Voyage of Slaves

27

AL MISURATA BROUGHT A CHART OUT onto the deck. Sheltered from the blustery breeze in the lee of the stairs leading to the afterdeck, he outlined the route to Ghigno.

“Soon the city of Venice will be visible on our port side. That is our marker. Set a course eastward, for Piran, here!” He was marking the chart with his finger when Augusto Rizzoli’s voice rang out from behind.

“Take us to the women, signore, or you are a dead man!”

The pirate and his aide turned to see the male members of the troupe confronting them. Otto headed the group, holding the blunderbuss levelled at both men.

Ghigno’s face twisted into a contemptuous sneer. “What do you propose to do with that rusty old fossil?” He gave a sharp whistle. Within moments the troupe were surrounded by guards, their long jezzails primed and ready.

Otto stood his ground, drawing back the weapon’s hammer. “Mein Herr, this gun is old and rusty, but it has a loud bark, and a fatal bite. I can take you and your master out with one blast!”

Al Misurata held up both hands, speaking reasonably. “Then we would all die. The moment you pull the trigger, my men will fire also. What would we all have gained by such a foolish act?”

Signore Rizzoli repeated his demand. “Take us to the women. We do not wish to see death and bloodshed, only to be reunited with my wife and our other two friends. But Otto will fire if he has to!”

Al Misurata did not seem unduly disturbed. “Then I concede to your wishes. Follow me, please.”

The entire assembly moved awkwardly to the midship hold, the guards trying to keep the troupe hemmed in, and Otto still menacing both pirate and Corsair with his ancient firearm. On reaching the stable cabin, Al Misurata ordered the guard to open the door, which he did. Before anybody could even guess at his intent, Al Misurata strode inside, grabbed the closest woman—La Lindi—and held her in front of him. Ducking his head so that he was at shoulder level with the snake charmer, the pirate called out, “Ghigno, tell one of the guards to shoot her in the skull unless the German surrenders his gun!”

Otto was loathe to release the blunderbuss. Signore Rizzoli placed his hand on the big man’s arm. “Please, my friend, give up your gun. These are wicked and godless men, they will kill La Lindi. Do as he says or she will die!”

The strongman relaxed his hold on the blunderbuss. Ghigno took it gingerly from him. Al Misurata let go of La Lindi and strode out of the cabin. “There are your women, now get in there with them, or I will order my men to fire on them!”

The troupe were left with no choice—they filed dejectedly into the cabin. Al Misurata smiled. “Pigeons should never try to defy hawks. Signore, you will all stay together until we reach our destination. It will not be long, I assure you.” He signalled to the guard, who slammed the door and locked it. As they went back upstairs, a cry rang out from the lookout.

“Land ho off the port bow! Land ho!”

There was a gloomy silence in the cabin below decks. The awful finality of their plight had finally come home to the Rizzoli Troupe. Short of a miracle, their fate was sealed now. Their last slim chance had gone with the loss of the gun—ancient and rusty as it was, the weapon had come to symbolise their hope of freedom.

They sat quietly, each with his, or her, own thoughts. Mamma and her brothers-in-law, Buffo and Mummo, still looked to Augusto Rizzoli; the plump little showman had always been their source of inspiration, it was he who made most of the troupe’s decisions. But even he was stuck for any solution, the glum expression on his normally cheerful face telling its own story. La Lindi attended to the python Mwaga, her face like an Egyptian carving in black jet, impassive and resigned.

Otto sat flexing his huge hands, making each knuckle pop loudly in turn. The big strongman’s jaw tightened as he muttered, “Ach, that Misurata and the scar-faced one, they are the scum of the seas. I can do nothing against their guards, they are too well armed. We are lost, mein friends, there is nothing left for us to do!”

Only Serafina had not given up hope. Her hand looked small and delicate as she placed it upon the German’s arm. “What we cannot do, Ben and Ned will do for us. They are alive, I know they are. They will help us!”

Mamma crossed herself, kissing her thumbnail. “I will pray to Heaven that they do, cara!”

Mummo spread himself out on a bale of straw.“It’s hard to tell whether it’s night or day, locked up down here in the belly of this great sea beast. We may as well rest and sleep while we can.”

Buffo clambered up onto Poppea and lay flat out on the mare’s broad back. “Aye, let’s take a good, long nap, for who knows what may lie ahead.”

The Sea Djinn rolled slightly as it changed course, bound across the gulf for Piran.

In the late afternoon of the following day, Ben and Ned watched the final preparations being made for their journey. Six low-sided wagons, all with their axles well-greased, stood laden and covered with tarpaulins in the back courtyard of the Tavern of the Tipsy Hog. A score of women, all dressed in men’s clothing, were roping cargo onto the wagons and securing the horses in harness. Four horses to each wagon—matched pairs, mainly bays, with some greys and whites—tall, sturdy animals, eager to be on the road.

