by Seth Hunter
None of which explained what Cathcart was doing here, or how he had come to be adviser to the Dey of Algiers.
But questions of this nature would have to wait upon events. He had visiting royalty to entertain. Fortunately Imlay had brought Qualtrough back with him and Nathan instructed him to prepare some refreshments in the cabin. ‘But no alcohol,’ he managed to convey in a terse undertone before the steward went below. Qualtrough gave him a look that might have been described as scathing.
Nathan introduced Prince Ahmed to his officers who had all, somehow or other, managed to put their uniform coats on, though otherwise their appearance left a great deal to be desired. The Prince’s retinue was altogether more impressive. There were about ten of them, all in flowing robes with a plethora of jewellery and weapons. The rest of the men who had come aboard appeared to be either servants or seamen, many of them Arab but many not. They had also brought a quantity of baggage with them and they stood about the deck, taking stock of their surroundings while the crew of the Swallow took stock of them. All in all, Nathan reckoned, there must have been about fifty of them. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw the first bullock swinging up above the level of the deck, its eyes rolling wildly.
‘Perhaps,’ he said to Imlay, ‘we should go below.’ He caught Tully’s eye and permitted himself the ghost of a smile. ‘Carry on, Mr Tully.’
Gradually, in the course of the next half-hour, things became a little clearer.
Ahmed Karamanli Pasha-zade was the second son of the former Pasha of Tripoli, but he had fled the country shortly after the present Pasha had murdered their elder brother, doubtless being anxious to avoid the same fate. Since when he had been in exile, first in Tunis and then Algiers. Now apparently, he was planning to return to Tripoli aboard the Swallow, with a view to regaining his lost inheritance.
Several supplementary questions occurred to Nathan at this point, not least the problem of where he was going to accom modate the gentleman and his large retinue in the increasingly crowded lower deck of the Swallow. He put this at the head of a long and growing list which he planned to present to Imlay at the first opportunity.
In the meantime, Cathcart was more than happy to fill Nathan in on some of the blanks in his own history. He had been born in County Westmeath, in Ireland, he said, and emigrated to the American colonies at the tender age of twelve – just in time to join the Revolution.
‘And how did you contrive to become a prisoner of the Algerines?’ Nathan asked him, mainly to divert him from his experiences while in British custody.
‘I was aboard the schooner Maria out of Boston,’ Cathcart replied, ‘when we were taken by a corsair. They took me and twenty others as slaves and we’ve been here ever since. Eleven years.’
‘Good God!’ Nathan stared at him. The man did not look as if he had endured eleven years of slavery, as Nathan understood the condition. He was not much older than Nathan, and he appeared in the best of health.
‘The first years were pretty tough,’ Cathcart admitted. ‘We were put to work on improving the fortifications down by the harbour, carrying heavy stones and the like. The overseers were plain bastards who’d flog you as soon as look at you – you’d have thought they was in the British Navy – and once I was put to the bastinado. Beaten with a cane on the soles of the feet,’ he explained. ‘A punishment to which they are much inclined. But then after a while I was picked to work in the palace gardens with the lions and the tigers.’
Nathan bent his head in polite enquiry.
‘Oh, aye, lions and tigers – he had them by the dozen, the old Dey. Antelopes and peacocks, a right royal menagerie. I worked for the Bostanji-bashi, the head gardener, and he treated me well enough. Then Pasha Mohammed died and Baba Hussein took over. And one day he’s walking in the gardens and we get to talking. I spoke the lingo by then, see, and I always had the gift of the gab in any tongue. Well, with one thing and another he takes a shine to me, and next thing I know I’m working inside the palace. At first I was just one of the clerks, translating documents and the like, but within a year or two I’m one of his top Hojas. I advised him on the treaty he made in ninety-six and on account of that, and the money he made out of it, he set me free, and all the others that was taken with me on the old Maria. Only by that time I’d put a bit of money aside myself, you see, and I’d found a house with servants, down by the harbour, and acquired a number of taverns.’
