The Angel's Command fd-2

by Brian Jacques

  Still facing the captain, Ben answered his dog's question. "He saved my life, we can trust him. I'd best tell him

  everything. He'll understand, I know he will."

  The black Labrador closed his eyes resignedly. "I hope he will!"

  The crewman Gascon, who had not gone with the other three deserters, was taking his turn at the wheel. He had heard

  Ned's bark and the window breaking. Looking astern, he saw the captain's chair, with the cross on its thong tangled

  about it, floating off into the night. Tying the ship's wheel on course with the helm line, Gascon hurried to the captain's

  cabin door. He was about to knock when he heard voices clearly from within. Carefully he pressed an ear to the door

  and listened. Ben was speaking to Thuron. What Gascon heard that night chilled his very soul into a terror-stricken

  silence.

  Captain Redjack Teal had found some good old ripe cheese in the cupboard. Along with a goblet of Madeira and a few

  of his special biscuits, it provided an excellent midday snack. There was a respectful tap at the door. Dabbing his lips

  fastidiously with a silken kerchief, he called, "Come!"

  The bosun stumped in, dragging the prisoner Ludon behind him. He threw the man to the floor and saluted by touching

  a many-thonged whip to his temple. "Gave 'im two strokes, sir, just as ye ordered."

  Teal stood, adjusting Rocco Madrid's sword about his waist. "Hmm, good man. Carry on!"

  The bosun saluted again. "Aye aye, Cap'n!" He left the cabin, closing the door carefully behind him.

  Ludon cowered on the floor, sobbing and hugging himself.

  Teal sounded bored as he poured himself another "Oh, stop that blubberin', sirrah, y'sound like a pig with the colic.

  Don't look so demned sorry for yourself, man!"

  Ludon turned a tear-stained face up to Teal, whining piteously. "You had me whipped, sir, for no reason at all!"

  Redjack wrinkled his nose. It was hard to understand the rough English that Ludon had picked up in Caribbean ports.

  "Lack-a-day, fellow, I never do things without any reason. I never had ye really flogged, just two strokes o' the cat. So

  now ye know what it tastes like, eh? I did it to show ye I mean business. I want the truth, an' no lies. Of course ye can

  lie away an' think you're foolin' me, but that'd mean ten strokes for every little fib. Hmm, imagine that!"

  Ludon shivered and sat up straight to stop the weight of his shirt from touching the wounds on his back. "I'll tell ye the

  truth, sir, on me oath I will. Just ask the questions an' I'll do me best to answer ye!"

  Teal sat down again and studied the prisoner closely. "Of course ye will. Now, tell me, where exactly is your captain

  Thuron bound for?"

  Ludon answered promptly. "He is sailing back to the place of his birth in France, somewhere called Arcachon, sir.

  Thuron was always talking of giving up the buccaneering life. Now that he has enough gold, he plans to live like a true

  gentleman there. with land and a chateau, sir."

  Teal tapped his chair arm pensively. "How much gold does he possess, and don't give me any hoary old tales of buried

  treasure. How much exactly, eh?"

  Ludon swallowed hard. "I cannot say exact, but about fully the weight of a man the size of your bosun, sir."

  Teal drew his sword and tapped the prisoner's back lightly. Ludon grimaced and arched his back. Teal chuckled.

  "That'd be a good fortune for any man, if 'twere in coin. Nice solid gold coin can be spent anywhere. All these

  fabulous stone, strings o' pearls an' fancy rings usually turn out t'be fakes, or highly identifiable. Give me gold coin

  anytime, eh!"

  Rooting out a chart, he spread it across the table and studied it. "France y'say, let me see. Ah, here 'tis, Arcachon, just

  off the Bay of Biscay. D'ye know, methinks I'll give your buccaneer captain a run for his money."

  Ludon ignored his aching back for a moment. "Sir, you mean you'd chase Thuron clear across the Atlantic Ocean to

  the French coast?"

  Teal warmed to his new idea. "But of course! I've got a handsome new ship, plenty of supplies an' the promise of a

  fortune. I'll overtake the rascal long before he ever enters French waters, an' hang him from his own yardarm! Then I'll

  put about for England, imagine that, eh! Captain Jonathan Ormsby Teal, comin' home with three ships an' a fine

  selection of gold coin. I'll rename this vessel the Royal Champion an' take the other two in tow. Stap me liver, I'll

  make a pretty picture, sailin' up the Thames River with the men cheerin' an' the ladies flutterin' their fans an' kerchiefs.

