CHAPTER XLI

“Before two weeks had passed, our renegade bought a very good boat with room for more than thirty people, and to guarantee the success of his plan and lend it credibility, he wanted to sail to a town called Sargel, some thirty leagues from Algiers in the direction of Oran, where there is a brisk trade in dried figs. He made the trip two or three times, accompanied by the Tagarino he had mentioned. In Barbary they call the Moors from Aragón Tagarinos and the ones from Granada Mudéjares: in the kingdom of Fez the Mudéjares are called Elches, and these are the people used most by the king in war.

In any event, each time the renegade passed by in his boat he anchored in a cove not two crossbow shots from the country estate where Zoraida was waiting; there the renegade very purposefully joined the Moors who were at the oars, either to say a zalá or to rehearse what he actually intended to do, and so he would go to Zoraida’s house and ask for fruit, and her father gave it to him and did not recognize him; although he wanted to speak to Zoraida, as he later told me, and tell her that she should be happy and free of doubt, because he was the man who would take her, on my orders, to a Christian land, it was not possible, because Moorish women do not allow any Moor or Turk to see them unless instructed to do so by their husbands or fathers. They allow Christian captives to spend time with them and talk to them, even more than is reasonable, yet it would have made me unhappy if he had spoken to her, because she might have been alarmed to see that her affairs were being discussed by renegades. God willed otherwise, however, and our renegade did not have the opportunity to carry out his virtuous desire, but he saw that he could go back and forth to Sargel in safety and anchor whenever and however and wherever he chose, and that the Tagarino, his partner, followed his instructions to the letter; I had been ransomed, and all he needed to do was find Christians to man the oars, and so he told me to decide which of the prisoners, besides those who had been ransomed, I wanted to take with me, and to arrange for them to be ready on the following Friday, which he had determined should be the day of our departure.

Consequently I spoke to twelve Spaniards, all of them valiant oarsmen who could leave the city without difficulty; it was no easy task finding so many at that time, because twenty ships were out making raids and had taken all the oarsmen with them, and I would not even have found these if their master had not decided to make no raids that summer in order to finish building a galley that he had in the shipyards. I told them only that on the following Friday, in the afternoon, they were to sneak out one by one, go to the far side of Agi Morato’s country estate, and wait for me there. I gave each of them these instructions separately and said that even if they saw other Christians, they were to say nothing except that I had instructed them to wait in that spot.

Having finished this, I still had another task to attend to, which was most important to me: I had to inform Zoraida of the progress we had made so that she would remain observant and alert and not be taken by surprise if we attacked before she thought it possible for the Christian boat to have returned. And so I resolved to go to the estate to see if I could talk to her, and on the pretext of gathering greens, one day before my departure I went there, and the first person I met was her father, who spoke to me in the language used between captives and Moors throughout Barbary, and even in Constantinople; it is not Moorish or Castilian, not the language of any nation, but a mixture of all tongues, and with it we can understand one another; it was in this language that he asked me what I wanted in his garden and whose slave I was. I replied that I belonged to Arnaúte Mamí²⁴⁷ (I said this because I knew very well that the man was his great friend) and that I was looking for greens to prepare a salad. Then he asked me if I was for ransom and how much my master was asking for me. As we were exchanging these questions and answers, the beautiful Zoraida, who had not seen me for some time, came out of the house, and since Moorish women, as I have said, are in no way reluctant or shy about showing themselves to Christians, she did not hesitate to approach the spot where her father was talking to me; in fact, as soon as her father saw that she was walking toward us, rather slowly, he called to her and asked her to approach.

