One morning towards the end of May, 1480, Sir John Boswell was standing
with some other knights on St. Stephen's Hill, near the city, having
hurried up as soon as a column of smoke from a bonfire lighted by the
lookout there, gave the news that the Turkish fleet was at last in
sight. A similar warning had been given a month previously, but the
fleet had sailed past the island, being bound for Phineka, which was the
rendezvous where Mahomet's great armament was to assemble. There could
be but little doubt that the long expected storm was this time about to
burst. The fleet now seen approaching numbered a hundred and sixty
large ships, besides a great number of small craft, conveying a force
variously estimated at from seventy to a hundred thousand men.
“'Tis a mighty fleet,” Sir John said; “and the worst of it is that we
know there are more to follow; still, I doubt not we shall send them
back defeated. Our defences are all complete; our recent peace with
Egypt has enabled us to fill up our magazines with provisions of all
kinds; the inhabitants of the Island have had ample warning to move
into the town, carrying with them everything of value; so the Turks
will obtain but little plunder, and will be able to gather no means of
subsistence on the island, as every animal has been driven within the
walls, and even the unripe corn has been reaped and brought in. However
long the siege lasts, we need be in no fear of being reduced to sore
straits for food. Look over there. There is a small craft under sail,
and it comes not from the direction of Phineka. See! one of the Turkish
galleys has separated from the rest and is making off in that direction.
It may be that the little craft contains one or two of our comrades who
are late in coming to join us.”
“It may well be so, Sir John, for they have been straggling in by twos
and threes for the last month.”
“I will get the grand master's leave to put out in one of the galleys,”
Sir John said, “for, by the way they are bearing, the Turks will cut the
little craft off before she can gain the port.”
He hurried to D'Aubusson, who was standing a short distance apart from
the others, gazing at the Turkish fleet. A minute later he was running
down the hill to the town, accompanied by three or four other knights;
they made direct for the outer port, where two galleys were lying in
readiness, leapt on board one of them, which already contained its quota
of knights, and at once rowed out of the port. Just as they did so the
Turkish galley fired a gun.
“I fear we shall be too late,” Sir John said; “the Turk is gaining fast
on the other craft, whatever she may be. There goes another gun. Row
your hardest!” he shouted down to the slaves.
The Turkish ship did not fire again; the wind was light, and they were
going two feet through the water to every one sailed by the other craft.
The galley from Rhodes was still half a mile away when the Turk was
close to the boat that was trying to escape. Sir John and the knights
chafed as they saw they would be too late.
“I can't make out why the boat did not use her oars,” the former said.
“Of course, she could not have kept away from the galley, but if she had
rowed it would have made some difference, and we might have been nearly
up.”
“I can only see one man on board of her, Sir John,” one of the younger
knights said; and two or three others murmured that they were of the
same opinion.
“The others must be lying down; she cannot have less than from fifteen
to twenty men. The Turk is close alongside. They still hold on. There!
She has gone about and escaped the attempt to run her down. Now she is
heading for us again! Brave fellows! brave fellows!” Sir John exclaimed,
while a cheer broke from those around him; “but they have done
for themselves. They must have seen us coming out, and if they had
surrendered might have hoped to have been retaken. Their chance of
getting quarter was truly not great, for expecting--as the Turks
do--to carry off both us and all the inhabitants of the Island, a dozen
fishermen would have seemed to them scarcely worth keeping. However, by
holding on they have thrown away any chance they may have had. The Turks
are alongside; they are leaping down into the little craft. Ah! Two more
galleys have just left their fleet, and are heading here.”
“See, Sir John,” one of the knights exclaimed, “there is a single man
standing in the bow of that craft: he is facing the Moors alone. See how
they crowd there; you can see the weapons flashing in the sun. They have
to press past the mast to get at him, and as yet he seems to hold them
all at bay.”
“He has chosen his post well, D'Urville. The number of his assailants
prevents the archers on the Turkish craft using their bows. Fire those
bow guns!” he shouted to the knights forward: “Take steady aim at the
galley. It will distract their attention.”
