Voyage of Slaves

18

OTTO HAD BEEN PACING THE CABIN since before dawn; the big German was becoming more agitated with what he considered to be unwarranted confinement.

Buffo knuckled his eyes and blinked wearily. “Can’t you stop marching up and down like that? It isn’t helping anybody. Lie back and rest yourself, Herr Kassel.”

The strongman pounded a ham-like fist onto the tabletop where the clown was leaning. “It is wrong, I tell you, no man keeps me prisoner against my will. I am getting out of here!”

Signore Rizzoli placed himself in front of the cabin door. “Please, friend, stay here, there are armed men out there. Soon they will come, if only to deliver our food. Then I will try to reason with them.”

La Lindi stretched languorously and yawned. “What makes you think they will listen to reason?”

Mummo sighed. “Lindi’s right. I’ve never liked Misurata, or any of his gang—I think we should never have trusted him and made this trip. What about you, Rosa?”

Mamma Rizzoli played with the fringes on her shawl. “I have said little so far, but I’ve been watching carefully. I think we’ve been lured into a trap. This Al Misurata, he was too smooth, too glib. Now he’s changed completely. It will be a lucky day if ever we see our homeland again.”

Gently, but firmly, Otto lifted Augusto Rizzoli to one side. “All this talk gets us nowhere, I am going out. Ja!”

Serafina, who had not ventured an opinion so far, came to stand alongside the big German. “I’m going with you, Otto. I don’t think they would harm a girl. We’ll say we’re going to visit Poppea.”

The door was bolted, but one powerful thrust from the strongman’s shoulder sent both lock and timber splinters flying. Otto bowed to his pretty companion. “After you, Fräulein!”

Caught napping in the early morning sunlight out on deck, the guard came running and pointed his rifle at Serafina, who was standing in front of Otto. The big man reached over her shoulder and grabbed the long barrel. As he wrenched the weapon from the man’s grasp, it went off with a bang. The ball shot past Otto’s cheek, into the bulkhead behind him. Scarcely had Otto knocked the guard aside and led Serafina out on deck, when they were surrounded. Armed men had come running from everywhere.

Al Misurata came pushing through the cordon; he was wearing a brace of fine Spanish pistols in his waistband. Drawing one, he menaced the German strongman. “You should not be out here. Get back to your cabin and stay there!”

The strongman glared at the pirate. “I am not afraid of you!”

Al Misurata hissed viciously, “Get back inside!”

Serafina placed herself in front of Otto. “We were only going to visit our mare, Poppea.”

The pirate answered, without taking his eyes off Otto, “The horse is well taken care of, return to your cabin.”

The strongman thrust his huge, shaven head forward. “We are not going until we find out what you have done with our friends, Ben and Ned!”

The hammer clicked as Al Misurata cocked the pistol.

“I have not seen the boy, or his dog. They have not been harmed. You are a brave and foolish man, mein Herr, but I think you will obey me and go back now.” Sighting the pistol, he pointed it at Serafina’s face.

Otto was left with no option.

“Come, Fräulein, we go back inside now.”

Signore Rizzoli breathed a sigh of relief as they walked back into the cabin. “You were close to death then, my friends, we heard all that went on out there.”

Buffo winced as the carpenters began hammering an iron swing bar across the damaged door. “Well, at least we know Ben and Ned are still alive.”

La Lindi looked up from petting Mwaga, her python. “I don’t believe a word from that shark, he’s a liar!”

Tears beaded in Serafina’s beautiful eyes. “Oh, don’t say that, please, he wouldn’t lie about a thing like that. Ben and Ned must be alive!”

Mamma Rizzoli shook her head at the snake dancer, silencing her. She wrapped her shawl about the girl. “Of course they’re alive, bella mia,²⁸ don’t upset yourself.”

Ezekiel leaned over the midship rail, pointing to the band who were rounding the point. “See, Lord, he’s coming back with a lot more men!”

Eli Bar Shimon beckoned to him. “I see him. Don’t stand up at the rails like that, you make an easy target for those guns in the rocks. Caleb, drop the ports and show them our teeth.”

In the stern cabin, Ben felt the deck rumble underfoot. Ned’s thought flashed through his mind. “What’s that, mate?”

Before he could enquire of Joshua, the lad looked up from his breakfast. “They’re lowering the ports to run out cannon. Look down through the windows.” Ned sent Ben another thought. “Cannon, eh, that old man doesn’t mess about, does he!”

As they stared down through the windows, two slim brass barrels emerged beneath them. Joshua explained. “They’re not big, full-sized cannon, but there’s eight of them, three each side and these two astern. I’ve seen them fired for practice, they’re very powerful, and our crew are expert gunners.”

