Voyage of Slaves

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!”