Tunisian Dreams Ch. 03

This is the story of Sara, a Dutch woman, who is captured by the Barbary pirates on her way to the Dutch East Indies. She is given as a present to the Bey, the ruler of Tunis. His first wife appoints Sara as the nanny of the royal children as the eunuchs deem her too old to be send to their master's bed.

However when they Bey discovers her in his palace garden singing with his children he starts to listen to her stories of the history of her homeland. He realises that her decision to teach his kids foreign languages will help them gain more power. He orders Sara to be brought to his bed as his new concubine.

When he notices the next morning how she reacts to his cat and remembers that that same loving smile was directed to his children he longs to have her smile like that to him as well. He decides to woe her by ordering her to come and wash him in his bath every morning while teaching him all her knowledge. Combining like this ways to learn about new strategies and ways to get her defences down.

First we have to do a bit of correcting: During the Turkish period of Tunesia the governor the Turkish pasha had a dey who was the highest general and a bey who was the highest civil authority. But the beys developed into a more or less royal house with the Turkish sultan as the feudal lord. Ali was the high general but succeeded his father-in-law so his title would have been Bey, Ali Bey.

Normally this story is in the "romance" section as it is about the loves of two couples but this chapter has so much violence in it I could put it in the non-consent one. But as it is more than just coupling I guess it still suits better in romance. Please feel free to leave comments.

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"I do not understand why women shave off all their bodyhair in this part of the world," thought Sara, looking down at her bare pubic area while she was sitting in the large bath in the private rooms of her lord and master. "To me I look like a chicken ready to be turned into chicken soup."

The contrast with the Bey's tanned hand that rested on her thigh made her even more look like a plucked chicken.

"Sarah Annechien Douglas," she thought, "What would your father have thought when he would have seen you here, sitting naked on the lap of the Turkish ruler of Tunis?"

The other thumb of the man was slowly circling her nipple, cupping her breast. Her flesh white against his bronzed hand.

"Saartje, Saartje, he would say. How did my daughter end up there?"

"Yes," the woman they had renamed from her Scottish Sarah or Dutch Saartje, the nationality of her parents, to Muslim Sara thought, "my father fought as a mercenary in a war that had the battlecry 'rather Turkish then Papist' but I do not think he meant this.

It was obvious her lord and master was deep in thought. On days like that he seemed to feel the need just to hold his slave and slowly caress her or wash her hair sitting in the warm bathwater.

It was now two months after the day he had made her his concubine. But after the night her virginal blood had spotted his bed he had never bedded her again. His favourite, a Dutch slave called Leila, was sometimes mocking Sara with that. Leila, gorgeous airheaded Leila who had seen herself elevated to a world of luxury from her drab past as maid only because she could bounce so skilfully on their lord's rod.

Sara knew girls like Leila, but the wives as well, wondered what the Bey was doing with her. Why he had insisted she would bring him his morning meal and wash him in his bath while teaching him the foreign words and telling him European history. The Bey had said he wanted to absorb her knowledge. All she was teaching his children.

So for many weeks now Sara would carry the three-layered serving platter with teapot and teacups, yoghurt, dates, bread, cheese and cherry jam to his room. If she found him and the lady of the night still asleep, she would send the woman away and wake their lord. But sometimes she just waited until the pair was ready with their morning tryst. The air heavy with the scent of sex.

At first she had been scared and very shy. But after a few mornings washing the sleepy man, it had started to feel normal to move her hands all over him. To stand there naked soaping him. Stealthily she had begun to explore the planes of his body. He was not a very tall man like her Dutch natives, but his shoulders were square and strong, his arms and legs muscled like ropes under his skin. She liked to wash his hair. The long black curls to weave her hands through, her fingers massaging his scalp. She though he had beautiful eyes.

After a couple of days he had told her that grasping new concepts and learning foreign words needed him more awake, so that from that moment he would have breakfast first, before having her bathing him. After patiently waiting on him one day, the next morning he had directed her to the bed to sit next to him. It had felt strange to sit in a space warmed by his body. He had handed her his teacup when she poured him a second helping, nodding to her to drink it before excepting a new one.

