Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

For a detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by kinkychic and kinky’s_sis

Chapter Eight: Encounter In Gibraltar

 

Mister Walpole, the British Prime Minister, had asked me to attend on him one last time. Then we would be free to be on our way. Another gentleman was introduced to me as the Foreign Secretary.

“Good morning, Captain Dawlish, Sir.” That word sir still put a chill in my bones. “We have a request, one or two really, that we would like to put to you. I must stress that whatever you decide is entirely your right and choice. But your country would be grateful should you decide to assist us.”

He moved to a large map of the Mediterranean that was tacked upon the wall. “You will, I’m sure, be aware of our recent problems with the Spanish, although it was all supposed to have been resolved last year. Between you and me, I don’t trust them and I would very much like to know what they’re up to – are they strengthening their fleet and so on.”

He waited to see if I concurred. “Your status is somewhat unusual. You are not under our command, yet you are not a privateer as such. So, what exactly are you? In law, you are a private citizen free to do as you choose. In practice, you have a formidable fighting force. His Majesty would very much like you to be working with us, even if you’re not directly under our command. Do you follow me so far, Captain?”

I must confess, I rather liked the notion of where this might be going, but what had the Mediterranean to do with it?

“We, with some considerable opposition from certain quarters, would suggest that you carry the status of Royal Ranger,” Walpole said. “You would carry the appropriate documents to confirm your situation. Admiral Sir Fleming wants you back in the Caribbean, but we want you here, for now at least.”

He tapped the chart.

“The Navy is stretched far and wide,” he said. “We simply don’t have enough ships in any one place to make an effective force. You now have two of the fastest ships compared to any navy, and they should be put to good use. We have two objectives in mind. One is to find out what the Spanish are up to. Are their fleets truly at rest, or are they being refitted and readied for conflict?

“The second objective is rather different. Have you heard of the Barbary pirates?”

“To be honest, I thought them something of a joke,” I said.

“I can assure you, Captain, they are no joke. They attack merchant ships of all European nations sailing in the Mediterranean, as well as raiding the northern shores. They have taken somewhere around a million white slaves over the last fifty years or so. They use galleys with both sail and oars, and each ship has a huge, spiked ram. They can carry anything up to five hundred men, and they are quite formidable.

“The Spanish, French, and Italian states, as well as His Majesty’s government, will pay a bounty for any captured galley. They operate mainly from these ports on the Barbary Coast.” He indicated Salé, Rabat, Algiers, Tunis and Tripoli. “But if you get the opportunity, I want them sunk. The one problem with that is, many are rowed by slaves, but some by crack crews. Naturally, we don’t expect you to sink the prisoners.

“If you are agreed, I will have the documents and your orders drawn up at once. You would have your own colours to fly, and our ships would be advised accordingly. A warning though, Captain. do not get yourself captured by these pirates. We would never see you again.”

This seemed a rewarding endeavour, but it wasn’t a decision I could make on my own. I asked for two days before I would give my answer. I was wondering how many of my men I would lose. They were rich now, and some would want to enjoy their wealth rather than run about the globe in pursuit of the King’s enemies.

***

In the event, we only lost eleven of the crew, none of great importance. Davy and Taylor told me there were over sixty good men and plenty who were ready to join us, though many were inexperienced. We wouldn’t be short-handed. All of my officers were keen on the adventure. I also took on the services of a Naval captain’s clerk. He was an affable fellow who preferred to be at sea, though not in any fighting capacity. He would serve as a part-qualified accountant and a scribe. He would, of course, learn my identity in time. An extra bit of coin in his purse would keep him from divulging it, should he choose to return to England.

The only significant questions from the crew had to do with status and discipline. The men would not be Naval personnel, nor would they be treated as such. Our status would be ill-defined – something between a merchantman, a privateer, or a mercenary – but with the King’s authority behind us. Our code of discipline would remain as it always had been, so long as the men recognised the ships were mine and I could not be overthrown. I emphasised that any man was free to leave, at any time, should he so choose.

Three days later and we sailed into strong winds through the Thames Estuary, which meant a considerable number of tacks before we made the English Channel. Then the wind was with us and I had a chance to see how the Royal Siren flew before it. We achieved an astonishing fourteen knots. She was indeed fast.

I saw distinct pride in the faces of the sail handlers. They were clearly delighted with what their rejuvenated ship could do. “She flies, Captain,” the sail master said. “The best ship I ever handled. We will run circles ’round them dons and barbarians.”

