Thuron smiled, gazing into the dog’s trustful eyes. “This fellow can understand everything I say, I’m sure of it. I could tell you were just talking together—what was he saying to you, lad?”

  Ben told the captain, who seemed immensely pleased. “I wish I could speak with Ned. He looks a handsome and intelligent fellow. Hahaha! Look at him, he heard me!”

  The black Labrador stood up on the bed and struck a pose, which he hoped looked both handsome and intelligent. Ben laughed along with the Frenchman. “I’m afraid you can’t hold conversations with Ned, a. ‘, but he can nod yes or no to anything you need to ask him. Right, Ned?” The dog nodded to affirm this.

  Thuron’s eyes lit up. “That’s a very valuable thing to know. Thank you, my friends. I am a fortunate fellow to have such wonderful companions. But we’ll keep it our secret. The crew wouldn’t understand.”

  Ben agreed. “Except maybe Pierre. He’s a good man, too, Cap’n.”

  Thuron nodded. “They’re all good men in their own ways, but Anaconda was the best of them. I can’t tell you how I miss that giant of a man, may his soul find peace. He was a slave, you know—we ran away together, deserted from a corsair galley many years ago in the Indian Ocean, just off the coast of Madagascar. We were together for a long time. When I got my first ship, I wanted to make him the mate. But Anaconda wouldn’t hear of it. All he wanted was to be steersman. I remember him saying, ‘I will command your ship’s wheel and take you wherever you want to go. You are my captain, and my friend for life!’ And that’s the way it was until yesterday. Ah, my poor friend, my poor friend, my heart grieves for him.”

  Ben had to turn his face away as the French buccaneer captain wept openly. Ned whined and laid his head in Thuron’s lap.

  “Sail ho, to the southeast. Sail ho!”

  Brushing a sleeve roughly across his eyes, Thuron quickly straightened up to the lookout’s call. “Sail! Let’s hope ‘tis not an enemy.”

  All hands were crowded to the rail as the Frenchman sighted through his telescope at the distant vessel. He nodded knowingly and spoke to Pierre. “Good job I saw him before he hauled up a decoy flag. I’d know that one anywhere. ‘Tis the Barbary corsair, Flame of Tripoli Only one captain, Al-Kurkuman, flies a flag with a red scimitar on a gold background. Hoho, look, he’s striking his colours and running up a Portuguese merchant flag, the rascal. Who does he think he’s fooling?”

  As the Flame of Tripoli altered course to intercept the Marie, Ben could see that its sails were blood red. He tugged on Thuron’s sleeve. “Cap’n, does he mean to do us harm?”

  Thuron put away the telescope. “Only if he gets the chance, lad. Al-Kurkuman’s a slaver. He’s bound for the Isle of Cuba with a cargo of misery purchased from the coasts of Mozambique. I can’t abide traffickers in human flesh, Ben, but we’ve got to be diplomatic with Al-Kurkuman. He’s dangerous to any he thinks are weaker than himself. Leave this to me—I can handle him. Pierre, run out all cannon and arm all hands! Stand ready and wait on my word!”

  As the Flame of Tripoli hove nearer, Ben saw the captain known as Al-Kurkuman. He was everything a Barbary corsair should be, an Arabian Indian of mixed blood. He glittered in the sunlight, draped in chains, necklaces, beads, rings and bangles, all of pure gold. Clad in light-green silk, wearing a black turban mounted with a ruby, he stood boldly out on the prow and grinned—even his teeth were plated with beaten gold.

  Ned passed Ben a thought. “If he fell in the water, he’d go straight to the bottom, carrying all that weight. I’ll never dress like that. When I’m captain, a simple, thin gold collar will be enough for me!”

  Ben patted his dog. “That’s very sensible of you!”

  They both started as a loud bang issued from the Marie. Thuron had touched off a cannon, sending a shot roaring across the other ship’s bows as a sign that the Marie stood armed and ready for trouble if need be.

  Al-Kurkuman did not even flinch as the cannonball whizzed by overhead. He grinned even wider, bowing and touching his chest, lips and forehead with an open hand.

  Thuron returned a short courteous bow, smiling as he called out, “The fair winds and calm waters be always at your back, Captain Kurkuman. The Indian Ocean is far off. Have you lost your way, my friend?”

  The Flame of Tripoli came almost alongside as she backed water. Looking as if he had found a long lost brother, Al-Kurkuman replied, “Thuron, old comrade, I took you for a fat little French merchantman—accept my humble apologies!”

