Voyage of Slaves

Signore Rizzoli withdrew his foot from the clown’s rump. “What are you saying, muddlehead? Dead men cannot breathe the air of freedom, they cannot laugh or move. Besides, what pretty young woman would buy a thick-headed buffoon like you, eh?”

Buffo put on a mournful face. Serafina laughed and hugged him.

“I would if I had the price, he’d make a lovely slave!”

Buffo fell on his knees in front of her. “Then I’ll save all my money and give it to you, so you can buy me. But I’ve always been your slave, O Beautiful One, from the moment I set eyes on you!”

Mummo hung his head in mock despair. “You mean you’d break up our act? Traitor!”

Serafina hugged him, too. “I’ll buy you both. When I’m a rich girl, I’ll need two slaves!”

Otto drew the hammer back and clicked it. “There’ll be no slave trading done once I’ve got this gun fixed!”

21

MELITO, IN THE REGGIO DI CALABRIA. ON THE SOUTHERN TIP OF THE ITALIAN MAINLAND.

AT MIDNOON, TWO DAYS OUT FROM Sicily, the White Ram sailed in to harbour at Melito. Ben and Ned stood on the fo’c’sle deck, with Eli and his grandson. There was quite a crowd gathered on the dockside, everyone seemed to be waving and cheering.

Joshua waved back—the boy was happy, but perplexed. “Why are they cheering, is it for us, Grandfather?”

Eli shrugged. “Who knows? They seem a happy bunch. It must be some sort of celebration, or a saint’s day. Ah! We’ll soon find out, there’s my old friend Fra Salvatore.” The old man waved and shouted, “Salvatore, amico, is it really you? Wait, we’re coming ashore!”

Fra Salvatore was an old monk of the Franciscan order. He wore a worn, brown habit, girdled by a simple white cord. His face was nutbrown and heavily wrinkled by the sun. Ned sent a thought to Ben.

“I like him, he looks like an old saint.”

Fra Salvatore made way for them through the crowd, who all seemed to want to pat their backs or shake them by the hand. Eli and the old monk embraced.

Eli introduced Joshua, Ben and Ned, then looked in wonderment at the people surrounding them. “It’s so good to see you again, but what have we done that pleases these good folk so much?” The old monk led them away, toward a quayside tavern. “First we’ll eat and drink. Concepta makes the best seafood frittata in the world. Come!”

Fra Salvatore spoke truly. Concepta, the tavern owner, lived up to his words. She seated them by the window and placed fresh, crusty bread, wine and huge platters of her famous seafood omelettes before them. As they ate the monk explained.

“I keep messenger pigeons, Eli. Nothing goes on in these waters between here and Sicilia that I don’t know about. You and your friends are the ones who rid the coasts of the evil Marlanese, the False Padre. That fiend has plundered and murdered our shores for years. He has struck here at Melito many times. We have lost husbands, wives and children to him and his wreckers. Goods, valuables, even animals. He was the servant of Satan himself—what he could not steal, he would kill, or burn. As soon as I got the word and description, I knew it was you, my Lion of Judah. Tell me, did your great ram-horn bow sing its song to him?”

Eli watched as Concepta poured more wine for him. “Though the death of a fellow creature gives me no joy, it was I who slew him. He got only his just deserts, and I doubt he will be greatly mourned. But enough of that, what other news do you have for me?”

Fra Salvatore gripped his friend’s hand, looking concerned. “Nothing good, I fear, Eli. Your enemies pursue you swiftly. Sometime after midnight, another ship will berth here.”

Ben interrupted. “Aye, Al Misurata and the Sea Djinn!”

Fra Salvatore crossed himself. “The Barbary Pirate, another one who sails under the banner of evil. Do you know of him, Ben?”

Ned looked up from under the table, where he was dealing with a mighty hambone. “Hoho, do we know of him? I could tell you a thing or ten about that rascal!”

Eli nodded to Ben. “Tell our friend your story.”

The monk looked on intently as the strange boy with the clouded blue-grey eyes related the experiences of himself and his dog. When he had told all, Fra Salvatore spoke gravely. “Then you cannot stay here. You must go, as soon as you are able. But let me warn you, Eli, the seas are wide betwixt here and Piran. Misurata has many allies in his pay. I fear for you all!”

Joshua spoke out boldly. “My grandfather fears nothing, the Shimon are warriors!”

Eli allowed himself a smile at the lad’s faith in him. “Joshua, what our friend says is true. There will be great danger ahead before we reach the shores of Slovenija.”

“Unless!” All eyes turned to Ben at his outburst.

“Unless what, Benjamin?” Eli replied.

Ben outlined his plan. “Unless Ned and I can find another vessel sailing for Piran—we could board her secretly. Then, sir, you could provide a decoy with the White Ram. Lead Al Misurata off to where he has not planned to go. After awhile, you could sail to your homeland. That way things would be a lot safer for both of us.”