Don Quixote - Part I - Page 316/400

In this way I lived on immured in a building or prison called by the

Turks a bano in which they confine the Christian captives, as well those

that are the king's as those belonging to private individuals, and also

what they call those of the Almacen, which is as much as to say the

slaves of the municipality, who serve the city in the public works and

other employments; but captives of this kind recover their liberty with

great difficulty, for, as they are public property and have no particular

master, there is no one with whom to treat for their ransom, even though

they may have the means. To these banos, as I have said, some private

individuals of the town are in the habit of bringing their captives,

especially when they are to be ransomed; because there they can keep them

in safety and comfort until their ransom arrives. The king's captives

also, that are on ransom, do not go out to work with the rest of the

crew, unless when their ransom is delayed; for then, to make them write

for it more pressingly, they compel them to work and go for wood, which

is no light labour.

I, however, was one of those on ransom, for when it was discovered that I

was a captain, although I declared my scanty means and want of fortune,

nothing could dissuade them from including me among the gentlemen and

those waiting to be ransomed. They put a chain on me, more as a mark of

this than to keep me safe, and so I passed my life in that bano with

several other gentlemen and persons of quality marked out as held to

ransom; but though at times, or rather almost always, we suffered from

hunger and scanty clothing, nothing distressed us so much as hearing and

seeing at every turn the unexampled and unheard-of cruelties my master

inflicted upon the Christians. Every day he hanged a man, impaled one,

cut off the ears of another; and all with so little provocation, or so

entirely without any, that the Turks acknowledged he did it merely for

the sake of doing it, and because he was by nature murderously disposed

towards the whole human race. The only one that fared at all well with

him was a Spanish soldier, something de Saavedra by name, to whom he

never gave a blow himself, or ordered a blow to be given, or addressed a

hard word, although he had done things that will dwell in the memory of

the people there for many a year, and all to recover his liberty; and for

the least of the many things he did we all dreaded that he would be

impaled, and he himself was in fear of it more than once; and only that

time does not allow, I could tell you now something of what that soldier

did, that would interest and astonish you much more than the narration of

my own tale.