I cannot begin to describe for you the great beauty and grace, or the elegance of the rich attire, revealed to me by my beloved Zoraida. I will say only that more pearls hung from her lovely neck, ears, and tresses than she had hairs on her head. Around her ankles, which were bare, in accordance with Moorish custom, she wore two carcajes (the Moorish name for bracelets and bangles for the feet) of purest gold, studded with so many diamonds that, as she told me later, her father had valued them at ten thousand doblas, ²⁴⁸ and the ones on her wrists were worth the same amount. She wore a large quantity of very fine pearls, because the greatest pride and joy of Moorish women is to adorn themselves with rich pearls, both large and small, and so the Moors have more pearls than any other nation; Zoraida’s father was said to own many of the best pearls in Algiers and to have more than two hundred thousand Spanish escudos, and she who is now mistress of my heart was mistress of all this. If she looks beautiful now, after her many tribulations, imagine how lovely she was then, dressed in all her finery. Because it is well-known that the beauty of some women has its days and its seasons and decreases or increases according to what happens to them, and it is natural for the soul’s passions to heighten or diminish that beauty, although they most commonly destroy it. But at that moment she appeared so richly attired and so exceedingly beautiful that she seemed the loveliest woman I had ever seen; furthermore, considering all that I owed her, it seemed to me that I had before me a heavenly goddess come down to earth to be my joy and salvation.

As soon as she approached us, her father told her in their language that I was a slave of his friend Arnaúte Mamí and had come to pick a salad. She began to speak, and in that mixture of languages I have already mentioned she asked me if I was a gentleman and why I had not been ransomed. I replied that I had been ransomed, and for a price that would indicate how much my master valued me, for I had paid fifteen hundred zoltanís ²⁴⁹ for myself. To which she responded:

‘In truth, if you belonged to my father, I would make certain that he did not ransom you for twice that amount, because you Christians always lie and pretend to be poor in order to deceive the Moors.’

‘That may be so, Señora,’ I replied, ‘but the truth is that I have been honest with my master, as I am and will be with everyone in the world.’

‘And when do you leave?’ said Zoraida.

‘Tomorrow, I believe,’ I said, ‘because a ship from France is scheduled to sail tomorrow, and I intend to leave on it.’

‘Do you think it would be better,’ Zoraida replied, ‘to wait for a vessel from Spain and sail on that rather than on a ship from France? For the French are not your friends.’

‘No,’ I responded, ‘though if it is true, as I have heard, that a ship is arriving from Spain, I might wait for it, but it is more likely that I shall leave tomorrow, because the desire I have to be in my own country and with the people I love is so great that I cannot endure waiting for another opportunity, even if it is a better one.’

‘No doubt you are married in your own country,’ said Zoraida, ‘and wish to return to your wife.’

‘I am not married,’ I responded, ‘but I have given my word to marry as soon as I return there.’

‘And is the lady to whom you gave your word beautiful?’ said Zoraida.

‘She is so beautiful,’ I responded, ‘that truthfully, she looks a great deal like you.’

At this her father laughed heartily and said:

‘By Allah, Christian, she must be very beautiful if she resembles my daughter, who is the most beautiful woman in this kingdom. If you doubt it, look at her carefully, and you will see that I am telling you the truth.’

Zoraida’s father, who was a Ladino,²⁵⁰ acted as our interpreter for most of this exchange, for although she spoke the debased language that, as I have said, is used there, she tended to declare her meanings more by gestures than by words. As we were conversing, a Moor came running, shouting that four Turks had come over the fence or wall of the estate and were picking the fruit even though it was not ripe. The old man was alarmed, as was Zoraida, because the fear the Moors have of the Turks, especially the soldiers, is widespread and almost instinctive, for they are so insolent and overbearing in their dealings with the Moors, who are their subjects, that they treat them worse than slaves. And so her father said to Zoraida:

‘Daughter, go to the house and lock yourself in, while I speak to these dogs, and you, Christian, look for your salad and leave, and may Allah bring you safely to your home.’

I bowed, and he went to find the Turks, leaving me alone with Zoraida, who began to give indications of following her father’s instructions. But as soon as he was hidden by the trees of the garden, she turned to me, her eyes full of tears, and said:

‘Ámexi, Christian, ámexi?’ Which means ‘Are you leaving, Christian, are you leaving?’

I replied:

‘Yes, Señora, but not, under any circumstances, without you; wait for me on Jumá, and do not be alarmed when you see us, for there is no doubt that we will go to Christian lands.’

