Jacqueline de Belleville Pt. 03
Chapter 7: Finding Julieta
"Hassan requires another story from you," says A'isha the next morning. "Only he wants one with a happy ending for once. Can you manage such a thing?"
"Oh! Do you mean that my first story when I ended up enslaved in Hassan's harem doesn't rank as a happy ending?" I reply mischievously.
"You know what I mean, Zakiyah," growls A'isha, using my imposed slave name to reinforce my lowly status within this harem. "And remember Samed's cane is always available to keep you in order."
I'm never sure what to make of Hassan's sister A'isha. There are times when she's really friendly, but she can also be as hard as nails if any of us overstep some undefined line. While none of the 32 young women kidnapped and sold into slavery by the vile Nathaniel Wickliffe want to be here at Wadi Halaf, I mustn't forget that Hassan and A'isha didn't really want us in their home either. That's not to say they will simply set us all free. Our purchase price paid by Hassan's uncle Rashid must have been a tidy sum, and the cost of our upkeep only adds to the expense of waiting for ransoms to be paid. Not that ransoms will ever be paid for some of us. I, and at least five of the others, have nobody with access to the kind of money needed to set us free. We can only guess at what future awaits us.
I go to the desk I have used before and take out some writing material. So Hassan wants a story with a happy ending. How do I determine if an ending is a happy one? Life can rarely be broken into convenient chunks, each with a clear beginning and ending. Does avoiding ending up being sold as a slave count as a happy ending? There are times when I've achieved something which makes me happy and proud with what I've done, but those occasions don't always result in a happy outcome for me. Anyway, I'm stalling. I had better begin before Samed arrives to encourage my efforts with his cane.
The summer of 1809 finds me once again on the Iberian Peninsula. This time I've been given an escort of English dragoons from Lisbon to a small village about 75 miles south-west of Madrid. The combined English and Spanish armies have recently defeated the French army at nearby Talavera and are poised to liberate Madrid. At least that's what I've been told. So why have I've been summoned to meet with Sir Arthur Wellesley, commander of the English troops, in this out of the way place? Even though he must have hundreds of matters requiring his attention, he sees me within half an hour of my arrival.
"I have a spy working inside Madrid gathering information about the French forces defending Madrid," begins Sir Arthur. "Unfortunately the French are bringing up a large number of reinforcements. Despite our victory at Talavera we are heavily outnumbered and we must retreat to the west. Which means I need to get my spy out of Madrid."
"Okay," I reply, not understanding what any of this has to do with me.
"When I say 'I' what I really mean is 'you'."
"Huh?!? You want me to get your spy out of Madrid? Why me?"
"Firstly because you speak Spanish like a señorita, French like a mademoiselle, and English like a ... er ... um ... well, you get my meaning. Secondly, you are one of the few people able to recognise my spy and be able to persuade her to come with you without getting yourself killed in the process. Hopefully."
"Hopefully! That's not very comforting."
"Well you can always refuse. If you prefer, I can arrange an escort for you all the way to London so that you can stand trial for piracy. A hanging offence I believe."
At this point in the story you may be asking yourself 'Why is Jacqueline helping the English?' especially as they seem intent on ending my life. Let's just say I was given an offer I couldn't refuse. If I help Sir Arthur Wellesley rescue his spy, then in return the English judiciary only get to send me to a penal colony as a convict for life instead of stretching my neck with a hangman's noose. Of course, I would prefer that they did neither, but this deal is at least a step in the right direction.
"Yeah, okay. I get your point. You said 'her'? Who is she and how will I recognise her?"
"She's your half-sister, Julieta Raquel Maria Luisa Cortes de la Vina y Fernandez."
My mother was once the mistress of a Spanish grandee until his eyes wandered towards a younger filly and he discarded my mother like an old rag. Which, of course, is one of the hazards of living the life of a courtesan. My mother left their two month old daughter in the care of the grandee's sister and her husband and promptly moved to France. A short while later she became my father's mistress.
"I've never met my half-sister," I say. "Julieta is a complete stranger to me."
"But you are almost identical in appearance. You obviously both take after your mother."