  Hah, confound me breeches if I ain't promoted to admiral within the very year!"

  Ludon kept silent, hoping that the Marie could outrun Teal, at least until they were both in French waters. With France

  and England always at war with each other, there was a chance things could work out well for him. It was likely that

  they could all be captured by the French Navy. Thuron and his crew would be hanged as pirates, Teal and his men

  would either end up on the gallows beside them or be held in prison for ransom by the English. If he could lay hands

  on the gold, it would be a simple matter to bribe a French naval captain to accept a fabricated story. He could pose as a

  Caribbean merchant, taken captive by the English privateer and robbed of his gold. Once ashore in France he planned

  on vanishing over the border into Spain. Rich men can live happily anywhere.

  Teal was right—plenty of gold coin was the answer to everything.

  Once Teal had ordered a set course, gossip soon got round the ship. The privateers were greatly cheered by the news of

  seeing home again. The mate, the bosun and the master gunner discussed it in the galley over mugs of grog and hot

  water, but scepticism had set in after their initial cheeriness, particularly with the bosun. "Huh, we'll never catch the

  Frenchie— that ship's as swift as a flea over butter. She's already outsailed us once."

  Swilling his mug around, the mate took a sip. "Aye, right enough, but this time she doesn't know we're chasin' her.

  Who ever heard of a ship pursuin' another from the Caribbean t'the Bay o' Biscay?"

  Nodding his grizzled head, the master gunner agreed. "Right, matey, the last thing that froggy will expect t'see is Teal

  in a big new vessel comin' after him."

  The bosun was determined to keep up a gloomy outlook. "An what'll that give us, a chance to fight an' get killed afore

  we ever see England an' home again? Take my word, mates, Teal's doin' all this to get hold of the buccaneer's treasure.

  But what'll we get out of it, eh? Not a penny piece. Look at me, I'd have been better off servin' in the Royal Navy on a

  ship o' the line instead of on a lousy privateer. At least I'd receive half pension for this broken leg o' mine!"

  The mate scoffed. "That ain't a broken leg—'twas only sprained when that spar fell on it."

  Full of self-pity, the bosun moved his leg and winced. "Well, it feels as if it's still broke! Wouldn't it be nice if a spar

  fell on Teal or, better still, a full mast? We'd be free men then, an' we could sail to Dover, sink the ship an' split the

  treasure atween us!"

  Nudging him sharply, the master gunner murmured, "Stow that talk. If Teal hears ye've been fermentin' a mutiny,

  you're a dead man. Hush now, here comes Cookie!"

  The Irish cook bustled into the galley, muttering aloud. "Goin' home to dear old England, is it? Nobody's mentioned

  dear old Ireland! I'd sooner see the darlin' Liffey flowin' through Dublin than London an' the Thames River. An' have

  ye heard the man givin' out his orders like a Wexford washerwoman with tupp
ence t'spend on a Monday..."

  He went into an imitation of Teal's foppish accent, which brought smiles to the faces of his shipmates. "You there,

  cook, demn yer eyes! Where's me Madeira, eh? An' y'call this a fresh fish, sirrah? 'Twas fresh when the Bible was

  written. Take the confounded thing out o' me sight! I'll have ye flogged an' keelhauled if ye look at me like that again.

  Out o' me sight, ye insolent cockroach, be off!"

  Ludon sat on the deck beneath the galley window, listening to all that was said and storing it in his mind for future

  reference: talk of mutiny, murder and ship scuttling, disrespect of the captain. What was it the cook had likened Teal

  to? A Wexford washerwoman. Wouldn't Redjack be pleased to hear that when the time came!

  Ludon was not quite sure what form his plan would take nor when he would be able to put it into effect. But all he saw

  and heard was of value to him. After all, was he not but one lowly prisoner in the midst of enemies?

  12

  DAWN'S WELCOMING LIGHT FLOODED THROUGH the cabin as fresh ocean breezes ruffled the edges of charts

  on the captain's table. Ben and Ned sat on the bed anxiously watching the Frenchman, to whom Ben had related the

  whole tale.

