Corsair hl-1 Page 10

  ONE MORNING Hector was alone in the captain’s library, poring over the salt-stained pages of a Dutch sea captain’s logbook, when his attention was distracted by a glint of light reflecting from a bright object on one of the cabinet shelves. Feeling in need of a break from his work, he strolled over to investigate. A shaft of sunlight was shining on a thin brass disc about as broad as the palm of his hand and inscribed with Arabic writing. There were four similar discs, one of which was cut away with a series of strangely shaped holes. It was obvious that the discs had been made to fit neatly into the face of a circular instrument made of heavy brass lying beside them on the shelf. He was standing in front of the cabinet wondering about the device, when Turgut Reis entered the room behind him and said, ‘That was given to me by my father’s father, peace be upon him. After you become a Muslim, you may one day be glad to own such an instrument yourself. Here, let me show you why.’

  Picking up the instrument, Turgut brought it up to his eye. Hector saw that attached to the back of the device was a small brass bar with a peephole at each end. This bar could be turned on a pivot. ‘You hold it like this,’ said the captain, squinting through the peepholes as he moved the bar gently, ‘and take a sight on the star you have selected. It is like taking aim with a musket. The alidade, which is the name we give this bar, measures for you the angle to the horizon.’

  He turned the instrument over, and showed Hector the numerical tables inscribed on the back.

  ‘If you have fitted the correct discs you can read off the time when the sun will rise and set wherever in the world you are, which stars and constellations will be in the night sky overhead, and the times they will rise and fall. That way you will know the qibla, the true direction of the kaaba in Mecca, and so you will be able to say your prayers in the right direction and at the right times.’

  ‘A sailor on the ship that brought me to Algiers could tell which direction we were travelling and about how far we had come by looking at the night sky,’ murmured Hector. ‘He said there was much more to be learned from the stars.’

  ‘He spoke the truth,’ answered Turgut, ‘and, by Allah’s will, it is the people of the True Faith who enriched our understanding of the marvels of the firmament. Let me show you something else.’

  He went to another cabinet and lifted out what looked like a round paper lantern, and rotated it carefully in his hands. ‘See what is written on the surface.’ On closer inspection, Hector saw that the lantern was made of parchment stretched on a fine mesh of copper wire. The surface bore dozens of pictures. He recognised a bear, the figures of several men, a creature which was part goat and part fish, another in the shape of a crab. It took a moment for him to realise that they were the signs of the zodiac and the constellations.

  ‘It is a map of the heavens,’ said the captain. ‘I bought it many years ago from a merchant who was selling curios. The Sultan himself owns many such items – they are called celestial globes by those who study such things – and the Sultan’s are far more substantial. One is an immense ball of pure marble carved to show the forty-eight constellations and more than one thousand and twenty-five stars. But this one, though humble, is important to me. Look closely.’

  Hector examined the figures on the globe. Each picture was drawn to enclose a group of stars. But it seemed to him that the stars were so scattered and irregular that it took a great deal of imagination to see how they defined the figure. But the captain was speaking again, his voice animated.

  ‘The salesman told me that one of the great scholars of the north – I believe he was a Dutchman – drew this star map more than a hundred years ago. It encompassed everything he knew about the heavens, all that he had learned from his reading and his years of study. The moment I saw it, I knew I had to buy it. Because I noted that when the Dutchman came to write down the names of the buruj, the constellations, he used the language and writing of the men whose wisdom he had acquired – the language of the holy Qur’an. See, here he has written Al Asad Buruj for the constellation shaped like a lion; and here is Al Akrab Buruj, the insect with a deadly sting in its curved tail.’

  Now Hector understood his master’s enthusiasm for the globe. It was true that instead of writing out the names of the constellations in Latin or his native tongue, the Dutch map maker of the stars had inscribed the names in Arabic. ‘And here! And here . . . and here!’ Turgut was pointing to the names of individual stars also marked on the globe. ‘Note the names he has given them: Rigel, which means “the foot” in the language of true believers; Altair is “the flyer”, and this star here, Alderbaran, signifies “the follower” because it appears to pursue that cluster of six stars in the constellation we call Ath-Thawr, the Bull.’

  A memory stirred in Hector’s mind . . . of a market day back in Ireland when his mother had taken him and his sister into a fortuneteller’s booth. He had been no more than six or seven, but still remembered the shabby brown drape which served as a door. It had been spangled with stars and zodiacal signs.

  ‘Using this star map and the brass instrument with the discs you showed me, can someone predict the future?’ he asked.

  Turgut hesitated before replying. ‘The instrument and the globe, used together, can be used to calculate the position of the stars at the moment of a person’s birth, and from that information it may be possible to foretell an individual’s destiny. But great care is needed. The Prophet, peace be upon him, cautions us, “Behold what is in the heaven and earth! But revelations and warnings avail not folk who will not perceive.” ’

  He replaced the globe carefully in the cabinet and, turning back towards Hector, added gravely, ‘It is wiser to use these things for the true path of observance, even as the pilgrims of the haj rely on the stars to direct their paths across the trackless deserts and the seas.’

