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In the 16th century, Christianity and Islam
battled for control of the Mediterranean.
Arab corsairs captured Christian vessels
and took those aboard to Algiers, where they were ransomed.
This is the story of one of those captives.
THE CAPTIVE
Where are you taking us?
- You die here! - You die here!
Christians, you die here!
You die here!
You run away, I chop head.
You die here! Philip II won't come near!
Please!
Calm down. All will be fine.
- Don't sell us! Have mercy! - Nothing will happen.
Calm yourselves.
At least free my children. Show some compassion!
Holy Office. Very important.
A cross? This is what I think of your cross.
- Get back, you mongrels! - Have mercy! Please!
Only one each.
Pick them out, point to them, and I shall name the price.
Come on!
Thirty escudos.
Thirty.
Twenty-five for him.
- She's 40. - Ten.
Why do you insult me? I said 40.
- How much for this one? - Thirty.
- Have you lost your mind? - He's strong.
Lift your arms. Both of them!
Broken arm.
- Are you a fool? The other one too! - Broken arm!
- A lame arm. They'll kill him today. - He has a lame arm. Don't beat him.
No, Dorador. Stay out of it.
Broken arm! You tried to swindle me, scoundrel!
Wait. No need to get angry. I'll sell you another one.
No, please! Don't!
- John of Austria! - John of Austria?
A letter, signed by John of Austria, for my service at Lepanto.
Brother of Philip II.
From the royal court. That's why he looked familiar.
That letter is from our king's brother, do you understand?
I am a knight of arms! Very important!
Like us, gentlemen of rank.
I, too, am a gentleman of rank! Holy Office. I demand special treatment!
Silence!
- Take those four for me. - Of course.
Only one per person. Pick them out. I shall name the price. Come on.
Are you not aware, Your Graces?
There is such a thing as hell on earth.
ALGIERS, 1575
Come on! Move!
Being a gentleman of rank
is both a blessing and a curse.
Move, you mongrel.
As such, we were sold to the dreaded pasha.
Move.
There, they put us in shackles.
And they locked us away till our most costly ransom could be paid.
Welcome.
Blanco de Paz, Holy Office.
What happened, Father?
Captured at sea. Most unfortunate.
Blanco de Paz.
It was there that I met the man who would become the most famous captive.
And he met his dearest friend, Father Antonio de Sosa,
the man who pens these words.
Me.
Finished already?
I have never met anyone who could read so fast.
As a boy, I read...
even the papers littering the streets.
Just like my nephew.
Father Sosa, may I borrow Garcilaso from you again?
Mr. Cervantes, I already told you, take whatever you please.
And look over my writing. Even I don't understand it at times.
Move!
Come on!
To the well!
Who is it?
One of the Frenchmen.
- He complained about the food yesterday. - I beg you!
Poor wretch. Another made to serve as an example.
Please!
That's enough!
- Let him go! - Stop, you murderer!
What are they doing?
Cutting his ear off.
The right or the left?
Silence, cur!
- No more complaining from you! - The right.
And now?
Come now, tell me the details.
He died. They cracked his skull.
Surely, young master, you have witnessed worse than this.
Were you not at Lepanto?
"Slain for but a plate of food."
That concludes this chapter.
I hope your "hell"... will be a masterpiece, Father.
It shall be, with Dante's blessing.
It shall be.
What now?
Do we sit idly by while they beat and kill us, day after day?
Not so loud, or you'll end up like the Frenchman.
I don't care! This is all too much for me.
Such monstrous cruelty!
So monstrous!
Why are the Moors like this?
Come now, Castañeda.
I have seen countless misdeeds done by Christians in Castile and Extremadura.
Not this again.
I cannot believe you always defend them, Dorador.
I have witnessed torture at the execution scaffold...
I know why he defends them.
Dorador was born a Moor but was later adopted by a member of the court.
I mistrust him, Miguel.
He is not one of us.
I mean only that what the Moors do to us here,
we do to them back in Spain.
That's the way it is.
Good night.
I asked you to transcribe my notes, not rewrite them.
Forgive me, Father.
I thought they could use some polishing.
Yes, I can see that.
Where did you study?
The Estudio de la Villa.
With López de Hoyos? The humanist?
And you traded books for the sword! Why?
If you're going to correct me, at least do so with good penmanship.
It's the redeemers!
The redeemers! Here at last!
- Children of God! - May the Lord be with you.
Take some apples.
Take apples from the satchel!
Have some apples. Go on. One at a time!
Thank you, Father.
Next.
Miguel de Cervantes Cortinas of Alcalá de Henares.
Medium build, full beard, maimed left arm and hand.
One hundred escudos.
It's all his family could raise, which is no small sum.
One hundred!
More.
Very well, 150.
Excuse me, Father.
- That's 50 more owed to the council. - I'll handle it with them.
- Here we go again. - One hundred and fifty.
Five hundred!
Five hundred? What is this madness?
He is... most... important.
Excuse me...
A letter of favor... gentleman of rank.
That's just a permit of absence.
- He signed hundreds of them. - Stay back!