‘Taverns?’ repeated Nathan, casting his eye over their other guests, who were partaking of Qualtrough’s non-alcoholic refreshments and the various delicacies that he had provided, which looked suspiciously to Nathan like those he had purchased himself only an hour before from the market traders.
‘Oh, the present Dey has no objection to taverns,’ insisted Cathcart, ‘provided it’s Christians what has the running of them. You see before you the biggest innkeeper in Algiers.’
This, presumably, was why Imlay had been so confident about the provision of wines and spirits. But it could not be the only reason that Cathcart was aboard. ‘So why then do you wish to accompany us to Tripoli?’ Nathan enquired.
‘Ah, well, there you go now. Imlay thinks as how I was of such assistance over the treaty with the Dey, that I can be of equal help to him, d’you see, when he tries to deal with the Pasha of Tripoli. And he has promised to see me right over it.’
‘And the men you have brought with you?’
‘As to that, he said as how you was a bit shorthanded with the crew, Captain, and that we might be able to help you out.’
‘But who are they?’
‘Oh, most of them are seamen. Least they was, once upon a time. Twelve of them was with me when they took the Maria. The rest washed up in Algiers one way or another.’
‘You say most of them. What about the rest?’
‘The rest of ’em are gunners. Imlay says you are in particular need of gunners.’
‘Well, that’s true enough, but when you say gunners … you mean ship’s gunners?’
‘Ship’s gunners, land gunners, they can fire any type of guns.’
‘And what were they doing in Algiers?’
‘Well, they was in the service of the Dey for a time, only he had no more need of them once he give up on the corsing, do you see? You might say I helped put them out of business when I helped with the signing of the treaty.’
‘So they fought aboard the corsairs?’
‘They did, sir, they did. And very well, too, from what I have heard.’
‘So how do you think they would feel about fighting the corsairs from Tripoli, if they had to?’
‘Oh, they’d have no trouble with that at all, at all. Most of them are from Sicily, do you see, and they’ll fight anybody if they are paid enough.’
Nathan pondered this information in silence for a moment. Sicily was part of the Kingdom of Naples, or the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies as some would have it, ruled by the capricious King Ferdinand. The Swallow had been built in the King’s yard at Castellammare, so Nathan supposed it might be thought appropriate to crew it with his former subjects. ‘Taken as slaves, were they?’
‘No, no. Never been slaves. They use the slaves for the oars, do you see? Gunners is what you might call a more dedicated profession, but you’d know that, being a Captain in the King’s Navy. No, they are more in the way of mercenaries – so you’ll have no trouble getting them to fight the corsairs of Tripoli. Not that I expect you’ll have to. Not if we do the business with the Pasha.’
Nathan looked about the cabin. Imlay seemed perfectly at home in the role of host and his visitors were quite happily tucking into the refreshments. No one would miss him, Nathan thought, if he went up on deck, for his conscience was troubling him not a little for having left Tully in charge of accommodating the livestock and the additional crewmen. But there was one more thing he wished to know. He dropped his voice a little. ‘And Prince Pashaza there, what do you know of him?’
‘The Pasha-zade,’ Cathcart corrected him
mildly. ‘It being a title not a name, do you see? It means the son of the Pasha. Ahmed Pasha-zade … being as how you always put the title after the name in the Arabic. And strictly speaking there is no P. Which is why some say “the Bashaw”.’
Nathan thanked him for this intelligence. ‘But why is he here?’ he persisted.
‘I think you had better ask Mr Imlay that. But no doubt he has his reasons for it.’ The Innkeeper of Algiers lifted his empty glass and peered into it a little dismally. ‘Now I don’t suppose you have any of what you might call a proper beverage, set aside for Christians, if you see what I mean?’
Nathan told him to address himself to Mr Qualtrough.
‘If you will excuse me,’ he said, ‘I think I had better attend to my duties on deck.’
In fact, by the time he emerged, Tully seemed to have matters well in hand. The bullocks and the sheep or goats – even at close quarters it was difficult to be precise as to their identity – were accommodated in pens in the waist, and the men had been put to work clearing up the considerable mess they had left on the decks – and even Mr Wallace’s precious carronades – in the traumatic process of being hauled aboard.
