Chapter 461: The Auction

Marina was imprisoned for seven days in a separate bedroom on the upper floor of the bathhouse. Everything here was quite similar to the convent: a simple room, but with soft and comfortable bedsheets, an exquisite gauze canopy, and although the windows were fitted with cast iron bars, the large panes of glass let in bright and dazzling sunlight—it reminded her of the sun in Spain.

What she found most incredible was that the bedroom actually had a separate toilet: all tiled with fine Chinese porcelain, and even the toilet bowl was made of porcelain!

I am now more extravagant than kings, emperors, sultans, and cardinals! she thought in astonishment.

Her daily life was very comfortable—although she had no personal maid, a Chinese maid would come every day to make her bed and bring her three meals a day, all of which were simple and novel dishes she had never tasted before: light in flavor and delicious.

Although Marina’s meals at the convent were not harsh, the concepts of restraint and asceticism were always instilled in their education, so the food was very bland. The sudden taste of various novel and delicious foods whetted her appetite. She was particularly fond of a risotto made with seafood and rice. After the meal, a cup of “black tea” with lemon slices and sugar cubes was always served.

Many fresh fruits were also sent every day, many of which she had never seen before.

Every day at noon, after the lunch dishes were cleared, a maid would come in to help her lower the delicate and beautiful Chinese curtains with a faint yellowish glow, blocking the scorching sun outside. Then she would bring a beautiful and clean blue and white porcelain jar with a large block of ice inside: crystal clear, emitting wisps of white water vapor. Then, with the help of the maid, she would change into a soft and breathable fine cloth nightgown and fall into a deep sleep in the pleasant temperature and comfortable dim light.

She would be woken up at four in the afternoon and then taken by the maid to take a bath—this was mandatory. If she refused, the sturdy maid would not hesitate to grab her arm and drag her to the bath. They would bathe her with a soap scented with some kind of essential oil. This made her very uneasy: it was said that the Sultan’s harem did the same.

After the bath, she was taken back to her bedroom and changed into clean clothes. All the clothes she had taken off were collected. The clothes were not luxurious, but they were all made of very fine and comfortable materials—they were also well-fitting and comfortable to wear.

If it weren’t for her status as a captive, these days could be said to be the most comfortable and luxurious life she had had in more than ten years. Her mood could even be better for it.

For the past few days, it had been very quiet here, with few voices from downstairs. But a few days ago, the courtyard began to get lively. There were often sounds of people walking back and forth, and from time to time, there were shouts and cries. From the window, she could barely see some of the situation in the courtyard. She saw many women with brown, black, and golden hair waiting in the courtyard. They were all disheveled, with tattered clothes and listless expressions, being pushed and scolded by the same Chinese maids who had “served” her—obviously, they were captives or slaves, repeating the same process as her in this courtyard.

This made her extremely worried about her own fate: such preferential treatment was clearly not simply “goodwill.” She could only wait for her fate in anxiety. She began to suffer from insomnia and often prayed for hours on end.

On this day, Miss Mendoza finally appeared before her.

“You’ve finally come!” Marina, who had become somewhat neurotic from the torment of anxiety and waiting, said. “What do you intend to do with me?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I just want to know my fate sooner rather than later,” Marina said, holding her rosary and looking up at the sky.

“We are not pirates. But you are our captive. So we must follow the rules for disposing of captives, which is: public auction.”

This word seemed to be uttered from Mendoza’s lips with great reluctance.

“God save me!” Marina cried out, as if she was about to faint—this was what she feared most. She involuntarily clasped Mendoza’s hand tightly and said in a trembling voice, “For the sake of our being compatriots and Christians! Don’t let me become a slave girl in a harem!”

Mendoza’s expression gave her a glimmer of hope. “Listen to me. If you are willing to release me, my fiancé will pay you a huge sum of money—my fiancé will soon be the richest man in Manila! Perhaps the richest nobleman in the entire Philippines, or even New Spain!”

Mendoza shook her head. “That’s impossible. This is the decision of the Senate!” Her face showed a look of sympathy. “You should rest well.” With that, she quickly left the room.

Doña Marina de Arellano fainted.

When she woke up, she was already lying in bed. A strange priest was sitting by her bedside, looking at her with a loving expression.