I said this in such a way that she understood very well all the words that had passed between us, and putting her arm around my neck, she began to walk toward the house with faltering steps; as luck would have it, for things could have gone very badly if heaven had not willed otherwise, as we were walking in this fashion, she with her arm around my neck, her father, who had returned from chasing away the Turks, saw us, and we saw that he had seen us; Zoraida, who was intelligent and clever, did not remove her arm but clung even closer and placed her head on my chest, letting her knees go limp and giving clear signs and indications that she was in a swoon, while I, for my part, acted as if I were holding her up against my will. Her father came running over to us, saw his daughter in that condition, and asked her what was wrong; when she did not answer, her father said:

‘No doubt her alarm at those dogs coming in here has made her faint.’

And taking her from me, he leaned her head against his chest; she heaved a sigh, and with her eyes still wet with tears, repeated:

‘Ámexi, Christian, ámexi’—‘Leave, Christian, leave.’

To which her father replied:

‘It does not matter, daughter, if the Christian leaves: he has done you no harm, and the Turks have gone. Do not be afraid, nothing can harm you, I asked the Turks to go and they left the way they came in.’

‘Señor, they frightened her, as you have said,’ I told her father, ‘but since she says I should leave, I do not wish to cause her any distress; peace be with you, and with your permission, I shall return here for greens as they are needed, because according to my master, no estate has better salad greens than this one.’

‘Come back as often as you like,’ responded Agi Morato. ‘My daughter did not say what she did because you or any other Christian troubled her; she became confused, and instead of saying that the Turks should leave she said you should go, or perhaps she thought it was time for you to gather your greens.’

This was when I took my leave of them both; looking as if her heart would break, she went off with her father, while I, pretending to pick salad greens, walked all around the estate, looking carefully at the entrances and exits, and at the house’s fortifications, and thinking how all of it could be used to further our scheme. Having done this, I returned to the renegade and my companions and told them everything that had happened, saying that I longed for the moment when I could enjoy without fear the great happiness that fortune had granted me in the person of the lovely and beautiful Zoraida.

Time passed, and finally the day and hour we longed for arrived, and by following the plan and procedure that, after careful consideration and long discussion, we had all agreed upon, we had the good fortune we wished for; on the Friday following the day on which I spoke to Zoraida on the estate, our renegade anchored the boat at nightfall across from the place where the fair Zoraida was staying. The Christians who would row had already been alerted and were hiding in various spots throughout the surrounding area. They were all impatient and excited as they waited for me, and longed to storm the boat that lay before their eyes, for they knew nothing of the renegade’s arrangement and thought they would have to win their freedom by force of arms, killing the Moors on board.

As soon as I and my companions showed ourselves, all the other Christians came out of hiding. By now the city gates had been closed, and not a soul was to be seen in the surrounding countryside. Since we were all together, we wondered what we should do first: go for Zoraida or subdue the Moorish oarsmen. As we were discussing this, our renegade approached and asked why we were waiting: the time had come, his Moors were not on their guard, and most were asleep. We told him why we were hesitating, and he said the most important thing was to take over the ship, which could be done very easily and with absolutely no danger, and then we could go for Zoraida. Everything he said seemed to be good advice, and so, without further delay, and with him as our guide, we reached the boat; he boarded it first, held up his scimitar, and said in Moorish: ‘None of you move unless you want to lose your life.’ By this time almost all the Christians had come on board. The Moors, who were not very courageous, were frightened when they heard their captain speak in that manner, and none of them reached for weapons, for they had very few, if any at all; without a word they allowed the Christians to tie their hands, which they did very quickly, threatening the Moors that if they raised any kind of alarm or called out in any way, they would all be put to the sword.

When this was done, half our men remained on guard, the renegade again acted as our guide, and we went to the estate of Agi Morato; it was our good fortune that when we opened the gate, it opened as easily as if it had never been locked, and so, very quietly and very silently, we approached the house without being detected by anyone. The beautiful Zoraida was waiting for us at a window, and as soon as she heard people moving about, she asked in a quiet voice if we were Nizarini, which was the same as asking if we were Christians. I replied that we were and that she should come down. When she recognized my voice she did not hesitate for an instant; without a word she came down, opened the door, and allowed everyone to see her, so beautifully and richly dressed that I am incapable of describing her. As soon as I saw her, I grasped her hand and began to kiss it, and the renegade and my two comrades did the same; the others, who knew nothing of the matter, did what they saw us doing, which seemed to be nothing more than thanking her for our freedom and recognizing her as our lady and mistress. The renegade asked in the Moorish tongue if her father was in the house. She replied that he was and that he was sleeping.