No. It's a permit of absence.
- To return to the court. - On your knees!
At Lepanto, I hardly saw battle! I was a new recruit!
What?
A recruit.
I'm not who you think I am.
What is "recruit"? What?
A recruit, a novice. He is worthless.
Worthless.
- You, gentleman of rank. - No, I am a nobody at the court!
Gentleman of rank!
Gentleman of rank.
Of course, now the Moor doubts his words.
Five hundred!
I am a nobody!
Lepanto!
I'm a nobody.
Please.
Next.
Nicolás Díaz Benavides of Plasencia.
May the Lord be with you.
Father, remember my letter.
Of course.
- Return soon, Father. - Next year, as always.
God be with you.
I see it all clear as day.
Not even the king could pay our ransom.
All for associating with the recruit.
He's not a nobleman or a gentleman of rank.
I read that letter closely. It made mention of "past offenses."
Another year till they return, and a year has gone by since we arrived.
What would you have us do? Abjure?
No, never. We must not abjure.
I don't know if you've heard that Dorador was born a Moor--
Yes, Father. Of course. I am well aware.
I never put myself forward for ransom.
What for?
I know no one can pay mine.
You have your nephew, Father.
He was travelling with me when we were captured.
I have not heard from him since.
- I'm sorry. - He used to correct my writing.
As you do now.
Well, not exactly.
Miguel, listen.
I have never met anyone who does it as well as you.
No one.
These gentlemen may look down on you now,
but you shall be a man of letters.
You'll see.
At the very least, you could be a scribe.
Who can say? Perhaps even...
a secretary.
Enough!
Allah is the greatest, and there is no power or strength except with Allah.
Allah is the greatest...
The abjuration!
Wake up.
Allah is the greatest, and there is no power...
Wake up! You have slept enough!
Allah is the greatest, and there is no power or strength except with Allah.
Allah is the greatest, and there is no power...
Keep still, everyone.
Allah is the greatest, and there is no power or strength except with Allah.
Paolo, what are you doing?
Paolo, don't!
Over here!
Here!
One of the Italians.
Are they going to allow this? Shame!
- Shame! - I ask forgiveness from the one God Allah.
The Ever-Living, the Self-Subsisting, and before him, I repent.
Shame!
You, free.
Shame!
Damned Italian!
Cur!
No, Dorador!
What are you doing?
- Over here! - Silence, you mongrels!
- Quiet! - Here!
Don't do it. Get up!
- I ask forgiveness... - Don't abjure! You'll go to hell!
Dorador!
You will be damned to hell.
You, free.
Farewell.
- Off with you, scoundrel! - You dog!
Do not judge us.
To each his own freedom!
Do not judge us!
Unbelievable.
I expected him to be stronger.
Dorador...
was not one of us.
I will say this, you get to leave here a free man with a full belly.
The ones who abjured are enjoying hot meals.
We shall see if the Moors make a meal of them in the end.
They eat everything here. Even dogs.
He kept on gazing upon that window.
They eat them good and hot.
And thus, the Captive was born.
Seeing as they do not eat pork...
Those who abjure gain their freedom but are doomed to live here as Moors.
They will never get into Heaven.
That's fine for now.
Keep it well hidden.
So why do they abjure, Father?
This city is more depraved than Babylon itself.
Half-naked bodies in the streets.
Lewd tattoos.
The feasts... stretch on for days.
Orgies, night and day.
That is why they are damned.
Remember that, gentlemen.
Are you seeing this?
A hand with a handkerchief, in that window.
Do you not see?
Aguilar, come here.
No, stop.
Stay there.
When you came over, they hid. Like they want nothing to do with you.
But we were discussing abjuration.
Gentlemen.
The hand... always went back in.
Until someone came along.
A captive.
What is that, Miguel?
Gold?
- It's gold. - Five pieces.
But who threw them? And why to you?
That captive and his priest friend
calculated that, converted into Moorish currency...
It would be enough to buy a captive's freedom.
Your freedom, Miguel.
Freedom, at long last!
And in such a simple manner.
Free.
But...
who was hiding beyond that window?
And the next day, right when it was time for the siesta...
"My lord, I am Zoraida, daughter of the pasha."
"I hope someday you can forgive my father."
"He has not imprisoned you out of malice."
"He simply does not know how else to treat Christians."
How is it she knew Castilian?
"I know your language
because a Christian slave taught me when I was a child."
"She also taught me to bear no ill will toward anyone, whether Christian, Moor,
Turk, or Jew."
"Thus, I dared to steal some of my father's money,
so that I might grant you your freedom."
"So then, go buy back what..."
"What no one should have taken from you!"
Bravo!
Every time he told that story, they all held their breath.
- What happens next, Miguel? - Keep going!
- The rest is for another day. - Tell it again, then!
Gentlemen!
I have been repeating the same story all week.
I ought to be charging you!
Surely it's a trap.
She'll betray him.
Another day, Father.
She has been trained by the pasha.
Another day.
"Another day." That's what you always say.
Get dressed.
This way.
Move.
Wait inside.
Yusuf fetches that fruit every morning.
