The Corsair had indeed passed something to Bomba—it was a shark’s tooth on a thong, a talisman often worn by seafarers in that area. Bomba gave the tooth to Ned, who deposited it on the ground behind Ben, informing him mentally, “It’s a fish’s tooth on a neckthong, shark, I think. I saw the one with the wounded face pass it to Bomba. I think they’re cooking something up, mate, be careful!”
Ben identified the object aloud. “Ah, this sounds a bit fishy to me, a tooth on a leather strand. It’s a sharktooth necklet!”
Whilst the audience was applauding, Ned went to Ghigno, who gave him a gold coin for Ben to identify. As it clinked on the ground behind him, he pronounced, “Ah, I smell gold, there is a wealthy man among us. It is a coin, a Spanish gold doubloon!”
Amid the gasps of awe and the hand clapping, Ned told Ben, “Bomba didn’t give me anything of his own, that scarfaced rascal slipped him the sharktooth.”
Ben nodded. “Well spotted, mate, you know what to do!”
When Ned had gathered in all of the offerings—which included a string of amber worry beads from Al Misurata himself—Ben removed the blindfold.
Serafina watched worriedly as Ben picked up the gold coin. “Oh, I do hope nothing goes wrong, Otto!”
The strongman reassured her. “Do not fret, pretty girl. Your Ben is not stupid, ja, and neither is Ned. He is smart, just like my Bundi was.”
Ben gave the doubloon to Ned, declaiming loudly, “Seek out this rich man, and give him back the gold that is his, O Magnificent Neddo!”
The black Labrador went straight to Ghigno and dropped the coin on his foot. The audience cheered heartily.
Now Ben picked up the shark’s tooth and gave it to his dog. “O Magnificent One, return this to its rightful owner!”
Ned loped back to Ghigno and dropped the tooth on his other foot. Bomba sneered triumphantly.
“Stupid cur, it was I who gave you that!” He bent to pick up the tooth, but Ned bared his teeth, snarling at the big slave trader. Guests moved away from the two men and the vicious-looking dog.
Al Misurata rose from his divan. Spreading his arms, he stared enquiringly at Ben. “What is the matter with your dog, why did he not give the sharktooth back to Bomba?”
Ben pointed at Ghigno. “Because the tooth belongs to him. He slipped it to Bomba so that my performance would be ruined.”
Al Misurata strode over to the Corsair and the slave trader. He picked up the tooth and the gold coin, glaring from one to the other. Then he tossed the sharktooth necklet to Ghigno. “I have seen you wearing this about your neck. Speak the truth, it belongs to you, does it not?”
Shamefaced, Ghigno avoided the pirate’s irate gaze. “It is mine, we meant it merely as a joke.”
Al Misurata had always trusted and liked Ghigno; they had been together many years. He shook his head disapprovingly. “You disappoint me, my friend. What pleasure would this foolish act have gained you? Was it to demonstrate that I was putting on a poor entertainment for my guests?”
Aware that every eye was upon him, Ghigno bowed his head, realising that what he had done was to offer insult to the mighty Al Misurata. He went down on one knee. “Lord, you are right, it was a foolish thing, and I did it unthinkingly. I beg you to accept my humble apology.”
Al Misurata was silent a moment. Then he gestured for Ghigno to rise. “We will speak no more of this, your apology is accepted, my friend.” He placed the gold doubloon in Ned’s mouth and patted him. “Good dog, take this to your master, he has earned it!”
Bomba thought the incident was over. He was smiling foolishly when the unpredictable pirate turned to vent his wrath on him.
“Wipe that grin from your stupid face, idiot! Jasmina, take this mindless oaf down to the stables and see that he cleans them out properly. Stand over him, and use your cane unsparingly. Get him out of my sight!”
Ben caught one hate-laden glance from Bomba as Jasmina prodded him from the room with her cane.
An awkward hush had fallen over the guests. Then Al Misurata returned to his divan. Smiling, he clapped his hands at the servants. “More wine and food for everybody. Let the entertainment continue, eat, drink and enjoy the evening, friends!”
Signore Rizzoli picked out a tinkling melody on his mandolin as the pirate’s associates continued their feasting. However, they fell silent again when their attention was taken by Serafina’s entrance.
