Touch and Go (19 page)

Delancey would have been more than human if he had not considered, fleetingly, the advantages of possessing a slave girl.

The drawbacks were more obvious, however, as soon as he sat down to dinner at the Vice-Consul's house. He told Mr Manasseh what had happened and hoped that there would be no legal or political complications. “I should suppose that the girl is Italian. I could not allow her to be sold as a slave.”

He realised, as he said the words, that his actions might be misunderstood. He also realised that it was a thoroughly quixotic gesture hardly becoming to a man in his position. The Rev. Dr Rathbone looked at him almost accusingly, Mr Midshipman Topley with a touch of envy. “I propose to leave her with some family in Gibraltar,” he went on, “and have no doubt that she will be treated kindly.” Mr Sulman looked worried and Mr Manasseh expressed his doubts.

“People here cannot object to a Christian slave being redeemed by a European. Slaves are often thus ransomed by the Redemptionist Fathers and the practice is clearly within the law. We have to be certain, however, that she is not a Muslim. If she is, we shall have trouble. And you say, captain, that her name is Souraya?”

Discussion continued during dinner and Delancey realised that his rescue of the girl would not be complete until she was on board the
Merlin.
Abdul Hassan was an awkward customer and Ibrahim Mansour was a sadistic bully. In their hands, the child's fate would have been unmentionable, as Sulman had to admit, but it remained a problem how to smuggle her out of a walled city. A first precaution might be to disguise her as a boy.

As they were finishing dinner, a servant came in saying that a messenger had arrived with news for Mr Sulman. “I feared as much,” he muttered as he excused himself. He was back in five minutes, looking more worried than ever. “It is Mustapha, sent by Ali ben Ismail to say that Abdul Hassan has collected his friends, that they are at the outer door of the house and demanding that Souraya should be given up to them. They will go to the judge and demand that she be taken into custody. They claim that she is a Muslim and that she was bought illegally by a Jew.”

“Not by a Christian?” asked Delancey.

“No. It is always easier to raise a mob against the Jews.” Sulman spoke without bitterness, resigned to his position in a harsh world.

“I see,” replied Delancey. “I shall fetch Souraya and make it clear that she belongs to me and not to you. While I do this I want you to provide horses and mules for our return to my ship.”

“That is easy,” said Sulman. “They are already collected at my house, ready for your departure in the morning.”

“No good. They must be somewhere
outside
the gates and ready for our departure tonight. I know the gate by which I came from the harbour—the east gate, I suppose. Is there another gate from which I could reach the river mouth by a less obvious route?” Some argument followed but it was finally agreed that the south gate would be best. Given a reliable guide, he could reach the Marteen from there, although it would mean a longer ride. He could reach even sooner, however, the place where his men were camped ashore.

“Very well, then. I owe you a thousand apologies, Mr Sulman, for all the trouble I have caused. I can't explain—it was something I had to do. And now I must ask you, Dr Rathbone, to take command of the horses, and have them in a place of concealment about half a mile from the south gate. I shall be there, I hope at about nightfall, when the gates are closed. I think that Mr Sulman can provide you with a guide. How far is it from the place where Ali ben Ismail lives to the south gate?” There was a short discussion about routes and distances and Delancey formed a fairly clear idea of what had to be done and when.

“I don't like this at all,” Mr Manasseh sighed. “You may be set upon by the mob and then there will be bad relations with the Governor. The British are well liked, as things are, and this could spoil everything.”

Delancey made his apologies over this and set off down the street with Mustapha for guide and a total force of three. They left the Jewish quarter and passed through the main bazaar which was coming to life after the midday rest. They skirted the fish market and the leather-sellers' street, and were nearing their destination when Mustapha paused to listen. From beyond the next turning came the angry sound of voices. “Bad, bad,” said Mustapha, “Allah, preserve us!” Then he went on and Delancey came in sight of the riot which was so far, he was glad to see, on a small scale.

Some twenty people were gathered at the door of what seemed to be a large house, one which presented an almost blank front to the street. One was hammering on the door and several were shouting insults towards a small first-floor window. The rest were expressing their support in a less active way. Delancey guessed that more would join in the fun when the siesta was finished.

