“Oh love is a mystery nobody knows, who sees the dew making tears on a rose.
Through night’s dark veil see a maiden forlorn, ever seeking a key to the gates of the dawn.
As she waits for her love from the sea.
Away in the east comes the sunrise anew, gently painting the skies gold and blue.
Waves whisper secrets of old to the shore, telling of ships that will sail there no more.
As she waits for her love from the sea.
Under the bridge of a rainbow so fair, he comes bringing spices and ribbons for her.
A ring set with pearls to adorn her young hand, and words sweet as honey, but worthless as sand.
Then she knows he’ll return to the sea.”
A brief silence ensued as the last tremulous notes floated on the warm, tropical evening, then there was appreciative applause, interspersed with cries for an encore. Al Misurata leaned down and whispered something in Ghigno’s ear; both men nodded and smiled.
Unfortunately, Ben had not been able to hear what it was about—he was diverted by the dramatic entrance of La Lindi. Tinkling two tiny cymbals attached to her thumbs and index fingers, she glided in. Draped across her shoulders and both arms was an enormous snake. This was Mwaga, her green-gold python, a fearsome-looking reptile. The pair were almost as one, each as sinuous and graceful as the other. La Lindi undulated among the guests, with Mwaga swaying and coiling about her.
Serafina provided a soft, rapid drumbeat, the cadence of her voice rising and falling in an eerie, wordless chant. One or two of the braver guests reached out to stroke the snake. Each time they did, La Lindi would make a clicking noise with her tongue, and Mwaga would hiss fiercely, coiling as if to strike. This soon made the bolder spirits withdraw their hands swiftly.
That evening, Al Misurata and his guests were thoroughly entertained by the Travelling Rizzoli Troupe. When the performance was ended they all came on to take a bow: Otto, Buffo, Mummo, La Lindi, Serafina and Mwaga. They waved and smiled, then began to make their exit.
However, as a new finale to the act, Serafina had thought of a novel idea. La Lindi held the python as if its weight was becoming too much for her. Otto tried to pick Mwaga up, but at La Lindi’s signal, it hissed and bunched up for a strike. The strongman took a step back, calling out, “Where is the basket for this monster?”
That was Mamma Rizzoli’s cue. She opened the door, allowing the basket carrier to enter. Wearing a tiny conical hat on his head and sporting a ruffle about his neck, Ned trotted in, holding the big wickerwork basket in his jaws.
The roar of Ben’s voice shocked everybody with its intensity. “Ned! My Ned, you’re alive!”
7
IT WAS AS IF LIGHTNING HAD RIPPED the dark curtain from the dog’s mind—everything came back to him in a brilliant flash. Dropping the basket he rushed in the boy’s direction, barking aloud as his senses shouted out, “Ben! Ben!”
Jasmina was standing in the black Labrador’s path. Quickly assuming that it might attack her master, she swung her cane, whipping it across Ned’s back. Raising the cane again, she yelled, “Guards, get this evil spirit out of here!”
Ben was rushing to stop her when he was knocked aside by Al Misurata. Bounding forward, he snatched the cane from his housekeeper’s grasp and struck her with it.
Jasmina fell to her knees. Ashen with shock, she stared up at him. “Master, I thought the beast was going to savage you!”
The pirate’s eyes flashed angrily as he brandished the cane over her, his voice thick with scorn. “And did you think that I, Al Misurata, needed a woman to protect me against a dog?”
The unfortunate woman touched her forehead to the pirate’s feet. “Master, I am sorry, I did not think. . . .”
He flung the cane at her head. “Am I to be shamed in front of my guests by a stupid servant? Begone from my sight, fool!”
The unpredictable Al Misurata turned to Ben, who was hugging Ned tightly. “I thought this dog belonged to the entertainers, but evidently you seem to think he is yours?”
The boy’s eyes glared defiantly at his captor. “He is mine, he was always mine!”
Al Misurata returned to his divan. “We will see. Guards, hold the creature until I command you to release him. Keep him to one side.”
Two guards looped a belt around the Labrador’s neck and held him midway between Ben and the Rizzoli Troupe. Ned sat placidly between the guards, sending a mental message to Ben. “Don’t worry about me, mate, I’ll do the right thing. You just stay calm.”
