Upon the following day the doge requested Gervaise to accompany him to
a meeting of the council. Upon entering the grand hall he found not only
the members of the council assembled in their robes of office, but a
large gathering of the nobles and principal citizens of Genoa, together
with the knights of the galley whom, under Ralph Harcourt's orders,
Gervaise found, to his surprise, drawn up in order across the Hall.
Here, in the name of the Republic, Battista Fragoso announced to him
that, by the unanimous decision of the council, he had been elected
a noble of Genoa; an honour, he added, on only one or two previous
occasions in the history of the Republic bestowed upon any but of
princely rank, but which he had nobly earned by the great service he
had rendered to the State. His name was then inscribed in the book
containing the names and titles of the nobles of Genoa. Next, Battista
Fragoso presented him with a superb suit of Milanese armour, as his own
personal gift, and then with a casket of very valuable jewels, as the
gift of the city of Genoa. Each presentation was accompanied by the
plaudits of the assembly, and by the no less warm acclamations of the
knights. Ralph was then called forward, and presented with a suit of
armour but little inferior to that given to Gervaise, and each knight
received a heavy gold chain of the finest workmanship of Genoa.
Two days later the preparations for departure were complete, and a
sufficient number of men were engaged to man the prizes. This charge,
also, Genoa took upon itself, and put on board much stronger crews than
Gervaise deemed necessary for the navigation of the ships. The weather
was fine and the wind favourable, and a quick passage was made to
Rhodes. When the harbour was in sight, the ships were ordered to proceed
in single file, the galley leading the way with a huge banner of the
Order floating from her stern, and smaller flags on staffs at each side.
It was not until they passed by the two forts guarding the entrance that
the flags fluttering at the mastheads of the prizes afforded to those
on shore an intimation of the event that had taken place, and even then
none supposed that this fleet of prizes had been taken by the one galley
that headed them.
As the Santa Barbara slowly rowed up the harbour, the State barge of
the grand master put off to meet it, and D'Aubusson, with a party of
knights, soon stepped on board.
“Welcome back, Sir Gervaise! although I little expected to see you
return so soon. What is the meaning of this procession that follows you?
By their rig and appearance they are Moors, but how they come to be thus
sailing in your wake is a mystery to us all.”
“They are Moors, your Excellency; they form part of an expedition fitted
out by the corsairs of Algiers, Tripoli, Tunis, and other piratical
strongholds, for the purpose of destroying the commerce and ravaging the
coasts of Western Italy. Fortunately, we fell in with a ship that had
been plundered by three of them on their way north, and learned from the
dying captain, who was the only one of her crew left with life on board,
the direction they were taking, and something of the nature of the
expedition. We pursued the three galleys, came up with them, had the
good fortune to capture them, and then had the delight of finding among
their rowers the noble knights, Fabricius Caretto, Giacomo Da Vinci, and
Pietro Forzi.”
The grand master, and the knights with him, uttered an exclamation of
joy, and, as the three knights named stepped forward, embraced them with
the liveliest pleasure.
“My dear Caretto,” the grand master exclaimed, “it is almost a
resurrection, for we have all long mourned you as dead; and your return
to us at the present time is indeed fortunate; for upon whose judgment
and aid could I better rely than those of my old comrade in arms?” Then,
turning to Gervaise, he went on: “It was a daring and brilliant exploit
indeed, Sir Gervaise, and in due time honour shall be paid to you and
your brave companions, to whom and to you I now tender the thanks of the
Order. But tell me the rest briefly, for I would fain hear from these
noble knights and old friends the story of what has befallen them.”
“My tale is a very brief one, your Highness. The Cavalier Caretto sailed
at once in a swift craft from the south of Sardinia, to carry warnings
to the cities on the coast of Italy of the danger that threatened them,
and in order that some war galleys might be despatched by Genoa to meet
the corsair fleet. During his absence we discovered the little inlet in
which the pirates lay hidden, waiting doubtless the arrival of the three
ships we had captured, to commence operations. On the return of the
knight with the news that it would be at least a fortnight before Genoa
could fit out any galleys, and fearing that the pirates might at any
moment put to sea, we procured some small Sardinian craft, and fitted
them as fire ships; with the captives we had rescued, and some Sard
fishermen, we manned the three prizes, distributing the knights between
them, and at night launched the fire ships against the corsairs, whose
ships were crowded together. Eleven of them were burnt; six we captured
as they endeavoured to make their way out, and took possession of four
others whose crews had run them ashore and deserted them. None escaped.”