Alongside the boy and his dog, Janos Cabar sat mounted on a magnificent black stallion, whom she called Hari. She nodded toward the women. “See my Istrani she-wolves, they are the finest smugglers on this, or any other coast. Nobody messes with them, let me tell you, eh, boy?”

Ben agreed willingly. “They certainly look capable enough, Janos. What do you carry on the wagons?”

Janos Cabar coiled her bullwhip around the saddlehorn. “Whatever brings the best price. Silks, perfumes, Turkish coffee, velvet rugs, all manner of things that are highly taxed by the authorities. I do good business with the merchants of Trieste. We’ll be dropping you off at Piran, not far from the Italian border. You and your dog can ride on the back wagon. Hah, you may get a chance to work for your passage on the road.”

Ned reminded Ben, “What about the gold Kostas gave us?”

Ben took out the pouch. Extracting four gold coins, he offered them to Janos. “Please take this, I hope it is enough to pay for our passage.”

Janos Cabar smiled.“Krimboti must like you well to part with his gold. This is more than enough, look at these coins. The wealthy collectors of Trieste will pay highly for just one. They are in mint condition—solid gold, good, big, heavy coins. Two bear the heads of Egyptian pharaohs, and two have Roman Caesar’s heads. They must have lain aboard some wreck on the seabed for many centuries. This trip has paid for itself four times over already. Thank you, boy!”

Ben and Ned mounted the rear wagon, which was driven by a wiry woman named Magda. She was heavily tattooed and smoked a pipe.

Ned shared a thought with his master. “I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of her!”

Magda gave them a gap-toothed smile. “Sit at the back with Katya, my babies. She’ll tell you when you’ll need to borrow my pipe!”

Ned sniggered. “Imagine me smoking a pipe!”

Katya was a burly girl, with arm muscles that a man would not be ashamed to own. She smiled at Ben’s puzzlement over why he would need a pipe. “Don’t worry, friend, it’ll become clear enough if we get into a chase. Hold on tight now, I think we’re off!”

Janos Cabar reared her stallion onto his back hooves. She cracked the bullwhip back and forth over her head, giving vent to a wild howl, which her she-wolves took up: “Howoooooyaaaaa!”

Ned joined in lustily, urging Ben, “Sing out, mate, this looks like it’s going to be fun!” They were both jolted backward as the wagons shot forward.

In an amazingly short time, the convoy had left the town of Pula behind. They thundered along the coast road, with the sea and shore on one side and the high rocky hills and woodlands on the other. The women drivers yipped and howled wildly, urging their horses ahead, whilst Janos rode alongside on Hari, cracking and popping her long bullwhip. Ben’s tow-coloured hair streamed out in the breeze, as did his dog’s ears.

Ned lolled his tongue out happily. “Howooooh! This ride’s well worth the price, mate!”

The boy caught his breath. “Just look at those horses run!”

The mood was infectious. Katya and the women sang:

“Down the road like the wind we go, Yahaaaah!

No man can stop us now,

like lightning swift or thunder crash, ’mid harness jingle, wagon clash,

the wolf pack passes in a flash,

to bella mi Italia!

“At the foe as we go we shout, Yahaaaah!

Don’t dare to follow us,

ye jackals of the Revenue hark,

in sunlight bright or moonless dark,

we’ll leave you at the Border mark,

at bella mi Italia!”

In the early evening they halted, in a grove just short of a town called Porec. Everyone got down to stretch their legs. The horses were given a rubdown, a light drink and a small measure of bran. Ben and Ned sat with the Istrani Wolves. They were given pieces of sausage, chunks of bread and wine heavily laced with water.

Janos Cabar cut off a bit of sausage with her long folding knife, nodding at the road ahead. “The Revenue have a garrison post at Porec, that’s where we might run into a spot of bother. The main thing is to do as you’re told and keep your head. Fear is the best weapon we have, so we use it. Those bumpkins at the garrison never learn, we’ve got by them every time so far. They’re badly mounted—most of them are on foot—and they’re used to dealing with fools like themselves. Watch me, and follow the lead of Katya and Magda, you’ll be alright. Our horses run better on their second wind, we’ve not pushed them too hard so far. Give it a short while yet, then we’ll take off again—but this time no shouting or singing. Understand?”

Ben saluted. “Right y’are, Cap’n!”

She flicked his earlobe gently with her bullwhip. “I thought you were going to call me marm just then.”

Ned nudged Ben with his head.

“Bet you wouldn’t have asked her what she’d do if you had?”

Ben gave the Labrador a wry smile. “Not likely. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Ned scratched his ear with a back paw, casually. “I’m not afraid of her, you know.”

