Corsair (13 page)

‘Should we not interview them while we are here?’ suggested Martin.

‘Very well. But let us not waste any more time.’

The Greek nodded to the guard waiting at the door, and he ushered in a man whom Martin instantly recognised. It was the intelligent-looking youth who had caught his attention on the dock. He was leaner and more tanned, but there was no mistaking his black hair and his alert expression.

‘Your name?’ snapped the commissioner, obviously impatient with the additional interview.

‘Lynch, sir. Hector Lynch.’

‘Your place of birth?’

‘The county of Cork, sir.’

‘That’s in Ireland is it not?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Abercrombie looked down at the paper on the table before him. ‘I do not see your name on this inventory. Your parents and family? Have they made any attempt to contact the authorities in London?’

‘My father is dead, sir. And my mother may not know what happened to me. She could have moved back to live with her own people.’

The commissioner raised his head and regarded the young man with mistrust. ‘Her own people? Who are they?’

‘Her family are from Spain.

‘From Spain?’ Suspicion had crept into the commissioner’s voice. ‘She is a Papist?’

‘Yes, sir. My mother is of the Catholic faith, my father was Protestant.’

Abercrombie pursed his lips. It was obvious to Consul Martin that the English envoy was now hostile to the young man. His line of questioning soon confirmed his antagonism.

‘Your deceased father, was he born in Ireland?’

‘He was, sir.’

‘And had his family lived there for several generations?’

‘That is right.’

Commissioner Abercrombie gave a small dry cough. ‘Then I regret, Mr Lynch, that your case falls outside my remit. The treaty between His Majesty’s government and the authorities in Algiers regarding the redemption of prisoners, covers only those of His Majesty’s subjects born or living in England, Scotland and Wales. There is no mention of Ireland in the text. It would therefore be improper of me to approve disbursement of funds outside the terms of my authority.’

Consul Martin saw a look of disbelief cross the young Irishman’s face, followed by one of stubbornness. Lynch remained standing in front of the desk. The commissioner mistook his attitude for incomprehension.

‘It means, Mr Lynch, that I am unable to authorise payment from the funds at my disposal in order to effect your release or that of others of his Majesty’s Irish subjects. Doubtless that matter can be considered on my return to London. I shall draw attention to this omission, and it is to be hoped that the Council will amend the relevant clauses within the treaty. Until then the matter is out of my hands.’

Martin had been expecting the young Irishman to react with disappointment, even anger. But to his surprise the young man only glanced down at the Dey’s list and asked, ‘With your honour’s permission, are there any women captives on your list?’

Irritably, the commissioner turned the sheet of paper face down and replied, ‘That is none of your affair.’

‘I ask because my sister, Elizabeth, was also taken captive at the same time as myself, and I have had no news of what has happened to her.’

Consul Martin, seeing that the commissioner was not going to answer the question, intervened. ‘We have interviewed all the women prisoners currently in Algiers. There are only five of them, and all their ransom values have been agreed. There was no mention of any Elizabeth.’ Only then did the consul see the light of hope fade from the young Irishman’s eyes.

‘That will be all, Mr Lynch. You may go,’ said the commissioner curtly.

‘I have a favour to ask,’ said the young man. He was still standing his ground.

‘You try my patience,’ said Abercrombie. He was getting angry.

But the Irishman was not to be put off. ‘There is a prisoner here in the bagnio who was taken by the Algerines while travelling to London with a message for the King. In all conscience, he should be considered for ransom. He is waiting outside.’

‘This is as presumptuous as it is preposterous . . .’ began Abercrombie, his voice sour with disbelief. And again the consul thought he should intervene.

‘Where is he from, this message bearer?’ he asked.

‘From the Caribees, sir.’

Consul Martin glanced at the commissioner. Like everyone else engaged in commerce, he knew that the political influence of the West Indian merchants in London was very strong. Anything to do with the Caribees was a matter to be handled carefully. The commissioner clearly had the same reaction so Martin decided that it was best to be prudent. ‘On your way out, please be so good as to tell this person to come in.’

As the young Irishman turned and walked towards the door, the consul found himself wondering if perhaps the authorities in London had been right all along, and that it was kinder never to encourage a prisoner’s hopes, even for a moment. Martin tried to imagine how he himself would react if he had been repudiated so brusquely by the country he had expected to protect him. He very much doubted that he would have mustered the same dignity and self-restraint shown by the young man as he left the room. The consul hoped that the next interview would not turn out to be equally as shameful.

H
ECTOR LOITERED
in the bagnio courtyard as he waited for his friend to emerge from his interview. Deliberately he ignored the black disappointment of his own interrogation as he wondered how Dan was faring.

It was no more than five minutes before his friend reappeared, his expression unreadable. ‘The man in the dark clothes did not believe me,’ said Dan tonelessly. ‘He asked to see a copy of my message for the King. I answered that the Miskito have no writing. We speak our messages, even the most important ones.’

