The Angel's Command (4 page)

This came as a shock to Ben. “What made you decide that, sir?”

The Frenchman quaffed his water, slamming the glass down so hard that it cracked. “I saw ye today, Ben, standing there with Ned. You reminded me of what I was once, a cheery lad with a trusty hound at his heels. 'Twas you spotted Madrid's cheatin' ways. I knew then my life had to change. You're my lucky boy, you and Ned. I've been storing wealth away. Now, with what I took from Rocco Madrid, I'm a rich man. I'll make up for my buccaneering ways, Ben, you'll see. I'll return to Arcachon and help my family. We'll build a chateau, Ben, and buy a big vineyard. I'll give money to the church and the poor. Folk will speak of me like . . . like—”

Ben interrupted the captain. “Like a saint?”

A huge smile spread across Thuron's heavy face. “Aye lad, that's it, lad, like a saint. Saint Raphael Thuron!”

He burst out laughing, Ben joined in, and Ned set up a howl. The Frenchman wiped tears of merriment from his eyes onto his brocaded sleeve. “And you two will share in it. Young Saint Ben and good Saint Ned. How does that sound to ye, eh?”

Convulsed with mirth, the black Labrador chortled away. “Hohoho, good Saint Ned? I like that, I'll wear a collar of gold, like a halo that's slipped down round my neck!”

Ben returned his thought. “And I'll wear a long, flowing shirt and a pointed hat, like a bishop. Hahahaha!”

Thuron remarked through his laughter. “Oohahaha, look at you two, anyone'd swear you were gossiping together. Hahaha!”

Ben slapped the Frenchman's back so hard that it stung his hand. “Heeheehee, that's a good 'un, gossiping with a dog, heehee!”

The proceedings were interrupted by the bosun, Pierre, bellowing from the sternmast lookout point. “Vessel astern, showin' over the horizon in our wake!”

 
The captain dashed out onto the deck, with Ben and Ned hard on his heels. Crewmen with worried faces clattered up from the mess deck, carrying weapons and priming muskets as they made their way to the stern rail. Thuron pulled a telescope from his coat lining and sighted on the dark smudge to the rear, which was all they could see of Cartagena. He swung the glass to and fro, halting as he caught sight of sail.

“Rocco Madrid and the
Diablo Del Mar!
Well, he didn't waste much time, did he? Stand by all hands, we're in for a sea chase. Load those cannon, Anaconda, I'll take the wheel. Come on, Ben, bring Ned too—I'm going to need all the luck ye can bring me!”

 
Captain Rocco Madrid called up to his lookout. “Have they sighted us yet, Pepe?”

Loud and clear, the lookout bellowed back. “Sí, Capitano, they are piling on sail to escape us!”

Rocco's bosun, Portugee, handed the wheel over to his captain. “Shall I roll out all the cannon an' give 'em a full salute? Capitano, we can outgun the
Marie
easily.”

Madrid narrowed his eyes until they were wicked slits. “No, no, Thuron has the gold. He is of no use to me on the bottom of the sea with his ship.
Diablo
will outrun them, we'll take the
Marie
an' her crew alive. I want to sail into Cartagena with everyone aboard that ship hanging from their own yardarms. Our Brotherhood on shore will know then: No man takes gold from Rocco Madrid and lives to tell the tale!”

Rocco's first mate, a fat Hollander called Boelee, spoke up. “Even the brat an' his dog?”

The Spaniard drew out his telescope and scanned the distant ship. “Especially the brat an' his dog, amigo. Lessons must be taught by making hard examples.”

 
Aboard
La Petite Marie,
Thuron was roaring orders. “Pile on every stitch of canvas there! Up the rigging, every man jack of ye! Pierre, Ludon, climb out onto the bows an' chop away those rope fenders. She'll cut the waves cleaner with a sharp prow!”

Pierre, the bosun, and Ludon, the mate, scrambled over the bows with cutlasses held in their teeth.

Ben looked anxiously at the Frenchman, voicing his thoughts aloud. “Are you sure we can outrun them, Cap'n?”