Your old companion, Dorador. His name is Yusuf now.
On your knees, mongrel!
Do you know who I am?
You are Hasan Pasha, lord of Algiers.
What do people call me?
The Venetian.
I was born in Venice.
Raised in Bologna.
Captured in Croatia by the Moors.
And converted in Turkey.
Do you know what that means?
I speak five languages.
That's why I understand every word you say down there.
Why did you make up that story?
The one about my window.
The one they always clap for.
Do you not know?
It was to...
to stave off boredom, my lord.
May I ask you a question, captive?
Certainly, my lord.
Why did she give him the money? What for?
It's quite simple.
She was in love.
- Was she? - Indeed.
Of course.
Madly in love.
Now Muley is going to cut off one of your ears.
- Which? The right or the left? - I don't understand.
- The right or the left? - What have I done wrong?
A Moorish maid in love with a Christian she didn't know?!
I have heard these wild tales of romance a thousand times, and I loathe them.
I hope you surprise me next time.
The left one.
No, my lord, please.
No! But you didn't let me finish! He was not the one she loved!
It was not him.
She sent a final message.
"My lord, once you have bought back your freedom,
come to my father's gardens."
A Christian in the pasha's gardens? Surely you jest.
Yes. I mean, no, my lord.
The pasha...
The pasha was the most generous man in Algiers.
And on feast days, he opened his gardens
to everyone.
When they finally met, he asked her the same question you are asking.
Why did you save me, my lady?
Do you have the cross I gave you?
I want you to get a ship and take me to Spain.
I wish to become a Christian.
How dare you, you mongrel?
How dare you?
So, she was in love with... Christ?
Is that why she saved the captive?
You said to surprise you.
I doubt a Christian would be allowed to buy a ship.
But I do know of Moors who become Christians.
And of Christians who become Moors.
Like myself.
You are free until sunset.
Open the gates for him.
Certainly, my pasha.
You there!
- No. - No. You are from Castile, I take it?
Like me. Head inside. I'll make you more presentable.
I don't have any money.
Sir!
I've been here for 12 years now.
Twelve years, cutting beards and covering up bald spots.
And why did you abjure, sir?
Why did you abjure?
Well, I'm not the only one. The streets here are full of foreigners.
Even the pasha himself is one.
I know.
When you abjure, it's because you have no choice.
One abjures to live.
And live well, because here, no matter what they say,
life is very good.
You there! Tell them to keep it down.
My brothers, settle down. There is a new customer here.
I see you serve spirits in your barbershop.
I thought alcohol was forbidden for Moors.
Spirits in Algiers?
Impossible. They are merely in good spirits.
- Excuse me, sir. - Certainly.
Pardon me, my brothers. I have a new customer.
Keep it down! Hey!
A beautiful bride.
Where are you going, Father?
- To write it down. - Yes, I've heard about that before.
There are many barbershops like that here.
They serve liquor, and people gather there.
Men like that.
"Men"? Those who partake in the unmentionable sin?
- More like kindling for the pyre. - But they don't execute them here.
The corsairs parade their boys through the streets unashamed.
I believe they call them "minions."
You certainly seem well-informed.
No. Excuse me, Father. I have only heard about it.
Young man, you must be cautious if the pasha calls on you again.
They say that he is a deviant too.
And that he has a harem full of boys dripping in oil.
It's atrocious.
There's that rogue, fetching water for his plants.
Dorador!
Or should I say Yusuf?
How is life as a Moor?
- Have they given it to you up the ass yet? - Me? Not yet.
But they are waiting for you, with a nice, thick stake.
Do you want to know how he came to be pasha?
He was a fair youth when the Moors took him,
and he let his master have his way with him.
I don't know if Hasan is a cock or a hen, but one thing I'm sure of,
he knows a good deal about telling stories.
What makes you say that?
He found the problem with yours straightaway.
What problem are you talking about?
A Christian could never buy a ship in Algiers.
Never! He spoke the truth.
All of you, to your quarters! Go to bed!
Castañeda.
Who said he bought the ship?
He didn't.
He didn't buy it?
He sent a message to the other captives.
They needed to find someone who could go to the families
and convince them to hand over the ransom money.
With the money, that person will rent a ship in Majorca
that will pick up six of us...
...somewhere along the coast.
And that's how they did it.
- No. - Six captives?
You make it sound easy, Miguel. Who would take on such a task?
But wait. How did they break out of prison?
Give me some time, for God's sake.
- Give me time. - No...
Excuse us, Father.
- Here. - No. Not this one.
- What's this? What are you doing? - Where's the other map?
The one of the whole coastline.
Isn't this it?
This is the one.
See? He's been taking notes on everything for years.
Father Sosa, God bless you.
What are you plotting, Miguel?
What are you gentlemen plotting?
Father, help us.
I beg you.
Unbelievable.
Unbelievable. How can you be so naive?
Do you really think it's possible to escape from here?
Cervantes knows how to do it, Father.
I assure you.
You have no family, Father.
My family is penniless.
It's either escape or rot in here.
Your great masterpiece.
