Voyage of Slaves

by Brian Jacques

  Ned chewed on some roasted fat. “I suppose so, but I’ll be listening, to help you in case you slip up.”

  Ben launched into his narrative. The old man listened intently, never speaking, but watching him avidly. The strange boy hurried through his fictional earlier life, but told the truth, chapter and verse, about events which had occurred since he and Ned were found drifting off the Libyan coast in their small boat. When he had finished, the patriarch shook his bearded head slowly.

  “Al Misurata—who in these seas has not heard that hated name? You did well to escape him, Benjamin—he is a pirate, a slaver and lots worse things, I have heard. I know he is neither Jewish nor Arabic, a truly evil parasite. So, young fellow, what do you plan on doing to rescue your friends, the Rizzoli Troupe? How will you liberate them?”

  Ben explained as best he could. “They are held captive aboard Misurata’s ship, the Sea Djinn. She’s bound for the port of Piran in Slovenija, sir. He promised to give them passage there, so that they could cross the border into Italy. But he plans on selling them as slaves. If I can reach Piran, I’ll form a plan to help them. Al Misurata will not expect me to show up there, so it will make things less difficult. If Ned and I could get passage to Piran, I’d wait my chance.

  I’m sure the right opportunity would present itself sooner or later. When it does I’ll know what to do.”

  Eli patted Ben’s shoulder. “I’m certain you will, Benjamin, you are a strange and resourceful boy. I hope Joshua grows up just like you. So, I’ll give orders for the White Ram to get under way to Slovenija as soon as possible.”

  Ben was taken aback by the old man’s sudden announcement. “But sir, you would be putting yourself and Joshua at great risk, I could not permit it!”

  Eli Bar Shimon raised his bushy eyebrows in amusement. “I am captain of this ship, Benjamin, I say what is permissible. You forget, I am deeply in your debt—I owe the life of my grandson to you. There is no ship faster in all these seas than my White Ram. I have decided she will take you to Piran!”

  Ben appealed to the patriarch. “It is not right that you place yourself in peril for me, sir!”

  Eli spread his arms wide. “Peril, from what? I have fought pirates and Corsairs all my life, we of the House of Shimon are merchant warriors. My crew are all seasoned swordsmen, musketeers and cannoneers, they are sworn in loyalty to my family. Believe me, Benjamin, it should not come to a fight. The first duty of a warrior leader is to get out of trouble, not into it!”

  However, Ben was not happy with the situation; he was still not convinced. “But sir, Ned and I can slip into Valletta harbour at night and stow away aboard almost any ship. One of them is sure to be sailing for Sicily, Italy or even Slovenija. You cannot go so far out of your way for us.”

  Eli refilled his goblet and took a sip. “I like this wine. If I did not have my grandson to educate, this ship to sail on and my own wine to drink, what else would an old man do, Benjamin? I am not out here on business, merely a summer cruise. I can sail my ship wherever my fancy takes me. Slovenija is a nice place at this time of year, they say. From there I will complete my trip back home to Ascalon. So, what do you say?”

  Ben clasped the old fellow’s hand fervently. “I cannot stop you, sir, you have my undying gratitude. But Ned and I sail with the White Ram on one condition. That you leave us ashore at Piran and set your course for home. We can handle everything else. What would you tell your son if anything bad happened to Joshua?”

  Eli Bar Shimon arose from the table. He opened a long, cedar chest which stood nearby. From it he took a splendid inlaid sword, a broad, curved dagger and a thick, cupid-like bow, with a quiver of arrows. He smiled ruefully.

  “I accept your terms, Benjamin. Ah, but it would be fine to use these one last time. You see this bow, it was made from the horns of a mighty ram by my grandfather. One day I will pass it on to Joshua. I was never one for muskets or jezzails—this is a true hunter’s weapon!”

  Ben inspected the bow. “It’s a fearsome thing, sir.”

  Eli sighed. “A good archer can fire it faster than a man can load a firearm. Its string has sung the deathsong of many who sought to bring harm to the House of Shimon. A few seasons’ work aboard this ship will make my Joshua’s arms strong enough to draw it.” He placed the weapons back in the chest. “You must be tired, Benjamin. Come, I’ll show you and Ned to your cabin.”

