Even before she opened the stable door, the mare whickered eagerly, aware of her presence nearby. Serafina led her out into the paved yard, murmuring to her, “Good morning to you, old lady, did you think I’d forgotten your breakfast?” She filled a nosebag with bran and chaff. Poppea waited patiently, head bent, as Serafina strapped it in place. “This is good provender, you’re lucky to be at the home of a horse trader. Better than being out on the road, eh?”
Whilst Poppea chomped and scrunched her way noisily through breakfast, the girl brushed away at her dusty white flanks and withers, still chatting. “Just think, you’ve got a week’s rest, no more pulling the cart and sleeping in the open. You’ll live like a grand lady alongside all this merchant’s expensive horses. I do hope you mind your manners.”
Poppea turned her head, watching with huge, liquid eyes as the girl braided her mane.
“When you’ve eaten that I’ll take you for a nice drink of water from the moat. How would you like that?” She started slightly as a voice answered.
“No need for that, miss, there’s a trough behind the stables.”
Serafina found herself looking into the clouded blue-grey eyes of the boy she had seen the previous evening. They stood staring at each other in silence for a moment, then the spell was broken as Ned romped up and began frisking around the girl. She knelt, ruffling and patting him happily.
“Good morning, Bundi . . . er, I mean, Ned. Well, you’re in a cheerful mood today. Is it because you’ve found your master again?”
The boy flicked his unruly, tow-coloured hair off his eyebrows. “I’m not his master, really, I’m his friend. My name’s Ben.”
The girl rose and began unbuckling the nosebag from the mare’s head. “I’m Serafina, and this is our wagon horse, Poppea. Will you show me where the trough is, Ben?”
Ben took the mare’s halter. “With pleasure.”
Ned interrupted mentally. “My my, aren’t we the perfect gentleman. She must be swept off her feet by such good manners.”
Ben tugged the Labrador’s tail. “Better than being almost knocked flat by a gallumping beast like you, most undignified Bundi!”
Ned growled. “If you want to see something really undignified, just try calling me that silly name again. We’ll see how dignified you look with that pretty girl watching me tear the seat out of your britches, my boy!”
They sat in silence by the trough, watching Poppea drink her fill. Ben could think of nothing to say to this beautiful black vision which had entered his life. Serafina! She was so serene and graceful. Every move she made had a leisurely rhythm. Her hands were slim and long, extremelydeft. He watched as she braided the mare’s tail, trying to think of something to say to her. It was Serafina who finally spoke.
“Where do you come from, Ben?”
He heard himself laugh foolishly. “Sometimes I wish I knew.” Ben was mentally berating himself for the silly reply when Ned’s warning cut across his thoughts.
“Be very careful what you tell her, mate!”
At the same time, Serafina spoke again. “How long have you been at this place?”
Completely confused, Ben replied aloud to Ned’s caution. “Don’t worry, I know what to say.”
The girl smiled quizzically at him. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to, Ben. I’m sorry if I seemed to be prying, it wasn’t my intention.”
Ben’s cheeks went red with embarrassment. Impulsively he took her hand, blurting out, “Serafina, no, it’s me who should be apologising. I got mixed up, it was something that Ned . . .” His voice trailed off miserably as he released her hand.
Her soft dark eyes sought his. “We don’t have anything to be sorry about, Ben, you can talk to me as a friend.”
Ben looked down at the trough, where he could see her shimmering reflection in the water as he strove to marshal his thoughts. “I’d like more than anything to be your friend. But there are certain things I can’t explain right now. Maybe someday. . . .”
Serafina looked up as Otto came around the corner of the stable. The big German strongman grinned cheerfully.
“Come now, mein Schatzi,18 they have given us lots of food for breakfast. You must be hungry, ja?”
Serafina took Poppea’s halter. “Thank you, Otto, I am. Ben, would you and Ned like to join us? I’m sure there’ll be plenty for everyone.”
Ben took the halter from her, his heart singing with joy. “We’d love to, wouldn’t we, Ned? Thank you!”