Ned interrupted Joshua to mentally contact Ben. “Here comes old miseryguts with another bunch of villains!”

They watched as Al Misurata, mounted on a prancing steed, led a score of armed men along the beach. He met with Bomba and the others, joining his infantry to theirs. The pirate took charge, issuing orders to them all. Then he strung the men out below the tideline, in full view of the White Ram.

Ben spoke aloud, as much for the benefit of Ned as Joshua. “They’ve certainly got enough men. But what’s the point? They can’t reach us out here.”

Eli stood in the open cabin doorway. “That’s merely a show of force to impress us, Benjamin. Tell me, do you think that is all Al Misurata’s command, or does he have more men?”

Ben answered readily. “Many more, sir. Besides them he has a big ship and an entire crew.”

Joshua clapped his hands eagerly. “Will we fight them, Grandfather? Our warriors could beat them easily, and we’ve got cannon!”

The old man stroked his beard as he watched the men on shore. “We’ll fight them only if we have to, my young rooster. But I would rather outthink them, and save any bloodshed. Meanwhile, you boys and the dog stay low. I don’t want you seen from those windows.”

Joshua looked glum, he had wanted to see battle done. “Are they just going to stand there on shore all day? Where’s the sense in that?”

As the morning went on, the situation did not alter. Though the crew of the White Ram were vigilant and ready for action, Al Misurata stood with his men on the shoreline, making no attempt to do anything.

The sun was at its zenith when Ben spied the boat. It was a small ship’s boat from the Sea Djinn, containing two rowers and two armed guards, already around the point and heading toward the men on the beach. Ben poked his head out on deck, calling to Ezekiel, who was standing nearby.

“Off the port side, see, they’re bringing a boat!”

The seaman winked at him. “We’ve already spotted it, mate. Back inside and stay out of the way.”

The small boat pulled into shore. Al Misurata boarded it, ordering the oarsmen to head for the White Ram. Eli stood on the stern gallery, watching. When he judged it was within hailing distance, the old man held up his arm and called out abruptly.

“That is far enough, you will come no further. State your business!”

Al Misurata rose, bowing courteously, touching fingertips to his heart, lips and forehead. “I bid you good day, sir. Are you the commander of this wondrous vessel?”

The patriarch folded his arms. “I am the captain and owner. Who are you?”

The pirate smiled disarmingly. “An honest shipowner like yourself, sir. I sail out of Libya, trading in horses.”

Eli raised his bushy brows. “But you have not come to sell me a horse.”

Al Misurata laughed, as though he appreciated the joke. “Alas, no, sir. I am making enquiries about a boy, a thief and a liar, who deserted his position as my servant. He will have a black dog with him, which belongs to me.”

Eli Bar Shimon cut him short. “There are no thieves, liars or dogs aboard my ship. I suggest you search elsewhere, now go!”

The pirate’s face grew hard, his voice became harsh and imperious. “Then I will search your ship. The boy and the dog were seen boarding this vessel, it was reported to me!”

Eli calmly laid a shaft upon his bowstring. He pointed the lethal ram’s-horn bow at Al Misurata. “Then whoever reported it is a liar. Begone, slaver, carrion such as you are not welcome aboard this ship!”

Al Misurata smiled thinly. “We will see about that.” He dropped his right hand to his side. One of the armed guards in the boat brought up his rifle quickly. Not quickly enough, though—Eli’s arrow pierced his shoulder and he fell back screaming. The pirate was taken aback by the speed of the old man, who already had another shaft laid on his bowstring. At the same moment a shot rang out from the shore. The ball tore a chunk from the rail close to Eli, who called up to the rigging.

“Zachary, mark him!”

At the topmast spar, a lithe young man shouted back, “Aye, Lord, he’s marked!” Taking rapid aim with a long, silver-inlaid jezzail, he fired. As the crack of the gun split the air, a guard on shore dropped his weapon and crumpled to the sand.

Zachary lowered his weapon, bellowing, “Ship under sail, off port amidships!”

The Sea Djinn, with her foremast repaired, was in plain view, racing toward the White Ram.

Abram came hurrying to the old man’s side. “She’s either trying to cut us off or ram us!”

Eli put aside his bow as he scanned the big ship. “We can’t fight off a monster like that. Set a course to starboard, slip the anchor cable, and lay on all sail, then await my orders!”

Ghigno put the spyglass to his eye, yelling out commands as he did. “Helmsman, take us out a point and come in on the curve. We’ll catch her on the far side of the bay and ram her into the rocks on the coast. Stand by ready to board—look sharp now, I think she’s slipped anchor!”