After a few days like that she had brought two teacups. His eyes had twinkled. "Well my lord I thought with two cups you do not have to wait that long for your tea to get cold."

He had nodded and when she poured two cups for him handed one back to her. "You finish that one Sweet."

She had spent so many mornings sharing his breakfast now. He was absorbing her knowledge but she realised he was teaching her as well. Her Arab and Turkish was improving a great deal. She had the feeling it amused him to talk to a woman who could not only read and write but in several languages as well.

She found out he was as interested in history as she was. He would lean on his bed and ask her about the European wars, the royal houses, the weaponry while enjoying his meal. Occasionally stuffing her mouth with a date or another good morsel.

She had told him about her father, the Scottish third son of a nobleman, who had crossed the sea to fight in the Spanish-Dutch war to gain his own fortune. When the peace of Westfalen ended all the big European wars all at once her father had picked up teaching history at the university of the small city south of Amsterdam. Moving into a nice house on the border of a canal and marrying a blossoming Dutch maiden.

The Bey had listened to Sara's stories. About her long dead Dutch mother. About her sister Maartje who was four years older and who had married a merchant in Amsterdam. She had learned his parents were long dead and he had no siblings. Apart from the children she was teaching he had three already married daughters with his first wife.

Most of the time he was quiet apart from when he had to repeat the foreign words she was teaching him or the odd question he would fire at her. She realised that when he wanted her quiet he would just prepare her some food and offer it to her lips.

After his meal and lesson he would walk her to his bath and she would wash and dress him like a good slave. But some mornings he was like he was today. He would just sit her on his lap and wash her instead. She loved his strong hands in her hair. His hands lathering all her curves still had her blushing.

All those things her husband had never done.

One day she had mentioned her husband. Ali had looked up from his dates surprised. "Did you just say your husband was a doctor and said that.... What husband? You were a virgin in my bed!"

She had told him about the doctor, chirurgein Robert Arendszoon de Vries, the young doctor who had visited her ailing old father more and more often in his last years. The quiet tall man who had nursed him and spend many hours sitting with Saartje. When after months her father had gone to join his wife who had died young in a carriage accident the doctor had talked with Sara about marriage.

It had sound so sensible. She liked the world of academia and this man was a renowned healer and a university professor. They had met many times. He was nice. She had said yes.

But on the night of her wedding he had not been able to get hard. Nor in the days after. He had explained Sara it was a decease and she should not worry. He had gone to sleep in his study.

"Yes," Ali had nodded, "some men stay flaccid, but that is most of the times old age."

She had explained she believed the illness story at first but then had seen traces of things in his sheets and his cloths. Things her sister Maartje had confirmed were that male essence. So Sara became convinced something was wrong with her and that she told Ali.

"Why would something be wrong with you?"

She had bowed her head in shame and whispered: "Even you stopped after one time."

"I did that because.... Was there another woman?"

She had shook her head.

"Some men do not like women. Was your husband a man who liked boys? You know many men buy the young cabin boys in the slave market. And some of my muscled eunuchs prefer the company or their fellow soldiers."

Sara had at first blushed crimson. Then all of a sudden some coin had dropped. That young man who had come to visit all hours. His family rich but still insisting he wanted to train as a healer. The blonde hair all in place. The two men going in to town laughing. That one time when she had come home and heard weird noises.

"Ya Sidi, he had a friend. A friend who was always around. One day we came home and we found him hanging from the rafters. There was a note. My husband threw it in the fire. After that the ladies in town wagged their tongues when I appeared. Rumours were my husband was guilty somehow."

"They probably were lovers my Sweet and he committed suicide for some reason."

They had sit in silence for a while.

"Yes," she said. "That might explain why my husband suddenly decided we should go to the Indies. He might have felt crushed by the gossips or expecting to get arrested. They execute men like that where I am from."

