Voyage of Slaves

by Brian Jacques

  The black Labrador scrabbled sand over the small fire with his paws. “Hah, I was watching their faces when you were talking. They looked like two fish gasping for air while you repeated the father’s words to his son, not two ticks after he’d just spoken them. Poor old Francisco the goatherd. Still, I suppose it’ll give his wobbly old legs a rest, eh!”

  In the early noon, the sea was smooth as a mill pond under the hot sun. Ben shipped the oars when they were about a quarter of a mile from the land. They settled down to a leisurely lunch, enjoying the sense of freedom, though Ben kept gazing soulfully in the direction of Valletta harbour, which had vanished from view around the point. Ned lapped wine and water from a scallop shell, passing his friend a thought.

  “Now don’t start fretting, the pretty Serafina will be just fine for the moment. We’ll rescue her and the others when the first opportunity presents itself, don’t worry, mate!”

  Ben looked out across the water. “I know, Ned, but I can’t help missing her, and our other friends, too.”

  The black Labrador grunted. “You aren’t the only one who’s missing Serafina, you know. She’s a much better stroker than you ever were, mate, real soft and gentle.”

  Bomba lumbered along the shore, breathing heavily as he tried to increase the pace. The long jezzail musket he carried felt heavy and awkward in his sweaty grasp. Behind him the four guards strode at a steady pace, refusing to hurry as he urged them on. “Come on, shift yourselves, they can’t be far ahead!”

  One of the guards lowered his black face scarf. “I’m taking no orders from a slave driver. Slow and sure gets the job done properly, I always say!”

  Still pushing forward, Bomba snarled at the man, “I’m in charge of this party, you’ll obey my orders or I’ll report you to the master when we get back. Now mooo . . .” He slipped upon a matted heap of wet seaweed and fell heavily backward, his finger pressing on the trigger as he tried to hold on to the long rifle.

  Craaaaackkk!

  The gunshot sent seabirds wheeling skyward as it echoed off the cliffs and across the waters. The outspoken guard stood over Bomba. “Why don’t you fire that thing again, just to make sure they know we’re on their trail. Huh, slave drivers!”

  At the sound of the shot, Ben and Ned instinctively threw themselves down flat in the bottom of the rowing boat. The dog sent out a thought. “What was that, was it aimed at us, I wonder?”

  Ben started easing himself into a crouch, so he could look over the stern. “That was a gunshot for sure, but it couldn’t have been meant for us, or we’d have heard the ball whistling by. Stay down, mate, I’ll take a quick peek!” Ben’s eyes darted hither and thither as he scanned the cliffs and shore. “No, I can’t see anything. . . . Wait! Aha, it’s Bomba and four guards, all carrying guns. They’re just rounding the point. Now they’ve reached the place where we met the fisherman. There’s a guard sifting through the ashes of the fire, he seems to be arguing with Bomba. Now there’s some horsemen, they’re leading their horses down the path from the cliff to the shore, five of them. It’s Al Misurata with four of his guards!”

  Ned’s damp nose nudged Ben’s foot. “Get down, mate, we’ll just have to lay low out here and hope that we don’t get spotted!”

  Al Misurata remounted his horse. Holding out a hand, he gave Bomba a disgusted glance. “Give me that gun before you do any more harm with it. If the boy and dog are within a mile of us they’ll have hidden themselves well by now. Get back to the ship. I’ll wait until dark, then I’ll send Ghigno out with an armed search party. He might be able to take them by surprise.”

  The horsemen swept off, back along the shore to the harbour, leaving Bomba and the four guards trudging behind.

  This time it was Ned who ventured his head above the gunwales for a look.

  “Luck’s still with us, they’ve gone. I can just see Bomba rounding the point, they’re going back to the ship. Well, what’s our next move, do we go back ashore?”

  Ben sat up and took the oars. “No, we’re safer on the water. Let’s carry on and see what lies beyond the next point. You watch our backs.”

  The dog sat up in the stern. “Sorry I can’t help you much, Captain. Us dogs aren’t much use at rowing, but we’re good lookouts.”

  They passed two headlands, and two small coves, each much like the first they had visited. Then a large, wooded promontory sprawled out into the sea. Late noon sun beat down on Ben as he pulled wearily on the oars. “We’ll round that big point and take a rest. My hands are beginning to get blistered.”