I was only six years old when my mother told me about Julieta and how she was adopted into the grandee's extended family. Would the same good fortune have happened to me had the French revolution not intervened? Who knows. Anyway, I can't argue with Sir Arthur's observation. Given my age at the time, I'm a bit hazy about some of the details, but I can remember what my mother looked like. These days I certainly look enough like my mother to be able to pass as her young self.
My objective seems clear enough, but that's about the only positive element of this mission. Transport is a major problem. If I was crazy I could simply try walking all the way to Madrid in the hot baking sun, while simultaneously avoiding the French army in the way. And even if I get into Madrid, I've only been given a couple of possible addresses where Julieta might be found. If she's not there then I'm reduced to looking for a needle in a haystack. And then finally, assuming I find her, she and I need to get ourselves to safety. This doesn't strike me as a mission with a high chance of success, but I doubt my fate will give Sir Arthur any sleepless nights. Nevertheless I must do my best because Julieta is my only kin, and apparently she's in mortal danger.
Taking the direct route along the Tagus valley towards Madrid is out of the question unless I plan to fuck my way through a French army. So I'm given a rather worn map and provided with one of the many Spanish guerilla fighters to guide me. We set off on horseback along a back road which the map has only bothered to record for part of the way. Our route will involve skirting the southern edge of the Guadarrama mountains, and entering Madrid from the north. It means passing between two converging French armies with the hope of encountering neither. Whatever happens, we can't return by this route.
Mateo is good company, even if he spends most of the time trying to talk his way between my legs. He's a year or two older than me and quite good looking in a rugged sort of way. I'm feeling horny enough to encourage his efforts without actually allowing him to get his wish. I will need his help to bring Julieta to safety, so if it means fucking him to keep him happy, then I'm okay with that. For the moment, however, he seems content with simple flirting.
We dodge several French patrols over the next couple of days, but eventually our luck runs out. We hide the horses in some trees on the outskirts of Madrid and continue on foot. We pass a house on which we mistakenly thought to be deserted, only to discover that it's a well hidden French checkpoint. There are too many soldiers to fight, and we are too close to them to flee.
"What are you doing here? This your woman?" asks the French sergeant of Mateo.
"Yes, my new bride," replies Mateo, using our agreed cover story. "I have just fetched her from her village and I'm returning to my home in Madrid."
"New bride, heh?" muses the sergeant. "And she's a real beauty. Has she sampled your cock yet? Perhaps she might like to sample a few French cocks to see which of us can satisfy her the most?"
"I'm sure my bride is more than satisfied with what I have to offer," replies Mateo.
"I think we need her to convince us of that," says the sergeant. "How about giving her a quick fuck and let us all watch her moan with pleasure?"
"It is against our traditions to fuck in public," replies Mateo. It's not a very convincing lie.
"That was an order, not a request," growls the sergeant. "If you don't fuck her here and now, then me and my men are happy to take your place."
"It's okay, Mateo," I say.
We need to focus on getting away from these men. If they can be persuaded to let us leave without a fight then so much the better. I've heard of many atrocities committed against civilians by soldiers of all the nations fighting this war, so anything is possible. Even if we give into their demands they may still decide to kill us, but it's worth the risk.
I guide Mateo towards a bedroom at the back of the house and kneel on the bed with my trousers lowered to my ankles. It's the position the men onboard the Zafiro used to like me to adopt when they reamed my arse. The sergeant and two of his men crowd into the room with Mateo. He doesn't seem overly happy at finally being awarded the treat he's been angling me to give him. Nevertheless he responds to the sight of my bare arse like any other heterosexual male and he doesn't refuse what's on offer. It takes him less than a minute for his erection to become rock solid and he wastes no time in ramming it into my cunt. I gasp at the suddenness of his assault on my innards. My own juices haven't started to flow, so Mateo's actions cause me some pain. But the soldiers mistake my moans of discomfort for my delight at Mateo's cock claiming his manly rights. As usual, it only takes a few seconds before my juices begin to flow in abundance, and my pain turns into genuine enjoyment. Before long I sense that Mateo is about to shoot his load into me. It's as well that I picked up a fresh supply of herbs to prevent pregnancy when I landed in Portugal. Mateo comes with a roar of triumph which nearly deafens me and a flood of cum which soon dribbles from my cunt. I'm not sure if his crowing is genuine delight or whether he's putting on an act for our audience.
