Voyage of Slaves

by Brian Jacques

  The boy let out an unhappy sigh. “No, I can’t, but I’ve got this feeling that it’s about to happen. We haven’t heard from the angel, yet I know that if I look out over the sea I’ll sight the Flying Dutchman out there. I’m worried, and frightened, too. We’ve rescued Serafina and our friends from slavery, I don’t want anything happening to them now.”

  Ned grunted. “Neither do I. Maybe you’re right, we’ll just stay put up here for the night. Look out, what’s that, mate, somebody’s coming!”

  It was Serafina. She came to them and draped the cloaks over Ben and Ned. “I brought you both some food, you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  Ben sat up, wrapping Otto’s cloak about him. “Thank you, Serafina, it was kind of you to think of us. I’m sorry about what I said to you earlier, but I will have to leave. Ned, too. I don’t expect you to understand. I feel terrible about it.”

  The beautiful young girl shook her head. “I don’t understand, Ben, but I know you’d never lie to me about something like that. If you feel you must go, then there’s nothing I can do to stop you.”

  Ned’s interruption hit Ben’s mind like a thunderbolt. “Tell her! Go on, tell her the truth, Serafina doesn’t deserve to be left like this. Tell her, Ben!”

  The boy bit his lip, almost drawing blood as he replied, “I can’t, don’t you see, Ned, she’d never believe it!”

  As if sensing his anguish, Serafina took Ben’s hands in hers. “Please, Ben, tell me why you must go. I couldn’t bear not knowing. Tell me, I don’t care what the reason is, I promise you I’ll accept it!”

  The clouded blue eyes met hers. The strange boy held her hands tighter, then he began to speak. “Serafina, you will not believe this, unless you believe there is a God, and angels, and a heaven above.”

  Ben got no further. There was the bang of a door being slammed open forcibly down below, coupled with the shouting of men, the cries of the Sisters, the yells of the Rizzoli Troupe and the fierce barking of Sansone. Al Misurata and his slavers had arrived inside the convent.

  34

  PANDEMONIUM REIGNED AS THE guards, with al Misurata and Ghigno at their head, charged into the refectory. Otto and the big convent dog hurled themselves into the midst of the guards. Nuns were screaming, running about willy-nilly.

  Buffo and Mummo grabbed the two iron bars which the strongman had been using in his act. They met the foremost two guards, striking the long jezzails from their grasp. La Lindi had Mwaga wrapped in both arms, menacing the attackers as she called to Mother Carmella, “Get your Sisters out of here!”

  Al Misurata and Ghigno stayed out of the fray, looking for Ben and Serafina. The pirate caught an anxious glance, toward the stairs, from Mamma Rizzoli. He nodded to the scar-faced Corsair. “Come on, they’re up there!”

  Ben halted at the verandah door when he saw both his enemies, swords drawn, coming up the stairs. Slamming the door shut, he tried to lock it, but the bolt was rusted stiff from exposure to years of the sea air. Both men hit the door at once, knocking it wide open.

  The boy reeled, cracking his head against the wall. He staggered forward, half-stunned. Ghigno and Al Misurata had hold of Serafina’s arms—she was struggling, trying to get loose of their grasp. Nightmare merged with reality for Ben: Vanderdecken was there, snarling in his face through frostbitten lips, his mad eyes red with fury.

  The boy rushed forward, smashing blindly at the apparition with his fists. Ghigno’s sword pierced his shoulder, searing like red-hot steel. Ned hurled himself upon the Corsair, his teeth seeking the man’s throat as he blundered backward. Ben went down, his legs tangling with Al Misurata’s feet. It happened with mind-stunning speed.

  Four bodies—the two men, the girl and the dog— crashed through the verandah rail. Ben lay flat on the floor, his mouth wide in a screech that was lodged in his throat. He heard the rail shatter, and saw the four of them vanish into the night. Down, down to the sea far below. The boy lay with his head over the broken verandah, seeing the four figures grow smaller in the darkness which engulfed his senses. Then he lost consciousness.

  Like a massive pale flame, the sight of the angel filled his mind. The vision’s voice echoed out, encompassing Ben. It sounded as though it were the strings of a thousand harps, driven by hurricanes across all the seas of the world.

  “Fate decreed that the Dark Angel would fall. Ye who are left on earth must travel on!”

