Voyage of Slaves

by Brian Jacques

  His companion in arms muttered grimly, “I don’t know, but I wager there’ll be trouble if they aren’t spotted and killed.”

  A voice broke in on them. It was Ghigno. “Stop gossiping and pay attention to your duties!”

  One of the guards replied, “Aye, Captain, though it’s not much use lookin’ out to sea for the boy and the dog. If they were swimmin’ for it, surely they’d be headed for land?”

  Ghigno nodded. “You’re right, but the master is giving the orders, we’re not here to argue. They’ll be running out of rockets soon, but he’s told me you must stay at your posts.”

  The other guard spoke hopefully. “Will we be going in to land then?”

  Ghigno sounded tired. “No, we’re anchoring out here. Tomorrow I’ll be taking her in, though not with all our sails. Bomba told me they only recovered half of the top spar, it broke in two when it fell. I’ll have to wait until we’re docked to have it fixed and rigged properly.”

  He wandered off, leaving the two guards at the stern. Soon the rockets ceased, and they put up their rifles. Sitting on the stern deck they eased their vigilance.

  Ned’s paw pressed against Ben’s shoulder. “Stay here, mate, I’ve got an idea!” The dog began paddling silently away.

  Ben called to him mentally. “Ned, where are you going? I’ll come, too!”

  His friend returned the thought. “No, Ben, stay put, a black dog in the sea at night is harder to spot than a boy and a black dog. I’m going to get that broken spar—it’s our only chance. Trust me!”

  Ben had no other choice; he knew what Ned said was true. He clung to the fender rope, his mind harking back to a century ago.24

  A ship’s timber had saved their life then, when they were swept overboard from the ill-fated Flying Dutchman, into the icy seas off Tierra del Fuego. Ned had dragged him, half-conscious, onto a spar which had fallen from the vessel. They had both drifted to shore, clinging to it. Good old Ned—Ben knew with a certainty that there had never been another dog like him, before or since.

  The smooth end of the spar brushed against Ben’s back as Ned’s voice took his attention. “Ahoy, shipmate, one seadog coming in on your stern!”

  The boy gripped onto the rope-tangled timber. “Well done, mate. It’s a stout old piece of wood, sure enough. Are the guards still watching up there?”

  The black Labrador scoffed. “Still watching? Listen, I’ve just paddled underneath their very noses and pushed this thing the length of the ship, and not one of ’em noticed. If you look up, you’ll see the legs of those two above us, dangling through the gallery rails. Not a pretty sight, I’ll grant you, but they’re both snoring!”

  Ben grinned. “Good, the angel’s on our side tonight. What we’ll do is, we’ll swim out to sea a bit behind this spar, say six shiplengths away. Then we’ll strike out in a curve toward the island. If anyone is still awake and watching, they’ll be looking the other way. Right, I’m ready, are you?”

  Keeping the spar between themselves and the Sea Djinn, they back-paddled away, toward the open sea. Ben was glad of the exercise—it took the numbness from his limbs. Ned gripped a rope between his teeth, doggy paddling away carefully, trying not to splash. He gave Ben the benefit of his opinion as to their progress.

  “We’re doing well, the tide’s on the turn. Get a bit furtherout, then we’ll run into land on the flood, it’ll save a lot of paddling.”

  Ben flicked matted hair from his eyes. “Let’s hope so, we don’t want to be caught out in open water once it’s daylight. What I wouldn’t give to be on warm, dry land right now!”

  The black Labrador mused, “Me, too, mate. Hmmm, I wonder if there’s any sharks around here?”

  Ben shot him a glare. “Thanks for that comforting thought!”

  Al Misurata felt restless. Sleep was eluding him, so he left his cabin and went for a turn around the deck. Bomba lay snuggled beneath the stern steps. The irate pirate kicked him into wakefulness. “Fat slug, why aren’t you out on watch?”

  The big slaver driver protested. “But, Master, you told me to take care of the fallen sail. I’ve had it hauled back aboard, there’s nothing can be done now until we’re in port. Ghigno was supposed to be in charge of the watch.”

  He quailed under Al Misurata’s look of cold command.

