The Barbary Pirates (15 page)

“How can we get up there?” I asked.

“We could shout for help,” said Smith.

“Shout? They’re as apt to shoot us as send a rope down.”

“We’ve come all this way to be stuck in a pot?”

“It’s too bright in here for that crack of light alone,” I said. “Look—you can see more light at the far side of this pool. The open Mediterranean is just beyond this grotto, lads, and all we’ve got to do is swim through the underwater part and pop out the other side.”

“How far is it?” asked Smith.

“Well, I don’t know.”

“Maybe we should just shout for help,” he tried again.

“No. Look—dawn is coming, it’s getting brighter. We need to be out and hidden before our pursuers see us. I’ll swim first. If I don’t come back, I’ll either have succeeded or drowned.”

“Well, there’s reassurance!”

“Drown there or die of thirst and hunger here,” I said, and shrugged. I’d faced this dilemma before. “Let’s go while we have strength left to die swiftly.” And so I dove.

It was probably a dunking of only about fifteen or twenty meters, but it seems twice that when you don’t know. My rifle was an anchor, the sea dark, and the wave surge pushed me backward. But I held my breath, swam with all my might, and finally saw the surface silver from the sky beyond. I broke clean in a wave-churned inlet at the base of red lava cliffs. Air! I grasped a rock, floating and gasping, and at length Cuvier and Fulton popped up, too.

“Smith’s hesitant. Doesn’t like the water much, for an Englishman.”

“Here, hold my rifle. I’m rested now.” So I swam back through the cave to the grotto, the distance seeming a fraction of what it had been before, and took his blunderbuss from him. “It’s just like being born,” I coaxed. “The whole world is on the other side.” I led the awkward geologist to the edge of the grotto, taught him to take deep breaths, and then we dunked and swam through, me leading him by the arm, and coming up just as the sky was pinking to our left, which must be east. Smith blew like a whale and coughed. I glanced around. From the direction of the sunrise, we’d come out somewhere on Thira’s southern coast.

“Now what?” asked Fulton. “We can’t even climb up.”

“We go home,” Cuvier said. “Look—isn’t that our ship?”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Dragut’s xebec appeared to be anchored in a most unlikely place, off
the steep unprotected stretch of Thira’s southern shore. Had our luck finally turned? The vessel was quiet, the sun just breaking the rim of the sea, and no one spotted us as we swam the hundred meters to its bobbing hull. Fulton cupped his mouth to shout, but I instinctively cautioned him. I wanted to get on board first, with our weapons.

I caught the anchor line, wrapped my feet and hands around it, and pulled myself up to the bow. The crew was curled amidships, asleep, and the lone watchman, our helmsman, was focused primarily on getting seeds out of a pomegranate. At a signal my companions followed me up. I handed Fulton my soaked longrifle, pulled out my nicked and blunted rapier, and whispered to Smith and Cuvier to brandish their weapons. I trusted no one at this point. Then we lightly ran for the wheel, the helmsman turning just in time to find the tip of my weapon at his eye. The other Muhammadans came awake when we stood over them. Dragut instinctively reached for a pistol. As my sword dipped to stay his hand, he stopped, looking at us in confusion. We stood like a cluster of half-drowned rats, dripping, filthy, torn, and menacing, Fulton holding my rifle, Smith his blunderbuss, and Cuvier his dueling pistols. The fact that none of our wet guns would fire did not immediately register.

“You come out of the sea?” our captain managed.

“Aye,” I said. “It’s been a long night. And we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

“But I don’t understand. Wasn’t I to pick you up back at the quay, on the other side of the island? Why are you here, with weapons drawn?”

I looked about. “Here’s a better question: Why are you anchored here in the open sea, away from any sheltered harbor?”

Dragut looked to the shore, as if an answer might be found there. “The weather was calm, so we anchored for the night to wait for the morning’s breeze,” he finally said. “If you were a sailor, you would understand.” He blinked. “But where did you come from?”

“We’ve been poking about. We need to get back to Venice as soon as possible. Can you take us there?”

“Ah, then you have found what you were looking for?” He sat up eagerly, his eyes flicking from one to the other of us, looking for some sign of treasure. The man was a mercenary like me.