Seeing so small a demonstration, he walked on quickly, followed by his A.D.C., coxswain and steward. Touching nobody except merely to brush him aside, he pushed his way through and found himself in front of the door. He realised at this point that things might be difficult if the door remained shut and barred. But those inside were expecting Mustapha's return. The moment he shouted his name the door opened and Mustapha darted in. The two seamen followed, then the midshipman.

Delancey looked sternly at the crowd, entered quite slowly and closed the door. It was quickly bolted by Ali ben Ismail, who remained there on guard. In theory, the followers of Abdul Hassan should have fallen on the Englishmen and prevented the closing of the door. In actual fact, they were taken by surprise. They had been told that a wicked Jew had bought a Muslim slave. They knew nothing about any European being involved. Giving way, at least momentarily, to an officer in uniform, they did not connect him with the outrage they had come to prevent. He could have been there on some other business. By the time they had made him the villain of the story it was too late. The door was strong and it was closed. After a pause of a few minutes, they resumed their aimless knocking and shouting.

Once inside, Delancey found himself in a square chamber serving as porch which was in the corner of what proved to be a large and formerly luxurious mansion. Led by Mustapha, he and his followers passed a door opening and found themselves at the foot of the staircase. Another opening on their right led into a spacious courtyard centred upon a disused fountain and surrounded by a gallery resting on Moorish arches. The place had become a sort of tenement, evidently housing a number of families, and the plaster was flaking off the walls.

Mustapha led the way up the stairs and into the gallery. Passing a series of half-doors and curtains through which dark faces peered at them, Delancey followed his guide to a room diagonally opposite the entrance; that is, in the far right-hand corner of the building. He was met there by Ali's wife Aisha and by another woman, possibly Mustapha's wife, called Muni.

With them was Souraya, clean, reclothed in local style but still barefoot, inarticulate and shy, with eyes downcast. The difficulty which now became apparent was that Delancey and his men knew no Arabic dialect and neither Aisha nor Muni knew any language but their own. Souraya wanted to say “Thank you” and Delancey wanted to say “Don't be afraid—we are friends,” but there was no way of conveying any message to anyone.

It was no time, in any case, for idle talk, for the noise from the front door was on the increase. Bowing to the women and leaving Topley to guard them, Delancey ran down the staircase to find Ali, who might speak some European language. He did not, as was soon obvious, and Delancey had to ask his question in dumb show: “Is there a back door?” Distracted as he was, Ali understood nothing at first but Delancey persisted, finally drawing a sketch with his scabbard point in the dirt of the porch floor. Comprehension dawned and Ali nodded repeatedly, pointing to the far left-hand corner of the building.

Going in the direction indicated, watched by many eyes peering from dark recesses, Delancey found that there was indeed a back door. Opening it, he found that it led into a deserted lane. The main problem solved, he went upstairs again and explained by gestures that he would take Souraya to a place of greater safety. Aisha knew at once what he meant and told the others. Within a few minutes the whole party was at the foot of the stairs. Delancey said good-bye to Ali and then led his followers to the rear of the building. But there he met with an unexpected obstacle. The usually docile Souraya refused to go.

Delancey could have picked the child up and carried her but he decided that this would be a mistake. She was explaining something to the two women, who came round, seemingly, to agree with her.

Aisha pointed to the back door, which Delancey opened, and shook her head. Then she pointed to the upper floor as if to say that there was another and better way. Mustapha was about to close the back door but Delancey made him leave it ajar. Then he followed Aisha up to the gallery, leading the others. She did not go to her own apartment but to a point above the back door where there was a ladder, evidently leading to a flat roof. She climbed this as one who knows the way, leaving Muni and Mustapha behind, but beckoning Delancey's party to follow.