  “Don’t talk back to me, you bloated bazaar rat. You’ll never live to be half the man Ghigno is. Now get looking for that boy and the dog. Move yourself!”

  A vicious kick sent Bomba scurrying off. Aggrieved by the harsh treatment he had received, Bomba took up a tarred rope’s end. He vented his ire upon any guards he caught sleeping on duty. The pair who were slumped against the stern rail were rudely awakened as he thwacked the knotted rope on their heads.

  “Sons of she-camels, is this how you keep watch? Up, straighten up, and see to those jezzails. That boy could be splashing about under your noses for all you clods care!”

  He strode off, leaving the two guards peering down their rifle barrels and grumbling resentfully.

  “Huh, who does he think he is? Ghigno or the Master give us our orders, not that greasy slave driver!”

  The other one agreed. “Aye, but we’d have got worse than a whack with a rope’s end if Ghigno or Al Misurata would’ve caught us napping, so keep your eyes open. Anyhow, it’s starting to get light now. Look! What’s that over there?”

  The first guard followed the direction in which his companion’s finger was pointing. He lifted his musket, clicking back the flintlock as he took aim. “Let’s see, shall we?”

  Ben felt the impact as the lead ball drove deep into the spar, a fraction from his index finger. “Keep down, Ned, somebody’s firing at us!”

  A crack sounded out from the Sea Djinn, and another ball ploughed into the floating timber. The dog chanced a swift glance at the ship, then ducked his head.

  “Surely they can’t see us from there. Maybe they’re just having a bit of target practice, to while away the time?”

  A clamour broke out aboard the Sea Djinn as crewmen and guards came running to the stern, bent on discovering what the two shooters were firing at. Al Misurata and Ghigno hurried to the scene, elbowing bodies aside. The pirate confronted the two sheepish-looking guards.

  “Did you see the boy and the dog, did you get them?”

  One man bowed. “No, Lord, we were firing at that thing out there.”

  Ghigno peered into the gathering dawn. “What, you mean that? It doesn’t look like a boy or a dog swimming round out there, does it?”

  “No, Captain,” they murmured in unison.

  The Corsair stood, arms akimbo, viewing them scathingly. “Well, does it?”

  They shook their heads as they repeated, “No, Captain.”

  Bomba, who had been watching from the sidelines, spoke out sarcastically. “That’s because it’s a piece of wood, half of the topmast spar which broke off when the sail fell.”

  Al Misurata stared Bomba into silence, before turning to both guards. “So, you shot a piece of driftwood, well done! Ghigno, teach these two idiots a lesson!”

  The scar-faced Corsair grabbed the rope’s end from Bomba and laid into the hapless pair. Not bothering to watch them being punished, Al Misurata turned to the steersman.

  “Give the order to hoist anchor and sails, we’ll ride in on the flood. Bomba, come here!”

  The big man hurried forward apprehensively.

  Al Misurata pointed to the floating spar, which was a fair distance off now, and headed smoothly toward the point, to the left side of Valletta harbour.

  “Just refresh my memory—that is the spar which came from this ship, is it not?”

  The slave driver nodded. “Aye, Lord.”

  The pirate leaned on the rail, his eyes never leaving the drifting length of timber. “Then why is it not floating alongside the ship? Why is it far away, out there?”

  Bomba was stuck for an answer, so Al Misurata continued. “We can’t overtake it right now, but you take my spyg
lass. Stop here and watch it. As soon as it touches land let me know. You can take four guards when we make port. Hurry to where the spar is, I’d like to know how it drifted off so far and got to the island faster than my ship. Was something pushing it along?”

  Recognition spread across Bomba’s face suddenly. “Lord, you mean . . .”

  The pirate shook his head pityingly. “You’ll only get a headache from trying to think, idiot! Just carry out my orders. Malta is a small island, they can’t get far, you’ll see.”

  15

  LIKE A GLORIOUS BENEDICTION, THE midmorning sun smiled down on the island of Malta and the sea surrounding it. The boy and his dog abandoned their broken spar and waded ashore through sunwarmed shallows. Ben threw himself down on the sand, watching Ned shaking himself furiously. It was not a very wide beach, mainly sand, gravel and boulders, with cliffs towering high in the background. A small crab scuttled to one side as Ned flopped down gratefully. Blocking its escape with a curved paw, the dog lectured it.