“Nobly done indeed!” one of the other knights shouted. “I have seen him
strike down four of the Turks.”
“Row, men, row! 'Tis useless!” Sir John muttered, as he clenched the
hilt of his sword. “Useless! A Roland could not long maintain so unequal
a fight.”
A groan broke from those around him as suddenly the dark mass of the
assailants made a forward move, and the single figure was lost to sight.
It was but for an instant; a moment later the crowd separated, and a man
was seen to spring overboard.
“They will riddle him with their spears when he comes up; we shall have
nothing to do but to avenge him. To your stations, comrades! It is our
turn now, and we have no time to lose, for the other two Turks will
be up in twenty minutes, and I had orders not to fight if it could be
avoided: but we must take this fellow.”
Five minutes later the galley ran alongside the Turk, to which those who
had captured the boat had already hastily returned. The ships discharged
their guns into each other, and then, as the galley ran alongside, the
knights tried to leap on board of her. They were opposed by a dense mass
of Turks, for in addition to her usual crew the Moslem was crowded with
troops. For three or four minutes the knights tried, but in vain, to get
a footing on board; then Sir John shouted to them to forbear, and gave
orders to the rowers at once to push off. A cloud of arrows swept across
the poop as they did so; but for the most part these fell harmless from
the armour of the knights. For a time the cannon on both sides continued
to fire, but as the Christians increased their distance it gradually
ceased.
They had gone but a hundred yards from the Turk when a head appeared
over the stern railing of the poop, and a figure swung itself on to the
deck. The man was attired in Turkish garments, but his head was bare,
and the exclamation, “A Christian!” broke from the knights.
The man strode up to Sir John Boswell.
“You used to say you would make matters even with me some day, Sir John,
and you have more than kept your word.”
Sir John fell back a pace in astonishment, and then with a shout, “By
St. George, it is Tresham!” threw his arms round Gervaise's neck, while
the knights thronged round with exclamations of satisfaction.
“And it was you whom we saw keep the Turks at bay for three good minutes
single handed,” Sir John said, holding Gervaise at arm's length to gaze
into his face. “Truly it seemed well nigh impossible that any one who
was like to be on that craft could have performed so doughty a deed. And
how did you escape?”
“It was simple enough,” Gervaise replied. “As soon as I dived I turned
and swam along under the boat and came up by the stern, and then held on
by the rudder, sheltered from their sight. I saw that the galley would
be up in five minutes, and had no fear of their wasting time to look for
me. Directly you came alongside her I dived again, and rose under your
stern. I did not think that you would be able to take her, for all their
craft are crowded with troops; so I contented myself with holding on
until you were out of reach of their arrows, and then I climbed up.”
“I am delighted to see you again, Gervaise. I was feeling very sore at
the moment, and I know the others felt the same, at being obliged to
sheer off without making a capture; but the grand master's orders were
strict. We noted your craft pursued by the Turks, and I asked leave to
take out a galley to cut her off. He said, 'Take one, Sir John, but do
not adventure an attack against the Turk unless she is likely to fall
an easy prize to you. Her capture would be of little benefit to us, and
would be dearly purchased at the cost of a knight's life. Therefore,
as soon as we engaged her, and I found that she was full of troops and
could not be captured without heavy loss, and that two of her consorts
might arrive before we accomplished it, it was plainly my duty to
abandon the attempt, although, you may guess, it went sorely against
the grain to give the order, especially as I knew that a host would be
looking on from St. Stephen's Hill. However, your rescue more than makes
up for our failure; and thankful indeed am I that I made the suggestion
that we should put out to save that little craft, though I thought it
contained but a few fishermen or some coasting sailors, who had, in
ignorance that the Turks were at hand, tried to enter Rhodes. One of
those looking on with me did, indeed, suggest that she might have on
board a knight or two coming to join us, but I did not give the matter a
second thought.”
“And how go things, Sir John? And how are old friends?”
