Voyage of Slaves

Fra Salvatore alerted Ben speedily. “We’d best get out of here quickly, my son, or your Ned will be shot without question!”

As they hurried off, Ben was doing his best to reprimand Ned with stern thoughts. “Really, mate, what were you thinking of? I thought you were going to kill the fellow, the way you threw yourself upon him!”

Ned was unrepentant. “Aye, and I would have if you and the old man hadn’t pulled me off. Did you see that cowardly little bully beating the poor pup?”

Ben was forced to agree, but he continued berating his dog. “I saw it, and I was about to run in and deal with that man, but you were too quick.”

The black Labrador had recovered himself somewhat. He huffed, “I’m not sorry for teaching him a lesson, I’d do it again without a second thought. By the way, where’s the puppy got to?”

As they ran through the side streets, Ben took a quick glance around. “There’s no sign of him, I expect he’s cut off and gone to hide somewhere.”

They came out onto open coastland, dotted with rocks. Ahead of them at a small jetty, the blue-sailed masts of a ship could be seen.

Fra Salvatore slowed his pace to a walk. “There she is, the Blue Turtle.” He clasped a hand to his heaving chest. “Take it slowly, friend, I’m too old to run any further.”

Ben slowed, and took the old fellow’s arm. “I’m sorry about the way Ned behaved back there, Brother.”

The monk’s wrinkled face relaxed into a smile. “Your dog did the right thing, boy. Only a few days ago I took a staff to a rascal who was flogging a little mule. Sometimes the wrath of the Lord against wrongdoers can manifest itself in strange ways.”

Ned liked the old Franciscan. He grinned, in a smug, canine way, at Ben. “Hah, you see, I knew I was justified. Well said, sir!”

Ben was about to reply when the puppy trotted out from behind a rock and joined them, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do. It looked to be no more than a few months old, and was of indiscriminate breed. The little dog was a dusty brown, with black patches. Its bristly hair stuck out at odd angles, it had virtually no tail, lollopy paws and would have been flop-eared except for its left ear, which stood up straight.

Though Ben felt sorry for it, he knew there were far more important things to occupy him. “It’s the oddest little dog I’ve ever seen, eh, Ned? Go on, mate, back to town with you, we can’t take you with us, I’m sorry.”

The pup took no notice of the boy, and frisked around Ned, snapping at his tail.

Ben sent his companion a thought. “Tell it to go away, please.”

Ned returned the thought. “What d’you think I’m doing? I can’t get any sense out of the rascal. Listen to him yapping, d’you know what that bark means?”

“I don’t even know what it means when you start barking. I never learned dog language. What’s he saying?” Ben replied.

Ned whisked his tail away from the little dog’s teeth. Amico, that’s what he’s saying—friend. I don’t suppose the good Brother wants a dog?”

As if preempting Ben’s enquiry, Fra Salvatore shook his head pityingly. “I can’t take him, that cruel fellow will claim him as soon as he gets back to the town.”

They were getting close to the ship now. Ben urged Ned, “Listen, mate, you’ll have to have a serious word with that pup. Tell him we’re sorry, but he can’t come with us.”

Ned sat down on the path, pinning the puppy with a paw and holding him still as he informed Ben, “It’s no good, this wretch’ll soon have my lovely tail chewed to the bone. I’ve tried to reason with him, but all I get from the villain is that one word. Amico!”

Kostas Krimboti was a jolly giant of a man. He welcomed them aboard with a smile which beamed out like the midday sun. His teeth were all pure gold. Ned pointed this out to Ben.

“Good grief, what a set of choppers! They’re not very well-made, though, you can see they were once gold coins. Look, there’s heads, writing and shields on some of them. He must have carved them himself. I like him, though, what d’you think, mate?”

Ben sized Kostas up as the Greek captain and the monk spoke together about taking them as passengers. Kostas Krimboti was a formidable-looking fellow. He was dressed in fisherman’s garb—open shirt, baggy, knee-length pantaloons and a broad green sash into which many lethal pointed and curved knives were thrust. His huge head of curly red hair was complemented by a pair of thick, gold, hoop earrings. He laughed constantly as he conversed with the old monk, finally hugging him and declaring aloud, “For my sins, which are many, I will do what you ask, my friend! My father was a very holy man, it will rest his memory to know that his bandit of a son is doing some good in this miserable world, eh!”

Still laughing uproariously, he tweaked Ben’s cheek. “Welcome aboard the Blue Turtle, Beniamino, and your wonderful Ned, whom Fra Salvatore has told me about.”