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 thathis 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 with the same brush. One pirate’s the same as another to a privateer or navy cap’nthey’d hang us all!”
Ben looked askance at Mallon. “Surely they wouldn’t hang us?”
The buccaneer laughed grimly. “Of course they would, the law’s the law. There’s no such thing as a good pirate. We’re all gallows bait. Those privateers are the worstthey’re nought but pirates like us, with a letter o’ marque to make their crimes legal. Have ye ever seen a pirate hung, lad?”
Ben shook his head hastily. “Never, have you?”
Mallon nodded. “Aye, one time I was ashore in the Bahamas without a ship. I saw a pirate, man named Firejon, executed by order of the governor. ‘Twas a fancy affair. All the ladies an’ gentry turned out in their coaches to witness it. I stood in the crowd. Firejon was a bad ‘unthere was a big price on his head.
“British Royal Navy had sunk his ship an’ brought him ashore in chains. Some said hangin’ was too good for Firejon, ‘cos of his terrible crimes. So they flogged him first, then sat him in a cell for two days on bread and water. There they gave him a rope, so he could make a noose for his own neck. I tell ye, the hanging ‘twas an awful sight to see. The governor refused to let Firejon wear chains or manacles.”
Ben was fascinated and horrified at the same time. “Why was that?”
Mallon pursed his lips. “So he wouldn’t hang quickly with the weight of ‘em to pull him. down. A local preacher wrote out a poem that they made Firejon read aloud from the scaffold afore they turned him off. I can still remember that poem word for word. Would ye like to hear me say it, Ben?”
Without waiting for a reply, Mallon launched into the verse.
“Come all ye mothers’ sons who sail the sea,
Attend to this last tale that I will tell.
Embark not on a life of piracy,
‘Tis but a dreadful trip which ends in hell.
Those honest ships you plunder, loot and sink,
Good vessels at your mercy, which you wreck,
For gold to waste, in taverns where ye drink,
Will one day drop the noose about your neck.
For once I was a wicked buccaneer,
I scorned the laws of man and God on high,
But now, with none to weep or mourn me here,
Upon this gallows I am bound to die.
Take warning now by my untimely end,
A judgement day must come to everyone.
Too late for me my evil ways to mend,
O Lord have mercy now my days are done!”
Mallon paused for effect, then continued. “Then the soldiers set up a roll upon their drums …”
Suddenly Ben felt queasy. Grasping a ratline, he swung out of the crow’s nest and began climbing down. “I think I’ve heard enough, thanks!”
Mallon brought the telescope up to his eye and peered aft. “Sail abaft, Cap’n. I think ‘tis a Greek man-o’-war!”
Ben felt far more frightened than he had at sighting the Barbary corsair. Suddenly he knew why Raphael Thuron wanted to give up being a pirate and live peacefully ashore.
Ned looked up from the remains of his mutton bone. “I thought you were used to shipboard life, mate. You look seasick to me. Here, Cap’n, come and take a peep at this boy!”
Thuron had not heard Ned, but he saw that Ben was pale and unsteady. The Frenchman threw an arm about the boy’s shoulders. “What ails ye, shipmate?”
Ben tried to straighten himself up. “I’ll be alright, sir.”
Thuron glanced up at the man in the crow’s nest and back to Ben. “Hah, you’ve been listening to that sack of woe and misery. I’ll wager he told ye all about a pirate hanging. Did he recite his favourite poem, too?”
Ben wiped a forearm across his sweat-beaded forehead. “Aye, Cap’n, he did, it was a dreadful thing”
“Rubbish!” Thuron interrupted the boy. “He made it all up from gossip that he’s heard. Take no notice of Misery Mallon. How he ever got to be a buccaneer I’ll never know. They say he was a preacher once, but the congregation banished him for stealing money from the offertory box. I’d have flung him overboard long ago, but he’d frighten the fishes with his tales of horrible pirate executions!”
Ben managed a smile. “But what about the Greek Navy vessel?”
Ned was standing with his paws on the rail, watching the approaching ship. Thuron scratched fondly behind the dog’s ears. “You leave that to me an’ Ned. We’ll take care of it, won’t we, fellow?”
The dog nodded his head as he contacted Ben by thought. “Aye, don’t worry, Ben, I’ll take off my cutlass, hide my brass earrings and cover up all these tattoos. They’ll think I’m just a harmless old cabin hound!”
Ben tugged at his dog’s wagging tail. “Good idea. No one will ever know you’re Naughty Ned, terror of the high seas!”
The Greek ship was named the Achilles. Smart as a new pin, it was rigged out with even more guns than a privateer and carried archers as well as musketeers. They lined the decks, all hands fit and ready for action. The Achilles stood off, broadside to the Marie, cannon loaded and pointing right at her.