The Captive (El cautivo)

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!

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.

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.