Samuel.

Samuel kept his head down as he stepped from the gangplank and onto the deck of 'Hades'. The hood of his burnoose, and the cowl from his turban, shaded his face as he bent his neck to acknowledge Captain Lios' welcome.

"Banuff take these fine gentlemen to their quarters."

"Yes, capin." Banuff scuttled to pick up Samuel's duffle bag and took it by the strap.

"La." Samuel seized Banuff's wrist and glared at him through the cover of his clothing.

"My master does not speak English." Omar bowed his head. "He is happy to carry his bag, but thanks you for your kindness."

Samuel huffed. "Akhir 'ahtai 'an 'aqtulah," he whispered, and then added in Arabic, "Why are you calling me master?"

"We have left Moroccan soil," Omar replied in his native tongue. You are no longer a slave, but the Lord you were born to be. I know you do not like the name Mlik Sámi, however, this is also who you are, not a king perhaps, but a lord. You are Lord Samuel. I am now your servant." Omar followed Banuff and ushered Samuel along behind him. "Come, My Lord. We will talk more. I wish to know why you must kill this man."

Banuff indicated the cabin with his hand. "It's small but it'll have to do you. We got a lot like you. Fleeing the war. The Frenchies are out for blood, I'm told."

"We are not fleeing." Omar took a threatening step toward the toothless man. "My master has business in England. He is a wealthy man with unsavory friends. You are lucky he does not understand you. If he did, you would lose your tongue." As Omar spoke Samuel pushed back his cloak to expose the decorated handle of his sheathed scimitar.

"I... I'm sorry. Didn't mean nothin' by it. Just sayin' was all."

Omar tilted his head. "Thank you...."

Banuff gulped. "If ya need sometin' just ask. I'll take care of ya." He tapped his chest. Omar took another step forward. Banuff backed out through the door, his bottom lip quivering. "Just ask. I'll set ya right, ah... master." He turned and hurried down the corridor and up the stairs.

Omar grinned and shut the cabin door; he faced Samuel. "So why must this man Banuff die. I thought there were only two."

"Thlath." Samuel pushed his hood back, lifted his head and held Omar's stare. "Three. There are three." Samuel took off his burnoose, and then pulled his djellaba up and over his head to stand bare chested in front of Omar. He put his finger on the scar that ran from his right hip around his waist to meet others on his back. "He gave me this, and the three that match it on my back. He is part of Mlik Sámi's beginning, and he will be part of his end."

Omar bowed his head. "As you wish, My Lord."

"You will not call me this," Samuel growled. "You are my saviour. You are not my servant. You are my friend."

Drawing Samuel into a bear hug, Omar thumped him on the back. "As you are mine." He pushed Samuel back by the shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. "We will play the game as it needs to be played. At the moment I am your servant. If the need arises, you will be mine. When we accomplish what we have set out to do, that is the time when we are equal. Yes?" He raised one eyebrow and grinned.

"Yes." Samuel chuckled. "Always the teacher, aren't you?"

Omar patted Samuel on the cheek and laughed. "You should do this more." He pointed at Samuel's mouth. "Smile. It makes you look good." He patted Samuel's cheek again, spread a rug on the floor, and then lay on the bunk. "This bed is mine. You sleep on the floor because I am the elder, and too old for that shit." He put his hands behind his head and watched Samuel smile again. "Get your clothes on. There are no women here to impress." Omar rolled over and murmured, "England. I believe it rains there all the time, which makes it very green. This will be a nice change, I think."

The smile was still on Samuel's face when he settled on the rug. England. He was going home.

*

According to Lios, they had four days left before they reached London, if the weather held. There would be a stop in Paris, as half of his passengers wished to disembark there. The other half was for Britain. Samuel decided Banuff would die in French waters. He waited until they docked, and for most of the crew to head off in search of brothels and drinking houses. Banuff went with them.

Samuel changed into his qandrissi trousers and tunic. "It is time. He will die tonight."

Omar sat up on the edge of his bunk, and nodded. "Where do you want me to wait?"

"You will stay here." Samuel strapped his scimitar to his hips. "I'll wait on the dock until he returns, and then I will cut his throat and throw him into the water."

"No." Omar shook his head. "He will float. If the current stays as it is, he will be discovered in the morning, and with a knife cut to his throat." Omar cocked his head in question. "This will draw a lot of attention." He held out his hand. "Better to leave your blade here. Strangle him. Hit him on the head, whatever, but no knife. Hide his body among the crates. This way anyone could have murdered him. We do not want to draw attention, by using a Moroccan weapon, to kill this man."

Samuel exhaled and nodded. He took off the belt and lay the blade on the bunk. "You are correct." He pulled the cowl of his turban up to cover the bottom half of his face. "I'll be back when it is done."

*

Banuff sauntered along the pier singing to himself. He'd had a good night. A few ales, a couple of wins with the dice, and a young woman to cheer him up. He looked to the sky and thought France had much better weather than England. Now that the slave trade was coming to an end, perhaps he would find a little place by the ocean, and hang up his sea legs.

