perished many persons of note, among whom was Pagano
Doria, knight of the Order of St. John, a man of generous
disposition, as was shown by his extreme liberality
to his brother, the famous John Andrea Doria; and
what made his death the more sad was that he was slain
by some Arabs to whom, seeing that the fort was now
lost, he entrusted himself, and who offered to conduct
him in the disguise of a Moor to Tabarca, a small
fort or station on the coast held by the Genoese employed
in the coral fishery. These Arabs cut off his
head and carried it to the commander of the Turkish
fleet, who proved on them the truth of our Castilian
proverb, that “though the treason may please,
the traitor is hated;” for they say he ordered
those who brought him the present to be hanged for
not having brought him alive.
Among the Christians who were taken in the fort was
one named Don Pedro de Aguilar, a native of some place,
I know not what, in Andalusia, who had been ensign
in the fort, a soldier of great repute and rare intelligence,
who had in particular a special gift for what they
call poetry. I say so because his fate brought
him to my galley and to my bench, and made him a slave
to the same master; and before we left the port this
gentleman composed two sonnets by way of epitaphs,
one on the Goletta and the other on the fort; indeed,
I may as well repeat them, for I have them by heart,
and I think they will be liked rather than disliked.
The instant the captive mentioned the name of Don
Pedro de Aguilar, Don Fernando looked at his companions
and they all three smiled; and when he came to speak
of the sonnets one of them said, “Before your
worship proceeds any further I entreat you to tell
me what became of that Don Pedro de Aguilar you have
spoken of.”
“All I know is,” replied the captive,
“that after having been in Constantinople two
years, he escaped in the disguise of an Arnaut, in
company with a Greek spy; but whether he regained his
liberty or not I cannot tell, though I fancy he did,
because a year afterwards I saw the Greek at Constantinople,
though I was unable to ask him what the result of
the journey was.”
“Well then, you are right,” returned the
gentleman, “for that Don Pedro is my brother,
and he is now in our village in good health, rich,
married, and with three children.”
“Thanks be to God for all the mercies he has
shown him,” said the captive; “for to
my mind there is no happiness on earth to compare with
recovering lost liberty.”
“And what is more,” said the gentleman,
“I know the sonnets my brother made.”
“Then let your worship repeat them,” said
the captive, “for you will recite them better
than I can.”
“With all my heart,” said the gentleman;
“that on the Goletta runs thus.”
IN WHICH THE STORY OF THE CAPTIVE IS CONTINUED.
