Voyage of the Crimean Slaver Pt. 01

"A ship?"

"Yes, master. They taken me to be in a caged," she looked at him sadly, but with little emotion in her voice. "I was solded to Tunis, then soldiers taken me from my master and I was put in cage to here."

Hamilton looked at her as the light from a small lamp illuminated half of her face. She was a pretty slave, and it was easy to see how she would draw the attention of men. He had never heard of English officers abducting women and selling them as slaves, but, then he had done so himself.

"Well, you are my property now." Hamilton pulled down his pants. "Lie back, slave."

"Yes, master." Marga laid back on the table top as Hamilton pulled her slightly so that her ass was right on the edge. His cock pressed against her pussy. "Ahh...." she said in pain. She wrapped her legs around him and began to grind her hips, as she had been trained, to force her body to respond faster.

"It is a pleasure to once again own a slave who speaks English," said Hamilton as he moved the tip of his cock against her slit and began to force himself inside. In some corner of his mind, he realized his statement was not true. Nasira spoke English. Nasira was a slave, legally and in practice, there was no question of that. But Nasira was much more than a slave.

"Yes, master," Marga cried out. She tried to steady herself by spreading her arms across the table as he began to fuck her.

Hamilton held his hands tightly to her hips, as he pressed in hard with each thrust, sliding his cock inside her tight cunt. He watched her, her breasts bouncing back and forth, her cheeks stained with tears from the whip. Marga looked up at him and gave a weak smile. Hamilton could feel her body responding more. She shifted her head back and forth, with low moans, a slight action, but one which pushed him. He fucked her hard and then his cum was deep inside her.

Marga had been well trained. As soon as he pulled back she slid off the table and went to her knees, looking up first for approval, and then sliding her tongue along his shaft as she cleaned his cock. She took him in deep into her mouth, her lips still feeling very good.

"You please me slave," Hamilton said as he adjusted his pants and reached for his shirt.

"Thank you, master."

"Now, go downstairs and into the kitchen. The slaves who are serving dinner will help you to clean up."

"Thank you master," she said quietly.

Hamilton followed her down the stairs as he went to rejoin the party.

##

Nasira shifted as he rolled to the side of the mattress and pulled on a shirt.

"Is something wrong," she asked, groggily. Their room in the library was dark, with only the faint illumination of the moon slipping through cracks in the shutters.

Hamilton stood next to the window. He had already opened the window slightly, and now unlatched the shutter and looked out.

"Edward! It is cold!" cried Nasira, "get back in bed and warm me."

Hamilton smiled, but he said nothing, he just looked out across the courtyard.

"Edward?" Nasira said, with more concern.

"I was dreaming and then something woke me up." He kept looking out.

"I have those dreams too, but not for some time," she said, referring to nightmares based on battles she had fought. Hamilton had had those as well on occasion.

"This was different. I don't know, I suppose it doesn't matter."

"Come back to bed --"

The explosion cut off her words, and the bright flash made it impossible to see.

Nasira was up at once, feeling around for her saber. Hamilton threw open the shudders, shielding his eyes and struggling to make out what had happened. He could hear men running across the courtyard. There were shouts in Turkish and a few in French. From the latter he learned that the explosion had been in the selimlik wing of the mansion.

As his eyes slowly cleared he was able to grab trousers, boots and his zibin jacket. Nasira, also lightly dressed, handed him a brace of pistols. His saber was on a table, he pulled it free of the scabbard and headed down the stairs and the foyer.

"Edward!" He turned. Nasira had the Ferguson rifle slung over her back and saber in hand. "We should go out through the kitchen."

He had heard her, but he went out the front anyway. Nasira yelled again, but followed. A few dozen yards away, Garnier stood with his back to the stone wall of the bakery.

"Capitaine! I have sent men to the gates and the walls," the Frenchman said. "Nothing has been seen in the fields outside."

"That's gunpowder," said Hamilton. "I can smell the saltpeter."

"A mortar attack?" Nasira asked.

"Non," Garnier replied. "I do not think so. There was no sound of a gun, no whistle of a shell."

"Then what is it! Who did this?" Hamilton demanded.

"I do not know."

"It does not matter," said Nasira, "we must fight the fire."

They began to organize men and women in a bucket brigade from the well to the side of the mansion. The flames glowed fiercely in the night, and the gaping hole in the second floor was large enough for a man on horseback to ride through, but the fire itself was still small and scattered. They pulled down curtains and furniture, throwing it all to the ground in haste to keep the fire small.

Gunfire erupted behind them. There were screams -- the screams of women -- and four nearly naked slaves and two female servants rushed out of the library. They shouted to Hamilton in Turkish and Greek and Russian.

"We are being attached!" Nasira yelled. She moved away from the wall to get a clear shot, brought the Ferguson into position and cocked it.

Another woman fled from the library screaming, and there was a glimpse of a man behind her. Nasira aimed and fired. She lowered the Ferguson, twisted the trigger guard to open the breech, inserted the cartridge, closed it, added primer from a small horn and cocked it. Fifteen seconds after her first shot she fired again.

Hamilton rushed forward and fired his pistol as he ran.

"Edward!" Nasira shouted.

The man who had chased the slave had slumped and fallen back inside. Hamilton caught the panicked woman, Marga the new Spanish slave. "Quiet!" he ordered as he crouched down. He pulled out his jacket and gave it to the shivering, naked slave.

"Prendre le flanc!" Garnier shouted to some of his French mercenaries as he an Nasira came forward and crouched down.

"Edward, you must be careful!" Nasira said.

Garnier was directing a handful of his soldiers to spread out in around the library. "We shall go in, Capitaine. You must go back. Miss Nasira, could you fire as we approach."

Nasira nodded. "Edward, please, you must go back. You will freeze."

"You will too if --" the rest of his response was cut off by another explosion.

A massive tower of red and orange flame engulfed the library, and a shower of wooden splinters filled the air, followed by heavier beams. Books fluttered in the air and slaves and servants were ordered to run around and make sure that any which were lit did not set something else ablaze.

Hamilton sat up, something had slashed across his chest leaving a trail of blood, but it was not serious. Nasira sat up as well, her nose bleeding but otherwise fine. Garnier seemed unharmed as did Marga the slave.

"Captain Hamilton!"

Hamilton turned and stood up. Daro stood there, holding a bucket half filled with water.

"Mor Cuanaich," Daro said.

"What?" Hamilton stepped closer, his ears were ringing.

"Mor Cuanaich has done this!"

"Mor Cuanaich is dead," Nasira said. Then she turned as one of the slaves pulled on her arms and spoke rapidly in Turkish.

"What are you talking about?" Hamilton demanded.

"Edward, they have taken Caroline Sutherland," Nasira said. "This slave says there were five men inside the library and they took her and ignored the others."

"Yes! They would captured me!" cried Marga.

"They must be dead now. No one survived that explosion."

"No, master!" Marga insisted. "They camed from wall."

"What?"

"Els homes van entrar a través d'un forat a la paret!" she cried, clearly frustrated.

Garnier stepped away, shouting at his men, directing others to the fire lines, trying to restore some order in the chaos.

"I am sorry Captain Hamilton," Daro said. "We have known that Mor Cuanaich was still alive. But he had few resources, and there seemed no reason to tell you."

Hamilton stepped close, and said angrily, "alive? How is that possible? I saw his ship go down at Teleoussa!"

Daro said simply, "Mor Cuanaich is alive."