The weather moderated for our crossing of the notorious Bay of Biscay, where some of the highest seas in the world may be encountered and many ships have been lost. I took the opportunity to roll out our new guns, and to see what our new crew were made of. Down past Portugal we continued, as the guns roared out again and again. We tacked many times. By the time we reached Gibraltar, I was content. We were a true fighting force.

Gibraltar was nothing more than a garrison town that housed a few thousand British soldiers and a newly constructed Naval base, as well as the wealth of drinking establishments and whorehouses that spring up wherever the British plant their flag. How they all got there was a puzzle to me, as Gibraltar was cut off from the mainland and constantly under threat from the Spanish.

“Have your fun, but there will be no fighting with the Army,” I told the men. “We sail in three days. Find yourself in a cell, and you’ll be left behind.”

I paid my respects to the Port Admiral’s office. It was imperative that he be made aware of our presence and our purpose. At first, he scoffed. “Royal Ranger, indeed, acting independently? And with a boy in command! Quite absurd, if I may say.”

“As you please,” I said. “But my successes speak for themselves, and the King evidently agrees. You may address me as Sir Bren.”

“Hmph!”

Holding my temper, I explained in detail what we were about, and the advantage to his operations of our freedom and speed of movement. He appeared somewhat mollified and grudgingly admitted that we might be of some use. He would reserve judgement. “But don’t go getting yourselves in trouble, I don’t have ships to spare to come looking for some young pirate – ” He stopped mid-sentence. “I beg your pardon, Sir Bren. A poor choice of words.”

He looked at me intently. Such moments had begun to make me anxious. What did he see? His Majesty had kept my secret, I supposed, because it amused him, and to reveal it would undermine the goodwill my presence had built up with his subjects. The popinjay before me would have no such qualms.

“Well,” he said at last, “the King and the Prime Minister seem to have placed a great deal of faith in you. I trust it’s warranted. I suggest it’s for you to get yourselves out there and convince me.”

He glanced at the orders I had delivered. “You have free access to the dockyard and for victualling. When do you plan on sailing?”

“Admiral, this situation is as new to me as it is to you,” I replied. “We are here to assist you and the rest of the Mediterranean fleet. We shall learn as we go. As to getting in trouble — it’s what I do best, but I always come out on top. The Royal Siren is the fastest ship you have ever seen. No Spaniard or Barbary pirate will catch me … unless I want him to.”

***

There was one more function to attend. I might have refused, but the admiral’s nose was already far enough out of joint, and I thought it best to be polite.

It was a pleasant enough affair. I would guess about a hundred sat for a superb dinner, though I have no idea who made the seating arrangements, which were not at all to my liking. Marianna, Jensen, and I were split quite far apart. I had the pompous admiral on one side and some general on the other, which brought home to me just how much my world had changed, and how much I had to lose.

Watching Marianna, I saw how at ease she was and how clearly she relished the attention she received. This had been her world and she knew how to deal with whatever came her way. Once again, her presence bolstered my reputation as a virile young man.

The general tried his best to put me at my ease, but he was quite uncertain of how I fit into his society. I was a Knight of the Realm and a captain of questionable status. Yet, to him, I was almost a child, and he found it difficult to believe the stories he’d heard of me.

The dinner was over, but not the proceedings.

“Your attention, please, for Captain Sir Thomas Jensen.”

Tom had, by now, polished the story of the Siren and the seventy-four into a smashing yarn. I was more than happy to give him the floor. Recounting the tale myself always made me feel I was boasting. The general glanced at me several times as Tom spoke. When he got to the end, the crowd rose, the ladies clapped, and the men mostly thumped the tables. It was a deafening sound.

After everyone was reseated, it was the general who rose to make the reply. For a moment he spluttered a little, as if at a loss for words. But he pulled himself together.

“I will begin with a confession,” he said. “When first I heard of our good captain’s exploits, I rather thought them hugely exaggerated. Then when I first met him this evening, I felt confirmed in my belief. How could such a young man, almost a boy, possibly have directed such naval actions? It’s quite beyond understanding.”

He paused to gather his thoughts. “Yet, now we are told the story. A story of daring, of bravery under fire, of decisions made faster than the blink of an eye. And, as I understand it, it’s only one of other such actions … one of which it would be indelicate to mention.”

This last caused a ripple of laughter, especially from among the officers of the Army.