The black Labrador trotted along between Poppea and Otto, sharing his thoughts with Ben. “I’m famished! Oh, thanks for including me, mate, but watch what you say, and don’t go tripping up over your tongue.” He winced under Otto’s heavy pats. “You should be glad you’re human, Ben. I’m being patted into the ground by my big friend here. Oof! Oh dear, he means well, I suppose.”
Jasmina and some servants had delivered lots of food to the performers: fresh fruit, bread, goat cheese, eggs, small cakes filled with sultanas, strong Turkish coffee and the sweetened fruit juices known as sherbet. Ben immediately felt at ease as Serafina introduced him to the friendly group. Being no stranger to the troupe, Ned was welcomed with open arms; he gambolled about, being petted and fed by everyone.
Ben remarked laughingly to Serafina as they watched the black Labrador, “That fellow makes himself right at home!”
Ned gave Ben a doggy grin as La Lindi coaxed him with cheese. “Hoho! This is the life, matey, I could really get used to being part of this jolly gang!”
Ben accepted a piled-up plate from Mamma, thanking her as he mentally replied to his dog, “Aye, so could I. Though I’d best keep quiet about what Al Misurata said to us last night. We’ll just play along and see how things develop through the day.”
Buffo began feeding Ned some cake. He nodded to Ben. “You’ve got a good dog here, a real clever fellow. I bet you could work up a good act with him.”
Serafina’s expressive eyes shone. “What a great idea. I think he’s intelligent enough to learn lots of tricks!”
Ben stifled a giggle as he heard Ned replying, “Well, I’ll teach him what I can, but boys can be very difficult sometimes, especially my Ben.”
Serafina was entranced by the scheme. “Well, what do you think, Ben, could you and Ned get something together? I’d help you, if you wish.”
The boy tried to stay noncommittal, though it was difficult to refuse any offer from the charming black girl. “It’s a nice idea, let me think about it, Serafina.”
Mamma Rizzoli interrupted the conversation. “Serafina, and you, Buffo, leave the young man alone, stop trying to put ideas into his head. The master of this place may have totally different plans for Ben and his dog. Then where would all your fine schemes be, eh?”
Augusto Rizzoli agreed with his wife. “Yes indeed, friends, we would appear presumptuous if we were to make plans for one of Al Misurata’s servants. We must not abuse his hospitality.”
Mummo pulled a mock sad face. “A great pity, really, young fellow, you and your dog would have made splendid clowns. I was thinking what good names you could have had. Benno and Neddo!”
Otto gestured toward the big house. “Forget that now, the one they call Bomba is coming over here. I wonder what he wants?”
Without any formalities, Bomba indicated Signore Rizzoli abruptly. “Come with me, my master would speak with you!”
Mamma looked concerned. “I wonder what he wants with you?”
The showman reassured her. “Don’t worry, cara mia, it’s probably nothing. I’ll be back soon.”
Bomba took hold of Signore Rizzoli’s arm. “Come along, my master doesn’t like to be kept waiting!”
Otto reached out and caught the big man’s arm above the elbow, squeezing his biceps in a grip of steel. Bomba winced, releasing his hold on Signore Rizzoli. The German strongman wagged a huge finger at him. “Mind your manners, mein Herr, especially with my friends!”
Augusto Rizzoli intervened. “Let go, Herr Kasse
l, I will go with him. Lead on, please!”
Otto watched both men walking across to the house. “I don’t think I like that Bomba fellow.”
Ben sent a thought to Ned. “I don’t like him either, he’s a slaver. But I think he’ll tread carefully around Otto from now on.”
The dog replied, “Aye, heaven help him if he ever tries anything with our Otto!”
The rest of breakfast passed in silence. Ben and Serafina helped Mamma to tidy up, whilst the others went off to rehearse their show behind the stables.
The morning was half gone before Signore Rizzoli returned. He called his wife into the wagon, where they held a conference. Ben and Ned were with Serafina, watching La Lindi going through her dance with the python. She had allowed him to stroke it, though she advised that Ned be kept away.
The dog snorted. “Huh, wild horses couldn’t drag me near that monster, just the smell of that big snake makes me feel ill.”