  Downstairs in the refectory the Rizzoli Troupe were putting up a valiant fight. Headed by Otto and the big dog, Sansone, they drove the guards of Al Misurata back, out of the building and into the courtyard. Leading a final charge, the German strongman vanquished the attackers, sending them scurrying through the main gate, out onto the road.

  No sooner had Buffo and Mummo barred the gate, than a fusillade of musket shots tore into the woodwork. This was followed by men shouting, and the butts of jezzails pounding the gate. Otto called Sansone to his side, cautioning the clowns, “It sounds as if there are more of them outside. Be careful, stay away from the gate!”

  More musket balls hit the gate, making the wood quiver and crack under their impact. Buffo acted promptly. “I’ll soon find out!” He leapt nimbly into a nearby tree, scaling it swiftly until he could see over the wall. Shots rang out, and the clown ducked, shouting, “Alle hoop!”

  Both Otto and Mummo knew what he meant—they sprang forward with their arms outstretched. Buffo dived gracefully from his perch straight into their arms. “The Sea Djinn is here, in the bay! That’s the rest of her scurvy crew trying to break in!”

  Another salvo struck the gate. This time some balls found their way through, whipping waspishly through the courtyard. Otto took charge. “Get Poppea out of the way, find some rocks or logs!” Seizing the shafts of the troupe’s cart, he pushed it single-handedly to the gate, shoring it up. Buffo and Mummo returned with a wooden gatepost and some rocks. They wedged the cart wheels as Otto set his shoulders against the back of the cart. The strongman felt a musket ball whiz by his cheek as it tore through the canvas covering. The clowns added their weight to his as the assault outside continued. Otto shook his big, shaven head. “We will hold this gate. Ja!”

  Mummo gritted his teeth as the gate shuddered under fresh gunfire. “Aye, but for how long?”

  Mother Carmella was the first to find Ben. She called down the stairs for help. “Come quickly, the boy has been hurt!”

  The stairway was blocked by nuns as Augusto Rizzoli pushed his way through onto the verandah. “Mamma, Lindi, what is it, what’s happened?” He had to shout to make himself heard, for La Lindi was wailing at the top of her voice as two Sisters dragged her away from the broken verandah rail.

  “Serafina! Serafinaaaaaaa!”

  Mamma’s face was ashen with shock. “It’s Serafina and Ned—they’re gone!”

  Mother Carmella was staunching the blood from Ben’s shoulder with her habit. “We must get this boy downstairs before he bleeds to death. Signore Rizzoli, help us!”

  Between them they carried Ben down to the Mother Superior’s chamber. As they laid him on the bed, Mother Carmella was issuing orders for hot water, dressings and her medicine chest. Augusto Rizzoli kissed his distracted wife’s cheek.

  “Cara mia, stay here and help with Benno, I’m going to look for Serafina and Ned.”

  He raced downstairs into the courtyard, falling flat as jezzail bullets spanged off the stonework.

  Otto shouted to him,“Over here, mein Herr, help us to hold the gate!”

  Augusto scrambled across on all fours. As he put his shoulders to the back of the cart, there was a dull boom from outside which sent them lurching forward.

  Buffo exclaimed as they pushed the cart back into place, “They’re using something as a battering ram!”

  Of the four who had fallen from the verandah, Ned was the only one who was conscious. The black Labrador floundered about in the sea below the cliff, fending off the rocks as he was washed up against them. The entire length of his hind
leg on the left side was throbbing with a dull, sickening pain. Mentally he tried to contact Ben, but without success. As he was washed up against the rocks again, Ned saw both his enemies, Al Misurata and Ghigno. From the odd angles of the two bodies, the manner in which their limbs stuck out as their necks lolled loosely, Ned knew they were both dead from the fall. With agonising slowness, he paddled along the rockface, finding a spot to wedge himself in.

  Then Serafina floated by. She was facedown, limp and motionless. The dog set his teeth into the waistband of her dress, hauling her in beside him. He licked her still face, calling out her name mentally until the truth finally dawned upon him. Then he threw back his head, howling like a stricken wolf.

  At that moment, Kostas Krimboti was entering the bay, sailing his freshly seaworthy Blue Turtle. Yanni had the telescope focussed on the Sea Djinn, which was anchored not far from the cliffs where the convent stood. He took the wheel, handing the glass to Kostas.

