Voyage of Slaves (2 page)

BOOK ONE

LORD OF THE BARBARY COAST

THE LEGEND OF THE
FLYING DUTCHMAN
is known to all men who follow the seafaring trade. Captain Vanderdecken and his ghostly crew,

bound by heaven’s curse to sail the world’s vast oceans and seas for eternity! The curse was delivered by the angel of the Lord, who descended from the firmament to the very deck of the doomed vessel. Vanderdecken and his evil crew were bound, both living and dead, to an endless voyage. Only two were to escape the
Flying Dutchman—
a mute, ragged orphan boy, Ben, and his faithful dog, Ned. They were the only two aboard who were pure of heart, innocent of all wickedness.

The angel had them both washed overboard in a storm off Cape Horn—castaways of the
Flying Dutchman
! Barely alive, they came ashore at Tierra del Fuego, the tip of South America. Unfortunately, they, too, were casualties of the angel’s curse, destined to live endlessly, without growing older by a single day. However, heaven, being merciful, decreed that Ben was granted the power of speech in any language. Additionally he could communicate with the dog by process of thought.

Thus began a friendship that would last through many centuries. Their destiny was to wander the world, all its lands, seas, and oceans, never stopping in one place to watch mankind growing older before their eyes. Ever on the move before anybody could detect that the boy and his dog stayed eternally young. Haunted constantly by the spectre of Vanderdecken, seeking to bring them back amid the ghastly crew of that hellship, the
Flying Dutchman,
and having to travel constantly at the angel’s command.

Ben and Ned shared many thrilling adventures on their travels. From the tip of Cape Horn, up to Cartagena and the Caribbean Sea. Shipping with French buccaneers, pursued by Spanish pirates and an English privateer, in a sea chase across the vast Atlantic. Wrecked and cast ashore, straight into another drama, across France, and into the Pyrenees, pitted this time against evil kidnappers. Their adventure culminated in the Bay of Biscay.

From there, Ben and Ned, castaways once more in a small open boat, ventured into Mediterranean waters. Waifs of fate, they coasted the shores, living on their wits, always awaiting the decree of heaven, that they should drift into yet more dangers and perils—with the spectre of the
Dutchman
ever looming over them.

CIRCA 1703. THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA. SOMEWHERE BETWEEN ALEXANDRIA AND THE ISLAND OF CYPRUS.

FROM CLOUDLESS, AZURE VAULTS, THE great golden eye of the sun shone down on the sea below. Its pitiless glare took in the boat, a small, weather-beaten craft. With no zephyr of breeze to stir it, a tattered gamboge sail hung uselessly over the prone figures of the boy and his dog, lying side by side. The big black Labrador’s tongue lolled out, its flanks rising and falling as it panted against the relentless noontide heat. The boy raised his head, brushing thick, tow-coloured hair from his vision. With an effort, he hauled himself up, his strange blue-grey eyes scanning the horizon. Running a swollen tongue across his cracked lips, he groaned. Nowhere in any direction was there a hint of land, only endless expanses of limpid turquoise-and-aquamarine sea. He lay back down, shielding his eyes as he sought the oblivion of sleep.

Totally becalmed, the little vessel floated in the doldrums, moving neither back nor forth on the shimmering surface. There was no respite from the searing heat; the sun’s blazing orb presided over all in flaming splendour.

As languid day tapered slowly into evening, the sky bled crimson with the sun’s death into the western horizon. Darkness fell over the tired waters, bringing in its wake the realm of nightmare. Both imprisoned by their dreams, Ben and Ned—the boy and his dog—whimpered and shivered uncontrollably, trapped in the memories of blood-chilling times, almost a century ago. They were aboard that heaven-cursed ship, the
Flying Dutchman.
Ploughing the storm-ravaged oceans at the world’s end, off the coast of Tierra del Fuego, southernmost tip of the vast Americas. Sounds of roaring seas thundering upon rock and reef assailed their minds. Ice hung thick from the shattered masts and torn sails. Dead men danced aloft, their bodies swaying as they dangled amid the tangled rigging. Like a thunderbolt, a fearsome visage confronted them. Vanderdecken, the mad captain of the doomed vessel! Hellfire blazed from his bloodshot eyes, salt crusted his frozen beard and wild locks. Baring frostbitten lips, he exposed yellowed, tombstone-like teeth, bellowing at Ben and Ned.

“Ye will sail with me into eternity! Forever, across the mighty wastes of seas and oceans! Never will ye know rest, peace, or happiness with me and my fated crew! I am Vanderdecken, chased by the Hounds of Hell! Driven endlessly by the Almighty God, whom I cursed in my wrath! Condemned by His angel’s command!”

His heavy hand slapped Ben’s face, again and again. The boy woke to find not an apparition, but a man, striking his cheeks. Ben understood his words, he was shouting in Arabic.

