Voyage of Slaves (23 page)

Ned was halfway to the fo’c’sle deck, when he peered off amidships to port. He hurried back to Ben. “Come and have a look at this, see what you think.”

Before they had reached the midship rail, Ben glanced to the other side. He alerted Ned. “Look, three big rowing boats curving about to come astern of us. I don’t like it, they’re not showing either sail or light. It looks like they’re stalking us.”

Ned answered mentally. “Aye, just like the three I spied on our other side. Better tell Eli straightaway!”

The old man came to the stern, with Abram and Zachary on either side of him. He watched the six boats moving stealthily in their wake before murmuring quietly to Ben, “You were very alert, Benjamin, thank you.”

Remembering his dog’s previous complaints, Ben answered, “Don’t thank me, sir, it was Ned who saw them first.”

Ned put his head against Ben’s leg. “Thanks, mate, it’s nice to get credit where it’s due.” He cut short the thought as Eli continued.

“There’s no doubt that those men are wreckers. Skulking along behind us without showing sails or lights, I see they have muffled their oars, too, eh, Abram?”

The trusty crewman nodded. “They’re dropping back a bit, now that they know we’ve sighted them. Shall I go below and man the stern cannon?”

The patriarch stroked his beard, his keen gaze still riveted on the six boats. “I think not. Stay here with me, Abram. Wholesale slaughter is not the answer. I know those men are ruffians and villains, but they are only peasants with families to feed. I could not bring myself to kill them. So if needs be I will take the snake’s head.”

Ben understood the old man’s meaning. “You mean that you will slay their leader, sir?”

Eli bowed his head at the boy. “Ah, you understand my plan, very good. However, I will only take a life as the last resort—the House of Shimon breeds warriors, not murderers. First I will talk with their chief. Abram, bring me a light.”

Holding up the lantern with which Abram had provided him, Eli whispered an order to Zachary, who stole off to do his bidding. The old man then raised his voice, shouting to the small flotilla of boats, “Who is your chieftain, I would speak with him!”

The foremost of the boats was rowed forward until it stood about ten yards off the
White Ram
’s stern. The False Padre, Marlanese, ignited a torch of reeds and stood in the rowboat’s bows.

Ned’s assessment reached Ben. “Hah! There’s a real villain if ever I saw one! How anyone could trust that rascal I’ll never know. Look at that ragged cassock and his big greasy hat—he could be mistaken for a poison toad in disguise!”

Ben stroked his dog’s ear. “A perfect description, mate. Hush now, let’s hear what he has to say.”

Eli spoke sternly to Marlanese. “Who are you, and why are you stalking us?”

The False Padre took off his hat, revealing a pale, bald dome, with lank strands of greying hair plastered across it. He smiled unctuously. “Sir, you mistake our intentions. We are not stalking your fine ship, merely following a custom of this coast. I am Padre Umberto, and these men are my parishioners. We wish to visit your ship, so that I can bestow on it a special blessing. We will come aboard with your permission.”

Eli folded both arms across his chest. He looked for all the world like some biblical prophet straight from the pages of the Old Testament.

“Blasphemer! You are no holy man, you are a wrecker, with murder and plunder in your heart. Begone—I warn you!”

The fat, little scoundrel turned ugly then. He spat into the water, drawing back his threadbare cape to reveal a sword and musket thrust into his belt.

“No man talks to Marlanese like that! Listen, old fool, you are in my waters now, trespassing on my coast. Now let me aboard, or it will go badly for you!”

Eli stood firm, pointing at the wrecker. “Go quickly, before you stir my wrath!”

The False Padre drew his sword, quivering with rage. “Wrath? I’ll show you wrath. I’ll gut you and hang you from your own yardarm by the feet. Attack!”

As the boats pulled forward to charge the ship, Zachary came hurrying up. He was carrying Eli’s big bow, the one made from ram’s horn. With it was a single arrow, its heavy, barbed point wrapped with oil-soaked cloth, which he passed to the old man. Eli thrust the shaft into the lantern, drawing it forth spurting flame. In a few swift movements he set it upon the bowstring and hauled back mightily as he took aim and let fly.

The wrecker did not even have time to scream. The arrow pierced his throat, the burning cloth falling loose to send his cassock and cloak up in flames. He fell back into the boat with his clothing aflame as his crew gasped at the rapidity of Eli Bar Shimon’s action.

The patriarch held up his bow, calling out in a voice like thunder to the wrecking crews, “We are warriors, not fools like your leader. Look to my ship and see what awaits you if you stay here!”

Zachary had given orders to the crew below decks. They ran out the six cannon to port and starboard, firing off a broadside. The explosion deafened the wreckers, and lit up the night with its force.

Ben and Ned stood on either side of Eli, wreathed in smoke, watching the six boats splashing off like pond beetles pursued by pike. There was a hiss and a sizzle as the last boat crew tossed the burning body of Marlanese into the sea.

Joshua came dashing up from where Ezekiel had been restraining him on the for’ard deck. “Grandfather, Ben, what’s going on?”

Ben threw an arm around the lad’s shoulders. “Your grandfather has just been dispensing a bit of justice to some ruffians who wanted his ship.”

The old man smiled at the two boys. “It worked well. Remember what I told you, Benjamin?”

Ben returned the smile. “Aye, sir, cut off the snake’s head. Of course you forgot to say—and the rest of its body is useless.”

Eli winked at Ben. “But you already knew that!”

Ned was wagging his tail furiously whilst sending out thoughts. “That old Eli’s as good as a one-man army. I’m glad he’s on our side, mate. Whew, that excitement has given me an appetite. I wonder if there’s any of that good food left?”

Ben spoke aloud to the dog. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough to eat for one evening, old hunger guts?”

