‘Do you think that kind woman by the Gate of Woe would wash these children, clothe them in modest decency, and even brush their hair?’
‘Fatima? I am sure of it. She might find them shoes, too.’
‘I doubt they have ever worn shoes.’ He asked them and they both shook their heads. ‘Not even for Mass?’ Renewed shaking, and a hint of tears. ‘I know what might answer very
well,’ said Stephen. ‘Those shoes we call espardenyas, made of sailcloth with soft cord soles and ribbons to attach them. Are they to be1had, do you think? I should not like to carry them to the consulate barefoot.’
‘Certainly they are to be had. At the southern corner of this very square they’re to be had.’
In these shoes (red for the one, blue for the other) they hobbled with ludicrous pride to Amos Jacob’s dubious lair:
by the time they reached it they were walking quite easily and their starved little faces were more nearly human, even ready to smile. Fatima, a capable, intelligent woman, looked at them with more sorrow than disapproval: after a longish pause she brought them back washed, clothed, brushed, fed yet again and almost unrecognizable, but perfectly willing to be friendly.
‘They are brisker by far,’ said Stephen ‘- do you notice that the sound of the wind is less? – but they will never walk up all those infernal steps. Would there be carriages to be had, do you suppose?’
‘Certainly there are carriages to be had, and I will send Achmet for one, if you wish.’
‘Pray be so kind.’
‘And certainly I have noticed a lessening in the perpetual roar: it clenched one’s innermost man, diaphragm, solar plexus, pericardium into a hard knot that is now
perceptibly looser. If we take a carriage, we shall have to go a great way round to reach the consulate, and for two thirds of the journey we shall be gazing over the sea . .
Sea there was, a vast extent of white-flecked sea with its horizon growing more and more distant as they rose: but the whole of it was still empty even by the time they reached the consulate. Stephen left the wondering children with Jacob under the palms and walked in: he was told that Sir Peter was at a consular meeting, but smiling at the news he sent his name up to Lady Clifford.
‘Oh Dr Maturin,’ she cried, ‘I am so sorry Sir Peter is not at home: he is at one of those odious conferences that go on and on for ever, and all to no purpose.’
‘I grieve for him, upon my word,’ said Stephen. ‘But my errand is rather to you than to him. I bought a couple of children this morning in the slave-market, a boy and a girl, twins, of I suppose six or seven. Although they do not speak a word of English beyond the Hail Mary they are literally distressed British subjects. They were picked up by an Algerine corsair that had been raiding the Munster coast – picked up in a drifting boat, brought here and sold. May I beg you to shelter them for two or three days, while I make arrangements to send them home?’
‘Dr Maturin,’ she said without any change of expression or tone that he could detect, ‘I wish I could oblige you, but children are my husband’s aversion, his absolute aversion:
he cannot bear them.’
‘I am told that it is often the case with men.’
‘It is like some people with cats: he cannot tolerate them anywhere in the house.
But if, as I suppose, from their origin and from what you say, they are Roman Catholics, then I believe the Redemptorist Fathers are the people to apply to.’
‘Many thanks, your ladyship,’ said Stephen, rising. ‘My compliments wait on Sir Peter.’
Outside, cheerfully greeted by his slaves, who showed him a palm-frond torn from the tree, he saw with great satisfaction that Jacob had retained the carriage. ‘I came on a fool’s errand,’ he said. ‘Lady Clifford does not choose to house the children. I was truly astonished at her frankness.’
‘Were you, though?’ asked Jacob, looking at him curiously. ‘Nevertheless, we shall be perfectly happy at our lodging-house: but I am sorry for your disappointment.’
It was a disappointment, however, and it shook his faith in his own judgement to a remarkable degree. He sent a note excusing himself from dinner and spent a pleasant evening feeding the children – ingenuous little creatures – with Fatima. Jacob was away, visiting a Lebanese cousin who also dealt in gem-stones, though on a much larger scale, and
in negotiating loans. Coming back when Stephen was in bed, he asked him whether he was asleep. ‘I am not,’ said Stephen.
‘Then let me tell you that my cousin has had news that Ibn Hazm’s caravan began its return only yesterday. It is difficult country and they will need ten days to reach Azgar, let alone the little port whose name escapes me.’
‘Arzila, I think.’
‘Arzila indeed: so with our blessed days of grace, I believe we have a fortnight and to spare.’
‘That is very good news indeed: I rejoice.’
‘And Abdul Reis, the head of one of the corsair groups, says that the wind will diminish tomorrow. If we like to see some of his galleys we should be welcome at the inner harbour, but quite early in the day, because if the wind does as he thinks it will, he may set out for Sardinia before noon. There are advantages in being well-seen by the Dey.’
‘Certainly. Listen, Amos: ‘did you ever read an author who said “Never underestimate a woman’s capacity for jealousy, however illogical or inconsistent or indeed self-defeating”?’
‘I do not think so: but the notion is fairly wide-spread among those who think of men and women as belonging to two different nations; and who wish to be profound.’
Nevertheless, Lady Clifford’s behaviour puzzled Stephen, and until he fell asleep he turned and re-turned it in his mind, with no satisfactory answer at all. He was awakened at dawn, not by any of the usual noises of a disorderly house nor by Dr Jacob’s steady, persevering snore, but by a little girl’s voice in his ear, asking whether there were any cows to be milked.
There were not, but there was water to be drawn with Fatima’s help, faces to be washed, prayers to be said, and a perfectly delightful breakfast to be eaten – bananas and dates amazed the children – in a little hidden court behind: soft bread toasted on the brazier that at some distance kept the coffee warm – toasted and spread with honey. ‘Are you not cold, children, with nothing but shirts?’ he asked.
‘Not at all; and they are not just ordinary shirts but proper clothes: Achmet, though quite old, has nothing else,’ they
replied. ‘Here is the other gentleman. Good morning, sir:
God be with you.’
Jacob gave them a Hebrew blessing, drank a great draught of coffee, and said to Stephen, ‘When you had gone to bed, a parcel came for you. I did not choose to wake you, but there it is in our room. I shall bring it down as soon as I am more nearly myself.
How very much better these children look after a night’s sleep: you could hardly mistake them for half-starved apes any more.’
In a little while, his good nature returning, Jacob fetched the parcel, forwarded from the consulate: hardly a parcel in the western sense – no paper, no string, but a sombrely gorgeous robe lapped about with silk scarves enveloping the rifle with which Stephen had killed his lioness. Attached to it was a letter with the Vizier’s elegant explanation of a mistake among the people of the baggage-train, his well-turned apologies and his hope that if the loss had been mentioned to his present Highness, the return might also be noticed. And after the European signature came a far more beautiful passage of Arabic.
‘Please would you read this for me?’ asked Stephen.
‘It is a blessing, a series of blessings on you and yours, mentioning many of the attributes of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate . . . My impression is that the Vizier was so sure that his friend Mustafa would be elected that he could do whatever he chose to do with impunity; and that he has now delivered himself to you, bound hand and foot.’
Stephen considered, nodded, and then, bringing out another paper he said, ‘And may I beg you to read this as well?’
‘It acknowledges receipt of four English gold coins of adequate weight in payment for two young Franks, male and female, warranted virgin: it is dated, sealed and signed in due form.’
‘Thank you: I did not want them to be snatched away, reclaimed: they have had quite enough to bear as it is.’ He looked with intense admiration at his rifle for a while and then asked when they were to meet Abdul Reis, the corsair.