Lios had said there'd be plenty of work now a war was about to start. People, like the ones they had on board, fleeing to safer harbours. Banuff had never liked Arabs. Too cunning, as far as he was concerned. Cruel too. Every now and then he'd had a twinge of guilt over what he did. Especially when it came to the children. Little ones younger than ten always had him think twice. He chuckled. "Only for a second though, matey," he said out loud, and then grinned.

"You seem very happy."

Banuff looked around to find where the voice came from. A silhouette, stepped out from behind one of the piles of crates, waiting to be loaded onto one of the cargo ships. "Who are you?"

Samuel chuckled. "You don't remember me, Banuff. I suppose you wouldn't. There have been so many."

"So many what?" Banuff took a step back. "Who are you?"

"A slave, Banuff. One of the men you sent to hell."

"Weren't me. I... I just do my job."

"Yes. You do it very well." Samuel stepped forward. "I have scars to remind me every day of how well you do your job."

"What...?" Banuff shook his head and stepped back once more. Yes, he'd wield the whip on Lois' orders, but it wasn't often he'd left scars. Only when the cat-o-nine-tails was used. He racked his brain. There had only been a few. "Who are you?" He drew a dagger from the back of his belt, and held it out in front of him.

The sound of the water lapping gently against the pier made Samuel smile. The sky was clear. Stars sparkled, and only the distant sounds of people singing broke the serenity. When his time came to die, he wanted it to be a night like this. He stepped forward again. "My name is Mlik Sámi."

"Ah... the rich Arab." Banuff let out his breath and loosened his grip on his knife for a second. He clutched it again as he said, "I thought you couldn't speak English."

Samuel laughed softly and took another step forward. "Do you know what my name means?"

"No. Why would I? I don't understand the babble you lot go on with." His knuckles ached from holding the blade so tight. "What do you want?"

"Mlik means king or lord if you prefer. Sámi is Arabic for Samuel. I am Lord Samuel. Do you remember me?"

"What?" Banuff shook his head. "No..." There had been a man. How many years ago was that? A lord or something. An earl. "No!" It came to him like a wave in rough seas slamming against the hull, and tilting the ship. "You're not him!" Banuff held the knife up and stepped back once more. "You come anywhere near me and I'll kill you."

Samuel pulled the cowl from his face and stepped toward Banuff. "I wish you had killed me the first time we met, but now... now I'm glad to be alive, because I am going to kill you, as I promised I would."

Banuff lunged forward with his knife. Samuel side stepped and grabbed the man's wrist. He squeezed and twisted Banuff's arm up behind his back, causing Banuff to drop the knife, and land on his knees.

"Please... I was just following orders," he gasped.

"You spat in my face every day. Was that following orders?"

"I... I'm so... sorry."

"You will die tonight for the crimes you have committed against your own people. How many lives have you ruined? How many lives have been lost through torture and pain because you were following orders?" Samuel felt the devil grow in his chest. All he could hear were screams. The cries of men, women and children beaten, raped and worked to death. His mind filled with the darkness of a thunderous storm. Memory upon memory blinded his vision until all he could see was hate. Pure hate. He wanted to do so much more to this man, than just break his neck. He lifted the man's knife off the ground and held it to Banuff's crotch. "First I'll cut out your tongue, and then your balls one by..."

"Mlik Sámi. No." Omar stood with his hands behind his back and shook his head. "This is not Samuel's way."

"Please..." Banuff lifted his head to look up at the man before him. "Please help me."

The storm disappeared as quickly as it surged. Samuel nodded, took Banuff's head in both hands and snapped his neck. He stood, let the body drop to the ground and bowed his head. "Thank you, master. I wanted to cause him pain."

"You are not that kind of man anymore, Samuel. No matter what has been done to you, this is not the way of an honourable man."

"You are correct, master." Samuel let the knife slip from his fingers. His hands shook, so he clenched his fists to stop them.

"Quickly. Let us get rid of his body." Omar stuffed the knife back into Banuff's trousers and lifted his arms. They hid him in one of the crates and headed back to the ship.

*

"Where's Banuff!" Lios boomed at the men standing in front of him. "We're about to set sail and he isn't here!"

"Don know Capin." One sailor stepped forward. "He was with us last night. Went off with a lass, he did. Maybe he got his cock stuck in 'er and he couldn't get it out." The rest of the crew laughed at his joke.

"Shut up!" Lios paced with his hands behind his back, and then turned to see the two Moroccan's standing, watching him. He had avoided them as much as he could. Every time he heard them speak it was as if they were talking about him. It gave him the creeps. "Weigh anchor!" he yelled and headed toward his cabin. Lios looked over his shoulder to see the younger man pull back the hood of his cloak and stare at him. Lios's body erupted in goosebumps. There was something sinister about this man. He rubbed his finger over his amulet, and then quickly ducked through the bulkhead hatch.

One down and two to go.

Do you think Omar did the right thing, in stopping Samuel from killing Banuff, in a less savage way?

Photo taken from 19th Century Ships