Ben’s reply flashed through his mind. “I’ve no need to worry Ned, you’re back and you’re alive.”
Al Misurata questioned Ben. “If the dog is yours, how did you lose him?”
The boy answered promptly. “The two men who took me from my boat threw him into the sea. I thought he had been drowned.”
The pirate turned to the Rizzoli Troupe. “How did you come by the dog?”
Otto stepped forward. “I found him on the tideline one morning, he was almost dead. Serafina and myself nursed him back to life. Bundi is a good dog, very sensible.”
Al Misurata signalled the two guards. “Let the dog loose, now we will see who it goes to. You may call him.”
Serafina crouched, clapping her hands gently and calling, “Bundi, here boy, good dog, come on, Bundi!”
Ned trotted over to her, wagged his tail and licked her hand.
Ben shot him a concerned thought. “What do you think you’re doing, mate?”
The Labrador returned his query. “Merely saying thank you to those who saved my life. She’s much prettier than you, Ben, have you noticed?”
Otto patted the dog’s head fondly. “Good boy, Bundi!”
Ned looked at Ben and flinched. “Poor Otto, he means well, but I’m almost flattened whenever he pats me. He’s got hands like mallets!”
Ben smiled inwardly. Ned had not lost his sense of humour. “When you’re finished thanking those good people, perhaps you might come over here and prove you’re mine. If it’s not too much trouble, of course?”
Ned gave Serafina’s hand a final lick. “Coming, O impatient one. How about calling me by my real name? I wasn’t very fond of being called Bundi. Silly name, made me feel like some sort of stuffed toy!”
Al Misurata looked quizzically at Ben. “See, the dog has gone to the girl, but you say he belongs to you. Why do you not call him?”
For answer, Ben uttered the dog’s name quietly. “Ned.”
The black Labrador padded over dutifully, commenting, “Huh, your dog, their dog, his dog, her dog. Nobody’s consulted me in all this—who was it that said every creature belongs to itself alone? Must’ve been me, I suppose.”
Ben chuckled as he patted Ned’s sleek side. “Don’t get your feathers ruffled, I’m just trying to prove that we belong together. Now I’m going to ask you to do a few things to establish the fact.”
Ned replied huffily, “Oh, I’m back to being the performing Bundi again, is that it?”
Ben reflected, “Well, you seemed to be enjoying it a moment ago. Actually, you look rather cute in your little hat and neck ruffle. How about returning them to those nice folk?” He commanded Ned aloud, “Give the hat and collar back to the pretty girl, please.”
Ned managed to remove the little conical hat by rubbing his head against the ground. Scratching with his back paw, he relieved himself of the ruffled collar.
Carrying them over to Serafina, he laid them at her feet, then returned to Ben’s side. She glanced at Ben, her slow, beautiful smile melting his heart.
“He is not our Bundi, my friend, he is your Ned.”
The way in which the young black girl called Ben her friend, and the charmingly husky tone of her voice, tied the boy’s tongue in a knot. He barely managed to stammer out, “Thank you for taking care of Ned, you’re very kind.” He was aware of Ned’s doggy chuckle.
“Hoho, told you Serafina was prettier than you, mate!”
Ben savoured
the name. Serafina, it was so . . . so . . .
He cut off his thoughts when he became aware of Ned; the dog was actually smirking at him.
Al Misurata interrupted any further reveries. “So, the dog really is yours, boy!” He raised his eyebrows as the dog placed his paw in Ben’s hand, as if to confirm his statement. “Remarkable, I’d swear the thing understands what I’m saying.”
Ben hastened to deny any such thing. “Oh no, sir, Ned is just glad to be back with me.”
The pirate addressed Signore Rizzoli. “A talented animal, he would be an asset to your show. How would you like to have him, as a gift from me?”
The showman protested, “No, no, Commendatore, I could not bear to take the dog from this young fellow now they are reunited. Thank you, but it would be too sad to see them parted.”
Al Misurata never said or did anything needlessly. He was famed among his peers as a devious, and dangerous, man. He smiled disarmingly at the showman, choosing his words carefully. “Well said, my friend. I can plainly see you are a man of true character. Tell me, to whence do you travel from here?”