The girl glided smoothly in, clad in a gown of shimmering gold and white. Her hair was encircled with a garland of small flowers, and her luminous eyes surveyed the room over a veil of transparent silk hemmed with tiny silver coins. Otto set her long Kongo drum by the fountain, where she perched on the stone rim. Serafina caressed the drumhead with deft movements of her slender fingers, interweaving a pattering beat to the mandolin music.
Ben’s eyes were riveted on the beautiful vision whilst she sang her song. This was in the form of a riddle, which performers sang in bazaars to attract the attention of passersby.
“Hark to the question I ask you, how does a seed grow to a tree, what pays no heed to the seasons, and treats beggars and kings equally?
Soft as the breeze o’er the desert, travelling afar from the sea, warm as the sand, that sifts through my hand, wise man, will you heed my plea, O tell me?
“Something which moves on forever, and cannot be hoarded away, like the gold of some old miser’s treasure, in some deep hidden cavern to lay.
A daughter has more than her mother, a father has less than his son, yet everyone rues the day it is gone, wise man, will you heed my plea, O tell me?”
Ben was standing close to the door when the answer dawned on him. Raising his hand, he was about to call out the answer to Serafina. Otto’s large hand covered his mouth from behind suddenly. The big German whispered in his ear, “It is for the audience to answer, not the performers!”
Al Misurata raised his voice. “Time is the answer. Time!”
There was a rousing cheer, both for the singer and for the one who had solved the riddle. Serafina went across to the pirate. Plucking a flower from her head garland, she offered it to him. As Al Misurata reached out and took it, the girl kissed the back of his hand lightly. There was more applause.
Ned sent the boy a thought. “You should have got that, mate.”
Ben shrugged. “I’m not bothered.”
Ned nuzzled his hand gently. “You can’t fool me, mate. Not bothered, my tail. Huh!”
The week passed rapidly for Ben and Ned. Each evening their act improved, getting more smooth and professional. They now included comic interludes, often assisted by Buffo and Mummo. It would have been a happy time for both boy and dog, had it not been marred by their knowledge of Al Misurata’s intentions. Thus far they had not fathomed a solution to their coming misfortunes. They felt guilty about not revealing the truth to their friends. However, Ben reasoned that in this case, ignorance was bliss for the Rizzoli Troupe. His silence would save them stress and misery, also keeping them from thinking up rash schemes that might get them into deeper trouble.
The Barbary pirate kept up his cruel deception, showing kindness and consideration to his would-be victims.
Ben and Ned were revolted at the manner in which he could chat amicably with the Rizzolis about how much they were looking forward to being back in their childhood home. Apart from being in the same room as Al Misurata for the show each evening, Ben and Ned avoided him. It became obvious that he was concentrating his efforts on the troupe, when one night the other captives were secreted onto the slave wagon and shipped off furtively.
Ned learned, by listening in to the guards, that the girl and the three boys were bound for Tripoli, to be auctioned off at a private sale. Had they come from wealthy families, all four could have been ransomed to their kin. But they were only ordinary slaves, with no particular talent or outstanding features, sent to the selling block by the callous decision of their captor. Bomba did not accompany them. Ben and Ned watched him closely—he was constant
ly seen around the house and its spacious grounds. Having fallen into disfavour with his master, the big slave driver blamed Ben for his ill fortune. He would glare and mutter dire threats whenever he saw the infidel boy.
On the morning before they were due to sail for Slovenija, Ben and Ned accompanied Serafina as she exercised Poppea by walking her around the compound. Ever on the alert for trouble, the black Labrador sent out a warning to his master. “Careful, mate, here comes old bigmouth Bomba!”
Ben turned to see Bomba creeping up from behind.
The slave driver saluted Serafina with his riding crop. “Good day, my little songbird. Tell me, why do you befriend flea-ridden curs and infidel trash? Come, take a stroll with a real man. Here, I’ll hold your horse for you!”
Ben steered Serafina away, murmuring to her, “Pay no attention to him, he’s just a troublemaker.”
The big man barred their path. He waved the leather-boundriding crop in Ben’s face, allowing the tip to touch his chin. “I haven’t forgotten you, little bazaar rat. Before you’re much older I’m going to teach you some painful lessons!”