‘Then we will have to wake him,’ responded the renegade, ‘and take him with us, along with everything of value on this beautiful estate.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘my father is not to be touched in any way; in this house there is nothing of value except what I am carrying, and that is so valuable it will make you all rich and happy; just wait a moment and you will see.’

At this, she went back into the house, saying that she would return very soon, and we should be quiet and not make any noise. I asked the renegade what had passed between them, and when he told me, I said that nothing was to be done except what Zoraida wished; then she returned, holding a chest filled with so many gold escudos that she could barely carry it. As bad luck would have it, her father awoke and heard the noise outside; he looked out the window, and seeing that all the men there were Christians, he began to shout in an extremely loud voice, crying out in Arabic: “Christians! Christians! Thieves! Thieves!” These shouts caused us all the greatest confusion and fear. Seeing the danger in which we all were and knowing how important it was to complete our business before anyone heard him, the renegade, together with some of our men, hurried up to where Agi Morato was standing, but I did not dare abandon Zoraida, who had fainted into my arms.

In brief, those who ran upstairs had such good luck that in a moment they came down again with Agi Morato, his hands tied and a handkerchief covering his mouth, which did not allow him to say a word; still, they threatened him that if he made a sound, it would cost him his life. When his daughter saw him she covered her eyes so that she would not see him, and her father was horrified, not realizing how willingly she had placed herself in our hands. But just then we had more need of our feet, and cautiously and quickly we boarded the ship; those who had remained on board were waiting in fear that some evil had befallen us. Barely two hours of the evening had passed, and we were all in the boat; Zoraida’s father’s hands were unbound and the cloth removed from his mouth, and the renegade told him again that if he said a word, he would be killed. But when he saw his daughter there, he began to sigh most piteously, especially when he saw that I held her in a close embrace and that she did not struggle, or protest, or shy away, but remained calm; even so he was silent, fearful the renegade’s many threats might be carried out.

When Zoraida came on board and saw that we were ready to put our oars into the water, and that her father and the rest of the Moors were prisoners, she told the renegade to tell me to be so kind as to release those Moors and free her father, because she would throw herself into the ocean rather than see with her own eyes the father who had loved her taken prisoner on her account. The renegade told me what she said, and I responded that I was happy to comply, but he said it was not a good idea; if we left the Moors behind, they would summon the people and alert the city, and they would come after us in fast-moving corvettes and cut us off on land and on sea so that we could not escape; what we could do was set them free in the first Christian land we reached. We all agreed to this, and Zoraida, too, was satisfied when she was told the reasons why we did not wish to comply immediately with her request; then, in contented silence and with joyous effort, our valiant oarsmen picked up their oars and, commending ourselves with all our hearts to God, we began to row toward the islands of Mallorca, the closest Christian land. But because the north wind began to blow and the sea became somewhat rough, it was not possible to stay on course for Mallorca, and we had to follow the coast toward Oran, very fearful that we would be discovered at Sargel, which is about sixty miles along the coast from Algiers. By the same token, we were afraid of running across one of the galleys that ordinarily carry merchandise from Tetuán along that route, though all of us, together and separately, assumed that if we encountered a merchant galley, as long as it was not one of those that make raids, we not only would not be defeated but would capture a ship in which we could finish our voyage more safely.