When they set off again, the drivers kept their horses to a lively canter. Nobody spoke, sang or called out; all that could be heard was the creak of wagon wheels and the steady clop of hooves. It was a glorious evening, with the setting sun lighting the seaward horizon in scarlet, gold and a dusky blue-grey. Ben sat on the back of the rear wagon with Ned and Katya. The burly girl chewed on a straw, folding both hands behind her head.

“I like this part of the journey. Once all the jouncing about and shouting have stopped, it’s peaceful.”

Ned expressed a thought. “Like the calm before the storm.”

Keeping his voice down, Ben murmured to the girl, “It’s a bit too quiet for my liking, how far are we from Porec?”

Katya chuckled. “Soon be passing it now, that’s when the fun usually starts.”

Their driver, Magda, called back to them, “It’s about to start right now, look up ahead!”

A roadblock had been set up about a quarter mile ahead. It was nothing sophisticated, merely the trimmed trunk of a pine tree set upon two small columns of rocks and rubble. Behind the barrier stood a group of townsmen and the mayor of Porec.

Katya explained, “They’re not real Revenue officers, just volunteers. See, they’re only wearing armbands, not uniforms. If they catch any smugglers, they usually help themselves to the best of the cargo. Then they hand the rest over to the Revenue captain.”

Ben sized the distant men up, Katya was right, but the men were carrying pitchforks, staves and any implements they felt were handy in dealing with smugglers. “There’s about thirty of them, and they look like they mean business. What are we supposed to do now?”

The girl spat out the straw she was chewing. “Obey whatever orders Janos gives, and leave the rest to her. She’s good at this sort of thing.”

In the short time following, both Ben and Ned realised that good was an understatement where Janos Cabar was concerned. The chief of the Istrani Wolves was a whirl-wind of boldness and ferocity. She burst into action, setting the black stallion, Hari, full tilt at the barrier. Janos gave her wolf howl, cracking the bullwhip back and forth as she charged.

Crack! Crack! “Howoooooyaaaaah!” Crack! Crack!

The mayor of Porec lost his tricorn hat, flinging aside his warrant parchment as he dived for cover. The townsmen scattered to either side. Baying and flailing the long whip, Janos Cabar leaped her horse over the barrier. She lashed out, sending the whip curling round and round the pine trunk, and urging the stallion onward. The barrier was wrecked in an instant. She pulled it to one side, skillfully flicking her whip free.

“Howoooooyaaaaah!” Rearing the big, black horse onto its back hooves, she set about scattering the townsmen into further disarray.

Suddenly the wagons lurched forward. Ben and Ned joined the smuggling crew, howling like madbeasts straight for the opening. They shot through like cannonballs in a cloud of dust and reckless speed. The boy saw a man thrown high as he bounced off one of the horses’ flanks. Teeth bared, wind streaming around him and both fists clenched as he roared out the Istrani Wolf call, Ben caught a glimpse of Janos Cabar as he sped by her.

She was caught up in the moment, and thoroughly enjoying herself. The bullwhip in her hands was like a vengeful snake, whipping pitchforks and hoes from the men’s halfhearted grasp. The mayor was picking himself up from the dust, like a plump black beetle, when she caught him a parting shot across the seat of his tight britches. Crack! He screamed like a stuck pig, throwing himself into the roadside bushes, with both hands clutching his bottom.

Ned winced at the sight. “Ooh, I bet he has his supper standing up for a week or two, mate!”

Tears of mirth coursed through the dust on Ben’s face.

“Go on, tell me you’re not afraid of her now!”

The teams of horses were thundering along the rough-hewn track. Wagons bounced and jumped over rut and rock. Everyone was shouting for joy, but holding on tight. If anyone fell from a wagon, they would be left at the mercy of the mayor of Porec and his townsmen. After galloping several miles, the horses were slowed to a steadier pace.

Janos Cabar caught up with the back wagon, hailing Ben. “Hola, boy! Are you and your dog having a good time?”

The boy’s strange, clouded eyes were alight with excitement. “We certainly are. You were marvellous back there!”

She saluted him with the coiled bullwhip. “Aye, it beats washing a man’s dirty shirts by the streambank. I’m going on ahead to see how the going is. Don’t fall asleep in the dark now, keep your eyes open.” She galloped off, leaving Ben to talk with Katya.

“Is Janos married? I can’t imagine her washing and cooking for a husband!”

The girl shook her head. “No, she says she has enough to do, running this crew and managing her taverna. The rest of the women are. Magda is my mother, I have another sister at home, and two brothers. I’m the eldest. My father is a farm labourer. He works hard, when there’s work about, but it’s Mother and me who really butter the bread on our table.”

Ned glanced up to the wiry, pipe-smoking driver. “I hope she washes her hands before she butters the bread!”