Voyage of Slaves

21

MELITO, IN THE REGGIO DI CALABRIA. ON THE SOUTHERN TIP OF THE ITALIAN MAINLAND.

AT MIDNOON, TWO DAYS OUT FROM Sicily, the White Ram sailed in to harbour at Melito. Ben and Ned stood on the fo’c’sle deck, with Eli and his grandson. There was quite a crowd gathered on the dockside, everyone seemed to be waving and cheering.

Joshua waved back—the boy was happy, but perplexed. “Why are they cheering, is it for us, Grandfather?”

Eli shrugged. “Who knows? They seem a happy bunch. It must be some sort of celebration, or a saint’s day. Ah! We’ll soon find out, there’s my old friend Fra Salvatore.” The old man waved and shouted, “Salvatore, amico, is it really you? Wait, we’re coming ashore!”

Fra Salvatore was an old monk of the Franciscan order. He wore a worn, brown habit, girdled by a simple white cord. His face was nutbrown and heavily wrinkled by the sun. Ned sent a thought to Ben.

“I like him, he looks like an old saint.”

Fra Salvatore made way for them through the crowd, who all seemed to want to pat their backs or shake them by the hand. Eli and the old monk embraced.

Eli introduced Joshua, Ben and Ned, then looked in wonderment at the people surrounding them. “It’s so good to see you again, but what have we done that pleases these good folk so much?” The old monk led them away, toward a quayside tavern. “First we’ll eat and drink. Concepta makes the best seafood frittata in the world. Come!”

Fra Salvatore spoke truly. Concepta, the tavern owner, lived up to his words. She seated them by the window and placed fresh, crusty bread, wine and huge platters of her famous seafood omelettes before them. As they ate the monk explained.

“I keep messenger pigeons, Eli. Nothing goes on in these waters between here and Sicilia that I don’t know about. You and your friends are the ones who rid the coasts of the evil Marlanese, the False Padre. That fiend has plundered and murdered our shores for years. He has struck here at Melito many times. We have lost husbands, wives and children to him and his wreckers. Goods, valuables, even animals. He was the servant of Satan himself—what he could not steal, he would kill, or burn. As soon as I got the word and description, I knew it was you, my Lion of Judah. Tell me, did your great ram-horn bow sing its song to him?”

Eli watched as Concepta poured more wine for him. “Though the death of a fellow creature gives me no joy, it was I who slew him. He got only his just deserts, and I doubt he will be greatly mourned. But enough of that, what other news do you have for me?”

Fra Salvatore gripped his friend’s hand, looking concerned. “Nothing good, I fear, Eli. Your enemies pursue you swiftly. Sometime after midnight, another ship will berth here.”

Ben interrupted. “Aye, Al Misurata and the Sea Djinn!”

Fra Salvatore crossed himself. “The Barbary Pirate, another one who sails under the banner of evil. Do you know of him, Ben?”

Ned looked up from under the table, where he was dealing with a mighty hambone. “Hoho, do we know of him? I could tell you a thing or ten about that rascal!”

Eli nodded to Ben. “Tell our friend your story.”

The monk looked on intently as the strange boy with the clouded blue-grey eyes related the experiences of himself and his dog. When he had told all, Fra Salvatore spoke gravely. “Then you cannot stay here. You must go, as soon as you are able. But let me warn you, Eli, the seas are wide betwixt here and Piran. Misurata has many allies in his pay. I fear for you all!”

Joshua spoke out boldly. “My grandfather fears nothing, the Shimon are warriors!”

Eli allowed himself a smile at the lad’s faith in him. “Joshua, what our friend says is true. There will be great danger ahead before we reach the shores of Slovenija.”

“Unless!” All eyes turned to Ben at his outburst.

“Unless what, Benjamin?” Eli replied.

Ben outlined his plan. “Unless Ned and I can find another vessel sailing for Piran—we could board her secretly. Then, sir, you could provide a decoy with the White Ram. Lead Al Misurata off to where he has not planned to go. After awhile, you could sail to your homeland. That way things would be a lot safer for both of us.”

Eli shook his head. “But I gave my word I would convey you to Piran. I am in your debt for saving Joshua’s life. I would not leave you at the mercy of foes!”

The monk appealed to his old friend. “The boy is right, Eli, that is the solution. It makes good sense to me, and gives him more chance of helping his friends, the Rizzoli Troupe.”

Eli leaned his elbows on the table, stroking his beard. “But where would he find a ship sailing for Piran soon? One whose captain could be trusted?”