‘What did he say to that?’ asked Hector.

‘He told me that he needed proper evidence, something written on paper, that I was telling the truth. The man sitting beside him was more friendly. He said that he had heard of my people, the Miskito, and that they had helped the English. He even suggested to his companion that because the Miskito asked to be considered as subjects of the King, then my name might be added to the list of those who would be ransomed.’

‘And the other man did not agree?’

‘He answered that he would apply the same rules as he had followed in your case, and that, in addition, the treaty with Algiers only concerned English subjects taken from ships flying the English flag. I had already told him that the corsairs had taken me out of a Spanish ship, so it seems I could not be included on the ransom list.’

Hector looked down at the worn paving slabs of the courtyard. For the very first time in his captivity he despaired. He was crushed by the thought of spending year after year in the bagnio.

‘I’m sorry, Dan,’ he said. ‘I’m really sorry. It seems that there is nothing we can do to get out of here. We’ll stay until we rot. No one is going to lift a finger to help us.’

But to his surprise, Dan answered calmly, ‘Then we ourselves will lift a finger.’

Hector looked at his friend in puzzlement. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that we will turn Turk. It doesn’t take much. All you have to do is raise a finger to the sky in the presence of two witnesses who are good Muslims, and acknowledge that Allah is the true God and Muhammad is his prophet. That’s all there is to it . . . and of course you have to be cut.’

‘Cut?’

‘Yes, someone with a knife trims back the skin on your manhood, as a sign that you have converted.’

Despite himself, Hector looked queasy.

‘Well, why not?’ Dan went on. ‘Once you have become a rinigato – become a Muslim – you have a much better chance of finding proper work that takes you out of the bagnio, and it is forbidden to send you to serve in the galleys. You may think that life is hard when working in the quarries, but it is nothing compared to being chained alongside three or four other prisoners and hauling on the handle of a 30-foot-long oar. It’s late summer now, and soon all the galleys are coming back to harbour. But come the spring, every able-bodied man in the bagnio risks being sent to the oar benches.’

Hector thought for a moment. ‘Is there no other way to get out of here? How about the gunpowder man? He’s at liberty and he remains a Christian.’

Dan shook his head. ‘No. The gunpowder man came to Algiers of his own free will. He can stay a Christian. It’s not the same for us. That’s the usanza.’

‘Aren’t you worried about becoming a Mussulman?’

Dan shrugged. ‘As I told you, the Miskito believe in many gods and spirits. And so do the Turks, though they say there is only one God. My master who owns the masserie is a Mussulman but he still believes in what he calls djinns and efrit, the wicked spirits who might snatch him away or do him harm. So I can acknowledge Allah as the one God and still believe in the spirits whom my people have always respected.’

‘Dan, it’s easier for you to take this step than it is for me. My mother, if I ever see her again, will be heartbroken.’

‘Maybe your mother would understand. Hector, listen to me. If you want to search for your sister, you have to get out of the bagnio. There’s nothing you can do to find her or help her while you are confined here. If you become a rinigato, at least you can make enquiries among those who have taken the turban. Maybe they have heard what happened to her. Besides, if you are worried about turning Turk, you can always wear a cross secretly. That’s what some of the other rinigatos do, because they are afraid that their own God will ignore them after they die.’

‘All right,’ announced Hector. He had come to his decision. At times Dan seemed so much more level-headed, more confident than himself, even though there was little difference in their ages. ‘I’ll go through with this, but only if you do the same.’

‘Of course,’ said Dan. ‘We are in this together.’

T
WO MEN STOOD
in the late evening sunshine watching the English third-rate weigh anchor and then work clear of the Algiers mole.

Down by the harbour Consul Martin was feeling homesick, regretting that he had declined the invitation to accompany Abercrombie back to England. Martin had excused himself, saying that he had pressing commercial matters to attend to in Algiers, but the truth was that he did not relish spending the six-week voyage in close company with the glum commissioner and Newland the self-conceited mercer. The final details of Newland’s ransom had been settled smoothly. Abercrombie had brought with him a down payment of ten per cent of the sum the Algerines demanded for the mercer’s release. Newland’s business associates in London had advanced the cash, and a professional ransom broker in Naples was standing surety for the rest. The balance was to be transferred when the cloth merchant reached home safely. The speed of this commercial transaction had underscored the cumbersome progress of the government redemption plan which had eventually allowed only three dozen English captives to depart. Not one of the Irish had been redeemed. The commissioner had made it clear, after the unsatisfactory interview with Hector Lynch, that he did not wish to encounter any more of the young man’s countrymen. So Martin had given up trying to locate them in the bagnios.

No one would ever hear of these unfortunates again, the consul thought to himself as he turned to walk back up the hill to his residence, his despondency only tempered by relief that he was finally rid of the tiresome Newland.