Pirates of the Levant by Arturo Perez-Reverte

Author:Arturo Perez-Reverte
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group USA, Inc.
Published: 2010-08-02T16:00:00+00:00

The word “die” soon took on urgent meaning. Until around dawn, the wind had been moderate and favorable, but then it began to blow very hard, becoming a stiff northeasterly that threatened to carry us too near the coast. The galley slaves were whipped awake, the oars lowered into the water, and with everyone rowing, we gradually pressed ahead into the choppy, churning water, while the spray drenched the rowers. It was pitiful to see them half naked and soaked to the skin, lungs bursting as they rowed. Sailors and cabin boys were rushing from one side to the other, blaspheming and praying in about equal measure, while the privileged few took shelter in the stores or the infirmary or the captain’s cabin. We soldiers took our chances, squeezed together in the embrasures, clinging to each other, some of us vomiting or cursing each time the galley pitched into the heart of a wave and the water flooded everything. The blankets and bits of canvas we threw over ourselves were of little use because to the great swell was added a hard, cold rain that ended up sousing us all, and the wind was far too strong for us to put up the awning.

By sheer oar power—five or six were broken that day—we managed to travel about a league, although it took us all morning. And when the galley master mentioned the possibility of a few soldiers lending a hand at the oars if things got really bad and there was a risk of us being blown onto the shore, it was curious to hear the chorus of protests, arguing that they were men-at-arms and therefore gentlemen, and that they wouldn’t dream of taking up an oar unless, God forbid, the king condemned them to the galleys. Some even said that they would rather be drowned like newborn kittens but with their honor intact than be saved with their honor diminished, and that they would rather be chopped into pieces than see themselves brought down, even for a moment, to the vile condition of galley slaves. And so, for the time being, there was no further discussion, and everything continued as before, with us soldiers crammed in the embrasures, shivering and soaked, spewing and praying and cursing the universe, and the galley slaves rowing as hard as they could, beneath the lash of the galley master and his assistant.

By midafternoon, fortunately for us all, the wind swung round to the southeast, and we could pull in the oars. Then, with the mainsail lowered and the wind behind us, a small trinquet sail was hoisted, and that put us back on course. The problem was that a fierce, stormy rain was still falling, enough for a second Flood, and thus, lashed alternately by rain and gusts of wind, with lightning playing in the distance and with everyone crowded in the stern so as not to weigh down the prow, we approached the Strait of Messina at a speed, according to the pilot’s calculations, of four miles for each turn of the hourglass.

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