Your great "hell."
Unpublished.
The slowest, most dreadful death.
That's what inevitably awaits the mastermind of an escape.
- Not always. - Always!
This is not your story, son.
This is real life.
I want no part of this.
Aren't there quarries there?
A good hiding place, but there will be workers around. They'd catch us.
- These look like rocks. - There are lime kilns four miles east.
All this here.
- Too far from the coast. - They're rocks. Father, look.
You drew this.
Yes, those are caves that were formed by the wind and waves.
- We've got it. - No. The sea is very rough there.
- Father. - The ship will have trouble getting close.
Father, we'll all be in plenty of trouble.
- From Majorca, it'd be just two days. - But, Miguel, even if I got--
Even if I got the ship, how would you escape?
I know who to bribe.
All I need is a small loan.
For heaven's sake.
Wait!
Father, the prayer.
It's now or never.
But, Father...
My nephew.
I can't leave until I learn what happened to him.
Whether he was killed or he got away.
I can't leave, Miguel.
I will pray for all of you.
Let's go.
He's bringing the horses.
Let's go.
Down that slope, over there.
Quickly, that way.
I'll bring food and water every night.
Don't expect too much.
- Here's 200. - And the other half?
When the ship arrives.
- That wasn't our deal. - When the ship arrives!
I don't trust Moors.
Seven nights.
The barge was to arrive within seven nights.
Many days passed.
Weeks.
And then he began telling them every story he had ever read.
And many times, he'd return to stories he'd already told
and turn them into something new.
I don't know why he abandoned his studies.
War isn't his calling. It's storytelling.
In that letter of his, it said, "pardon for past offenses."
- Something serious must have happened. - I know what it was.
This man, when he was a student...
Like I said, his face looked familiar.
He fought a duel with a master builder in the gardens of the Royal Alcázar.
Eight years ago.
How would you know that, good sir?
Because I was the gardener.
In Madrid, I was the royal gardener.
And I saw Miguel brandishing a sword.
Why did they duel?
It just so happened that...
the master builder had been saying that Miguel's tutor, López de Hoyos,
no less, was giving him writing classes
in exchange for... favors.
No!
They sentenced Miguel for wounding a gentleman of rank.
Ten years in exile. Ten. And they were to sever his right hand.
But he ran off to Italy and disappeared.
Until Lepanto.
And there, apparently, he was redeemed.
I see.
But in battle, he received three blasts to his left arm.
There you have it.
Divine justice.
Well...
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Isn't that right, Father? God be with you.
I didn't understand that last part.
There it is.
There it is!
Hey! Over here!
Hey!
- Hey! - Over here!
- Hey! - They saw us!
- They're approaching! - Hey!
Yes!
Here! Hey!
Hey!
- Hey! - We must fetch Zoraida!
So four of them left for the palace.
My lady.
The ship has arrived.
Let's go.
Where's Aguilar?
Although they promised not to touch a thing,
greed got the better of them.
Release him!
- My father has done you no harm! - We can't let him alert the guards. No!
They had no choice but to take him to the ship.
As a hostage.
- Are you going to leave it there? - I'll continue another day.
- Unbelievable. - Always the same.
- At least tell us if it ends well. - What do you think?
- There's no way it'll end well. - Another day.
I know. I've got it. Pay attention.
The Moors managed to board the ship.
Then a great battle broke out between the Moors and Christians.
The Christians won, and the Moors jumped overboard like rats.
What nonsense!
Good evening.
Nonsense.
It's just the same old story.
The Moors are cowards,
whereas the Christians are the bravest of all.
Spare us.
They are. If you don't like it, you shouldn't have become a Moor.
So being a Moor makes me a coward?
Yusuf, you even changed your name to get rid of your shackles.
Castañeda!
I may be a coward, but you?
What about me?
- What? - Gentlemen, that's enough.
Be quiet, you!
Enjoy your meal.
I'll see you tomorrow.
We were right to banish them from Spain.
The Moors and the Jews.
We were right.
Good morning.
Forgive me for last night. Come on.
Here they are!
This way.
You're forgiven.
Who is behind this?
It was me.
I can't hear you.
Me.
- Louder! - It was me!
Now, I want the name of the man who was supposed to get the ship.
He's the one who told me.
He heard you when he came across your hideout.
This was all his idea, wasn't it?
He was the mastermind.
It wasn't him.
Captive.
You don't owe this priest.
Denounce him, and I'll spare your life.
Death by impalement is the worst torture, believe me.
Was it him?
It was the friar. Take him to the stake.
No. Stop.
Stop!
My lord, I...
It was...
- Your gardener. - What?
- It was his plan. He was the mastermind. - How dare you?!
Tell your master who opened the gates for us.
You climbed the walls!
My lord, let me silence this dog.
- Why are you accusing him now? - I thought you wouldn't believe me.
- Let me kill him! - Enough!
I got the barge but not a single oarsman.
The plan was doomed from the start.
Gentlemen,
I am at peace with God.
I am prepared. I will take the blame for everyone.
It's death by impalement, Father.
