Tim Severin - Corsair

‘But Karp could never have been a threat to someone as powerful and well connected as yourself.’

Chabrillan regarded Hector scornfully. ‘What do you know about these things?’ Belatedly Hector realised that he had come with the intention of questioning Chabrillan, but was already deferring to the aristocrat’s arrogance. He resolved to stand his ground.

‘Karp told me that you had his tongue torn out when you were both in Kandia.’

‘Told? How could he have told you anything? He lacks the means to do so.’ This time there was a note of cruelty in Chabrillan’s tone.

‘He did so by dumb show. He also drew a map and tried to make me understand that you have the sign of the cross marked on the soles of your feet. At the time it made no sense.’

‘And did he also tell you that he is a traitor to Christendom, a festering contagion eating away at the True Faith?’

Abruptly Chabrillan turned away. For several moments there was silence as if he was considering whether to put an end to the interview. Then he swung round to face his visitor, and in a flinty voice said, ‘Kandia was where we took our stand against the Turk. There were thousands of us who believed that it was our sacred duty to hold the bastion. The rest of the island had already fallen, but the city itself held out month after month, year after year. Venice sent us supplies and reinforcements, and her fleet kept the sea-lanes open. I and other knights came with our galleys to try to stiffen the resistance shortly before the end. Doubtless that was when Karp wormed his way in. He was among the volunteers who arrived from all over Europe to assist us.’

‘Karp is from the Bulgar lands ruled by the Turks. He would have risked his life to get to Kandia,’ agreed Hector. He had intended to encourage the flow of the Chevalier’s narrative but his remark only brought an angry retort.

‘And that should have made me beware! He is no more a Christian than that blackamoor who guards my cell door. His homeland is a wellspring of heresy. From there the pestilence oozes and threatens to infect all.’

‘I don’t follow your meaning,’ Hector muttered.

Chabrillan’s lip curled. ‘How would you understand? Am I right in guessing that you have taken the turban and your manhood has been trimmed?’

‘I did convert when I was in the bagnio of Algiers,’ Hector acknowledged, ‘but only in the hope that it would ease my captivity. My faith has lapsed since then, both in the teachings of Muhammad and in the religion I was taught as a child by monks. They were good men who knew their gospel.’

‘What would those monks say if they knew you had lifted a forefinger and pronounced that there is no God but Allah, and that Muhammad is his prophet,’ Chabrillan sneered. ‘In that benighted corner perhaps your monks have not yet heard the serpent’s hiss, those who preach that Satan is the creator and ruler of the visible world. They deny the Holy Cross and refuse to worship the Virgin Mary and the Saints. That is what Karp and his foul companions do. They claim that the Romish Church is not the Church of Jesus Christ but a Harlot, while only they themselves hold to the truth.’

‘But if men like Karp came to fight at Kandia alongside you, what mattered was their hatred of the Turk.’

‘Karp did not come to Kandia to fight. He came to convert. He persuaded others in our garrison that atonement and redemption were meaningless, that the sacrament of unction was to be spurned because it is reserved for the rich, that every good layman is himself a priest. His blasphemy was endless.’

Hector felt he was getting nowhere. The Chevalier was clearly a fanatic, but that did not seem sufficient reason for him to have mutilated Karp, a fellow Christian, in the midst of a gruelling and prolonged siege. ‘What reason did you give when you ordered Karp’s tongue to be removed?’ he asked.

‘I needed no authority. Karp had attached himself to my troops in the guise of a cook, and he was under my command. It was enough that he was preaching disobedience, not only to Mother Church but to military authority and to natural order. He would have my men lay down their arms and renounce all violence. They were to call themselves “dear to God”, and trust to prayer. That was sedition. So I stopped his mouth. I made an example of him so that others should take warning.’

‘And how did he come to lose his nose and ears as well?’

Chabrillan gave a shrug as if Hector’s question was superfluous. ‘When Kandia fell, the Turks allowed us to leave unmolested. I took Karp with me as a slave, intending to keep him as an oarsman on my galley. I felt that his punishment was not yet served out. Later he tried to run away. He lost his ears and nose for that. My comite carried out the sentence.’

‘Piecourt is dead,’ said Hector flatly.

‘Then he will have his just reward,’ replied Chabrillan. ‘He always followed the true doctrine of the Christ, of the Gospel, and the Apostles.’

‘And the scars on your feet? How did you suffer them?’

‘In Christ’s service,’ answered the Chevalier grimly. Deliberately and rudely, he looked at the wall over Hector’s head. ‘The Venetians had agreed secretly that I alone of all the defenders of Kandia was to be handed over to the Turks. The infidels wished to take revenge for an earlier incident in my struggle against them. They mistook Karp for my personal slave and arranged that he dress my wounds after they had finished with me.’

‘Is that when you first met Hakim Reis?’

Hector’s question had a remarkable effect. Chabrillan dropped his gaze and stared hard at Hector. The Chevalier’s supercilious manner had been replaced by a long, calculating appraisal of his visitor. After a lengthy pause he said softly, ‘I thought that it was the Cohens in Algiers who had betrayed me.’

‘The Cohens had nothing to do with it. They probably do not even know that you were taken prisoner from the St Gerassimus or where you are now.’

‘Then who wrote that letter promising our escape?’

‘It was prepared here in Meknes.’

Chabrillan’s eyes searched Hector’s face. Hector could tell that the Chevalier was struggling to work out the events of the past few days. ‘Then Karp was the mischief-maker. But I don’t remember that he ever laid eyes on Hakim Reis. And it is strange that he knew Hakim is expected soon in Sallee. From Kandia onwards Karp has been nothing more than a mute beast, pulling an oar.’

‘It was not Karp who prepared the letter,’ Hector assured him. ‘He recognised you by the scars on your feet, and identified you as the Lion of La Religion, but nothing more. As for Hakim Reis, no one knows when he will next visit Sallee.’

‘Yet the message said that Hakim Reis would be waiting to pick me up.’

Hector decided that this was his moment to press forward. The Chevalier was off guard and might be shocked into a confession. He watched for his reaction as he said, ‘I needed to confirm that you had dealt with Hakim Reis in the past and that you would expect him to connive at your escape. I had to be sure of my evidence.’

Chabrillan did not move a muscle. His eyes never left Hector’s face as he asked, ‘And what evidence was that?’

‘First, the gunpowder in the magazine. It is a special pistol powder, impossible to manufacture in Barbary. It was not damaged or damp as if it had been captured at sea. The powder was in a keg, in perfect condition, fresh from the makers. I had seen similar kegs aboard the St Gerassimus . The gun founder Sean Allen said that the gunpowder had come from Hakim Reis, who in turn may have got it from a smuggler called Tisonne. That was when I first heard the name. Later a friend of mine, working in Moulay’s armoury, came across some shoddy muskets made for the export market. Again the gun founder said that he had obtained the weapons from Hakim Reis.’ Hector waited for several seconds before adding, ‘I presume you got those marks on your cheek when a faulty musket barrel exploded in your face. Were you giving a demonstration of the weapon, and did Hakim accept the shipment?’