“Ralph Harcourt and, I think, all your comrades in the Santa Barbara,
except the three who fell by your side when you were captured, are well,
and at present on the Island, as, for the last two years, none have been
allowed to depart. As to other matters, they go not so well as one could
wish. The commanderies have not responded to our call for aid as they
should have done. For this, however, they are not altogether to blame,
for we have been so often threatened with attack, and have so frequently
applied for aid in money or men, that they must have begun to doubt
whether the danger was really imminent. In other respects we are well
prepared. We have obtained large stores of provisions from Egypt, and
shall have no ground for uneasiness on that score. The defences have
been greatly strengthened, and no one fears that we shall not be able
to beat off an attack. We have destroyed the principal buildings outside
the walls, though it would have been better could we have gone much
further in this direction. And now let us have your adventures and
escape.”
“'Tis a long story, Sir John, and I must pray you to let me defer it for
a time. In the first place, I have two or three wounds that I shall be
glad to have bandaged.”
“Why did you not say so at once?” Sir John exclaimed. “In those dark
clothes, soaked with water as they are, I did not see the bloodstains;
but I ought to have looked for them, for surely no one could have gone
through that fight--altogether unprotected with armour too--without
being wounded. Come below, and we will attend to them.”
“Also order me some wine and food, Sir John; I have touched nothing save
water for twenty-four hours, and before that fasted somewhat strictly.”
By the time Gervaise's wounds, which were not severe, had been bandaged,
and he had eaten a hasty meal, the galley was alongside the mole,
between the two harbours.
He was provided with some clothes, and went with Sir John straight to
the English auberge, where the knight insisted that he should at once
lie down.
“I will report your return to D'Aubusson, and will tell him it is by my
orders that you are resting. Your wounds are not very deep, but you must
have lost a good deal of blood, and were you to exert yourself now,
and be pestered with questions, it would probably bring on an attack
of fever. There is nothing to do at present, for it must be some days
before they can land and bring up their guns.”
Gervaise obeyed the orders not unwillingly, for he felt that he was
really weak, and was greatly worn out by want of sleep. Sir John
Kendall, at Boswell's request, issued orders that he was on no account
whatever to be disturbed, and that no one was to enter his room unless
he sounded the bell placed by the bedside. Gervaise indeed, falling off
to sleep a few minutes after he had lain down, did not awake until the
following morning. Having no idea that he had slept more than two or
three hours, he sounded the bell in order to inquire whether Ralph had
returned to the auberge. He was surprised to find his friend had just
risen, and that he himself had been asleep some eighteen hours!
A few minutes later Ralph hurried into the room.
“Thank God that you are back again, Gervaise!” he said, as he grasped
the hand of his friend. “I did not return until late in the evening,
having been at work with a large body of slaves at the fortifications;
and you may guess what joy I felt at the news. You are changed a good
deal.”
“I don't suppose you will think so at the end of a day or two, Ralph. I
lost a good deal of blood yesterday, and have been on short rations; but
I shall very soon pick up again.”
“They will bring you some broth and wine directly, Gervaise. Early as
it is, the grand master has already sent down to inquire as to your
health.”
“I will reply in person as soon as I have had a meal and dressed.”
“And I suppose we must all wait to hear what you have been doing until
you return, Gervaise?”
“I suppose so, Ralph. Of course it is a long story; but I must tell you
at once that there is nothing very exciting in it, and that it differed
little from that of others who have been prisoners among the Moors, save
that I was strangely fortunate, and suffered no hardships whatever. And
now I want to ask you about clothes. Have my things been sold, or are
they still in the store?”
“No; the question was raised but a short time since. It was mooted, by
the way, by that old enemy of yours, Robert Rivers, who returned
here some three months ago with a batch of knights from the English
commanderies. Sir John Boswell answered him roundly, I can tell you, and
said that they should be kept, were it for another fifty years, for
that he would wager his life that you would sooner or later make your
escape.”
“I am sorry that fellow has returned, Ralph. Has he got a commandery
yet?”