“Now I must reappraise my thoughts,” the general continued. “They were clearly wrong. We have a gallant captain, and what’s more, he fights for us. He brings a force of his own to be thrown at the enemy. I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, raise a glass to both Captain Sir Bren Dawlish and Captain Sir Thomas Jenson.”

Shortly afterward, I somehow managed to sneak away, leaving both Jensen and Marianna surrounded by admirers. No doubt many were curious as to Marianna’s heritage. I took my glass of fine claret and wandered outside to a balcony, where I admired the view of the harbour.

A voice interrupted my reverie. “Captain, may I intrude?”

I turned to find an angel standing beside me. Her poise and confidence were obvious, yet she appeared to be no more than fifteen years of age.

Her beauty was quite startling, with a fragility one wanted to protect, yet with an unmistakable strength beneath. Too late, I realised I was staring at her. She laughed with a sweet tinkling sound.

“I am used to stares, Captain,” she said. “I usually don’t want them, but from you…” She allowed the sentence to go unfinished. “I hear things – of the beautiful Doña Marianna and you…” She held out a hand, “Will you walk with me, Captain? I would not be offended if you decline, but I would not forgive myself if I didn’t at least try.”

I didn’t mean to be rude, but nonetheless, I was.

“Girl, go away. You don’t know what you’re asking. Play your games with someone else.”

Her hand didn’t waver.

“Captain, it’s no game,” she said. “I will go if that’s what you want, but I ask – are you sure?”

I have no idea what possessed me, but I found myself taking her hand. We descended the steps into the garden. She seemed to know where she was going, so I let her lead the way. She suddenly held me back.

“Captain, don’t misunderstand,” she said. “I will not come between you and your woman, but if I may take a moment of your time, will you kiss me?”

I didn’t get much of a chance to decide. She went up on her toes and planted her lips on mine. I found myself kissing her back and drawing her up into my arms. There was need and urgency in her kiss, even though it seemed wholly inexperienced. Our embrace rapidly became more passionate, until she pulled back with a jerk. “Shall we go and sit? I know a place.”

I hesitated, and she noticed. “For just one moment of your life, Captain, you can make a lonely girl happy. That’s all I ask, nothing more.” She was gently tugging at my hand. “Please.”

I felt myself follow as she led me around several corners to a bench concealed in the shadows. It was an insane risk, but the prospect of taking her full young breasts in hand was proving difficult to resist. And if I kept my breeches on, this naive child would be none the wiser.

She leapt into my arms, her lips hard to mine, barely pausing for breath. “Will you…” Now her uncertainty showed, although I could barely see her face. Her poise was gone. It had got her this far, but now –

“I don’t even know your name,” I said.

She answered in a quiet, even timid, voice. “My name is Geraldine. My father is an Army major, my mother is dead. I’ve never done anything like this before, but I have thought about it. My feelings are so very real. Then this evening I saw you. I knew… it had to be you. It took every bit of my courage. I tried so hard to look experienced, to show you that I wasn’t just a child. I haven’t succeeded, have I?”

I kissed her forehead. “Perhaps you have, Geraldine. You are remarkably beautiful, I believe you are aware of that. I would guess Gibraltar is not the easiest of places in which to gain experience. Yet I assure you, it can be done. Now, shall we not kiss once more?”

She melted into my arms. She wasn’t trying to impress me, she merely wanted to be loved, if only for a moment. I eased open the fastenings of her bodice, and a breast came into my hand. For a moment I regretted that I could not see clearly, but in the darkness, with only my sense of touch to guide me, I savoured all the more the weight, the even texture, the perfection of form. Her nipples quickly stiffened beneath my fingers. Her sigh of pleasure was a delight to hear.

Soon her hands were fumbling along my chest, and further down. I pushed her back. “No,” I said. “It’s your pleasure that matters.”

“Please,” she said. “I want to learn. Allow me, and I swear to you – I won’t tell anyone you’re a woman.”

Astonishment froze me rigid.

“I knew the moment you entered the hall,” she went on.

“You’re not such a child, after all.”

“I saw myself in you. Dressed as a man, leading a man’s life – meeting them on their own terms and beating them. And the fools have no conception. It’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“Yes,” I said. “Women love a woman in uniform.”

“Don’t make fun!” she laughed, with a playful smack to my hand. “Quickly, before they miss us.”

