The Pirates of the Levant by Arturo Pérez-Reverte

certainly hostile now, and there was no more to be said.
'What's done is done,' he said, settling the matter. 'We'll be more careful next time. So not a word, eh, and if anyone's tongue runs away with him, by Christ, I'll tear it out myself.'
And so, after tending the wounded and having something to eat — bread baked in the ashes, a few dates and some curdled milk we'd found at the encampment — we marched with a lighter step, harquebuses at the ready and keeping a watchful eye open, hoping to find ourselves safely back in town before nightfall. And on we went, with the livestock in the vanguard, followed by most of the troops and the baggage, and then, in the middle, the captives, of whom there were two hundred and forty-eight, men and women and those children of an age to walk. A select squad of soldiers, armed with pikes and harquebuses, brought up the rear, while the cavalry either rode on ahead or protected our flanks, just in case any hostile Moors should try to block our retreat or deprive us of water. There were, in fact, a few minor fights and skirmishes, and before we reached a place known as the hermit's well, where there were plenty of palm trees and carobs, the Arabs, a good number of whom were on the lookout for stragglers or some other opportunity, made a serious attempt to keep us from the water: a hundred or so bold horsemen, shouting and hurling the usual obscenities, attacked our rearguard. However, when our harquebusiers prepared their weapons and then sprayed them with lead, the horsemen turned tail, leaving some of their men dying on the field.
We were in high spirits over our victory and the booty, and were eager to reach Oran and claim our share. The lines from a well-known song came spontaneously to my young lips:
Such was the custom of the age, That a fiercely gallant knife or sword, Which put to death a slew of Moors Would also glorify Our Lord
Nevertheless, two incidents overshadowed any pleasure I felt during the retreat from Uad Berruch. One involved a newborn baby who, though dying in his mother's arms, was still not spared the rigours of the march. When he saw this, the chaplain, Father Tomas Rebollo, who had accompanied the cavalcade as part of his duties, summoned the sergeant
major and said that since the child was dying, the mother had therefore lost all her maternal rights, which meant thathe could legitimately baptise the child against her will. Given that there was no council of theologians on hand to pronounce on the matter, Biscarrues, who had other things on his mind told the priest to do as he thought best; the priest, ignoring the mother's protests, snatched the child from her and baptised it there and then, with a few drops of water, oil and salt. The child died shortly afterwards, and the chaplain congratulated himself, saying that, on such a day — when so many enemies of God, members of the pernicious sect of Mohammed, had been condemned to Hell — an angel had been sent up to Heaven to learn more of its secrets and to confound its enemies, etcetera, etcetera. Later, we learned that the Marchioness of Velada, the governor's wife — a very pious woman who gave alms, said her rosary and took communion daily had praised Father Tomas's decision and ordered that the mother be sent for so that she could console her and convince her that she would one day be reunited with her son, thereby attempting to convert her to the one true faith. This proved impossible. On the same night that we arrived back in Oram, the woman hanged herself out of despair and shame.
The other lingering memory is that of a little Moorish boy of about six or seven who kept pace with the mules on which were tied the heads of the dead Arabs. At the time, the governor of Oran offered a reward — or, rather, said he would — for every Moor killed in an act of war, and, as I said, the raid on Uad Berruch was deemed to be just that. And so, to provide the necessary proof, we were carrying the heads of thirty-six