“Father…” Marina saw a European priest and couldn’t help but want to sit up.

“My child, you are still very weak. You should lie down for now,” the priest said in broken Spanish. “Take a dose of medicine first—it will make you feel better.”

He fed her a small glass of bitter potion.

“Father,” Marina said, although she didn’t know why there was a European priest here, his appearance gave her new hope. But the other party’s Spanish was too difficult to understand. So she tried Italian—and the other party could indeed speak it.

“You are Italian!”

“That’s right, I am from Italy.”

“For God’s sake, please save me!” she pleaded. “The pirates are going to auction me off! Please don’t let me become a slave to the heathens!”

With that, she pulled the ring from her finger. “Please find someone and give him my letter and this ring. He will reward you and your messenger handsomely.”

The priest shook his head. “My child, even if I send someone with the letter right away, it will be too late. The auction will be held the day after tomorrow. They plan to auction you off with the slave girls brought from Basra…”

“God!” Marina covered her face and began to sob.

“Don’t worry,” the priest said in a low voice. “After Miss Mendoza told me of your plea, I have been working to save you…”

“Please tell me quickly,” Marina’s heart was once again filled with the flame of hope.

“You are now in Lingao, on the territory of the Australians. They will auction off the spoils of war the day after tomorrow. However, they do not prohibit others from buying slaves. So I plan to find a Christian to buy you…”

“If you can save me from the tiger’s mouth, I will be grateful to you for the rest of my life.”

“Rest assured, we have already found a suitable person for you,” the Italian said. “He is the Dutch consul here…”

“A Protestant!” Marina almost screamed. This was even more terrifying than a heathen—the Dutch had a very bad reputation in the American colonies of Spain and Portugal, and they were like fire and water.

“No, he is a true believer. His name is Leib Trini. He is my compatriot and is also very sympathetic to you,” the priest comforted her. “He paints for the Australians here and has saved a lot of money, enough to pay for your purchase.”

“My father and fiancé have many properties in the Philippines and New Spain. Please tell that kind Christian not to panic when bidding. No matter how much the other party bids, he must outbid them. As long as he can buy me, I will pay double the ransom to redeem myself. But no matter what, please don’t let me fall into the hands of the heathens…”

“I am relieved to hear that!” Marina said, gratefully grasping his hand. “Thank you, I will never forget your great kindness.” She suddenly remembered that she did not know his name. “May I ask your name?”

“I am a servant of God,” the priest said. “A member of the Society of Jesus. Now I must leave quickly. May God bless you.”

Quark sat in a chair at the trading post, savoring the “cigar” that the maid had brought him, with a premonition that he was about to make a fortune.

Just a week ago, he had personally commanded the two-masted schooner Lion to Basra, and it had finally arrived safely in Bopu, carrying 183 female slaves. These were the survivors of the 200 female slaves he had bought in the Basra slave market—if it hadn’t been for a storm on the way, perhaps more would have survived. He had tried his best to give each slave enough space, water, and food to prevent them from being overly depleted on the way.

Even so, his income would be very considerable. Minister Si Kaide had promised him a shore price of fifty stones of white sugar for each healthy female slave. He would wake up laughing in his dreams just thinking about how much money he could make by transporting this shipload of white sugar to Persia.

Slave trading was truly a business of immense profit! Quark thought with regret. If only their demand for female slaves from Basra was as high as their need for Southeast Asian slaves…

As he was chuckling to himself, Minister Si Kaide walked in with a beaming face.

“How is it? What are the results of the quarantine?” Quark stood up impatiently and asked.

“The preliminary examination is all qualified.” Si Kaide was in a very good mood. Bringing the long-awaited “foreign horses” to the Senate was enough to make his popularity in the Senate soar—although the number was a bit small, he had initially gone to the quarantine camp to observe their appearance and figure, and he thought the quality was quite good, enough to satisfy most of the elders.

“So…”

“That’s right.” Si Kaide said, taking a list from his pocket. Quark knew what it was: a warehouse receipt from the customs warehouse. It was as if countless silver coins were flying before his eyes.

“This is the price of the slaves,” Minister Si said. “As for the price of the few Arabian horses you brought with you?”

“This is my gift—as a thank you for letting me serve the Senate,” Quark bowed respectfully. “I am willing to serve the Senate.”