The Pirates of the Levant by Arturo Pérez-Reverte Read Free Book Online Page A

made truces with the Spaniards, sold them food, and so on. They paid tax, or garrama as it was known here, and that made them 'friends' until they stopped paying. Then they became hostile Moors.
'Sounds dangerous,' I commented.
'It is. They're the ones who'll slit our throats and cut off our privates if they catch us, although we'd do the same to them.'
'And how do you tell them apart?'
The Captain shook his head. 'You can't always.'
'Sometimes that works to our detriment,' said Copons, 'and sometimes to theirs.'
I considered the grim implications of this answer. Then I asked who the mogataces were. The Captain explained that they were Arabs who fought on our side as soldiers of Spain, but without changing their religion.
'Can they be trusted?'
Copons pulled a face. 'Some of them can.'
'I don't think I could ever trust a Moor.'
Their looks were mocking. I must have seemed extraordinarily naive to them.
'You'd be surprised. There are Moors and Moors.'
We ordered another jug of wine, which was brought to us by a man with ugly bare feet and an even uglier face, as black as pitch. I watched thoughtfully as Copons filled my mug.
'How do you know which ones can be trusted?'
'A question of experience,' said Copons, tapping the side of his nose, 'and instinct. But let me tell you, in my time I've seen no end of Christians roaring drunk, but never a Moor. They don't gamble either, even though the deck of cards is as old as Mohammed.'
'Yes, but they don't keep their word,' I objected.
'That depends on who they are and who they give their word to. When the Count of Alcaudete's men were nearly torn to pieces, his mogataces stood firm and fought to the bitter end. That's why I say there are Moors and Moors.'
While we were dispatching this latest jug of wine — and the jug had been baptised many times — Copons continued to enlighten us about life in Oran. The lack of men was a grave problem, he went on, because no soldier wanted to come to these African outposts unless he was forced to: once a soldier arrived, he risked being stuck here for ever. That's why the garrisons were never filled. That year alone, they were four hundred men short, and the soldiers who did come were the dregs of Spain, ill-natured and unwilling; the unruly type, fit only for the galleys, or else raw recruits who had been cruelly deceived, like the contingent that had arrived last autumn: forty-two men who had enlisted for Italy, or so they were told. Once embarked in Cartagena, they were taken straight to Oran and there was nothing they could do about it; in fact, three had been hanged for mutiny, and the others had been assigned to the local regiment, with no hope of leaving. It was no coincidence that the Spanish phrase to describe a particularly unpromising enterprise was that it was about as likely to happen as sending a hundred lancers to Oran.
'That's how it is with the people here — they're desperate, ragged and hungry.' Copons lowered his voice. 'It's hardly surprising that the weakest-willed, or those who simply can't take any more, desert as soon as they can. Diego, do you remember Yndurain, the Basque? The one who defended that old hamlet in Fleurus, along with Utrera, Barrena and the others, until the only ones left were himself and a bugler?'
The Captain nodded and asked what had become of the man. Copons stared into his mug, turned aside in order to spit under the table and then looked at him again.
'He was here for five years and hadn't been paid for the last three. About two months ago, he had words with a sergeant. He stabbed him with his knife and jumped over the wall, along with another comrade who was on guard duty. I'm told that, with great difficulty, they finally arrived in Mostaganem, where they promptly joined the Moors, but who can say ...'
    He and the Captain exchanged knowing looks; my former master took another sip of wine and shrugged. It was resigned shrug — for himself, for his friend and for the others, all of them, for poor,