  Captain Thuron nodded at his cannon array and the men crowding the rigging, all fully armed. He continued the game. “I am like yourself, O illustrious one, a dove with sharp teeth. What news have you of this great world?”

  Gold jewellery jingled as the Barbary corsair shrugged. “Nothing surprising, it is full of men, both bad and good. Tell me, have you crossed the wake of a Greek Navy vessel? She has been trailing me ever since I put into Accra for supplies. Why would the Greek captain want to detain an honest merchant like Al-Kurkuman, I ask you, old friend?”

  It was Thuron’s turn to shrug. “Life is a mystery. How would I know? The Greeks are a suspicious people. Where are you bound?”

  “To Belém in the South Americas,” Al-Kurkuman lied. “I carry farming implements to the settlers there. And you?”

  “To the Isle of Malta with a cargo of wax to make candles.” Thuron returned the lie with a straight face. “It was good to cross your path and meet an old friend again. I must go. May the spirits of the seas guide you on your way, Al-Kurkuman!”

  The Barbary corsair smiled like a shark with gold teeth. “Peace be unto you, Raphael Thuron, and may the djinns of paradise attend you. A moment, friend. That boy, the puny whelp you have there, will you sell him to me? Fattened up a bit, he would fetch a coin or two in the markets of Marrakech.”

  Thuron gave Ben a playful cuff. “Who, this wretch? Alas, friend, how could I sell my own son, though he eats more than he is worth and he suffers the sickness of the brain.”

  Al-Kurkuman looked sourly at the boy, then laughed. “Then starve him, beat him well and educate him. Maybe next time we meet I will trade you another for him!”

  Without another word from their captains, both ships went their ways. Thuron kept his men armed and all cannon still loaded and showing until they were out of range.

  • Thuron watched Ben and Ned. He could tell they were conversing. “Well, lad, what did you make of all that?”

  The boy came near and whispered to the Frenchman. “Ned’s a bit put out that Al-Kurkuman didn’t notice him. He thought the least he could do was to offer a bid for the handsome, intelligent dog. What do you think, Cap’n?”

  Thuron replied in a whisper, “Tell Ned that if Al-Kurkuman had bought him, he’d be on the dinner table tonight.”

  The boy watched Ned stalk off with his tail in the air. “He’s very offended, Cap’n. You shouldn’t have said that—his feelings are hurt now.”

  The Frenchman chuckled. “I’ll get the cook to make it up to poor Ned. Meanwhile, let’s run up the French flag and get our Marie looking like a peaceful merchantman.”

  Ben looked at him, puzzled. “But why, sir?”

  Thuron ruffled the lad’s hair. “I’ve got a feeling we might meet the Greek Navy ship. Don’t want her thinking we’re buccaneers, do we? Lend a hand disguising our cannon ports, then take a turn on lookout for our Greek friends.”

  That afternoon Ben stood in the crow’s nest armed with the captain’s telescope, sweeping the empty leagues of ocean for’ard and aft. All that could be seen was a tiny dot off to the northwest, which was the receding Barbary corsair. Ben liked the lookout post. He had learned to enjoy its giddy motion, the boundless azure arch of sky above, cloudless now, broken by the odd sight of a winging albatross or predatory skua. Below him the deck shifted alarmingly, always rolling from side to side. He saw Thuron emerge from the galley and present Ned with a scraggy mutton bone. Good old Ned, his faithful friend.

  Ben was taken by surprise as the head of a crewman called Mallon appeared over the edge of his perch. The buccaneer winked at him. “Cap’n sent me up to relieve you for a spell, lad.” He climbed up alongside the boy. “No sign of sail yet?”

  Ben handed him the telescope. “None at all, except the slaveship, but she’s nearly over the horizon now.”

  Mallon shook his head. “That un’s a bad vessel, an’ Al-Kurkuman’s an evil captain. Real pirates, that lot!”

  Ben stared out over the waves. “Cap’n said he was a Barbary corsair. We’re called buccaneers, aren’t we?”

  Mallon shrugged. “Pirates is what we’re all called, lad. There’s buccaneers, filibusters, freebooters, ladrones, pickaroons, corsairs an’ sea dogs, most bad an’ a few good. But ‘tis the likes of Al-Kurkuman who gets us all tarred with the same brush. One pirate’s the same as another to a privateer or navy cap’n—they’d hang us all!”

  Ben looked askance at Mallon. “Surely they wouldn’t hang us?”