  “Ah, land! Beautiful terra firma! You don’t know how lucky you are, little shellback. Living here among the rocks and seaweed, with nice pools to play in, never having to go out on the high seas. I think I may just stay here with you and become a crabdog.”

  Ben interrupted Ned’s canine reverie. “Well, that’s all very cosy, mate, but I think we’d better get moving in case we’ve been spotted from the ship.”

  The black Labrador rose, grumbling. “’Tis a hard and weary life for the good and virtuous. Righto, we go to the left, away from the harbour area, I presume.”

  Ben chuckled. “You presume right, O wise one. Let’s stick to the coastline awhile, and keep your eye out for food.”

  They strode off together, with the dog still ruminating. “Food, don’t mention it. Can you hear my stomach gurgling? It’s reminding me of breakfast this morning, or the absence of it!”

  The Sea Djinn still had some short distance to sail before she made land. Al Misurata was dressing to go ashore when Bomba came running into the cabin, brandishing the still open telescope.

  “I saw them, they got to shore about half a mile to the left of the harbour. It was them, the infidel and his cur!”

  The pirate was adjusting a dark blue turban in the mirror. He spoke to the big slave driver’s reflection without turning. “If you break my spyglass I will break your worthless neck. Which way did they go?”

  Bomba folded the telescope gingerly, placing it on the table. “To the left, Master, away from the harbour. I came right away to tell you, as you ordered me to.”

  Al Misurata fixed a yellow topaz pin in the turban folds. “We’ll be docking shortly. Ghigno will arrange the mast repairs. You take four guards with rifles and hunt them down. I will be taking to the clifftops on horseback, to make sure they don’t cut inland. And Bomba, I want no mistakes this time—weight the bodies with stones and sink them in the sea. Understood?”

  Bomba bowed his head dutifully. “Your wish is my command, I live only to serve you, Lord!”

  La Lindi left the guards who had been posted at the alleyway entrance. She hurried into the cabin, where the Rizzoli Troupe sat waiting on what she had heard. The enigmatic black snake dancer murmured swiftly, “They got away, Ben and Ned escaped and made it to the shore. The guards said they used the broken sail spar to do it. So you see, Serafina,there was no need for all that weeping. Those shots we heard didn’t hit them.”

  Wiping her eyes on the edge of her scarf, the beautiful young girl broke out crying afresh, though this time it was tears of joy and relief she shed.

  “If Ben and Ned had died, I wouldn’t have wanted to go on living!”

  Mamma Rizzoli hugged her comfortingly. “There, there, bella fanciulla,25 didn’t I tell you my prayers would work? I went five times round my beads, imploring the Blessed Mother to keep them safe!”

  Otto paced the cabin restlessly, shaking his head. “I would like to be free of this ship also. Why are we being kept prisoners in this room? It is not right!”

  Pappa Rizzoli decided the time had come to tell them as much as he knew. He beckoned the troupe close. “Listen carefully, my friends, I must keep my voice low to tell you this. Signora Lindi, go and talk to the guards outside the door, please, I will tell you later.

  “Ben told me that Misurata is not an honourable man, he is not taking us to Italy out of the goodness of heart. Why he has taken us with him, only Ben knows. But the boy would not give me the true reason for fear that he upset us. Since we have been kept in here against our will, I have been doing some serious thinking. Ben told me he would try to escape so that he could help us. I’m not sure how he can accomplish this, but I think we are in serious trouble, my friends. If we get the chance to help ourselves, we should do so without hesitation. So keep your wits about you, everybody, but try to stay calm and don’t do anything that may endanger us all.”

  It was Ned who first smelled the cooking. Rounding the bend of a small cove, he saw a fisherman and his son, a boy of about twelve years. They were sitting with their backs against a beached rowing boat, preparing their food by a small fire. The dog cautioned his friend, “Hide behind these rocks while I go on and take the lay of the land, mate. Humans don’t pay much heed to stray dogs. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

  Concealing himself behind the rocks, Ben watched Ned lollop toward the fire—head down, tongue out and tail wagging idly, just like any friendly old hound. The boy tossed the dog a crust, but his father ignored it. Both father and son were only half-aware of Ned, as they were discussing something animatedly. Ben was out of range, so he could not hear the conversation. However, he waited patiently for awhile as Ned gathered all the information he needed. The dog sauntered off, back to Ben, where he disclosed the gist of the talk.