Exclamations of astonishment and almost of incredulity broke from the
knights.
“And is it possible, Sir Gervaise, that these thirteen vessels that
follow you are all prizes captured by your galley alone?”
“It is, as I have the honour to tell your Highness. But their capture,
except in the case of the first three, was due almost solely to good
fortune and to the position in which we found them, almost incapable of
defence.”
“What think you, knights and comrades?” the grand master said to his
companions. “There were some of you who deemed it rash to entrust a
galley to so young a commander and so youthful a crew. What say you now?
Never in the annals of the Order has such a sight been witnessed as that
of thirteen prizes being brought in by a single galley, to say naught
of eleven others destroyed. Caretto, you and your comrades must have had
some share in this marvellous victory.”
“By no means,” the Italian replied; “beyond having the honour of aiding
to carry out the orders of Sir Gervaise Tresham, the commander of the
galley. The plan was wholly of his own devising, its execution solely
due to his arrangement of the details, and that without the slightest
suggestion on the part of myself or my comrades. I will presently
narrate to you the whole story; it will come better from my lips than
from those of Sir Gervaise, whose disposition is to wholly underestimate
the merit of the action he has performed. But I must also bear
testimony, not only to the bravery displayed by Sir Gervaise, Sir Ralph
Harcourt, his lieutenant, and every one of the knights his crew, but
to the admirable discipline, order, and good fellowship on board the
galley, which would have done credit to the most experienced commander
and to the most veteran knights of the Order.”
The grand master paused a moment, and then said in a loud voice, “Sir
Gervaise Tresham, Sir Ralph Harcourt, and knights of the seven langues
of the Order--As yet I can hardly appreciate the full extent of the
service that you have rendered. I thanked you but now for the capture of
three corsairs; but what can I say when I learn that you have destroyed
or taken a whole fleet? I invite you all to a banquet that I shall hold
tonight, where the Cavalier Caretto will relate to us all the details of
this marvellous exploit.”
Within a few minutes after the return of the grand master and his party
ashore, the flags of the Order were run up to the flagstaffs of every
fort and bastion: the bells of the churches chimed out a triumphant
peal, and a salute was fired from the guns of the three water forts,
while along the wall facing the port, the townspeople waved numberless
gay flags as a welcome to the galley. Most of the knights went ashore
at once, but Gervaise, under the excuse that he wished to see that
everything was in order before landing, remained on board until it was
time to go to the banquet, being sure that by that time the knights
would have fully told the story at their respective auberges, and that
there would be no more questions to answer. The banquet differed but
little from that at Genoa, and Gervaise was heartily glad when it was
over.
The next day the grand master sent for him.
“If I judge rightly, Sir Gervaise, the thing that will best please you
at present, is an order to put to sea again at once, to conclude the
usual period of service of the galley.”
“It is indeed,” Gervaise replied earnestly. “But I should be glad, sir,
if you will allow that the time should begin to count afresh from our
present start. We have really had but a short period of service, for we
wasted a week at Genoa, and ten days on our journey back here, so that
we have had really no more than a month's active service.”
“Yes, if you count only by time,” D'Aubusson said, with a smile.
“Reckoning by results, you have done a good five years' cruise. However,
so small a request can certainly be granted. The places of the two
knights who were killed, and of four others whose wounds are reported
to me as being too severe for them to be fit for service for some time,
shall be filled up at once from the langues to which each belonged. You
will cruise among the Western islands, whence complaints have reached us
of a corsair who has been plundering and burning. Sometimes he is heard
of as far north as Negropont, at others he is off the south of the
Morea; then, again, we hear of him among the Cyclades. We have been
unwilling to despatch another galley, for there is ample employment for
every one here. After the blow you have struck on the Moorish corsairs,
they are likely to be quiet for a little. You had best, therefore, try
for a time if you cannot come across this pirate. You must let me know
how much you paid for the vessels you used as fire ships, and to the
Sards; this is an expense chargeable to the general service. I may tell
you that to me it is due that no recognition of your exploits, such as
that which Genoa bestowed upon you, will be made. At the council this
morning it was urged that some signal mark of honour should be granted;
but I interposed, saying that you had already received exceptional
promotion, and that it would not be for your good, or that of the
Order, for so young a knight to be raised to an official position of
a character usually held by seniors, and that I was perfectly sure
you would prefer remaining in command of your galley to any promotion
whatever that would retain you on the Island.”