Fra Salvatore had the answer. “You remember Kostas Krimboti the treasure hunter?”

Despite the urgency of the situation, Eli chuckled.

“What? You mean Kostas Gold Jaw? Is that madman still scouring the seas for sunken treasure?”

The monk smiled. “No, he found a treasure ship, a Roman galley, right here off Cape Spartivento. Kostas became a rich man, but he could not give up the sea life. He gave up treasure seeking, though, and bought a ship, the Blue Turtle. I know for a fact that he is sailing before evening today.”

Ben asked eagerly, “For Piran?”

Fra Salvatore patted the boy’s hand. “No, Ben, he goes to Muggia, a little place right on the Italian border, very close to Piran. I know this because Kostas is taking some items to the nuns there, at the Convento di Santa Filomena. Habits, beads and a painting of the Madonna and Holy Child surrounded by many angels, which I painted myself.”

Ben’s eagerness was rekindled. “Would he take Ned and me?”

The old monk nodded. “For certain, he would not refuse me.” Fra Salvatore stared enquiringly at Eli. “So?”

The patriarch hesitated momentarily, one hand stroking Ned beneath the table as he reached out with the other and laid it on Ben’s head.

“Do it, go now, Benjamin, whilst you still can. I will put to sea within the hour and set sail south into the Mediterranean for home. You will be heading the other way, up into the Ionian Sea. But tell me, Salvatore, how do you know Misurata will follow us?”

The old monk rubbed the tips of his thumb and index finger together. “Money, Eli. I will put it about, the course you are on. There are always those seeking to gain gold for information.”

The time had come for Ben and Ned to take leave of their dear friends, right there in the tavern. Joshua hugged Ned, his tears wetting the black Labrador’s coat. Ned was passing thoughts to Ben. “If we don’t leave soon, I’m afraid I’ll be howling. It’s breaking my heart to leave these good people.”

Ben replied mentally, “Mine, too, mate, but we’ve got to help the troupe. Look at Eli, he’s almost weeping.”

Eli Bar Shimon took Ben’s hand. “We may never meet again, Benjamin. Now go, and take my heart with you. What a grandson you would have made!”

Ben blinked back unshed tears. “Thank you for everything, sir. If I had a grandfather I’d want him to be just like you. Joshua is your grandson, he will make you happy— and proud of him, too, someday. Come on, Ned, Fra Salvatore is waiting, we must go now.”

Ned licked Eli’s hand, and Ben shook Joshua’s.

“Good-bye, mate, don’t go swimming where there are sharks.”

Without looking back they left the tavern, following the monk. Joshua buried his face in his grandfather’s robe.

“I don’t want them to go!”

Eli stroked the lad’s curls. “Nor do I, Joshua, but one day you’ll see it was the right thing to do. Come on now, let’s go home.”

Fra Salvatore led his two charges up a side alley, explaining, “The fewer people who see us travelling together, the better. Kostas has the Blue Turtle moored about a mile up the coast.”

Ned sent Ben a random thought. “I hope this Kostas can cook lamb as good as young Joshua.”

The boy tugged his dog’s tail. “Still thinking of food? I think you should have been a wild hog.”

Ned huffed. “I like thinking of food, it stops me grieving over absent friends.”

Any further conversation was stalled as they were passing a mean-looking house. There were several painful yelps, and a scruffy-looking puppy bounded out. It was pursued by a small man with a cruel face. He was lashing at the little dog with a stick, shouting at it, “I’ll teach you to steal bread from the table, I’ll take the hide off your mangy back!” He cornered the puppy and began beating it. However, he did not have much time to administer the punishment.

Ned hit the man’s back like a roaring lion. The fellow went down, screaming for his life. The puppy dashed off, and Ben called to his furious dog. “Ned, come away!”

However, such was Ned’s fury that he was oblivious to all pleas or commands—he continued his attack upon the puppy beater. Ben was forced to haul the big, black Labrador off by main force, assisted by the old monk. The man’s clothing was almost ripped from him; he was bruised, scratched and bleeding from several places. Immediately the dog was pulled from him, he hobbled off, screeching.

“Mad dog! Mad dog! I’ll have that beast destroyed by the guardia.³¹ Help, I’ve been savaged by a rabid dog!”

Fra Salvatore alerted Ben speedily. “We’d best get out of here quickly, my son, or your Ned will be shot without question!”

As they hurried off, Ben was doing his best to reprimand Ned with stern thoughts. “Really, mate, what were you thinking of? I thought you were going to kill the fellow, the way you threw yourself upon him!”