  The promontory, and a huge headland about two miles to the far side, formed a large natural bay, at the centre of which was moored a vessel. It was a long, lateen-rigged dhow, a beautiful craft, with four triangular white sails. Having been around the sea and ships for some years, Ben studied it admiringly.

  “What a beauty, I’ll wager there’s nothing could catch that one with the wind behind her!”

  Every line of the ship bespoke speed and elegance, from her sleek, black hull to her gracefully curved stern.

  Ned viewed the whole thing more practically. “Who owns such a vessel, friends or foes, I wonder?”

  Ben was still admiring the trim craft. He shrugged. “It looks like the owner is rich and powerful, I don’t think he’d be bothered with a boy and dog in a little rowing boat. We’ll go past her on the way to the shore over yonder.”

  Pulling out into the bay, Ben took a course which would give them a closer view of the sleek vessel. From within fifty yards of the ship, they could make out intricate gilding above the waterline from stem to stern. Ben could distinguish the name White Ram on her bows. At the head of the mainmast was a banner, bearing the silhouette of a charging white ram on a field of green.

  They passed by the stern, with Ned commenting, “Doesn’t look like there’s any activity on deck—they must all be below taking a snooze, away from the noonday heat. No, wait, there’s a lad standing on the rail, look!”

  Ben saw the lad, a boy aged between ten and eleven. He had a shock of luxuriant brown curls and an impudently handsome face. Wearing a linen wrap about his waist, he balanced on the stern rail, not holding on to anything.

  Ned commented, “Looks a bit young to be the captain, eh?”

  The lad grinned from ear to ear, waving to them from his precarious perch.

  Ben waved back, calling out, “Be careful you don’t fall, this water’s pretty deep!”

  The lad gave him a cheeky grin, shouting confidently, “Don’t worry about me, I’ve learned to swim, and I can dive, too. Watch!” Launching himself from the high stern, he went into an awkward dive.

  Ben winced as the lad hit the water with a resounding slap. “Ouch, I’ll bet that hurt, a perfect belly flop, eh mate!”

  However, the boy surfaced, spitting out a jet of seawater, apparently unharmed. He began swimming, as though he had only learned a day or two ago, windmilling his arms and nodding his head to and fro.

  Ned chuckled. “Ho ho, he actually can swim, after a fashion.”

  They watched him for awhile, then Ben shouted to him, “You’d best get back to your ship, the ebb tide is drawing you out—turn round, mate!”

  A man appeared on the big vessel’s deck. He was old, but tall and imposing, with a full, grey beard and long, silvery locks. His voice boomed out sternly at the lad in the water.

  “Joshua, you’ve been told about going into the sea when there’s nobody on deck to watch over you! Come back here!”

  Ned suddenly sighted the deadly triangular fin cutting through the water toward the lad. He barked aloud, conveying an urgent message to Ben at the same time. “Shark! There’s a shark in the water!”

  Ben spotted it immediately in the clear Mediterranean bay. He could even see the predator’s long, streamlined body beneath the surface—it was a monstrous size. Pulling madly on the oars, he began rowing toward the boy, trying to place the boat between the shark and its intended victim.

  The old man roared alo
ud as crewmen came hurrying up on deck. “Shark! Swim for the boat, Joshua, hurry!”

  But the old man and his crew were too far off to render any immediate help. Ned acted promptly, sending thoughts to Ben as he bounded over the side into the sea.

  “I’ll get the young ’un, you keep that shark away, mate!”

  Ben shipped one oar, gripping the other with both hands. He slapped the water a few times, decoying the shark toward himself. The ugly snout broke the surface as it swam in close, snapping at the oar. Ben lashed out, holding the bladed end of the oar downward. A shock ran through his arms as he struck hard at the protruding dorsal fin, knocking the beast off course. Then he saw the staring round eye, and the fearsome rows of teeth as the shark went into a wallowing attack.

  16

  BEN ATTACKED THE SHARK LIKE A mad thing, smashing the oar down.

  Smack! Slap! Crash! Splat!

  The sea frothed and billowed as he battered on, bellowing, “Come on, you filthy brute! Take that, and that!”

  Ned latched onto the lad’s waistcloth, striking out for the ship. The youngster was in a panic, kicking at the dog and swallowing seawater. Then a lifeboat crashed down from the White Ram. Four armed men leaped into it and began paddling furiously toward the pair in the water.

