Corsair Read Free Page A

the tip of each of her two masts streamed out long pennants, blood-red in colour, and at her stern flew a large green flag decorated with three silver crescent moons. The petty officer, a short and muscular man, was balancing easily on the sloping deck and waiting for him to speak. ‘Please,’ Hector said, ‘I wish to talk with your captain.’ The man’s dark brown eyes looked him over. Surprisingly the examination was not hostile, merely professional. Then, reaching forward to take hold of the young man’s tether, he led him like a cow to its byre as he strolled towards the stern of the vessel. There, under an awning, Hector saw the same white-bearded man who had struck him down so expertly with the pistol butt. Hector judged him to be in his late fifties, perhaps older, yet he looked trim and fit, and radiated authority. He was comfortably seated on cushions, a dish of fruit lay beside him, and he was exploring his mouth with a silver toothpick. Gravely he watched Hector and his escort approach and listened to what the petty officer had to report. Then, laying aside the toothpick, he said, ‘You have courage, young man. You put up a good fight, and now you do not fear what my men might do to you if you anger them.’
    ‘If it pleases your honour . . .’ began Hector, and then stopped abruptly. His mouth fell open. He had been about to ask what had happened to Elizabeth, and it had taken several seconds for him to realise that the ship captain had spoken in English. For a moment he thought he had misheard or was imagining. But no, the captain went on in English that was accurate, if a little hesitant, as though he was occasionally searching for the correct phrase. ‘Tell me, what were you doing in the village?’
    Hector was so astonished that he could barely get his own words out. ‘I was a student with the friars on the island. With my sister. How is it . . . ?’ he faltered.
    ‘How is it that I speak your language?’ the captain finished the question for him. ‘Because I am originally from that village myself. Now I am called Hakim Reis, but once I was known as Tom Pierse. Though that is a long time ago now, more than fifty years. God has been kind to me.’
    Hector’s mind was in turmoil. He could not imagine how this exotic mariner with his foreign dress and outlandish manner could claim to have come from a poor village on Ireland’s Atlantic coast. Yet the captain spoke English with the distinctive lilt of the region.
    Hakim Reis saw his puzzlement.
    ‘I was just seven years old when I was taken. So too were my mother and father, two brothers and my grandmother. I never saw them again after we were landed,’ he said. ‘At the time I thought it was the greatest tragedy. Now I know it was God’s will and I thank him for it.’ He reached down and took a fruit, chewed on it, and then placed the stone back in the dish.
    ‘So I was curious to see what the place is like now. That is why I decided to pay a brief call, and what point would there be in a visit if I did not make a profit from it? I must admit that it is not as I remember, though of course I still knew the hidden landing place and how to approach without being seen. The village is smaller now, or maybe that is how it always seems when one revisits a childhood haunt. Everything has shrunk.’
    By now Hector had recovered enough from his surprise to repeat the vital question that was preying on his mind.
    ‘Please,’ he tried again, ‘I would like to know what has happened to my sister. Her name is Elizabeth.’
    ‘Ah, the good-looking girl who was in the house where we found you. She clawed my men like a wild cat. Such ferocity must be a family trait. She came to no harm, and is safe.’
    ‘Where is she now? Can I see her?’
    Hakim Reis wiped his fingers on a napkin. ‘No. That is not possible. We always keep the men and women apart. Your sister is aboard the other vessel.’
    ‘When will I see her again?’
    ‘That is in God’s