My evening with Doctor Levi was convivial. I spent the first civilized moments I had had since leaving Oxford all those months before. For a brief moment, the ever present weight of fear and anxiety lifted and I knew again what it was to be in gentle company.

My rags were taken away by the simpleton, Youssef, and I was allowed to wash the prison filth from my limbs before I put on the clean white jellaba that was left for me. Wearing clean linen was a rare treat. I could not remember the last time I had changed it. The jellaba was a pleasant garment, a kind of long, hooded shift that proved commodious when sitting cross-legged in the Eastern manner.

"If there is nothing I can give you other than relief from drudgery for this night, then at least let it be clean clothes," Levi said, as he sat picking at a bowl of olives, watching me rinse myself clean at his well in the corner of the courtyard. By that time I had taken on the appearance of a lusty fellow, lean of limb, flat bellied and strong. Hardship, life at sea and the galleys had crafted muscles upon me that Samson would have envied. However, there was no semblance of Delilah in Levi's eyes. Rather, he looked at me as I had seen some anatomists do at lectures in Oxford when presenting their cadaver, or an assayer regarding their silver.

Despite this unsettling moment, we retired to a small room that opened on to the courtyard. We talked of places we had been to, books we had read and the gossip we had heard, whilst moths dashed themselves into the flames of candles, or fastened themselves to the intricately pierced lamp that hung over our heads.

Admittedly, my knowledge of the Court of His Britannic Majesty was almost a year out of date in comparison to Levi's intelligence regarding the Sultan, his favourites and their movements. Even so, I learned with pleasure that it was not just Merry England that found the Stuart king's amours an entertainment most piquant.

"So a whore rules by means of your king's cock?" laughed Levi.

"I would not say rule, and I would not say that Mistress Nell is a whore. At least not to her face. But then the whole court is whoring its way through every young woman in London, and not a few from elsewhere. I am surprised they have the energy. Even a bull must rest."

Levi's eyebrow raised a little at that. "And you have experience?"

"I grew up on a farm."

"That's not what I meant. In my experience, once a man has lost himself in lust, nothing can sate him. It is like an affliction of the brain. He pursues depravity to an ever greater extent, losing himself in fleshly sin. There are many in this town lost in this way."

For a moment, I thought of Morgan. Fleshly sin. Depravity. "Aye, mayhap you have something there," I said. "But what of your Sultan?"

"The man is cruel..."

"That is the way of kings."

Levi nodded politely and continued, "And no better than the men you have described already." He paused to sip from an elegant glass that he raised to his lips. Leaning forward he placed the glass down and began to whisper like a man plotting against the King, his words tumbling out in a torrent as if eager to be heard before Levi thought better of himself. "I have heard that he will take the head of a slave for the merest fault. 'Tis mere chance that the man who holds his horse's reins lives to hold them again. He is fickle and enjoys keeping his courtiers guessing. Who will be sawn in half next? Who knows? But when the Sultan wears yellow robes, all the court crawl on their bellies, for he signals his desire to kill by that colour."

"I have known men of a similar disposition. I would say that men of power have a propensity to acts of unwonted cruelty," I said, thinking of Morgan again. "But forgive me, I interrupted you."

"It is no matter," Levi replied with a gracious smile before proceeding in the same low tone as before. "He conceals his lustful nature behind a façade of probity. His whoring and rapine is conducted within the harem among his many wives, but he condemns his followers for their own whoring, gelding them like so many sheep. How has he dishonoured so many? Marriage. He takes whom he pleases against all custom but with the Black Guard around him, who will say nay? I am sure that the man is mad. I do not know which way this Sultan will take Morocco, but men who are not of the faith are sure to suffer. My bretheren in Marrakech suffered when the last Sultan was alive. I see no reason why things would change. "

"Why stay?"

Levi's eyes were filled with the weary sadness that one only sees in the stoic. Resigned to their future, unwilling to change course, knowing that there are rocks beneath the waves ahead, ready to rip out their keel. "Morocco is my home."

We were silent for a while after that.

It was I that broke the silence. "You would be welcome in London, Joseph. It is a place where learning is venerated. Mr Wren even now builds a new city on the remains of the old. He sweeps away the chaos of old superstition and doubt, replacing them with order, with philosophy, with beauty. A physician is a man of standing among our people, Jew or not. Yes, you would be welcome." I smiled before adding truthfully, "At least, a Jew is more welcome in London than a Catholic."

"And that is the curse of my people. You say I would be welcome in London but in the same breath say that a Catholic would not. Men are not constant things. How long would it be before a Jew was cursed in your streets? Where can we go where we are welcome? Morocco is my home, Doctor West. Even when I am made to feel the coldness of the Sultan's gaze, it will still be my home. Would you leave yours?"