  The old man raised his arms, roaring, “Save my grandson, help the boy into the boat!”

  Willing hands hauled Ned and the lad into the lifeboat, then rowed on swiftly to aid Ben.

  The shark had the oar in its mouth. Ben heard its teeth crunch wickedly into the paddle blade. He held on as it tugged and pulled, feeling as though his arms were being wrenched from their sockets with each fresh tug from the powerful seabeast. The thought that he had a tiger by the tail sped through his mind, followed suddenly by Ned’s urgent commands.

  “Let go of the oar, mate! Throw yourself flat, quick!”

  Ben released the oar, flinging himself headlong into the bottom of the little boat as four flintlocks exploded. Crack! Bang! Crack! Bang!

  Four musket balls thudded into the shark’s body, then the rescue craft bumped against Ben’s boat. Water was starting to bubble through the fishing boat’s ribs when a strong pair of hands grabbed Ben and lifted him clear. Still kicking and yelling, he landed next to Ned and the lad.

  The shark wallowed about in the sea, crimsoning the waters as blood gouted out of its wounds. Another volley of lead from the crewmen tore into it.

  The man who had rescued Ben called out, “Cease fire! Back to the ship, look!”

  Three more fins appeared out of nowhere. Homing in on the doomed monster, they began savaging it ferociously. In moments the water was an absolute melee of foam, blood and writhing bodies, as the sharks attacked each other indiscriminately.

  The sturdy crewman winked at Ben, pointing to the ravaging fish. “Senseless savages, once there’s blood in the water they’ll rip anything to shreds, themselves included. Let them eat each other, and good riddance I say!”

  The young lad had extraordinary powers of recovery. Once he had finished coughing and spitting out seawater, he began hugging and stroking Ned. He wrinkled his nose at Ben. “Told you I could swim, didn’t I? This is a great dog you have. My name’s Joshua, what’s yours?”

  Ben was completely disarmed by the lad’s open manner. “I’m called Ben, his name is Ned.”

  They were helped aboard the ship, where the old man awaited them on deck. Up close he was an impressive figure. His long, curling, silver hair was held back by a soft leather band across his brow, and he wore a simple red-and-black woven gown. His face was charismatic, brown as a walnut and deeply creased, with an aquiline nose, and calm, hazel-flecked eyes that seemed to contain all the knowledge of life and worldly wisdom. He bowed deeply to Ben and Ned.

  “I owe you a debt beyond price—you saved the life of my grandson Joshua. I am Eli Bar Shimon of Ascalon, the leader of a family of warrior merchants. Name your reward, I will gladly give you anything it is in my power to give. Just name it, and it is yours!”

  Ben returned the courteous bow of the old patriarch. “Sir, my name is Ben, my dog is called Ned. We need no rewards. Joshua is safe, I am glad we were of service to you.”

  Eli crouched to stroke Ned. His eyes twinkled. “This is a fine and wonderful animal. Benjamin, eh, a good Hebrew name!”

  Ned nuzzled the old man’s hand, sending Ben his opinion. “D’you know, mate, I’ve quite taken to this old fellow!”

  With a pang of guilt, Ben suddenly remembered the fisherman’s boat. He looked out to where the humble craft was settling low in the bay, still being buffeted by the frenzied sharks.

  “Sir, our boat was loaned to us by a poor fisherman.”

  The old man nodded understandingly. “It would be a sad day if a poor fisherman were to lose his livelihood. Where does this man live, Benjamin, what is his name?”

  Ben pointed to the clifftops, toward Valletta. “A small town up there, two bays back, sir. His name is Francisco. He has a son, about the same age as your Joshua, he, too, is called Francisco. He is a good man, and quite religious, the local padre knows him well.”

  Eli Bar Shimon spoke to the strong-looking crewman who had lifted Ben from the fishing boat. “Ezekiel, take the smaller lifeboat, the one with a mast and sail. Find this fisherman, Francisco.” The patriarch took four heavy gold coins from his waist purse. “Give him the boat and this gold as compensation for his loss, and tender my apologies.”

  Ned communicated with Ben as he inspected the vessel in question. “Our old friend here is more than generous. That boat’s worth ten of Francisco’s rickety tub, and four gold pieces to boot? Hah, it surely was the fisherman’s lucky day when he met us, mate!”