  “That’s the slave ship which is carrying the boy’s friends.”

  The Greek captain viewed it momentarily, then swung the eyepiece over toward the cliffs. “Can you hear that noise? It’s a dog howling.” He moved the telescope along the rocks slowly. “Over there, I’m sure of it—see, there’s something white, like a piece of sail. That poor animal’s howling like it’s in agony. We can’t leave it there!”

  Yanni steadied the wheel. “But what about the big ship? We’ve got to get past it.”

  Kostas slammed the telescope shut. “Arm all hands to the teeth, I’ve been wanting to meet this black-hearted scum. Stand by to board her!”

  With the crew of the Sea Djinn attacking the convent, there were only two watchmen left aboard. As soon as they spied Kostas and his tough-looking crew ploughing through the night toward them, they jumped overboard, abandoning ship. Scratching his thick red curls, Kostas looked around in disappointment.

  “So the rats have deserted their vessel, eh, where are they?”

  Babiko came running from the fo’c’sle deck. “They’re on the cliff top, attacking the convent!”

  Kostas whirled about distractedly as Ned’s howls rent the air. He issued orders rapidly. “Yanni, you and Kristos man the cannon—anyone who tries to board this ship, blow them out of the water! Herakles, take the small boat and get that dog off the rocks. The rest of you, back aboard the Blue Turtle!” The big Greek’s golden teeth were bared in an angry snarl. “Barbary slavers, attacking a convent of nuns? Father, forgive me for what I am about to do!”

  As dawn’s first pale strands streaked the sky, the defenders holding the gate were shot backward forcibly. Otto scrambled upright, ignoring the raking scratches across his broad shoulders. He threw himself at the wagon, shunting it forward. Buffo gaped in dismay at the gate.

  “That battering ram has broken through!”

  Sure enough, the blunt end of a pine trunk had smashed through the door. There was a shout from outside, then the trunk was withdrawn for a second charge. This time it shot through the gap, hitting the wagon, and knocking it off the rocks and timber that were jamming the wheels in place.

  The German strongman ripped a board from the side of the wagon. He brandished it, shouting above the cheers from the attacking guards, “You come now, Otto Kassel will meet you, ja!”

  Then a crackle of musket fire rent the air, and the guards’ jubilation was cut short as Kostas and his crew rushed them from behind.

  “Hohoho! Rejoice, my good Sisters, Saint Krimboti is here!”

  Steel rang upon steel as Otto pulled the wagon aside and unbarred the shattered gate. He and Sansone were first into the fray, followed by Buffo and Mummo. Arming themselves with the weapons of fallen guards, they hurled themselves at the foe. Without Al Misurata or Ghigno to lead them, the crew of the Sea Djinn broke into a disorderly retreat. However, there was no place for them to run but the clifftop, and there was no question of quarter or surrender for the slavers.

  Having ministered to Ben, Mother Carmella left him in the care of two Sisters. Followed by a group of nuns, she hastened out into the courtyard toward the sounds of combat. They crowded in the open gateway, staring at the survivors of the battle. There was only Kostas and his crew, the dog Sansone and her three guests, Otto, Buffo and Mummo. Somewhere nearby a small bird chirruped its first song of the day as sunlight crept over the bay. The Mother Superior extended her hands to Kostas. “Now I know the Lord moves in strange ways, he sent you to us in our hour of need. Pray enter.”

  35

  ONE WEEK LATER. SAILING SOUTH SOU’EAST, THROUGH THE STRAIT OF OTRANTO TO THE IONIAN SEA.

  COOLING BREEZES SOOTHED THE midday heat, bringing relief to the crew of the Blue Turtle. Kostas Krimboti fussed like a mother hen around the four bearers who were carrying Ben and Ned on a stretcher.

  “Babiko, Yanni, hold your end up a bit. We don’t want them sliding off into the sea. Herakles, Fotis, slow down, it’s not a race. Mind those stairs, steady now!”

  Under their captain’s directions, they deposited the stretcher carefully on the fo’c’sle deck. Kostas waved his arms at them.

  “Well, don’t stand there gawping, go and get fresh water. Bring honey and grapes, too. Yanni, fetch me some of Mother Carmella’s special medicine, they might need to sleep some more yet. Jump to it!”