“No; I believe that Sir John Kendall sent home so bad a report of him,
that even the great influence of his family has not sufficed to obtain
his appointment, and that he has been merely the assistant at one of
the smaller manors. Sir John Boswell told me in confidence that he
understood that Rivers did not at first volunteer to come out in
response to the appeal of the grand master, but that the grand prior
informed him that unless he took this opportunity of retrieving his
character, he might give up all hope of ever obtaining advancement. Ah,
here is your breakfast.”
An hour later Gervaise presented himself at the palace, clothed in the
suit of armour that had been given to him by Genoa. Although he was
engaged with several members of the council at the time, the grand
master ordered him to be at once admitted as soon as he heard that he
was in attendance.
“Welcome back, Sir Gervaise Tresham,” he said warmly, as he entered. “We
all rejoice greatly at your return, and I consider it a happy omen for
the success of our defence that so brave and distinguished a knight
should at the last moment have arrived to take a share in it.”
The others present all shook Gervaise cordially by the hand, and
congratulated him on his return.
“You must dine with me this evening,” D'Aubusson went on, “and tell us
the story of your captivity and escape. At present, as you may suppose,
we have too many matters on hand to spare time for aught that is not
pressing and important. You will need a few days' rest before you are
fit for active service, and by that time we will settle as to what post
will best suit you.”
Twice that day had Gervaise to recount his adventures, the first time to
Sir John Kendall and the knights of his auberge, the second to the grand
master. Most of the leading members of the Order were assembled at
the palace, and, among others, he was introduced to the Viscount de
Monteuil, the elder brother of D'Aubusson, one of the most famous
leaders of the day. He had brought with him a considerable body of
retainers, and, although not a member of the Order, had offered his
services in defence of the town. The council had gratefully accepted the
offer, and had unanimously named him Commander of the Forces. Many other
knights and soldiers had come from different parts of Europe, animated
alike by the desire to aid in the defence of Christendom against the
advance of the Moslems, and to gain credit and honour by taking part in
a siege that was sure to be a desperate one.
“My brother has already spoken of you to me, Sir Gervaise,” the viscount
said, when the young knight was presented to him; “although indeed there
was no occasion for him to do so, since the name of the knight who
two years ago saved the commerce of Italy from ruin, and with a single
galley destroyed or captured a great fleet of over twenty Barbary
pirates, and thus for a time put a stop to the depredations of the
infidels, is known throughout Europe. By the way, I am the bearer of a
message to you. I took ship at Genoa on my way hither, and stayed two or
three days there while she was being got ready for sea. Knowing that I
was bound hither, a certain very beautiful young lady of noble family,
to whom I had the honour of being introduced, prayed me that if you
should by any chance have escaped from captivity--and she said that she
was convinced that you would, when you heard that Rhodes was threatened,
assuredly endeavour to escape and to come hither to take a share in the
defence--I was to tell you that she trusted you still bore her gage, and
that she, on her part, had held fast to the promise she made you.”
“I still have her gage, Viscount; for though I was for a long time
deprived of it, I succeeded in regaining it when I made my escape,”
Gervaise said quietly; and De Monteuil at once turned the conversation
to another topic.
Gervaise found that no attempt was to be made to take the offensive
against the Turks, and that they were to be permitted to advance against
the city without interference. Many of the more fiery spirits among the
knights chafed at this prohibition. The records of the past showed that
armies as large as that of Mahomet had suffered defeat at the hands
of bodies of knights no stronger than that gathered for the defence of
Rhodes. D'Aubusson, however, knew that between the undisciplined hordes
that gathered in countless numbers to oppose the crusaders, and the
troops of Mahomet, well trained in warfare, who had borne his standard
victoriously in numerous battles, there was but little comparison. They
were commanded, too, by Paleologus, a general of great capacity. Under
such circumstances, although victory might be possible, the chances of
defeat would be far greater, and while victory could be only won at a
great sacrifice of life, defeat would mean annihilation to the garrison,
and the loss of the city upon whose fortifications such an enormous
amount of money and labour had been expended.