“Indeed I should, your Highness. I wish to gain experience and to do
service to the Order, and so far from pleasing me, promotion would
trouble and distress me, and, could it have been done, I would most
gladly have sent home the prizes, instead of going to Genoa, and would
myself have continued the cruise.”
“So the Cavalier Caretto told me,” the grand master replied. “Very well,
then. In three days you shall set out again. The admiral tells me that
never before has a galley returned with the slaves in such good health
and condition, and that unquestionably your plan of erecting an awning
to shelter them from the midday heat and the night dews has had a
most beneficial effect on their health; he has recommended its general
adoption.”
Three days later the Santa Barbara again left port, and was soon upon
her station. For some weeks she cruised backwards and forwards along the
coast and among the islands. They often heard of the pirate ship, but
all their efforts to find her were unavailing.
One evening there were signs of a change of weather, and by morning it
was blowing a furious gale from the north; in spite of the efforts of
the rowers, the galley narrowly escaped being driven ashore; but she at
last gained the shelter of an island, and anchored under its lee, the
slaves being utterly worn out by continuous exertion. As soon as the
gale abated they again put to sea, and, after proceeding for some miles,
saw a ship cast up on shore. Some people could be made out on board of
her, and a white flag was raised.
“She must have been driven ashore during the gale,” Gervaise said. “We
will row in to within a quarter of a mile of her and see what we can do
for them.”
As soon as the anchor was dropped a boat was lowered.
“I will go myself, Ralph, for I shall be glad to set my foot on shore
again. There must be people on the island; I wonder none of them have
come to the aid of those poor fellows. I suppose the villages are on the
other side of the island, and they have not yet heard of the wreck.”
Gervaise asked three of the knights to accompany him, and the boat,
rowed by galley slaves, was soon on its way. All were glad at the change
afforded to the monotony of their life on board, and at the prospect of
a scamper on shore.
There were but five or six men to be seen on the deck of the wreck, and
these had, as the boat approached, come down to the rocks as if to meet
those who came to their aid; but as the knights leapt out, they threw
themselves suddenly upon them with knives and scimitars that had
hitherto been concealed beneath their garments, while at the same moment
a crowd of men appeared on the deck of the ship, and, leaping down, ran
forward with drawn swords. Two of the knights fell dead before they had
time to draw their weapons. The third shook off his two assailants,
and for a minute kept them both at bay; but others, rushing up, cut him
down.
Gervaise had received a slight wound before he realised what was
happening. He snatched his dagger from its sheath, and struck down one
assailant; but ere he could raise it to strike again, another leapt on
to his back, and clung there until the rest rushed up, when he shouted,
“Take him alive! take him alive!” and, throwing down their weapons, half
a dozen of the pirates flung themselves upon Gervaise, and strove
to pull him to the ground, until at last, in spite of his desperate
resistance, they succeeded in doing so. His armour was hastily stripped
off, his hands and feet bound, and then at the orders of the pirate who
had leapt on his back, and who was evidently the captain, half a dozen
men lifted him on to their shoulders. As they did so four guns from the
galley flashed out, and the balls flew overhead. The pirates, who had
already begun to quarrel over the armour and arms of the fallen knights,
at once took to their heels, followed by the galley slaves from the
boat.
“Make haste,” the captain said to the men carrying Gervaise.
“They are lowering their boats; we must be under way before they come
up.”
In a minute or two Gervaise was set down on his feet, the cords round
his legs were cut, and he was made to hurry along with his captors. In
a short time an inlet was reached, and here Gervaise saw, to his
mortification, the pirate craft for which the Santa Barbara had in vain
been searching. As soon as the party were all on board, the ropes by
which she was moored to two trees were thrown off; the great sails
hoisted, and she sailed boldly out. Although the gale had entirely
abated, there was still a brisk wind blowing, and it was evident to the
captain of the corsair that under such circumstances he could outsail
the galley that had long been searching for him; when, therefore,
the Santa Barbara came in sight, just as he and his crew had finished
stripping the wreck of its contents, the idea had occurred to him to
attempt to entice some of the knights to land.
As soon as the vessel was under way he abused his followers hotly for
not having obeyed his orders to capture the knights without bloodshed;
but they pleaded that it was as much as they had been able to do to
capture Gervaise in that way, and that they could never have overcome
the four together, before the boats would have had time to come from the
ship.
