Chapter 1211 - The Auction
Marina had been confined in her private bedroom above the bathhouse for several days. Everything here reminded her of the convent—a simple room, but with soft, comfortable bedding, fine mosquito netting, and windows fitted with iron bars. Yet the large glass panes admitted bright, dazzling sunshine that reminded her of Spain.
Most unbelievable of all was her own private toilet in the bedroom: entirely tiled with fine Chinese porcelain—even the commode itself was porcelain!
I'm now living more grandly than kings, emperors, sultans, and cardinals! she thought in astonishment.
Her daily life was quite comfortable. Though no personal maid attended her, Chinese servants came daily to make her bed and bring three meals. The food was simple yet novel—dishes she had never tasted before: light in flavor yet delicious.
Convent fare hadn't been harsh, but restraint and asceticism had pervaded their education, making meals quite bland. Now, encountering all these strange and delicious foods for the first time, her appetite flourished. She was particularly fond of a risotto made with seafood and rice. After each meal came a cup of "black tea" with lemon slices and sugar cubes.
Fresh fruit arrived daily as well—much of it varieties she had never seen.
Each afternoon, after the lunch dishes were cleared, a maid would enter and lower the beautiful Chinese curtains with their soft amber glow, blocking the blazing sun. Then she would bring in a lovely blue-and-white porcelain basin filled with a large block of ice—crystalline and clear, sending up wisps of white vapor. Under the maid's care, Marina would change into a soft, breathable cotton nightgown and fall into deep sleep in the pleasant temperature and soothing dim light.
At four o'clock she would be awakened and taken by the maid to bathe—this was compulsory. If she refused, the sturdy maids would unhesitatingly grab her arms and drag her there. They bathed her with soap infused with some fragrant essential oil, which made her uneasy—she had heard that the Sultan's harem did the same.
After bathing she was returned to her bedroom and dressed in clean clothes, the old ones taken away. The garments weren't luxurious but were all made of very fine, comfortable fabric—wearing them felt suitable and pleasant.
If not for her status as a prisoner, these had been the most comfortable days of the past decade. Her mood had even improved somewhat.
In the early days, everything had been quiet—few voices rose from downstairs. But several days ago the courtyard had grown busy, with constant sounds of people coming and going, intermittent shouts and cries. From her window she could barely make out what was happening below. She saw many women with brown, black, and golden hair waiting in the courtyard—disheveled, ragged, dejected. They were being handled and scolded by the same Chinese maids who had "attended" her. Obviously they were prisoners or slaves, undergoing the same process she had.
This made her extremely anxious about her own fate. Such preferential treatment was clearly not simple "kindness." She could only wait in agonizing suspense. Insomnia plagued her; she would pray for hours on end.
Finally, one day, Miss Mendoza appeared before her.
"At last you've come!" Marina cried—the anxiety and waiting had made her somewhat neurotic. "What exactly do you plan to do with me?"
"You want to know so badly?"
"I just want to know my fate sooner." Marina clutched her rosary beads, gazing up at the sky.
"We're not pirates. But you're our prisoner, so you'll be handled according to the rules for prisoners. That is to say: public auction."
The words seemed to slip from Mendoza's lips most reluctantly.
"God save me!" Marina cried out, nearly fainting—this was what she feared most. She involuntarily clutched Mendoza's hand tightly, her voice trembling: "For the sake of our shared heritage and our Christian faith! Don't let me become a slave in a harem!"
Mendoza's expression gave her a glimmer of hope: "Listen—if you'll just release me, my fiancé will pay you an enormous sum. My fiancé is about to become the richest man in Manila! Perhaps in all the Philippines, even New Spain's richest nobleman!"
Mendoza shook her head: "That's not possible. This is the Senate's decision!" Her face showed sympathy. "Rest well." With that she hurried from the room.
Doña Marina de Arellano fainted.
When she awoke, she was lying on the bed. An unfamiliar priest sat at her bedside, regarding her with a tender expression.