  Ben settled down on a comfortable bunk, with Ned sprawled across his feet. Unlike his experience on the Sea Djinn, he had no qualms about sailing aboard the White Ram. It had a calm and soothing effect on his mind, devoid of visions featuring Vanderdecken and his hellship, the Flying Dutchman.

  Ned liked it also. He yawned cavernously. “Extremely restful and cosy here, eh mate?”

  Ben closed his eyes. “Aye, though it would be better if my legs weren’t being numbed by some great lump of a dog lying on them. I can’t feel my feet!”

  The black Labrador snorted. “Ungrateful youth, be careful I don’t offer my valuable services to Eli as permanent ship’s dog. He’d jump at the chance!”

  Ben prodded Ned. “Not if he had dead legs he wouldn’t.”

  In the dark serenity of the peaceful cabin, the two friends soon lapsed into slumber.

  It was shortly before midnight when they were awakened by the sound of shouts from out on deck.

  17

  BURSTING OUT ONTO THE DECK WITH Ned at his heels, ben collided with Eli. The old man hustled him back inside.

  “Benjamin, you and Ned must stay out of sight. Ezekiel and Abram, the man who went with him, are being pursued along the shore by armed men. They might be the very ones who are hunting you. Go to my cabin and watch from the windows. Try not to let yourself be seen. Go!”

  The patriarch began calling orders to his crew. “Lower the lifeboat, bring Ezekiel and Abram back here with all speed. Marksmen, prime your jezzails and wait on my command!”

  A sleepy-eyed Joshua came stumbling out on deck. “Grandfather, what’s going on, can I help?”

  The patriarch ruffled the lad’s brown curls. “Everything is under control, my young warrior. Go to my cabin and keep watch with Ben and his dog.”

  Hurtling into the surf, both crewmen began making for the lifeboat, which was still some distance off. Bomba and a dozen guards stood panting in the shallows, watching the escaping men. Two horsemen came galloping out of the night. Al Misurata held his mount on shore, whilst Ghigno spurred on into the sea. He was yelling at Bomba.

  “Keep after them, blockhead, stop them!”

  The big slave driver complained, “Our cloaks and robes would drag us down out there.”

  The scar-faced Corsair lashed at him with the horse’s reins. “Fool! They’re wearing cloaks and robes, too. Now get going, you brainless jellyfish!”

  Bomba watched the escaping men for a moment, then smiled maliciously at Ghigno. “See, they’ve been picked up by a boat, it’s too late to chase them now.”

  Ghigno called to the guards. “Use your guns, stop them!”

  Al Misurata galloped his mount into the surf, his horse striking the first man to raise his jezzail. The weapon discharged skyward as the guard was knocked flat in the sea. “Hold your fire, all of you, back to the shore!”

  They obeyed their leader hastily. The pirate halted his horse beyond the tideline, where he issued orders.

  “Bomba, take the men and hide among the rocks. I want no shooting at all for the present. Keep a watch on that ship, see if you can spot the boy or the dog. Stay awake and keep your eyes open. I’m going back for reinforcements, I’ll return in the morning. Ghigno, an hour after I leave, make your way back to the Sea Djinn. Do it in secret, I don’t want you seen from that vessel.”

  Eli came into the cabin, where Ned and both boys were crouching by the windows. The old man went to the chest and began arming himself.

  “Did you recognise them, Benjamin, are they the enemies who are hunting you?”

  Ben nodded grimly. “Aye,
sir. The one who rode off alone was Al Misurata himself.”

  A knock on the cabin door announced Ezekiel and Abram. They were clad in dry robes. Ezekiel made his report.

  “Lord, we found the fisherman Francisco. He was heading a religious parade, carrying a big cross. He was greatly pleased with your gifts, and sends his sincere thanks. He enquired about the boy and his dog, but I denied all knowledge of them.”

  Eli adjusted the dagger in his waist sash. “You did well. What happened after that?”

  Ezekiel explained. “We were on our way back, coming through the foothills below the cliffs. I saw a band of armed men—they were obviously tracking us. One of them called to us to halt. I didn’t like the look of them, so we made a dash for it and they gave chase.”