As we were rowing, Zoraida hid her head in my arms so as not to see her father, and I could hear her calling on Lela Marién to help us. We had gone some thirty nautical miles when dawn found us approximately three harquebus shots from shore, which we saw was uninhabited, with no one who could observe us; even so, we made a great effort to row farther out to sea, which by this time was somewhat calmer; when we had gone almost two leagues, the order was given that only every fourth man should row while the others had something to eat, for the ship was well-provisioned, but the oarsmen said that this was not the time to rest, and those who were not rowing could feed them, for they did not wish to drop oars for any reason whatsoever. This is what we did, but then a quarter wind began to blow, which obliged us to raise sails and stop rowing and head for Oran, since no other direction was possible. All of this was done very quickly, and under sail we traveled at more than eight knots, and our only fear was meeting a pirate ship. We gave our Moorish oarsmen food, and the renegade comforted them by saying they were not prisoners and would be set free at the first opportunity. He said the same thing to Zoraida’s father, who responded:

‘I might hope and believe nothing else of your liberality and good nature, O Christians! But do not think me so simple as to imagine that you will give me my freedom, for you never would have risked taking it from me only to return it so generously, especially since you know who I am and the profit you can earn by giving it back to me; if you wish to name a price, here and now I offer you anything you wish for myself and this unfortunate daughter of mine, or if you prefer, for her alone, for she is the greatest and best part of my soul.’

When he said this, he began to weep so bitterly that he moved us all to compassion and forced Zoraida to look at him; when she saw him weep, she felt so much pity that she stood, moved away from me, and went to embrace her father; she put her face next to his, and the two of them began so piteous a weeping that many of us wept with them. But when her father saw her dressed in her finery and wearing so many jewels, he said to her in their language:

‘What is this, daughter? Last night, before this terrible misfortune occurred, I saw you wearing your ordinary house-clothes, and now, though you did not have time to put on these garments and did not receive any joyful news that had to be celebrated by dressing yourself so elegantly, I see you wearing the finest clothes I could give you when fortune was more favorable to us. Answer me, for this is even more disturbing and surprising to me than the calamity in which I find myself now.’

Everything that the Moor said to his daughter the renegade translated for us, but she did not utter a word in reply. When her father saw at one side of the ship the small chest where she kept her jewels, which he knew very well he had left in Algiers and had not brought to his country estate, he was even more distraught, and he asked her how that chest had fallen into our hands and what it contained. To which the renegade replied, not waiting for Zoraida’s answer:

‘Do not bother, Señor, to ask your daughter, Zoraida, so many questions, because with one answer I can satisfy them all; I want you to know that she is a Christian and has been the file for our chains and the key to our prison; she is here voluntarily and, I imagine, is as happy to be here as one who comes out of darkness into light, out of death into life, out of suffering into glory.’

‘Is what he says true, daughter?’ said the Moor.

‘It is,’ responded Zoraida.

‘Then,’ replied the old man, ‘you really are a Christian and have placed your father in the hands of his enemies?’

To which Zoraida responded:

‘It is true that I am a Christian, but not that I brought you this difficulty, for my desire never was to leave you or to do you harm, but only to do good for myself.’

‘And what good have you done for yourself, daughter?’

‘That,’ she replied, ‘you must ask Lela Marién; she will be able to answer you better than I can.’

As soon as the Moor heard this, he threw himself, with incredible speed, headfirst into the ocean, and he surely would have drowned if the long, heavy clothes he wore had not kept him above water for a while. Zoraida cried that we should rescue him; we all came to his aid, seizing him by his long robe and pulling him out, half-drowned and unconscious, which caused Zoraida so much sorrow that she began to weep over him with heartfelt and mournful tears, as if he were already dead. We turned him facedown, he coughed up a good deal of water, and in two hours he regained consciousness; during that time the wind changed and drove us back toward shore, and we had to use our oars again to keep from running aground, but it was our good fortune to reach a cove beside a small promontory or cape that the Moors call the Cava Rumía, which in our language means the ‘Wicked Christian Woman’; it is a tradition among the Moors that this is the place where the Cava who caused the loss of Spain lies buried,²⁵¹ because cava in their language means ‘wicked woman,’ and rumía means ‘Christian’; they still take it as an evil omen when a ship is forced to anchor there, because otherwise they would never do so, but for us it was not the shelter of a wicked woman but a safe haven and refuge, for the sea had become very rough. We posted sentries on shore, and not laying down our oars, we ate the food that the renegade had provisioned, and prayed with all our hearts to God and Our Lady that they help and favor us and allow us to bring to a happy conclusion what had begun so auspiciously. At Zoraida’s heartfelt request, the order was given for her father and the other Moors, all of whom were bound, to be put ashore, because she did not have the courage and was too tenderhearted to see her father bound and her countrymen prisoners. We promised her that we would when we departed, for there would be no danger to us if we left them in that uninhabited place. Our prayers were not in vain; heaven heard them, and a favorable wind began to blow and the sea grew calm, inviting us to rejoice and resume our voyage. When we saw this we untied the Moors, and one by one we put them ashore, which astounded them, but when it was time for Zoraida’s father, who by now was fully conscious, to disembark, he said:

‘Christians, why do you think this perverse female wants you to give me my freedom? Do you think it is because she feels compassion for me? No, of course not, she has done this because my presence will be a hindrance to her when she decides to put her evil desires into effect: do not think she has been moved to change her religion because she believes yours is superior to ours, but only because she knows that in your country there is more lewd behavior than in ours.’

And turning to Zoraida, while I and another Christian held his arms in the event he attempted something rash, he said to her:

‘Oh, shameless maiden, misguided girl! Where are you going, blindly and thoughtlessly, in the power of these dogs, our natural enemies? Cursed be the hour I begot you, and cursed be the comfort and luxury in which I reared you!’

But seeing that he did not appear likely to finish any time soon, I hurried to put him ashore, and from there he continued to shout his curses and laments, praying to Mohammed to ask Allah to destroy us, to confound and exterminate us; when we had set sail and could no longer hear his words, we could see his actions: he pulled at his beard and tore out his hair and threw himself on the ground, and once, when he called as loud as he could, we heard him cry:

‘Come back, my beloved daughter, come ashore, I forgive everything! Give those men the money, it is already theirs, and come and console your grieving father, who will die on this desolate strand if you leave him!’

Zoraida heard all of this, and she grieved and wept at everything and could only respond:

‘Pray to Allah, dear father, that Lela Marién, who is the reason I am a Christian, may console you in your sorrow. Allah knows I could not help doing what I did, and these Christians owe me nothing for my decision, for even if I had chosen not to go with them and to remain in my own house, it would have been impossible for me to do so, given the burning desire in my soul to do this deed that seems as virtuous to me, my beloved father, as it appears wicked to you.’

She said this when her father could not hear her and we could no longer see him; I comforted Zoraida, and we concentrated on our journey, which the wind so favored that we were certain we would be on the coast of Spain by dawn the next day. But since the good rarely, if ever, comes to us pure and simple, but is usually accompanied or followed by some disquieting, disturbing evil, it was our bad fortune, or perhaps the result of the curses the Moor had hurled at his daughter, for a father’s curses, no matter who he may be, are always to be feared—in any case, when we were out on the open sea, and almost three hours of the night had gone by, and we were running under full sail and had shipped our oars because the brisk wind meant we did not need them, in the bright moonlight we saw a square-rigged ship very close to us; with all her sails unfurled and heading slightly into the wind, she crossed in front of us, so closely that we were obliged to shorten our sails in order not to ram her, and they had to turn hard on the wheel to give us room to pass. They had gathered on the deck of their vessel to ask us who we were, and where we were going, and where we had come from, but since they asked their questions in French, our renegade said:

‘No one should answer them, for they are surely French pirates, and they plunder everything they come across.’

Because of his warning, no one said a word, and when we had moved a little ahead of them, and they were leeward of us, without warning they fired two cannon, apparently loaded with chain shot, for the first cut our mast in two, and it and the sail fell into the sea, and a moment later the second was fired, hitting us amidships so that the entire side of the vessel was blown open, though it suffered no other damage; but we found ourselves sinking, and we all began to shout, calling for help and imploring those on the other ship to rescue us before we drowned. Then they shortened their sails and lowered a skiff, or small boat, into the water, and twelve Frenchmen got in, well-armed with harquebuses and holding flaming torches, and pulled alongside us; seeing how few of us there were and that our ship was sinking, they rescued us, saying that this had happened because of our discourtesy in not answering them. Our renegade picked up the chest of Zoraida’s treasure and threw it into the sea without anyone noticing what he was doing.