  Thuron pondered the fantastic narrative, stroking his rough beard for quite a while before speaking. "If any man had

  told me all this, I would have had him locked up as a mad person. But I know you are telling me the truth, Ben. From

  the first time I looked into those strange eyes of yours, I knew you were different from anyone I had ever met. Who

  can tell, maybe some odd fate has brought us together. I am not sufficiently educated to question it—I believe you."

  Ben sighed with relief, feeling as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his heart.

  Ned sent him a thought. "Thank goodness our captain is a man we can trust, eh mate ?"

  Unthinkingly, the boy answered aloud. "He certainly is, Ned!"

  Thuron smiled, gazing into the dog's trustful eyes. "This fellow can understand everything I say, I'm sure of it. I could

  tell you were just talking together—what was he saying to you, lad?"

  Ben told the captain, who seemed immensely pleased. "I wish I could speak with Ned. He looks a handsome and

  intelligent fellow. Hahaha! Look at him, he heard me!"

  The black Labrador stood up on the bed and struck a pose, which he hoped looked both handsome and intelligent. Ben

  laughed along with the Frenchman. "I'm afraid you can't hold conversations with Ned, a. ', but he can nod yes or no to

  anything you need to ask him. Right, Ned?" The dog nodded to affirm this.

  Thuron's eyes lit up. "That's a very valuable thing to know. Thank you, my friends. I am a fortunate fellow to have

  such wonderful companions. But we'll keep it our secret. The crew wouldn't understand."

  Ben agreed. "Except maybe Pierre. He's a good man, too, Cap'n."

  Thuron nodded. "They're all good men in their own ways, but Anaconda was the best of them. I can't tell you how I

  miss that giant of a man, may his soul find peace. He was a slave, you know—we ran away together, deserted from a

  corsair galley many years ago in the Indian Ocean, just off the coast of Madagascar. We were together for a long time.

  When I got my first ship, I wanted to make him the mate. But Anaconda wouldn't hear of it. All he wanted was to be

  steersman. I remember him saying, 'I will command your ship's wheel and take you wherever you want to go. You are

  my captain, and my friend for life!' And that's the way it was until yesterday. Ah, my poor friend, my poor friend, my

  heart grieves for him."

  Ben had to turn his face away as the French buccaneer captain wept openly. Ned whined and laid his head in Thuron's

  lap.

  "Sail ho, to the southeast. Sail ho!"

  Brushing a sleeve roughly across his eyes, Thuron quickly straightened up to the lookout's call. "Sail! Let's hope 'tis

  not an enemy."

  All hands were crowded to the rail as the Frenchman sighted through his telescope at the distant vessel. He nodded

  knowingly and spoke to Pierre. "Good job I saw him before he hauled up a decoy flag. I'd know that one anywhere.

  'Tis the Barbary corsair, Flame of Tripoli Only one captain, Al-Kurkuman, flies a flag with a red scimitar on a gold

  background. Hoho, look, he's striking his colours and running up a Portuguese merchant flag, the rascal. Who does he

  think he's fooling?"

  As the Flame of Tripoli altered course to intercept the Marie, Ben could see that its sails were blood red. He tugged on

  Thuron's sleeve. "Cap'n, does he mean to do us harm?"

  Thuron put away the telescope. "Only if he gets the chance, lad. Al-Kurkuman's a slaver. He's bound for the Isle of

  Cuba with a cargo of misery purchased from the coasts of Mozambique. I can't abide traffickers in human flesh, Ben,

  but we've got to be diplomatic with Al-Kurkuman. He's dangerous to any he thinks are weaker than himself. Leave

  this to me—I can handle him. Pierre, run out all cannon and arm all hands! Stand ready and wait on my word!"

  As the Flame of Tripoli hove nearer, Ben saw the captain known as Al-Kurkuman. He was everything a Barbary

  corsair should be, an Arabian Indian of mixed blood. He glittered in the sunlight, draped in chains, necklaces, beads,

  rings and bangles, all of pure gold. Clad in light-green silk, wearing a black turban mounted with a ruby, he stood

  boldly out on the prow and grinned—even his teeth were plated with beaten gold.