Gervaise had been told to sit down with his back to a mast and in this
position he could, when the vessel heeled over to the breeze, obtain a
view of the sea. It was with a feeling of bitter mortification and rage
that he saw the galley lying but half a mile away, as the corsair issued
from the inlet. A moment later he heard a gun fired, and saw the signal
hoisted to recall the boats.
“If the wind had been favourable,” the captain said to his mate, “we
would have borne down upon her, and could have reached and captured her
before the boats got back, for you may be sure that they have landed
almost all their men. However, we can't get there against the wind, and
we will now say goodbye to them.”
Gervaise knew well that at the pace they were running through the water
the galley would have no chance whatever of overtaking her, and that,
ere the knights came on board again, she would be already two or three
miles away. A point of land soon concealed the galley from view, and
when he caught sight of her, as she rounded the point, she was but a
speck in the distance.
They passed several islands in the course of the day, changing their
direction to a right angle to that which they had at first pursued, as
soon as they were hidden from the sight of the galley by an intervening
island. As night came on they anchored in a little bay on the coast of
the Morea. The sails being furled, the sailors made a division of the
booty they had captured on the island, and of the portable property
found on board the wreck. A gourd full of water was placed to Gervaise's
lips by one of the men of a kinder disposition than the rest. He drank
it thankfully, for he was parched with thirst excited by the pain caused
by the tightness with which he had been bound.
He slept where he sat. All night four men remained on guard, although
from what he heard they had no fear whatever of being overtaken. In
the morning his arms were unbound, and they stripped off his tunic and
shirt. They had evidently respect for his strength, for before loosing
his arms they tightly fastened his ankles together. The removal of his
shirt exposed Claudia's gift to view.
“Take that from him and give it to me,” the captain said. As the two men
approached, Gervaise seized one in each hand, dashed them against
each other, and hurled them on the deck. But the exertion upset his
equilibrium, and after making a vain effort to recover it, he fell
heavily across them. The captain stooped over him, and, before he could
recover himself, snatched the chain from his neck.
“You are a stout fellow,” he said, laughing, “and will make a fine
slave. What have you got here that you are ready to risk your life
for?” He looked at the little chain and its pendant with an air of
disappointment. “'Tis worth but little,” he said, showing it to his
mate. “I would not give five ducats for it in the market. It must be a
charm, or a knight would never carry it about with him and prize it so
highly. It may be to things like this the Christians owe their luck.”
“It has not brought him luck this time,” the mate observed with a laugh.
“Even a charm cannot always bring good luck, but at any rate I will try
it;” and he put it round his neck just as Gervaise had worn it. The
latter was now unbound, and permitted to move about the deck. The
strength he had shown in the struggle on shore, and the manner in which
he had hurled, bound as he was, two of their comrades to the deck, had
won for him the respect of his captors, and he was therefore allowed
privileges not granted to the seamen of the vessel that had had the ill
fortune to be cast on shore so close to the spot where the corsair
was hiding. These had been seized, driven to the ship, and having been
stripped of the greater portion of their clothes, shut down in the hold.
Although angry that but one out of the four who landed had been
captured, the captain was in a good humour at having tricked his
redoubtable foes, and was disposed to treat Gervaise with more
consideration than was generally given to captives. The latter had not
spoken a word of Turkish from the time he was captured, and had shaken
his head when first addressed in that language. No suspicion was
therefore entertained that he had any knowledge of it, and the Turks
conversed freely before him.
“Where think you we had better sell him?” the mate asked the captain,
when Gervaise was leaning against the bulwark watching the land, a short
quarter of a mile away. “He ought to fetch a good ransom.”
“Ay, but who would get it? You know how it was with one that Ibrahim
took two years ago. First there were months of delay, then, when the
ransom was settled, the pasha took four-fifths of it for himself, and
Ibrahim got far less than he would have done had he sold him as a slave.
The pashas here, and the sultans of the Moors, are all alike; if they
once meddle in an affair they take all the profit, and think they do
well by giving you a tithe of it. There are plenty of wealthy Moors who
are ready to pay well for a Christian slave, especially when he is a
good looking young fellow such as this. He will fetch as much as all
those eight sailors below. They are only worth their labour, while
this youngster will command a fancy price. I know a dozen rich Moors in
Tripoli or Tunis who would be glad to have him; and we agreed that we
would run down to the African coast for awhile, for that galley has been
altogether too busy of late for our comfort, and will be all the more
active after this little affair; besides, people in these islands have
got so scared that one can't get within ten miles of any of them now
without seeing their signal smokes rising on the hills, and finding,
when they land, the villages deserted and stripped of everything worth
carrying away.”