On the other hand, he felt perfectly confident that the city could be
successfully defended, and that at a cost of life far less than would
be attained by a victory in the open field, while the blow that would
be inflicted upon the prestige and power of the enemy, by being
ignominiously compelled to retire to their ships, after the failure of
all their attacks, would be as great as if their army had been defeated
in the field. Therefore the grand master, with the full assent of his
leaders, turned a deaf ear to the entreaties of the younger knights,
that they might be allowed to make a sortie. He calmly waited behind
the formidable defences he had for the past ten years been occupied in
perfecting, in anticipation of the assault of the Moslem host.
Accordingly, after disembarking at their leisure, the Turkish army moved
forward, and took their post upon St. Stephen's Hill. From this eminence
they commanded a full view of the town, the hills sloping gently down
to the foot of the walls. In later times the first care of a general
commanding the defence would have been to construct formidable works
upon this commanding position. But the cannon of that period were so
cumbrous and slowly worked, and so inaccurate in their aim, that the
advantage of occupying a position that would prevent an enemy from
firing down into a town was considered to be more than counterbalanced
by the weakening of the garrison by the abstraction of the force
required to man the detached work, and by the risk of their being
surrounded and cut off without the garrison of the town being able to
aid them.
That the defence of St. Stephen's Hill was considered unnecessary for
the safety of Rhodes is shown by the fact that no attempt had been made
to fortify it when, forty years later, the Moslems again besieged the
city.
There was no shadow of apprehension felt by the garrison of Rhodes
as the great array of their foes was seen moving on to the hill, and
preparing to pitch its camp. On the summit was the great tent of the
pasha; round this were the marquees of the other commanders, while the
encampments of the troops stretched far away along the upper slopes of
the hill.
Previous to the despatch of the expedition, the sultan had made
preparations for aiding his arms by treachery. The agent he had sent
to propose a temporary truce had, during his stay on the Island, made
himself thoroughly acquainted with the outline of the works. A very
accurate plan of them had also been obtained from an inhabitant of
Rhodes, who had abandoned Christianity and taken service with the Turks.
In addition to this he had arranged with a renegade German, known as
Maitre Georges, a man of very great ability as an artilleryman and
engineer, to desert to the city, and there do all in his power to assist
the besiegers, both by affording them information and by giving bad
advice to the besieged. On the day after Paleologus, who was himself a
renegade Greek, had established his camp, he sent in a herald to summon
the city to surrender, at the same time making lavish promises that the
lives and property of the native population should be respected, and
that they should be allowed to continue to reside there, to enjoy the
full exercise of their religion and of all other rights they possessed.
The pasha had no real hope that the knights would obey the summons,
but he thought that he might excite a spirit of disaffection among the
townspeople that would, when the crisis came, greatly hamper the efforts
of the defenders.
The Rhodians, however, were well satisfied with the rule of the Order.
The knights, although belonging to the Catholic Church, had allowed the
natives of the Island, who were of the Greek faith, perfect freedom in
the exercise of their religion, and their rule, generally, had been
fair and just. The wealth and prosperity of the Island had increased
enormously since their establishment there, and the population had no
inclination whatever to change their rule for that of the Turks. The
summons to surrender being refused, the enemy made a reconnaissance
towards the walls.
D'Aubusson had no longer any reason for checking the ardour of the
knights, and a strong body of horsemen, under the command of De
Monteuil, sallied out and drove the Turks back to their camp.
Maitre Georges, who was acting as the military adviser of the pasha, saw
at once that the weakest point of the defence was Fort St. Nicholas, at
the extremity of the mole along the neck of land dividing the outer from
the inner port. At a short distance away, on the opposite side of the
port, stood the church of St. Anthony, and in the gardens of the church
a battery was at once erected. The garden was but three hundred yards
from St. Nicholas, and the danger that would arise from the construction
of the battery was at once perceived, and an incessant fire opened upon
it from the guns on the wall round the grand master's palace. Numbers of
the workmen were killed, but the erection of the battery was pushed on
night and day, and ere long three of the immense cannon that had been
brought from Constantinople,--where sixteen of them had been cast under
the direction of Maitre Georges--were placed in position. These cannon
were eighteen feet in length, and carried stone balls of some twenty-six
inches in diameter.
