‘I’ve come about the prisoners from the French galley St Gerassimus,’ Hector began carefully. ‘The Emperor gave instructions that I was to assist you in setting the amount of their ransom.’
‘So I believe,’ answered Maimaran, who made it his business to stay closely informed about the Emperor’s latest whim.
‘He also wants to acquire a siege gun similar to one on the galley, and for that I need information from the prisoners.’
‘And have you had any success?’
‘Not yet. I was wondering whether it would be possible to reduce the amount of their ransom if they cooperated in the matter of the gun.’
‘It is a proposition fraught with risk,’ commented the Jew. As he observed the young Irishman in front of him, Maimaran wondered if the young man knew just how angry and violent Moulay would be if he learned that he had been denied a full ransom.
‘Sean Allen thought you might be able to suggest another way forward.’
Maimaran pretended to give the matter some thought. But he had already decided he would prevaricate. He spread out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘At this stage I don’t know what to propose. I know too little about the case. It would be helpful to have some more information about the French prisoners, any details that would help me calculate their ransom.’
Hector looked disappointed. ‘Would there be any advantage in getting in touch with other ransom brokers? The leader of the prisoners is a man called Piecourt. He has twice asked that someone send word of their capture to Algiers. Apparently there is someone there – an Iphrahim Cohen – who can arrange their speedy release.’
This time Maimaran’s hesitation was genuine. Hector’s suggestion was a surprise. Of course, Maimaran knew that the leading ransom brokers in Algiers were the Cohen family. He had dealt with them in the past, though in matters of trade, not as ransom brokers. Again the Jew was cautious. ‘Did this man Piecourt give any reason why this Iphrahim Cohen should be told?’
‘No. He only asked that someone contact him.’
‘An interesting idea . . .’ It was odd, Maimaran reflected, that a comite of the French Galley Corps should know the identities of the leading ransom agents in Algiers. ‘Again, it seems that we need to be better informed about the Frenchmen. One of my assistants will visit them. He will assess their ransom value – he is an expert in these matters – and report back to me. In the meantime I suggest you also try to learn more about them. You said that is the Emperor’s wish: that you act as the go-between.’
With that remark, Maimaran shifted the responsibility back to Hector and brought the interview to an end.
LUIS DIAZ was waiting in Sean Allen’s office when Hector got back there, and the grin on the Spaniard’s face contrasted with the gun founder’s tone of exasperation. ‘One moment the Emperor wants a castle smasher,’ Allen was saying, ‘and the next instant he sends word that there’s to be a fantasia. That means we’ll have to waste some of our small stock of pistol powder so there will be even less for bomb experiments.’
Hector was startled. ‘Is the Emperor going to have someone blown from the mouth of a cannon?’
Diaz laughed aloud. ‘Whatever makes you think that?’
‘In the bagnio of Algiers our Turkish guards accused us of a fantasia if we did or said something insolent or disobedient.’
‘This is a different sort of fantasia, thank god,’ the gun founder reassured him. ‘One which delights our horse-mad friend here. It involves a lot of over-excited cavalrymen charging around on their horses and firing guns in the air. It’s spectacular and very profligate as it uses up a great deal of gunpowder. It is aptly known as Laab al-Barud or Powder Play.’
Luis Diaz’s grin only broadened. ‘Sean, don’t be so grumpy. Our young friend deserves a day out from this smoky hellhole. I’ll take him and his companions along to see the show. In the meantime you might be so good as to issue me with half a keg of good pistol powder so I can bring it to the royal stables without further delay. The fantasia is scheduled for today, after the evening prayer. There’s no time to waste in gossiping.’
Diaz’s good humour continued as he left the Arsenal with Hector and his companions, closely followed by a servant leading a mule loaded with the precious powder. ‘A fantasia is really something special. You’ll never have seen anything like it before. Two or three hundred first-class riders mounted on some of the very best horseflesh in the world.’
They came to the causeway where it crossed over the prison cells, and Diaz advised them to wait there: ‘This is the best place to see the show. It’ll take at least a couple of hours for the riders to get ready, so you can spend the time catching up with your former shipmates from the galley. As it’s Sunday, they’ll be having the day off. But leave someone up here to keep yourself a good spot as it’ll soon get crowded.’
Leaving Dan to hold their place, Hector went down into the shallow gully with Karp and Bourdon and headed towards the arch where the crew of St Gerassimus were lodged. He was intent on cross-examining Piecourt, but as they reached the Frenchman’s cell, a surly-looking inmate told him that the comite was absent, and so too was the rowing master. Nor would anyone tell him where they had gone. Hector was left with the impression that the crew members of the St Gerassimus had been told to be as unresponsive and obstructive as possible if he returned with any questions. Only when Bourdon met up with some of his countrymen who failed to recognise him was the pickpocket able to learn that the comite and the rowing master were at mass. ‘Apparently there’s a clandestine chapel in the last archway. It’s been set up secretly by two Franciscan priests who came to Meknes to negotiate some prisoner releases. Moulay has been keeping the priests waiting for months, quibbling about the size of the ransom. In the meantime they conduct secret masses for the faithful. The comite and a couple of the other men from the galley are there now.’
‘Karp, would you mind coming with me into the chapel and having a look round?’ Hector asked. ‘I have a feeling that it might be dangerous for me to go in there by myself. Jacques, perhaps you can stay outside and keep watch. Warn us if you think that we might get ourselves trapped inside.’
The three men made their way to the furthest archway. It was much smaller than the others, and had been closed off with a wooden doorway. Quietly Hector pushed the door open and slipped inside with Karp at his heels.
It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the almost total dark. A service was in progress. The chapel was tiny, so cramped that it could hold no more than a score of worshippers. All of them were crushed together and on their knees as they faced a portable altar set up against the far wall. In front of the altar a priest was also kneeling, his hands clasped in prayer. There was no window to the tiny room, and the only light came from a single candle placed on the altar which illuminated a cross made from woven straw pinned against the far wall. In the dense gloom Hector could not identify the individual figures of the worshippers. They all appeared to be dressed in slaves’ clothing though he thought he recognised the broad shoulders of the rowing master. Deep in their prayers, none of the congregation turned their heads as they murmured their responses to their priest’s invocation.
As unobtrusively as possible, Hector sank down to his knees. Beside him he felt Karp do the same. The chapel was so crowded that he found it difficult to avoid the bare feet of the man directly ahead of him. Hector kept his head bent forward, wondering at the intense devotion of the worshippers. The chapel was airless and the smell of the close-packed bodies filled his nostrils. He admired the courage of the priest who would risk holding such a mass, and the ardent devotion of his flock.