In short, when we were all on board the French ship, and they had learned everything they wanted to know about us, as if they were our mortal enemies they stole everything we had and stripped Zoraida even of the anklets she wore on her feet. But I was not as perturbed by Zoraida’s distress as I was by my own fear that after they had taken her rich and precious jewels they would take her most valuable jewel, the one she prized most highly. But the desires of those people do not go beyond money, for which their lust is never satisfied, and on this occasion it was so inflamed that they would have taken even our captives’ attire if it had been of any use to them. Some were of the opinion that they should throw us all overboard, wrapped in a sail, because they intended to trade at certain Spanish ports, claiming to be Bretons, and if they took us with them, they would be punished when their theft of our goods was discovered. But their captain, the man who had robbed my dear Zoraida, said that he was satisfied with the booty he already had and did not wish to go to any Spanish port but only to pass through the Straits of Gibraltar at night, or any way he could, and return to La Rochelle, which was the place he had sailed from; and so they agreed to give us the skiff, and whatever we needed for the short journey that still lay before us, which is what they did the following day when we were within sight of the coast of Spain; at that sight all our sorrows and hardships were forgotten, as if they had never existed, so great is the joy one feels at regaining lost freedom.

It must have been midday when they put us in the boat, giving us two barrels of water and some hardtack, and as the beautiful Zoraida was getting into the skiff, the captain, moved by some sort of mercy, gave her forty gold escudos and would not allow his men to take the very clothing she is wearing now. We climbed into the boat and thanked them for their kindness, displaying more gratitude than ill humor; they sailed away, heading for the Straits, and we, with no star other than the land we saw before us, began rowing so quickly that, as the sun began to set, we were so close to shore that we were certain we could touch land before nightfall; but since there was no moon, and the sky looked black, and we did not know precisely where we were, it did not seem safe to rush straight for the coast, as many of us wanted to do, saying that we should go ashore even if there were rocks and we landed in an uninhabited spot, for if we did, we would allay the reasonable fear that we might encounter the ships of pirates out of Teuán, who leave Barbary in the dark, reach the coast of Spain at dawn, make their raids, and return to sleep in their own houses at night; after long discussion we finally decided to approach the coast slowly, and if the sea was calm enough, to put ashore wherever we could. This is what we did, and it must have been just before midnight when we reached the foot of a very high hill set back far enough from the sea so that we had room to land. We ran the boat onto the sand, climbed out onto land, kissed the ground, and with tears of sheer joy gave thanks to the Lord our God for His incomparable goodness to us. We took the provisions out of the skiff, pulled it onto land, then climbed a good way up the hill, for we still were not certain and could not really believe that we were standing on Christian soil.

Day broke more slowly, I thought, than we wished. We climbed to the top of the hill to see if we could discover a village or some shepherds’ huts, but though we looked in every direction, we saw no village, person, path, or road. Even so, we resolved to continue inland, for we were bound to meet someone soon who would tell us where we were. What most troubled me was seeing Zoraida walking on that harsh terrain, and though I carried her on my shoulders for a time, she was more wearied by my weariness than rested by the rest I gave her; she would not allow me to take up that burden again, and with a good deal of patience and many displays of joy, and with me leading her by the hand, we must have walked a little less than a quarter of a league when the sound of a small bell reached our ears, a clear sign that a flock was nearby; all of us looked around for it, and at the foot of a cork tree we saw a young shepherd taking his ease and idly whittling a stick with his knife. We called to him, and he looked up and then quickly scrambled to his feet, for, as we learned later, the first people he saw were the renegade and Zoraida, and since they were wearing Moorish clothing, he thought that all of Barbary was attacking, and running with extraordinary speed toward the woods that lay ahead of us, he began to shout at the top of his voice, calling:

‘Moors! Moors have landed! Moors, Moors! To arms! To arms!’