Ned sprang at him without warning, burying his teeth in the slave driver’s baggy behind. Bomba shrieked in agonised shock. Wrenching himself around, he grabbed the dog’s hind legs. However, Ned hung grimly on to his enemy’s rear end. They both fell over heavily, with the dog kicking furiously to free his paws. Bomba let go of Ned, unsheathing an ornate curved dagger from his waistband. As Poppea began rearing and whinnying, Serafina went up with her, pulling on the reins in an attempt to calm the panicked mare. Ben avoided the flailing hooves, circling the choking dust cloud that enveloped the combatants as he sought an opening.
Seeing Bomba raise the dagger high, Ben jumped in, seizing the big man’s arm with both hands. Ned was still snarling like an enraged wolf, digging his teeth into the foeman’s buttock.
Seemingly from nowhere, Otto appeared in the midst of the fray. Ben felt like a small child as he was pulled off Bomba and tucked under the strongman’s arm. In the same instant, the German stamped his foot down on Bomba’s wrist, trapping both him and the dagger to the ground. Thrusting Ben to one side, Otto broke the hold of Ned’s jaws, dragging him free of the screeching slave driver. Kicking the knife away, Otto took the bridle from Serafina. He held the mare still by main force, whispering softly to her, “Easy, Fräulein Poppea, I am here now!” The big German helped Ben to his feet. “Are you alright, is your dog hurt?”
Ben hugged Ned, running a hand over him as the dog chuckled mentally. “Stop that, it tickles!”
The boy was still shaking as he replied to his rescuer. “No harm done, we’re fine, thank you, sir!”
Bomba had risen to his knees, his face creased with pain as he gingerly touched his bottom to assess the damage.
The German strongman shot out a ham-like hand; gripping Bomba by the throat, he hauled him upright. Otto’s voice was dangerously calm.
“I will talk with you now. Listen carefully, Dummkopf,20 keep away from my friends, far away, or I will kill you. Verstanden,21 mein Herr?” As he talked, Otto tightened his grip, lifting Bomba until he was poised on tiptoe.
The slave driver’s face was turning an unhealthy purple, and his eyes were beginning to bulge. He managed to gasp out, “Gyuurrrsssh!”
Serafina grasped her friend’s outstretched arm, pleading, “Please don’t kill him, Otto. Please!”
The strongman gave Bomba a mighty shove backward. He hit the ground with a bump, raising another dustcloud. Turning away, Otto shook his huge, shaven head, smiling at the girl.
“Nein, nein, Mädchen, I would not kill him in front of one so gentle. Not this time, at least.” Leaning over the defeated slave driver, Otto twisted his ear hard. “Say thank you to the pretty girl for saving your worthless life. Speak up, I can’t hear you!”
With his head twisted to one side and tears coursing through his dust-coated face, the big man babbled out as Otto applied more pressure to his ear, “Thank you thank you thank you! Yeeeeaaaargh!”
The strongman released him. Retrieving the riding crop, he snapped it like a twig, tucking the broken halves in Bomba’s waistband. “You may go now!”
Ben read Ned’s thoughts as they watched the slave driver limping off, clutching his bottom. “Yukk! I think I’ll wash my mouth out at the trough. Three cheers for our big Otto, eh mate?”
Ben patted dust from his dog’s flank. “Aye, but it’s thanks to you, too, mate. That villain was going to flog me, and he would have, but for you!”
Serafina wiped the dust from Ben’s face with her silk scarf. “You were very brave. Bomba is such a big man!”
Ned’s indignant thoughts intruded on Ben’s mind. “Er, excuse me, but what about the faithful dog’s part in all this? Go on, you tell her, mate!”
But Ben did not have to, the girl was already fussing over Ned. “You were so fierce and courageous, good boy, Ned!”
The black Labrador licked her hand cheerfully. “Ah, that’s better. Us heroic dogs deserve our due, y’know!”
Calling to him, Serafina led Poppea off to the trough at the rear of the stables. “Come on, boy, I think you should wash your mouth out!”
Wagging his tail, Ned bounded after her. “Hah, she’s a mind reader, too. I think we should ask her to join our act, Ben. The Magnificent Neddo, the Mysterious Benno, and the Sensational Serafina. Sounds rather good, eh?”
