Voyage of Slaves

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 constantly 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!”