got the better of them. Both boy and dog had pushed themselves hard, not wanting to stay
amid dear friends who would eventually grow old and die whilst they remained forever young.
Ned snuffled at his master's hand. "Well, mate, we turned our faces back to the sea, and here
we are. Ooh, I am hungry, Ben, so hungry!"
Ben nodded absently as he replied, "What I'm wondering is, where's this other one we've got
to meet? Remember the second part of the angel's command:
'Turn your face back to the sea,
You will meet another one,
A father with no children,
before you travel on.
Help him to help his children,
as his kinsman would have done.' "
Ned's ears flopped as he shook his head from side to side. "Sounds like twaddle to me.
Another father with no children, yet we've got to help him to help his children. Huh, and
who's this kinsman who would've helped the father with no children, to help his children, eh?
Even a dog can't make head nor tail of that little lot!"
Ben did not answer right away. He turned his gaze from the sea to the hilltop where they sat
and to the trees behind. "Ned, d'you realise where we are?"
The black Labrador was still trying to solve the angel's riddle. "No, should I? Wait, don't tell
me, hmmm, sea, hills, small clump of trees ... Of course! This is the exact spot where we
came ashore from La Petite Marie's jolly boat! Well, there's a thing, we've come full circle!"
Ben was standing up, shading his eyes as he turned back to the sea. Ned looked up at him.
"What is it now?"
The boy was already descending the sandy dune top. "A little boat, coming to shore this way.
Probably a fisherman. Come on, mate, maybe he's got some spare food with him!"
Ned raced after his master. "Food, you've said the magic word!"
They stood in the shallows as the tiny fishing smack nosed toward them. A man appeared at
the bow and flung a line in Ben's direction. He shouted a single word. "Hungry?"
Ben's answer was also brief. "Starving!"
The fellow sprang over the side. He was laughing. "How did I guess? Help me get her ashore
above the tide line."
Ned gripped the rope end in his teeth as Ben and the man put the line over their shoulders and
hauled. With considerable effort they dragged the boat over the ridged wet sand, through some
seaweed and debris, then up onto the dry beach above the tide line. The man was poorly clad,
barefoot and had a ragged cloak tied about his neck as protection against long hours facing
sea breezes. He shook Ben's hand firmly and patted Ned. "Thank ye, friends. See those trees
up yonder? Could you gather some wood for a fire? I've got good, fresh mackerel aboard. Got
some bread, and milk, too. We can cook a meal!"
Ben smiled. "You caught the fish, sir, we'll get the wood!" He sped off, with Ned outpacing
him and thinking happily, "Bread'n'fish, nothing like it when you're hungry, mate!"
The fisherman even had a frying pan. He gutted and headed the mackerel and tossed them into
the pan with some herbs and a chopped onion. As he took off his cloak, he jerked a thumb at
the waters of the bay.
"High tide's the best time to net fish around here, though you've got to get the job done before
the tide turns—it can run out pretty fast and leave you stranded out there." As he loosed the
cloak, Ben saw his white collar and well-worn, threadbare black cassock. A priest!
Ned settled down in the warm sand, thinking, "Haha, a priest. So that's the father who has no
children. This is him, Ben!"
The priest handed Ben enough bread for him and his dog. "So, what are you doing on this
forsaken stretch of shore?"
Ben tossed half the bread to Ned. "We're just travellers, Father, making our way along the
coast to Spain. It isn't too far. Do you live hereabouts?"
The priest tested six mackerel he had put on to fry and turned them over with his knife blade.
"Just on the outskirts of Arcachon. I have a little parish. Very small and poor... we even meet
in my house for services, as the church collapsed many years ago. Sandy foundation, cheap
materials, the usual story."
Ben noted the large mass of silver- and black-banded fish in the boat. "You missed your trade,
Father, you're a good fisherman to land a haul like that."
The priest nodded ruefully. "My flock and I live as a community, helping one another.
Chopard, our fisherman, broke his arm last week, so I elected myself to the job until his arm
is mended. They're simple people around here, but good. I call them my children, and, as you
know, children must be fed."
The fish tasted good. They sat in silence, attending to the needs of their hunger.
Ned was first to finish. He passed Ben a thought. "Look at the father's face—who does he
remind you of?"
Ben scrutinised the man's face. Ned was right, there was something rather familiar about the
eyes, the strong jaw, the shape of the nose, those sandy brown whiskers. Almost without
thinking, Ben found himself saying, "I was at sea once. I had a friend, he came from where
you live, Arcachon."
The father licked his fingers, tossing a fish bone into the fire. "From Arcachon, you say?
What was his name? I might know the family. We've had a few from the parish run off to
sea."
Ben spoke the name of his dead buccaneer captain. "Raphael Thuron."
In the moment the father's eyes went wide with surprise, Ben found his mind invaded by
Ned's urgent pleas.
"Easy, mate, go careful. Watch what you say. Lie if you have to!"
The man grabbed Ben's arm with a hand as heavy as the captain's had been. "Raphael Thuron
is my brother . . . would your man be about eight years older than me?"
Ben avoided his new friend's gaze. "Aye, about that, Father. He looked a lot like you, as I
remember. Did your brother run off to sea?"
