by Peter Kerr
It took only a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. There, just as he’d envisaged, was the unmistakable outline of the Bull, abetted by his crony, setting upon a girl in a doorway opposite. Although Pedrito couldn’t see her, hidden as she was by the Bull’s bulk, he could hear her frantic pleadings, and it was obvious from the timbre of her voice that she was indeed young. Moreover, no matter what Scarface had so disparagingly said about the ‘romantic’ predilections of the city’s women, it was abundantly clear that this one was not in any way enjoying the treatment she was being subjected to by these two debauched bilge rats.
‘Hold her arms!’ the Bull’s mate growled. ‘Fights like a wildcat, this one!’
‘All the better,’ the Bull puffed. ‘Nothing like a bit o’ spirit in a young bint, eh, Samak?’
His temper rising, Pedrito repeated the name to himself. ‘Samak – the Fish – and a rotten one, just like the way he smells!’
‘Wearing the niqāb, eh?’ Samak grunted. ‘We’ll have that off you, darling. Have a look at your pretty little face, uh!’
‘Never mind her face,’ the Bull panted. ‘All I’m interested in is her… Ouch! She – she bit my hand, the bitch!’ He raised his fist. ‘Right, you’ll pay for that, you dirty little slut!’
‘Want to try that with somebody your own size?’ Pedrito cut in, grabbing the Bull’s wrist and wheeling him round. There was so much adrenalin pumping through Pedrito’s body now that he was incapable of thinking clearly. What he did next, therefore, was purely an automatic act of survival. As the pirate lunged at him, he hooked a finger through his nose ring and tugged downwards with all his strength.
The sound that filled the alley now was more animal than human, and more like the shriek of a wounded mule than the bellow of a charging bull. Pedrito knew there was nothing more dangerous than a wild beast when injured, so, however illogically, he swiftly went about putting this one out of its agony by inflicting even more. He felt the sinew between the Bull’s nostril’s tear as he yanked his head lower still, felt the saliva splattering his hand as the Bull screamed a string of oaths, felt the crunch of breaking teeth as he brought up a knee to meet the Bull’s jaw.’
‘That was from all the young girls you’ve abused,’ Pedrito snarled, then kneed him again, this time in the groin. ‘And that was from me! I’ve been longing to do that since the first time I set eyes on your ugly face!’ All at once, the pent-up anger and resentment caused by years of suffering at the hands of the Bull and his like was coming to the surface, and Pedrito wasn’t holding anything back. As the Bull doubled over in pain, Pedrito smashed a fist into his face. With blood streaming down his beard, the pirate sank into an unconcious heap at Pedrito’s feet.
Then Pedrito saw the Fish hurl the girl across the alley, where she collapsed, stunned, at the base of the wall.
‘You bastard son of a sow!’ the Fish snarled as he lurched towards Pedrito, his hand reaching for the hilt of his scimitar. ‘Prepare to draw your last breath, you worthless piece of pig shit!’
Pedrito backed into the doorway, desperately glancing about for an escape route. But the Fish was barring his way, scimitar drawn and raised for the kill. Pedrito was unarmed, so there was nothing he could do but close his eyes and wait for the fatal blow. He’d often heard it said that, when faced with certain death, your entire life flashes before you, but all he could sense now was a paralysing terror and a sickening feeling of absolute helplessness. His knees buckled as the sound of blade scything through air assailed his ears. For a split second, his memory returned to the time when, aboard the royal galley, King Jaume had teased him with a similar threat of death by the sword. But there was nothing jocular about this situation. The Fish was about to kill him, and the best Pedrito could hope for was that the end would be swift, clean and reasonably painless.
Time seemed to stand still while he listened to the swish of the scimitar descending, then felt the touch of its cold steel. As the razor-sharp blade cut into his skin, he heard a dull ‘thwack’. Then nothing. He felt a trickle of blood on his neck. But he was still breathing, his head was still attached to his shoulders. Gingerly, he opened his eyes, just in time to see the Fish stagger backwards and collapse in a heap on top of his comatose mate.