"Father..." Seeing a European priest, Marina tried to sit up.
"My child, you're still very weak—please lie down." The priest spoke halting Spanish. "First take this medicine—it will help you feel better."
He gave her a small glass of bitter medicine.
"Father," Marina said. Though she didn't know why a European priest would be here, his presence rekindled her hope. But his Spanish was so difficult to understand that she tried Italian instead—and indeed he could speak it.
"You're Italian!"
"Yes, I come from Italy."
"For God's sake, please save me!" she pleaded. "The pirates are going to auction me! Please don't let me fall into the hands of infidels!"
She pulled a ring from her finger: "Please find someone to deliver my letter and this ring to him—he will reward you and your messenger richly."
The priest shook his head: "My child, even if I sent someone immediately it would be too late. The auction is the day after tomorrow. They plan to sell you along with the slave women brought from Basra..."
"God!" Marina covered her face and began sobbing.
"Don't worry. After Miss Mendoza told me of your plea, I've been working for your rescue..."
"Please, tell me quickly." Hope's flame rekindled in Marina's heart.
"You are now in Lingao, in Australian territory. They will auction the prizes the day after tomorrow. However, they don't forbid others from purchasing slaves. So I plan to find a Christian to buy you..."
"If you can rescue me from this tiger's den, I'll be grateful to you forever."
"Rest assured, we've found a suitable person for you." The Italian said. "He's the Dutch consul here..."
"A Protestant!" Marina nearly shrieked. This was almost worse than infidels—the Dutch had a terrible reputation in Spanish and Portuguese America, practically sworn enemies.
"No—he is a true believer. His name is Lebutrini. He's my countryman and sympathizes with you." The priest reassured her. "He paints here for the Australians and has saved up considerable money—enough to purchase you."
"My father and fiancé have vast properties in the Philippines and New Spain. Please tell this kindhearted Christian that when bidding, he shouldn't panic. No matter how much others bid, he must outbid them. If he can buy me, I'll pay double the ransom to redeem myself. But whatever happens, don't let me fall into the hands of infidels..."
"Now I'm relieved!" Marina said, grasping his hands with emotion. "Your great kindness I'll never forget." She suddenly realized she didn't know his name. "May I ask your name?"
"I am a servant of God," the priest said. "A member of the Society of Jesus. I must hurry and leave now. May God bless you."
Quark sat in a chair at the trading house, savoring the cigar his maid had brought him, feeling strongly that he was about to make a fortune.
Just a week earlier, he had personally commanded the twin-masted sailing ship Lion safely into Bopu, bringing 183 slave women. These were the survivors of the 200 he had purchased at the Basra slave market—if not for the storm they encountered en route, perhaps more would have survived. He had given each slave ample space, water, and food to minimize losses during the voyage.
Even so, his profits would be considerable. Director Skade had promised him fifty shi of white sugar per healthy slave delivered. How much a shipload of sugar could earn him in Persia—he was practically laughing in his dreams.
Slave trading was truly a bonanza! Quark reflected with some regret. If only their demand for Basra slave women were as high as their need for Southeast Asian slaves...
Just as he sat there grinning foolishly, Director Skade strode in with a beaming face.
"Well? How did the quarantine results turn out?" Quark rose impatiently to ask.
"Preliminary inspection—all passed." Skade was in excellent spirits. Delivering "big foreign mares" for the Senate—that alone would make his popularity skyrocket. Though numbers were modest, his preliminary inspection of appearances and figures at the quarantine camp suggested quite satisfactory quality—enough to please most transmigrators.
"So then..."
"That's right." Skade pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. Quark knew what it was: a warehouse receipt from Customs. Silver coins seemed to dance before his eyes.
"This is payment for the slaves." Director Skade said. "And the price for those Arabian horses you brought?"
"That's my gift—as thanks for letting me serve the Senate." Quark bowed respectfully. "At your service, Senate."
(End of Chapter)