Suddenly he felt sorry that the dog was not at his side. Something had moved in the gloom-cast undergrowth. He sat quite still, hoping the captain or one of the crew would awaken to break the spell, which kept his eyes riveted on the bushes fronting the tree line. There was the movement again, slow, silent and stealthy. Was it some wild jungle predator, a jaguar perhaps, or a giant python stalking him? The shape partially materialised as it moved out of shelter onto the pale, moon-washed sand. Ben wished it were a wild animalthat he could cope with. But this was the shape of a man, sinister, dark and phantomlike, clad in a long black gown with a pointed hood that hid his features. It was like looking at somebody with just a black hole for a face.
Fear numbed Ben’s limbs and constricted his throat. He sat there, staring in horrified fascination as the eerie apparition glided soundlessly toward him, hands outstretched. It drew nearer and nearer …
6
EARLIER THAT SAME EVENING, THE DIABLO Del Mar had sailed into the straits that lay between Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, the waters known as the Mona Passage. Rocco Madrid had made a slight change to his plans. He called the mate, Boelee, and explained the scheme. “Why run straight out into the Atlantic, amigo? Would it not be more sensible to take a look at the harbours of each island on either side of these straits first?”
Boelee knew better than to disagree with Madrid, so he agreed. “A good plan, Capitano. We may even see the Frenchman’s ship tied up in port. That would make things a lot easier than standing out in the ocean, awaiting a sea battle!”
Stroking his moustache, the Spaniard looked critically across the expanse, from left to right. “Which island would you visit first, Boelee? Hispaniola or Puerto Rico? Where’s Thuron likely to make landfall, eh?”
The mate wanted to visit Hispaniola first. He knew of a few good taverns there. So he chose the opposite, certain that Rocco Madrid would disagree. “If ‘twere up to me, Capitano, I’d take a look at Puerto Rico.”
Madrid stared down his long, aristocratic nose at Boelee. “But it isn’t up to you, amigo. I’m the one whose word counts aboard this ship. I say we go to Hispaniola first, to the Isle of Saona. It’s the first likely landfall for any ship sailing this way.”
Boelee nodded deferentially. “As you wish, Capitano!” He said it too glibly, and Madrid eyed him suspiciously, then on a whim changed his mind again. “Maybe your choice was a clever one, Boelee. Let’s double-guess Thuron. We’ll put about for Mayagüez, a Puerto Rican harbour I know well. He’ll probably think that we’d head for Saona. What are you looking so down in the mouth for, amigo? You wanted to go to Puerto Rico. I heard you say so not a moment ago. Am I not a kind master, to have granted your wish so readily?”
Boelee took the wheel from Portugee and turned the Diablo toward Mayagüez. Though Rocco Madrid was still smiling from the little joke he had played on the mate, and though he swaggered confidently about the foredeck, his mind was not easy. The Spaniard was torn by doubts as to the location of La Petite Mariehe seethed with resentment toward Thuron. At all costs the gold must be retrieved. Rocco did not take into account that it was he who had cheated the gold from the Frenchman in the first place. No! It was his gold, and he could not lose face in front of his crew by letting it, and Thuron, slip through his fingers. Besides, some of the gold had really belonged to himit had been his stake in the game. Raphael Thuron and his crew had to pay for their boldness. He would punish them, yea, even unto death!
The spectral figure halted in front of Ben and sat down. Enormous relief flooded the boy: this was no evil ghost, it was only an old man. But what an old man!
Firelight reflected off his face as he pushed back his hood, revealing weather-lined features of immense serenity and kindness. A thousand wrinkles creased his brown-gold skin as he smiled through dark Latin eyes set in deep cream-coloured whites. Ben could see, without the least doubt, that this was a good and honest old fellow. His hair was wispy, pure silver; the robe he wore was that of some religious order, and a wooden cross of polished coconut shell hung from his neck on a cord. He spoke in Spanish, which the boy could readily understand.
“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, Nedhe’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 yearsyours 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 Mayagüez. 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?”