It shall never be worse than the martyrdom of our Lord.
Yes, it shall.
Bless you, Friar Juan Gil.
I shall pray for you every day.
No.
Father.
Hasan doesn't have a shred of evidence against you.
None at all.
If we stand fast, nothing will happen to us.
Any of us.
What do you mean?
Do you think no one will have to pay for this?
Someone always does.
- I assure you, it won't be one of them. - Not so loud, Father.
Then spare me the nonsense!
One of us must sacrifice himself, damn it.
I don't care if it's you or Friar Juan Gil, but someone must die!
Someone must die, damn it!
I don't want to die!
You just kissed his hand, Father.
I think I've made myself clear, Cervantes.
- You. - Me?
No. He's the mastermind.
You.
Do you know what awaits you?
No!
Keep moving.
Captive.
My servant says that you are lying.
You say that he is lying.
That means one of you has lied to the pasha.
And that lying cur will die.
Right here, impaled alive.
I will ask you one last time.
Who was behind this?
It was him, my lord.
I swear it.
On my father and mother.
I swear to God.
How simple this is for me.
How simple... it is to expose you.
Do you think that John of Austria's letter will always protect you?
Well, it just so happens that I know exactly what it says.
Read it carefully, my lord,
and I shall tell you what those "past offenses" were.
Tell us, why did you have to flee from Madrid eight years ago?
Come now, say it.
Say it.
- A duel over sodomy? - I don't know what you mean.
You are nothing but a knave.
And a... deviant.
A deviant!
Deviant!
That's what you are.
To the stake.
Relax, my lord.
I'm in Heaven.
He thinks he's in Paradise.
To the stake!
Not him.
Him.
Me?
- My lord, why? No! - Move!
No!
Have a seat.
Tea from the shores of the Black Sea.
Have you ever tried it?
You are indeed bold, captive.
I have never seen anyone lie so shamelessly.
You lied to save the priest and then to save yourself.
And before that, you lied about that worthless letter.
You also hid from everyone the fact that you ran away to Italy.
My homeland.
Cervantes, the greatest impostor I know.
If that's what you think of me, why didn't you spare the gardener's life?
That fool accused you of sodomy,
ignoring my customs.
And you?
Do you want to know why I spared your life?
I don't understand. What does he want?
I already told you, Father. Stories.
More stories.
And that's how Miguel began finding stories for the pasha.
"...entered through the one the damsel showed him."
"How did the giant knight Galaor? By the hand of King Lisuarte."
And for each story that pleased the pasha, the pasha promised him...
one day of freedom.
And all that he saw...
he would recount every evening.
So we could dream that we were free.
Go! Come on!
Not only this, but he blew me a kiss!
But others were not so easy to please.
"'I will go where you send me,' he said."
"And--"
You are right, my lord.
Not original.
But what if I told you that Gandales loved the squire so much...
because he was actually his son?
And seeing that he would be knighted...
All right.
What about Lepolemo?
No more books of chivalry. He grows bored with wild tales.
- And you say Garcilaso's poems-- - He knows them by heart.
And no more stories with magic spells.
- Of course. - Or secret children.
Of course.
Lazarillo de Tormes.
Life as it truly is, no magic spells or secret children.
But wasn't it banned?
Not a word to Father Blanco.
"My face turned to heaven,
my eyes slightly closed to better savor the liquor,
the blind man felt it was time to take his revenge."
"And with all his might,
he lifted that sweet yet bitter jug with both hands
and let it fall onto my mouth, using all his might."
"So that poor me...
who suspected nothing,
felt as if the heavens and everything in them had come crashing down on me."
"The blow was such that my senses left me."
"And..."
"And the jug came down with such force, its shards stuck into my face,
cutting into it in many places."
"And..."
"And it broke my teeth, which I have been missing...
since that day."
Take anything you want.
- Great! - Come now. There's plenty for everyone.
Today he laughed.
I made him laugh.
What did you read to him?
Laza... La...
La...
The Iliad.
The Iliad?
What's so funny about The Iliad?
Well... perhaps it was the wine.
- He drank a lot. - He drinks?
The pasha too?
- Yes. - How shameful.
It's forbidden here.
Of course it is.
At least there is one thing Moors can't do that Christians can.
I heard you, Miguel.
You're going to kneel before the Virgin Mary right now
and ask for forgiveness.
What?
You heard me. Go on.
What did I say?
You have offended the Lord.
And you offend him every time you tell us
about the indecent things you see on the streets as if they were wonders.
I offend God?
- Well, that's something. - Calm yourself.
- You're the one who offends God, Father. - Miguel.
Every day.
- Do not speak to me like that. - Every day!
- Prying. - Prying?
And rumor mongering.
Like a meddling hag.
Instead of minding your own business and leaving us alone.
- My business is to watch over your souls. - "Watch over"?
You watch over us?
You only watch out for yourself! Yourself!
Father, you wanted to accuse Friar Juan Gil.
What are you saying?
Yes. Father, we are witnesses to that.
Beltrán, stay out of it.
- You said someone had to die. - Beltrán!
You should seek forgiveness for your own sins, Father.