This news was a disappointment to Gervaise. He had calculated that he
would be sold at one of the Levant ports, and had thought that with his
knowledge of Turkish he should have no great difficulty in escaping
from any master into whose hands he might fall, and taking his chance of
either seizing a fishing boat, or of making his way in a trading ship to
some district where the population was a mixed one, and where trade was
winked at between the merchants there, and those at some of the Greek
towns. To escape from Tunis or Tripoli would be far more difficult;
there, too, he would be beyond the reach of the good offices of Suleiman
Ali, who would, he was sure, have done all in his power to bring about
his release. Of one thing he was determined: he would not return to
Rhodes without making every possible effort to recover Claudia's gage,
as he considered it absolutely incumbent on him as a knight to guard, as
something sacred, a gift so bestowed. The fancy of the corsair to
retain the jewel as a charm he regarded as a piece of the greatest good
fortune. Had it been thrown among the common spoil, he would never have
known to which of the crew it had fallen at the division, still less
have traced what became of it afterwards; whereas now, for some time, at
any rate, it was likely to remain in the captain's possession.
Had it not been for that, he would have attempted to escape at the first
opportunity, and such an opportunity could not fail to present itself
ere long, for he had but to manage to possess himself of Moslem garments
to be able to move about unquestioned in any Turkish town. When it
became dark he was shut up in the hold, which was, he found, crowded
with captives, as, in addition to the crew of the wreck, between forty
and fifty Greeks, for the most part boys and young girls, had been
carried off from the villages plundered. It was pitch dark below,
although the scuttle had been left open in order to allow a certain
amount of air to reach the captives; Gervaise, therefore, felt his way
about cautiously, and lay down as soon as he found a clear space. Save
an occasional moan or curse, and the panting of those suffering from the
heat and closeness of the crowded hold, all was still. The majority
of the captives had been some time in their floating prison, and
their first poignant grief had settled down into a dull and despairing
acceptance of their fate; the sailors, newly captured, had for hours
raved and cursed, but, worn out by their struggle with the elements, and
their rage and grief, they had now fallen asleep.
It was long before Gervaise dozed off. He was furious with himself for
having fallen into the trap; if he had, as he said to himself, lain off
the beach in the boat, and questioned the supposed shipwrecked sailors,
their inability to reply to him would have at once put him on his guard;
as it was, he had walked into the snare as carelessly and confidently as
a child might have done. Even more than his own captivity, he regretted
the death of his three comrades, which he attributed to his own want
of care. The next morning he was again allowed on deck. The vessel was
under way, and her head was pointing south. To his surprise some of the
crew gave him a friendly greeting; he was unable to understand a manner
so at variance with their hatred to the Christians, until one of them
said to him in a mixture of Greek and Italian, “We have heard from
our countrymen who were in the boat with you, that they received much
kindness at your hands, and that of all the Christians they had served
under, you were the kindest master. Therefore, it is but right now Allah
has decreed that you in turn should be a slave to the true believers,
that you should receive the same mercy you gave to Moslems when they
were in your power.”
The captain came up as the man was speaking. He talked for a time to the
sailor, who then turned again to Gervaise. “The captain says that he is
told you were the commander of that galley; he has questioned the eight
men separately, and they all tell the same story: and yet he cannot
understand how so young a man should command a galley manned by warriors
famous for their deeds of arms, even among us who are their foes.”
“This galley was an exception,” Gervaise replied; “the knights on
board were all young, as they could be better spared than those more
experienced, at a time when your sultan is known to be preparing for an
attack on Rhodes.”
The captain was silent for a minute when this was interpreted to him; he
had at the time noticed and wondered at the youth of the four knights,
and the explanation seemed to him a reasonable one.
“I wish I had known it,” he said after a pause; “for had I done so, I
would have fought and captured her yesterday; I have half a mind to go
back and seek her now.”
He called up one of the ex slaves who was a native of Tripoli, and who
had now taken his place as a member of the crew, and asked him a number
of questions. Gervaise felt uncomfortable while the man was answering.
Fortunately, his rowers had agreed to say nothing whatever of the
destruction of the corsair fleet, of which no word had as yet reached
the pirates, deeming that, in their anger at the news, the pirates might
turn upon them for the part that they had, however involuntarily, borne
in it.
