The Pirates of the Levant Read Online Free PDF Page A

back at the lifeless bodies of its captain, pilot and the three Moriscos silhouette against the fading light. They hung from the lateen yard, their feet almost touching the sea as if they were about to swallowed up by its shadow. Among them was one of young men, on whose private parts, alas, Sergeant Albaladejo had found incriminating hair. The other boy, fortunately stillhairless, had been put to row, as had some of the other captives; the rest were in chains in the hold.
The Morisco pilot, who turned out to be Valencian, ha sworn in good Castilian, and with the noose already round his neck, that despite being expelled from Spain as a boy, h was a true convert and had always lived a Christian life, claimed he was as indifferent to the sect of the Prophet that Christian in Oran who said:
I don't deny our Lord nor yet accept Mohammed, And if I seem to be a Moor in voice and dress, I do so simply for the riches I'll possess.
He had only been circumcised, he claimed, to silence wicked tongues when he was living in Algiers and Saleh. Captain Urdemalas replied that he was very pleased to hear this, for since he had clearly been such a good Christian, he would soon die as one too and with no chaplain on board, he would need only a credo and an Our Father to be ready for the next life. For that reason, Captain Urdemalas said he would be perfectly happy to grant the pilot a little time before hanging him by the neck. The Morisco took this very badly and blasphemed against God and the Holy Virgin, less in Castilian this time and more in the lingua franca of Barbary laced with the dialect of the Valencian Muslims. He only paused in these insults to spit a well-aimed gob of saliva Captain Urdemalas' boot. At this point the Captain halted the ceremony, and said that there would be no bloody credos either.
The pilot, hands tied behind his back, was hoisted straight up onto the yard, kicking furiously and without another lance to consign his soul to God. As for the other wounded corsairs, regardless of whether they were Moriscos or not, they were thrown unceremoniously, hands bound, into the sea. There was only one man left standing, and because he been stabbed in the neck, he could not be hanged. His wound was half a span long, although no vein had been cut and he wasn't bleeding much — indeed, viewed from one side, the poor devil looked as fresh as a daisy, albeit somewhat pale. But the overseer was of the opinion that if they hanged him, the wound in his neck would tear, which would make for a very ugly scene. The Captain took one look at him and agreed, so the man ended up being tossed into the sea along with his comrades.
I went in search of Diego Alatriste, almost feeling my way in the dark. A gentle north-east wind was blowing, the moon had not yet come up and the sky was thick with stars. The deck was packed with soldiers and sailors resting after the battle, having first eaten some salt fish and drunk a little wine to restore their strength, and I won't say that they stank, although they did, because I myself was part of the stink and was, I'm sure, contributing more than my fair share of odours and emanations.
The galley-men had stowed their oars, leaving the ship to the care of the favourable wind, and had received some hardtack and a little oil and vinegar, which they ate lying down between their benches, talking quietly, and occasionally singing softly to pass the time or complaining about their cuts and bruises. The lines from a song drifted over to me, accompanied by the clink of chains and the slapping of hands on the leather that covered the benches:
I'll have it known
Through all the lands
That Christian galleys,
Short of feet,
Are always short of hands.
It was a night like many others. The Mulata was heading south on a calm sea, gliding slowly through the darkness, with its great sails billowing and swaying above the deck like two pale stains that alternately concealed and revealed the starry sky. I found Captain