‘You should be careful who you pick fights with, young master,’ said a frail, familiar voice. ‘Lucky I was here to look after you.’
Pedrito blinked tears of shock from his eyes as they focused on the diminutive form of the old beggar woman to whom he’d given a few coins earlier. She was standing in the shadows just a couple of paces away, swaying slightly as she hitched her crutch back under her arm.
‘I’ve used the head of this peg for a few unusual things over the years, but this is the first time I’ve had to fell someone with it.’ There was an impish smile on the old woman’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a look that was deadly serious. She motioned towards the girl lying dazed and trembling against the wall. ‘Quick, get her onto her feet. We’ll have to make ourselves scarce before these two animals wake up.’
Pedrito was too dumbfounded to say anything, so he dutifully did what he was told. Whispering reassuring words, he took the girl’s hand and, supporting her by the elbow, gently helped her up.
The girl began to sob, her whole body quivering as the shocking reality of her ordeal finally gripped her. She looked up at Pedrito with terror in her eyes.
He put an arm round her shoulders and stroked her hair. ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ he murmured. ‘It’s all right – nobody’s going to hurt you now.’
‘Hurry, young master!’ the old woman hissed, then prodded the unconscious pirates with the tip of her crutch. ‘Even if this pair stay in dreamland for a while yet, there’s always plenty more like them prowling about this rat warren at night. So, come on. If you value your lives, follow me home. Now!’
19
‘A HEART-RENDING REVELATION’
A LITTLE LATER THE SAME NIGHT – IN THE ‘KASBAH’ QUARTER OF MEDÎNA MAYÛRQA…
The ‘home’ the old woman led Pedrito and the girl to was one of several lean-to shacks built side-by-side against the city’s sea wall and facing onto a small, rundown yard with a well in the centre. This, she explained, was where some of the city’s merchants stored the baskets into which they decanted fish bought from boats at the quayside. From here, they would take the baskets by donkey or mule to whichever parts of the city were recognised as their individual trading areas, there to sell their wares door-to-door.
The storage shack she ushered them towards doubled as a tiny stable, which, it was revealed, she shared with a donkey called Masoud, or ‘Lucky’; an apt name, she said, as the donkey ate better than she did herself these days. She admitteded that times had never been particularly bounteous for someone with her disabilities, but since the Christian invasion and the consequent disruption of trading with the fishermen, the merchant who paid her a few dirhams to guard his store and look after his donkey had stopped coming down here, with the result that she was now reduced to begging in order to stay alive. At least she had a roof over her head, though, and for this she thanked Allah in all his mercy.
It had taken only a few minutes to reach here from the scene of the altercation with the two pirates; an urgent flight through one dingy, winding passageway after another, with Pedrito supporting the faltering girl as best he could, while also trying to keep up with the old woman, who, in defiance of her handicap, hobbled along at a surprisingly brisk pace. He had murmured soothing words to the girl as they went along, but the only responses she gave were little whimpering sounds and a few indistinct pleas about taking her home to her mother. As she was considerably shorter than Pedrito, all he could see of her was the top of her head, but he could tell by the touch of his hand on her waist that the long abaya robe she was wearing was of the smoothest silk. Also, there rose from her the hint of a perfume that was far too subtle for Pedrito to define, but which positively oozed opulence. How, he wond
ered, could such a delicate little flower as this have strayed at night into the squalor of the kasbah, with all its inherent dangers? Although he knew nothing about her or even what she really looked like, apart from that brief glimpse of her terror-filled eyes, he’d found himself feeling relieved that the girl’s beguiling scent had remained unsullied by the attentions of those stinking pirates, and he was stirred by an inexplicably deep hope that she had suffered no physical harm at their hands either. Perhaps, he pondered, he was merely reacting in some indirect way to the hitherto unthinkable plight of his little sister.
‘Here!’ the old woman said before Pedrito was even over the threshhold of her shack. ‘Take this jug and fill it with water while I light a lantern in here.’ She beckoned the girl. ‘Come, my dear – come inside with me. And try not to cry any more. No harm will come to you now, I promise.’