On board the White Ram the crew were working frantically.A brawny deckhand severed the thick anchor rope with half a dozen blows from a broad-headed axe. Men scrambled nimbly through the rigging loosing sail, whilst some on deck hoisted extra canvas. Abram leaned on the big brass-and-mahogany wheel, bringing the vessel onto a starboard tack. Eli stood at his side, judging their perilous situation.

“We need to catch the wind and clear the bay, before they get a chance to smash us against the rocks on the point. That big ship looks to me like she’s set on a collision course!”

The White Ram began pulling away sluggishly; she was having difficulty catching the wind. Eli looked over the stern, to where they had moved about a cable length away from the small boat. He could see Al Misurata sitting with his arms folded, smiling triumphantly as he watched the huge Sea Djinn closing on the White Ram. The old man took the wheel from Abram, holding their course as he whispered instructions to him.

Ben heard the footsteps pounding by the cabin door. Swinging the door open, he saw Abram leaping down a flight of stairs. Joshua pushed past Ben into the alleyway, shouting, “Ben, Ned, come on!” All three dashed into the lower hold. Abram was crouched beside an older man, who was manning one of the brass cannons. Joshua joined them, shaking with excitement.

“What’s going on, are we going to fight now?”

Abram called to Ben, “Keep him out of the way, all three of you stay back there by the stairs!”

As Ben pulled the younger boy back, he heard Abram talking to the older gunner. “Just sink it, Caleb, don’t blow it to smithereens or kill anybody aboard. Can you do it?”

Caleb’s weathered face creased into a broad grin. “Aye, if that’s what our cap’n wants. Leave it to me!”

Al Misurata watched his ship arcing in toward the White Ram. He waved encouragement to Ghigno, who was standingin the prow signalling orders to his steersman. It was a foregone conclusion, the smaller vessel could not escape.

Baarrrrooooommmm.

There was a crash like thunder bursting overhead. The stern of the small craft that held Al Misurata vanished in a cascade of splinters and seaspray. He found himself suddenly floundering in the bay, shocked and gasping for breath as he spat out gouts of salt water. The remainder of the boat disappeared beneath him, and sudden terror had him screeching in panic.

“Eeeyaaah! Save me, Ghigno! Save meeeeeee!”

It is a known fact that some seamen cannot swim, despite having spent most of their lives sailing the main.

Al Misurata was one such seaman.

Ned lay flat, with both front paws covering his ears. “Ben, have we been hit, mate?” Luckily it was a thought, because no voice would have been heard in the echoing, smoke-filled space where the cannon had discharged its ball.

With stars flashing before his eyes and thunder echoing in his ears, Ben staggered through the gunpowder-fogged space. He joined Joshua, who was peering down the cannon barrel, yelling enthusiastically.

“Hahaha, good shot, Caleb! You did it, the big ship’s having to halt and come about to rescue that rascal in the water. I wish there were some hungry sharks about, that’d teach him a lesson, eh, Ben!”

Ned pushed his head between the shoulders of both boys. “Hoho, does my doggy heart good to see a sight like that! I bet that was the old fellow’s idea. You tell Joshua that his grandad’s a genius, Ben!”

Al Misurata was scrabbling about like a madman, alternately sinking and clawing his way up. He was clutching frenziedly at the two guards and the rowers, who were struggling to get away from him as they fought to save themselves. Choking on seawater, the pirate screeched like a demented animal as the Sea Djinn hastened to his aid.

“Heeeelp! Ghignooooo! Heeeeeeeelp!”

The Corsair was urging a boat crew to hurry themselves, whilst other crewmen began flinging ropes and cane fenders from the decks. It was a scene of total chaos.

Ben shook Joshua’s hand heartily. “Your grandfather is a hero, and a very wise old man!”

Leaving the Sea Djinn to her rescue mission, the White Ram drifted calmly off. After awhile she cleared the bay, heeling slightly as a lively breeze sent her scudding out under full sail into the open Mediterranean Sea. Accompanied by Caleb the master gunner, Ben, Ned and Joshua hurried out into the fresh air of the open deck. Ben and Ned joined Eli, who was acting as steersman, but Joshua and Caleb linked their arms about the shoulders of Ezekiel, Abram, Zachary and other crewmen, who had formed a circle. They danced slowly around, stamping their feet and singing.

“ Yayla ho hah! Yayla ho hah!

The House of Shimon is mighty,

and fearless stands each son,

each daughter fair and comely,

like lilies of Sharon.

“ Yayla ho hah! Yayla ho hah!

We wield the sword or sickle,

the chariot or the plough,

we breathe the air of freedom,

and to no tyrant bow.

“Yayla ho hah! Yayla ho hah!

My sheep graze in the pastures,

my grape bloom on the vine, no cruel inquisition

will steal this land of mine.”

Old Eli patted Ned and winked at Ben. “What white ram ever headed a flock like mine!”