  Abram laughed nervously. “It was heavy going, carrying our weapons, and with the water weighing our robes down. We speeded up when the man on horseback began shouting. Luckily we had a good lead, and we made it to the boat safely.”

  Joshua interrupted. “The man on the horse knocked one of them into the sea, his musket ball went astray. Why did he do that, Grandfather?”

  Eli placed his bow and quiver on the table. “I don’t know, but he must have had his reasons. Are they still there, Benjamin?”

  Ben watched the shoreline, nodding. “Still there, sir. I can see the other horse, and a faint glow amid the rocks. They’ve lit a fire.”

  Ned joined Ben at the window. “It is a fire. The rascals aren’t going anywhere, looks like they’ve camped there for the night!”

  Eli Bar Shimon’s eyes glittered as he strung his bow. “Hah! Assyrians, planning to descend like wolves upon the shepherd’s fold, eh? They won’t find many sheep here, let them come and meet this old ram. My bow has slain more than one mangy wolf in its day!”

  Ben was about to protest, when he glimpsed the patriarch’sface: the light of battle was upon it, the old man was enjoying himself.

  Sheathing his sword, Eli shouldered the quiver of arrows. He made a formidable sight, like some avenging biblical prophet of old. “Benjamin, stay here with your good dog and take care of Joshua. Ezekiel, Abram, let us go and prepare a reception for this wolf who trades in human flesh!”

  18

  OTTO HAD BEEN PACING THE CABIN since before dawn; the big German was becoming more agitated with what he considered to be unwarranted confinement.

  Buffo knuckled his eyes and blinked wearily. “Can’t you stop marching up and down like that? It isn’t helping anybody. Lie back and rest yourself, Herr Kassel.”

  The strongman pounded a ham-like fist onto the tabletop where the clown was leaning. “It is wrong, I tell you, no man keeps me prisoner against my will. I am getting out of here!”

  Signore Rizzoli placed himself in front of the cabin door. “Please, friend, stay here, there are armed men out there. Soon they will come, if only to deliver our food. Then I will try to reason with them.”

  La Lindi stretched languorously and yawned. “What makes you think they will listen to reason?”

  Mummo sighed. “Lindi’s right. I’ve never liked Misurata, or any of his gang—I think we should never have trusted him and made this trip. What about you, Rosa?”

  Mamma Rizzoli played with the fringes on her shawl. “I have said little so far, but I’ve been watching carefully. I think we’ve been lured into a trap. This Al Misurata, he was too smooth, too glib. Now he’s changed completely. It will be a lucky day if ever we see our homeland again.”

  Gently, but firmly, Otto lifted Augusto Rizzoli to one side. “All this talk gets us nowhere, I am going out. Ja!”

  Serafina, who had not ventured an opinion so far, came to stand alongside the big German. “I’m going with you, Otto. I don’t think they would harm a girl. We’ll say we’re going to visit Poppea.”

  The door was bolted, but one powerful thrust from the strongman’s shoulder sent both lock and timber splinters flying. Otto bowed to his pretty companion. “After you, Fräulein!”

  Caught napping in the early morning sunlight out on deck, the guard came running and pointed his rifle at Serafina, who was standing in front of Otto. The big man reached over her shoulder and grabbed the long barrel. As he wrenched the weapon from the man’s grasp, it went off with a bang. The ball shot past Otto’s cheek, into the bulkhead behind him. Scarcely had Otto knocked the guard aside and led Serafina out on deck, when they were surrounded. Armed men had come running from everywhere.

  Al Misurata came pushing through the cordon; he was wearing a brace of fine Spanish pistols in his waistband. Drawing one, he menaced the German strongman. “You should not be out here. Get back to your cabin and stay there!”

  The strongman glared at the pirate. “I am not afraid of you!”

  Al Misurata hissed viciously, “Get back inside!”

  Serafina placed herself in front of Otto. “We were only going to visit our mare, Poppea.”

  The pirate answered, without taking his eyes off Otto, “The horse is well taken care of, return to your cabin.”

  The strongman thrust his huge, shaven head forward. “We are not going until we find out what you have done with our friends, Ben and Ned!”

  The hammer clicked as Al Misurata cocked the pistol.