“We hope.”

Now he seemed to gain more certainty. “Then of course. Abdul! Constantine! Up, up, come you lazy dogs, let us raise the anchor for our passengers!” He glanced to the shore again. “There is no time to lose!” He looked back to me. “But why do you hold your sword on your friend Hamidou?”

“Greece makes me nervous.”

“You are under Dragut’s protection now! Come, come, take your ease, have some dates and wine. Get out of your sodden clothes! You look exhausted. You can sleep in the sun.”

“There’re some ships on the other side of the island we should avoid, I think.”

“And no one is swifter and more elusive than Hamidou! Come, put your weapons away, get some rest, and then you can tell me your adventures! Out of the sea. Ha!”

I had my sodden shirt half off before I remembered the parchment pasted by seawater onto my back. I hesitated about showing it, but there was no privacy aboard and if I was to salvage anything I had to dry my artifact out. Cuvier peeled it off my skin and we examined the old document. The writing had smeared, but was still legible. Dragut glanced our way as we uncurled it, but made no comment. The anchor came up, the sails filled, and we began to move.

Our captain had turned to watch the cliffs of the island.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“Shepherds who might betray our direction for a coin.” He snapped an order and a long red-and-green pennant was raised, unfurling and flapping in the wind.

“What’s that?”

“A flag of the Barbary pirates. It will confuse anyone ashore about our purpose.” And indeed, now I did see men, waving or shaking their fists as we gathered headway. “They will be confused by my cleverness. No captain is smarter than Hamidou Dragut! None swifter! Or more quiet! Yes, you are lucky that you are paying me.”

I watched uneasily. “Are those the men pursuing us?”

“Who knows? Now they will report to their superiors, perhaps. But report the wrong thing, no?”

I didn’t trust Dragut or anyone else, but the idea of getting away from Thira seemed a good one. His crew certainly seemed cheered by the idea.

So we staked our prize on the deck to dry, determined to keep an eye on it. I had some food, famished enough to gobble, and resolved to stand sentry while the others slept.

When I woke, it was dark again. I’d slept the entire day away.

A moon was up, lighting the sea, and the tops of the waves were silver. It was still warm, pleasantly so, and the rigging creaked as the xebec cut through the sea. I looked at the horizon but land had fallen away in all directions. I felt for the parchment. To my relief it was where I’d left it, so I rolled it into my ragged jacket. Then I drank to slake my thirst and crawled over my companions to find Dragut.

Our captain was standing by the bowsprit, studying the stars. I’m a poor celestial navigator and admire people who can make sense of the spangle.

“Where are we?” I asked quietly.

He turned, the whites of his eyes the most visible thing in his dark face. “On our way home,” he said. “Look—the sea is as soft as a mother this night. The sail is billowed like a breast, and the moon is milk. A good sign, I think.”

“Of what?”

“That we are all finding what we’re looking for. You’re a man who is always searching, no?”

“It seems so. And others always seem to be searching for me.”

“Yes, in Venice and the island. Why is that?”

I shook my head. “I know nothing worth knowing.”

Now a flash of teeth. “Yet you
have
things worth knowing, perhaps? Yes, I have seen your parchment, and noticed your urgency of escape. What is so important about it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t read it. I don’t even know if I
can
read it.”

“Which is why you swim to my ship and climb aboard, sword unsheathed, guns displayed, wet and bloody? Well, I am a simple sailor, grateful for a calm night. Go get more rest, American, and tell me someday if our little adventure was worth it.”

Cuvier helped me decipher the parchment the next day. It was medieval
Latin, as might be expected from a Templar document, and badly aged and smudged. Hamidou gave us paper and pen to write down our translation. I feared the seawater had ruined it, but we made out just enough to come to a disappointing conclusion.

“This has nothing to do with Atlantis, ancient weapons, or Archimedes,” the French savant murmured.

It in fact appeared to be an account of a Roman Catholic monk’s pilgrimage to the Holy Land, as well as a series of standard prayers from the Roman church. There was nothing about secrets, Knights Templar, or underground tunnels.

“Perhaps it’s a code,” I suggested. “I seem to stumble across them all the time.”