Before these were ready to open fire, Gervaise had entirely regained his
health and strength. The grand master, being unwilling to appoint him to
a separate command over the heads of knights many years his senior, had
attached him to his person in the capacity of what would now be called
an aide-de-camp.
“I know, Gervaise, that I can rely upon your coolness and discretion. I
cannot be everywhere myself, and I want you to act as my eyes in places
where I cannot be. I know that the knights, so far as bravery and
devotion are concerned, will each and every one do his best, and will
die at their posts before yielding a foot; but while fighting like
paladins they will think of naught else, and, however hardly pressed,
will omit to send to me for reinforcements. Nay, even did they think
of it, they probably would not send, deeming that to do so would be
derogatory, and might be taken as an act of cowardice. Now, it is
this service that I shall specially look for from you. When a post is
attacked, I shall, when my presence is required elsewhere, send you to
represent me. I do not, of course, wish you to interfere in any way in
the conduct of the defence, in which you will take such share as you
can; but you are specially to observe how matters go, and if you see
that the knights are pressed and in sore need of assistance to enable
them to hold the post, you will at once bring the news to me, and I will
hurry there with reinforcements.”
No post could have been more in accordance with the desire of Gervaise,
for the portion of the wall defended by the English langue was far
removed from the point selected by the Turks for their first attack, the
sea front being defended half by the langue of Italy, and half by that
of Castile. Fort St. Nicholas was under the command of the Cavalier
Caretto, and as soon as the Turkish battery was completed, Gervaise
went down there with an order from the grand master that he was for the
present to consider himself as forming part of the garrison. This
was pleasant for both Caretto and himself, for the Italian knight had
conceived a strong friendship for the young Englishman, and had rejoiced
greatly at his return from captivity, but had been so much occupied with
his duty of placing the castle in all respects in a state of defence,
that he had had no opportunity for a private conversation with him since
his return to Rhodes.
Gervaise, on his part, was no less pleased. Caretto had shown so much
tact after his release from the Moors, and had so willingly aided him
in any capacity allotted to him, without in the slightest degree
interposing his council unasked, that Gervaise had come to like him
greatly, even before their arrival at Genoa. Circumstances there had
brought them closely together, and their friendship had been cemented
during their voyage to Rhodes. Caretto had gone back to Italy, where
he had a commandery, a few days after Gervaise had sailed on his last
voyage, and had only returned to Rhodes three months before Gervaise
escaped from captivity.
“This is turning the tables,” Caretto said, with a laugh, when Gervaise
presented the grand master's order. “I was under your command last time,
and now it seems that you are to be under mine. I suppose you applied
to come here, in order to have a fresh opportunity of distinguishing
yourself. I heard that you had been placed on D'Aubusson's own staff.”
“Yes, and am on it still; and it is by his orders and not by my own
solicitation that I am here. I will tell you what my duties are. The
grand master knows the commanders of posts have their hands so full
that they will have no time for sending complete reports to him, and he
considers, moreover, that they might, in some cases, however pressed,
hesitate to ask for aid until too late for reinforcements to be brought
up. My duty will be to let the grand master know how matters are going,
and to send to him at once if it seems to me that help is needed. I
should, of course, always send for reinforcements, at the request of a
commander; but it is only in the event of his being too busy in the heat
of the fray to think of aught but resisting an attack, that I should
exercise my own judgment in the matter.”
Caretto nodded.