I removed the sash from my waist, the coat was tossed aside, and the buttons to my shirt were soon undone. I hesitated at the clips to my breeches, but she nodded once more. I went to pull her close again, but instead, she held me back. She spread my shirt wide, exposing my breasts. She felt them in the darkness, as I had done hers. “So firm,” she said. Her hands covered each one and she took my nipples between her fingers, rolling them softly. I could just see her expression as she marvelled at how they grew.

I pulled her closer. “Kiss them, suck on them.”

She glanced up at me with a look of surprise. “Really?” But she bent her head and surrounded one nipple with her lips. I felt the uncertain touch of her tongue caress the tip before she drew it into her mouth.

I lifted the girl’s skirt, feeling the smooth warmth of her thighs and the wetness between her legs. She jolted at the touch but then pressed forward as my fingers eased further into her depths. Her hand forced its way into the front of my breeches, and her fingers found my pussy. Now she seemed uncertain.

“Feel my fingers in you, Geraldine,” I said. “I’m going to play… oh, fuck it! I’m going to fuck your virgin cunt. Do as I do. Fuck me as well. You hear?”

She sighed as I felt the heat of her need. “Yes, Captain. I will … fuck your cunt.”

“No need to be formal. You may call me Bren.”

“I prefer Captain.”

“As you please.”

Her fingers went between my lips, sliding easily into me. My pussy was dripping by now. I needed this child – her admiration flattered and excited me. She copied my movements, fucking me as I fucked her.

I had forgotten her hand on my tit, but then it squeezed, more firmly and confidently. I pulled her nipple, twisting it between my fingers. Again, she did the same.

“Harder, girl,” I said. “As hard as you like.”

I moved to her clit and gave it a pinch. This time, she yelped, then: “Oh, do that again!”

She was a bright, eager student. Soon she was rolling my clit between two fingers. When I shivered, she rubbed it up and down, pressing as she stroked. I briefly thought she must be remembering what she does to herself. But was she? It was an intriguing game, guessing just how much this girl knew.

“Are you able to come?” I asked.

“What is that?”

“A peak of pleasure – ”

“Yes! Yes, I do!”

Then, suddenly, I was coming myself. I hadn’t expected to, not so quickly. But I was on the balls of my feet and shaking violently as my orgasm engulfed me.

I heard clapping, and then a gasp. The gasp was from Geraldine. The applause was Marianna’s.

“So beautiful to see!” she said. “You clever little girl, how you have made my Bren come! You will now come to me and I will take you there.”

She took hold of Geraldine’s shoulders and laid her gently on the bench, her skirts hiked above her waist. She straddled the girl, hiding her face within her skirts, and bent down towards the child’s exposed pussy. “Now do as I do.”

There was a muffled reply. Marianna licked the glistening lips from top to bottom, then dipped her tongue slowly between.

“I’m waiting, girl. If you want me to go on, then you must return the favour.” Suddenly she sighed. “Oh yes, that’s better!”

She dived back into Geraldine’s cunt. I listened to the sucking and slurping in the dim light. The girl raised her knees, then her hips as she begged for more. I knew Marianna would have her girl coming in no time, and so it was. Geraldine’s legs extended straight and stiff, but they were shaking.

Marianna raised her head to look at me, “Kiss me, my darling… ooh, dio mio, muy bueno.” I obliged, and felt her coming through the kiss. When we parted, she said, “Now help me off before I suffocate the girl.”

Geraldine lay with a look of bliss on her face, even as she gasped for air. When her breathing had eased, she said, “Help me up, please.”

We sat down on either side of her and she held both our hands. “You just made my dreams come true. Not just one, but two of you. And words that I had dared not speak, but you did, you spoke them freely. You fucked my cunt and, more importantly, I fucked yours, Captain, and I sucked yours, Marianna.”

We straightened our clothes. I suggested we stroll arm in arm, with Geraldine in between, around the front of the building. “Anyone seeing us will think we’ve just had a pleasant walk and not a glorious fuck,” I said. That had Geraldine giggling more like the girl she really was. Or had been.

We stopped by before the grand entrance. “I’m here for at least another eighteen months,” Geraldine said. “So anytime you are passing and would like to give a young girl a fuck, come find me.” She began to walk away, but turned back. “Now when I play with my pussy, I have two beautiful ladies to dream about.” She handed me a card and skipped up the steps.

***

It was a bad night to be sailing east in the Mediterranean. The waves were mountainous, crashing across the deck. We had barely any sail on, only sufficient to keep us pointing into the roiling seas.

