Free The Pirates of the Levant by Arturo Pérez-Reverte Page B

a moment as he studied me closely with bright, dark eyes edged with such thick eyelashes they could have been those of a woman. That, however, was the only delicate thing about his tanned, weather-beaten face; and his pointed reddish beard accentuated the fierce expression that froze my blood. He must have been about thirty or so, and he was of average build, but with powerful shoulders and arms. Apart from the usual lock of hair at the back, his head was shaven, and he wore a long scarf looped about his neck, silver earrings in each ear and, on his left cheekbone, a strange blue tattoo in the form of a cross. He duly removed the dagger from my throat and wiped it on his grey-striped burnous before putting it back in the leather scabbard at his waist.
What happened?' I asked the Captain.
He slowly got to his feet. The woman, filled with fear and shame, covered herself with a grey-brown veil. The mogataz said a few words to her in her own language — something like barra barra — and she, picking up her crying child and wrapping it in the same veil, walked lightly past us, head bowed, and left the tent.
'What happened,' said the Captain calmly, 'is that these two valiants and I had a disagreement over the meaning of the word "booty".'
He crouched down to pick up the pistol he had fired and stuck it in his belt. Then he looked at the mogataz, who was still standing in the entrance to the tent, and something like a smile appeared on his lips.
'Things weren't going too well for me when this Moor appeared and took my part.'
He was studying the mogataz intently, from top to toe, and he seemed to like what he saw.
'Speak Spanish?' he asked.
'I do,' the Moor replied in good Castilian.
The Captain looked at the dagger in the man's belt.
'That's a good knife you have there.'
'I think so.'
'And an even better hand.'
‘Uah. So they say.'
They regarded each other for a few moments in silence.
'What's your name?'
'Aixa Ben Gurriat.'
If I was expecting more words, more explanations, I was disappointed. A half-smile similar to the Captain's appeared on the Moor's bearded face.
'Let's go,' the Captain said, taking one last look at the corpses. 'But first, we'd better set fire to the tent. That way we can avoid any awkward questions.'
This proved to be an unnecessary precaution. No one missed the two ruffians — we learned later that they were a pair of friendless, low-life, good-for-nothings — and their names were simply added to the list of men lost. As for the return journey, it proved hard and dangerous, but triumphant too. The road from Tlemcen to Oran, beneath a vertical sun that reduced our shadows to a dark line at our feet, was filled by a long column of soldiers, captives, plunder and livestock, with the
beasts — sheep, goats, cows and the occasional camel — in the vanguard, in the care of mogataces and Moors from Ifre. Before leaving Uad Berruch, however, we experienced a moment of great tension, when the interpreter, Cansino, after interrogating the prisoners, fell silent, turning this way and that. He reluctantly informed Sergeant Major Biscarrues that we had attacked the wrong place, that the mogataz guides had made a mistake — or had deliberately misled us — and directed us to an encampment inhabited by peaceful Moors who always paid their dues promptly. We had killed thirty- six of them, and I assure you I have never seen anyone as angry as the sergeant major became then. He turned bright scarlet, the veins in his neck and forehead bulged as if they were about to burst, and he swore that he would have every guide hanged, along with their forefathers, their whorish mothers and their porcine progenitors.
The fit of rage was quickly over, though. After all, there was nothing to be done, and so, ever practical and prepared for whatever life might throw at him, Biscarrues finally calmed down. Regardless of whether they were peaceful or hostile, he concluded, the Moors would still fetch a good price in Oran. They were