Corsair Read Free Page B

hands. We are homeward bound, but at sea one never knows.’
    ‘Then where are you taking us?’
    The captain looked mildly surprised. ‘I would have thought you would have been informed. Did not the older villagers tell you? There must be some who remembered the last time it happened. But of course they are of a different generation, or perhaps those who were left behind chose to forget.’
    ‘One of the men in the hold spoke to me of “the Taking”,’ Hector said.
    ‘So that is what they call it. Not a bad name. It was Murat Reis who commanded at the time, a great captain, and his memory is still revered. Foreign-born like myself, a Flamand by origin. Mind you, he did not have my local knowledge and so he was obliged to use a Dungarvan man as his pilot to guide him in.’
    Hector recalled that no villager ever mentioned the name of Dungarvan town without spitting, and also some talk of a Dungarvan man being hanged as a traitor. The foreign captain was growing nostalgic. ‘When I was a boy I can remember my father forbidding my brothers and me from playing with the dirty children, as they called them. We were told that we would catch foul diseases if we did. He meant the Catholics, of course. In those days the village was remarkable for being home to so many Protestants. Tell me, is that still the case?’
    ‘I believe so, sir. There is a new landlord now, and he has enlarged the chapel. He strongly favours those of the Protestant faith. The Catholics must go for Mass to the friars on the island, and they try to do so without attracting attention.’
    ‘How little changes. The more I hear about the quarrels and rivalries between the Christians, the happier I am that I took the turban.’ Noticing Hector’s puzzlement, he added, ‘Some call it “turning Turk”.’
    Hector still looked blank.
    ‘I converted to the True Faith preached by the prophet Muhammad, may he be honoured and glorified. It was not such a difficult decision for someone whose memories of home were only of cold and damp, and a place where everyone had to work like a drudge to pay rent to a distant landlord. Of course I did not convert at once, but after serving the man who bought me. He was a kind master.’
    At last Hector understood. Maybe the shock of his capture combined with the blow to his head and his fears for Elizabeth had obscured what was now obvious: Hakim Reis was a corsair. He must come from one of the pirate states of Barbary on the coast of North Africa whose ships plagued the Mediterranean and the Atlantic approaches. They intercepted and robbed ships and carried off their crews into slavery. From time to time they also made slave-taking shore raids. Hector wondered how he could have been so slow on the uptake. One evening, several years ago, his father had entertained a local celebrity, the vicar of nearby Mitchelstown, who was renowned for having been held as a slave of the corsairs. Eventually the vicar had been ransomed, and he was much in demand at dinner parties when he would recount his experiences. Hector had been allowed to stay and listen, and he recalled a tall, rather haggard man with a husky voice describing the conditions in the slave pens. Hector struggled to remember his name. There was a joke to it, someone had raised a laugh by referring to a fish being caught by the bay. That was it, the reverend’s name was Devereux Spratt, and he was the captive of a foreign potentate called the Bey. Unfortunately the reverend had rather spoilt the pun by announcing primly that the jokester was confused in his geography of the Barbary states. The Bey was the title of the ruler of the state of Tunis, while he had been a prisoner of the ruler of Algiers whose title was Dey.
    ‘I beg you in the name of your Muhammad,’ Hector pleaded, ‘that when we reach our destination, you will let me speak with my sister.’
    ‘We will be at sea for at least another week.’ Hakim Reis gave Hector a shrewd glance, and Hector noticed