Only hours after departing Gibraltar and the sweet Geraldine, the storm had struck, bringing the highest seas I had ever experienced. One swell after another towered above us. The ship would somehow fight its way to the top, then plunge into the depths below. At times it seemed we would not rise again as we disappeared beneath another mountain of water.

Somehow though, we would rise, and I would release my breath. And so it went, hour after hour. We had long since lost sight of the Royal Majestic. God knew where she would be in the morning if we or she survived.

A dismal light heralded the day. The sailing master yelled, “Wind be easing, Captain.” It had abated the smallest amount.

Another two hours and the wind had dropped considerably, though the sea still rolled like moving hills. As expected, there was no sign of the Majestic. Jensen and I had agreed that if we were to become separated, we would head for the Spanish coast and search for one another between Malaga and Cartagena. We were not to approach Cartagena too closely, however, as there could be any number of Spanish ships inside the bay that hid the anchorage.

But we found the Majestic easily enough. She had got through the storm with only superficial damage. Once reunited, we sailed from port to port without encountering any sign of unusual activity. Most of the Spanish ships that crossed our path were clearly not in any state of readiness for war. I saw little that should concern the admiral. The Spanish, in their turn, ignored us, all except for one place known as Roses.

This port had been raided often by the Barbary pirates. Several defensive fortifications had been built in response, but to no avail. The pirates still came.

We anchored in the bay to purchase fresh supplies. When the garrison learned of our intentions, their poorly hidden antagonism turned to offers of help. We were feted as friends. Services were provided to make good our storm damage. In fact, they couldn’t do enough for us.

Two senior Spanish naval officers asked permission to come aboard. They offered to sail with us, which I declined, though I was grateful for their intelligence as to the Barbary pirates’ methods. It seemed their galleys generally carried only one cannon of any significance, usually a twenty-four-pounder mounted at the bow, which meant it could be brought to bear only when the galley was pointed directly at its prey. They would try to ram with their huge spike and then board over their bow. On the other hand, they would run for cover at the sight of a warship.

It seemed everyone in the town wanted to meet us. Even a nunnery, one which had suffered at the pirates’ hands, wanted us to come and take prayers with them.

“What?” I exclaimed. “Me in a nunnery? Surely, you’re not serious, Marianna.”

“Oh, but I am. I’ve seen this order of nuns before. They have novitiates down to very tender ages – flat-chested things as young as nine or ten. Now, why do you suppose that is?”

“Well, they’re religious. They say prayers, they meditate, and whatever devout women do … don’t they?”

“The order was established a long time ago to help penitent women such as whores and fallen girls. I would guess at some naughty things in addition to their prayers. It might be worth our time to pay a visit. The one in Malta is quite famous. This one, I’ve not heard of.”

The church was dedicated to Saint Mary Magdalene, and its interior was stunningly beautiful. The order was obviously not poor. There was a building next door where the nuns spent most of their time, and another in which the “fallen” women were housed. We were shown into what was clearly the dining hall, although I would hardly call the simple meal of wine, bread, cheese, and olives “dining.”

First, we were greeted by each nun with a sort of virginal embrace. Marianna, to their delight, addressed them in Spanish. She asked them a question, so I gathered, as she held for their inspection a small vial she had drawn from her bosom. “Si! Si!” the nuns said, nodding vigorously.

Marianna took the younger girls aside for what looked to me like some solemn Popish ritual. They stepped up to her in turn, hands folded in prayer-like fashion, and Marianna anointed each one with a drop from the vial, making the sign of the cross first on the girl’s forehead, and then on her lips. My mischievous sweetheart had become the serpent in the garden.

As we took our seats at the table, I asked her, “What did you tell them it was?”

“Holy water, blessed by Saint Catherine herself.”

“You’re a superstitious lot,” I said.

“Do you mock our faith?”

The bread was scarcely broken before the girls began to grow restless, then visibly agitated. A few pairs held hands, while others seemed to be reaching beneath the table into their neighbour’s lap.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed. The Mother Superior, along with one or two of the other nuns, was looking askance at her charges. She turned to me, at a loss to explain this extraordinary behaviour. I smiled and shrugged. “We’re all sisters, are we not?” I said.

She wasn’t sure whether she should betray shock at my words — my admission. But then she smiled and said something in Spanish. “Muéstrales a estas chicas lo que haces.” I glanced at Marianna to be certain that I had correctly understood. “Show these girls what you do,” she had said.

