The Angel's Command

rings and bangles, all of pure gold. Clad in light-green silk, wearing a black turban mounted with a ruby, he stood

boldly out on the prow and grinned—even his teeth were plated with beaten gold.

Ned passed Ben a thought. 'If he fell in the water, he'd go straight to the bottom, carrying all that weight. I'll never

dress like that. When I'm captain, a simple, thin gold collar will be enough for me!'

Ben patted his dog. 'That's very sensible of you!'

They both started as a loud bang issued from the Marie. Thuron had touched off a cannon, sending a shot roaring

across the other ship's bows as a sign that the Marie stood armed and ready for trouble if need be.

Al-Kurkuman did not even flinch as the cannonball whizzed by overhead. He grinned even wider, bowing and

touching his chest, lips and forehead with an open hand.

Thuron returned a short courteous bow, smiling as he called out, 'The fair winds and calm waters be always at your

back, Captain Kurkuman. The Indian Ocean is far off. Have you lost your way, my friend?'

The Flame of Tripoli came almost alongside as she backed water. Looking as if he had found a long lost brother, Al-

Kurkuman replied, 'Thuron, old comrade, I took you for a fat little French merchantman—accept my humble

apologies!'

Captain Thuron nodded at his cannon array and the men crowding the rigging, all fully armed. He continued the game.

'I am like yourself, O illustrious one, a dove with sharp teeth. What news have you of this great world?'

Gold jewellery jingled as the Barbary corsair shrugged. 'Nothing surprising, it is full of men, both bad and good. Tell

me, have you crossed the wake of a Greek Navy vessel? She has been trailing me ever since I put into Accra for

supplies. Why would the Greek captain want to detain an honest merchant like Al-Kurkuman, I ask you, old friend?'

It was Thuron's turn to shrug. 'Life is a mystery. How would I know? The Greeks are a suspicious people. Where are

you bound?'

'To Belem in the South Americas,' Al-Kurkuman lied. 'I carry farming implements to the settlers there. And you?'

'To the Isle of Malta with a cargo of wax to make candles.' Thuron returned the lie with a straight face. 'It was good

to cross your path and meet an old friend again. I must go. May the spirits of the seas guide you on your way, Al-

Kurkuman!'

The Barbary corsair smiled like a shark with gold teeth. 'Peace be unto you, Raphael Thuron, and may the djinns of

paradise attend you. A moment, friend. That boy, the puny whelp you have there, will you sell him to me? Fattened up

a bit, he would fetch a coin or two in the markets of Marrakech.'

Thuron gave Ben a playful cuff. 'Who, this wretch? Alas, friend, how could I sell my own son, though he eats more

than he is worth and he suffers the sickness of the brain.'

Al-Kurkuman looked sourly at the boy, then laughed. 'Then starve him, beat him well and educate him. Maybe next

time we meet I will trade you another for him!'

Without another word from their captains, both ships went their ways. Thuron kept his men armed and all cannon still

loaded and showing until they were out of range.

• Thuron watched Ben and Ned. He could tell they were conversing. 'Well, lad, what did you make of all that?'

The boy came near and whispered to the Frenchman. 'Ned's a bit put out that Al-Kurkuman didn't notice him. He

thought the least he could do was to offer a bid for the handsome, intelligent dog. What do you think, Cap'n?'

Thuron replied in a whisper, 'Tell Ned that if Al-Kurkuman had bought him, he'd be on the dinner table tonight.'

The boy watched Ned stalk off with his tail in the air. 'He's very offended, Cap'n. You shouldn't have said that—his

feelings are hurt now.'

The Frenchman chuckled. 'I'll get the cook to make it up to poor Ned. Meanwhile, let's run up the French flag and get

our Marie looking like a peaceful merchantman.'

Ben looked at him, puzzled. 'But why, sir?'

Thuron ruffled the lad's hair. 'I've got a feeling we might meet the Greek Navy ship. Don't want her thinking we're

buccaneers, do we? Lend a hand disguising our cannon ports, then take a turn on lookout for our Greek friends.'

That afternoon Ben stood in the crow's nest armed with the captain's telescope, sweeping the empty leagues of ocean

for'ard and aft. All that could be seen was a tiny dot off to the northwest, which was the receding Barbary corsair. Ben

liked the lookout post. He had learned to enjoy its giddy motion, the boundless azure arch of sky above, cloudless

now, broken by the odd sight of a winging albatross or predatory skua. Below him the deck shifted alarmingly, always

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