As soon as he perceived that the captain entertained the idea of
returning to engage the galley, the man felt that if he were to avoid
a return into captivity he must deter him from taking such a step. He
therefore, in answer to his questions as to the strength of the crew of
the galley and the fighting powers of the knights, reported the capture
of the three vessels. The captain listened almost incredulously to his
statement, and, calling up another two of the men, questioned them also
as to the occurrence. Having heard them, he turned away and paced the
deck, in evident anger; however, he gave no instructions for a change of
course, and, to the great satisfaction of the eight rescued slaves, the
vessel continued her course southward.
As they neared the African coast, Gervaise kept an eager lookout, in
hopes that Visconti's galley might appear in sight. The captain's temper
had not recovered from the effect of the news of the capture of three
Moorish vessels by the galley commanded by Gervaise, and the latter,
seeing the mood he was in, kept forward so as to avoid coming in contact
with him. He had early taken the opportunity of saying to one of the
released galley slaves, “I pray you, if you have any feeling of kindness
towards me for the efforts I made to alleviate your condition, say
no word of my knowledge of Turkish, and ask the others also to remain
silent on this point.”
The man had nodded, and the request was observed by them all.
The captain's irritation showed itself in his treatment of the other
captives. These were brought up every day from the hold, and kept on
deck until dark, as the price they would fetch in the slave market in
Tripoli would depend greatly upon their health and appearance; but when
the captain came near them he several times struck them brutally, if
they happened to be in his way. Gervaise had the greatest difficulty in
restraining his indignation, and, indeed, only did so because he felt
that his interference would but make things worse for them. When at last
the ship cast anchor off Tripoli, the captain ordered the boats to be
lowered. As he walked towards the gangway, he happened to push against
one of the captives, a Greek girl of some ten years of age. With an
angry exclamation he struck her to the deck. Gervaise sprang forward.
“You brute!” he exclaimed in English. “I have a good mind to throw you
overboard, and will do so the next time you strike one of these children
without cause.”
Infuriated by Gervaise's interference and threatening attitude, the
corsair drew his long knife; but before he could strike, Gervaise caught
his wrist; the knife fell from his hand, and Gervaise kicked it through
the open gangway into the sea. The captain shouted to his men to seize
the Christian, but the young knight's blood was up now. The first
man who came at him he seized by the sash round his waist, and threw
overboard; the two next he stretched on the deck with blows from his
clenched fist. Some of the others now drew their weapons, but the
captain shouted to them to sheath them.
“Fools!” he yelled. “Is it not enough that your cowardice has already
cost us the lives of three knights, whose capture would have brought us
a big sum? Throw him down and bind him. What! are fifty of you afraid of
one unarmed man? No wonder these Christians capture our ships, if this
is the mettle of our crews!”
Goaded by his words, the men made a general rush upon Gervaise, and, in
spite of his desperate efforts, threw him on to the deck and bound him;
then the captain, seizing a heavy stick in his left hand, his right
being still powerless, showered blows upon him until Gervaise almost
lost consciousness. “Throw some water over the dog,” the corsair said,
as he threw down the stick, panting with his exertions; and then,
without waiting to see if his order was obeyed, he took his place in the
boat, and was rowed ashore.
As soon as he had left, three or four of the ex galley slaves carried
Gervaise into the shade of the sail. The sailors, several of whom
bore signs of the late struggle, looked on sullenly, but offered no
opposition when the men took off the ropes and raised him into a sitting
posture against the mast. He had not entirely lost consciousness, and
was now fast recovering himself.
“Is there anything we can do for you?” one of the men asked in Italian.
“No I shall soon be all right again, although I am bruised all over, and
shall be stiff for a day or two. You had best leave me now, or you will
incur the enmity of these fellows.”
Gervaise was indeed bruised from his neck to his heels. Even in
his passion the pirate had avoided striking him on the head, as a
disfiguring mark on the face would diminish his value. Sitting there, he
congratulated himself that he had been beaten with a stick and not
with a whip; a stick is a weapon, and he did not feel the same sense of
dishonour that he would have experienced had he been beaten with a
whip. That such might be his lot in slavery he recognised. The backs of
Caretto and his two companions were seamed with the marks inflicted
by the gang master's whip, and he could scarce hope to escape the same
treatment; but at present he hardly felt a slave. There was another
reflection that to some extent mitigated the pain of his bruises;
the pirate captain held his treasured gage, and it was his fixed
determination to recover it. The man had at first in a rough way treated
him fairly, and had allowed him more liberty than the other captives,
and he would have felt reluctant to take extreme measure against him to
recover the gage. Now he was not only free from any sense of obligation,
but had a heavy score to settle with him.