11
MIDMORNING OF THE FOLLOWING DAY found the troupe outside their guest quarters. They were rehearsing some routines, when the stern-faced Jasmina came with news from Al Misurata for Augusto Rizzoli. “My master orders me to inform you there will be no entertainment today. You will be leaving here to board his ship. Pack all your belongings, and be ready to travel this evening after the noon heat dies down.”
Ben was helping Serafina to groom Poppea. He scratched the mare’s muzzle. “Do you hear that, old girl? You’re going to become a sea horse shortly.”
Mamma Rizzoli questioned Jasmina. “Where will we be sailing from, how long will it take for us to get to the ship?”
The servant woman replied curtly. “The Sea Djinn is anchored at the pier near the town of Misurata. It is no great distance, you should arrive about dawn tomorrow.”
Ben looked up from his work. “Will you be coming, too?”
Jasmina shook her head. “You never learn, do you, boy? Still asking questions.”
The boy’s curious eyes shone disarmingly. “Sorry!”
She drew him to one side, her severe face softening for awhile. Dropping her voice, she spoke to him confidentially. “My place is here, as a servant, I will not be going on the voyage. But Bomba will be sailing with you, boy. Watch your back, and sleep with one eye open—he will kill you and your dog if he gets the chance. I know Bomba, he is a dangerous man. He blames you for all his woes, and the master’s loss of respect for him. Believe me, Bomba will not rest until he has had his revenge upon you. He carries grudges like a camel carries its hump.” Jasmina avoided Ben’s searching gaze as he replied.
“Thank you, marm, but why do you concern yourself about me? We’ll probably never meet again once I leave here.”
She lifted Ben’s chin lightly with her cane. “Truly you are a mysterious one, so bright and clever. I feel that the fates have marked you for better things than death at the hands of a thick-brained idiot. Go with your God, young infidel, and may his shadow protect you!” The woman’s face returned to its customary stern cast. “As for that dog, I do not like it, I have always feared dogs. As far as I am concerned, its fate is in the wind. But you remember my advice and tread carefully!” She turned, hurrying off back to the big house.
Ben stroked Ned absently as they watched her go indoors. The Labrador commented mentally, “What a shame, oh dearie me, so she doesn’t like dogs, eh? Well, I’m not too fussy on hatchet-faced harridans who go about waving canes, so there!”
Ben tugged his dog’s ear. “Still, it was good of her to warn me—she c
ould have just tended to her own affairs.”
Augusto Rizzoli beckoned Ben to sit beside him on the wagon step. He nodded knowingly. “So, it seems trouble is about to cross your path, Benno. These old ears are keener than they have a right to be. Didn’t I hear the lady mention Bomba’s name more than once?”
Ben sighed. “Yes, Signore, Bomba has become my enemy.”
The showman began packing his mandolin carefully into its travelling case. “Ah, but I feel you are not telling me all. There is more, eh, Benno? Something tells me you are concerned about our little family . . .”
Ned placed a paw on Ben’s foot. “Go easy, mate, don’t tell him too much—think of what you say!”
Holding the mandolin case as the showman secured it, Ben made his decision. “Signore Rizzoli, Ned and I owe you a great deal, so I will try to be as frank as I can with you. The troupe will be in no danger until we dock at Piran, in Slovenija. Al Misurata is not what he seems, he is a pirate and a slave trader. But you must keep this knowledge to yourself, or it will cause hardship and misery to your wife and friends. I cannot tell you any more at the present, but I promise you that Ned and I will see that the Rizzoli Troupe reach Italy together. Show Al Misurata that you suspect nothing, act normally, but do not trust him or the one they call Ghigno. At the moment my life is in great danger. Ned and I need to escape Bomba—also, we must be free if we are to help you. So, if at some time I go missing, please do not think badly of me, but rest assured my dog and I will return to your aid.”
Ned’s thoughts interrupted Ben. “Oh, so we’re going to escape. Thanks for telling me!”
Ben sent a silent plea to the dog. “Can we discuss this later, Ned, please?”
Augusto Rizzoli sat staring at Ben in silence for an uncomfortably long time. Then he took the boy’s hand firmly. “Benno, where do you come from, who sent you to us? I understand little about all you have told me, but I see the wisdom of ages in your strange young eyes. Know that you have my trust. I could not bring myself to think badly of you, or this good dog. Do what you must, Benno, for yourself, and for all of us!”
Voyage of Slaves Page 8
