The Writer, The Cop & The Sultan's Sapphire
AN: The Prologue is based on the film 'The Wind & The Lion' starring Sean Connery and Candice Bergen. This film in itself blends historical facts and Hollywood fiction, so I have just taken this one step further … and yes, it is a Castle story, just bear with me a bit! Chapter 2 is being re-written a bit, will hopefully be up over the weekend!
Prologue
Tangier, northern Morocco, October fifteenth, 1904. High on the hill overlooking the harbour, the estate was an oasis of calm, cooling sea breeze and mimosa scented air, a far cry from the busy, noisy and dusty streets of the city below where the bustling crowds noisily went about their business in this melting pot of humanity on the African shore of the Mediterranean.
William paused a moment, looked at his sister "Did you just hear shots Jenny?"
Jennifer Pedecaris stopped stroking the dog and looked at her brother doubtfully "N.. no … what … are you sure ... ?"
William shrugged, and returned to winding the string round the spinning top, a look of concentration on his young face although he occasionally looked down towards the town. Over by the edge of the terrace, under the shade of the blossoming mimosa trees and surrounded by the sounds of the cicadas singing in the mid-morning sun, Eden Pedecaris and her friend Sir Joshua Smith, were sitting at the table as Hamza the houseboy set down the tray with the two glasses of wine ... suddenly he stiffened, a look of shock crossed his face, and much to Eden's astonishment, he fell forward onto the table, sending the glasses crashing, the handle of a khanjar knife protruding from his back.
Sir Joshua was quick to stand up, pulling his gun from its holster and telling Eden to get down on the floor, he took careful aim at the group of horsemen who had suddenly appeared from round the back of the house and squeezed the trigger on his Webley & Scott, watching in satisfaction as one of the Berbers slowly tipped off his horse. He strode forwards gun still raised and continued firing into them seeing several topple off their mounts before they had realised the danger and swooped down the lawn towards him. He was still trying to reload when one of the Berbers galloped past him, slashing downwards with his sword and into Sir Joshua's back.
The horsemen then spread out, some riding their horses into the house, smashing and slashing and kicking over whatever they could find. Others raided the kitchen, taking food and slinging sacks of coffee, flour, legumes and whatever they could find over their saddles.
Still others had rounded up William, Jennifer and their mother. They were jostled towards the front of the house where a man wearing the dark ankle-length tunic, chalwar and the wrapped cloth turban of the Berbers sat calmly by the fountain.
One of the Berbers led a prancing black stallion up to the fountain and handed the reins to the sitting man. He stood and in one easy motion swung into the saddle. Suddenly the horse reared, skittered sideways and the rider was thrown.
Eden Pedecaris laughed at him, causing the other horsemen to look at her half in fear, half in anger. The man stood up, dusted himself down and got on another horse which one of his men had led up. Once settled, he rode over to Eden, leant down and slapped her across the face saying: "I am Raisuli. Do not laugh at me again".
The rest of the day was a blur in the mind of Eden as she and her children were forced to pack some clothes, mount horses and were led through the streets by the band of Berbers, eventually heading away from Tangiers and towards the east, the sun slowly setting behind them, their shadows growing longer as the afternoon progressed. The first night they stopped down on the sandy shore of the Mediterranean, Eden with her children held close to her whilst the men settled all around them. A fire was lit, some food cooked and handed round, the men quietly talking amongst themselves, ignoring their captives. The moon rose over the dunes to the south, casting a pale glow over the scene and creating dark shadows where it didn't reach.
The next morning, as she got up and headed for the water's edge to try and freshen up a bit, the men started teasing her, grabbing her clothes from her suitcase and clowning around. It came to a sudden stop as Raisuli approached from where he had been sitting somewhat apart, staring out to sea.
Eventually they were all mounted and headed southeast towards the distant Rif Mountains which lay purple from distance across the horizon. For the next few weeks they were kept as hostages by Raisuli in the Rif, far from any potential rescuers. Though her children seemed to admire Raisuli, Eden considered him a brigand and a lout.
Over the next two months, Eden's attitude towards Mulai Ahmed er Raisuli slowly changed despite herself. During that time they had escaped with the help of one of Raisuli's men, only to be betrayed and sold to a band of desert thieves. Their timely rescue by Raisuli who had tracked them and killed the kidnappers, delivering them from whatever fate had been in store for began this change in attitude.