Mamma emerged from the wagon and called the boy. “Ben, my husband would like a word with you.”
Ben entered the covered wagon, with Ned at his heels. Augusto Rizzoli offered him a seat.
“Listen to what I have to say, young man, and think carefully. How would you feel about joining my troupe and travelling with us to Italy? You and your good dog there?”
A surge of elation shot through Ben. He had an idea what the showman’s meeting with Al Misurata had been about, but he feigned ignorance. “Signore, it would be wonderful, I’m sure Ned and I would enjoy greatly to be part of your show. But why do you ask?”
Augusto Rizzoli leaned forward, speaking confidentially. “I think Al Misurata knows you will never make a good servant. He wants me to take both you and the dog off his hands.”
Ben heard Ned commenting mentally, “I know you don’t like telling lies by silence, mate, but you’d best not tell this good man what you know until we’re certain of what’s going on.”
Signore Rizzoli continued his explanation. “Al Misurata told me he was a horse trader, and not a slaver. But his associate, the one called Bomba, is a slave driver. Is it true that Bomba sold you to him?”
Ben nodded. “There were four of us, signore, three boys and a girl, we were all sold to Al Misurata by Bomba. I don’t know what happened to the others. But if he is a horse trader, as he says, then why does he purchase slaves?”
Augusto Rizzoli shrugged. “He says he sells them on, to kindly masters, good folk who will treat them well. If he did not, they could fall into the hands of evil masters who would ill-treat them. Personally, I think he is a man of good intentions, though I do not like his friends, that Bomba, and the scarface, Ghigno.”
Ben saw the small purse in the showman’s hand. “So he is selling me to you, is that it?”
Signore Rizzoli clasped the boy’s hand. “I am no slave dealer, Ben, I am paying him to gain your freedom. You are under no obligation to me—once I pass the gold over your fate is your own. I only ask you to join us out of friendship.”
A tear sprang unbidden to Ben’s eye. “Thank you, signore, from the bottom of my heart. I would be honoured to join you and your troupers. But have you got enough gold to meet the price?”
The showman rose. “I have very little, my wife keeps the funds. But Al Misurata assured me that whatever I had would be sufficient. Perhaps we misjudge him. No matter, once we reach Italy we can always earn more. Though usually it is in the form of food or lodging. I never went into this business to get rich, but we get by somehow, and that is enough, eh, Ben?”
The boy wiped his eyes roughly on his sleeve. “If it’s enough for you, it’s more than plenty for me, signore. What happens now?”
Augusto Rizzoli weighed the paltry purse in one hand. “Now I go to seal the agreement. Come on, my boy, this is no time for tears, this is a lucky day for both of us. My wife was just saying that you may be the best thing that ever happened to our troupe. So now you’ll have to really think of getting up an act with your Ned, eh?”
Ben watched the good-hearted Signore walking back to the house. He patted Ned. “Go with him, mate, see what you can find out!”
Tail wagging, the black Labrador trotted off. “Leave it to me, I’ll be better than a fly on the wall!”
Signore Rizzoli looked down at the dog walking by his side. “So, you are to be my guard dog. Good fellow, come on!”
9
BOMBA GESTURED THE SHOWMAN INTO the palatial upstairs room. He put out his foot to bar the dog entry, but Ned bounded over it, baring his teeth and showing his contempt of the slave driver with a low snarl. The big man backed away as Ned ambled in behind Signore Rizzoli. Al Misurata was seated on his divan, while the scar-faced Corsair, Ghigno, stood behind him. Augusto Rizzoli bowed formally to the pirate, who patted the cushioned divan.
“Sit here, my friend, and let us talk business.”
Ned lay on the floor between the two men.
Al Misurata smiled briefly. “So, you have brought a companion?”
Augusto stroked the dog’s head. “He followed me.”
Ned lounged casually, his tail wagging lazily, tongue hanging out, just like any dog would. Except that he was watching, and taking in every word that was spoken.
Signore Rizzoli held out the little purse. “I brought the gold you asked for. It is not a lot, we are after all only entertainers.”