"Was he on the ship when you were taken into slavery my Sweet?"

"Yes," she had said, a tear slowly falling. "He died defending me. I killed one with his sword before they captured me."

Tears had streamed over her face. "And all those years I thought I was somehow not good enough."

--

Suddenly she was thinking of what this foreign ruler had done to her instead. How afraid she had been.

But like today she would be quite comfortable just sitting in his arms. She moved her bottom a bit to rest her head against his when he was suddenly aware how short hairs on his thigh brushed her bare lips. Ai, that plucking habit did make a woman so sensitive there. A strange need made her shuffle on his lap. Somehow wanting to feel his leg against her secret places. Would normally a movement like that make him hard and she would have him kiss her neck or nibble on her ear, today he seemed on another planet.

Getting bold she half turned and asked: "Ya sidi, my lord, what is worrying you? You are so sad that even my breasts do not give you any pleasure it seems."

"Oh my Sweet, my heart is heavy." And indeed his eyes were filled with pain. She just sat there with her head leaning on his chest, her hand stroking his arm.

"The Turkish sultan, my brother-in-law died. His son succeeded him and killed all his 43 brothers to prevent revolt. My heart is sick. I have seen those children when I was at court. That Ottoman habit is cruel. But hush my Sweet. We cannot repeat this outside these walls."

"My second wife if the sister of the late Sultan. What if she would poison the mind of our sons too and tell them best to slay their siblings? I worry about my children."

She shuddered. His children were her pupils. The children she played with and who she tried to teach things. The ones she loved like they were her own. This alien world was so cruel. Suddenly her eyes were overflowing.

His hand lifted he chin. "Hush Sweet Sara do not cry." Warm lips kissed hers. With a sob she turned, lifting her legs up, so she faced him and embraced him with her whole body. Their chest touching, arms around each other and her legs folded around his hips. They just squeezed into each other. A knot of limps. Holding on for dear life.

For Sara this man was the only thing safe in her life. His arms around her felt like defence.

"I do not know how but I will try to keep them save," she vowed.

"Oh Sweet, they used bowstrings and strangled them. He drowned the pregnant women.

---

After a short time Ali said they had to go. She grabbed a towel and started drying him.

"Sara I am going to the medina. To Tunis itself. With our overlord dead I need to show my power. You never know who might try something. This is not a time to spend in my summerhouse on the shores"

She looked up and nodded. It seemed the wise thing to do. He went there often and she had to admit she would miss their morning chats. She suddenly wished she could hug him again. Just to feel his warmth.

"Sara," the Bey said. "My first wife says that my morning routine with you and taking care of all the children do not combine. She says that the old lady who used to be the nanny and who helps you now is getting too old and is almost blind. So I will take you send for you in a few days to come to Tunis and you will go to the slave market and buy yourself an assistant."

"You want me to buy myself a slave?", she asked astonished.

"No my Sweet, you will use my gold to buy me one but you will pick one who will assist you best."

---

Sara walked up to the big room she now used for the children. The winter in Tunis was like a Dutch early summer but many days it was too cold to sit in the garden let alone get the children soaked playing in the pool. The air could be heavy with the promise of rain. Wind could whip the sea. Apart from some fishing boats no ship would venture out to sea. They bay grey, the hills on the other side hidden by the rain. Still Sara like to lay in her bed at night and listen to the occasional shower. The sound of rain against the window made her homesick for Holland.

The first wife of the Bey liked to listen to all the stories and had told Sara she could use her well heated reception room for her school project. The lady herself was nearing the end of her pregnancy and so heavy with child she was content to just sit and sow and listen to the chatter of her lord's other children.

Sara really liked her. She was a gentle and regal woman. They daughter of the former ruler. Having been barren for years she now hoped to give her husband the bey a son of her own.

While they still did the classes in the garden the second wife of the Bey, the Turkish princess, had showed up to see what her sons were talking about and why the first wife went there to listen as well. She had spent the afternoon sitting quietly observing all that was going in. Then she had ordered Sara to approach.