A number of the nuns embraced each other swiftly. Soon they were kissing, with their hands clutching one another’s breasts through their heavy clothes. Habits were being pulled up. The Mother Superior looked at me expectantly, as if waiting for some kind of signal. I turned and gave Marianna a short but passionate kiss.

The Mother Superior smiled and spoke again.

There was a scraping of benches, and a crowd of nuns rushed around to us. In seconds we were both stripped naked. We were then lifted and carried to a long empty table, and there we were laid out whilst the nuns all tore off their habits. So many pairs of hands touched us that our entire bodies were caressed and teased. No one penetrated us in any way, yet still, my arousal soared at this public molestation.

I heard another command, and the nuns stepped away to make room for four young ones to climb onto the table – two for each of us.

Marianna’s head was almost touching mine, our bodies stretched in opposite directions. One girl lowered herself to Marianna’s face, her arsehole winking at me as her pussy descended. Then the same thing happened to me – a little slit pressed to my lips and wiggled, awaiting my tongue. I also felt the weight of a second girl on my tits and her warm breath between my spread legs.

I almost laughed as a thought crossed my mind: this made two religious orders Marianna and I had shared our bodies with. Perhaps there was more to a life of devotion than I had imagined.

I pressed my tongue into the eager young slit. The girl rocked herself, her pussy sliding back and forth as I licked. The young nun between my legs was obviously experienced and capable. Her tongue and fingers were everywhere, one sensation following another as they darted about. My legs were lifted, and something soft and creamy was rubbed on my arsehole. I immediately guessed what was to come – and where!

Something tapped at my expectant hole, then pressed. The lubrication allowed almost instant access. Its girth must have increased considerably as this mysterious thing went deeper. I felt a moment of panic, thinking, No, it’s too big! These girls, however, knew what they were doing; the thing rested a moment, allowing me to stretch. Then it pressed again. I felt naked thighs against mine and knew it was now all the way in. Another short rest, and then whoever wielded the weapon began to fuck me, slowly at first, but then continually faster, her thighs banging against the cheeks of my arse.

I was being gloriously assaulted by three of them. One fucked my arse, another attacked my clit, and the third smeared her cunt about my face. I was in heaven – an apt comparison, given our location.

Needing to breathe, I lifted the young nun from my face, which gave me a quick glimpse of the rear of the one on my tits. The girl I’d been licking had fingers in both her arse and her pussy. It seemed everyone was being attended to.

The nun plumped back down on my mouth, obviously frustrated that I had lifted her. Her dripping cunt landed hard, but she had stopped her gyrations. I knew she was on the verge. I went back to her clit, my tongue working speedily. Then her hips jerked, and she came. Little squirts bathed my face one after the other as her orgasm continued.

The tongue at my clit withdrew, replaced by what must have been another huge phallus. God, how they fucked me, driving me wild as I reached my peak. I lay there gasping with my eyes closed. Marianna’s voice broke through the mist of my dazed mind. She had slithered along the table until her head was beside mine.

“You see? I told you it was a good idea, our coming here,” she said. “Now, kiss me, my love.”

When we descended from the table, I saw other girls and women—not nuns, for they were dressed in more everyday clothes – those that were dressed, that is. They had come to watch the proceedings and naturally some had joined in. I guessed these were the penitent whores.

Six girls were standing in front of Marianna and me, gazing at us with the most otherworldly expressions. They appeared to range in age between twelve and about fourteen. These were the three who had climbed on the table or been fucking our arses. I gathered my three to me in a warm embrace, for they richly deserved it.

Most of the nuns had finished, but a few were still busy. I do confess to never having seen the like.

The Mother Superior, now naked herself, brought us fresh glasses of wine. She also held an alms box in her hand.

“I hope you have enjoyed your visit to our order,” she said. “Few are welcomed as you have been, but as you yourself said, we are all sisters. May I be so bold to ask if you would care to make a small contribution to our funds? We are in desperate need.”

I somehow found that hard to believe, but I’d had a fine time, and a donation was the least I could do. Her controlled demeanour slipped a little when she saw how many gold coins I dropped into the box.

It was the strangest sight you could ever have seen: a gaggle of nuns – all thoroughly naked – kneeling and praying for our safety in the fight against the barbarians. Surely, the Lord looked favourably on such a demonstration.

It was with shaky legs that we made our way back to the harbour. The following morning, we set a southerly course for Africa.

On to Chapter Nine!