The Angel's Command fd-2 Page 13

  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 answ
ered 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 heaven-sent 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.

  One evening, Ludon was serving the day's meal out on the mess deck. He studiously avoided putting out food

  wherever there was an empty seat. The bosun growled. "Ahoy there, Frenchie, fill those plates for the gun crew!"

  Ludon paused. "But they are not here."

  Bad-temperedly, the bosun slammed his knife down on the tabletop. "I said fill those plates! Who are you to say who'll

  eat an' who won't? Here comes the gun crew now."

  Sitting down to the table, the master gunner held up his hands, all swollen red and scratched. "Lookit that, we've had

  t'boil an' scrape out every gun barrel aboard, musket an' cannon. Been hard at it since dawn! See Taffy's hand there, all

  bandaged up. He got it jammed in a culverin bore. Wonder he never lost it!"

  The bosun inspected the grimy, blood-soaked bandage. "I'd keep a fresh wrappin' on that hand every day if'n I was

  you, Taffy. Save it goin' poison on ye. Ah well, that'll learn ye. t'keep your gun barrels clean, Gunny."

  With his spoon halfway to his mouth, the grizzled old master gunner exploded with indignation. "My guns have always

  been clean. I've served twenty years as master gunner an' no cap'n has ever accused me of havin' a dirty gun aboard!"

  Almost apologetically, the bosun replied, "Then why did Redjack punish you an' your men?"

  The one called Taffy gestured with his bandaged hand. " 'Cos someone tipped a pail o' rubbish over the cannon nearest

  to Teal's cabin door!"

  Cramming the loaded spoon into his mouth, the master gunner chewed furiously with his few remaining teeth, speaking

  through a full mouth. "Just let me get my hands on the scum who did it!" He spat out a lump of half-chewed meat.

  "Garrgh! Is this supposed t'be salt pork? Tastes more like a dead horse out of a glue boiler!"

  He glared at Ludon. "Have ye got nothin' better'n this to feed hungry men, eh?"

  The French prisoner shrugged. "Cook says 'tis all he has, but your captain, he dines well enough on fresh fish. He is

  not short of fancy biscuits or Madeira to go with it."

  Pushing his plate away, the bosun spoke sneeringly. "When was it ever different? The crew gets the slops while the

  cap'n dines like a lord. Here, Frenchie, take this garbage an' toss it over the side."

  Pointing a finger in Ludon's face, the master gunner snarled, "An' keep it clear o' my cannon, or else ..."

  Ludon scraped the leftovers into a pot and stalked out of the mess-deck cabin.

  When he had gone, the bosun's eyes narrowed, and he nodded toward the door, muttering low. "I don't trust that 'un. I

  been noticin' lately, the Frenchie's ears wiggle like a little pig whenever we're talkin'. Take it from me, mates, guard

  your tongues while he's about!"

  The mate stared oddly at the bosun. "D'ye think that Frenchie's carryin' tales back to Redjack?"

  Taffy answered for the mate. " 'Twouldn't surprise me—he's got the looks of a rat. What more could ye expect of a

  buccaneer deserter who sold out to that Spanish pirate?"

  Stabbing his knife into the tabletop, the bosun looked around at all hands. "So, What're we goin' to do about it, mates?"

  Being a fair-minded fellow, the master gunner replied. "Nothin' without proof. Ye can't condemn a man just because of

  his looks. There's been many a mistake made like that."

  Joby, the dead carpenter's mate, picked up the fiddle that had once belonged to his former friend and twiddled a few

  chords on the instrument. It seemed to break the tense atmosphere.

  The old master gunner cracked a gap-toothed grin. "Come on, Joby, sing us a song. I'm fed up o' sittin' here lissenin' to

  talk of mutiny an' murder. Cheer us up, mate!"

  Joby smiled brightly. "Shall I play 'The Jolly Cap'n'?" He ducked swiftly as several chunks of ship's biscuit were

  hurled at him, then twiddled another chord or two. "I've put new words to it, listen."

  Off he went, singing an insulting imitation of the original.

  "Ho the wind will never blow, me lads,

  So we've got to row the boat,

  An' as for Cap'n Teal, the pig,

  I'd like to slit his throat.

  He wears a fine red jacket

  An' drinks Madeira wine,

  Why should we call him captain

  When we could call him swine!

  Hurrah hurrah hurrah, me boys,

  He feeds us nought but swill,

  An' makes us taste the rope's end,

  That's why all hands look ill!

  His father was a pig, me lads,

  An' h
is mother was a sow,

  They sent him off a sailin'

  We're lumbered with him now ..."

  Joby's voice trailed away, and the fiddle gave a discordant screech as the bow trailed over its

  strings.

  Captain Teal stood in the open doorway. His buckled shoes clacked against the deck as he

  strode up to the table. Teal's voice shook with barely controlled rage as he faced the

  unfortunate Joby. "Greatly amusin', I'm sure. Well, carry on playin', man!"

  Placing the instrument on the table, Joby swallowed hard. " 'Twas only by way of a little joke,

  sir."

  Teal picked up the fiddle, weighing it in one hand. The crewmen watched him in dumb

  silence as he suddenly flung it at the bulkhead. When it hit the floor, he jumped on it with

  both feet, stamping and kicking savagely at the dead carpenter's favourite instrument. It

  shattered and smashed, chips of wood, pegs and bow strings scattering over the mess-deck

  floor.

  Redjack Teal stood amid the wreckage, his eyes narrowed to mean slits. "A little joke, eh?

  Demn your insolence, fellow!"

  Teal's accusing gaze fixed both the bosun and the master gunner. Spittle sprayed the air as he

  yelled at them. "Anythin' to say about the victuals, eh eh? Meat's like a dead horse! Crew

  eatin' slops! What's the matter, gentlemen, cat got your tongues? Nothin' t'say about how I

  dine like a lord? Speak up, demn your eyes!"

  Both the bosun and the gunner held their horrified silence.

  Redjack suddenly went calm. He smiled slyly at them. "Next thing ye'll be talkin' mutiny

  behind me back."

  Shaking his head, the master gunner called out hoarsely. "Beg your pardon, Cap'n, but we've

  never said a mutinous word agin ye—"

  Teal interrupted by drawing his silver-mounted pistol and cocking the hammer. "Have ye not

  indeed? Well, me brave boys, I'm goin' t'make sure ye don't get the chance. Mr. Mate, attend

  me here!"

  The mate sprang upright and saluted. "Aye, sir!"

  The captain pointed to Joby, the bosun and the master gunner with his pistol barrel. "Take

  these men in charge. They are to be put aboard the Devon Belle, one at each masthead. Half

  ration of ship's biscuit'n'water for a week. That'll cure 'em of any mutinous mutterin's against