Thuron smiled grimly. “We've got to, or we're all dead men. Don't worry, boy, my ship may be smaller, but she's faster, I'm sure of it. With me at the helm, Madrid will get a run for his gold. That big, awkward tub of his was never built for sea chases. Our
Marie
will show him a clean pair of heels, providing he doesn't use his cannon. 'Tis my job to keep us out of his range until he tires of the chase, though I'm certain that Spaniard doesn't want to sink us. If Madrid does get us within distance, he'll try to snap off our masts.”

Ned was struck by an idea, which he imparted to Ben. “It'll be dark in an hour or two, so why don't we make sure the ship isn't showing any lights to give away our position?”

Ben immediately passed on the suggestion to Thuron. The Frenchman was wholly in agreement. “A good thought, lad. Go and cover the ports and douse any lanterns you can find. I can probably lose him in the dark. Anaconda, take the wheel. Let's go below and study the charts, Ben. Then maybe we can be like the fox—stop running and hide!”

After dousing every available lantern and curtaining the galley ports so that the glow from the stove would not betray their position, Ben and Ned went to the captain's cabin. Thuron had a chart spread out on the bed. He tapped the point of a dagger against a spot on the coast. “There, Santa Marta, that's where we'll hide.”

Ben studied the chart: Santa Marta was just north up the coastline from Cartagena. He turned to the Frenchman. “But sir, that's back the way we came.”

Ned put his paws on the bed and scanned the map, thinking, “So it is!”

But the captain explained his strategy. “Madrid doesn't know we're bound across the ocean to France. He thinks we're on a sea chase, north across the Caribbean. So I'll take a sweep east and turn south just after twilight.”

Ben caught on to the plan quickly. “Clever! Madrid will be searching ahead and we'll side-slip him. He'll go sailing off into the sea while we head back to land—a good idea, sir!”

Ned sent out a sobering thought. “Pretty risky though!”

The boy was taken slightly aback when Thuron replied as if he had heard the dog, though it was pure coincidence. “'Tis risky, I grant you. If Madrid or his crew spots us, we're done for. But I'm willing to take the chance. There's a high, rocky point that sticks out into the waters around Santa Marta. If we can get by the
Diablo
unnoticed, we'll lie in the lee of it and be well hidden.”

 
Rocco Madrid stared into the reddening horizon, watching day fade into night. He called up to Pepe. “Have you still got them in sight, amigo?”

Pepe scrambled down, grunting with the exertion. “Only just, Capitano. I will want your seeing glass to keep track properly. I only need a lantern or galley stove glint to tell me where
La Petite Marie
lies.”

The Spaniard handed over his telescope. “Be careful with it.”

Pepe began his laborious ascent of the mast, grumbling. “I'll miss something to eat, being stuck up there.”

Rocco heard him and replied humourlessly, “You'll eat when I say. Move from that crow's nest and you'll have to eat supper through a slit in your neck!”

Pepe reached his lookout post and swept the seas ahead through the telescope. “I see them, Capitano, their galley fire is shining out like a beacon!”

 
Ben watched the wooden spar bob away on the waves to the port side of the ship. A heap of old sailcloth, soaked in lamp oil, blazed merrily on the spar's topside. He patted Ned's head fondly. “If I was wearing a hat, I'd take it off to you, mate. That lighted spar is a stroke of genius!”

The Labrador stood with his front paws against the port rail, sniffing as he returned the thought. “If I was human I'd be an admiral now. Suppose you'll tell our cap'n that it was your idea, eh?”

Ben shook his head. “I won't even mention it.”

Ned dropped his ears comically. “Oh, go on, tell him and get all the glory for yourself. I know what it's like to lead a dog's life, all work and no praise.”

Ben lightly kissed the top of his dog's head. “There, you're getting my praise now. I don't know what I'd do without you, Ned. The world's smartest dog, that's you!”

Thuron emerged from his cabin and pointed to the decoy light. “Hah! That's a great trick. Was it your idea, Ben?”

