Voyage of Slaves

Ben watched the good-hearted Signore walking back to the house. He patted Ned. “Go with him, mate, see what you can find out!”

Tail wagging, the black Labrador trotted off. “Leave it to me, I’ll be better than a fly on the wall!”

Signore Rizzoli looked down at the dog walking by his side. “So, you are to be my guard dog. Good fellow, come on!”

9

BOMBA GESTURED THE SHOWMAN INTO the palatial upstairs room. He put out his foot to bar the dog entry, but Ned bounded over it, baring his teeth and showing his contempt of the slave driver with a low snarl. The big man backed away as Ned ambled in behind Signore Rizzoli. Al Misurata was seated on his divan, while the scar-faced Corsair, Ghigno, stood behind him. Augusto Rizzoli bowed formally to the pirate, who patted the cushioned divan.

“Sit here, my friend, and let us talk business.”

Ned lay on the floor between the two men.

Al Misurata smiled briefly. “So, you have brought a companion?”

Augusto stroked the dog’s head. “He followed me.”

Ned lounged casually, his tail wagging lazily, tongue hanging out, just like any dog would. Except that he was watching, and taking in every word that was spoken.

Signore Rizzoli held out the little purse. “I brought the gold you asked for. It is not a lot, we are after all only entertainers.”

Ghigno took the purse and turned out its meagre contents on a small coffee table nearby. Al Misurata sorted through it with a fingertip. The coins were mainly gold, with a few silver ones thrown in—they were all very old and thin. The pirate raised his eyebrows. “Truly this is a pitiful sum. If you were not my friend I would feel insulted by such an offering.”

Signore Rizzoli replied, his voice a humble murmur, “It is all we have, Commendatore.”

Ghigno insinuated slyly, “Don’t you have any other valuables, a ring or two, maybe a necklace?”

Al Misurata frowned at the Corsair reproachfully. “Ghigno! You can see our friend is an honest man. If that is all the wealth he possesses, how could I doubt his word?”

He patted Augusto’s hand reassuringly, then went on to stroke Ned’s ears as he continued. “Signore Rizzoli, I accept this money in exchange for the boy, because I know you will treat him kindly. As I told you, I am a simple horse trader, it is not in my nature to buy or sell human beings. This sum you offer me is not even a quarter of what I paid to save the boy from being sold on the block in some slave market. But, like you, I am a soft-hearted fellow, and I can afford to take a slight loss now and then. It is all in a good cause. Take the lad, and take with you my good wishes for a happy visit to your homeland.”

Augusto Rizzoli stood, extending his hand to Al Misurata. “May the good Vicenza, patron saint of my town, bless you, Signore Misurata!”

The pirate returned his handshake solemnly. “Go now, and tell that young man your good news.”

Signor Rizzoli hurried from the room. But Ned stayed. The black Labrador closed his eyes, allowing Al Misurata to stroke his head. However, he was fully alerted.

There was silence in the room as the sound of the showman’s footsteps receded down the stairs. Ghigno swept the money back into the worn, leather purse. He handed it to the pirate, imitating Signore Rizzoli’s voice as he did. “It is all we have, Commendatore.” Both men suddenly burst out into coarse laughter. Al Misurata grabbed the purse from Ghigno, who shook his head in amazement.

“Is there nothing you wouldn’t do for gold? You should have heard yourself. ‘I am a soft-hearted fellow, I can afford to take a slight loss now and then.’ Hahaha, you almost had me weeping!”

The pirate spread his arms expressively. “What would you have me do, Ghigno? Sell them on to Count Dreskar, who would immediately search them for any gold they were hiding? This way I get two lots for the boy, the pittance from that Italian jackass and the proper price from Dreskar. Gold is gold, no matter where it comes from!”

The Corsair wiped tears of merriment from his eyes. His manner became businesslike. “So, what’s the plan?”

All this time Ned had not stirred, though he dearly wished he could sink his teeth into the hand that was stroking him. He continued to listen as the pirate outlined his scheme.

“What we must do is keep them completely in the dark regarding their fate. If they knew they were being sold into slavery, it would make them troublesome on the voyage. We’ll keep everything friendly, and treat them with respect. They must not suspect anything. When we dock at the port of Piran, I will tell them that to avoid the authorities, and any trouble about not having papers for the two African women, they must stay in their wagon. Bomba!”

The big slave driver hurried forward. “Master?”

Al Misurata gave him his instructions. “Once they are inside the wagon you will lock them in. Harness the horse and drive the wagon to the outskirts of Piran, then wait in the old woods by the stream for me.”

Bomba nodded. “I know the place, master.”