  The buccaneer laughed grimly. “Of course they would, the law’s the law. There’s no such thing as a good pirate. We’re all gallows bait. Those privateers are the worst—they’re nought but pirates like us, with a letter o’ marque to make their crimes legal. Have ye ever seen a pirate hung, lad?”

  Ben shook his head hastily. “Never, have you?”

  Mallon nodded. “Aye, one time I was ashore in the Bahamas without a ship. I saw a pirate, man named Firejon, executed by order of the governor. ‘Twas a fancy affair. All the ladies an’ gentry turned out in their coaches to witness it. I stood in the crowd. Firejon was a bad ‘un—there was a big price on his head.

  “British Royal Navy had sunk his ship an’ brought him ashore in chains. Some said hangin’ was too good for Firejon, ‘cos of his terrible crimes. So they flogged him first, then sat him in a cell for two days on bread and water. There they gave him a rope, so he could make a noose for his own neck. I tell ye, the hanging ‘twas an awful sight to see. The governor refused to let Firejon wear chains or manacles.”

  Ben was fascinated and horrified at the same time. “Why was that?”

  Mallon pursed his lips. “So he wouldn’t hang quickly with the weight of ‘em to pull him. down. A local preacher wrote out a poem that they made Firejon read aloud from the scaffold afore they turned him off. I can still remember that poem word for word. Would ye like to hear me say it, Ben?”

  Without waiting for a reply, Mallon launched into the verse.

  “Come all ye mothers’ sons who sail the sea,

  Attend to this last tale that I will tell.

  Embark not on a life of piracy,

  ‘Tis but a dreadful trip which ends in hell.

  Those honest ships you plunder, loot and sink,

  Good vessels at your mercy, which you wreck,

  For gold to waste, in taverns where ye drink,

  Will one day drop the noose about your neck.

  For once I was a wicked buccaneer,

  I scorned the laws of man and God on high,

  But now, with none to weep or mourn me here,

  Upon this gallows I am bound to die.

  Take warning now by my untimely end,

  A judgement day must come to everyone.

  Too late for me my evil ways to mend,

  O Lord have mercy now my days are done!”

  Mallon paused for effect, then continued. “Then the soldiers set up a roll upon their drums …”

  Suddenly Ben felt queasy. Grasping a ratline, he swung out of the crow’s nest and began climbing down. “I think I’ve heard enough, thanks!”

  Mallon brought the telescope up to his eye and peered aft. “Sail abaft, Cap’n. I think ‘tis a Greek man-o’-war!”

  Ben felt far more frightened than he had at sighting the Barbary corsair. Suddenly he knew why Raphael Thuron wanted to give up being a pirate and live peacefully ashore.

  Ned looked up from the remains of his mutton bone. “I thought you were used to shipboard life, mate. You look seasick to me. Here, Cap’n, come and take a peep at this boy!”

  Thuron had not heard Ned, but he saw that Ben was pale and unsteady. The Frenchman threw an arm about the boy’s shoulders. “What ails ye, shipmate?”

  Ben tried to straighten himself up. “I’ll be alright, sir.”

  Thuron glanced up at the man in the crow’s nest and back to Ben. “Hah, you’ve been listening to that sack of woe and misery. I’ll wager he told ye all about a pirate hanging. Did he recite his favourite poem, too?”

  Ben wiped a forearm across his sweat-beaded forehead. “Aye, Cap’n, he did, it was a dreadful thing—”

  “Rubbish!” Thuron interrupted the boy. “He made it all up from gossip that he’s heard. Take no notice of Misery Mallon. How he ever got to be a buccaneer I’ll never know. They say he was a preacher once, but the congregation banished him for stealing money from the offertory box. I’d have flung him overboard long ago, but he’d frighten the fishes with his tales of horrible pirate executions!”

  Ben managed a smile. “But what about the Greek Navy vessel?”

  Ned was standing with his paws on the rail, watching the approaching ship. Thuron scratched fondly behind the dog’s ears. “You leave that to me an’ Ned. We’ll take care of it, won’t we, fellow?”

  The dog nodded his head as he contacted Ben by thought. “Aye, don’t worry, Ben, I’ll take off my cutlass, hide my brass earrings and cover up all these tattoos. They’ll think I’m just a harmless old cabin hound!”

  Ben tugged at his dog’s wagging tail. “Good idea. No one will ever know you’re Naughty Ned, terror of the high seas!”

  The Greek ship was named the Achilles. Smart as a new pin, it was rigged out with even more guns than a privateer and carried archers as well as musketeers. They lined the decks, all hands fit and ready for action. The Achilles stood off, broadside to the Marie, cannon loaded and pointing right at her.