“Hail Mary is a code?” Cuvier replied. “I’m afraid, Ethan Gage, that you led us through the gate of Hades for a book of prayer.” He gave me back the parchment. “Of interest to historians and theologians, perhaps, but no more remarkable than a hymnal.”

I turned the parchment sideways and upside down, inspected the back, and held it up to the sun. Nothing. “But why would they seal this in plaster?” I asked in frustration. “That portion of the wall was newer, I’m certain of it!”

“Perhaps to reinforce their mud. There may have been something of
real
value down there they had removed and were patching. It was an interesting rumor, but we’ve investigated it and found nothing.
Fini!
That’s how science works—the experiments that do not succeed are often as important as those that do. We’ve discharged our obligation to Napoleon and escaped with our lives, which itself is a miracle. Now we go home.”

Empty-handed again! By the beard of the dwarf, I hate underground places. People dig them to squirrel away things all the time, but I rarely seem to emerge with anything valuable. Nor had I discovered anything on Thira that provided a clue to the fate of Astiza, which I’d been hoping for, given Osiris’s wager in Paris. The entire expedition had proved pointless. All four of us were disappointed.

Fulton grew bored when Cuvier started translating the Apostles’ Creed, and instead stood at the stern, looking about at the sea and then curiously at the sun. “What time do you think it is?” he finally asked us.

“Midmorning.”

“And the sun rises in the east, does it not?”

“I’m hardly certain of anything anymore, but I’ll hazard that,” I said.

“And so our solar orb should be on our starboard side as we sail north, should it not? To our right?”

“Aye.”

“Which by my reckoning means we are sailing due
south
, directly away from Venice instead of toward it.”

We leaped up. “What?”

“I think our doughty captain is going entirely the wrong way.”

“Hamidou!” I called to the bow. “Which way are we going?”

“Home, I told you!” he called cheerfully.

“Whose home? You’ve got us pointed south, you idiot! Don’t you have a compass?”

Dragut looked at the sky in amazement and then shouted at one of his crewmen. An argument broke out. Finally, with a push, the man was driven to scamper up the mast like a monkey, bare feet climbing on the rings that held the sail, to scan the horizon as if looking for an alternate sun. No new course was set. He released a cord and a narrow white banner unfurled to wave in the breeze. What was that for? At last the man pointed excitedly and began shouting in Arabic. Then a chorus of shouts went up from all the crew, and they stood on the gunwales to peer at the horizon.

“What’s going on?” Smith asked.

Dragut pointed off our bow and stern. “Pirates.” And indeed, we now noticed dark sails cresting the horizon. “Many men, I think, very dangerous.”

“What? Where the devil have you brought us?”

“Wait, I put about.” He snapped orders and the helmsman turned, but then another crewman shouted and the wheel spun back. An argument broke out. The bow slid into the teeth of the breeze, and sails began to luff, and we coasted to a stop, wallowing in the waves. Now the crew was shouting at each other even more, while breaking out guns, swords, and pikes. Meanwhile we drifted, rigging creaking and banging.

My companions and I looked at each other, hope evaporating like dew.

“Look to your guns,” I said resignedly.

Enemy sail were bearing down on us like boulders accelerating downhill.

Our own weapons had been dried and cleaned that morning and so we loaded, even as our crew seemed impossibly clumsy at swinging the booms and turning the rudder to get out of irons. At the time we needed them most they’d panicked into incompetence!

“I thought you were the best sailor in the Mediterranean!”

“It seems I am cursed by an incompetent crew,” Dragut muttered.

“I thought you had fooled them with your Barbary banner!”

He looked aloft. “Maybe we still can.”

“Do you think that’s the bunch that was after us at Thira?” Fulton asked.

“How would they know to chase us here?” Smith said.

“My friends, I think it is wisest if we surrender,” Dragut suddenly counseled. “They are drawing within artillery range, and we have no long-range guns to reply. My ship is swift and light, but it is small and can’t stand up to a pounding.”

“I thought you could outsail any ship out here!”

“Not a Barbary corsair. We’re a Muslim crew. Perhaps they will have mercy?”

“But we’re not Muslim! We’re Christian! We’ll be enslaved!”

“True. But we can save your lives. Thus does Hamidou look after his passengers!”