  Ben agreed. “It’s plain he loves his grandson more than anything. Joshua is a very fortunate lad.”

  Eli turned to Ben. “Will you accompany Ezekiel, to show him the way?”

  Ned tapped Ben’s ankle with his paw. “You can’t go back ashore, they’ll catch you for sure!”

  Ben mentally replied to his dog, “I think I’d best tell Eli the truth, he’d probably appreciate it.”

  Ben looked the dignified old man straight in the eye. “Sir, forgive me, but it would be safer for me and Ned if we stayed aboard awhile. There are men on shore who are hunting for us. Enemies, who would do us harm.”

  The patriarch stared back into Ben’s clouded blue-grey eyes. “I believe you, Benjamin, though it is strange for a boy and dog to have grown men as enemies. Ezekiel, arm yourself, and take a man with you. Be careful, and speak to nobody about our friends, except the fisherman.”

  The lad, Joshua, stood boldly forward. “I will go with him, Grandfather. Come, Ezekiel!”

  Eli rebuked him severely. “You will stay aboard this ship, O disobedient one. Go to the galley, the cook will keep you busy for the rest of today, as penance for your willful behaviour!”

  Joshua looked as though he were about to protest, his suntanned cheeks reddened. However, something in his grandfather’s eyes warned him that argument would prove fruitless. He bowed to the old man and marched off, stiff-backed, to the galley.

  Eli murmured to Ben, “Just like his father, a true son of the House of Shimon, a fearless warrior. He has many lessons to learn yet.”

  Ben smiled. “He is lucky to have you as a teacher, sir.”

  Eli took Ben’s hand. “Come inside and enjoy our hospitality, Benjamin. Bring Ned with you. It is not wise to be seen out in the open by hawks, if you are a dove. I want to hear more about you and your fine dog.”

  Ned trailed inside behind Ben and Eli. “Fine dog? Will you kindly inform our friend that I am the Magnificent Neddo!”

  Ben tugged his ear gently. “If you don’t stop boasting, I’ll tell him that your real name is Bundi.”

  Eli had a broad and spacious cabin at the stern of the White Ram. It contained a huge table and lots of chairs. There were cedar cupboards, shelves full of books and scrolled maps, and broad mullioned windows stretching in a
long arc. It was more stateroom than cabin. Seated at the table with Eli, Ben watched as stewards cleared away charts and documents.

  The cook and his helpers, one of whom was a red-faced Joshua, set out table linen, cutlery and dishes. They served a delicious chicken broth, followed by a dish of fresh fish with saffron rice and boiled chickpeas. There was orange juice, coffee or wine to drink, and baklava, a pastry filled with honey, nuts and raisins, for dessert. Ned was given a roasted shoulder of lamb and a bowl of water, to which he immediately gave his undivided attention. Eli raised a goblet of dark red wine to the boy and his dog.

  “L’chaim,27 Benjamin, to you, your dog and my Joshua. This wine is from our vineyards at Ascalon, where I live with my family and friends. Let me tell you about us.

  “We have held that land safe for centuries, our tribe has defended it against many foes, and it prospers under our care. Our retainers are husbandmen, shepherds and farmers, but we of the House of Shimon are warrior merchants. We trade both on land and sea, though now I am retired. I spend my days giving counsel to my son Jacob and his wife Miriam, who manage all the business. Joshua is their only heir, I have devoted myself to his education.”

  Here Eli gave a dry chuckle. “Though not always with great success, as you saw by today’s incident. He is head-strongand adventurous, as are you, Benjamin, I think. Tell me about yourself and Ned, how you came to be here, with your fair skin, light hair and northern eyes. You interest me greatly.”

  Ned looked up from the bone he was gnawing. “Watch you don’t trip up over your tongue, matey, he’d never believe our true history.”

  Ben helped himself to orange juice as he replied to the dog. “Leave it to me, I’ll give him the same story I told to Al Misurata, that I was the son of a ship’s officer, whose vessel was wrecked in the Gulf of Gascony, of which I have very little memory. Then you and I travelled the coasts for some years, until we were captured and enslaved by Al Misurata. From therein I’ll tell Eli the facts as they happened. Will that be alright with you, mate?”