Joshua stroked the black Labrador’s back fondly. “I’ll get you some food if you’re still hungry, Ned. Come on, boy, there’s plenty left.”

They galloped off together. Eli looked curiously at Ben. “How did you know your dog was hungry?”

The strange boy shrugged. “Oh, Ned, he can say more with his tail and eyes than some people can with their tongues, sir.”

The old man looked as if he only half-believed Ben. “Yes, I’m sure he could. I feel a bit peckish myself now, what about you, young fellow?”

Ben flicked a tawny-coloured lick of hair from his eyes. “Oh, I imagine I could manage a bite.”

The patriarch chuckled. “You’ve got a good imagination. We’d best hurry before those two clean it all up!”

Next morning the wind had changed, though it was still a bright, blustery day. The
Sea Djinn
had to tack and veer to come offshore of Cape Passero. Ghigno and Bomba took a ship’s boat and rowed ashore, to where the six wrecking boats had been hauled up beyond the tideline. As he waded hurriedly through the surf, Ghigno was already sensing that something was amiss. Making his way to a collection of rickety hovels, the scar-faced Corsair strode into the first one. A stick-like old woman was tending a small fire, over which an iron cauldron was simmering.

With his eyes smarting from the smoky atmosphere, Ghigno crouched by the old woman and made enquiries. “Where is my cousin Marlanese?”

The crone uttered one word.
“Morte!”
³⁰

The Corsair’s jaw tightened. Apart from that he showed no emotion, but continued his interrogation. “And the rest, where are they?”

The old woman nodded in the direction of the other shacks. “Some are in the big hut, others have gone back to their villages.”

Ghigno thrust his face close to hers. “What happened?”

She shrugged. “I was not there, ask them.”

Ghigno stood swiftly. “I will!”

There were about a score of men in the largest dwelling, lounging around a fire and passing jugs of red wine back and forth. They were holding a murmured conversation, which ceased the moment that Ghigno walked in. A sullen silence prevailed. Then one big, rough-looking villain stood up to face the intruder.

Ghigno spoke, almost casually. “I have just heard the padre is dead. Who killed him?”

The rough-looking man drew a long knife from his belt and ran it through his scruffy red beard, as if grooming it. His tone was bold and challenging. “Marlanese is dead, let that be an end to it!”

In the enclosed space, the musket report sounded like a small cannon. The redbeard collapsed beside the fire, with a hole between his eyes and a shocked look on his face. Ghigno coolly blew down the musket barrel as he drew another one, already cocked and loaded, from the back of his sash. His voice still casual, he spoke as he placed the gun against the forehead of the man sitting nearest to him. “How do they call you?”

The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed visibly as he answered. “Beppino of Montalto. I have a wife and four children, signore. . . .”

Ghigno cut him short. “If you wish to see them again then answer me truly, Beppino. How was my cousin slain?”

Beppino closed his eyes tight as the musket pressed hard against his brow. “It was the old one, the master of the
White Ram.
We were not told that it was heavily armed. They saw us coming up on the vessel, the old
capitano
ordered your cousin not to come further. Marlanese would not listen, so the old one shot him with a fire arrow. They fired cannon at us, that ship carries many cannon. We were forced to retreat, or they would have blasted us out of the sea, signore
.
We were not told they were fighters with a heavily armed ship.”

Bomba had been holding the boat in the surf. He watched Ghigno climb in. “What happened, did you fire that shot?”

The scar made the Corsair’s face wrinkle wickedly as he hissed at Bomba, “What business is it of yours? Get me back to the ship!”

Al Misurata listened to Ghigno’s report. He sat in silence for a moment, then nodded, showing neither disappointment nor temper. He strode out on deck, followed by Ghigno, to whom he issued rapid orders. “Put on all sail, head into deeper water, but keep the coast in sight. Steer a course for the Italian mainland, and post lookouts. Let me know the moment that ship is sighted. Get those performers off the deck and back into their accommodation!”

As they were being herded back into their cabin, Serafina, who had caught Al Misurata’s orders, confided to Mamma, “We’re not landing at all in Sicily, we’re going to Italy. I heard Al Misurata saying so.”

Mamma raised her eyes thankfully. “I’m grateful for it. This idea of making a break and escaping, I’ve never liked it. There’s too many of them, some of us could be hurt, or even killed.”

Her husband shook his head. “If we make a landfall in Italy, we must still try to escape. Right, Otto?”

The strongman had taken the blunderbuss from its hiding place. He continued working on it.

“
Ja,
right,
mein Herr.
I would sooner be dead than live as the slave of another. Escape is our only hope!”

La Lindi watched the big German oiling the trigger mechanism. “That goes for me also!”

Mummo nudged Buffo. “What would you sooner be, a slave or a dead man?”

Buffo scratched his head, as if thinking hard. “Well, I wouldn’t mind being a slave, as long as I was sold to a young, pretty woman. But on the other hand, being dead might have some advantages. Dead men don’t have to get up early, or work, or feel hungry. Yowch!”

Signore Rizzoli withdrew his foot from the clown’s rump. “What are you saying, muddlehead? Dead men cannot breathe the air of freedom, they cannot laugh or move. Besides, what pretty young woman would buy a thick-headed buffoon like you, eh?”

Buffo put on a mournful face. Serafina laughed and hugged him.

“I would if I had the price, he’d make a lovely slave!”

Buffo fell on his knees in front of her. “Then I’ll save all my money and give it to you, so you can buy me. But I’ve always been your slave, O Beautiful One, from the moment I set eyes on you!”

Mummo hung his head in mock despair. “You mean you’d break up our act? Traitor!”

Serafina hugged him, too. “I’ll buy you both. When I’m a rich girl, I’ll need two slaves!”

Otto drew the hammer back and clicked it. “There’ll be no slave trading done once I’ve got this gun fixed!”

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.