You have many.
He's turning them against me.
All of them. Enough is enough!
There is no need for bad blood. I will talk to him.
Who would have thought? A wolf in sheep's clothing!
Now he thinks he owns the courtyard.
He has the pasha's protection, after all.
And I wonder what goes on in there for those two to have become
so friendly.
It seems you long to see it.
With all my heart.
My lady, I promise when we reach Spain, he will be treated well.
Then the captive explained to Zoraida why she should believe him.
What did he say?
"I love you."
Ever since that noble letter.
And all the more when I gazed into your eyes.
"The reflection of the soul."
Forgive me, my lady.
So he fell in love with her.
It's more believable, but it still needs a good ending.
You couldn't resist the old ploy.
What ploy?
Lacing tales with honey to stir people's hearts.
But what do you poets know about love?
What do you know about love?
Love doesn't exist.
There must be love in this world.
- God would not allow a world-- - God? What God?
Cervantes, be sincere.
I know deep down you are as much an infidel as I am.
A Moor killed my mother in front of me.
As I prayed.
Later, I did the same to others.
Or worse.
Such is the way of the world.
Without love in the world...
what do we have left?
Pleasures.
That's what I keep telling myself.
- The small pleasures. - The small pleasures.
The morning sun.
The stars at night.
A good feast.
Your stories, when they're good.
This hammam.
The pleasure of copulation.
Yes, you heard right.
I don't...
No need to worry.
I have my minions for that.
I feel no desire for a skinny captive with a lame arm.
When are you going to become a Moor?
What are you saying?
Look at me. Back in Madrid, I was as poor as a rat.
I had to bow my head whenever a nobleman passed.
But here, I am lord and master of the most renowned barbershop.
You call this a barbershop?
A toast to abjuration.
No, I'm already drunk.
Drunk? You're merely in good spirits.
Very well.
- To abjuration. - To abjuration.
One thing.
I want to propose something else.
How about... you revert to Christianity?
And we make our escape to Spain.
I told you, there's nothing left for me there.
- I doubt that. - It's the truth.
The bookshops. I couldn't find a single one here.
Bookshops?
I cannot read, nor do I need to.
I see. And what of the plays in the public squares?
All those people laughing.
All together.
The applause.
That is forbidden here, Abderramán.
- The puppeteers. - No.
I don't enjoy all of that theater and show.
Very well.
The windmills.
In La Mancha.
Whitewashed, gleaming.
Their sails...
creaking in the wind.
As if they were giants...
greeting all who pass by.
Even if they're as poor as rats.
Do you know... what I truly miss about Spain?
What?
My name.
Alonso.
Good evening.
You look like a Moor.
Sorry. I'm sorry.
What's the matter?
Where is Beltrán?
When the guard opened the gates for you this morning, he left them open.
Beltrán tried to run away.
They cut half his ear off.
Thank you.
Now you will eat it.
Go on, eat it.
Eat it, and I'll spare your life.
This will help it go down easier.
Slit this dog's throat.
No, please! I did what you asked of me!
- Kill him. - I beg you, please!
No, don't...
While you were out there, enjoying yourself, apparently.
Of course.
He is free to go as he pleases.
- Since he is a friend of the pasha's-- - Enough, Father.
Hold your tongue!
- Everyone was staring at me... - Miguel.
- As if I'm to blame for what Hasan does. - Listen to me, Miguel.
- No! How is it my fault? - They will forget it in time.
- But be wary of Father Blanco. - I know, he is green with envy.
And he is jealous.
It's plain to see.
He had best keep on his guard.
That...
That deviant.
Has the wine dulled your wits, son?
Blanco de Paz is a commissioner of the Holy Office of the Inquisition.
Now, if you don't mind, leave me to my work.
I know you were friends.
- Did you want me to pardon him? - Was it necessary?
- So much pain and humiliation? - Do you think I did it for pleasure?
If they don't fear the pasha, they'll escape.
And the sultan will come down hard on me.
Can't you see my plight?
- Why not let them out now and then? - Let them out?!
The streets of Algiers are filled with Christians.
Their masters allow it. Like you allow me.
Because they serve in the workshops for them.
But my captives are nobles.
What skills do they have?
At night, he would mull over his best ideas.
And that night, he came up with his best one of all.
And his worst.
Thirty names.
Each day, I'll read a different list,
so you'll all have the opportunity to work outside.
An opportunity? To have to learn a trade?
I was born a nobleman, not a laborer.
We are gentlemen of rank!
- It's demeaning! - I don't work with my hands!
Every day,
every hour you spend outside this prison, you will be free from abuse.
Life is out there, gentlemen.
Not in here.
My job is to save souls.
Not haul stones.
Very well.
All those in favor, raise your hands.
Me!
Here.
That's a fine jest.
May I ask what trade you intend to pursue, Father?
Anything so long as I can find my nephew.
Anything so long as we can get some fresh air.
Come on, gentlemen!
Come now!
Move out!
From that day forth, the pasha's captives came to be known as "Cervantes's men."