  Thuron hailed the captain in a world-weary voice. “What d’you want, bothering honest merchants? Aren’t there enough pirates and rascals to chase?”

  The Greek captain, who wore a white linen kilt and a long blue stocking cap, replied in excellent French. “A merchantman, eh? What cargo do you carry, sir?”

  Thuron threw him a disgusted glance. “None. We were boarded and robbed by a Spanish pirate. Woven cane chairs, that’s what the villain took, a full cargo of them. May his bottom get splinters in it every time he sits down, curse him!”

  The Greek captain laughed. “Pirates will steal anything, sir. You were lucky to escape alive. So you have nothing aboard?”

  The Frenchman gave an eloquent shrug. “Nothing, Captain, you can come and see for yourself.”

  The Greek stared hard at Thuron for a moment, as if making up his mind whether or not to search the Marie. Ben could feel his legs trembling. Then Ned began barking and showing his teeth ferociously.

  The Achilles’ captain shook his head. “No no, you have had enough trouble already. But what are you doing in these waters, sir?”

  Thuron put on a hopeful expression. “I have heard there is good work to be picked up coastin’ the Mediterranean!”

  The Greek made a deprecatory gesture. “You would do better cruising my home waters, the Aegean Sea. There are more islands there, and the trade is good. Tell me, though, in your travels, have you seen a red-sailed ship, the Flame of Tripoli? She’s somewhere in these waters, I’m sure. Have you caught sight of her?”

  Thuron answered truthfully. “We encountered that vessel early this morning, Captain. She’s a slaver, taking a cargo of slaves to the Americas. Her master even wanted to purchase my son here, didn’t he, Ben?”

  The boy nodded dumbly and allowed Thuron to continue. “Luckily we were unladen and gave her the slip. By now that slaver will be gone over the horizon, sailing due northwest.

  “You could run him down in two days’ hard sailing, Captain. Slavers are evil men. I hope you catch him and string him up, aye, and all his crew!”

  The Greek captain saluted. “Be sure I will, sir. Any man who trades in human beings needs hanging. Good day to you!”

  Thuron saluted back. “Good day to you and good hunting, sir!”

  The Achilles waited until the Marie had gone by. Then she altered course and began piling on sail to chase the slaver.

  Thuron let out a sigh of relief. “I wonder why he didn’t board and search us?”

  Ben exchanged thoughts with Ned, then explained to the captain in a murmur that the rest of the crew could not hear. “Ned could tell by his eyes that he was afraid of dogs. That’s why Ned barked and showed his teeth. ‘Twas just a simple thing, Cap’n, but it changed the Greek’s mind—he was scared of being bitten if he came aboard.”

  Thuron picked the black Labrador up bodily and kissed him. “You clever lucky dog, what are you, eh?”

  Ned wriggled furiously, sending outraged thoughts to Ben. “Uuurgh! Tell this great whiskery lump t’put me down. I’ll never kiss any of my crew when I’m captain. Most undignified!”

  * * *

  13

  THERE ARE few diversions or amusements for seamen under sail across an entire ocean—other than hard, monotonous routine. Gossip and talk, known as scuttlebutt, provided the main release of feelings for the crew of the Diablo Del Mar, now renamed the Royal Champion. The usual run of conversation centred on the injustices all hands were forced to endure under a captain such as Redjack Teal. This fitted in quite nicely with Ludon’s scheme, giving him leeway to widen the gap of disaffection between the crew and their captain.

  Though Ludon was not an educated man, he knew that the policy of divide and conquer was a workable idea. He looked and listened constantly, finding opportunities to carry tales back and forth in secret. There was nowhere a prisoner at sea could escape to. Accordingly, the mate, who would not tolerate idle hands aboard, had given Ludon the job of cook’s assistant. He served meals to the common seamen on the mess deck and, much to the cook’s relief, was employed to fetch and carry meals to the captain—a heavensent gift to the lone conspirator.

  Life aboard the Royal Champion became increasingly difficult, owing to Ludon’s scheming. If a man grumbled about his victuals, suddenly Teal was made aware of it. Being a disciplinarian, Teal would mete out harsh punishment on the offender. This made the crew resentful and surly, particularly when Ludon would let slip that the captain regarded his crew as ignorant, wayward oafs. Amidst a welter of truths, half-truths and downright lies, every man aboard became suspicious of his own shipmates.

 

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