  Kostas sat down beside his two charges, shielding Ben’s eyes from the sun and murmuring, “This fresh air will do you good, boy, sleep on if you want to. Ah, Ned, old friend, I see you’re back with us at last. Amico, get away from him, you little rogue, leave the poor fellow’s tail alone!”

  Ned opened his eyes, whining softly. “Ooh, this confounded leg, it feels like a floorboard. Ouch, that hurts!”

  Kostas stroked the black Labrador’s head gently. “Try not to move your back leg, that splint will stick into you, be still. Good boy!”

  The dog’s thoughts reached Ben. The boy’s eyelids fluttered, then he stared dazedly up at Kostas. “Thirsty. . . . Can’t move my arm. . . . Ned?”

  The Greek’s gold-coin teeth flashed in the sunlight. “Thank you, Father! Thank you, Sisters of Santa Filomena, for your prayers, and thank heaven for listening to the prayers of a wayward sinner like me. Mother Carmella, thank you for your wonderful magic medicine which kept this poor boy alive!” Ben’s strange, clouded eyes came fully open. “Kostas Krimboti, what are you doing here? Where am I?”

  The puppy, Amico, jumped on Ben licking his face. “Leave him alone, you savage. Hohoho!” Kostas perched the little dog on his shoulder like a parrot. He cradled Ben’s head against his elbow. “Babiko, hurry up with that water, he’s awake!”

  Holding a goblet up to Ben’s lips, Kostas allowed him to drink sparingly, “Relax, my friend, all you have to do is rest, you’ll soon get well. Where else would you be, but aboard my lovely old Blue Turtle, bound for my homeland, Greece!”

  Ben stared down at his bandaged chest, and the sling which held his right arm. He felt confused. “The convent. . . . What happened?”

  The Greek captain laid him back down, placing the water bowl close to Ned’s face. “Questions, questions. Be grateful you’re alive, boy.”

  Ned’s thoughts flashed urgently into Ben’s mind. “Don’t ask, it’s all in the past, Ben. Kostas is right, just be grateful you’re alive!”

  The boy ignored his dog’s pleas. Levering himself up on his good arm, he gritted his teeth. “What happened? Tell me, I must know!”

  Amico was worrying at his master’s curly red hair. Kostas lifted the puppy down to the deck and sent him off to play elsewhere.

  “Alright, my friend, I’ll tell you as much as I know. When we arrived in the bay below Santa Filomena, I sighted the Sea Djinn anchored there. Well, we boarded the vessel, and captured her. The slavers were attacking the convent, so I found a path up the cliff, and led my crew up there. We charged them from the rear, with the help of your friends—the German giant, the two clowns and Sansone the big hound. What a battle it was, no slavers were left to tell the tale
, take my word. Those who didn’t fall to our guns and blades fell from the cliff.

  “You were found on the upstairs verandah, stabbed by a sword. Mother Carmella tended you—at first she thought you would die, you had lost so much blood, Ben. But the Mother Superior is a wise and clever doctor. She nursed you through it, keeping you asleep with her own special medicine. Your dog was found by Herakles, hanging on to the rocks amid the water. Ned’s leg was broken, but my friend Mother Carmella treated him, too. I went back aboard the Sea Djinn. Yanni and I turned her own cannons into the hold. We blew out the keel and sank her. You look tired, Ben, try and rest.”

  The boy’s good hand shot out. He gripped the Greek’s arm, yelling, “Serafina! Where’s Serafina!”

  Kostas seized Ben’s hand, nodding to Yanni. Though he tried to struggle, the boy could not resist. Babiko and Herakles held his head as Yanni poured the Mother Superior’s medicine into his mouth. Kostas Krimboti nodded. “That’s enough, Yanni, he’ll be asleep soon. Leave him now, I’ll speak with him again tomorrow. Sleep, Ben, sleep. . . .”

  With his eyes blinking groggily, Ben heard Ned’s words filtering into his mind. “You’ll remember sooner or later, mate, so I’ll tell you. We fell through the verandah rail, Misurata, the Scar-face, Serafina and me. I was the only one who lived through it all. Both the slavers were killed as they hit the rocks, and it’s hard for me to say, but we lost Serafina, too. I pulled her from the sea, and held on to her through the night. Herakles found us both as dawn was breaking. You were unconscious, there was no way I could let you know. Our poor beautiful girl is gone, but I hung on to her, the Dutchman did not take her. Can you hear me, Ben?”