  Ned passed Ben a thought. "If he fell in the water, he'd go straight to the bottom, carrying all that weight. I'll never

  dress like that. When I'm captain, a simple, thin gold collar will be enough for me!"

  Ben patted his dog. "That's very sensible of you!"

  They both started as a loud bang issued from the Marie. Thuron had touched off a cannon, sending a shot roaring

  across the other ship's bows as a sign that the Marie stood armed and ready for trouble if need be.

  Al-Kurkuman did not even flinch as the cannonball whizzed by overhead. He grinned even wider, bowing and

  touching his chest, lips and forehead with an open hand.

  Thuron returned a short courteous bow, smiling as he called out, "The fair winds and calm waters be always at your

  back, Captain Kurkuman. The Indian Ocean is far off. Have you lost your way, my friend?"

  The Flame of Tripoli came almost alongside as she backed water. Looking as if he had found a long lost brother, Al-

  Kurkuman replied, "Thuron, old comrade, I took you for a fat little French merchantman—accept my humble

  apologies!"

  Captain Thuron nodded at his cannon array and the men crowding the rigging, all fully armed. He continued the game.

  "I am like yourself, O illustrious one, a dove with sharp teeth. What news have you of this great world?"

  Gold jewellery jingled as the Barbary corsair shrugged. "Nothing surprising, it is full of men, both bad and good. Tell

  me, have you crossed the wake of a Greek Navy vessel? She has been trailing me ever since I put into Accra for

  supplies. Why would the Greek captain want to detain an honest merchant like Al-Kurkuman, I ask you, old friend?"

  It was Thuron's turn to shrug. "Life is a mystery. How would I know? The Greeks are a suspicious people. Where are

  you bound?"

  "To Belém in the South Americas," Al-Kurkuman lied. "I carry farming implements to the settlers there. And you?"

  "To the Isle of Malta with a cargo of wax to make candles." Thuron returned the lie with a straight face. "It was good

  to cross your path and meet an old friend again. I must go. May the spirits of the seas guide you on your way
, Al-

  Kurkuman!"

  The Barbary corsair smiled like a shark with gold teeth. "Peace be unto you, Raphael Thuron, and may the djinns of

  paradise attend you. A moment, friend. That boy, the puny whelp you have there, will you sell him to me? Fattened up

  a bit, he would fetch a coin or two in the markets of Marrakech."

  Thuron gave Ben a playful cuff. "Who, this wretch? Alas, friend, how could I sell my own son, though he eats more

  than he is worth and he suffers the sickness of the brain."

  Al-Kurkuman looked sourly at the boy, then laughed. "Then starve him, beat him well and educate him. Maybe next

  time we meet I will trade you another for him!"

  Without another word from their captains, both ships went their ways. Thuron kept his men armed and all cannon still

  loaded and showing until they were out of range.

  • Thuron watched Ben and Ned. He could tell they were conversing. "Well, lad, what did you make of all that?"

  The boy came near and whispered to the Frenchman. "Ned's a bit put out that Al-Kurkuman didn't notice him. He

  thought the least he could do was to offer a bid for the handsome, intelligent dog. What do you think, Cap'n?"

  Thuron replied in a whisper, "Tell Ned that if Al-Kurkuman had bought him, he'd be on the dinner table tonight."

  The boy watched Ned stalk off with his tail in the air. "He's very offended, Cap'n. You shouldn't have said that—his

  feelings are hurt now."

  The Frenchman chuckled. "I'll get the cook to make it up to poor Ned. Meanwhile, let's run up the French flag and get

  our Marie looking like a peaceful merchantman."

  Ben looked at him, puzzled. "But why, sir?"

  Thuron ruffled the lad's hair. "I've got a feeling we might meet the Greek Navy ship. Don't want her thinking we're

  buccaneers, do we? Lend a hand disguising our cannon ports, then take a turn on lookout for our Greek friends."

  That afternoon Ben stood in the crow's nest armed with the captain's telescope, sweeping the empty leagues of ocean

  for'ard and aft. All that could be seen was a tiny dot off to the northwest, which was the receding Barbary corsair. Ben

  liked the lookout post. He had learned to enjoy its giddy motion, the boundless azure arch of sky above, cloudless

  now, broken by the odd sight of a winging albatross or predatory skua. Below him the deck shifted alarmingly, always