Her words lingered in Pedrito’s ears as he drew some water from the well. As sincere as the old woman’s promise had doubtless been, he was compelled to wonder just how she could possibly hope to honour it. In a few hours, the Christian assault would commence and, although this would be concentrated initially on one specific section of Medîna Mayûrqa’s northern defences, there was no telling how long it might be before its effects were felt throughout the city. If the walls were breached quickly, there was a very real likelihood – going by the results of the preceding days’ confrontations – that the Christian incursion would be swift, incisive and typically merciless. And the inhabitants of the kasbah could expect no more quarter than those privileged to live in more affluent areas of the city.
‘Shut the door behind you and bolt it,’ the old woman told Pedrito when he returned from the well. ‘And pour a little water into this bowl so that I can clean these grazes on our little lady’s face here.’ She had dispensed with her crutch now and was hopping about with surprising agility on her one foot. Clucking like a mother hen, she rested her behind on an upturned basket and began to tenderly dab at the girl’s injuries with a wad of cloth, which, Pedrito noticed, was as scrupulously clean as everything else in this tiny shelter, including Lucky the donkey’s stall, generously bedded as it was with fresh straw.
The girl was sitting with her back to the door on a wooden stool, which appeared to be the only item of furniture in the room, other than a dilapidated half barrel, on which was placed a lantern, the shack’s sole source of light.
The old woman, ever watchful, had noticed Pedrito taking in his surroundings. ‘And in case you’re wondering where I sleep,’ she said with the same puckish smile she had shown after flooring the pirate with the heavy end of her crutch, ‘it’s over there in the straw beside Lucky. We have an arrangement,’ she winked. ‘I respect the donkey’s celibacy, and he respects my chastity.’
Once more, Pedrito was moved to admire the pluck of this unfortunate soul, who not only accepted her lot with stoicism, but managed to make the best of it with surprising flashes humour as well.
‘Come round here,’ she said to Pedrito. ‘Fetch the lantern and hold it closer to me. I need to make sure these scratches are properly cleaned.’ She tutted in disgust. ‘Who knows what filth was under the fingernails of those smelly apologies for human beings.’ She gave the girl a reassuring smile. ‘But don’t worry, habib – they’re really only little blemishes. Nobody will notice them after a day or two.’
The girl was trembling all over, clearly still in a state of shock. She flinched as the cold water of the old woman’s cloth touched a scuff of broken skin.
The woman turned to Pedrito and gestured with a nod towards the sleeve of her cloak which covered the hook she’d shown him earlier. ‘I need you to give me a hand – literally. Hold her face steady while I wipe away the grit from this scratch.’ She smiled comfortingly at the girl again. ‘This may chafe a little, habib, but I’ll be as careful as I can, I promise.’
Pedrito placed the tips of his fingers under the girl’s chin and gently lifted her face up to the light. She winced as the old woman swabbed the scratch, but not even the resultant grimace could deter Pedrito from thinking that this girl had the most beautiful face he had ever seen. It was olive-skinned and perfectly oval, with a dainty little nose and enormous dark eyes, which, even when filled with tears as they were now, would be capable, Pedrito thought, of capturing anyone’s heart. They had certainly captured his. Pedrito was smitten, and he knew from that instant that the feelings this girl had aroused in him earlier were not of the brotherly kind after all.
She may have been small of stature, but something told Pedrito that her figure, although concealed beneath the flowing silk of her hijab, would be, in all probability, perfectly formed. As he brushed a wisp of long raven hair from the girl’s face to expose another graze, the velvety touch of her skin sent a shiver running through him. The girl, sensing this, lowered her eyes coyly. But as she did, Pedrito thought he noticed the faintest suggestion of a smile playing at the corner of her lips.
The old woman glanced up at him and smiled that knowing little smile of hers.
Pedrito felt his cheeks colour. ‘I, uhm – I think,’ he stammered, ‘there’s another little graze just, uh, just there to the left of her eye.’
The old woman nodded, smiled to herself, but made no comment.
