Mika Waltari - The Wanderer

A few roundshot sang over our heads and threw up fountains of water as they fell into the sea astern. Shortly afterward our bows grounded on the shore with a jar that knocked me backward. Andy hauled me up by the scruff of the neck and dragged me ashore, with Mustafa ben-Nakir close behind, and we made a mad dash for the breach. I had little time for reflection, and when at last I looked up we were already halfway through the gap; before us in bright armor and with the Castilian flag wound about his left arm stood Captain de Varga, brandishing a sword and ready to give the last drop of his blood in defense of the stronghold. He stood alone, for his men, to their undying shame, had deserted him. Hunger and despair cannot excuse them, though for my own part I had no complaint to make of their prudent behavior.

Captain de Varga, then, stood before us alone, a haggard, swarthy figure. He glared at us with burning eyes, and there was froth at his lips. Andy, astonished, lowered his sword and called to him to surrender. But Captain de Varga laughed and shouted back, “I won’t rehearse my lineage to you, for a de Varga does not boast; but I’ll show you what is meant by loyalty to God, king, and country.”

In our rear more boats and rafts were being beached, and when the brave Moslems saw that one man alone was defending the breach they rushed up in a dense mob and swept me along with them, so that I lost my footing. I believe it was Andy who struck the sword from de Varga’s hand, and the next moment the Captain was lying on his back with me on top of him. Notwithstanding his noble lineage, notwithstanding the protection my body afforded him against the wild Moslems who lay over me in a kicking, struggling heap, he so far forgot himself as to sink his long teeth in my cheek.

De Varga would certainly have lost his life then and there if he had not been clad from head to foot in iron, for pain and fury so maddened me that I would have seized the first opportunity to drive my sword into his throat. But gradually the pressure lightened; the Captain let go of my cheek, and we both sat up to see the Moslems pour in a howling flood through the breach. Andy braced himself with feet apart in front of de Varga, and Mustafa ben-Nakir also helped us to defend him. Blood was streaming down my cheek and I bitterly reproached the Captain for conduct so unbecoming to a nobleman, pointing out that I should most probably carry a disfiguring scar to my life’s end.

Seeing that further resistance was useless he collapsed in tears and begged me to bear no malice. In return I asked him to surrender the Castilian flag, for which he could have no further use. Sighing deeply he unwound it from his arm and laid it in my hands. To me, therefore, fell the honor for the capture of Penjon.

Meanwhile the Moslems had been streaming past us through the breach in such numbers that the courtyard was soon crammed, and in their frenzy they slew a number of Spaniards before Khaireddin’s officers and janissaries could intervene. Khaireddin had given strict orders that as many Spaniards as possible should be spared, for he stood in great need of labor for demolition and building works, and for repairs to buildings damaged in the street fighting and bombardment. The savage bloodlust of the Mussulmans so revolted me that I longed to get away, and Andy too was fidgeting. We therefore resolved to embark and bring Captain de Varga before Khaireddin.

Khaireddin, attended by a numerous suite, was waiting on the shore. Many foolish Moslems had hastened up to him and thrown the heads of unbelievers at his feet. At last he lost his temper and shouted, “A hundred lashes to the next man who dares bring me a Christian head. Spaniards are sturdy fellows and every head leaves me the poorer.”

But he soon forgot his wrath when Andy, Mustafa ben-Nakir, and I approached him, thrusting Captain de Varga before us. Blood was still running from the wound in my cheek as I threw the Castilian standard at the feet of Khaireddin. He trod it eagerly underfoot, exclaiming piously, “Allah is great, and marvelous is the might of Islam, that transforms a lamb into a ravening lion.”

Turning to Captain de Varga he said curtly, “Wicked and obstinate man, where is your king and the help you were expecting from Spain? Will you confess now, idolater, that Allah alone is mighty?”

Captain de Varga answered, “You have only my men’s treachery to thank for victory. Given the smallest support I would have driven you from the city and occupied the harbor.”

Khaireddin surveyed him for a time, stroking his beard. He could not but admire the inflexible spirit of his enemy, and said, “Ah, Captain de Varga! Had I such men as you beside me, I could certainly drive the Emperor from his throne. Tell me what I can do for you, for I desire your friendship.”

Captain de Varga replied, “Brave men always understand one another, and that is something that cowards can never grasp.”

“There are many mussel shells in the world,” remarked Khaireddin, “but few contain pearls. Even rarer is a truly brave man. Therefore I’m willing to bestow riches on you and even place you in command, on one condition-that you take the turban and acknowledge that the one God and his Prophet are worth more than Christian idolatry. You’d not be the first Spaniard to take this step, as you may see for yourself by glancing at my officers.”

Captain de Varga was outraged, and stared at his adversary for some time; his beard quivered and his eyes glowed when at last he replied, “Were I false to my faith I should be worse than the worst of my betrayers. Do not insult me with such proposals, and remember that I am a Spaniard and a gentleman.”

Khaireddin sighed. “I have no wish to coerce you, for Islam forbids forcible conversion. But you’re too dangerous a man to let loose among the other prisoners, and I shall be unhappily compelled to behead you if you refuse the turban.”

Captain de Varga crossed himself meekly and said, “I’m a de Varga; may my ancestors never have cause to be ashamed of their kinsman. Strike quickly, then, that I may show myself worthy of my God, my king, and my country.”

He said a few prayers, crossed himself, and knelt down upon the sand. The executioner took off his head at one stroke, and expressed admiration for his noble behavior. He then threaded a leather thong through the ears and suspended the head from the bridle of Khaireddin’s horse.

Thus the siege of Penjon was accomplished, long before the muezzin had called the faithful to the noon prayer. For my own part I could not sufficiently thank my lucky star for protecting me from all danger and covering me with glory.

Later, when I started to walk home, Mustafa ben-Nakir came with me, absently twirling the bells of his girdle. The deaf-mute was preparing food when we arrived, while Giulia sat on the bed painting her toenails. She paid us little attention, from which I concluded that she had been down to the harbor to spy upon us and had seen me there unhurt in Khaireddin’s company.

“Oh, is it you, Michael?” she exclaimed in feigned surprise. “I hardly expected you so soon. And where can you have been, I wonder? While the faithful were waging their holy war you were no doubt dallying in some harem, for you appear to have been somewhat passionately kissed.”

Mustafa ben-Nakir said, “Delilah, I appreciate that with a veil you. couldn’t perform your present important task. But remember that I find the temptation of your eyes very hard to withstand. I beg you to leave us. My friend Michael and I have much to talk of; if you have a spark of pity in your cruel heart, don’t allow that mad slave to poison us with the garbage he’s preparing, but cook something for us with your own fair hands.”

So he flattered Giulia and at the same time taught me how one should speak to women when one wants something from them. When Giulia had put away her toilet box and left us, Mustafa ben-Nakir drew forth his Persian book and began to read aloud. But I was weary of his whimsical ways and busied myself with dressing the wound in my cheek. At last he laid aside his book and said, “You surprise me, Michael el-Hakim. I hardly know what to make of you. I wonder whether after all you’re a little simple? I can find no other explanation of your foolhardy behavior.”