The good father stared into the fire. "Yes, our parents were poor farmers. They wanted
Raphael to become a priest one day, but he was too wild. He was forever getting into
scrapes." The father smiled. "And getting me into trouble with him. Raphael was a rogue, but
a good brother. Please, tell me what you know about him, how is he doing? Raphael said that
if ever he got away from these parts, he'd make a fortune in some far country. I wonder if he
did."
As he pondered his answer, Ben passed Ned a message. "This is a good man, it would be
wrong to tell him lies. If we're to help him and his children, it's best to tell the truth."
Ned replied, "Right, mate, but don't mention the angel."
Ben gently released his arm from the father's grip. "I have news to tell you, both good and sad,
Mattieu."
The priest stared deep into Ben's mysterious blue eyes. "You know my name?"
The boy met his gaze. "Your brother told me of you when I first met him. He was one of the
finest men I ever knew." Ben's eyes betrayed what he was holding back.
Turning away, Father Mattieu Thuron watched the receding tide. "Something tells me that
you're going to say Raphael is dead!"
There was no way to soften the blow. Ben took a deep breath. "That's my sad duty, Father.
Captain Raphael Thuron is dead."
A silence followed, in which the priest's lips moved slowly as he offered up prayers for his
brother's soul. Ben and Ned sat quietl
y watching. Wiping a frayed cuff across his eyes, Father
Mattieu turned back to Ben and said a single world. "Captain?"
Ben tossed a twig upon the fire. "Aye, a captain. Would it surprise you to know that he was a
buccaneer?"
Ben thought for a moment that the priest was weeping again, but he was chuckling and
shaking his head.
"It wouldn't surprise me in the least, my friend. Raphael was always a wild one—I'll wager he
made a fine buccaneer."
Ben cheered up, remembering his days aboard La Petite Marie. "Cap'n Thuron was the terror
of the Caribbean, but let me tell you, we—my name's Ben, that's Ned, my dog—we were
proud to serve under your brother."
Lit by a full moon, night crept in as Ben sat by the fire on the shore with Ned and Father
Mattieu. He related the full tale, from the tavern in Cartagena to the Gulf of Gascony. The
priest's eyes shone with excitement, imagining great adventures of palm-fringed islands,
Spanish pirates, privateers and a chase across the boundless ocean.
When he had finished the narrative, Ben took a deep drink from the water canteen, listening
to Ned's approval.
"Well told, mate, what a great yarn. I'm glad you never mentioned our angel or anything about
Veron and the Razan. It was pretty convincing how you said that we'd been hiding and
scavenging about the coastline most of the summer. Couldn't have done better myself!"
Father Mattieu shook the boy's hand warmly. "Thank you, Ben, I can tell that you liked
Raphael a great deal. I will grieve and pray for him. Thank heaven he was not captured and
executed like a common criminal. He died like a true captain, going down with his beloved
ship. But what a man my brother was, eh? The places he saw, the adventures he had—I
almost wish I'd sailed with him. Raphael packed more into one lifetime than most men do into
ten! But I have my little parish to look after, my poor children to attend to..." Whilst the good
father chatted on aimlessly, Ben noticed an odd change in his view of the bay.
Ned suddenly stood up alert. "Ben, listen, the angel!"
The boy heard the heavenly being speaking a line of the poem: "You must help him help his
children. Behold!"
Both Ben and Ned felt their eyes drawn to one spot.
The tide had ebbed fully, leaving a long stretch of beach and shallow offshore water. A cloud
floating alone in the clear night sky obscured the moon. However, there was a hole in the
centre of the cloud, which allowed the moonlight to shine downward in one pale shaft of
silver light. Right from the skies to the bay's surface it went, spotlighting a small circle of
water.
Again the angel spoke: "You must help him to help his children. Behold!"
Ned was tugging the rope at the prow of the fishing boat. Ben sprang to his feet, shouting at
the priest. "Come quickly, Father, we need your help with the boat!"
The priest arose and grabbed the rope with Ned and Ben. "What is it, Ben, what do you need
the boat for?"
The boy bent his shoulder as he heaved the craft forward. "Save your breath, Father! Just get
it to the water and trust me. There's no time to argue!"
It was a long hard haul over the wet beach to the water's edge. Panting and blowing, the two
strained at the rope, dragging the fishing smack behind. Ben kept his eyes firmly on the sphere
of light, blinking away the sweat that ran smartingly down to blur his gaze. Even when they
reached the water, the boat's keel still scraped on the sand. It came free as they waded in knee-
deep. Ben heaved Ned aboard as the priest gathered up his sopping cassock and scrambled in
amongst the slithering mackerel. "Where to now, Ben?"
The boy pointed at the thin column of moonlight. "Straight ahead, see the patch of light on the
water? There!"
Before they actually reached the spot, Ned sighted a nub of timber poking up above the
surface. Barking wildly, he threw a thought to Ben. "It's the little mast of the Marie's jolly
boat!"
Ben lay in the bow, paddling furiously with both hands until he got hold of the mast. "Father,
come here. Hold on to this and don't let go whatever you do!"
