Ned was first to finish. He passed Ben a thought. 'Look at the father's face—who does he
remind you of?'
Ben scrutinised the man's face. Ned was right, there was something rather familiar about the
eyes, the strong jaw, the shape of the nose, those sandy brown whiskers. Almost without
thinking, Ben found himself saying, 'I was at sea once. I had a friend, he came from where
you live, Arcachon.'
The father licked his fingers, tossing a fish bone into the fire. 'From Arcachon, you say?
What was his name? I might know the family. We've had a few from the parish run off to
sea.'
Ben spoke the name of his dead buccaneer captain. 'Raphael Thuron.'
In the moment the father's eyes went wide with surprise, Ben found his mind invaded by
Ned's urgent pleas.
'Easy, mate, go careful. Watch what you say. Lie if you have to!'
The man grabbed Ben's arm with a hand as heavy as the captain's had been. 'Raphael Thuron
is my brother . . . would your man be about eight years older than me?'
Ben avoided his new friend's gaze. 'Aye, about that, Father. He looked a lot like you, as I
remember. Did your brother run off to sea?'
The good father stared into the fire. 'Yes, our parents were poor farmers. They wanted
Raphael to become a priest one day, but he was too wild. He was forever getting into
scrapes.' The father smiled. 'And getting me into trouble with him. Raphael was a rogue, but
a good brother. Please, tell me what you know about him, how is he doing? Raphael said that
if ever he got away from these parts, he'd make a fortune in some far country. I wonder if he
did.'
As he pondered his answer, Ben passed Ned a message. 'This is a good man, it would be
wrong to tell him lies. If we're to help him and his children, it's best to tell the truth.'
Ned replied, 'Right, mate, but don't mention the angel.'
Ben gently released his arm from the father's grip. 'I have news to tell you, both good and sad,
Mattieu.'
The priest stared deep into Ben's mysterious blue eyes. 'You know my name?'
The boy met his gaze. 'Your brother told me of you when I first met him. He was one of the
finest men I ever knew.' Ben's eyes betrayed what he was holding back.
Turning away, Father Mattieu Thuron watched the receding tide. 'Something tells me that
you're going to say Raphael is dead!'
There was no way to soften the blow. Ben took a deep breath. 'That's my sad duty, Father.
Captain Raphael Thuron is dead.'
A silence followed, in which the priest's lips moved slowly as he offered up prayers for his
brother's soul. Ben and Ned sat quietly watching. Wiping a frayed cuff across his eyes, Father
Mattieu turned back to Ben and said a single world. 'Captain?'
Ben tossed a twig upon the fire. 'Aye, a captain. Would it surprise you to know that he was a
buccaneer?'
Ben thought for a moment that the priest was weeping again, but he was chuckling and
shaking his head.
'It wouldn't surprise me in the least, my friend. Raphael was always a wild one—I'll wager he
made a fine buccaneer.'
Ben cheered up, remembering his days aboard
of the Caribbean, but let me tell you, we—my name's Ben, that's Ned, my dog—we were
proud to serve under your brother.'
Lit by a full moon, night crept in as Ben sat by the fire on the shore with Ned and Father
Mattieu. He related the full tale, from the tavern in Cartagena to the Gulf of Gascony. The
priest's eyes shone with excitement, imagining great adventures of palm-fringed islands,
Spanish pirates, privateers and a chase across the boundless ocean.
When he had finished the narrative, Ben took a deep drink from the water canteen, listening
to Ned's approval.
'Well told, mate, what a great yarn. I'm glad you never mentioned our angel or anything about
Veron and the Razan. It was pretty convincing how you said that we'd been hiding and
scavenging about the coastline most of the summer. Couldn't have done better myself!'
Father Mattieu shook the boy's hand warmly. 'Thank you, Ben, I can tell that you liked
Raphael a great deal. I will grieve and pray for him. Thank heaven he was not captured and
executed like a common criminal. He died like a true captain, going down with his beloved
ship. But what a man my brother was, eh? The places he saw, the adventures he had—I
almost wish I'd sailed with him. Raphael packed more into one lifetime than most men do into
ten! But I have my little parish to look after, my poor children to attend to...' Whilst the good
father chatted on aimlessly, Ben noticed an odd change in his view of the bay.
Ned suddenly stood up alert. 'Ben, listen, the angel!'
The boy heard the heavenly being speaking a line of the poem: 'You must help him help his
children. Behold!'
Both Ben and Ned felt their eyes drawn to one spot.
The tide had ebbed fully, leaving a long stretch of beach and shallow offshore water. A cloud
floating alone in the clear night sky obscured the moon. However, there was a hole in the
centre of the cloud, which allowed the moonlight to shine downward in one pale shaft of
silver light. Right from the skies to the bay's surface it went, spotlighting a small circle of
water.
Again the angel spoke: 'You must help him to help his children. Behold!'
Ned was tugging the rope at the prow of the fishing boat. Ben sprang to his feet, shouting at
the priest. 'Come quickly, Father, we need your help with the boat!'
The priest arose and grabbed the rope with Ned and Ben. 'What is it, Ben, what do you need
the boat for?'
The boy bent his shoulder as he heaved the craft forward. 'Save your breath, Father! Just get
it to the water and trust me. There's no time to argue!'
It was a long hard haul over the wet beach to the water's edge. Panting and blowing, the two
strained at the rope, dragging the fishing smack behind. Ben kept his eyes firmly on the sphere
of light, blinking away the sweat that ran smartingly down to blur his gaze. Even when they
reached the water, the boat's keel still scraped on the sand. It came free as they waded in knee-
deep. Ben heaved Ned aboard as the priest gathered up his sopping cassock and scrambled in
amongst the slithering mackerel. 'Where to now, Ben?'
The boy pointed at the thin column of moonlight. 'Straight ahead, see the patch of light on the
water? There!'
Before they actually reached the spot, Ned sighted a nub of timber poking up above the
surface. Barking wildly, he threw a thought to Ben. 'It's the little mast of the
boat!'
Ben lay in the bow, paddling furiously with both hands until he got hold of the mast. 'Father,
come here. Hold on to this and don't let go whatever you do!'
Father Mattieu obeyed promptly, seizing the timber as though his life depended on it. Ben
took the bow rope and knotted it about his waist, then plunged into the dark waters, gasping
with shock as his head struck the jolly boat's keel. It was sitting squarely on the seabed. He
felt about swiftly. This pointed bit was the bows. Pulling himself along, he found the stern.
His shin barked against the after-end seat. He felt for the sailcloth wrapping and pulled it
