“Shall we unite the sacred”—Osiris pointed at Aurora—“and the profane?” You can guess where he pointed next, and I was none too flattered by it.
“It is prophesied!” the men in the crowded cabin shouted.
“Shall we unite the Wisdom and the Fool?”
“It is prophesied!”
“Earth mother, do you take this seed?” The bald-headed bastard pointed at me.
“I do.”
I waited politely for the question to be put to me so I could spit back. And waited. But I was of no consequence, you see, which was Aurora’s point.
“Then I pronounce this union made when it is consummated on the Altar of Apophis below and witnessed by the Heir of Unity here.” He gestured at Harry.
“Now just a damn minute…” I began, not at all amused at the notion I was supposed to perform with this witch in front of one hundred of her closest friends, not to mention my toddler son! Even barristers make more sense than that. But then a wooden bit was slapped in my mouth before I could object further and its leather thongs twisted tight against the back of my head: a wedding custom different from most, I’d wager. Aurora stepped near, gorgeous as the moon, repulsive as a serpent’s fangs, and whispered her particular brand of venom in my ear. “This is the start of your eternal degradation, my dear. You will copulate with me before our assembly and our dragon to seal our marriage on an idolatrous altar. If you don’t, I will hurt our son.”
There’s a way to put you in the mood.
“You’ll see,” she continued. “I’m going to make you love me.”
And then she passed by to begin to descend to the hold I’d come from, and where people seemed to be losing clothing of their own in a heretic’s idea of Mass and matrimony.
I was doomed to some kind of new humiliating captivity just marginally better than Omar’s.
And then a voice called warning from the deck outside.
“American ship!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
My would-be bride and her assortment of Satanists and miscreants momentarily froze, giving me time to duck past the Oriental draperies and glance out the stern windows. There my savior was under the moon, black hull, white ports, gently pulling sails, and a glorious fifteen-striped, fifteen-starred United States flag bigger than a bedsheet that glowed with luminescent glory. Somehow the warship must have been near Syracuse and gotten my dusty clue that Tripoli, to the south, was our destination. Now here she came after us, guns run out, and I couldn’t help but silently rejoice at the prospect of this whole lot being blown to flinders. That would end my marriage!
Then I remembered innocent little Horus.
My boy and I had to get off this pirate tub, and fast. I began wheezing and mumbling past my wooden gag, and at Aurora’s sharp, irritated command, someone pulled the bit free. I coughed, taking breath. Above, bare feet were hammering on the deck as the Barbary pirates ran to loosen lines, drop sails, and raise anchor. Our few guns were run out, but all knew our captured merchant vessel was no match for even this small American schooner.
“You’ve got to let Harry and me go,” I said. “The boy has no part in this.”
Her response was to snatch up my child. “He’s in this by your blood, and his deed. You’d better think how we can escape that schooner, Ethan, because our son’s life depends on it.”
“My son.”
“I told you in America. We are nowhere near the end.” Her smile was a grimace, clenching my child to her with the determined greed of a child clutching a doll. He squirmed against her body and its thin shift, tired at last of the silly clothes she’d dressed him up in, but her grip was like iron. Outside there was a splash of a cannon ball, and an instant later the report of the American gun that fired it. They were seeking the range.
So I charged her.
I rammed Aurora as if she were a stout oaken door, my head deliberately butting into hers and poor Harry screaming as we collided and went down, silks ripping down with us. The idols of long-forgotten gods toppled and rolled on the deck. Flames ignited as some of the fabric caught from the candles, and men began yelling and beating at the sparks. I grabbed Harry and tried to pull him away from the squirming woman beneath me, but she clung like a cat ready to bite and scratch, hissing hatred.
I’d bloodied her nose, which gave me immense satisfaction.
Then someone was lifting me off her and hurling me across the cabin. I hit the bulkhead with a grunt and went down.
It was Osiris, looking murderous. He wanted to hurt me for running over his leg, and finally had his excuse. I could feel our own ship beginning to move, hoping to get distance from the American schooner.
Dragut appeared in the companionway. “We’ll lure them on the reef!”
Another splash and thud of a ranging cannon ball, and then the roar of one of our own guns. Where was Harry! Aurora had picked herself up and retreated into a corner to hold him like a shield, looking hateful. It was the only honest glance she’d given me all evening.
Suddenly I realized that the collapse of the silk trappings had revealed a rack of arms, including my confiscated rapier. I snatched it up, smiling at its remembered balance. Maybe my fencing lessons would do some good after all!
Osiris grinned as well, evilly, and stepped back to fetch from behind a settee his own sword, a thicker cutlass. It was shorter and more efficient in the tight killing ground of a ship’s cabin. I’d given him an excuse to gut me, and he intended to take full advantage. By the same token, I needed to get through him to save my son.
We sprang and fenced. The blades rang and I let mine slide off to keep it from breaking against the heavier sword, sidestepping in the narrow space and trying to remember what I’d been taught in Paris. It was more formal there, the spacing neatly defined, rules spelled out, and without low ceiling, swinging lanterns, and little fires burning in the corners. I stumbled over a statue of Bastet, the cat goddess, and tried a strike at my opponent’s thighs, but he parried.
Then Osiris came in after me, trying to box me in a corner so his cutlass could do its work. He chopped back and forth, driving me backward, but I was quicker than he and got in a jab toward his eyes that made him recoil. As he arched backward I squeezed away, trying to catch Aurora. She’d picked up a silver knife to hold near my son’s throat.
“Just give me the boy!”
“Only wound him,” she instructed Osiris. “I want to make it last.”
“Papa!” Harry was screeching. Barely weaned and he was in a duel and a naval gunfight? What kind of father was I?
Our waltz continued, only the speed of my fencing keeping the bigger Osiris and his heavier sword at bay. He was beginning to pant and sweat. I feinted, again and again, to force him to swing. He was frustrated, but no less dangerous for that.
So I stooped and threw Baal at him. It banged off the cabin wall near Aurora.
As he ducked, there was an opening to pink his sword arm. He cursed, spitting, and hopped back on his good foot, blood running down to the hilt of his cutlass now. He looked frustrated, the two of us circling while overhead the pirate crew was attempting to claw out of the anchorage. He was tiring—cutlasses are heavy—so he came at me thrusting hard, wanting to end it. The heavier weapon took a moment more to swing, however, so I checked and parried, getting more confident as Aurora began calling for help. Finally I exaggerated his parry of my sword, letting it slip sideways farther than I needed to, and the riddle master who’d taunted me in Paris risked raising up his cutlass for a final blow. It was just enough exposure. As his blade started down I whipped mine back, got underneath his stroke, and took him through the heart. He was a dead man before his cutlass sang past my ear and sank uselessly into the deck.