The soldiers are focused on watching me while their hands are busy inside their trousers. The wet stain on the inside of one soldier's pantaloons suggests he has already shot his load into his pants. They aren't paying attention to Mateo, so the two knives he produces from inside his shirt catches everyone by surprise. Two of the soldiers die with the hands still wrapped around their erect cocks. At least they died with a smile on their faces. The sergeant only lasts a short while longer before Mateo's knives do their deadly deed. I take a few moments to recover my senses while Mateo tidies up his handiwork. By the time I've pulled up my trousers Mateo is ready to do battle with the three remaining soldiers outside.
"A warning that you were going to do that would have been appreciated," I say to Mateo.
"Surprise was essential. I couldn't have prevented one of them from alerting the soldiers outside unless they were all so busy watching you squirm under my cock."
"Squirm! I wasn't squirming," I protest as I straighten my clothes.
"You were definitely squirming," replies Mateo. "But we can continue that discussion later. We must deal with the three soldiers outside."
"Or we could leave by the back door and disappear into the back streets," I reply, still preferring to avoid unnecessary killing.
"They will have half the city's garrison looking for us once they discover their dead comrades," replies Mateo.
"As opposed to the entire garrison if they discover a dead patrol without knowing who caused their deaths. Neither of us carry valid French identification papers for Madrid, and a city wide search will round up anybody unable to produce identification papers."
"Hmm. Okay. We'll do it your way. But we need to move quickly."
There are no further checkpoints and hardly any patrols. Either the French soldiers have been withdrawn in order to reinforce the troops fighting the Spanish and English armies to the south and west, or the French are so confident of their control over Madrid that they don't feel the need to show more than a token display of strength. Either way, there are very few Spanish citizens moving about the streets. The whole mood of the city feels as though everyone is expecting trouble ... and soon.
We head towards the first address given to me by Major Brownley, Sir Arthur's intelligence officer. Yet again my map is deficient in many details, but I manage to bribe a young boy into showing us the way. I have Mateo wait some distance away in case Julieta sees him and disappears before I can talk to her.
The address turns out to be some stables. I remove the pistol tucked in my bag and load it ready for action. While I hope to find Julieta hiding here, anything is possible. A muffled cough confirms my suspicion that someone is inside the stables. The cough sounded masculine in origin so I discount the possibility of it being Julieta.
I study the stables from a safe distance. Before long I convince myself that there's more than one man inside. I don't have time to simply wait and see what happens, so I devise a plan. A small stout handcart parked near to where I am hiding catches my attention.
A minute later I charge the door behind the handcart. The flimsy lock busts with the impact and I send the cart rolling into the stables. I duck behind a nearby water trough, in case it's a trap. And a trap it is. The cart is barely halfway into the stables when four shots ring out and thud into the cart.
I draw my dagger and make my charge into the stables before they can reload. French soldiers! They are busy trying to reload their muskets. I'm on them in seconds. My pistol accounts for one of them and I make short work of the rest with my dagger. Not a pleasant task, but a necessary one. They would have done the same to me.
There's no officer or sergeant with them, which implies there are more soldiers nearby. The shots will have alerted everyone within earshot. I'm not safe until I eliminate or evade anyone who comes to investigate the commotion. But a lone sergeant seems to have found me. He steps out of the shadows and aims his musket at my chest. I've no chance of reaching him before he can fire. What can I do?
A shot rings out and I dive to one side in the hope the bullet will miss me. When I don't feel any pain I quickly get to my feet. Only to discover the shot wasn't fired by the sergeant, but by a slender woman standing behind him. The sergeant is lying face down in the dirt. I step forward to check if he's still alive, but the other woman reaches him first and thrusts a knife into his throat. If he wasn't dead before, he is now.
"Pig! Pig!" she screams in her fury as she plunges her knife in a second time.
"Julieta!" I cry when I realise that this woman looks remarkably like me. "Stop! He's dead."
