Mustafa ben-Nakir gently shook his head. “I would gladly go myself, for I like to visit new places and people. But I lack proficiency in Latin, and have also other things to do. You had better stay at the fortress for a time. Now you must not disturb me, for I’m composing a Turkish poem in the Persian manner and must count the syllables.”
To comfort me, he ordered the eunuchs to provide me with an exceedingly fine kaftan, and I had then no choice but to take Selim’s head on the golden charger and follow Mustafa ben-Nakir. The armed
Negroes attended us and we paced in solemn procession to the forecourt amid the astonished shouts of the soldiers. Abu el-Kasim dashed up to us and fell on his knees before Mustafa to kiss his slipper. Seeing this, the eunuch also knelt; Mustafa took the Sultan’s signet ring from his hand and fingered it reflectively. Soon the whole court was full of bowing soldiers, who touched forehead and ground with their finger tips.
Mustafa ben-Nakir summoned the sergeants and arranged for some men to guard the gates and others to quench the fires down by the harbor. But the greater number he ordered to drag the cannon to the shore. No vessel was to put out for the fortress without his permission, and anyone approaching from that direction was to be arrested and brought before him.
When he had finished speaking he contemplated his nails and asked whether there was anything further the men wished to know. They murmured among themselves until one took courage and yelled, “Driveling fop! Who are you to give orders?”
This was greeted by expectant laughter, but Mustafa ben-Nakir coolly took a broad scimitar from a Negro’s hand, advanced to the speaker and looked him steadily in the face. The other soldiers made way, and Mustafa with a lightning stroke took off the man’s head before he could lift a finger. Without so much as a glance at the headless body Mustafa returned to his place, handed the sword back to the Negro, and asked if anyone else had anything to say. But the smile had frozen on the lips of the curious, and those standing next the dead man contented themselves with stooping to empty his purse. After this the different detachments marched off in good order to the duties assigned them.
Abu el-Kasim rubbed his hands and said, “We’ve brought the business to a happy conclusion, though at considerable expense. Bitt I have no doubt that the Deliverer will fully reimburse me. We must now decide what to say to him, and how to say it, so that we may not contradict one another when the time comes.”
Mustafa ben-Nakir graciously assented, adding, “And it would be well for your slave Michael to go at once to the fortress and begin negotiations with the Spaniards.” He turned to me. “If you can induce them to leave, so much the better. If not, there’s no harm done.”
Having given orders for two soldiers to attend me, he returned to the Courtyard of Bliss. There was nothing for it but to curse my fate and betake myself to the harbor, where troops were putting out fires, building breastworks, and dragging ordnance into position.
The boatman had not far to take me, but the round keep and massive walls of the fortress seemed to grow ever darker and more menacing as we approached. When we had covered half the distance a shot was fired from a little cannon on the wall, and the ball fell so near my boat that the splash of it drenched me. In my alarm I began to jump up and down waving the skirts of my kaftan and shrieking in my best Latin that I was the Sultan’s messenger. We should certainly have capsized had not the boatman pulled me down again on to my seat. But there was no more firing, and as soon as I was within earshot a monk in a black habit appeared on the jetty and addressed me in Latin, asking in God’s name what had happened, and blessing my arrival, since great anxiety prevailed in the fortress.
We drew alongside the jetty, and I demanded in the name of the Sultan to speak with the garrison commander. While this officer was changing into clothes worthy of the Sultan’s envoy, the monk set wine before me, and would have offered me food had supplies allowed. But these were dwindling now that purchases in the city had become impracticable. So guileless was this good man that he asked me to send my boatman back to fetch meat and greenstuff, for the wounded especially were suffering from the lack of these victuals.
I soon gathered that no one in the fortress had the least idea of what had happened in the town. For ten years the garrison had led a lazy, peaceful life, and it was thought that I had come to beg forgiveness on the Sultan’s behalf. Selim ben-Hafs had always regarded these Spaniards as his only protection against Khaireddin.
This situation only increased my dread of the wrath which my errand might arouse in Captain de Varga, the Spanish commander, and I sought to stiffen my courage with deep draughts of wine.
At last Captain de Varga appeared, in shining armor, attended by the Spanish consul who had fled from the town with the soldiers. The consul had a bump on his forehead and was in a state of intense excitement because his house had been looted. Captain de Varga spoke a little Latin, and was a proud, resolute man; yet in consequence of his inactive life he had put on weight, so that the costly armor pinched him here and there: a circumstance in no way tending to increase his good will toward me.
First he asked what had happened in the city, and why the Sultan’s troops as well as the townspeople had so treacherously attacked his own almost unarmed men and caused such damage to property. At this point the consul, the veins swelling at his temples, shouted that the losses he had sustained far exceeded in value the lives of a few blockheads of soldiers. He demanded full compensation and a new and better house, for which he had already chosen the site.
When at last I had a chance to speak I chose my words with care: “Noble Captain, most excellent Consul, and Reverend Father! Sultan Selim ben-Hafs, blessed be his name, died this morning by accident. He slipped and fell in the baths, breaking his neck. After much discussion among his fatherless sons, the seven-year-old Mohammed has assumed the kaftan and ascended the throne. He has secured his position by distributing money among his loyal troops, and beside him as counselor stands his wise mother Amina. His elder brothers will not oppose him, for in the course of a meal a datestone lodged in each of their throats and choked them. No doubt the hand of fate thus intervened to prevent disputes over the succession.
“But,” I went on with a quaking heart, though still looking Captain de Varga steadfastly in the eye, “while all this was taking place in accordance with the time-honored customs of this city, a horde of pillaging Spaniards arrived, bringing artillery with them. I hold you in no way to blame, noble Captain, for this gross infringement of national rights. The lawless rabble must have left the fortress without your permission, and profited by the ruler’s death to bring disorder to the town. Nevertheless they desecrated the mosque, willfully defiled the holy Marabout’s tomb, and then opened fire on the kasbah, no doubt with the object of seizing the treasury. The Aga was compelled to dispatch a few cavalrymen to drive them forth with as little violence as possible. The Spaniards then overran the city, looting the homes of the faithful and ravishing their good wives. To prevent further disorders, the Sultan has been graciously pleased to sever communications between fortress and city, lest the people, enraged at the pollution of the mosque and tomb, should return evil for evil and attack the fort. The Sultan has also ordered the digging of trenches about the harbor, where he has set up his artillery, as you may see for yourself. But these measures have been adopted solely to protect the fortress and to prevent fresh violence, which might prejudice the friendly relations now happily existing between the Emperor of Spain and the Sultan of Algiers.”