“It is a good thought of D'Aubusson's. When one is in the thick of a
fight in a breach, with the Moslems swarming round, it does not occur to
one to draw out of the fray to send off messages. For myself, I shall be
glad indeed to have that matter off my mind, though it is not every one
I should care to trust with such a responsibility. Some might send off
for aid when it was not needed, others might delay so long that help
might come too late; but with one so cool headed as yourself I should
not fear any contingency. And now, as I am not busy at present, let us
have a comfortable talk as to what has happened since we met last. I was
at the banquet at the grand master's on the night when you related your
adventures. You had certainly much to tell, but it seems to me for some
reason or other you cut short certain details, and I could not see why,
as there seemed no prospect of escape open to you, you did not accept
the offer of Suleiman Ali to ransom you.”
“I saw no chance of escape at the moment, but I did not doubt that I
could get away from the town whenever I chose, although it was not
clear how I should proceed afterwards. It was for this opportunity I
was waiting, and I felt sure that, with my knowledge of the language, it
would come sooner or later. In the next place, my captors had fixed
an exorbitant sum for my ransom, and I did not wish to impose upon the
generosity of Suleiman. There was another reason--a private one.”
“You don't mean to say that you had fallen in love with a Moorish
damsel, Sir Gervaise?” Caretto laughed.
“For shame, Cavalier! As if a Christian knight would care for a Moslem
maiden, even were she as fair as the houris of their creed!”
“Christian knights have done so before now,” Caretto laughed, greatly
amused at the young knight's indignation, “and doubtless will do so
again. Well, I suppose I must not ask what the private matter was,
though it must have been something grave indeed to lead you, a slave,
to reject the offer of freedom. I know that when I was rowing in their
galleys, no matter of private business that I can conceive would have
stood in my way for a single moment, had a chance of freedom presented
itself.”
“It was a matter of honour,” Gervaise said gravely, “and one of which I
should speak to no one else; but as you were present at the time, there
can, I think, be no harm in doing so. At the time that I was captured, I
was stripped of everything that I had upon me, and, of course, with the
rest, of the gage which the Lady Claudia had given me, and which hung
round my neck where she had placed it. It was taken possession of by the
captain of the pirates, who, seeing that it bore no Christian emblem,
looked upon it as a sort of amulet. I understood what he was saying,
but, as I was desirous that my knowledge of Turkish should not be
suspected, I said nothing. I was very glad that he so regarded it, for
had he taken it to be an ordinary trinket, he might have parted with it,
and I should never have been able to obtain a clue as to the person to
whom he sold it. As it was, he put it round his neck, with the remark
that it might bring him better luck than had befallen me. He told me
jeeringly months afterwards that it had done so, and that he would never
part with it. Given me as it was, I felt that my honour was concerned in
its recovery, and that, should I ever meet Lady Claudia again, I should
feel disgraced indeed, if, when she asked whether I still bore her gage,
I had to confess that it was lost.”
“But lost from no fault of your own,” Caretto put in.
“The losing was not indeed from any fault of my own, and had the pirate
thrown it into the sea I should have held myself free from disgrace; but
as it was still in existence, and I knew its possessor, I was bound in
honour to recover it. At the time Suleiman Ali's messenger arrived the
corsair was away, and there was no saying when his ship would return;
therefore, I decided at once not to accept the offer of freedom. Had it
not been for that, I own that I should have done so, for I knew that
I could repay Suleiman from the revenues of my commandery, which would
have accumulated in my absence; but if I had had to wait ten years
longer to regain the gage, I felt that I was in honour bound to do so.
It was, in fact, some six months before the corsair put into that port
again. The moment he did so I carried out the plans I had long before
determined upon. I obtained a disguise from Ben Ibyn, and by a ruse
succeeded in inducing the pirate to meet me outside the town, believing
that I was an Arab chief who wished to dispose of some valuable slave
girls he had brought in. I had with me one of my old galley slaves, who
had been taken into Ben Ibyn's employment; and when the pirate came up
with two of his crew, and furiously attacked me as soon as I threw off
my disguise, it would have gone hard with me had he not stood by me, and
killed one of them who was about to attack me in the rear. I slew the
other and Hassan, and the gage is in its place again.”