Free Sofia by Ann Chamberlin Page B

have beaten him easily. God had blessed him with neither wit nor brawn. But with those pistols (probably stolen), heaven was turned quite unnaturally in his favor and we had to cower before him like sheep before a wolf.
    After a morning’s search, however, the Knights turned up nothing suspicious and had to be appeased by an invitation to join us for dinner. The cook served up salt pork with fried apples and biscuit, which we washed down with quantities of wine. All on board partook—the nun more piously than was good for her sea-sickened stomach and Husayn as nonchalantly as any Christian weaned to the stuff.
    I could relax somewhat and joined in the toasts to a sea “free of Turks.” I put my feet up against the mast, leaned back against the hatch, and felt a surge of well-being that erased the effects of a night awake with a cankered spirit. The food and wine were good, the sun was warm, but tempered by a freshening breeze. The sky was a perfect blue and the sea reflected it like a polished mirror. Among the empty rigging, gulls were preening themselves, making themselves at home.
    Alas, the unction was as short-lived as it was blessed. It was interrupted by a stare as sensible as a slap on the back of my neck. I turned and saw her eyes, jealous of my ease. Now we shall see, those sultry brown eyes said, closing to an intense squint. Those words were as clear to me as if they had been spoken aloud. Her eyes dropped as soon as I met them, but there was plenty of time for the message to be passed. She thought, I suppose, that it was only fair to give me warning of what she was about to do. Either that, or she was so certain of victory that she took no care to have it be an ambush.
    When Baffo’s daughter was assured she had my attention, she got up from her place and moved to the one her aunt had vacated to go and rid herself of salt pork. The place just happened to be at the elbow of the Knights’ lanky captain.
    “Venerable Knight,” the girl began tentatively.
    “Yes, Madonna?” The Knight sat up to attention and blushed to be so addressed.
    Madonna Baffo herself remained as white and cool as cucumber flesh. She continued, “Venerable Knight, why do you search Christian vessels for Turks? Surely good Christians have no commerce with the heathen?”
    “You’d be surprised, Madonna. They’re like rats, and no ship on the sea is free of them.”
    Madonna Baffo was shocked and amazed—at least, she pretended to be so. “But what sort of Christian would allow such a thing?”
    “It’s not always easy to tell a traitor from the outside. But I will tell you this, Madonna. Your Venetians are the worst offenders. Worse than the Spanish, worse than the French!”
    “I can’t believe it!”
    “As God is my witness, it’s true.”
    “But why?”
    “Because they love money more than Christ Jesus. Because they’ve been on the Turks’ side since we took Jerusalem. As the Lord said, ‘they are whited sepulchers, full of death and corruption within.’ :
    “I cannot believe it,” she said again. “/ am Venetian.”
    “Ah, but you are pure and innocent, Madonna. Innocent of the ways of the world. It gives a man pleasure to protect such innocence. It makes me feel that the job I do is worthwhile.”
    “I thank you for it,” she told him. “And may sweet Mary and the angels bless you.”
    She was playing stupid for him. For this man she had to play very stupid indeed, and I knew it was a dangerous game she was playing, even had their talk been of other matters. I got slowly to my feet and walked with feigned nonchalance to the dying fire on which our quiet ride at anchor had allowed the cook to heat his pork. There I furtively picked up a glowing coal in a pair of gunner’s tongs. Pretending absentmindedness, I continued to listen intently to their talk.
    “But how should I know these corrupted men when I meet them, Messer Knight, if you are not about? You have assured me greatly that this ship is clean.