  TEN

  ‘HE’S A VERY DECENT MAN,’ Hector told Dan when the two friends next met at the bagnio on their Friday rest day. ‘His steward told me that the captain never orders any of his servants to do any job that he would not be prepared to do himself. He said that Turks of the ruling class believe that the only people fit to rule, are those who have themselves served. The captain comes from one of the best families in Constantinople, yet he started off as a lad scrubbing slime off anchor cables as they were winched aboard the galleys. When he grew strong enough, he had to spend six months on the oar bench.’

  ‘My master is reluctant to sell me to your captain, even if I want to turn Turk,’ said Dan. ‘Since my bastinadoing, I’ve been given only the most unpleasant tasks in the masserie. My master seeks to add to that punishment.’

  Hector looked around the bagnio’s grim courtyard and recalled his unpleasant experience with the lecherous kaporal. He had never seen his friend so glum.

  ‘If only there was some way you too could help out in the library,’ he said, ‘then you too would be transferred to live in the captain’s house.’

  ‘A library job is not likely when I don’t know how to read or write,’ Dan pointed out. ‘That page he wanted me to examine meant nothing. Just a lot of black lines and some pretty pictures poorly drawn. I could have done better myself.’

  Hector looked at his friend questioningly. ‘What do you mean, “done better”?’

  ‘Those pictures of trees and fish were all very clumsy, and someone had tried to draw a bird you call a parrot. But it was not like any parrot I had ever seen. Wrong shape and the colours were all odd. That’s why I told the captain that I couldn’t recognise anything. Maybe I should have said there was a badly drawn parrot.’

  ‘You mean you could have produced a better picture of it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then show me,’ said Hector, suddenly excited. He went to where one of the bagnio letter writers was squatting against the wall, waiting for clients. He paid for a sheet of paper and the loan of pen and ink and thrust them into Dan’s hand. ‘Draw me a parrot,’ he demanded.

  Dan looked dubiously at the materials. The pen
was cut from a goose quill, and the nib was frayed and blunt. The paper was dirty and slightly crumpled. ‘I wouldn’t be much good with these,’ he said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I paint and draw on skin, not paper.’

  ‘You mean on vellum made from sheepskin, like the monks who taught me in Ireland.’

  ‘No. I make my pictures on human skin.’

  For a moment Hector looked dismayed, thinking that his friend was about to reveal that the Miskito flayed human corpses to obtain their skins. But Dan’s next words reassured him.

  ‘I paint on living people. It is something that I learned as a youngster. There’s a jungle tribe who live inland from the Miskito coast and go around half naked, with their skins painted with pictures of birds and trees and flowers. When I was a boy the Miskito council sent me to them as some sort of hostage, while one of their youths came to live in my family. Their women folk are the artists. They spend hour after hour painting coloured pictures on the skins of their men. They think it makes the men look handsome and attractive. If the work is cleverly done, the pictures seem to come alive because they move as the muscles ripple. Because I was a stranger from outside the tribe, they indulged me and showed me how to make the paints and brushes.’

  ‘You had to make your own brushes?’

  ‘It’s not difficult. You cut a twig from a certain type of bush, chew the end until it is soft, and use that as the brush.’

  ‘And what about the paints?’

  ‘We mixed coloured earth or the powder of certain stones gathered in the river beds, and coloured sap from jungle plants. There was scarcely a colour that we couldn’t create. Blues and reds were easy, yellow more difficult. For a special occasion like a feast or a wedding, the women would first paint their men with the pictures. Then they puffed grains of shiny sand over them while the paint was still wet, so that their men folk glittered.’

  Hector looked at his friend in astonishment. ‘Show me what you can do. Though we won’t find any coloured earth or jungle plants in the bagnio.’

  In response, Dan approached a huckster selling cooked meats from a brazier, and asked him for a small nub of charcoal. Returning to Hector, he took from him the sheet of paper and, laying it flat on the ground, smoothed it out. He made four or five swift strokes with the charcoal, and then held it up for Hector to see.

  On the page was the unmistakable image of a seagull, swerving in mid flight.

  ‘Will that do?’ Dan asked.

  Awestruck, Hector took the sheet of paper. ‘Do! Even if I had all the time in the world, and the best materials, I could never have drawn something like that.’

  ‘I’d prefer to be an artist than a gardener,’ said Dan.

  ‘Dan, if I can get you a supply of paper, and some pens of the sort we use here, do you think you can teach yourself how to draw and colour with them? You would have to learn how to make the sort of pictures you saw on that map, only better, much better.’

  ‘Making pictures comes more easily when you do not know how to read or write,’ the Miskito answered confidently.

  Every Friday in the month that followed, Hector coached Dan in the art of illustrating maps and charts. He prepared a list of the subjects – mountains, ships, fish, wind roses – and made rough sketches to show Dan how they should look. Once, after much soul-searching, he stole a loose page from a disintegrating collection of charts held in the captain’s library, and brought it to the bagnio to show his friend, replacing the page next day.

