The Angel's Command

'Peace be with you, my son. I am Padre Esteban. I hope that you and your friends mean no harm to me or my people.'

Ben returned his smile. 'No, Padre, we only need food and fresh water, so we can continue our voyage.'

A thought from Ned flashed into Ben's mind as he saw Ned returning, dragging a large dead tree branch along the

sand: 'I felt your fear. Who is the man? Where's he from?'

Ben replied mentally to the Labrador. 'Come here and take a look at his face, Ned—he's a friend, Padre Esteban.'

Ned released the branch and came to sit by Ben. 'Padre Esteban, eh? He's more like a statue of a saint than a man. I

like him!'

The padre reached out a hand that was the colour of antique parchment. Stroking Ned's offered paw, he was silent for a

while. Then, staring at Ben, he shook his head in wonder. 'Who taught you to speak to an animal?'

Somehow, the boy was not surprised that the charismatic old man had the wisdom to read his mind. He decided to tell

him the truth. 'Nobody taught me. It was a gift from an angel. Could you really tell I was talking to my dog, Padre?'

The old priest never once took his eyes off Ben. 'Oh yes, my son, you are called Ben, and this fine dog is Ned. But I

see by your eyes that you have not been a young boy for many, many years—yours has been a hard and difficult life.'

Ben was shocked by Padre Esteban's perception. He felt as if he wanted to pour out his story to the wonderful old man.

The padre merely reached out and took Ben's hand in his. 'I know, Ben, I know, but there is no need to burden an old

man with your history. I see great honesty in you. The evil of this world has not tainted your heart. I must go now, but

I will return at dawn. My people will see to the needs of your ship. Tell the captain we mean no harm to you.' He

paused. 'I must ask you to do something for me, Ben.'

Squeezing the padre's hand lightly, the boy nodded. 'Anything for you, Padre Esteban. What is it?'

The old man took the cross and its cord off and placed it about Ben's neck, tucking it inside his shirt. 'Wear this. It

will protect both you and your dog from the one who pursues you. Remember it when you are in danger.'

Ben took the cross in his hand. It glistened in the firelight. The depiction of the figure upon it had been carved

carefully into the wood and outlined with dark plant dye. When the boy looked up again, the old man had gone.

Ben told Thuron of his encounter with Padre Esteban, but he did not tell him of the cross or what the old man had seen

in his eyes. The Frenchman warmed his hands by the fire. 'See, I knew that you two were lucky to me. Don't worry,

I'll pay the padre for anything he can give to us in the way of supplies. Well done, lad. You and Ned get some sleep

now. There's lots to do once day breaks!'

Dawn's first pale light was streaking the skies over a smooth and tranquil sea, and the Diablo Del Mar was little more

than three miles off the coast of Mayaguez. Rocco Madrid was roused from his cabin by a shout from Pepe, the

lookout. 'Sail off the stern to starboard!'

The Spanish pirate captain hurried out on deck and clapped the telescope to his eye. 'A fishing vessel! Portugee, come

about to meet it. I'll have words with the skipper.'

Fear was the first reaction shown by the thin, tombstone-toothed Carib who skippered the small schooner- rigged

fishing craft. He knew he was facing a pirate vessel whose guns he could not outrun. The man had dealt with those of

The Brotherhood before. Hiding his terror behind a huge grin, he held up two large fish, shouting, 'A good day to you,

friends. My fish are fresh caught during the night, the finest in all these waters. Will you buy some and help to feed my

poor wife and ten children, amigos?'

The Diablo loomed up alongside the small craft, dwarfing it. Rocco Madrid leaned over the midship rail and looked

down at the skipper. Producing a gold coin, he spun it toward the fisherman, who caught it with great alacrity and

waited in respectful silence to hear what the dangerous-looking pirate had to say.

Madrid held up another gold coin meaningfully. 'Keep your fish, amigo. Where have ye been trawling? I mean you no

harm—all I want is information.'

The skipper swept off his battered straw hat and bowed, testing the gold coin between his teeth as he did so. 'What

can I tell you, senor? We are bound for Santo Domingo on Hispaniola after three days and nights fishing the waters

round the Isle of St. Croix. Ah, it is a hard life, yes?'

Madrid nodded. 'Never mind your life story. If you want to earn that gold piece, and the one I have here, tell me: Did

you see any other ships since you've been out? I'm looking for a French buccaneer named La Petite Marie. '

Holding the hat flat against his chest, the skipper bowed again. 'I cannot read the letters, senor, but we sighted a

vessel. Not as grand and large as your ship, but round in the bow and very fast-looking. She flew the skull and blades,

just as you do. A Brethren vessel, eh?'

Rocco's eyes lit up. 'That's her! Where was she when you saw her, amigo? Tell me!'

The skipper waved his hat back over his shoulder. 'Sailing toward the southeast coast, I think, maybe to Ponce,

Guayama or Arroyo, who knows ?'

The Spaniard stroked his moustache, slightly puzzled. 'What would Thuron want around there? Hmm, maybe he has a

secret hiding place. I'll soon find out, though!' He pocketed the gold coin and drew his sword, pointing it at the

hapless fishing-boat skipper. 'I know Hispaniola well. If you've lied to me, I'll find you. Ten children is a lot for a

widow to support, remember that.'

Dismissing the fishing boat, he turned to Pepe. 'Get my charts, I'll take charge of this operation!'

Pepe hurried off to the captain's cabin, where he gathered up charts, muttering to himself, 'When did he