The boy answered, speaking the truth. “No sir, it was good Saint Ned who thought of it!”

The Frenchman cuffed Ben playfully. “Don't make me laugh. Sound carries far on open waters, you know.”

 
Moonless dark fell over the softly soughing waves, and clouds cloaked most of the stars. Rocco Madrid handed the wheel over to Boelee and went to the foot of the mast. He called up in a hoarse whisper. “Where is the
Marie
now, Pepe?”

Pepe's nervous whisper reached his ears. “I cannot see her anymore, Capitano. I had your glass on the galley light and poof! It went out. Someone must have closed the galley door.”

Madrid's teeth grinding together made an audible noise. “Idiot, you mean you've lost her. She must have put on even more sail. We'll keep a straight course. I think we're right in Thuron's wake. He's heading for Jamaica and Port Royal, I'm sure he is. Boelee, set your course due north. Portugee, keep her under full sail. We'll sight him by daylight tomorrow, there's nowhere to hide on the open sea. I'll be in my cabin. Wake me an hour before dawn.”

The Spaniard stalked off to his cabin, leaving the three crewmen searching the night-dark horizon. Rocco Madrid would not be a pleasant captain to sail with if they lost
La Petite Marie.

 
Ben helped Captain Thuron's crew to slacken sail as the dark, humped cliffs of Santa Marta hove into view. Ned watched as the giant steersman, Anaconda, took the vessel carefully into the western lee side of the towering rocks. Thuron gave orders for the anchor to be dropped. He chuckled softly as the boy joined him on deck. “Our
Marie
is safe here for the night. I'll wager that the
Diablo
is bound at full speed for Kingston or Port Royal—where else would a Brotherhood vessel head for in the Caribbean? First thing tomorrow we'll slip round the headland and make a straight run east, out of this sea and into the Atlantic Ocean. Then 'tis France and home, eh, boy?”

Ben threw the captain a smart salute. “Aye aye, sir!”

3

AROUND ON THE EASTERN SIDE OF 
the Santa Marta cliffs, little more than two miles from where the
Marie
was anchored, lay another ship, the
Devon Belle.
She was a privateer, carrying a letter of marque from the king of England, Charles the First. Little more than pirates themselves, privateers preyed upon other pirates and ships that were hostile to the privateer's own homeland. They were common to many countries—France, Spain, Portugal and the Netherlands.
Devon Belle
was a British privateer. King Charles had signed a licence for her captain to raid and plunder any foreign ship he chose, on the pretext that a vessel not flying a British flag was either a pirate or an enemy. Carrying his letter of marque, the privateer captain would attack and conquer all before him, taking charge of all treasures and booty he captured. Very profitable ventures for the English Crown, which took a large share of the spoils. Privateer captains usually posed as officers of the British Navy, pretending that they were clearing the seas of pirates and keeping the world's shipping lanes free for honest seafarers.

Captain Jonathan Ormsby Teal was such a man. Elegant, suave and well educated, the ambitious eldest son of an impoverished noble family, he had chosen to make his living on the high seas and had taken to the trade like a duck to water. His ship, though small, bristled with armament, cannon barrels poking from every port, for'ard, aft and amidships. At present he was playing his favourite game, lying in wait for any craft sailing out of Barranquilla or Cartagena and ready to leap out on them from his hiding place on the east side of the Santa Marta cliffs. Captain Teal was rapidly becoming the scourge of the Caribbean Sea. He affected to wear a square-tailed foxhunting jacket of red and revelled in the nickname his crew had given him, Cap'n Redjack. All he was waiting for was the coming of daylight and some unsuspecting ship to pass the headland in range of his guns. Now he sat in his tiny stateroom, sipping Madeira wine and toying with an assortment of gold coins, mainly doubloons. The clink of pure, bright gold was music to the ears of Cap'n Redjack Teal!

 
Ben and Ned slept out on the deck, as it was warm and humid in the shelter of the high rocks. The boy and his dog stretched out amid rope coils piled on the forecastle, hoping to catch a passing breeze.