Ned was unrepentant. “Aye, and I would have if you and the old man hadn’t pulled me off. Did you see that cowardly little bully beating the poor pup?”

Ben was forced to agree, but he continued berating his dog. “I saw it, and I was about to run in and deal with that man, but you were too quick.”

The black Labrador had recovered himself somewhat. He huffed, “I’m not sorry for teaching him a lesson, I’d do it again without a second thought. By the way, where’s the puppy got to?”

As they ran through the side streets, Ben took a quick glance around. “There’s no sign of him, I expect he’s cut off and gone to hide somewhere.”

They came out onto open coastland, dotted with rocks. Ahead of them at a small jetty, the blue-sailed masts of a ship could be seen.

Fra Salvatore slowed his pace to a walk. “There she is, the Blue Turtle.” He clasped a hand to his heaving chest. “Take it slowly, friend, I’m too old to run any further.”

Ben slowed, and took the old fellow’s arm. “I’m sorry about the way Ned behaved back there, Brother.”

The monk’s wrinkled face relaxed into a smile. “Your dog did the right thing, boy. Only a few days ago I took a staff to a rascal who was flogging a little mule. Sometimes the wrath of the Lord against wrongdoers can manifest itself in strange ways.”

Ned liked the old Franciscan. He grinned, in a smug, canine way, at Ben. “Hah, you see, I knew I was justified. Well said, sir!”

Ben was about to reply when the puppy trotted out from behind a rock and joined them, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do. It looked to be no more than a few months old, and was of indiscriminate breed. The little dog was a dusty brown, with black patches. Its bristly hair stuck out at odd angles, it had virtually no tail, lollopy paws and would have been flop-eared except for its left ear, which stood up straight.

Though Ben felt sorry for it, he knew there were far more important things to occupy him. “It’s the oddest little dog I’ve ever seen, eh, Ned? Go on, mate, back to town with you, we can’t take you with us, I’m sorry.”

The pup took no notice of the boy, and frisked around Ned, snapping at his tail.

Ben sent his companion a thought. “Tell it to go away, please.”

Ned returned the thought. “What d’you think I’m doing? I can’t get any sense out of the rascal. Listen to him yapping, d’you know what that bark means?”

“I don’t even know what it means when you start barking. I never learned dog language. What’s he saying?” Ben replied.

Ned whisked his tail away from the little dog’s teeth. Amico, that’s what he’s saying—friend. I don’t suppose the good Brother wants a dog?”

As if preempting Ben’s enquiry, Fra Salvatore shook his head pityingly. “I can’t take him, that cruel fellow will claim him as soon as he gets back to the town.”

They were getting close to the ship now. Ben urged Ned, “Listen, mate, you’ll have to have a serious word with that pup. Tell him we’re sorry, but he can’t come with us.”

Ned sat down on the path, pinning the puppy with a paw and holding him still as he informed Ben, “It’s no good, this wretch’ll soon have my lovely tail chewed to the bone. I’ve tried to reason with him, but all I get from the villain is that one word. Amico!”

Kostas Krimboti was a jolly giant of a man. He welcomed them aboard with a smile which beamed out like the midday sun. His teeth were all pure gold. Ned pointed this out to Ben.

“Good grief, what a set of choppers! They’re not very well-made, though, you can see they were once gold coins. Look, there’s heads, writing and shields on some of them. He must have carved them himself. I like him, though, what d’you think, mate?”

Ben sized Kostas up as the Greek captain and the monk spoke together about taking them as passengers. Kostas Krimboti was a formidable-looking fellow. He was dressed in fisherman’s garb—open shirt, baggy, knee-length pantaloons and a broad green sash into which many lethal pointed and curved knives were thrust. His huge head of curly red hair was complemented by a pair of thick, gold, hoop earrings. He laughed constantly as he conversed with the old monk, finally hugging him and declaring aloud, “For my sins, which are many, I will do what you ask, my friend! My father was a very holy man, it will rest his memory to know that his bandit of a son is doing some good in this miserable world, eh!”

Still laughing uproariously, he tweaked Ben’s cheek. “Welcome aboard the Blue Turtle, Beniamino, and your wonderful Ned, whom Fra Salvatore has told me about.”

He swept the puppy up in one big, calloused hand, and kissed it resoundingly on the nose. “Hohohoho! I have many rats for you to catch aboard this ship, bambino. So, what is your name, eh? Are you a son of the noble Ned?”

