The Angel's Command

on the shore. What was the name of the ship you came from?'

Ben shrugged. 'The sheepherder never told me. He said that the vessel must have sunk in a storm. I don't remember

anything, apart from living in his hut, rounding up sheep with Ned and enduring the awful weather down there. Have

you always been a seaman, Cap'n?'

Ned's thought flashed through Ben's mind. 'I liked the way you changed the subject there, mate. That was a clever

touch, too, saying I belonged to the old shepherd. What our friend doesn't know can't hurt him.'

Ben kept his eyes on Thuron, who began telling of himself. 'Aye, I've been seafaring since I was younger than you,

Ben. I was born in a place called Arcachon, on the French coast. I didn't want to be a poor peasant like my father, so I

ran off one day and joined the crew of a merchant ship. On our voyage to Cadiz we were attached by Spanish pirates.

They slew most of our crew but kept me as galley boy. Since then, I've spent most of my life aboard one vessel or

another. If I'd been weak, I'd be dead by now. But here you see me, Raphael Thuron, master of my own ship, La Petite

Marie, a French buccaneer!'

Ben looked up at the captain. 'You must be very proud of yourself, sir.'

The Frenchman poured himself a glass of water, swirled it about reflectively, then shook his head. 'Proud, d'ye say?

I'll tell ye something now, Ben, that I've never told any living soul. I'm ashamed of what I've made of my life.

Ashamed!' He kept swirling the water, his eyes fixed on its motion. 'Me, the older son of an honest, religious family.

Oh, I was a wild one, not like my younger brother Mattieu. It was my parents' hope that one day I would reform and

make them proud by becoming a priest. My younger brother Mattieu was more suited to that sort of thing. He was a

good boy, though I often got him into trouble. Being a farmworker like my father was a gloomy alternative. So I ran

off to sea, and here I am all these years later, a man living outside of the law, buccaneering. But no more. This wicked

trade has seen the last of Raphael Thuron. I'm done with it all, boy. Finished, d'ye hear!'

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,

hee-hee!'

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. 'Si, 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