Father Mattieu obeyed promptly, seizing the timber as though his life depended on it. Ben
took the bow rope and knotted it about his waist, then plunged into the dark waters, gasping
with shock as his head struck the jolly boat's keel. It was sitting squarely on the seabed. He
felt about swiftly. This pointed bit was the bows. Pulling himself along, he found the stern.
His shin barked against the after-end seat. He felt for the sailcloth wrapping and pulled it
aside. There it was in a big canvas bag—Captain Raphael Thuron's fortune in gold!
Bubbles started streaming from between Ben's lips, as he desperately tried to hold his breath
in. Loosing the rope from his waist, he tied it in a hasty noose. The boy's head pounded
unmercifully as he strained to lift the bag of gold. It moved just enough for him to sweep the
noose underneath and pull tight. Ben shot to the surface, spluttering and spitting seawater. The
priest relinquished his hold on the mast and helped the boy climb awkwardly into the boat.
Ned danced around his master. "You've got it, you've got it! Er, have you, mate?"
Ben burst into laughter, shouting aloud, "I've got it, I've got the gold!"
Between them, Ben and the father heaved the canvas bag up, until it was suspended
underwater. Ben lashed the rope securely around the fishing smack's mast. The weight of the
gold made the little vessel lean over crazily as they took it into the shallower waters. Ned
watched as they both jumped over the side, landing waist-deep in the sea. Father Mattieu sang
out as they each gripped an end of the sack: "Up she comes, Ben, right. One ... two ...
threeeeee!"
A dull clink of wet coins sounded as the bag landed amongst the priest's catch of mackerel.
More wood was added to the fire. Ben drank fresh water to rid his mouth of the acrid salt
taste. Ned flicked away a spark with his paw, chuckling mentally.
"Hoho, look at the father. I don't suppose he's ever seen more than two gold coins together in
his life. Haha, and I'll bet that those two belonged to somebody else!"
Firelight flickered off the shiny coins as they trickled through the priest's fingers. His eyes
were as wide as organ stops. "All this gold, Ben, there's a vast fortune here. D'you realise,
we're rich, friend, we're rich!"
Ben shook his head. "No, friend, you're rich. That gold is your brother's last gift to you.
What'll you do with it?"
Father Mattieu shuddered with delight as he stuffed handfuls of gold coins back into the
canvas bag. "A church, I'll build a lovely church, with pews, bells, steeple, altar. I'll call it
Saint Raphael's!"
Ben smiled. "I'm sure the Lord won't mind."
The father lay flat on his back, stretching his arms wide. "A farm, too, with cows, pigs,
chickens, sheep, fields and crops. Around the farm we'll have cottages for my parishioners,
my children. The church will stand in the centre of the farm... But listen to me, planning to do
this and that. You must share this golden fortune with me, Ben. It would still be lying on the
bottom of the sea if it weren't for you!"
The boy refused flatly. "No, Father, Ned and I don't need gold. I won't touch a single piece
of
it. I told your brother I wouldn't, and I must keep that promise in memory of him."
Ned passed his master a rueful plea. "Couldn't we just keep a few coins, say enough to buy us
a week or two of good meals?"
Ben's reply brooked no argument. "The angel never meant us to have any. The answer's no,
mate. Father Mattieu can make better use of it than we ever would."
The father took Ben's hand. "If you won't take some gold, then what can I do to help you?
Would you like to come and live in my new parish with me? Anything."
Ben clasped his friend's hand warmly. "There are reasons why I can't stay anywhere too long.
Besides, I'm a wanted person, a buccaneer, that's why I was planning on escaping to Spain.
Now if Ned and I only had a boat..."
Father Mattieu cleaned his frying pan in the sand and placed it in the fishing smack along with
his other belongings and some bread, herbs and onions. He handed the bow rope to Ned, who
took it in his jaws.
"Take this boat. There's food, water and fish to go with it. Take it, both of you, and take my
blessing with you!"
With its one small square-rigged sail spread, Ben steered the fishing smack out into the sea
when the tide rolled in an hour before dawn. Both he and Ned looked back at Father Mattieu
Thuron standing waist-deep in the water, arms spread wide as he called out to them. "May the
good Lord bless you for what you have done for me and my children. Go now, my friends,
and may the angels watch over you both!"
Ben passed Ned a fleeting thought. "Well, at least one of them will!"
Ben pulled the tiller, sending the little craft toward the Spanish mainland. From out of the
east, rosy hues of dawn seeped out into the Bay of Biscay. Looking back, Ben and Ned
watched Father Mattieu wading ashore, the bearer of good fortune returning to his parish. The
strange boy from the sea and his faithful dog turned their faces to the new day and the perils
of the unknown.
Ben felt Ned's thoughts. "Where we are bound, mate, only heaven knows."
The boy pressed his cheek against the black Labrador's soft fur. "I don't care, as long as we're
together, Ned."
Soon the fishing smack was nought but a tiny dot on the face of the world's great and
mysterious waters.
It is said that in the big house of Adamo Bregon, Comte of Veron, a picture hangs on the wall
The Angel's Command fd-2 Page 33