Signore Rizzoli shrugged expressively. “Wherever the winds of chance steer us—markets, villages, town squares. Anywhere that we may gain a few coins, some food or a night’s lodging. Entertainment is our business.”
The pirate nodded understandingly, pausing to sip his wine. “I see you are Italian, signore, where in Italy are you from?”
Mamma Rizzoli answered for her husband. “We are from Vicenza, a lovely little place in the fields and meadows below the mountains. My Augusto and I were childhood sweethearts there many years ago.”
Al Misurata signalled a servant to furnish the troupe with drinks. He seemed sympathetic and attentive to them. “Those places of early years stay in our memories forever. Would you not like to visit your home in Vicenza again?”
Signore Rizzoli smiled regretfully. “Alas, it is a wonderful dream, but impossible. We have a little money, far too little, I’m afraid. Also we have no means of crossing the wide seas.”
Al Misurata rose from his divan, pacing about thoughtfully. “A great pity, my friend. However, all is not hopeless. Listen now, I have a proposition for you. Your performance tonight was very amusing, a rare diversion from my cares as a businessman. I enjoyed the show thoroughly. A week from now I set sail in my great ship to Slovenija.16 I have business there, at a place called Piran, close to the Italian border. I have traded there many times before. I could transport you and your troupe there. But as I say, I am a businessman, and everything has its price. To earn your passage you must put yourselves at my disposal, staging a show and entertaining me and my friends every evening, until the day of our departure. Does my plan sound agreeable to you, signore?”
Augusto Rizzoli spoke in hushed tones. “You have a ship big enough to accommodate us all, horse and cart, too? Mamma mia!”
Ghigno the Corsair topped up the showman’s goblet. He seemed amused at Signore Rizzoli’s surprise. “The mighty Al Misurata owns the greatest ship in this hemisphere. We do much trade in horses, with Albanians, Greeks, Slavs and Italians. The Sea Djinn sails the coasts of all their lands. It would not trouble my master to give passage to you and your whole show.”
The showman’s eyes were moist as he clasped his wife’s hand.
“Ah, to return to the green pastures of our homeland again, just think of it, cara mia!”17
With tears in her eyes, Mamma turned to Al Misurata. “Such kindness, signore, but why do you do this for us?”
The pirate smiled, shrugging expressively. “I like to help good people when I can, it is no big thing. But the choice is yours, either go on your way tomorrow, or accept my offer. Though I must warn you, there is dangerous country ’twixt here and the Straits of Gibraltar if you are travelling west. It would sadden me to hear you had fallen into the hands of robbers or brigands.”
Mamma was about to speak again when her husband interrupted. “You are right, signore, we accept your most generous offer!”
Whilst the conversation had been going back and forth, Ben and Ned sat close to one another, mentally conversing. Ben transmitted a warning to his friend.
“It’s a trap, I’m sure of it. Al Misurata is a slave trader!”
Ned groaned inwardly. “Oh no, just when I thought things were beginning to go smoothly for a change. Though I must say, I didn’t like the looks of that fellow, what’s his name, Al Miserable, from the moment I clapped eyes on him. So, what do we do now, mate?”
Ben kept his eyes on the pirate’s left hand, as he had been instructed. “I don’t know yet, Ned, but we’ve got to help your friends—and ourselves, somehow.” He checked his thoughts as Al Misurata spoke.
“So be it then, you will put on a performance for me and my friends each night until we are ready to sail. In return I will transport you over the sea to Italy, or as close to the Italian border as I am going. Bomba, see that the signore and his people have ample accommodation.” He beckoned to Ben. “Bring your dog and come with me.”
Ben mused as they followed the pirate, “I wonder what he wants us for?”
Ned growled quietly. “Who knows? But never mind, mate, as long as we’re together again.”
The gardens and walks of the downstairs courtyard were extensive, redolent with the scent of blossoms and fruit. Fountains tinkled in the warm night air, and a soothing breeze barely stirred the feathery palms. Al Misurata leaned against a low, sculptured wall as he stared long and hard at the strange fair-skinned boy and his dog.