They came into sunlight on the roof but the heat of the day was now giving place to the relative coolness of the late afternoon. Without hesitation Aisha went quickly and quietly to the far corner of the roof and jumped a three-foot gap which separated that house from the next. The gap after that was wider but bridged by a couple of planks. The gap after that amounted to nothing. After thus crossing half a dozen rooftops, Aisha led them down another ladder into another house, centred upon a smaller courtyard than the one her own apartment overlooked.

Nothing could be heard of the riot from which they had fled. The women who now greeted Aisha were evidently friends or relatives. She talked to them volubly, pointing to Delancey and Souraya. They tittered a great deal, scenting a romance, but the youngest of them stared with bright interest at young Topley, who blushed uncomfortably. With a final word of farewell, Aisha had gone. Her friends giggled afresh and proceeded to make coffee.

“I've heard tell of all this before, sir,” said Teesdale unexpectedly.

“You have heard of—what?” asked Delancey.

“The rooftops, sir. The Muslim idea is that women stay home and aren't never seen in the street ‘cept maybe with another woman and heavily veiled. They are supposed to have no fun until their man comes home, like. All this seems a bit dull, so they use the rooftops as their own street, visit their friends, hear the news and sometimes meet with a man younger than their old husband. They have signals, too.”

“How d'you mean?”

“Squatting on the rooftop, they sing out much as if they were chanting a ballad; not very tuneful, though, and all on a high note.”

“What sort of messages do they send?”

“Gossip, sir, I'm told. Miriam is expecting another baby, her sister has a boy visitor—that sort of thing. They use a code, though, and their menfolk don't understand a blessed word.”

“I've heard of that too, sir,” said Tanner. “But I'll admit, sir, that I don't like running away from a parcel of Arabs.”

“Nor do I, Tanner,” replied Delancey, “but fighting would get us into trouble. Tetuan is the place from which Gibraltar receives half its supplies.”

“That's true enough, sir, come to think of it. So we must keep clear of the law and that—avoid being seen?”

“Yes, and we shall need a disguise. I'll try to explain this to the ladies after we have had coffee.”

The coffee, when it came, was hot, black and strong, served in egg-cup sized china. They all squatted on the floor while they drank it. Then Delancey tried to explain what they wanted, showing them what money he had to offer; luckily, a useful sum. It was Souraya who came to his rescue, having some prior knowledge of the situation. With renewed giggles the women finally produced some old pieces of cloth, tattered, worn but very much what was wanted. One after another, the Englishmen were wrapped in shabby material and made to look like Arabs. Thus transformed, they descended to ground-level and headed for the south gate, guided only by the setting sun. They found it before nightfall, not without difficulty, and boldly passed the guard. Luckily for them, the men posted at the gate were watchful over people entering the city but far less concerned about people who were leaving it. Delancey trudged on in a mercifully failing light, hearing the gate close while he was still within earshot. Some half-hour later Dr Rathbone stepped out from the shadow of an old ruin and said that the horses were ready and waiting on the tether. Four hours later and something after midnight, Delancey answered the sentry's challenge and rode into the camp at the watering place.

The Vice-Consul came down to the river mouth before they sailed next day, bringing their luggage and assuring them that all was well. Ali ben Ismail had complained that his slave girl had been stolen by some Europeans, men unknown to him, and his explanation had been accepted. Mr Sulman had been questioned but knew nothing about the girl, not having seen her since the auction, at which his presence had been accidental. Manasseh himself admitted that some English sailors had been ashore, but they had sailed again.

This soon became the truth. The tents were struck, the seamen returned to their ship and the
Merlin
and her consort put to sea with a favourable wind, sure of reaching Gibraltar that afternoon. On the quarterdeck stood a new crate, marked with Dr Rathbone's name and containing a classical statue packed in wood shavings. In the captain's day-cabin, which Delancey had given up to her, Souraya was still asleep. Delancey was pacing the deck with Rathbone beside him.

“Tell me, captain,” asked the old scholar, “how much does the Admiral have to know?”

“I shall report that we have taken one prize; that the
Venturer,
from Minorca, parted company and grounded on a reef, being refloated with difficulty, and that we called at Tetuan for water. I could add that the
Speedy
has probably been captured but he probably knows that already.”