Free Corsair by Tim Severin Page A

morning dew and wash their faces with it. They believe the dew makes them beautiful for the coming year.’
    ‘If she is as lovely as you say,’ answered Dan, ‘then you need have no fears about her safety. The Turks treat their women captives very differently from the men. They never expose the women in public, and they treat them with respect. But they are still prisoners, and if they come from rich or powerful families, the Turks will demand a great ransom for their release.’
    ‘And what if a woman does not have a rich family?’ Hector asked quietly.
    ‘Then a good-looking woman will find a place in her owner’s household. Maybe she will be a servant or – and this has happened – she even marries her captor.’ Dan paused. He was wondering how to explain gently that it was far more likely that Elizabeth would become her master’s concubine when a sudden sound of catcalls and jeers came up from the courtyard. ‘Come. The work gangs are returning. There’s more to know if you are to survive in the bagnio.’
    The two men returned to the balcony, and Hector looked down into the courtyard to see crowds of slaves pouring into the compound. All of them wore the red slave cap, and most looked gaunt and emaciated. One group was powdered with chalky dust which, Dan explained, showed that they had returned from a day working in the stone quarries. Others had streaks of dried mud on their arms and faces as they had been cleaning out the city sewers. A few slaves headed straight for the arcades, several climbed the stairways towards their dormitories but the majority loitered in the courtyard, gossiping or filling in time. Packs of cards and dice appeared as half a dozen gambling sessions began.
    ‘Where do they get their money?’ he asked Dan as a group of card players began tossing small coins into the centre of their circle. ‘They don’t get paid wages, do they?’
    Dan laughed. ‘No. They steal.’ He pointed out a man whose face, even from that distance, looked badly mutilated. ‘That one is the king of the thieves. He’s a Sicilian. He was caught several times by the Turks, and thrashed. But it did not deter him. Finally the aga di baston lopped off his nose and ears as punishment. But that still had no effect. He simply can’t leave off stealing. It’s his nature, and now the Turks treat his thievery as a joke.’
    More and more slaves were entering the courtyard, which was slowly filling up with men. Without warning a brawl broke out between two groups. There were shouts and curses. Punches were thrown, and two men were down on the ground, mauling one another.
    ‘Remember what I said, about the moskovits,’ observed Dan. ‘They are the ones with the heavy beards and matted hair. The darker-skinned slaves they are fighting look like they are Spaniards. It’s not enough that we are all slaves of the Muslims, but we have to quarrel among ourselves about who worships the Christ god properly. The Spaniards and Italians insult the Greeks, the Greeks spit on the moskovits, and all of them mock – what do you call it – the Puritana.’
    ‘The Puritans. I know what you mean. The Puritana, as you call them, are those who enslaved the Irish you met at home,’ commented Hector. ‘In my country, too, there are bitter quarrels between those who call themselves Protestant and those who respect the Pope in Rome.’
    Dan shook his head, perplexed. ‘I have never been able to understand why the Christians manage to have so many quarrels and hatreds among themselves. We Miskito all believe in the same gods and spirits, whether they are of the sun or rain or hurricane or in the sea. Slavery to us is natural. We ourselves hunt slaves, taking them from the weaker tribes around us. But we make them slaves only to do our work and because it gives prestige to their owners, not because we hate their religion.’
    The fighting in the courtyard had attracted the attention of the Turkish guards from the gate. They came