‘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 running into the courtyard and began to break up the fight using whips and cudgels to separate the contestants. The Russians and their opponents drew apart, still looking sullen, but they offered no resistance to the intervention of the guards.
‘Whatever happens,’ advised Dan, ‘whether you are kicked or whipped, or punched in the face by a Turk, you must never strike back. I could pull that unnatural beast Emilio off you because he is foreign-born. But if he had been a true Turk, my certain punishment would be death. Never hit or insult our Turkish masters, that is one rule which everyone respects. Even if the Turk is drunk.’
‘But how can that be? I thought that the Mussulmen are forbidden to take alcohol.’
‘I’ll show you something,’ answered Dan, and led him towards the stairway.
They descended to the courtyard and Hector followed the Miskito into one of the side rooms in the arcade. It was a tavern, and doing a thriving business. The place was crowded with slaves, drinking and carousing, the smoke from their clay pipes creating a thick fug that made Hector’s eyes water.
‘Where does he get the alcohol?’ he whispered to Dan, nodding towards the landlord behind his counter at the back of the room. ‘He buys it from the merchant ships who come to trade in Algiers, or from the corsair captains who capture it as part of their booty. Then he resells it, often to the Turks themselves because the city authorities turn a blind eye to their own people who come into the bagnio for a drink, provided they don’t make an exhibition of themselves.’
Hector noticed a small group of Turks standing close to the counter who were obviously the worse for drink. ‘Look behind them,’ said Dan, lowering his voice. ‘Those big men over there, they’re paid by the landlord to keep an eye on the Turks. If any Turk gets drunk and it looks as if he will make trouble, one of those fellows will quietly escort him out of the bagnio. The landlord cannot afford a disturbance. If there is a fight, the guardian bashaw has the power to shut his tavern and order him to be beaten, even though the landlord is giving him a cut of the profits.’
‘You mean to say that customers of the tavern can just walk in and out of the bagnio?’
‘Yes, until an hour or so after dusk. That is when the gates are locked shut.’ Dan cocked his head to one side. ‘Listen, you hear that shouting? It’s the beylik foreman. He’s calling out what the jobs will be tomorrow. It’s time we went back up to the dormitory. If it’s your first day at work, you’ll need all the rest you can get.’
As they climbed back up the staircase Hector asked why the slaves did not attempt to escape if the gates were left open.
‘Where would they go?’ Dan replied. ‘If they run inland, the Moors of the countryside will catch them and bring them back to the city and receive a reward. If they get as far as the mountains, they will be eaten by wild animals. Should they reach the desert beyond the mountains they will get lost and die of thirst.’
‘Couldn’t they steal a ship?’
‘The Turks have thought of that, too. When a galley comes into port after a corso, the first thing they do is order the galley slaves to dump all the oars overboard into the harbour. Then the oars are towed ashore and placed in a secure warehouse. A few slaves have managed to escape by swimming out to visiting merchant ships and stowing away. But the ship captains take good care to search their own vessels before they leave Algiers. If the Turks find an escaped slave aboard a visiting ship, they’ll seize the vessel and put it up for sale. The captain and his crew are lucky if they are not enslaved as well.’
They had reached their dormitory, and Hector stretched out on the lumpy straw palliasse Dan had lent him. He lay there, listening to the sounds of the other slaves settling to their rest, the creaking of the bunks, the grumbles and mutterings, the coughs and spitting as men cleared quarry dust from their lungs and mouths, and the gradual chorus of snores. He felt the nagging, hard pressure of the iron ring around his ankle, and after everything he had learned that day he wondered if he would ever find out what had happened to Elizabeth.
SEVEN
‘WAKE UP YOU DOGS! Rise you foul unbelievers! Wake and get to work!’ Hoarse shouts from the courtyard of the bagnio roused Hector the next morning. The man in the lowest bunk close to him groaned. Then he farted loudly and deliberately so that Hector supposed it was his customary sardonic way of greeting the new day. Holding his breath, Hector got to his feet. ‘Time to get going.’ It was Dan’s voice. The Miskito was already out of his bunk and folding his blanket. ‘Get down to the courtyard and listen for your name in the roll call. Then follow what the others do. Try to stay in the background. I’ll see you this evening.’
It was barely light, and Hector heard a thin wailing call, then another and another, the sound hanging in the air over the high walls of the bagnio as he descended the stairway to the courtyard. He had heard that cry five times a day since he had been landed at Algiers. It was the adhan, the Muslim call to prayer. At the foot of the stairway he almost tripped over an old man already down on his knees, touching his forehead to the ground. The iron ring around his ankle showed that he was a fellow slave and Hector presumed he was a convert to Islam. When the old man rose stiffly, Hector took the chance to enquire, ‘The end of that call, the part which goes something like as-saltu kairun min an-naum, what does that mean?’ ‘It means “prayer is better than sleep”, the old man muttered grumpily, and shuffled off to join the throng of slaves gathering around the entrance to the passageway which led to the gates of the bagnio.