a flotilla of boats, filled with hundreds of men who rowed furiously in our direction. The fifty men manning El Sol did not stand a chance against the swarm of corsairs approaching us. We were going to be slaughtered.
Captain Arana’s resonant voice rose over the din of our men: “Do not resist. They will kill all of us if we fight them. We are outnumbered. Listen to me, men, do not resist.”
There were cries of, “Rather dead than a slave!”
Captain Arana implored, “For the sake of the women and children, do not resist. For the sake of the innocents, we must surrender. Pray to our Lord Jesus for His great mercy. That’s our only chance.”
Without encountering any resistance, the corsairs came aboard El Sol , yelling: “Death to the Christians! You will be our slaves!” Then they cursed Christianity and King Philip. As our men were herded in a circle, a renegade who spoke Spanish barked, “If you want to live, throw down your weapons! This ship is now under the command of Arnaut Mamí. From now on, you are his property.”
Mamí was an Albanian notorious throughout the Mediterranean for his barbarous cruelty. It was easy to spot him among the corsairs: he was a head taller than most of his men, bulky, with long blond hair and large blue eyes that seemed made of ice. His lips were drawn into a smirk. Growling insults in imperfect Spanish, he pulled out of our group two young members of the crew, unsheathed his scimitar, and drove its point through the throat of one of them. As the sailor fell on the deck, blood gushing from his neck, Arnaut Mamí drew his weapon back and, with one fulminant stroke, beheaded the man. The other sailor—so stunned he had not moved—met the same fate. Arnaut Mamí kicked their heads into the sea, then ordered his men: “Bring out all the trunks in the cabins. Blow open the doors if need be.”
Buccaneers carrying large coarse bags demanded all the coins, jewels, and valuables we carried on our bodies. We obeyed in silence. I kept the precious letters from Don John of Austria and the Duke of Sessa in a leather pouch under my shirt. My fate hung on those letters. We were asked to undress. Surreptitiously, I took the letters out of their pouch and balled them in my hand. I was about to place them between my buttocks when a corsair struck me in the head with the handle of his dagger, and shouted, “Give me that or I’ll kill you like a dog!”
The commotion attracted the attention of Arnaut Mamí who asked for the letters and inspected the wrinkled documents. Apparently Mamí could butcher our language but was unable to read it. He said, “Yussif, what’s in these letters?” A corsair, who looked like a Spanish man who might have been captured long ago and then converted to Islam, revealed the contents. As someone who was used to assessing the monetary value of people, Mamí immediately noticed my lame arm. “Show me your other one,” he commanded. I extended my right arm. Mamí’s bejeweled index finger ran vertically over my palm. “You have the hand of a lady,” he sneered, his eyes appraising me up and down with curiosity. “You must be an important person, or a high-ranking nobleman. The letters prove it.” Then he said to his men in Spanish: “If any one of you harms this man,” he held up his right hand, making a V with two long-nailed fingers, “I will pluck out your eyes. Is that understood?”
Corsairs were returning to the deck with heavy trunks. They waited for Mamí’s orders. Wielding a heavy ax he shattered one of the locks, then rifled through the contents of the trunk, chortling with revolting delight at his splendid booty. He selected some coins and rings, which he threw at his men, who fought over them like starving vultures over carrion. He handed the ax to another corsair and made a motion to crush the locks of the rest of the trunks.
We were commanded to remain absolutely quiet, or else our heads would be lopped off. We watched as the loot
Captain Arana’s resonant voice rose over the din of our men: “Do not resist. They will kill all of us if we fight them. We are outnumbered. Listen to me, men, do not resist.”
There were cries of, “Rather dead than a slave!”
Captain Arana implored, “For the sake of the women and children, do not resist. For the sake of the innocents, we must surrender. Pray to our Lord Jesus for His great mercy. That’s our only chance.”
Without encountering any resistance, the corsairs came aboard El Sol , yelling: “Death to the Christians! You will be our slaves!” Then they cursed Christianity and King Philip. As our men were herded in a circle, a renegade who spoke Spanish barked, “If you want to live, throw down your weapons! This ship is now under the command of Arnaut Mamí. From now on, you are his property.”
Mamí was an Albanian notorious throughout the Mediterranean for his barbarous cruelty. It was easy to spot him among the corsairs: he was a head taller than most of his men, bulky, with long blond hair and large blue eyes that seemed made of ice. His lips were drawn into a smirk. Growling insults in imperfect Spanish, he pulled out of our group two young members of the crew, unsheathed his scimitar, and drove its point through the throat of one of them. As the sailor fell on the deck, blood gushing from his neck, Arnaut Mamí drew his weapon back and, with one fulminant stroke, beheaded the man. The other sailor—so stunned he had not moved—met the same fate. Arnaut Mamí kicked their heads into the sea, then ordered his men: “Bring out all the trunks in the cabins. Blow open the doors if need be.”
Buccaneers carrying large coarse bags demanded all the coins, jewels, and valuables we carried on our bodies. We obeyed in silence. I kept the precious letters from Don John of Austria and the Duke of Sessa in a leather pouch under my shirt. My fate hung on those letters. We were asked to undress. Surreptitiously, I took the letters out of their pouch and balled them in my hand. I was about to place them between my buttocks when a corsair struck me in the head with the handle of his dagger, and shouted, “Give me that or I’ll kill you like a dog!”
The commotion attracted the attention of Arnaut Mamí who asked for the letters and inspected the wrinkled documents. Apparently Mamí could butcher our language but was unable to read it. He said, “Yussif, what’s in these letters?” A corsair, who looked like a Spanish man who might have been captured long ago and then converted to Islam, revealed the contents. As someone who was used to assessing the monetary value of people, Mamí immediately noticed my lame arm. “Show me your other one,” he commanded. I extended my right arm. Mamí’s bejeweled index finger ran vertically over my palm. “You have the hand of a lady,” he sneered, his eyes appraising me up and down with curiosity. “You must be an important person, or a high-ranking nobleman. The letters prove it.” Then he said to his men in Spanish: “If any one of you harms this man,” he held up his right hand, making a V with two long-nailed fingers, “I will pluck out your eyes. Is that understood?”
Corsairs were returning to the deck with heavy trunks. They waited for Mamí’s orders. Wielding a heavy ax he shattered one of the locks, then rifled through the contents of the trunk, chortling with revolting delight at his splendid booty. He selected some coins and rings, which he threw at his men, who fought over them like starving vultures over carrion. He handed the ax to another corsair and made a motion to crush the locks of the rest of the trunks.
We were commanded to remain absolutely quiet, or else our heads would be lopped off. We watched as the loot
Similar Books