“This one is alive, see! Cast that black beast into the sea, Mahmud. Shaitan
¹
himself dwells in such creatures!”

As weak as he was, Ben strove upward, hitting out at the fellow and shouting, “Leave the dog alone, he is mine!”

However, he got no further. Wielding an oar, the one called Mahmud hit Ben from behind, laying him out senseless. Ned was flung, snapping and biting, into the sea. The two men left Ben lying in the small boat. Scrambling back aboard their own larger craft, they tied the little vessel in tow and rowed off into the night, shouting insults at the dog floundering in their wake.

“Drown, ye beast of ill fortune! See, Nassar, that thing almost bit off my thumb!”

Nassar spat in the direction of Ned. “May the sharks feed from its accursed body! Look at my chest, I’m scratched almost to the bone!”

The black Labrador trod water, frantically sending out mental communications to the boy. “Ben! Have they hurt you, are you injured, Ben?”

Unfortunately, Ben was lost in the black pit of unconsciousness, unable to answer his faithful friend.

Both boats were soon lost in the Mediterranean darkness, but Ned swam stubbornly on, still trying to reach his master.

“Ben! Ben! Answer me, are you alright?”

TWO DAYS LATER. TOKRA, A SETTLEMENT OFF THE COAST OF LIBYA, NOT FAR FROM BENGHAZI.

BEN GAGGED AND CHOKED AS HE TRIED to gulp down water from the gourd that Nassar was holding to his mouth. The man judged that his captive had drunk enough. He struck at the boy’s hands with a cane, loosening them from the gourd. Without a word, he shouldered the water carrier and hurried out of the mean hovel, securing the door from outside. It was a stable, or a pen for animals of some kind. Ben was shackled by his left ankle to an iron ring in the wall. He crawled as far as the short chain would allow, not quite reaching the door, but able to see through a rift between the wooden slats.

Outside was a fat woman clad in dark robes, cooking fish over a fire. Ben’s stomach grumbled as he sniffed the odour of food. Nassar set the gourd down and sat beside the woman as Mahmud came to join them. Mahmud stirred a pot of maize meal porridge which was resting close to the flames, enquiring of Nassar, “Did you give the infidel something to eat?”

His companion snorted. “I gave him enough water to keep life in him. Let Bomba feed him once he is off our hands.”

The woman turned the sizzling fish on its spit, nodding. “Aye, there is barely enough for us to eat.”

Nassar kicked her half-heartedly. “Keep your mouth out of this and attend to our meal!” Taking a shallow earthen bowl, he slopped maize meal into it. “Here, take this to him, Mahmud. He must live. Bomba is not permitted to buy dead flesh.

Ben shuffled back from the door as Mahmud entered. He placed the bowl alongside the boy, uttering a single word. “Eat!”

Ben dipped his fingers in, scooping the mush into his mouth. He looked up at Mahmud. “You are going to sell me. To whom?”

Mahmud brushed a fly from his eyebrow. “Where did you learn to speak our tongue?”

The towheaded boy shrugged. “I don’t remember. You have no right to sell another human being.”

Mahmud walked away, turning in the doorway. “One more word from you, spawn of a chattering parrot, and I will cast you back into the sea as I did your dog!”

Mention of Ned cast Ben back into unhappy despair. Hungry though he was, he kicked the food aside and sat there with tears welling in his eyes. All the mental messages he had sent out to his dog since regaining consciousness were to no avail. Ned had not answered.

Ben began to call upon the only other being he knew, the angel who had guided all his and his faithful hound’s wanderings. He strove in thought to reach his guardian. “Please hear me, O Messenger of the Lord, Ned is my only friend in this world. Let me know, where is he, does my dog still live?” The boy lay back amid the straw-strewn sand and fell into a weary slumber.

Gradually a soft, golden light filtered through his mind, followed by a gentle voice from afar. “Do not shed tears for the creature who lives, ye will meet again. Save thy tears for the fall of the Dark Angel!”

The dream faded, and Ben slept on, not knowing or caring who the Dark Angel could be. Without Ned at his side, the boy felt a huge, leaden weight of loneliness within him. Ned was everything to Ben, friend, confidant, comforter and constant companion. No mere human being could take the place of his faithful Labrador. They had been together through many years, and countless adventures, across oceans, seas and continents. Surviving perils and enduring hard times, sharing the happiness and laughter of good and peaceful days, twin hearts, bonded by mutual respect and affection.

The hot dawn light of another dusty day seeped through the door slats. Ben was wakened by the braying of mules and the creak of cart wheels. Mahmud and Nassar unbarred the door. Unlocking the boy’s leg shackle, they hustled him out into the sunlight. Not far from the woman’s cooking fire stood a big wagon, with four mules harnessed to it. The conveyance was like a solid wooden shack on wheels.