Chapter 11

It was late in the day when the small boat ran up onto the beach at Eko. The craft looked like any other small craft that plied the waters of the lagoon. Other than the fact it had no mast or sail it was no different than any other pirogue. It was small, crudely made, and simplistic in design. There was in fact nothing unique about it to call anyone's attention to it. The same could be said about the people who manned it.

The crew consisted of a medium tall man all dressed in billowing robes and three children. The oldest of the children sat in the stern of the craft. She looked to be thirteen or so in years and she manned the tiller of the small craft as the man poled it. The other two children sat before her. One was a young boy and the other was a girl who looked to be almost twelve. Nobody really took notice of them.

The two younger children scrambled from the boat when it hit the shore. Together with the man they pulled the craft up and out of the water. Only then did the eldest girl climb out of the boat. Once she had, all three children started to grab packs from the bottom of the boat. They weren't large packs, but they were big enough to carry bedrolls and a few other things. The man just stood there and watched. When the children had slipped the packs onto their backs the man started walking away from the boat. He headed towards the Port gate of the factory.

The gate was well guarded. Two soldiers stood there armed with muskets and swords. They watched with curiosity as the small group approached them. When they had gotten within a dozen feet of the gate one of the soldiers stationed there hailed them in Portuguese.

"Halt," the man said firmly, holding up a hand as he spoke just in case the group did not understand him. "The factory is closed for the day."

The group stopped the moment the guard spoke. As the man replied to the guard, speaking Arabic, the children gazed up at him in a questioning manner.

"I wish to speak to Omar," the man said rapidly. "I carry important news for him."

The guards looked at each other and they shook their heads and frowned. Neither of the men understood Arabic or any of the local dialects. What the man was saying meant nothing to them.

"Go away!" the guard who had spoke to the group the first time shouted sternly, waving with his hand to indicate that the group should leave. It didn't work. This time the man spoke in broken Portuguese.

"Omar ... speak ... Omar," the man shouted through the layers of wrappings that covered his face.

"I said get!" the guard snapped in response, stepping towards the group in a threatening manner.

The children backed away but the man did not. Instead he pulled a few coins out of a purse that hung from his wrist and he tossed them to the approaching guard.

"Omar ... speak ... Omar!" the man repeated like a parrot as the guard caught the coins in his free hand.

The guard jingled the coins in his hand for a moment or two and stared at the man. His eyes went from the man to the children and then back again. Finally the guard looked over to man who was standing sentry with him.

"What do you think?" the guard asked the other, speaking in a low voice.

The other man just shrugged his shoulders in reply and then he looked up at the towers that stood on either side of the gate. The sentries there were staring down with interest.

"You'd better make up your mind quickly," the other guard said after a second or two. "The others saw the man toss you coins and regardless of whether we drive him off or send for Omar, the Captain will hear about it."

"You're right," the first guard sighed in reply, flicking a glance towards the man. "Maybe I should just call the Captain and have him talk to the heathen and his whelps."

"Well he does speak their blasted language doesn't he," the second guard noted with a nod of his head. "Still he will be pissed if you call him here to deal with some blasted vagabond."

"True," the first guard muttered in acknowledgement. "Maybe I should call for Omar then. At least if he gets pissed off we can ignore him. After all, he's just a slave."

"Yeah, but he's the chief slave here and you know it," the second guard pointed out. "If you piss him off he'll be screaming to Ishmael about it and then you'll pay."

"I just can't win, can I?" the first guard grumbled, glancing towards the man and the children once more, silently wishing that they weren't there anymore.

"Omar..." the man called out in stilted Portuguese. "Speak ... Omar!"

"All right," the first guard shouted back in frustration, "I'll send for the man."

With that the guard walked back to his post and then he looked into the factory to see who he could spot. When he saw a local worker going by the gate the guard called out to him. Immediately the worker ran over to him. Fortunately the worker understood Portuguese. After a moment or two in conversation the worker took off running, heading for the factor's residence in search of Omar. As he left the guard went back to standing his watch. As he did he noted that the man with the children had stepped off of the track that led up from the jetty to the factory. He had taken the children over to where a tree stood and now they were sitting in the shade, chatting together and waiting patiently for Omar's arrival. He snorted at the sight and then he looked at the coins that he was still holding. The man had paid him well for his services. There were three pieces of silver in his hand. A tidy little sum that would buy him drinks later at the factory bar. The guard smiled at that and then slipped the coins into his own purse. Hopefully the Captain wouldn't want a piece of it. He'd have to wait and see.

"Explain your failure to me Dom Fernando," King Manuel demanded of the man standing before him. "What do you mean that you have no news?"

Dom Fernando stood before the King of Portugal in his audience chamber and he trembled. With the king were his chamberlain and his chief advisors. All of them were looking at Dom Fernando in a stern and exasperated manner. The men were gathered there to learn about what had happened to Dom Roberto and his household and they were not pleased to learn that nothing had been discerned by the King's Representative.