After a time he got up and walked stiffly and painfully up and down
the deck, knowing that this was the best plan to prevent the limbs
from stiffening. The corsair did not return until night set in; he was
accompanied by an Arab, whose dress and appearance showed that he was
a person of importance. The other slaves had all been sent below, but
Gervaise still remained on deck, as the mate had not cared to risk
another conflict by giving him orders in the absence of the captain. As
the pirate stepped on deck he ordered some torches to be brought.
“This is the Christian I spoke of,” he said to the Arab, pointing to
Gervaise, who was leaning carelessly against the bulwark.
“He is, as you see, capable of hard work of any kind; his strength is
prodigious, for it took ten of my best men to bind him this morning.”
“Why did you wish to bind him?” the Arab asked coldly; “you told me that
although so strong he was of a quiet disposition, and would make a good
household slave.”
“I struck a slave girl who stood in my way,” the captain said, “and he
came at me so suddenly that I had to call upon the men to bind him. He
threw one of them overboard, and with his naked hands knocked down two
others; and, as I have told you, it took all the efforts of eight or ten
more before they could overcome him.”
The Arab took a torch from one of the sailors, walked across to
Gervaise, who was naked from the waist upwards, his upper garments
having been torn into shreds in the struggle, and examined him closely.
“And then you beat him,” he said, turning to the captain.
“Certainly I beat him. Do you think that a slave is to mutiny on board
my ship, and escape unpunished?”
The Arab, without replying, again inspected Gervaise.
“You ask a large sum for him,” he said.
“I should ask twice as much,” the captain replied, “if it were not for
the regulation that one slave from each cargo brought in belongs to the
sultan, and his officers would as a matter of course choose this fellow,
for the others are merely such as are sold in the market every day. This
man is one of the accursed Order of Rhodes, and would fetch a ransom
many times greater than the sum I ask for him, only I have not the time
to wait for months until the affair could be arranged.”
“And, moreover, Hassan,” the Arab said grimly, “it has doubtless not
escaped you that as the Sultan of Turkey is fitting out an expedition
to destroy the community of Rhodes, the chance of their ransoming their
comrade is a very slight one.”
“Threatened men live long,” the captain said. “The sultan has been
talking of attacking them for years, and something has always happened
to prevent his carrying out his intention. It may be the same again.”
“I will take him,” the Arab said shortly. “Here is a purse with the sum
you named; count it, and see that it is right.” As he stood apart while
the pirate counted out the money, the eight released slaves came up in a
body, and one of them, bowing low before the merchant, said,
“My lord, we have long been slaves of the Christian knights at Rhodes,
and have worked in their galleys. We were rescued the other day when
this knight was taken prisoner. Our life has been a hard one. We have
borne toil, and hardship, and blows, the heat of the sun by day, and the
damp by night, but we would humbly represent to you that since we were
placed in the galley commanded by this knight our lot has been made
bearable by his humanity and kindness. He erected an awning to shade us
from the sun's rays, and to shelter us from the night dews. He provided
good food for us. He saw that we were not worked beyond our strength,
and he forbade us being struck, unless for good cause. Therefore, my
lord, now that misfortune has fallen upon him, we venture to represent
to you the kindness with which he has treated us, in the hope that it
may please you to show him such mercy as he showed to us.”
“You have done well,” the Arab said, “and your words shall not be
forgotten. When you land tomorrow, inquire for the house of Isaac
Ben Ibyn. You are doubtless penniless, and I may be able to obtain
employment for those of you who may stop at Tripoli, and to assist those
who desire to take passage to their homes elsewhere. We are commanded to
be grateful to those who befriend us, and as you have shown yourselves
to be so, it is right that I, an humble servant of the Great One, should
in His name reward you.”
Motioning to Gervaise to follow him, the Arab stepped into his boat.
Gervaise turned to the men, and said in Italian, “Thanks, my friends,
you have well discharged any debt that you may think you owe me. Will
you tell that villain”--and he pointed to the captain threateningly--“I
warn him that some day I will kill him like a dog!” Then, turning, he
stepped into the bow of the boat, and the two men who rowed it at once
pushed off.