His shouts confused us, and we did not know what to do, but assuming that the shepherd’s outcry would rouse the countryside, and that the mounted troops who guarded the coast would soon come to investigate, we agreed that the renegade should remove his Turkish jacket and put on a prisoner’s coat or tunic that one of us gave to him, though doing so left him in shirtsleeves; and so, commending ourselves to God, we followed the same path the shepherd had taken, expecting the mounted troops to bear down on us at any moment. And we were not wrong, because in less than two hours, when we had come out of the undergrowth and onto a plain, we saw some fifty men on horseback coming toward us at a quick trot; as soon as we saw them we stood still and waited for them, but when they rode up and saw so many poor Christians instead of the Moors they had been searching for, they were perplexed, and one of them asked us if we, by any chance, were the reason a shepherd had sounded the alarm. I said that we were, and as I was about to tell him our story, where we came from and who we were, one of the Christians who was with us recognized the rider who had asked us the question, and without allowing me to utter another word, he said:

‘Give thanks to God, Señores, for leading us to so good a place! If I’m not mistaken, we’re in Vélez Málaga, and if the years of my captivity haven’t erased the memory of this gentleman who is questioning us, you, Señor, are my uncle, Pedro de Bustamante.’

As soon as the Christian captive said this, the rider leaped from his horse and rushed to embrace the lad, saying:

‘My dear, dear nephew, I recognize you now, and have wept for your death, as has your mother—my sister—and all your family, those who are still alive, and God has been pleased to give them life so that they can have the pleasure of seeing you: we knew you were in Algiers, and to judge by the clothes you and the rest of this company are wearing, I understand that you’ve had a miraculous escape.’

‘That’s true,’ said the young man, ‘and there will be time to tell you all about it.’

As soon as the horsemen realized that we were Christian captives, they dismounted and each of them invited us to ride his horse into the city of Vélez Málaga, which was a league and a half away. We told them where we had left the skiff, and some went back to bring it into the city; others had us mount behind them, and Zoraida rode with the Christian captive’s uncle. The entire city came out to welcome us, for they had been informed of our arrival by a guard who had ridden ahead. They were not surprised to see escaped captives, or captives who were Moors, because all the people along that coast were accustomed to seeing both, but they were astonished by Zoraida’s beauty; at that time and moment it was at its height, due to the exertion of the trip and her joy at finding herself in a Christian land, free of the fear that we would be lost; this had brought so much color to her face that unless I was deceived by my affections, I would dare say there was no more beautiful creature in the world, at least none that I had seen. We went directly to the church to thank God for the mercy He had shown us, and as soon as Zoraida entered the church, she said there were faces there that resembled that of Lela Marién. We told her these were images of Lela Marién, and the renegade did the best he could to explain what they meant, so that she could worship them as if each one really were the Lela Marién who had spoken to her. Zoraida, who has a good understanding and a quick, clear intelligence, quickly comprehended everything he said about the images. From the church our companions were taken to various houses in town, but the renegade, Zoraida, and I were taken by the Christian lad to the house of his parents, who were comfortably endowed with material goods and who treated us as lovingly as they did their own son.

We spent six days in Vélez, and at the end of that time the renegade, having made the statement required of him, went to the city of Granada, where, through the mediation of the Holy Inquisition, he would be returned to the blessed fellowship of the Church; each of the freed Christians went wherever he chose; only Zoraida and I remained, with nothing but the escudos that the courteous Frenchman had given to her, and with them I bought this animal that she is riding; I have been serving her as father and squire, but not as husband, and we are going to see if my father is still alive or if either of my brothers has been more fortunate than I, although since heaven made me Zoraida’s companion, I do not believe I could have any better luck. The patience with which Zoraida endures the hardships that poverty brings, and her desire to at last become a Christian, are both so great that I am amazed and moved to serve her all the rest of my days; yet the pleasure I have in knowing that I am hers and she is mine is troubled and undone by my not knowing if I will find some corner in my own land where I can shelter and protect her, or if time and death will have so altered the fortunes and lives of my father and brothers that if they are gone, I will scarcely find anyone who knows me. There is no more, Señores, of my story to tell you; you can judge for yourselves if it is unusual and interesting; as for me, I can say that though I would have liked to recount it more briefly, fear of tiring you made me omit more than a few details.”