My father figured strongly in my answer. "I have but it is only by leaving that you know what you have left, or what you need to go back to." A sudden urge to reiterate what I had said to Levi before we worked upon our patient came upon me. I know not why, but I have learned that at such times a moment presents itself where one's future hangs in the balance. My success over the surgery had left me rash and impulsive. Some would say daring, but ever after I have also said lucky. I took a breath and clasped my hands together, wrenching my face into as twisted visage of sorrow as I could manage.

"Will I ever see my home again, Joseph? Will I ever hold my sister's hand again as we walk to church? Is my mother still well, her ague held at bay by good physick, and not suffering under the ministrations of outdated charlatans? Will I ever look upon the green fields of the Vale of the White Horse again, and ride through hedgerow and lane to bring succour to a patient, or even to my family?"

I began to become loquacious as I heaped on more sentimental nonsense. "The orchards are beautiful at this time of year, you know. The apples hanging fat, almost ripe for picking but not quite. My mother makes a pie from them when they are still tart that is unforgettable. That pie is magnificent. Golden pastry hides those creamy apples, swimming in their own juice. She always makes enough for the family and enough for the household. It is a happy home, Joseph." I did not add, "Now that I have gone."

"You would like Oxfordshire. You really would." I paused, tear glazed eyes sweeping across the dishes and plates of the table. Crumbs were all that was left, along with a bowl of peaches, a fruit I have never much cared for. A thought struck me, which I spoke aloud, "You would always be welcome in my home, Joseph, should God grant me a chance to return to it."

Levi yawned then regarded me with the same odd expression that he had given me before. "Sadly, it is the Sultan's wish that you remain with the galleys. Perhaps you will gain your freedom in time, but now I believe a long day should be rewarded by a comfortable bed. I do not have much that I can offer, but at least it will be better than the bagnio." Another great yawn interrupted his flow and he stood to cover it. "Let us away to our beds." He clapped his hands and issued instructions for Youssef to direct me to a spare bed in a corner of the house.

I was in a ferment. It was obvious to me that what I had said had levered open the secret place where he concealed his compassion from the prying eyes of this cruel town, yet it was also clear that the interview was at an end. Withdrawal was the only route left to me if I was not to sour Levi's opinion of my predicament.

We bowed to one another, smiled then grasped each others' hands. "It has been a pleasure working with you, Doctor West," Levi said.

"For me too, Doctor Levi. I only wish we could meet again under better circumstances but I will be away under de Croix's orders before too long. It will be providential should I return. So many died on our first voyage. However, if I have a chance to visit again, I would very much like to."

Again the gaze he directed upon me was most queer. "My home is yours. May the blessings of the Prophet go with you, as my countrymen would say. I will send word to de Croix. Even he will think twice before putting a physician to the oar. We are in short supply in Salé."

"I thank you for your concern but I fear Captain de Croix will not heed you."

"Still, I will do my best. For now, good night, Matthew."

Youssef gestured for me to follow him and with a last bow, I did. A glance over my shoulder granted me the sight of Levi watching me leave, his hands clasped behind his back, a severe expression on his face.

The bed provided was comfortable in its way yet I could not settle. An hour or two had passed after Youssef had left me and Levi had retired. Lying awake I listened to the sound of the night. At first, beneath the cacophony of the myriad crickets within the courtyard and beyond Levi's walls, the house was quiet. An occasional bark of some distant delinquent canine disturbed the hot, still air, and distant waves rolled into shore with their regular lilting rhythm, but otherwise Salé was silent too.

The house was at its rest. It was time to act.

I slid from my bed and padded from my resting place back into the courtyard. A gibbous moon above cast all into stark shadow, or bathed the upper walls and palm fronds with a perceptible silvery light. It was a magical sight, and the beauty of it would have caused me to pause in admiration had my quest not been more urgent. Negotiating the hidden traps of Levi's potted herbs concealed in the darkness, I crept through the courtyard and found my way to the door that led to the invalid's quarters.

With great hesitancy, I opened the portal a crack and listened. I was alarmed to see the golden light of a lamp produce a tell-tale line that flashed like an arrow onto the tiles on which I stood. However, by holding the door almost shut, that little betrayal could be almost concealed. I put my ear to the crack. Little enough could be heard apart from the sonorous snores of one of the patients within and one poor soul groaning in his sleep. Content that no-one was moving about beyond, I opened the door enough to slide through and close it behind me.

The invalids' quarters were not large. The room was like a dormitory, with a door at each end. Pallets were arranged along one wall and were mostly empty save for the man I had brought with me, another who proved to be responsible for the snores that shook the rafters, and the object of my nocturnal perambulation. Smiling, I padded towards a sleeping Solomon Jones.

