Chapter 3: Surrender

But this is not getting us any nearer to being able to sail away. I desperately try to think of a way out of our predicament, but it is obvious we are hopelessly trapped. Out-numbered, out-gunned and unable to move, I can think of nothing to do but surrender before a massacre occurs.

“What are your terms for our surrender, Eduardo?” I ask.

“Your cargo and you is all that I demand,” replies Pardal.

“We’re not carrying any cargo, we came here looking for friends,” I answer.

“You’ll allow my men to search your hold, of course. If you’re telling the truth then your ship may set sail, but you stay with me.”

“No”, whispers Carlos in my ear. “You can’t do this. He’ll kill you, or worse.”

“What choice do we have, Carlos? Promise me you’ll take the Zomorod wherever our passengers wish to go. Then rendezvous with the Zafiro. Please. I don’t know what fate Pardal has in mind for me and I’m sure it isn’t going to be good. But at least give me the comfort of knowing I have succeeded in rescuing Isabella and the others from a fate worse than death.”

Despite my brave words I am close to tears. Carlos agrees to my request without further protest.

“You may pull alongside. Two of your men may board and inspect our hold,” I call to Pardal.

Once the two ships are side by side, Pardal orders two of his men to board the Zomorod. Fifteen minutes later they return to confirm our hold is empty of anything of value. Even Pardal’s crew discount the leftover booty Iago wanted us to carry. Fortunately they haven’t discovered the treasure chest which I’m sure my crew have hidden while we were negotiating with Pardal.

“Now order your ship to move and I will step onto the dock as soon as my ship has clear passage,” I call to Pardal.

Pardal isn’t the fastest of thinkers and simply orders his ship to move. We now have a brief chance of escape. If we can cast-off and set sail before either Pardal or his ship realise what is happening, we may be able to use our superior speed to escape. Unfortunately, although Pardal hasn’t thought of that trick, his second in command isn’t so easily fooled. He jumps on board the Zomorod and holds a pistol to my head.

“No tricks now, Missy.”

The game is up and as soon as the Estremadura is clear, I am escorted ashore. Carlos, true to his word, orders the Zomorod to cast-off. I can hear cries of “No!” from the hold and I can imagine the frantic efforts of my passengers and crew to stop my surrender now that they know what is happening. But Carlos wisely orders them below in case any shooting should suddenly start.

I stand facing Eduardo Pardal, who is struggling to keep his face from breaking into a grin. Just then another man joins us. From Eduardo’s greeting I realise this is José Pardal. I recognise the family resemblance at once.

The Zomorod is well clear of the dock and is moving away from the Estremadura. This is the moment any trick on Pardal’s part would unfold. The Zomorod is far enough away that the Estremadura can angle her guns to best effect. Pardal only needs to signal his ship and a broadside would sink the Zomorod in seconds. I immediately sense that this is just what he has in mind as I can see him timing his order to one of his crew holding a pair of signal flags. In desperation I grab the pistol from José’s belt and hold it to José’s head.

“Any tricks, Eduardo, and this man dies,” I say in my most authoritative voice. I’m near to panic as I realise the danger facing those on board the Zomorod.

“She’s bluffing. Blow her ship out of the water, you stupid oaf,” says José Pardal as he tries to grab my pistol.

In the struggle the pistol goes off. The next thing I know I’m lying on the dock with blood and gore all over my face and clothes, and a pain in my left side. I first I think I’ve been shot, but I soon realise the pain in my left side is the dead body of José Pardal lying on top of me, and the blood all over me is his. I leave it for two of Eduardo’s men to lift the body away. I lie there expecting my life to be ended at any moment, but nobody comes near me.

“Now who’s the stupid oaf, José,” mutters Eduardo. “Send the signal”, he calls to his crewman.

“No!” I cry and cover my eyes, unable to watch.

But nothing happens. The signal is sent again, but still nothing happens. The Zomorod sails quickly out of range and, with all her sails set, she is far too fast for the Estremadura to catch her now. Both Eduardo and I look at his ship and see a man in the rigging. He was presumably stationed there to watch out for Eduardo’s signal. However, he’s swinging at a funny angle, although none of the crew on deck have noticed anything amiss. I then realise the man has an arrow protruding from his chest. A silent and deadly shot like that could only have been made by a master bowman like Felipe. My crew and passengers are safe, but my predicament is anything but. At least I have the small comfort of knowing José Pardal will no longer be enslaving more innocent girls to a life of debauchery.

“Take her on board the Estremadura and clap her in irons,” is the only thing Eduardo Pardel says to his crew. He is clearly not happy about what has happened today. I fear I will be the subject of his wrath and I try to steady my nerves.

Half an hour later I’m sat in Eduardo’s cabin onboard the Estremadura with my neck, wrists and ankles cruelly locked in iron fetters. The chains severely restrict my movements, not that there’s anywhere to move to. I sit on the corner of Eduardo’s bunk and I wait nervously to find out my fate.

At first I’m worried that Pardal or his crew would make use of my body for their perverted pleasure, but I recall that I’m the wrong gender for Pardal’s taste. Since he’s not the generous sort who would allow his crew any enjoyment he didn’t partake in himself I’m relatively safe from being ravished.

Although ravishing me isn’t part of Eduardo’s plan, he is certainly inventive when it comes to tormenting me. Not through pain, but teasing my body until my wanton urges have me squirming helplessly under his treatment. I spend most of the next two weeks chained to the main mast where Eduardo and his crew can enjoy the spectacle of me being repeatedly aroused. I lose count of the orgasms which wrack through me. And all thanks to the cunning way the ropes controlling the sails have been linked to the wooden plugs rammed up my cunt and arse. The constant motion of the ropes as the ship responds to the wind and waves moves the plugs ever so slightly. It’s like being constantly fucked and I’m ashamed to say that my body liked it so much that my juices flowed freely. I’m only freed from my torment twice a day when I’m fed and allowed to exercise and perform my ablutions. Even at night I must try to sleep bound to the mast with the deliciously wicked rope doing its devilish deed.

Being on deck throughout the entire journey soon tans my skin. My mother came from southern Spain, and she possibly had a bit of Moorish blood in her ancestry. Consequently my natural skin colour isn’t pure white, but the olive brown skin of those from Mediterranean lands. Now my skin is so brown that I could pass for a half-blood African. Is that part of Pardal’s plan? To sell me as an African slave to some plantation owner. Selling me as a white woman would undoubtedly fetch him more money, but a slave owner might treat a white woman more gently. Pardal is the sort who would sacrifice personal gain to inflict the worst punishment on his enemies. And he and I have been enemies for years.

From the angle of the sun and stars I can tell that we are heading west. To the Caribbean or the northern coast of South America is my best guess. None of the crew seem to know and I still have no idea what fate awaits me. At least they didn’t kill me after I shot José. Had that been one of the Sánchez clan whom I’d shot in front of one of his family then I wouldn’t be alive to tell the tale to anyone.