The Angel's Command
Page 32
Ned danced around his master. “You’ve got it, you’ve got it! Er, have you, mate?”
Ben burst into laughter, shouting aloud, “I’ve got it, I’ve got the gold!”
Between them, Ben and the father heaved the canvas bag up, until it was suspended underwater. Ben lashed the rope securely around the fishing smack’s mast. The weight of the gold made the little vessel lean over crazily as they took it into the shallower waters. Ned watched as they both jumped over the side, landing waist-deep in the sea. Father Mattieu sang out as they each gripped an end of the sack: “Up she comes, Ben, right. One . . . two . . . threeeeee!”
A dull clink of wet coins sounded as the bag landed amongst the priest’s catch of mackerel.
More wood was added to the fire. Ben drank fresh water to rid his mouth of the acrid salt taste. Ned flicked away a spark with his paw, chuckling mentally.
“Hoho, look at the father. I don’t suppose he’s ever seen more than two gold coins together in his life. Haha, and I’ll bet that those two belonged to somebody else!”
Firelight flickered off the shiny coins as they trickled through the priest’s fingers. His eyes were as wide as organ stops. “All this gold, Ben, there’s a vast fortune here. D’you realise, we’re rich, friend, we’re rich!”
Ben shook his head. “No, friend, you’re rich. That gold is your brother’s last gift to you. What’ll you do with it?”
Father Mattieu shuddered with delight as he stuffed handfuls of gold coins back into the canvas bag. “A church, I’ll build a lovely church, with pews, bells, steeple, altar. I’ll call it Saint Raphael’s!”
Ben smiled. “I’m sure the Lord won’t mind.”
The father lay flat on his back, stretching his arms wide. “A farm, too, with cows, pigs, chickens, sheep, fields and crops. Around the farm we’ll have cottages for my parishioners, my children. The church will stand in the centre of the farm . . . But listen to me, planning to do this and that. You must share this golden fortune with me, Ben. It would still be lying on the bottom of the sea if it weren’t for you!”
The boy refused flatly. “No, Father, Ned and I don’t need gold. I won’t touch a single piece of it. I told your brother I wouldn’t, and I must keep that promise in memory of him.”
Ned passed his master a rueful plea. “Couldn’t we just keep a few coins, say enough to buy us a week or two of good meals?”
Ben’s reply brooked no argument. “The angel never meant us to have any. The answer’s no, mate. Father Mattieu can make better use of it than we ever would.”
The father took Ben’s hand. “If you won’t take some gold, then what can I do to help you? Would you like to come and live in my new parish with me? Anything.”
Ben clasped his friend’s hand warmly. “There are reasons why I can’t stay anywhere too long. Besides, I’m a wanted person, a buccaneer, that’s why I was planning on escaping to Spain. Now if Ned and I only had a boat . . .”
Father Mattieu cleaned his frying pan in the sand and placed it in the fishing smack along with his other belongings and some bread, herbs and onions. He handed the bow rope to Ned, who took it in his jaws.
“Take this boat. There’s food, water and fish to go with it. Take it, both of you, and take my blessing with you!”
With its one small square-rigged sail spread, Ben steered the fishing smack out into the sea when the tide rolled in an hour before dawn. Both he and Ned looked back at Father Mattieu Thuron standing waist-deep in the water, arms spread wide as he called out to them. “May the good Lord bless you for what you have done for me and my children. Go now, my friends, and may the angels watch over you both!”
Ben passed Ned a fleeting thought. “Well, at least one of them will!”
Ben pulled the tiller, sending the little craft toward the Spanish mainland. From out of the east, rosy hues of dawn seeped out into the Bay of Biscay. Looking back, Ben and Ned watched Father Mattieu wading ashore, the bearer of good fortune returning to his parish. The strange boy from the sea and his faithful dog turned their faces to the new day and the perils of the unknown.
Ben felt Ned’s thoughts. “Where we are bound, mate, only heaven knows.”
The boy pressed his cheek against the black Labrador’s soft fur. “I don’t care, as long as we’re together, Ned.”
Soon the fishing smack was nought but a tiny dot on the face of the world’s great and mysterious waters.
IT IS SAID THAT IN THE BIG HOUSE OF Adamo Bregon, Comte of Veron, a picture hangs on the wall of the dining hall. This fascinating and beautiful artwork is greatly admired by all who see it. Within a gilt-embossed frame a boy stands with a black Labrador dog sitting by his side. The dog looks gentle and intelligent, its soft dark eyes friendly. An animal that anyone would be proud to own. The boy is poorly clad in the manner of one who follows the sea. Barefoot, with frayed and worn canvas breeches and a tattered calico shirt. His unruly tow-coloured hair is ruffled by the breeze. But it is the lad’s clouded blue eyes that draw the onlooker closer. No matter where you stand in that room, those strange eyes are looking straight at you. The boy is leaning on some rocks, with cold mountainous seas heaving behind him. Lightning rips through a storm-battered sky. In one corner, riding the wild waves, is a dim depiction of an unmanned sailing ship, its rigging illuminated by the eerie green light of St. Elmo’s fire. Many visitors ask why the picture was not painted in a rural landscape with the mountains as a background. After all, Veron is many leagues from the sea. The artist will only say that he saw the picture in the eyes of the boy, who was once as close to him as a brother. If you saw the eyes for yourself, you would readily believe him. In the lower right-hand corner of the picture, the artist has signed his name.
Dominic de la Sabada Bregon