Chapter 457: Miss Mendoza

Doña Marina de Arellano waited for a long time, bored out of her mind, until her whole body began to ache, before a young woman appeared.

Marina sized up this young “lady” or “miss.” It was difficult to say her true identity. If this was a pirate’s den, then the newcomer must be a woman of humble status, but her clothes and her appearance seemed to indicate that she was of noble birth, perhaps a noble lady or wife.

Two young women with Asian faces followed behind her, wearing the same short, simple cotton clothes as the “pirates,” with belts around their waists. A yellowish-brown, almost triangular, hard leather pouch hung from their waists—the same as the ones worn by many of the male pirates.

Marina’s estimation was based on the woman’s clothing. To her, Miss Mendoza’s clothes were strangely designed, even frivolous, but exquisitely made, and the special fabric used was dazzling—neither cotton nor silk, or rather, even the best Italian, French, and Chinese silks did not have the special texture and luster of the fabric she was wearing.

The lady who had come was strikingly beautiful. Even by noble standards, her appearance was rare: a beautiful, thick, long brown hair with slight curls, large almond-colored eyes… but her dark pupils and slightly dark skin indicated that she was most likely a Creole, possibly in her twenties.

But the Creoles she knew—even those of the second or third generation, who had not had a drop of Indian blood mixed in since their first mixed-blood generation—could not compare in appearance to the woman before her. She seemed to combine all the best features of the yellow and white races.

She was taller than Marina, even taller than many men. She stood very straight, her gait light yet dignified. Her whole body pulsed with the flame of health and vitality. Her every move was full of confidence. Her posture, her expression, even the way she held her head—all of this silently proclaimed to the world: I am a person of importance, with noble blood flowing in my veins.

But why was she here? A noble Creole lady trapped in this pirate’s den. Miss Marina couldn’t help but feel a little pity for her.

Miss Mendoza, having acted as a translator when the captives were captured and first arrived in Lingao, was a familiar face to Marina. And since Spanish was her native language, she was given a mission by the Foreign Intelligence Bureau: to take her for purification, accompany her, and try to get as much information as possible from her.

“I estimate that we won’t get much useful information from her. You just need to try to get her to explain her own background and the purpose of her trip to Manila.”

“If you think the information I get is not enough, will you interrogate her?” Miss Mendoza asked nervously.

“Every captive will be interrogated,” Li Yan said with a reassuring smile.

“I mean…” Miss Mendoza hesitated. “Will you… um… torture her?”

“Diana!” Zhou Weisen, who had accompanied her to the intelligence bureau, called out nervously.

“It’s alright,” Li Yan continued to smile. “No. We do not approve of using such primitive methods—there are many ways to make people talk.” He continued, “Of course, the better you do your job, the more she cooperates with our work, the less necessary it will be to resort to certain technical means of interrogation. Please rest assured, ‘technical means’ is not a ‘euphemism’.”

So Mendoza came here to “serve the Senate” with mixed feelings.

The Creole noble lady gestured to her and said in Spanish, “Please follow me.”

Marina stood up hesitantly. After sitting for so long, she was indeed a little curious to know what they were up to.

Mrs. Tolosa quickly stood up, seemingly wanting to continue her duties. Miss Mendoza made a “polite refusal” gesture. “Please wait here.”

Mrs. Tolosa said nervously, “This is my duty.”

“It would be better for you to follow our arrangements here,” Miss Mendoza, true to her linguistics background, spoke Spanish elegantly and tactfully, yet with authority. “You are our prisoner.”

Mrs. Tolosa seemed to be suddenly awakened. She immediately stopped in her tracks, standing there dumbfounded, at a loss, and watched as the young lady she was supposed to protect was led away.

Miss Mendoza led her down a corridor. There were doors along the corridor from time to time. After a few turns, the lady opened one of the doors. When they came out, they were in a courtyard. The walls of the courtyard, like in Spain, were painted snow-white. In the middle of the courtyard was a simple two-story red brick building. Its roof was made of some unknown material. Round pipes covered the entire roof, shining brightly, like metal, but with a softer luster—could it be glass?