The black Labrador gave an indignant bark. “I should sincerely hope not! That creature, a son of mine? But what do you suppose the pup’s name is, Ben?”

“Amico!” The word slipped out as Ben said it aloud. “Aye, Cap’n, that’s what his name is, Amico.”

Kostas bent to kiss the puppy again—it bit his nose.

He went off into gales of laughter. “Hohohoho! What fangs! When he sees the rats he will be like Achilles among the Trojans, won’t you, Amico!”

The little fellow yapped, renewing his assault on the big man’s nose. Kostas was delighted.

“See, he understands me. Take your dogs to the cook, boy. Tell him to feed them the crackling off the pork we had last night. Here, Saint Salvatore, let me help you ashore. My Blue Turtle must sail the seas now!”

The old monk stood on the jetty, waving to Kostas and Ben as the blue-sailed ship turned bow on to the sea and put out into deep water. The big Greek captain sang aloud in a fine baritone.

“O take me away from the land, ye four winds that blow mightily, to the isles I’ve seen only in dreams, far away o’er the deep rolling sea.

O ship. Carry me!

“Where waves like tall mountains abound, with dolphin and many blue whale, while gales through the rigging do sing, wild songs to a vessel in sail.

O ship. Carry me!

“For my hand finds no rest on a plough, and my heart knows no joy on the shore, like the seabirds which soar in my wake, I will follow the sea evermore.

O ship. Carry me!”

The wind stood fair in the cool late evening, as Kostas and Ben sat sharing a basket of almonds and raisins on the foredeck. The Greek captain tossed a nut high; catching it in his mouth, he winked at Ben. “So, my friend, where are your two faithful hounds, still feeding their faces in the galley, I wager, eh?”

The boy tried catching a nut, but it bounced off his lip. “Aye, Cap’n, your cook, Nico, is very pleased with them. Little Amico chased a big rat out from behind the stove. He couldn’t catch it, but Ned batted it over the side into the water. Nico said it’s just as well he did, because it was so large that it might have eaten Amico. Nico’s rewarding them, though if he doesn’t stop feeding them pork rinds, they’ll both be sick.”

Kostas laughed heartily. “Sick as dogs, eh. Hohohoho!”

Ben questioned him about their destination. “Where’s this convent, I’ve forgotten the name of the place. Is it far from Piran?”

Kostas picked his gold-coin teeth with a dagger tip. “Not far at all, less than a day’s walk. It’s the Convento di Santa Filomena at Muggia. You’ll like it there, Ben, the good nuns are excellent cooks, and their Abbess is a very charitable lady. She thinks I’m a villainous pirate who has reformed. Hah, I ask you, do I look like a pirate?”

The boy regarded his friend’s thick, red curls, jangling earrings, gold teeth and the daggers which bristled from his sash. He tried to stifle a smile. “Well, you don’t exactly look like the Archbishop of Greece!”

Kostas put on what he thought was a soulful look. “Maybe not, but I’m piling up rewards in heaven for myself. Carrying cargo from Fra Salvatore to the nuns, and helping you to rescue your friends from a life of slavery. What could be more noble than that, eh?”

Ben also adopted a pious expression. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, you’re right, Cap’n. I wouldn’t be surprised if you came to be known as Good Saint Kostas of the High Seas.”

Starlight reflected off the gold teeth as the big Greek went into another fit of laughter. He cuffed Ben playfully. “Away, you mocking wretch, off to your bunk before I have you keelhauled!”

Kostas had not seen Ned and Amico loping up behind him. The black Labrador knocked him flat and began jumping on him, sending messages to his master. “Grr, d’you want me to chew off both his legs, mate?”

Ben could not help chuckling as he replied, “You don’t have to, Ned, Amico’s doing the job for you!”

The puppy was joining in the fun, growling as he nipped at the fallen captain’s ankles. Kostas was laughing again as he pleaded with Ben. “Help, I’m being attacked by wild dogs! Mercy!”

Not many hours had elapsed since the Blue Turtle sailed from Melito when the Sea Djinn made landfall there. Al Misurata stood on the main quay, warming his hands by a fire, where some fishermen were cooking their catch. He strode impatiently from the firelight toward four men approaching him. It was Ghigno and two of his aides, who were frog-marching one of the locals between them. Al Misurata glared fiercely at the Scar-face. “Are you going to keep me waiting all the night? What’s going on, who’s this gutter rat?”

Ghigno took hold of his captive’s hair and shook him. “One who I’m told has information for us, Master.”

