Pelaam October 2007.
*
Captain Diego Alverez strolled jauntily through the colourful marketplace. Occasionally a stallholder would call out a greeting and the buccaneer would shout his reply or simply doff his red, feathered hat and affect a sweeping bow. He smiled widely. The financial success from his last cargo had been safely salted away, the swashbuckler retaining only a part to be able to spend freely. His raven-black, glossy hair was securely fastened at the nape of his neck by red ribbon matching the feather in his hat. His thin moustache covered the length of his upper lip and trailed either side of a generous mouth. His breeches were tight, tucked into knee-length, black leather boots and displayed his lower body to good advantage, as the ruffled white shirt did his torso. The buttons were unfastened enough to partially display his tanned, furred chest. The outfit was topped by a red bolero jacket. All in all he knew he looked powerful, masterful and oozed raw masculinity and sexual charisma. He drew admiring glances from men and women alike and revelled in the attention. His intelligent brown eyes caught a flurry of activity at the day's slave auction. His curiosity piqued, he went to investigate.
He stifled a gasp at what had caused such an interest by those around him. He stared at the young, male slave. The only thing that preserved his modesty was a tiny scrap of material that barely covered his groin. Long, smooth-skinned legs were hobbled by thick rope, the same kind of rope binding his hands tightly in front of him. The boy's hair was a little shorter and lighter than Diego's, but they shared the same deep, brown eyes, although the youth's were currently wide with fear. The buccaneer found himself mesmerised by the expanse of honey-gold skin displayed and then his eyes were drawn to the large dark discs adorning the smooth chest. He wondered how they would taste and licked his lips. Once again he looked at the expressive face. The boy was afraid and with good reason. Diego let his eyes survey the crowd. There were some here he would not even sell his worst enemy to. He shook his head lamenting the circumstances that had brought the youth into such a precarious situation, intending to move on. However, every time he tried, his feet seemed to remain in place and his eyes were drawn to the terrified, angelic visage. Then they opened wide with shock.
"You can see his beauty, ladies and gentlemen and we can also guarantee his virginity. Just think, a blank canvass onto which you can paint you desires. A boy perfect to train to indulge your every whim. Are we ready to commence bidding?" The auctioneer stroked his hand over the youth's thigh as he spoke, smiling at the futile attempt at evasion, and his question was answered by a roar from the crowd.
Diego was disgusted by the naked lust he could now see in many eyes. His heart ached at the thought of what depravity the chaste young man might face. He gave a frustrated growl of disgust. He had no need of a slave-boy and yet something would not let him walk away and abandon the youth. He fingered the medal he wore around his neck, which hung low enough not to be seen. The bidding was high, but his voyage had been unusually profitable. He gave a trilling whistle that the crowd either failed to hear or chose to ignore. A non-descript man appeared silently and listened to Diego's precise instructions before scurrying away. Diego smiled as, just a couple of moments later, a blond man, in attire similar to his own, rapidly approached him.
"Why?" the tall, broad blond asked succinctly.
"Because," Diego shrugged, his fingers playing absently with his medallion. The action was noted by the other man, who nodded.
"What She wants, She gets, my friend," he smiled. He looked at the youth. "Go and do what you must. He looks like he could do with a decent break."
Diego waited till the auctioneer had called a price twice before putting in his own bid. It was generously higher than the current price.
The auctioneer caught the dark-eyed gaze and rapidly called the bidding to its conclusion. He was savvy enough to know it didn't pay to cross Captain Alverez, especially when the seafarer could jeopardise his future business. He pulled the trembling youth from his pedestal and bowed obsequiously to Diego and his companion as he handed over the rope-bound slave.
"A pleasure to do business with you, Captain," he said, his voice oily. "I'm certain you will be well-pleased. He is a high-quality piece of flesh."
Diego barely heard the odious man's words. His eyes were appraising the slender body. The boy needed feeding up and filling out. He thought the youth could perform basic cabin-boy duties to start with and then they would see whether he would make a crewman. He glanced askance at the lithe form. He was certain there was a hint of steel in the slim frame.
"What language does he speak?" the blond asked, seeing Diego's attention was elsewhere.
"English, Mr Sharpe," came the reply. "I'm sure your good self and the esteemed captain will train him well."
Diego gave a snort of disgust and pulled at the rope that was attached to the bound hands.
"Follow us," he commanded, as he strode away, his blond companion easily matching his pace. "Dios mio! I detest that man, Boro."
"Let us get the boy safely aboard 'Maria', Diego. We are attracting unwanted attention with our silent beauty," Boro murmured, his eyes darting back and forth and his hand resting near the pommel of his sword.
"Swiftly, boy," Diego commanded, then cursed himself for his own stupidity. The youth was still hobbled. He unsheathed his sword and sliced easily through the rough hemp. He heard the gasp of fear and clasped the boy's thin shoulder in what he hoped was a friendly gesture of reassurance. "I will not hurt you. Now let us hasten."
They boarded his ship, the 'Santa Maria' without incident, although the two older men were aware of being followed. Diego headed to his quarters, slave in tow, whilst Boro went to his own cabin. Diego sighed as the young man huddled fearfully, his hands trying to protect his crotch.
"I have said I will not hurt you, boy," he reminded the youth patiently. He could understand the young man's fear and did not want to consider what he may have suffered to be so scared. "Let me untie your hands." He scowled at the abraded wrists. They would need some treatment. He knelt to cut the rope attached to slender ankles and could see these were equally damaged. Up close he could see bruising to the youth's body that spoke of abuse or futile attempts at resistance. He stood to answer a knock to his door.
"They boy will need clothing," Boro said, as he thrust an armful of items at Diego. "These either don't fit or I would not choose to wear them again. He will probably feel better when no longer as good as naked."