From the strange design and materials, she could immediately tell that this house had been recently built. The iron pipes protruding from the building and extending into the sky were still shiny, not yet eroded by time and weather.

The Creole noble lady opened the door—which surprised her greatly, because the two pirate maids, who were standing right beside her, did not rush to open the door for her. This made her feel a mixture of pity and contempt for Mendoza.

“Please come in,” Mendoza said, unaware of her complex feelings, because this noble lady, after years of education in a convent for noble women, had fully learned how to conceal her emotions. Her expression was as calm as water.

“May I ask your name?”

“My name is Diana Mendoza.”

No “Doña,” no “de”—although the surname Mendoza was quite prominent in the Americas. This meant that the other woman was of common birth, Marina thought, a look of arrogance unconsciously appearing on her face.

They entered another corridor. There were more doors along the corridor. The floor was made of fired clay tiles, and there seemed to be water stains in the cracks. Bright sunlight streamed in through the glass windows.

Mendoza looked at the metal plate on the door, then used a key to open one of them and invited her in.

Inside was a strange room—very strange. Marina had never seen such a room, neither in the New World nor in Spain. The room was not large. The walls and floor were covered with a material that was crystal clear, more beautiful and smooth than the finest marble. The material had beautiful patterns and designs, somewhat like the luxurious mansions left by the Moors that she had visited with her father in Spain, but compared to the Moors’ mosaics and colored clay tiles, this material was more captivating. She suddenly remembered something—porcelain!

Those high officials and nobles in Spain and New Spain always collected some porcelain from China to show off their wealth and artistic taste.

She suddenly understood. She was standing in a room paved with porcelain.

At this thought, she almost fainted. Could this be the island of pirates from the story of Alibaba?

“Please take a bath here,” Miss Mendoza said. “If you want to relieve yourself, the door on the left leads to the toilet.” Mendoza hesitated, not using the more euphemistic modern term “restroom.”

A bath? This was ridiculous. She was a noble and elegant lady. She washed her face and hands every day, and her feet at night. Even on the ship, where it was inconvenient to do laundry, she changed her underwear every half a month.

The habit of bathing was something only Jews had. And doctors and priests all said that frequent bathing could easily lead to the Black Death.

“You’re too kind,” Marina said elegantly. “I wash my hands and face every day on the ship.”

Miss Mendoza shook her head regretfully but said nothing. However, the door suddenly opened. Four Asian women came in from behind the door. They were short but very sturdy and strong, with their sleeves rolled up, carrying small wicker baskets and wooden buckets.

Marina sensed a dangerous atmosphere and took a fearful step back, saying loudly, “Please don’t do this!”

“I don’t want to do this either,” Miss Mendoza replied politely.

Marina suddenly realized that she had fallen into the hands of Arab slave traders! She had heard stories from people who had been ransomed from North Africa about the harems of the Arabs and Turks. Almost every Islamic noble’s harem had a huge bathroom where the female slaves bathed, were perfumed, and massaged daily, waiting for their master’s favor…

She screamed and turned to flee. But the door behind her was tightly locked. No matter how hard she pushed, she couldn’t open it.

Right, even if I opened it, what then? There must be two female pirates standing outside the door.

She turned to face Mendoza—this noble-looking woman who could speak Spanish suddenly became her only support. She reached out her hands to her and cried out in supplication:

“For God’s sake, save me!”

Miss Mendoza stopped the female staff who were eager to “purify” her and took her hands.

“Don’t be afraid… we won’t harm you, but you must obey my instructions, otherwise…”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Marina was terrified. The thought of the terrible prospect of being a slave in a pagan harem made her almost unable to control her emotions. She said incoherently, “Please tell your master that I am the daughter of a Spanish nobleman. My father has enough money to pay a ransom. Please don’t sell me to the Arabs… Please give me time. I will write a letter to Manila, to New Spain…”

“Please calm down,” Mendoza said. “You are now a prisoner of the Senate. Your fate must be decided by the Senate. Before that, you must completely obey me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”