To cover his embarrassment, Pedrito decided to point out yet another blemish, this one on the girl’s forehead. ‘I heard the pirates saying something about a veil, a niqāb, so maybe they made that mark when they pulled –’
‘Why don’t you ask the little lady yourself,’ the old woman butted in. ‘But perhaps you should tell us your name first, no?’
Pedrito had become aware that, since entering the old woman’s domain, she had stopped addressing him as ‘young master’ and had adopted an altogether less subservient demeanour. While still the epitome of good manners, she left him in no doubt that she was queen of her own castle, no matter how humble. And it was now obvious that she had decided that breaking the social ice would be a good way to begin bringing the girl out of her defensive shell.
‘I – I’m really sorry,’ Pedrito flustered. ‘I should have said. It’s … it’s Pedrito. My name is … Pedrito.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Pedrito,’ the old woman came back breezily. ‘I’m called Farah, and I hope you’ll excuse me if I don’t shake hands. I’ve only one, as you know, and it’s otherwise occupied at present.’ She let out a little giggle, as if privately enjoying this little dig at her own infirmity. She then looked directly at Pedrito and said, ‘Pedrito – Little Pedro in Spanish, isn’t it? Surely that’s a strange name for a big, burly lad like you, no?’
Pedrito shuffled his feet uneasily. He thought that recounting the story of his foundling origins would bring to mind too many fond memories of his parents and aggravate the still-raw pain of their loss. Then again, he realised that the old woman and the girl whose injuries she was caring for would undoubtedly have bitter stories of their own to tell, so why shouldn’t he have the courage to tell them his?
‘My parents,’ he began, ‘called me Pedrito when I was a tiny baby, and the name just sort of stuck, I suppose. And yes, since I grew up, being called Little Pedro has made me the butt of a few jokes, I admit.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘But –’
‘But it’s a nice name.’
Pedrito and the old woman exchanged glances that were a blend of surprise and relief. The girl’s voice, soft as it was, had betrayed hardly a tremor.
‘It’s a nice name,’ the girl repeated, as if finding confidence in her defence of Pedrito, ‘and you shouldn’t pay attention to anyone who makes fun of it – even though it is a Christian name.’
She was looking into Pedrito’s eyes now, and he felt his knees go weak again, but for an entirely different reason from the one that had caused the same reaction from Fish the pirate’s scimitar.
‘Pedrito,’ the girl said again, then paused to offer him a melting little smile. ‘My name is Saleema, and I’m grateful to you for saving my life.’
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Pedrito found himself stammering again. ‘Well, uhm, no – it was nothing, because – well, it was actually Farah here who saved both of our lives.’ He gave Farah a sheepish look. ‘And, well, I should have thanked you before for that, so I’m – well, I’m sorry and…’
Farah giggled again. ‘I’m thinking that maybe Cupid just happened to come into that alleyway in the form of an old cripple with a head-crunching crutch, yes?’ She grinned delightedly as she watched the two young people go all fidgety and look everywhere except at each other. ‘Who needs little arrows, eh?’ She laughed aloud now, before saying, ‘Anyway, Pedrito, I’ll spare your blushes. You were about to ask the little lady about this scratch on her forehead, weren’t you?’
But Saleema beat him to it. Farah’s clever little ploy of breaking the social ice had triggered a cathartic reaction in the girl, who now seemed impatient to confide the details of what had led to her falling prey to those two drunken pirates. She poceeded to reveal that she was the daughter of a Moorish shepherd, who had a small farm in the hills some way inland from the bay of Santa Ponça. A year earlier, when she was just sixteen, the Wali, the overseer of that part of the island, had told her parents that she had been recommended by him to join the Mallorcan king’s court. The Wali said that he had watched Saleema grow from childhood into a beautiful young woman, and it was his opinion that she would meet with the king’s favour – as a concubine.
Pedrito caught his breath, while Saleema paused to glance at him. She then went on to explain that to have such a compliment bestowed on one of their daughters was generally considered to be a great honour by humble Muslim families like hers, although any disinclination on her parents’ part to accept the invitation would have been ignored anyway. She had been summoned to become a member of the king’s harem in the Almudaina Palace, so a member of the king’s harem she duly became.
