Gervaise, although taken aback by this sudden change in his fortunes,
was not so cast down as he might otherwise have been; he would now be
free to carry out any plan for escape that he might devise, and by his
being addressed in Italian it was evident to him that his knowledge
of Turkish was unsuspected. When among the other slaves he had always
maintained his character of a mute; and it was only when alone in his
master's family that he had spoken at all. He had no doubt that his
betrayal was due to one of the gardeners, who had several times shown
him signs of ill will, being doubtless jealous of the immunity he
enjoyed from hard labour, and who must, he thought, have crept up and
overheard some conversation; but in that case it was singular that
the fact of his knowledge of Turkish had not been mentioned. Gervaise
afterwards learned that Ben Ibyn had been fined a heavy sum for his
breach of the regulations.
He was now placed between the soldiers, and marched down to the town,
without being allowed to exchange a word with the merchant. On his
arrival there he was taken to the slaves' quarter; here his clothes were
stripped from him, and he was given in their place a ragged shirt and
trousers, and then turned into a room where some fifty slaves were
lying. Of these about half were Europeans, the rest malefactors who had
been condemned to labour.
The appearance of all was miserable in the extreme; they were clothed in
rags, and the faces of the Europeans had a dull, hopeless look that told
alike of their misery and of their despair of any escape from it. They
looked up listlessly as he entered, and then an Italian said, “Cospetto,
comrade; but I know not whether your place is with us, or with the
Moslems across there. As far as colour goes I should put you down as a
Nubian; but your hair is of a hue that consorts but badly with that of
your flesh.”
“I am an Englishman,” Gervaise replied; “but I have been passing under a
disguise which has unfortunately been detected, so you see here I am.”
The mystery explained, his questioner had no further interest in the
matter, and Gervaise, picking out a vacant place on the stone floor, sat
down and looked round him. The room, although large, was roughly built,
and had doubtless been erected with a view to its present purpose. There
were only a few windows; and these were small, strongly barred, and
twelve feet above the floor.
“Not easy to get out of them,” Gervaise said to himself “at least, not
easy without aid; and with these Moslems here it is clear that nothing
can be done.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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