Ghigno took the purse and turned out its meagre contents on a small coffee table nearby. Al Misurata sorted through it with a fingertip. The coins were mainly gold, with a few silver ones thrown in—they were all very old and thin. The pirate raised his eyebrows. “Truly this is a pitiful sum. If you were not my friend I would feel insulted by such an offering.”
Signore Rizzoli replied, his voice a humble murmur, “It is all we have, Commendatore.”
Ghigno insinuated slyly, “Don’t you have any other valuables, a ring or two, maybe a necklace?”
Al Misurata frowned at the Corsair reproachfully. “Ghigno! You can see our friend is an honest man. If that is all the wealth he possesses, how could I doubt his word?”
He patted Augusto’s hand reassuringly, then went on to stroke Ned’s ears as he continued. “Signore Rizzoli, I accept this money in exchange for the boy, because I know you will treat him kindly. As I told you, I am a simple horse trader, it is not in my nature to buy or sell human beings. This sum you offer me is not even a quarter of what I paid to save the boy from being sold on the block in some slave market. But, like you, I am a soft-hearted fellow, and I can afford to take a slight loss now and then. It is all in a good cause. Take the lad, and take with you my good wishes for a happy visit to your homeland.”
Augusto Rizzoli stood, extending his hand to Al Misurata. “May the good Vicenza, patron saint of my town, bless you, Signore Misurata!”
The pirate returned his handshake solemnly. “Go now, and tell that young man your good news.”
Signor Rizzoli hurried from the room. But Ned stayed. The black Labrador closed his eyes, allowing Al Misurata to stroke his head. However, he was fully alerted.
There was silence in the room as the sound of the showman’s footsteps receded down the stairs. Ghigno swept the money back into the worn, leather purse. He handed it to the pirate, imitating Signore Rizzoli’s voice as he did. “It is all we have, Commendatore.” Both men suddenly burst out into coarse laughter. Al Misurata grabbed the purse from Ghigno, who shook his head in amazement.
“Is there nothing you wouldn’t do for gold? You should have heard yourself. ‘I am a soft-hearted fellow, I can afford to take a slight loss now and then.’ Hahaha, you almost had me weeping!”
The pirate spread his arms expressively. “What would you have me do, Ghigno? Sell them on to Count Dreskar, who would immediately search them for any gold they were hiding? This way I get two lots for the boy, the pittance from that Italian jackass and the proper price from Dreskar. Gold is gold, no matter where it comes from!”
The Corsair wiped tears of merriment from his eyes. His manner
became businesslike. “So, what’s the plan?”
All this time Ned had not stirred, though he dearly wished he could sink his teeth into the hand that was stroking him. He continued to listen as the pirate outlined his scheme.
“What we must do is keep them completely in the dark regarding their fate. If they knew they were being sold into slavery, it would make them troublesome on the voyage. We’ll keep everything friendly, and treat them with respect. They must not suspect anything. When we dock at the port of Piran, I will tell them that to avoid the authorities, and any trouble about not having papers for the two African women, they must stay in their wagon. Bomba!”
The big slave driver hurried forward. “Master?”
Al Misurata gave him his instructions. “Once they are inside the wagon you will lock them in. Harness the horse and drive the wagon to the outskirts of Piran, then wait in the old woods by the stream for me.”
Bomba nodded. “I know the place, master.”
The pirate turned to Ghigno. “You will come with me. I will be meeting Count Dreskar in the town, at the Crown of Slovenija hotel.”
Ghigno tapped the jagged scar on his face. “I’ll have the crew with me, we’ll stay in the background in case of trouble. Right?”
Al Misurata stroked his beard. “Right, my friend, and when our business is done . . .”
The Corsair chuckled. “We’ll kidnap a few of the good townsfolk of Piran, take them on board and sail for home!”
This time Bomba joined in the laughter. Al Misurata poured drinks, and they toasted the coming enterprise.
“To trade, and to the gold to be made on both sides of the sea. A successful voyage!”
As Bomba took a pace back, Ned saw his chance to get out. He yelped aloud, as though the Corsair had trod on his paw.
Bomba drew his dagger. “Whining cur, get from under my feet!”