anything you need to ask him. Right, Ned?" The dog nodded to affirm this.
Thuron's eyes lit up. "That's a very valuable thing to know. Thank you, my friends. I am a fortunate fellow to have
such wonderful companions. But we'll keep it our secret. The crew wouldn't understand."
Ben agreed. "Except maybe Pierre. He's a good man, too, Cap'n."
Thuron nodded. "They're all good men in their own ways, but Anaconda was the best of them. I can't tell you how I
miss that giant of a man, may his soul find peace. He was a slave, you know—we ran away together, deserted from a
corsair galley many years ago in the Indian Ocean, just off the coast of Madagascar. We were together for a long time.
When I got my first ship, I wanted to make him the mate. But Anaconda wouldn't hear of it. All he wanted was to be
steersman. I remember him saying, 'I will command your ship's wheel and take you wherever you want to go. You are
my captain, and my friend for life!' And that's the way it was until yesterday. Ah, my poor friend, my poor friend, my
heart grieves for him."
Ben had to turn his face away as the French buccaneer captain wept openly. Ned whined and laid his head in Thuron's
lap.
"Sail ho, to the southeast. Sail ho!"
Brushing a sleeve roughly across his eyes, Thuron quickly straightened up to the lookout's call. "Sail! Let's hope 'tis
not an enemy."
All hands were crowded to the rail as the Frenchman sighted through his telescope at the distant vessel. He nodded
knowingly and spoke to Pierre. "Good job I saw him before he hauled up a decoy flag. I'd know that one anywhere.
'Tis the Barbary corsair, Flame of Tripoli Only one captain, Al-Kurkuman, flies a flag with a red scimitar on a gold
background. Hoho, look, he's striking his colours and running up a Portuguese merchant flag, the rascal. Who does he
think he's fooling?"
As the Flame of Tripoli altered course to intercept the Marie, Ben could see that its sails were blood red. He tugged on
Thuron's sleeve. "Cap'n, does he mean to do us harm?"
Thuron put away the telescope. "Only if he gets the chance, lad. Al-Kurkuman's a slaver. He's bound for the Isle of
Cuba with a cargo of misery purchased from the coasts of Mozambique. I can't abide traffickers in human flesh, Ben,
but we've got to be diplomatic with Al-Kurkuman. He's dangerous to any he thinks are weaker than himself. Leave
this to me—I can handle him. Pierre, run out all cannon and arm all hands! Stand ready and wait on my word!"
As the Flame of Tripoli hove nearer, Ben saw the captain known as Al-Kurkuman. He was everything a Barbary
corsair should be, an Arabian Indian of mixed blood. He glittered in the sunlight, draped in chains, necklaces, beads,
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 Belém 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