  Finally, when he was satisfied that Dan had mastered the use of paper and ink, Hector was able to return from the bagnio to the captain’s mansion carrying what he believed would be Dan’s salvation.

  WHEN TURGUT entered his library the following morning, Hector was ready with his demonstration. ‘With your permission, effendi,’ he said, ‘I would like to show you a drawing.’

  Turgut looked at him enquiringly. ‘A drawing? Something you have found among the logbooks?’

  ‘No, effendi, it is this,’ and Hector pulled from his sleeve a sheet of paper on which was Dan’s most recent effort with pen and coloured ink. It was a picture of Algiers seen from the sea. All the salient features were there: the harbour mole and the lighthouse, the city walls, the Dey’s castle on the summit and the gardens at either side.

  Turgut recognised it at once. ‘And you made this yourself?’

  ‘No, effendi. It was drawn by the slave who is my friend. The one whose home is across the western ocean.’

  Turgut was quick on the uptake. ‘I take it that you are suggesting he is qualified to help in the library, that his skill could be valuable in preparing a new version of the Kitab-i Bahriye.’

  ‘That is so, your excellency.’

  Turgut thought for a moment and then said quietly, ‘Friendship has its obligations. I will increase my offer of his purchase price with his master. As soon as that is settled, your friend can begin work as a draughtsman and illustrator and come to live in this house. That also will be an auspicious time for both of you to celebrate your adoption of the True Faith. In the meantime you should be thinking about your new names.’

  ‘I HOPE THE ABDAL has a steady hand and a sharp razor,’ said Dan on the morning that he and Hector were due to profess Islam. The two friends were at Turgut’s mansion preparing for the ceremony the captain had called their sunnet. They had already paid a visit to one of Algiers’ public bath houses and were putting on new white cotton gowns.

  ‘Judging by the number of slaves from the bagnio who converted to Islam, the abdal must have plenty of practice in removing that piece of skin,’ said Hector, trying to sound more confident than he was feeling. ‘I’ll be glad when it’s over. It will put an end to all the jokes about being too sore to walk straight.’

  ‘ . . . or make love again,’ added Dan.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ confessed Hector. ‘I’ve never been with a woman properly. Just had one or two encounters with village girls, but always brief and they never meant anything.’

  ‘Then you’ve got something to look forward to, though you don’t earn enough to visit the bordellos that the odjaks use. They aren’t allowed to marry until they’ve reached senior rank and until then must live in men-only barracks. No wonder they appreciate good-looking young men.’

  Hector ignored his friend’s banter as he looked into a mirror to adjust his red slave cap which he had been told he should wear during the ceremony. ‘Have you decided what you will be called in future?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll be Suleiman Miskita – Suleiman the Miskito. What about you?’

  ‘The captain suggested that I become Hassan Irlanda – Hassan from Ireland. He’s offered to act as my sponsor even though I really don’t need one.’

  ‘Turgut Reis has really taken a liking to you, hasn’t he?’

  ‘No more jokes, Dan,’ said Hector seriously. ‘I think it is because he doesn’t have any family of his own.’

  ‘Well then, let’s not keep him waiting.’

  Together the two friends made their way to the mansion’s central courtyard where a small group of the other servants were waiting for them. Spread on the ground was a large carpet, on which stood jugs of flavoured drinks and trays of food – a first course of sheep’s head and feet served with fried eggplant and cucumbers in yoghurt, followed by a sweet course of pears and apricots, grape paste and halva flavoured with almonds. Hector’s tutor in calligraphy had already arrived and Hector caught a glimpse of the abdal, the specialist who would perform the circumcision, as he disappeared into a side room with his bag of surgical tools.

  Moments later the captain himself appeared, resplendent in a dark red jacket over his embroidered shirt, full pantaloons, and a maroon turban with matching silk sash. With him were two of his friends, both elderly men with grave expressions and full white beards. They were to witness the act of profession. The captain was in an expansive mood. ‘Peace be upon you,’ he said genially to the assembled company. ‘This is an important d
ay for my household. Today you are my guests and I want you all to enjoy yourselves, so take your places and we will eat together.’

  He seated himself at one end of the carpet and invited his two colleagues to sit beside him with the abdal next to them. Dan and Hector were to be seated directly opposite. When his guests had eaten their fill and the trays had been cleared away, Turgut called for everyone’s attention. ‘My friends,’ he said, ‘the ceremony for the taking of the right path is always an occasion for celebration. When there is sunnet for the sons of the Sultan, the festivities last for fifteen days and nights. A thousand plates of rice and fifteen roast oxen are despatched daily to the people of the city, there are fireworks and parades, and the harbour is a mass of coloured lights attached to the masts of the assembled vessels. Today may seem very humble by comparison, but nevertheless it is equally a time of rejoicing, and the proper ritual must be observed.’ Rising to his feet, the captain then beckoned to Dan to come forward. The Miskito stepped into the centre of the carpet and stood facing his master. Turgut asked him formally, ‘Is it your wish to acknowledge the true Faith?’