The pirate took a glance at the fishermen, who were craning to hear the conversation. He nodded toward his ship. “Get him aboard quickly!”

Once on board the Sea Djinn, Al Misurata listened briefly to Ghigno’s report.

“This one has news of the boy and his dog—they’re not travelling on the old man’s ship anymore.”

The man, realising that Al Misurata was a rich and important person, adopted a cringing attitude. “Lord, the dog and the boy set upon me, I was attacked, bitten and injured. Your servants dragged me from my sickbed and forced me to come with them. But I know where that whelp and his cur went, is that not worth a reward from one as magnificent as you, sire?”

The pirate’s tone did not warn the man of the danger he was in. “It might be worth some gold, if I had time to waste on wharf scrapings such as you. But I need information now. Bomba!”

The slaver whipped a noose around the man’s neck, and tossed it over a rigging spar. He heaved on it until the unfortunate was gagging on tiptoe, both hands trying feebly to loosen the strangling rope. Bomba raised his cane and laid a stroke across his victim’s back. At a nod from his master, Bomba let the fellow fall to the deck, where he lay gurgling with pain.

Al Misurata stood over him, speaking menacingly. “I’ll wager that hurt. There are ninety-nine more strokes to come, if you decide to play the fool with me, my friend. Bomba, hoist him up again!”

Before the slave driver had a chance to obey the command, the man was pleading in hoarse terror. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you! Please, no more!”

When he had given his information, Al Misurata turned to Ghigno. “Well?”

The scar-faced Corsair nodded. “It must be the truth. Nobody saw the boy and dog return to the old one’s ship, it sailed off, bound south. This other one, the Blue Turtle, it’s captained by a Greek. He sailed just before sunset for a convent in Muggia. I spoke to a man who loaded cargo onto her. It looks like the boy is headed for Piran. If we cast off now we should be able to catch them—the Greek’s ship is nought but an old tub, it does not have our speed.”

The look on his master’s face caused Ghigno to fall silent. Al Misurata stirred the man lying on the deck with his boot. “Did you hear that?”

The fellow shook his head furiously, still in a panic. “No, sire, hear what? I heard nothing, I swear it!”

The pirate nodded noncommittally. “Go ashore, then, and speak no word to anybody.” He glanced significantly at Bomba, who touched the hilt of his curved dagger and nodded.

Al Misurata watched the man scrabble over the side to the quay. Bomba waited a moment before following him.

Confronting Ghigno, Al Misurata hissed savagely, “Why didn’t you shout our plans from the mast top, fool! Sometimes I think the older you get, the softer your brain becomes. What possessed you to gabble on like that?”

The scar-faced Corsair bowed his head. “It was stupid of me. I apologise, Master.”

The pirate sighed. “I’ll let it pass this time, but only because of our years together. Make ready to sail as soon as Bomba gets back.”

La Lindi had her ear to the cabin door; she had heard all that transpired on deck.

Otto put aside the loaded blunderbuss, knowing that any chance of a sudden escape had been foiled. “We will be under way shortly, there is no time for us to make a break. But it is good to know that our friend Ben is still trying to help us, ja!”

Mamma Rizzoli covered the gun with her shawl. “I know the convent at Muggia, a girl from my village went there as a novice. If only we could reach it, I’m certain we would be safe there. It is only a short distance from Piran, eh, Augusto?”

Signore Rizzoli was in total agreement. “Si, the Convento di Santa Filomena is a strongly built place. I think we should make our break when we come ashore at Piran, we’d stand a better chance there.”

Otto nodded. “I am with you, mein Herr.”

Even Serafina brightened up considerably. “Ben will be there to help us, I know it!”

Buffo interrupted. “Ssshh! Somebody’s coming.”

Bomba entered the cabin. He looked around, checking that everything was in order. Testing the blade of his curved knife on his thumbtip, he leered at Serafina. “We’re under way for the Adriatic Sea, it shouldn’t be too long before we catch up with your boyfriend and his hound. I’m eager to meet them, aren’t you, pretty one?”

Otto stepped forward, his eyes blazing with anger. “Ja, and I am eager to meet you, Dummkopf, your knife does not scare me!”

Bomba backed out of the cabin hastily, slamming the door behind him.

Otto smiled at Serafina. “Pay no attention to him, Schatze, he is only a big windbag who loves the sound of his own voice.”

La Lindi put her arm around the girl. “Maybe he is, but the scar-faced one said that Ben is on a ship, which he called a leaky old tub. What chance does it stand against this Sea Djinn?”