Nathan joined Tully on the quarterdeck and congratulated him on his efficiency.
‘What do you make of the new crewmen?’ he asked him.
‘Well, they seem to be competent at shovelling up shit,’ Tully replied, a little coolly. ‘I cannot speak for their other abilities as yet. Doubtless we will soon find out when we put to sea. Sir.’
Nathan perceived that there was a little bridge-building to be done between them.
‘I suppose we will have to begin culling tomorrow,’ he said, meaning the livestock, and not the crew.
‘I expect we will, sir, or we will never be able to work the ship, let alone the guns.’
Nathan left his bridge-building for a more appropriate time and rejoined his visitors below. Cathcart appeared to have taken over as host and, judging from his ebullient manner, had prevailed upon Qualtrough in the matter of drink.
‘So there you are,’ Imlay greeted him amiably. ‘I was wondering where you had got to. I hope you are happier now I have got you some decent seamen.’
‘If they are decent,’ replied Nathan sourly.
‘Are you ever happy, Nathan?’
‘I have had my moments.’
‘One day you must tell me about them. I am sure I would find them stimulating.’
‘I would be a little happier if you were to tell me what you intend with the Pasha-zade and his crew.’
‘Ah. Yes. Well, I was about to, when we were alone. But as you ask, and as none of them speak a word of English, I will tell you now. Ahmed Pasha-zade is, so to speak, my wild card.’
‘Your wild card?’
‘My trump, even. If Yusuf Pasha refuses to moderate his terms.’
‘And how is Ahmed Pasha-zade going to help?’
‘Well, I would have thought that was obvious. He is a rival to the throne. In fact, as the elder brother, he is the rightful heir.’
‘So, you are preparing to unleash him on Yusuf Pasha.’
‘That is the general idea. I am told he has a great deal of support among the Khuloghlis.’
The implications of this were not immediately apparent to Nathan.
‘You might call them the Household Cavalry,’ Imlay explained. ‘They were instrumental in bringing Yusuf to power but now, I am told, they have had a change of heart.’
‘Well, I am glad you are on top of the situation.’
‘I am glad you are glad. Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘Yes. You could tell me where I am going to stow him while he is aboard – him and his followers.’
‘Ah. Well, as to that, I am afraid we will have to put him here. There is no other option. You cannot very well stick a member of the ruling house of Tripoli down in the bilges with the rats.’
Nathan nodded to himself though he was by no means convinced. ‘And will his mates mess with him?’
‘His mates?’ Imlay raised a brow. ‘One or two of his body guards might – but I am afraid we will have to accommodate the others elsewhere.’
‘And what of ourselves?’
A small ironic bow. ‘I leave that entirely at your disposal.’
‘Then, unless you have any other business in Algiers, and as soon as we have cleared the deck of sheep and bullocks, I believe we will put to sea.’
‘As you wish. I shall inform His Royal Highness. Oh, there is just one thing, if you will give me a moment.’
Imlay made his way through the company and returned with a bundle wrapped under his arm.
‘This,’ he said, ‘is our flag.’
Nathan frowned. ‘We already have a flag,’ he said. They had been flying the Stars and Stripes since leaving Gibraltar. ‘It has served us well enough until now.’
‘Yes, but it may not be appropriate from now on. We are not, after all, an American national ship. Not in the strict mean ing of the word. It would be neither diplomatic nor judicious to arrive in Tripoli flying the official American flag.’
Nathan knew Imlay of old and his suspicions were alerted.
He inspected at the bundle. ‘So what flag is this?’ He would not have been surprised if it was the skull and crossbones.
‘Shall we show them? You take one end and I will take the other.’ He raised his voice. ‘Your Royal Highness – gentlemen – if you will look this way?’
He nodded to Nathan and they opened the flag between them. It had seven red stripes, like the one they were already flying, but there were no stars. Instead there was a snake, uncoiled as if to strike, and the words Do Not Tread On Me written into one of the white spaces.
‘What,’ said Nathan into the sudden silence, ‘is this?’