I fared well enough in my new craft, but on the days I was away,
Blanco de Paz would sit at my desk, or so I was told,
denouncing wicked and foul things.
CONCERNING MIGUEL DE CERVANTES
Today's earnings, my lord.
And today's story?
I thought you were going to kill all three of us that day.
We were all laughing...
- I never thought you would laugh. - You make me laugh.
You entertain me.
You make me even richer than I am.
What is it you want from me?
- Nothing. - No, I don't believe that.
You are crafty and ambitious.
But I cannot free you.
I cannot.
I have never met anyone with your talent, Miguel.
Believe me. No one.
Talent?
For what? Escapes?
For telling stories.
You should write down the one you started.
The story of the captive. And while you're at it, finish it.
Who in this city would read it?
I would.
I would read it.
Miguel.
If you abjured, I could help you rise to the top.
Like I did.
Think about it. Being a pasha.
I mean it.
Pasha. Whatever you want.
Whatever you want.
You're trembling.
Is it because you desire me... or fear me?
The small pleasures.
You tell good stories, huh?
I respect you.
Not a word of this to anyone.
If Blanco finds out...
Do you know why I fought that duel in Madrid?
What people said about me...
and my teacher?
Do you want to make confession?
No, but it wasn't like that. I didn't...
Didn't what?
Go on, go to bed.
Miguel.
Son.
We are all sinners here.
- What are you doing? - He's my nephew.
- No, Father, let's go back to the line. - Bernardo!
- We must go back. - I must follow him.
Perhaps that's not him. It's been a long time.
- I will lose him! - Come with me, please.
Miguel, he's my son.
We'll go later.
I know where we can find him. Let's return to the line.
There.
Come here!
- What is going on? - That's his son.
Keep playing. Dance.
No, son. Bernardo!
- I forgive you. Do you hear me? - Please.
- I don't want trouble in my shop! - I forgive you!
- Bernardo! - Miguel, take him away.
- I forgive you! - Take him away!
I forgive you! Please!
It is punishment for my sins.
The Lord has punished me.
Father.
Consider it this way.
Here, being a minion is not looked down upon.
Bernardo can still thrive.
What are you talking about, you knave?
You see everything as if you were one of them.
No, Father. I am a Christian.
A Christian who is friends with Moors and minions?
Friend to the pasha?
- Listen to me. - Enough. I am out of patience.
- I have a plan. - No! I am done with you.
Father, please! It's important!
Miguel.
Miguel, are you asleep?
What do you want, Father?
Of all that money you bring in, how much are you stealing from the pasha?
- Are you plotting something? - Let me sleep.
Listen. If you take me with you, I will repay you.
In Spain. You have my word.
- Take me with you, Miguel. - See here, Father.
If I were plotting an escape, you would be the last to know.
I have warned you to keep your distance.
Go back to bed.
The report.
What report?
I know you are writing a report for the Holy Office.
On me.
A ten-bench frigate.
Three captives per oar makes 30.
A 13-foot mast.
That's where the money went.
A Christian could not commission such a ship in Algiers.
- Unless a Moor was willing to-- - Father.
In a few days, the group that goes out to work will escape with me.
I have been informing them in secret.
Now I just need a priest.
To comfort our souls during the voyage.
Which will be difficult.
Will you help us, Father?
I don't want more enemies, Miguel.
Nor do I.
Captives, to the street! Everyone outside!
Come on, gentlemen!
Miguel?
- It won't be today, will it? - What do you mean?
- I didn't call for you. - I must be prepared.
- Calm yourself. - When?
- The day after tomorrow. - The day after tomorrow.
Thank you.
When?
The day after tomorrow, my lord.
He said so himself.
That is why I wanted to warn you at once.
He has never been loyal to you.
He is not who he pretends to be.
What do you mean?
He was never your friend.
But if you look closely...
you will see that others among us are willing.
Willing to... accept the life
that you have so generously offered him.
Your hammam.
The boys with oiled skin.
My lord, nothing would honor me more than to be your friend.
You shall be rewarded.
Bring him back alive.
Thank you.
Bastard.
Blanco, that bastard.
Thank you for warning me.
Muley?
Why did you?
I... refuse to impale you.
May Allah be with you.
Some of us can still escape.
Castañeda, Aguilar, Frías, and De Luca.
They're in the workshops.
No. I'll go fetch them.
You stay here.
Come on! Everyone out!
We're after Miguel de Cervantes, with the broken arm.
We're after Miguel de Cervantes!
Anyone hiding him will be put to death!
You have been warned!
We are searching for Miguel de Cervantes!
Four of you will hide in the hold, rowing until you're off the shore.
Then it's up to the wind, but the sail is a good size.
Abderramán, you will stay on deck, at the helm.
Alonso. It's Alonso now.
Where will you go now?
- Bind my hands. - What?
- I'll turn myself in. - We won't go without you.
I won't let Blanco keep betraying our friends.
Are you mad? Hasan will destroy you.
I will find a way.
Come on!
Miguel always has a plan.
I hope to see you in La Mancha, my friend.
In my barbershop.
You're worth more than all of us.