"Forgive me your Majesty, but I have tried and failed," Dom Fernando pleaded aloud, drawing stern looks from everyone there.

"You have had a week to find Dom Roberto and his family," the king snapped angrily. "This is intolerable. Are you trying to tell me that a nobleman of my court has vanished as if taken by God to Heaven? I do not believe it."

"As do the rest of us, Dom Fernando," the Chamberlain noted aloud. "You must have found something out."

"I have tried your Majesty," Dom Fernando replied, addressing the king and ignoring the words of the Chamberlain. "I have searched the villa of the Count de Alvarez from top to bottom and I have found nothing except for some blood. It is clear that besides the slain nun the city watch found in the Count de Alvarez's bedchamber that others within the house were slain that night. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, their bodies were spirited away."

"I still cannot accept this, Dom Fernando," the king growled. "I have given you the services of the city watch and men from my palace guard. What have you done with them?"

"I have put them to searching your Majesty," Dom Fernando declared. "With your guards I have busted open closed doors within the villa and I have searched each and every room. I have found neither a sign of the Count or any papers that would tell us where he might have gone. I did however find a number of secret passages including one that led out under the streets of the city and into the countryside beyond the city walls."

"Is it possible that Dom Roberto left by that means?" the king asked directly, his face anxious for an answer.

"I do not think so Majesty," Dom Fernando admitted in a hesitant manner. "The passage left through the old dungeon of the villa and before reaching the portal to the passageway a person needed to gain access to the dungeon. It took four strong men to beat down the door to the dungeon and nearly an hour of effort. When the door was finally busted open I found the key to the door and the key to the passageway thrown to the floor of the dungeon. There is no way the Count could have fled via the passageway without taking at least the key to it since we also found that door barred as well."

"This is incredible," the king muttered looking to his Chamberlain and his advisors as he spoke. "It just doesn't make sense. Did you check the passageway once you'd unbarred it? Had anyone used it?"

"Yes your Majesty," Dom Fernando admitted. "I did check it and yes someone had used it. I took a lantern and a party of guards and we searched it to its end. The passage exited into an old farmhouse outside the city walls. There we found the tracks of horses and imprints of wheels in the Earth. We also found blood and plenty of it. Again however we found no bodies."

"I will not accept this Dom Fernando," King Manuel declared sternly. "If you cannot locate the Count de Alvarez and his daughters then I will find someone else to do the work for me. It is clear that some ill deeds have occurred within my kingdom and I will not tolerate it. You have another day to bring me answers and if you cannot produce the Count de Alvarez or tell me where he is hiding, then I will give this task to someone who can. Do you hear me man?"

"Yes your Majesty," Dom Fernando exclaimed in a trembling voice. "I hear and I obey."

Omar shuffled up to the open gate looking very annoyed. It had taken several minutes for the man to walk from the Factor's residence to the gate. The man sent for him had told him that his services were needed at the gate, but the old household servant was not impressed with being summoned. It was getting late in the day and he was busy ensuring the cooks and the household servants were tending to their duties preparing the evening meal for his Portuguese masters. To Omar he did not have time to come running whenever a common soldier could not speak to a local. Still the man sent to him had said that the person wishing to speak with him had asked for him by name. That by itself was a curious matter.

"Well," Omar growled in Portuguese upon reaching the gate. "What is it?"

"Uncle Omar!" the children sitting under the shade tree called out, shouting their greeting before the sentries could explain anything. Even as the spoke they leapt up from where they were sitting and all three of them rushed over to where Omar was standing. Over and over again they called to him saying the same thing: "Uncle Omar."

Omar was stunned by the children's cries. He stood and blinked in disbelief as the three reached him. He didn't even resist when the children took hold of his arms and they started dragging him towards the man who had been sitting with the children. The man was now standing as if waiting upon Omar.

"Come and speak to Father," the eldest child in the group said as she tugged on Omar's arm. "He will explain everything."

Slowly but willingly Omar let the children drag him from the open gate and towards the waiting man. He was stunned but curious as to what was going on. He was also not afraid. He doubted that any ill would befall him at the hands of the children and if the man tried anything, there were four armed sentries within musket range who would act swiftly if he called out for help.

"What is this?" Omar asked the man when the children finally brought him to a halt in front of the man. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"A thousand pardons old friend," the man muttered in a muffled voice, speaking through the wrappings that covered his lower face, "but I needed to speak to you alone and this was the easiest way. In the name of the Prophet I assure you I mean you no harm."

As the man spoke he moved about Omar, forcing Omar to turn with him. Eventually the man was standing between Omar and the gate and the guards standing there. For a moment Omar drew back in fear.

