Pirate Souls

I - Chapter 2 - The Brothel

It is only early in the evening that the sound of cobblestones beneath my horse's hooves draws me from a malicious slumber. We have arrived in an average sized village. There are still a few people strolling through the narrow streets. A soldier dressed in a red tunic emerges from a barracks. He comes towards our group.

A ray of hope lights up my eyes.

"Not a word, or I shall slit your throat," Steven whispers in my ear.

I swallow the bile that is burning my gullet. No, I am not brave enough to cry out for help. Mute, submissive and feverish. I loathe myself for being so docile. I hate my mother for not having taught me to fight and defend myself. My reaction is the fruit of my education. Had the principle of blind obedience to the male sex not been imposed on me throughout my childhood?

The soldier does not even turn his head in my direction and continues on his way.

Is it really so easy to abduct young ladies in this New World? Can these people not see that my dress is too finely worked to be worn by a commoner? Admittedly, my hair is in disarray, my face and hands are soiled and I smell of fear and piss.

I am astonished. I had always believed my noble extraction to be displayed on my features. How naïve I have been! Truth be told but when a black sheep is surrounded by white sheep, it nonetheless remains a sheep. This is the only comparison that springs to mind. I am a sheep, and all that I can do is move forward with the flock.

I dismount when Steven orders me to. I feel dizzy and clasp my horse's neck. My moment of weakness has not escaped the eagle eye of the gang leader.

He takes me by the arm and we enter a dark inn whilst the other men lead the animals to the neighbouring stables. There are men drinking and a few wenches wander from table to table, filling tankards of beer. When one of the girls uncovers her breasts to entertain a dishevelled soldier, I realize that they are prostitutes.

My heart starts beating wildly. I have to concentrate to prevent myself from fainting. I hear Steven negotiating a room for the night with the inn-keeper. The only thought that calms me is when I imagine that one day Mother might learn that my infamy had led me to such a place. I cannot help but smile.

My captor pulls me along by the wrist. Their discussion is over. I shall soon know my fate. I climb the stairs behind him to the second and last floor of the ill-famed establishment. He opens a door into a large bedroom.

"Go in," he orders harshly.

I obey him and hate myself for doing so.

"A girl will bring you your meal later," he adds stiffly. "Don't create a stir. Understand?"

I do not know where I find the courage. I refrain from answering and simply address him my darkest glare. The same glare I used to reserve for my cousin Benoît, who is more pompous than a conceited king. How easy life was before America!

To my astonishment, Steven bursts out laughing.

"Bloody hell! You rich girls!"

And with that, he slams the door in my face. I hear a key turning in the lock. The little common sense left me prevents me from making sure that I am really locked in.

The room is quite spacious and does not smell foul. In any event, it smells less than I do. I make a quick survey of the room: a bed, a table, a chair and a chamber pot. The room looks onto the stables.

If I can climb over the window sill, I can hold on to the roof and from there jump a few metres. If my luck holds, my fall will be halted by the pile of fodder.