Voyage of Slaves

The black Labrador scrabbled sand over the small fire with his paws. “Hah, I was watching their faces when you were talking. They looked like two fish gasping for air while you repeated the father’s words to his son, not two ticks after he’d just spoken them. Poor old Francisco the goatherd. Still, I suppose it’ll give his wobbly old legs a rest, eh!”

In the early noon, the sea was smooth as a mill pond under the hot sun. Ben shipped the oars when they were about a quarter of a mile from the land. They settled down to a leisurely lunch, enjoying the sense of freedom, though Ben kept gazing soulfully in the direction of Valletta harbour, which had vanished from view around the point. Ned lapped wine and water from a scallop shell, passing his friend a thought.

“Now don’t start fretting, the pretty Serafina will be just fine for the moment. We’ll rescue her and the others when the first opportunity presents itself, don’t worry, mate!”

Ben looked out across the water. “I know, Ned, but I can’t help missing her, and our other friends, too.”

The black Labrador grunted. “You aren’t the only one who’s missing Serafina, you know. She’s a much better stroker than you ever were, mate, real soft and gentle.”

Bomba lumbered along the shore, breathing heavily as he tried to increase the pace. The long jezzail musket he carried felt heavy and awkward in his sweaty grasp. Behind him the four guards strode at a steady pace, refusing to hurry as he urged them on. “Come on, shift yourselves, they can’t be far ahead!”

One of the guards lowered his black face scarf. “I’m taking no orders from a slave driver. Slow and sure gets the job done properly, I always say!”

Still pushing forward, Bomba snarled at the man, “I’m in charge of this party, you’ll obey my orders or I’ll report you to the master when we get back. Now mooo . . .” He slipped upon a matted heap of wet seaweed and fell heavily backward, his finger pressing on the trigger as he tried to hold on to the long rifle.

Craaaaackkk!

The gunshot sent seabirds wheeling skyward as it echoed off the cliffs and across the waters. The outspoken guard stood over Bomba. “Why don’t you fire that thing again, just to make sure they know we’re on their trail. Huh, slave drivers!”

At the sound of the shot, Ben and Ned instinctively threw themselves down flat in the bottom of the rowing boat. The dog sent out a thought. “What was that, was it aimed at us, I wonder?”

Ben started easing himself into a crouch, so he could look over the stern. “That was a gunshot for sure, but it couldn’t have been meant for us, or we’d have heard the ball whistling by. Stay down, mate, I’ll take a quick peek!” Ben’s eyes darted hither and thither as he scanned the cliffs and shore. “No, I can’t see anything. . . . Wait! Aha, it’s Bomba and four guards, all carrying guns. They’re just rounding the point. Now they’ve reached the place where we met the fisherman. There’s a guard sifting through the ashes of the fire, he seems to be arguing with Bomba. Now there’s some horsemen, they’re leading their horses down the path from the cliff to the shore, five of them. It’s Al Misurata with four of his guards!”

Ned’s damp nose nudged Ben’s foot. “Get down, mate, we’ll just have to lay low out here and hope that we don’t get spotted!”

Al Misurata remounted his horse. Holding out a hand, he gave Bomba a disgusted glance. “Give me that gun before you do any more harm with it. If the boy and dog are within a mile of us they’ll have hidden themselves well by now. Get back to the ship. I’ll wait until dark, then I’ll send Ghigno out with an armed search party. He might be able to take them by surprise.”

The horsemen swept off, back along the shore to the harbour, leaving Bomba and the four guards trudging behind.

This time it was Ned who ventured his head above the gunwales for a look.

“Luck’s still with us, they’ve gone. I can just see Bomba rounding the point, they’re going back to the ship. Well, what’s our next move, do we go back ashore?”

Ben sat up and took the oars. “No, we’re safer on the water. Let’s carry on and see what lies beyond the next point. You watch our backs.”

The dog sat up in the stern. “Sorry I can’t help you much, Captain. Us dogs aren’t much use at rowing, but we’re good lookouts.”

They passed two headlands, and two small coves, each much like the first they had visited. Then a large, wooded promontory sprawled out into the sea. Late noon sun beat down on Ben as he pulled wearily on the oars. “We’ll round that big point and take a rest. My hands are beginning to get blistered.”

The promontory, and a huge headland about two miles to the far side, formed a large natural bay, at the centre of which was moored a vessel. It was a long, lateen-rigged dhow, a beautiful craft, with four triangular white sails. Having been around the sea and ships for some years, Ben studied it admiringly.

“What a beauty, I’ll wager there’s nothing could catch that one with the wind behind her!”