“Go on, speak your thoughts, infidel. Don’t be afraid, I won’t punish you.”
Ben immediately accused his captor. “I think those people will never see their homeland. You are leading them into some sort of trap!”
Al Misurata moved like a striking cobra. There was a swift hiss of steel, and Ben felt the pirate’s swordblade against the side of his neck.
Ned bared his teeth savagely. He stood stiff-legged and snarling, ready to defend his friend.
Ben cautioned him mentally, “Stay where you are, Ned, this is a very dangerous man!”
Al Misurata spoke softly, but in a challenging tone. “Are you calling me a liar, infidel?”
Ben could not help swallowing hard, but he stood his ground. “You said it. I am only doing as you told me, speaking my mind.”
Al Misurata withdrew the sword. Placing its tip upon the wall, he rested his chin on the gold-chased hilt. Never once did his piercing glance leave the boy. “You are a puzzle to me. You seem so young, yet something tells me your eyes have seen the sights of several lifetimes. Also, I think that you and the dog speak to one another. How is that? Tell me about yourself.”
Ned cautioned his friend, “Watch what you say, mate!”
Ben studied the wall, avoiding the pirate’s keen gaze. “There’s nothing much to tell. I think I must have been the son of ship’s officer. The dog and I were the only survivors when the vessel was wrecked in the Gulf of Gascony. I don’t remember anything very clearly, so I must have been very young. Ned has always been with me, we’ve travelled the coasts together for a long time. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”
Al Misurata sheathed his blade, smiling thinly. “Now who is the liar, eh, boy?”
Ben remained silent, taking in Ned’s mental comment: “We’re not fooling that one, he’s got brains!”
Surprisingly, the pirate patted Ben’s back. “No matter, boy, I started out just like you. Though I can tell you’ve never been a slave before. I know you’re the same as me in one respect—you’d never bend your knee to any man willingly. Tell me, how would you like to go to Italy with that band of players?”
This came as a shock to Ben. He did not know what to think about his unpredictable captor. “You mean you’re really taking them to Italy?”
The pirate nodded. “Of course I am, they are of no great significance to me. I am merely letting them pay for their trip by entertaining me for a few days. Life isn’t all gold a
nd slaves to me; sometimes I am not a bad fellow to know. Well, would you like to join them, Ben?”
Completely taken off-guard by the friendly use of his name and the man’s open manner, Ben nodded eagerly. “That would be wonderful, sir, thank you. Thank you!”
Al Misurata made a dismissive gesture. “It’s a fine night, Ben. You may sleep out here with your dog, Ned, that’s his name, isn’t it? I’ll speak to Signore Rizzoli about you tomorrow. Good night.” He strode off, back into the big house, leaving the pair alone together.
Ben sat down with Ned, beside the wall. “Well, what do you make of that?”
The black Labrador scratched his ear with a back paw. “I’ve no idea, mate. Maybe we both misjudged old Al Miserable, who knows? But I intend to make it my business to find out more. Us dogs have our ways, you know.”
Ben leaned back, scratching his dog’s ear gently. “I should be used to your ways by now, my faithful hound.”
Ned held still, so that Ben could scratch more easily. “Less of the hound, you cheeky pup. Ooh, that feels good, scratch a bit lower. Aaaahhh, right there! I missed you.”
Ben tweaked Ned’s ear playfully. “Only because nobody can scratch your ear like I do.”
Ned stretched out blissfully, closing his eyes. “Correct, mate, keep going. A bit lower, no, to the left. Just there. Don’t stop, slave!”
Ben watched the guards through half-closed eyes. They patrolled the walls constantly. “Aye, that’s me, a slave, bought and sold. But not for long if we’re to believe the great Lord Al Misurata.”
Ned opened one eye. “Hmph, that’s a big if!”
8
DAWN CREPT STEALTHILY OVER THE desert coast, pale gold and shell pink, interspersed with banks of dove-grey mist over the sea. Serafina rose early, leaving Mamma and La Lindi still sleeping in the women’s guest chamber. She padded silently out into the newborn day. It was her turn to tend Poppea, the troupe’s wagon horse.
Voyage of Slaves Page 5