  “I have not seen the boy, or his dog. They have not been harmed. You are a brave and foolish man, mein Herr, but I think you will obey me and go back now.” Sighting the pistol, he pointed it at Serafina’s face.

  Otto was left with no option.

  “Come, Fräulein, we go back inside now.”

  Signore Rizzoli breathed a sigh of relief as they walked back into the cabin. “You were close to death then, my friends, we heard all that went on out there.”

  Buffo winced as the carpenters began hammering an iron swing bar across the damaged door. “Well, at least we know Ben and Ned are still alive.”

  La Lindi looked up from petting Mwaga, her python. “I don’t believe a word from that shark, he’s a liar!”

  Tears beaded in Serafina’s beautiful eyes. “Oh, don’t say that, please, he wouldn’t lie about a thing like that. Ben and Ned must be alive!”

  Mamma Rizzoli shook her head at the snake dancer, silencing her. She wrapped her shawl about the girl. “Of course they’re alive, bella mia,28 don’t upset yourself.”

  Ezekiel leaned over the midship rail, pointing to the band who were rounding the point. “See, Lord, he’s coming back with a lot more men!”

  Eli Bar Shimon beckoned to him. “I see him. Don’t stand up at the rails like that, you make an easy target for those guns in the rocks. Caleb, drop the ports and show them our teeth.”

  In the stern cabin, Ben felt the deck rumble underfoot. Ned’s thought flashed through his mind. “What’s that, mate?”

  Before he could enquire of Joshua, the lad looked up from his breakfast. “They’re lowering the ports to run out cannon. Look down through the windows.” Ned sent Ben another thought. “Cannon, eh, that old man doesn’t mess about, does he!”

  As they stared down through the windows, two slim brass barrels emerged beneath them. Joshua explained. “They’re not big, full-sized cannon, but there’s eight of them, three each side and these two astern. I’ve seen them fired for practice, they’re very powerful, and our crew are expert gunners.”

  Ned interrupted Joshua to mentally contact Ben. “Here comes old miseryguts with another bunch of villains!”

  They watched as Al Misurata, mounted on a prancing steed, led a score of armed men along the beach. He met with Bomba and the others, joining his infantry to theirs. The pirate took charge, issuing orders to them all. Then he strung the men out below the tideline, in full view of the White Ram.

  Ben spoke aloud, as much for the benefit of Ned as Joshua. “They’ve certainly got enough men. But what’s the point? They can’t reach us out here.”

  Eli stood in the open cabin doorway. “That’s merely a show of force to impress us, Benjamin. Tell me, do you think that is all Al Misurata’s command, or
does he have more men?”

  Ben answered readily. “Many more, sir. Besides them he has a big ship and an entire crew.”

  Joshua clapped his hands eagerly. “Will we fight them, Grandfather? Our warriors could beat them easily, and we’ve got cannon!”

  The old man stroked his beard as he watched the men on shore. “We’ll fight them only if we have to, my young rooster. But I would rather outthink them, and save any bloodshed. Meanwhile, you boys and the dog stay low. I don’t want you seen from those windows.”

  Joshua looked glum, he had wanted to see battle done. “Are they just going to stand there on shore all day? Where’s the sense in that?”

  As the morning went on, the situation did not alter. Though the crew of the White Ram were vigilant and ready for action, Al Misurata stood with his men on the shoreline, making no attempt to do anything.

  The sun was at its zenith when Ben spied the boat. It was a small ship’s boat from the Sea Djinn, containing two rowers and two armed guards, already around the point and heading toward the men on the beach. Ben poked his head out on deck, calling to Ezekiel, who was standing nearby.

  “Off the port side, see, they’re bringing a boat!”

  The seaman winked at him. “We’ve already spotted it, mate. Back inside and stay out of the way.”

  The small boat pulled into shore. Al Misurata boarded it, ordering the oarsmen to head for the White Ram. Eli stood on the stern gallery, watching. When he judged it was within hailing distance, the old man held up his arm and called out abruptly.

  “That is far enough, you will come no further. State your business!”

  Al Misurata rose, bowing courteously, touching fingertips to his heart, lips and forehead. “I bid you good day, sir. Are you the commander of this wondrous vessel?”