Julieta breaks down in tears and I quickly take her into a nearby garden. I don't know whether there will be other soldiers coming to investigate, but we must get away as soon as possible. But Julieta is far from ready to make our escape.
"It's all gone wrong! It's all gone wrong!" cries Julieta resisting my efforts to move her.
"What happened, Julieta?" I ask.
"That pig tortured and killed my Jules. He insisted Jules was an English spy even though he served France faithfully and gallantly. The pig left Jules lying in a cellar. ... Then he came for me, probably intending to ravish and torture me. But the sound of musket fire drew him here ... and I followed ... to avenge Jules."
"Which you've now done. Now lets get out of here. I've a friend nearby waiting to help us. If someone has raised the alarm, this place will soon be swarming with soldiers."
Before I can move, Julieta has her knife across my throat.
"Explain who you are and why you are here," demands Julieta, suddenly suspicious of my presence.
"I'm your half sister Jacqueline," I reply. "I've come to find you and get you out of Madrid before the French army arrives."
"My filthy pirate of a sister is dead," fumes Julieta. "And the French army was defeated at Talavera."
"Hey! Less of the 'filthy' bit," I complain. "Pirate; perhaps. Dead; not yet, although you seem determined to change that. The French army has been reinforced with fresh troops and is advancing west once again."
"Hmm. Perhaps you look a little bit like me. Not as pretty, of course. And if the French are rebuilding their army, it perhaps explains why the Madrid garrison has been reduced. Okay, I'll come with you, but the first sign of this being a trap then you're the first one I kill."
I now understand why Sir Arthur qualified his statement about me not getting killed by my own sister. At least Julieta removes her knife from my throat. But that only moves us onto the next dangerous phase of our escape plan.
Chapter 8: Julieta y Jacqueline
"Thank you for rescuing me yesterday, Julieta," I say when it seems safe to talk to her without getting my throat slit. "That sergeant would have probably killed me if you hadn't intervened."
"I should be thanking you," she replies. "The French must have captured my contact and tortured him into betraying me. But you foiled the trap they had set for me. I doubt I would be alive now if you hadn't drawn the sergeant away from me. Anyway, if half the stories about your adventures are true, then I believe you may have got the better of him on your own. But tell me. How come a pirate wanted by the English is helping their army? And how come you are here with me and not on your ship?"
"Ah! So you've heard about my adventures," I reply. "Due to unforeseen events, I'm no longer a member of the Zafiro's crew. And providing I don't return to my career at sea, the English admiralty has agreed to charge me with lesser crimes than piracy if I help them win this war."
"You've made a poor deal there," muses Julieta. "I think the English are hoping the French will end your career permanently and save them the embarrassment of explaining before a judge how a slip of a girl got the better of the English navy. Besides, how can you be sure they will keep their side of the bargain?"
"Hmm. You could be right. But half the stories about me are just that ... stories. Anyway, how did you get to hear about them?"
"I didn't have a choice. I've twice been arrested because some over zealous official has mistaken me for you. The last time I was only freed after I proved that I didn't have a tattoo of a cat just above my pussy."
I rejoin Mateo at our agreed meeting place, and endure a few tense moments while Julieta decides whether or not to trust Mateo. Fortunately she doesn't reach for her knife, which I take to be a good sign. It is getting dark, which means we must either leave Madrid soon, or hide until morning. By now the French garrison must have been alerted to the death of their soldiers, so leaving Madrid in the morning could be problematic. Consequently we slip out of the city straight away and go to where we have hidden our horses. Fortunately we had the foresight to bring a third horse in the expectation Julieta will be with us when we leave.
We ride north into the night, stopping in some woods for a few hours to rest. We resume our journey before dawn and once it is daylight we stop at a small town well away from the main north road leading out of Madrid. Fortunately there's no sign of a French garrison in the town but Mateo leaves us for a while to check for rumours about French troops in the area. Our plan is to wait here for a few days until any search for us has been called off. Julieta and I find an inn busy serving breakfast to several groups of men. The conversation in the room stops the second Julieta and I enter, and a dozen pairs of unfriendly eyes turn in our direction. A serving girl comes running over to us.
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