Gentlemen...
Run!
The one with the broken arm. It's him.
Not everyone shouted and jeered at him.
Since, after nearly five years in Algiers,
"the one with the broken arm," as they called him,
was already a friend to many.
Why not the old priest? Sosa.
Someone from the courtyard, Miguel.
I must kill one of them.
The mastermind...
was the barber.
Abderramán.
The one who got away.
Indeed?
Blanco de Paz!
The pasha thanks you.
He gave him oil.
Do you know what people are saying in Constantinople?
That I am prisoner to a captive.
That a captive has me under his spell.
Give me a name, Miguel.
Miguel de Cervantes.
I was behind it.
- Listen to me. - It was always me.
Listen well!
- It was me all along. - Miguel.
You could have it all here.
You have seen it for yourself.
No matter your ancestry or your desires.
Everything.
But you must help me.
I finally have an ending.
This isn't the time, Miguel.
Let me tell it to you.
My lord, I beg you.
Zoraida!
Why would you betray your father like this?
Zoraida, my daughter.
You betray your father.
Ungrateful, vile daughter. May you be damned for all eternity.
Grab him. Come on.
And just then...
Zoraida, I forgive you, daughter!
But come back to me! I forgive you!
I don't understand.
They returned the pasha to his land.
I don't understand this tragic ending.
The father and daughter chose their own fates.
They were different.
It shall be the gallows.
That way, I will spare you the torment.
Wait.
Just a moment. For pity's sake.
And now I must ask for your forgiveness, son.
On your feet.
The small pleasures.
Enough!
Release the rope.
He's still alive!
The small pleasures.
Small pleasures.
- Each year, he brings fewer satchels. - This time we won't be going home.
We won't be leaving this year either.
No one associates with him anymore.
They all know what he did.
Where is Cervantes?
He has been locked up there for over four months.
They say he hasn't uttered a single word.
Perhaps because of the hanging
or because the grief is killing him.
The pasha's returning to Constantinople.
He'll take Miguel with him.
You know what happens in Constantinople.
Whoever goes there never returns.
This is it.
This is truly the end for Miguel.
Take a look at this, Father.
Why are you so determined to rescue Cervantes?
John of Austria's letter was just a worthless permit.
Cervantes is a nobody.
I know he's a nobody, my lord.
But we have never seen anyone fight for his freedom like he has.
And that is truly worth 500 escudos.
His freedom?
Sometimes I wonder if the captives that you gentlemen save are truly free.
My lord.
Here is the document you yourself signed.
Five hundred escudos.
In gold.
It says here 500 gold escudos, paid in gold.
But that is just a formality, my lord.
You know full well it's never paid in gold.
Very well. Grant me two days.
Two days?
My ship departs today, before sunset.
Money for gold!
- Ransom! - Gold, please!
Gold to ransom Miguel de Cervantes!
Miguel de Cervantes, maimed arm!
With a broken arm.
Miguel de Cervantes, broken arm!
Broken arm.
That's right!
Miguel de Cervantes!
You shall live in my house.
As my equal.
Reading, writing...
Doing as you please.
Even if you don't abjure.
You have my word.
Miguel, look at me.
Look at me.
If you turn the friars away,
I shall grant you your freedom.
You will be... free with me.
Yes?
Truly free.
- Thank you. - I'll give you more.
- Gold for the man with the broken arm! - Bless you.
Gold to ransom the man with the broken arm!
Gold... paid in gold.
There is one requirement left.
It cannot be.
What is it, my lord?
Captive!
If the captive wishes to leave, he need but say so.
But that is not a requirement. When have we ever asked?
It is not a requirement in your land, where priests silence the people!
Speak.
Miguel?
- It is clear. - Yes.
I wish to leave.
I want...
I want my countrymen to read my work.
All the people.
Not just you, my lord.
Farewell, captive.
SEPTEMBER 19, 1580
You must leave this place, Father.
No matter what.
I have yet to finish my manuscript.
As you know, I want to include all the details.
After that, perhaps... I will try to escape.
Redeemers!
My dear brother,
before you leave for Spain, I feel I must give you this.
It turned out that it was not the report that Blanco de Paz had burned
but a fake.
I'm sure the Council of the Holy Office
will take good note.
As a precaution, 12 of us have signed another document, Father.
In these five years, Miguel de Cervantes
has always been an honorable person and an exemplary Christian.
We swear to it!
We swear to it.
I will gladly take both documents with me so they can be studied.
Thank you, Father Blanco.
I do not know if all this I write here will ever see the light of day.
Perhaps only some parts or none of it will.
But I have faith that one day someone will know
of the man who told us great stories, and the greatest story of all, his own.
Sosa escaped to Spain two years later.
His secret paternity provoked a religious scandal,
for which he was imprisoned and later pardoned.
Blanco was released 12 years later.
The allegations he made against Cervantes for "wicked and foul things"
never came to light.
Once free, Cervantes continued writing until his death at age 68.
His Don Quixote of La Mancha
became the most widely read novel of all time.
THE CAPTIVE
Subtitle translation by: Meredith Cannella