‘It is a rattlesnake,’ said Imlay with a smile.
‘I can see that,’ said Nathan, though in fact the particular breed of snake was previously unknown to him. ‘But what is the flag?’
‘It is the flag flown by the New Jersey militia when they first went into action against the British Army,’ declared Imlay proudly. ‘It is the Flag of Freedom.’ He fluttered his side of the flag vigorously, so the rattlesnake seemed to ripple.
‘Liberty or Death!’ he cried out in a loud voice. ‘Hurrah!’ cried Cathcart.
‘Hurrah!’ cried the Pasha-zade after a moment’s indecision.
‘Hurrah!’ cried his followers.
Nathan took the flag and went up on deck. The sun was sinking beneath the horizon. The last rays caught the domes and minarets of Algiers. Distantly he thought he could hear the sound of the muezzin. The Moors who had been left on deck were bowing towards the gathering darkness in the east, wherein lay the holy city of Mecca. The bullocks were lowing, the sheep – or goats – bleating. It was all very peaceful. Nathan felt strangely out of place.
He handed the flag to Mr Lamb. ‘Hang that up,’ he said, ‘in place of the one we have already.’
He turned to Tully. ‘We had better start killing bullocks,’ he said, ‘before we lose the light. At dawn we sail for Tripoli.’
Chapter Thirteen
The Room of the Murdered Bey
Caterina first heard it from one of the Italian girls – Elizabetta. There was an American ship-of-war moored out in the Bay. It had brought an emissary, sent by the American President himself, to negotiate the release of the hostages. If the Pasha refused to let them go, then the ship would bombard Tripoli.
Caterina was inclined to be sceptical.
‘The Americans have no ships-of-war,’ she told Louisa, who was showing signs of excitement. This was another piece of intelligence Caterina owed to her former lover, Admiral Dandolo. ‘And even if they have obtained one, it will hardly be enough to take on the whole of Tripoli.’
Caterina was of a phlegmatic disposition, at least so far as some things were concerned. She was not unhopeful, but she did not care to have her hopes raised for insufficient reason. But
as the days went by she had to admit to the possibility that something was up. There was a definite air of tension within the seraglio. The two wives betrayed a more than usual degree of malice towards their servants and junior relatives. The hostages they treated with a cold disdain, bordering on contempt, but then this was nothing new. Towards Caterina and Louisa, they maintained a kind of sly watchfulness, like a pair of cats – and just as impenetrable.
Caterina remembered what Miriam had told her about the American agent who had been authorised to conduct negoti ations on their behalf. She anticipated the woman’s next visit with more interest than usual.
Miriam, when she did arrive, confirmed the rumours, but she was unexpectedly dismissive. Yes, there was an American ship in the bay, but if it was a ship-of-war it was a very small one; yes, it had brought an emissary to agree terms with the Pasha, but he was a very insignificant emissary and talks had broken down almost immediately. The Americans were not prepared to pay the price demanded – an outrageous sum, even by Miriam’s inflated standards. And if they threatened to use force, as had been suggested by Miriam’s connections in the castle, things would go very hard on the hostages.
This was not at all what Caterina had been hoping to hear.
‘Do you have any more good news for us?’ she enquired coldly. ‘Just to keep our spirits up?’
Miriam regarded her with a curious expression. ‘I might,’ she said.
There were times when Caterina longed to slap her. She narrowed her eyes a little to let her know the danger she was in.
‘There is a story that is told by the Turks,’ Miriam said, ‘of a hunter who goes into the forest with his dog. It is a very cold winter’s day and there is a heavy frost on the ground. After they have been walking for some little while, the dog finds a bird on the ground with all its feathers frozen.’ She smiled at Caterina’s expression but continued regardless. ‘The bird is unable to fly and it is freezing to death. But there is a pig in the forest who has just emptied its bowels. So the hunter picks up the bird and places it in the warm heap of pig’s dung. And after a little while the bird begins to move and flutter its wings.’ Caterina appeared about to interrupt at this point and Miriam raised a hand to forestall her. ‘And at that moment, a fox jumps out of the forest and gobbles it up.’
