's neck and pressed himself against his back.

Shakil squirmed away and swatted him. "Go to sleep, Peter. It's not even dawn and I have to get up at six."

He hadn't actually said 'no,' so Thorton persisted in trying to kiss him.

"Sailors! A randy lot of rogues," Shakil grumbled. "My brother-in-law has been teaching you bad habits."

Thorton shook his head. "I'm not like that. I swear it. I love you and only you."

Shakil sighed again. "I like you Peter, but I'm not that easy. Besides, Isam is carrying a torch for you."

Thorton flushed. "That is over. It's been over for more than a month."

"A whole month! Such a long time." Thorton had never heard Shakil be sarcastic before. "I'll wait. You have to prove you mean it, Peter."

"But you brought me to your bed."

"You were witless from the hashish. He should not have done that to you. He knows you aren't used to it. I put you to bed where you'd be safe. He would never pursue you into my room."

Thorton had a new worry. Had he and Tangle done something? He searched his brain frantically to try and remember. The amorous corsair was both charming and persistent. Thorton had all he could do to resist the man when he was sober; intoxicated he would have folded like tissue.

"Did I do something I shouldn't have?" he asked anxiously.

Shakil was silent a long while, then he shook his head and patted Thorton's arm. "No, not yet. It was Isam. He was flirting with you. I got you out of there before you did something I'd regret."

Thorton wilted completely. "I'm sorry, Shakil. I didn't mean to. I didn't know what I was doing. I hate being drunk and I didn't know it was hashish! I don't even know what hashish is!"

Shakil wrapped an arm consolingly around him. "I know, Peter. I know. I like and admire Isam, but he is a rascal. You have no idea how hard it is to be his accountant. He's a gallant man, but he has a streak of avarice and on top of that, he is vain and arrogant. He thinks he is entitled to what he wants."

Thorton snorted. "He's arrogant all right. Not even a Spanish galley could knock that out of him."

Shakil was quiet again. Then he said softly, "He is not as formidable as he appears. He would never admit weakness before any man, but Jamila tells me he has nightmares. He wakes up fighting, thinking that he is falling into the hands of the Spanish again. Don't tell him you know that. It would wound his pride."

It was Thorton's turn to be silent. Finally he said, "I know that side of him too. When we were first on the San Bartolomeo he asked me to tend his wounds. He was very sick. He didn't want his steward to see him like that for fear it would undermine his authority. Those were desperate days. I think he made the men obey through sheer force of will."

Shakil said softly, "While he was gone, I was partly happy because I was no longer in his shadow. I am a quiet man. I cannot compete with the legendary corsair. But when he was gone, I did what had to be done. I slipped into Sebta disguised as a Jewish merchant and made secret contacts to try and ransom him. They wouldn't let him go, though. Not him. Of all the corsairs in the world, never him. They fear and despise him that much. I snuck across the Pinch to Spain and managed to buy back the Sea Leopard using intermediaries. We couldn't afford it; I had to offer shares to investors. Which is how Kasim wound up owning a share. And why the other shareholders, who are his friends, elected him captain."

Thorton's eyes were wide as he listened to this tale. The gentle and bookish Shakil bin Nakih, Thorton's tutor in Arabic and Islam, skulking through the back alleys of a hostile port, wheeling and dealing with corrupt Spanish officials and mendacious merchants?

His voice trembled as he said, "Shakil, we are going to retake Sebta for the Sallee Republic. What you know about it will be immensely valuable. Will you help?"

Shakil lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. Dawn was whitening the air outside the window. The house was still, the birds sang, and the smell of the fields that had been in his mother's family for three generations drifted through the window. It was bucolic, comfortable, and distant from the rumbles of war. It was safe.

"I will do it."