  Ben nodded. “So, if we want to eat, it looks like we’re into our act again, with a slight difference. Though we mustn’t linger too long in case we’re being followed.”

  Ned perked up. “Here goes then, mate, enter the Magnificent Neddo and the Mysterious Benno!”

  The fisherman and his son were grilling freshly caught sardines and some plump-looking scallops which they had caught early that morning. He looked up at the tow-headed boy with the strange eyes as Ben approached him with Ned in tow.

  Ben flicked his forelock. “Good day to you, signore, and to your son. Those sardines and scallops look wonderful, did you catch them yourself?”

  Splitting a cooked fish, the man sandwiched it between slices of thin-crusted bread which he had toasted. “What else can a poor man do but catch his own fish? I have no servants to cater to my whims. But how did you know this one was my son?” He indicated the boy.

  Ben narrowed his eyes, the way he did when he wanted to look mysterious when performing. “I know many things, Francisco. . . .” He saw the boy’s look of surprise and continued. “And you, too, Francisco, son of Francisco the fisherman.”

  The fisherman crossed himself and kissed his thumbnail. “Does the blood of the Knights Templar run in your veins? If so, then begone, we do not talk to wizards!”

  Ben squatted by the fire, smiling as he patted Ned. “No, no, I am just one who means nobody any harm, though I have always had the gift of second sight. I can help you, and I would do so . . . if my dog and I were not so hungry. We are poor, but honest and truthful.”

  The man threw back his head and laughed. “Hahahaha! Poor, honest, truthful and hungry. So, you have the second sight. My grandmother, Lord rest her, had that, too. I was brought up with it.”

  He passed a jug of red wine, mixed with water, to Ben. Throwing the fish sandwich to Ned, he made another, adding scallops to it. From his pouch he produced a piece of goat’s milk cheese and carved off two slices for them. “I never feared the second sight, it is a gift from the Lord. Go on then, young man, tell me what you know.”

  Ben was ravenous. He spoke between mouthfuls of the good food and swigs of wine. “What day is it today?”

  The fisherman guffawed.
“Sunday, of course, don’t you know?”

  Ben tossed a scallop to Ned and licked his fingers. “Oh, I know, I’m just reminding you to go quickly to the church and see the padre. This is what you must say to him. Tell him that the goatherd is too old to carry the cross in this evening’s procession. That goatherd’s name is Francisco, and yours is Francisco. Always the cross has been carried round the piazza26 by one named Francisco. Now the goatherd is old and doddery—he could fall with the cross, and maybe damage it. But you are strong and upright, why, you can stand up straight in a storm at sea. Also, you will provide the fish for the church every Good Friday from now on, as will your son, Francisco, when he becomes a man. Remember, fish come from the sea, cheese comes from an animal. It is more fitting for the Lenten Fast. Besides, Francisco the goatherd is old, he has not many years left.”

  The fisherman gazed in awe at Ben, then he sprang up and began shaking the boy’s hand furiously, grinning from ear to ear at his son. “My very words, what was I just telling you before our friend came along, Francisco? The very same thing! Come, my son, we must hurry and get to the church! Thank you, my friend, thank you a thousand times, surely you have the gift, you are blessed! But you must forgive me, we must go now, I have to talk with the padre!”

  Ben stood hastily and bowed. “Of course, do what you have to, signore. Oh, may we borrow your boat for a few hours?”

  The fisherman and his son were already haring toward the cliff path. He called back to Ben, “Take it with my thanks, but return it when you’ve done!”

  Ben waved. “I will, and I’ll clear the food up and put the fire out!”

  Ned fanned a scallop with his tail, then wolfed it down. “Pretty good of us, I’d say, clearing away all this mess of food for the poor man. Let’s get to work!”

  Ben loaded the remainder of the meal into the little rowing boat. “I’ve got a better idea, let’s eat when we’re clear of the shore. Then nobody can sneak up on us.”