After that, unwilling to risk further escape attempts, Raisuli kept them close, making them share his tent and revealing that he had no intentions to harm them; that it was no more than a political bluff. The added discovery that Eden played chess had led to many a pleasant evening recounting their lives and experiences as they moved pieces around the chequered board. Eden Pedecaris was no mean chess player, and the respect she earned from Raisuli also brought about a change in his attitude to her as he slowly revealed his plans for the future.
They had camped by the oasis that evening and Eden had enjoyed a wash in the privacy of his tent, an extra sheet hanging across the opening out of consideration towards her. She had managing at last to wash the sand out of her hair and to enjoy the sense of cleanliness; she would take her clothes to the water's edge tomorrow and wash them also. Suddenly she heard his approaching footfalls and could not help the feelings they elicited in her; the gentle thrumming of her body, the shortened breath, the flood of heat through her neck and face. She grabbed her nightdress and held it up before her in embarrassment as he swept aside the entrance sheet.
He paused as he straightened up, a packet under one arm and regarded her from his intense, dark eyes. She stood unmoving, staring at his eyes glowing from below his bushy eyebrows, the sharp beak of his nose, the short beard which lined his jaw and came to a goatee at the front. They each stood silent, unmoving for what seemed ages. Then he bowed towards her slightly and placed the package on the carpet in front of him. "I though perhaps you would like a change of clothes ... something more appropriate for the location ..." as he swept his hands sideways "... and perhaps more comfortable for you", and with another perfunctory bow he had left, letting the entrance sheet fall back in place.
She wondered why she hadn't really felt uncomfortable with him standing there before her, only her nightdress held before her hiding her nakedness from him. With a sigh she let it drop to the floor and bent down to pick up the package.
There was a simple fleece fabric wrapped around the contents, and when she unfolded it she stopped with a gasp. She reached forward, picked up the red material and stood up, allowing it to unfold as she did so. It was the most gorgeous red silk kaftan with intricate gold embroidery around the neckline, down the front and around the edges of the sleeves. The swirling abstract patterns sparkled in the shadowy interior of the tent, giving the impression of swirling fire. Also in the package was a pair of white silk baggy pants, reminiscent of the chalwar he wore beneath his tunic. Another piece, similar to a camisole was obviously to be worn over the pants and below the kaftan.
Unhesitatingly, Eden slipped into the new clothes, a feeling of freedom, coolness and arousal invading her one after the other as she moved around the interior of the tent, putting away her old clothes and tidying up after her wash.
That night, as they sat together on the cushions on the floor, the chess board long discarded, the children sound asleep in their corner of the tent, he slipped his hand inside his tunic and removed a soft bag, similar to the money-bags to be found in the streets of Tangier. He seemed hesitant, a very unusual characteristic in him and she was intrigued.
"Long ago, my family acquired a very special item. There is an ancient belief that it represents honesty, loyalty, purity of intentions and trust. It is also very ... spiritual ... it is believed to encourage enlightenment and peace in one's self as well as wisdom to know the right thing to do in times of trouble ... my mother also said it is a powerful amulet to keep evil at bay and to provide potent protection for the wearer" he paused, twisting the bag in his fingers, his hooded eyes looking into the past, or maybe she thought, into the future.
Eventually his hands stilled, his eyes looked into hers and she felt as though he could see all the way into the darkest corners of her soul. She felt breathless. The hand holding the bag stretched out towards her and he indicated she should hold her hands out. As she did so, he carefully tipped the contents into her cupped hands.
She gasped and almost let it fall. It took her several minutes to take in what she was holding. Carefully she raised it between the fingers of her right hand and let the torchlight shimmer and glint off the faceted surfaces of the largest, bluest sapphire she had ever seen. It was about two inches long by an inch and a half wide and almost three quarters of an inch thick. The stone itself was set in a very simple silver mount with a slim but sturdy silver chain. This was not some modern piece of jewellery, the faceting was simple, the mounting and chain also, but the stone did not require anything more; it was, in itself, a totally extraordinary gem.
"Wha... what is this .." she stuttered in amazement as she glanced from the stone to his face and back again.
"I wish you to keep it, to remember me ... and perhaps my story ... when I am long gone and no one else will know or care ..."
She shook her head in denial, she knew not for what, whether it was the gift itself, the thought of leaving him, the thought that he would be gone, forgotten ... no, she couldn't take it ... any of it, as tears rolled down her cheeks and her hair fell across her face ... no, this was too much ...
AN: And so we head into the future ... maybe further than you expect at this stage!