"In my father's palace we had a palace school were boys and girls and the royal children were trained. The girls as odalisques, the boys to help rule, the royal children to prepare for the day they might be sultan or married to a prince. I like what you are doing with my children. It will help them in their life as princes. I know my Lord's first wife sometimes tells stories to you all. I can tell them things from the Ottoman palace. I will teach them music like in court."

She had risen all the royal princess she was, reserved and cold, but Sara was surprised she did exactly as she had said and taught the children songs and even how the play the oud to the older ones.

This had brought upon the curiosity of the tribal woman who was the third wife. So she as well might walk into Sara's class and contribute something. The knowledge of the desert, folk tales or embroidery.

So although Sara was the one to do all the work as the slave she was, the royal wives started to help educating the children. Sara thought partly it might be out of jealousy and not wanted to be kept out. On the other hand maybe because they found out they liked doing it. Maybe never realised how smart and mature the elder children already were.

It seemed that all the wives had heard the tale of the slaughtered royal children as somehow they were all sitting drinking their mint tea in the heated room, the children running around playing. Sara looked at the women and at all the small kids. Bowstrings and strangulation. She had heard rumours about poison used in the harem of the sultan of Morocco. How to prevent all this?

She told the children to come and sit around them. Then started to tell them how fortunate they were because they had so many brothers and sisters unlike herself or their father. That brothers and sisters were always there for each other and that when they would be grown up men and women they would love each other and help each other. And that when one of them would be the Bey when their father would have gone to Paradise he would know that the others were his loyal helpers.

"Remember all the stories I told you of the princes in the house of Orange who fought the Spaniards together: brothers and even cousins."

She felt the burning eyes of the wives on her. The woman sitting so silently absorbing all.

"Yes", said Sara. "And you know in my country we have only one mother. But you not only have a mother but also many aunties who are also married to your father. So you have more to love and more who love you. So when one of you will be Bey he will know he can always come to his mother and his aunties and ask for advice because he will know they love him and wish him the best. And even when you do not have a mother anymore, like you little Meriam, still all these women will be yours to love."

She knew that for a child like Meriam, whose mother had been just a concubine and long dead, life had been quite lonely and she also knew she loved her tremendously because she did notice her. She hoped those women would realise the potential of all this royal offspring.

The eldest son, the son of the second wife, jumped to his feed and said enthusiastically: "When I am big my bothers Karim and I will go and conquer Malta and Sadiq will go after the robbers in the desert."

Sara smiled. Those three brother had all a different mother. She stealthy looked at the royal wives., picket up the tea kettle and went over to refill their cups.

The first wife put her hand on her arm. "You are teaching wise things today Sara. We should all stick together." Both involuntary looked at the Turkish princess who was very pale and had suddenly wet eyes. She only nodded. The third wife placed her hand on her sleeve. "Sister I am so sorry for your loss."

Sara looked and thought: "No bowstrings here".

----

A few days later Sara was standing in the small square that was the slave market in Tunis. She had travelled from the sea palace of the Bey along the salt laguna to the capital city. Its narrow streets filled with shops, people everywhere. Accompanying was a huge black eunuch, Desert Rose, and some lower servants who took care of their mules. Desert Rose was supposed to guard his master's woman and also the moneybag.

Sara felt weird to be back here and see the slaves hauled up on the stage. She was never sold like this but given as a present to the Bey straight away but still had been a prisoner in the bagnio. The slaves were to be sold by auction but prospective buyers could walk around and inspect the wares. The merchant was bowing and talking to the woman of the Bey's household who had honoured him by wanting to buy from him.

Sara felt disgusted. Luckily her veil kept most of her face completely hidden. She tugged on the long white cape, the haik, that covered her like a woman in the Roman era from head to toe. Apart from her hands and eyes there was not much to be seen of this woman of the palace. Nevertheless the buyer would realise she was a slave herself probably. Her blue eyes and the huge eunuch spoke volumes.