"No old friend," the man stated upon noticing the nervousness in the older man's face. This time he spoke to Omar in Portuguese. "I beg you to be calm and not to try and flee. If you listen and do as I say, all will be well and you will understand everything that I have to say."

The fact that the strange man spoke fluent Portuguese gave Omar pause to stay and continue speaking to him. It also forced Omar to look more closely at the speaker. His old eyes flickered over the man and he quickly realized that the man was younger than his bearing suggested. That too was something Omar suddenly noted that he had missed up to a moment ago. The man stood tall and confident like a soldier or a nobleman; not like the common vagabond beseeching alms that Omar had perceived the man to be. Realizing this forced Omar to stare into the eyes of the man before him. A second later he started with surprise.

"Who are you?" Omar asked tentatively, his voice trembling with excitement.

"Calm yourself Omar, my faithful servant," Pedro told him in a low voice, still speaking Portuguese, "and do not cry out. I do not want the guards knowing it is me."

Omar did not cry out but he did gasp aloud and stand opened mouth for a moment or two. As he did Pedro took the man by the arm and he guided Omar a few more steps away from the gate and the hearing of prying ears.

"But Master," Omar muttered a few seconds later, "this is glorious news. We should hurry to the house and tell your friends. They are all worried about you. Many believe that you are dead."

"And that is good to know old friend," Pedro replied in a low whisper, switching back to speaking Arabic so that the children trailing the two men could understand what was going on, "for I have enemies within the factory and it would be best that they do not know of my return."

"Enemies, my Master?" Omar cried out in disbelief. "What enemies are these? Speak and I will rouse the guards and we will smite down these men together."

Pedro chuckled at the force with which Omar had made this statement. The old man was frail and aged but his heart was good and it was obvious that he would do as he proclaimed if only Pedro would identify the foes that threatened him.

"No my friend, it will not happen like that, although I thank you for the offer," Pedro declared firmly, clasping the older man's shoulder as he spoke. "Regrettably, my enemies are amongst the guards and while I know only one by face and name, I cannot trust that there might be others amongst the garrison who are not true to me. Of those within the factory there are but a few men that I can trust without question and you my friend are the first of them. As such, listen to me and I will tell you what must be done."

"As you command my Master," Omar said bowing his head as he replied, "and as Allah is my witness, I will serve you well."

Pedro spoke to the old man for another five minutes or so, telling Omar just enough so that the man could act with knowledge and foresight and not blind ignorance. He told him of Estefan's betrayal and the murder of the priest and then he gave the man his orders.

"What is this?" Bartholomew barked with indignation upon stepping out onto the patio to head to breakfast. As he spoke his eyes fell upon three children. There were two girls who were close to womanhood and a young boy. The three of them looked like street urchins.

"Nothing good Bartholomew," Omar declared in a reassuring manner, moving to intercept the sailor, "that you need to concern yourself about at the moment. These are guests of the house and they will be eating here for now. If you would follow me, I will take you to the Master's study where the teacher and the soldier await you. There everything will be explained."

"It had better be," Bartholomew grumbled loudly, giving the old servant the evil eye, "or I will make my displeasure known."

"Trust me noble Bartholomew," Omar stated with a broad smile upon his face, "and come with me. In a moment all will be revealed to you."

Bartholomew did as requested although he was not happy about it. The man was a creature of habit and he disliked changes to his routine. Fortunately the distance to the study was not far to walk and Bartholomew did not get enough time to start to rant.

"Well," Ibrahim noted aloud as Omar let Bartholomew into the room, "here he is at last. Now perhaps we can learn what is going on."

Ibrahim was seated by the heavy wooden desk that dominated the room. On the desk were platters of food from which both Ibrahim and Ishmael picked. There was fresh fruit, bread, humus, and yogurt with a bit of honey. There were also pitchers of drinks to be had. At the sound of Ibrahim's voice, Ishmael looked up and stared sternly at Omar, speaking almost immediately on the heels of the old teacher.

"Yes," the Captain of the Guard snapped forcefully towards the old servant, "tell us now what this is all about and be quick about it man. I have business elsewhere this morning."

"In a moment brave Captain," Omar reassured Ishmael as courteously as he could. "I must fetch one more to this meeting before all can be revealed. It will only take me a moment."

With that Omar closed the door to the study and departed, leaving the three men inside it wondering at the mystery of the old man's behaviour. They did not have long to wonder. Within a minute the heavy door to the room opened once more. Through it walked a man dressed in robes and a turban. The folds of the headdress were wrapped about his face. The man arrived alone.

"Who are you?" Bartholomew growled in a threatening voice as the man turned and shut the door behind him.

"And what is the meaning of this?" Ishmael demanded as the man bolted the door behind him. As he spoke the Captain rose from his seat and drew his sword.

"Put that away my good soldier," the man commanded as he turned to face the other three, "for I am no threat to you."