(This post is a continuation of Don Quixote – The Captive’s Tale – Parts 1 through 7. If you haven’t done so already, it’s probably best to read those posts before continuing on here.)
Last week, in her father’s garden, the captive met Zoraida (the young Moorish woman responsible for his liberation) for the first time. This week, he and Zoraida talk with each other—though the presence of her father constrains their conversation.
As Zoraida approached us in the garden, her father told her in his own language that I was a captive belonging to his friend the Arnaut Mami, and that I had come for salad.
She took up the conversation, and in that mixture of tongues I have spoken of, she asked me if I was a gentleman, and why I was not ransomed.
I answered that I was already ransomed, and that by the price it might be seen what value my master set on me, as they had given one thousand five hundred zoltanis for me.
To this, she replied, “Hadst thou been my father’s, I can tell thee, I would not have let him part with thee for twice as much, for you Christians always tell lies about yourselves and make yourselves out poor to cheat the Moors.”
“That may be, lady,” said I, “but indeed I dealt truthfully with my master, as I do and mean to do with everybody in the world.”
“And when dost thou go?” said Zoraida.
“To-morrow, I think,” said I, “for there is a vessel here from France which sails to-morrow, and I think I shall go in her.”
“Would it not be better,” said Zoraida, “to wait for the arrival of ships from Spain and go with them and not with the French, who are not your friends?”
“No,” said I. “Though if there were intelligence that a vessel were now coming from Spain, it is true I might, perhaps, wait for it. However, it is more likely I shall depart to-morrow, for the longing I feel to return to my country and to those I love is so great that it will not allow me to wait for another opportunity, however more convenient, if it be delayed.”
“No doubt thou art married in thine own country,” said Zoraida, “and for that reason thou art anxious to go and see thy wife.”
“I am not married,” I replied, “but I have given my promise to marry on my arrival there.”
“And is the lady beautiful to whom thou hast given it?” said Zoraida.
“So beautiful,” said I, “that, to describe her worthily and tell thee the truth, she is very like thee.”
At this her father laughed very heartily and said, “By Allah, Christian, she must be very beautiful if she is like my daughter, who is the most beautiful woman in all this kingdom: only look at her well and thou wilt see I am telling the truth.”
Zoraida’s father, as the better linguist, helped to interpret most of these words and phrases, for though she spoke the bastard language, that, as I have said, is employed there, she expressed her meaning more by signs than by words.
While we were still engaged in this conversation, a Moor came running up, exclaiming that four Turks had leaped over the fence or wall of the garden, and were gathering the fruit though it was not yet ripe. The old man was alarmed, and Zoraida too, for the Moors commonly, and, so to speak, instinctively have a dread of the Turks, but particularly of the soldiers, who are so insolent and domineering to the Moors who are under their power that they treat them worse than if they were their slaves.
Her father said to Zoraida, “Daughter, retire into the house and shut thyself in while I go and speak to these dogs. And thou, Christian, pick thy herbs, and go in peace, and Allah bring thee safe to thine own country.”
I bowed, and he went away to look for the Turks, leaving me alone with Zoraida, who made as if she were about to retire as her father bade her. The moment he was concealed by the trees of the garden, however, she turned to me, with her eyes full of tears, and said, “Tameji, cristiano, tameji?” that is to say, “Art thou going, Christian, art thou going?”
I made answer, “Yes, lady, but not without thee, come what may. Be on the watch for me on the next Juma, and be not alarmed when thou seest us; for most surely we shall go to the land of the Christians.”
This I said in such a way that she understood perfectly all that passed between us, and throwing her arm round my neck she began with feeble steps to move towards the house; but as fate would have it (and it might have been very unfortunate if Heaven had not otherwise ordered it), just as we were moving on in the manner and position I have described, with her arm round my neck, her father, as he returned after having sent away the Turks, saw how we were walking and we perceived that he saw us.
Zoraida, ready and quickwitted, took care not to remove her arm from my neck, but on the contrary drew closer to me and laid her head on my breast, bending her knees a little and showing all the signs and tokens of fainting, while I at the same time made it seem as though I were supporting her against my will.
Her father came running up to where we were, and seeing his daughter in this state asked what was the matter with her; she, however, giving no answer, he said, “No doubt she has fainted in alarm at the entrance of those dogs,” and taking her from mine he drew her to his own breast, while she sighing, her eyes still wet with tears, said again, “Ameji, cristiano, ameji”—“Go, Christian, go.”
To this her father replied, “There is no need, daughter, for the Christian to go, for he has done thee no harm. The Turks have now gone. Feel no alarm. There is nothing to hurt thee, for as I say, the Turks at my request have gone back the way they came.”
“It was they who terrified her, as thou hast said, señor,” said I to her father; “but since she tells me to go, I have no wish to displease her. Peace be with thee, and with thy leave I will come back to this garden for herbs if need be, for my master says there are nowhere better herbs for salad than here.”
“Come back for any thou hast need of,” replied Hadji Morato; “for my daughter does not speak thus because she is displeased with thee or any Christian. She only meant that the Turks should go, not thou, or that it was time for thee to look for thy herbs.”
With this, I at once took my leave of both, and Zoraida, looking as though her heart were breaking, retired with her father.
While pretending to look for herbs, I made the round of the garden at my ease, and studied carefully all the approaches and outlets, the fastenings of the house, and everything that could be taken advantage of to make our task easier.
Having done this, I went and gave an account of all that had taken place to the renegade and my comrades, and looked forward with impatience to the hour when, all fear at an end, I should find myself in possession of the prize which fortune held out to me in the fair and lovely Zoraida.
For a further installment of The Captive’s Tale, see the next post in this blog.
Corsairs and Captives
Narratives from the Age of the Barbary Pirates
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The Travels of Reverend Ólafur Egilsson
The story of the Barbary corsair raid on Iceland in 1627
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