The Pirates of the Levant by Arturo Pérez-Reverte Page A

calmly, flags held high, without breaking ranks, or ran away like rabbits?'
He stopped speaking for a moment and poured out the little wine that remained in the jug.
'Look at Sebastian. He's sitting there as silent as ever, but he agrees with me. See, he's nodding.'
He placed his right hand on the table, next to the jug, and seemed to study it. It was thin and bony, with the same scars on knuckles and wrist that Copons and the Captain bore.
'Reputation ... .'he murmured.
There was a long silence. Then Malacalza raised his mug to his lips and chuckled.
'Anyway, here I am, a veteran soldier in the King of Spain's army.'
He looked again at the coins on the table.
'The wine's finished,' he said, suddenly sombre. 'And I'm sure you have other things to do.'
We got to our feet and picked up our hats, not knowing what to say. Malacalza remained seated.
'Before you go,' he added, 'I'd just like to list those places on our service records that no one else cares about: Calais ... Amiens ... Bomel ... Nieuwpoort ... Ostend ... Oldensel ... Linghen ... Julich ... Oran. Amen.'
As he said each name, he picked up the coins one by one, his eyes vacant. Then he seemed to recover somewhat weighing the coins in his hand before putting them in his  purse. Kissing the child on his lap and depositing him on floor, he got to his feet, holding his mug of wine in one hand and resting his weight on his bad leg.
'To the King, may God keep him safe.'
I thought it odd that there was not a hint of irony in his words.
'To the King,' echoed Captain Alatriste. 'And despite the King, or whoever else is in charge.'
Then all four of us turned towards the old sword hanging on the wall and drank a toast.
It was dark by the time we left Malacalza's house. We walked down the street, which was lit only by the light from the open doors of the houses — we could just make out the dark shapes of the people sitting inside — and by the candles burning in the wall niches devoted to various saints. Just then, a silhouette emerged from the shadows, getting up from the ground on which it had been crouched, waiting.
This time, the Captain did not simply give the figure backward glance; he removed the buff coat he had draped over his shoulders so as to leave sword and dagger unencumbered. And thus, with me and Copons following behind, he went straight up to the dark silhouette and asked, 'What do you want?'
The other man moved a little into the light. He did deliberately, as if he wanted us to be able to see him more clearly, thereby dissipating any fears we might have.
'I don't know,' he said.
He delivered this disconcerting answer in a Castilian as good as the Captain's, Sebastian's or mine.
    'Well, you're taking a chance, following us like that.'
    'I don't think so.' He said this confidently, looking at the Captain without even blinking.
    'Why is that?'
    'I saved your life, my friend.'
    I shot a sideways glance at the Captain, to see if such familiarity had angered him. I knew he was perfectly capable of killing someone who addressed him in what he judged to be an inappropriate fashion. To my surprise, though, I saw that he held the mogataz s gaze and did not seem angered in the least. He put his hand in his pocket, but the Moor took a step back as if he had received an insult.
    'Is that what your life is worth? Zienaashin ? Money?'
    He was obviously an educated Moor, someone with a story to tell. We could see his face clearly now, his silver earrings glittering in the light of a candle. His skin was not particularly dark and his beard had a reddish tint to it. On his left cheek was that tattooed cross with diamond-shaped points. He was wearing a bracelet, also in silver, and was holding one hand open, palm uppermost, as if to show that he was concealing nothing and was keeping his fingers well away from the dagger at his waist.
    'Then go on your way, and we'll go on ours.'
    We continued downhill until we reached the corner. I turned at that point to see if the man was