I was almost at the foot of Jones' bed when I heard someone fumbling at the door I had just passed through. Choking back a yelp of surprise, I looked for a place of concealment. There was nowhere obvious that I could hide without being seen by anyone who moved through the dormitory, apart from one place. My heart in my throat, I quickly crossed to the other door and prayed it would open. It was a rough thing, something a carpenter would not think twice about crafting, and its latch gave way easily enough. I must have closed that door behind me just as the dormitory's entrance opened.

A memory of a similar door in Tangier flashed into my head as I put my eye to a gap in the boards. Did my life ever change for the best? Once again, I had found myself in a position of some disadvantage.

It was Youssef. I should have known. Levi was a good physician. It was hardly likely that he would abandon his patients to the caress of the night without some attendant addressing their bodily needs. The mute meandered down the dormitory, checking each bed's incumbent, smiling to himself as he paused by each man. Apparently there was nothing to be done because Youssef continued his haphazard way down the dormitory towards my hiding place. I realized almost at the last moment that he intended to enter the room in which I now hid.

I glanced about me in the darkness and staggered away from the door. Of course, I could not see anything, for it was pitch dark, but with my hands outstretched I hoped for some form of object behind which I might hide. I almost gave myself away when the corner of what could only be a table struck me square in the cods. Stars burst before my eyes and I folded upon myself, falling to the floor. Biting my lips to prevent myself crying out from the pain, I had the presence of mind to roll out of sight just as Youssef opened the door, flooding the room with the soft light from his own lamp.

Tears distorted my view of Youssef but I thanked God that he seemed intent on something else in the room for he barely glanced in my direction. He strode with purpose to a large cabinet set at the back of the room. Intrigued, I shuffled my way into a better position from which to observe him, my tender manhood cradled within the womb of my hands.

There was something surreptitious about Youssef's actions that reminded me of times that I had spent as a child, sneaking at midnight into my father's kitchens in pursuit of a hunk of bread soaked with beef dripping. What was he about?

A chink of glass upon glass betrayed him. A happy groan escaped his lips as he lifted something out from within the cupboard. He placed it on a counter before the open doors of the cabinet, next to his lamp.

An amber shimmer playing across the ceiling revealed what Youssef had found. It looked like a fluid filled glass jar in which something bobbed about, disturbed by its journey from the back of the cabinet to the counter. The grinding scrape of the stopper being removed only confirmed what I now suspected. Friend Youssef was not devout. Friend Youssef was acquainted with the grape. Friend Youssef lifted the jar to his lips and took a long draught.

Which he almost dropped with a gurgling cry when I clambered up from my hiding place and announced my presence with an involuntary groan. By God, how my cods ached! The jar crashed to the counter and the some of the contents slopped over the side, dripping in a steady stream to the floor, filling the air with the unmistakable scent of brandy.

"Shame on thee, Youssef!" Classical Arabic enriched my tone with a condescending quality and I spoke as a teacher would to a child, my mind stirred to firm resolution by a sudden realisation that I could bend this recalcitrant servant to my will. A plan that had been forming in my head all night was coalescing into something more tangible. "Thy master is abed and here thou standeth, corrupting thyself with forbidden liquor, bringing shame upon thy master's house!"

The poor fool looked as if he had been stung on the arse by a hornet. He backed away from me, casting his hands before him in a warding gesture that I now know was to avert the gaze of the Evil Eye. He would have spoken, judging by the opening and closing of his mouth in what I judged to be protestations of his innocence, save that what emerged was only the strangled grunting of the tongueless.

I advanced upon him, merciless in my intent. "Thou hast sinned. Get thee to thy knees and beg forgiveness, dog! Shall I summon thy master and present him with the evidence of thy crime? Shall the abid take thy hand from thee in the marketplace?"

Youssef fell with a cry to the floor and clutched at the hem of my new robe, snivelling wordlessly into it. I do believe he was simple as well as dumb for he seemed to accept my authoritarian role readily enough despite his viewing my arrival earlier in the day. More fool him. I needed an ally and quickly.

"Then, worm, thou must do as I sayest! For my command will keep thee safe from the abid's blades! One word from me to thy master and thou will feel the lash that a sinner surely deserves!"

I turned to the cabinet and picked up the jar. The fumes of strong drink caused me to blink and wrinkle my nose in response. There was something else too, a scent that I could not quite place but reminded me of the tomb. Looking down at the contents, I perceived a wizened hand, raggedly cut at the wrist, floating within its bath of spirits of wine. Of course, Levi kept samples to study at his leisure! I glanced askance at Youssef, revolted by the thought of drinking from that jar. What would drive a man to do that? Then again, drink is drink and one never knows when one can partake of it again. Of that knowledge, I could testify with experience before the King's Bench. I offered the jar to the servant and smiled as he received it with a simpering grin. Youssef was a slave to his thirst and malleable to my implacable will.

"Friend Youssef, take thy libation in peace but listen closely to my words."

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