Corsair (6 page)

“Probably why there were so few soldiers here,” Ned said. “I don’t reckon there were twenty men, though I haven’t counted the bodies.”

The commander pointed across the courtyard to a passageway in the far corner. He directed Ned along it until they came to a heavy door which was studded with bolt heads. He indicated the large key.

Ned unlocked the door and swung it back. In the light of the lantern he could see a narrow staircase leading downwards. But the place smelled like a sewer. Ned took a deep breath and started down the steps.

He was almost at the bottom when he realized he was actually in the dungeon, and that crowded on the stone floor were at least a hundred men – the crews of the two buccaneer ships.

He stopped and shouted: “Coles – are you here? Gottlieb?”

“Over on the far wall in irons,” a voice said in English, “but they can’t talk. That’s – that’s not Mr Yorke, is it?” the voice added, as though the speaker could not believe his ears.

“Yes it is.” In the dim light of the lantern Ned could only see sprawled bodies, men lying on the stone floor so closely packed it was impossible to walk. The stench was almost unendurable.

“Why can’t they talk?” Ned demanded.

“Beaten by the Dons and they’re slung in irons,” the man said. “Wait, I’ll lead you.”

Ned turned and held the lantern up to the garrison commander’s face. The man had turned grey; he stared at the floor, knowing Ned was examining him. “Start saying prayers,” Ned said in Spanish. “There are more than a thousand of these men’s friends in the courtyard…”

Picking his way carefully, Ned followed his buccaneer guide, who was trying to shout, though his voice came out at little more than a croak. “Make way there, it’s Mr Yorke and Sir Thomas, make way!”

They found Coles unconscious hanging as though crucified from leg and arm irons on the far wall. The lantern showed his chest still moving, but otherwise the man could have been dead. And ten feet to one side Gottlieb also hung in irons: he too was unconscious.

“The smaller keys,” the garrison commander whispered.

Ned passed the lantern to Thomas and knelt by Coles. First he unlocked the irons holding his arms and then unlocked the leg irons. He gently lowered Coles’ body and the man groaned.

With the other two keys Ned freed Gottlieb and lowered him to the stone floor.

Thomas examined him with the lantern. “He’s alive too, but a few more hours…”

Ned felt so cold that he wondered why he was not shivering, although the heat in the dungeon was intense. He stood up and turned to the garrison commander. He pointed to where Coles had been hanging. “Lean with your back against the wall,” he said.

The puzzled Spaniard turned and leaned against the wall.

“Raise your arms.”

Before the man fully realized what had happened, Ned had shut the arm irons round his wrists and locked them.

Then he crouched and fitted the leg irons and locked them. He put the keys in his pocket and Thomas said angrily, waving his cutlass: “I’d spit him, Ned!”

Ned shook his head. “We have a lot of questions to ask him. Leave him there while we get these men out of here. Send some of our men down – we’re going to have to carry Coles and Gottlieb up to the fresh air. Then we’ll come and have a chat with our Spanish friend.”

Before anyone could move, one of the buccaneers staggered over to where the prisoner was held in the irons and kicked him in the stomach amid a torrent of what Ned took to be Dutch. The man was swaying from the effort and Ned waited to see if he was going to repeat it, but he seemed satisfied and turned away, while the prisoner writhed in the chains.

“That’ll get him in the right frame of mind for our chat,” Thomas commented grimly.

As soon as Ned reached the top of the steps and found himself in the courtyard he shouted for Saxby, who limped across. Quickly Ned explained that Coles and Gottlieb were below. “Take them out to the
Phoenix
: they’re in very poor shape and in need of some treatment from Mrs Judd. Tell your men to be gentle with them.”

He turned to Lobb, who had just walked up. “All the men from the
Argonauta
and
Dolphyn
are down there in the dungeon, starved and parched. Have then taken out to their ships so they can get some food and water.”

Ned turned to Thomas. “Can you spare your mate, Mitchell? Neither Coles nor Gottlieb will be much use for a few days.”

“I can spare Mitchell. Which ship do you want him to go to?”

“Let him take the
Dolphyn
.” He spoke to Lobb. “You’d better take command of the
Argonauta
when it’s time to sail. I reckon by then the men will have recovered enough to get the sails up.”

What next? The fort, of course; it had to be secured; the explosion would have been heard everywhere, but people must have pulled the bedclothes over their heads. He saw Leclerc bustling about with a lantern, trying to sort out his men. “Ah, take a hundred or so men and cover the fortress from outside: I don’t think we need fear an attack from the townspeople, but we’d better be on our guard.”

He waited as both Saxby and Leclerc shouted to the men milling about in the courtyard and then watched as the first of the buccaneer prisoners stumbled up from the dungeon, gathering round listlessly at the top, uncertain what to do. The sudden change from being prisoners in that stinking dungeon to being free men in the courtyard, Ned realized, had happened so quickly that the men were bewildered.

He walked over to them. “You’re now going to be taken out to your ships, where you’ll have to feed yourselves because I can’t spare men to help you. Your captains are being taken to the
Phoenix
for treatment; in the meantime the mates of the
Peleus
and the
Griffin
will command your ships.”

Two or three of the men gave a weak cheer, and Ned waved his lantern, pointing towards the beach. “Boats are down there waiting for you.”

He turned to Thomas. “Once all these men are out of the dungeon, we’ll continue our chat with that garrison commander.”

“You’re not turning the rest of the men loose to raid the town?”

“Not yet. We’ve plenty of time, and the most important thing is to find out why the Spanish seized our men. Ah,” Ned said, “here they come with Coles and Gottlieb.”

Preceded by a man with a lantern, three men came out carrying the Englishman and Dutchman. Although the lantern was dim, Ned saw that Coles’ eyes were open.

He hurried over to the man. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Coles murmured. “But glad to see you. Wouldn’t have lasted much longer.”

“What were the Spanish after?”

“Don’t know; just seized us when we were selling ’em some piece goods. Kept asking us about paying off the Army in Jamaica. Gottlieb and I didn’t know much about it, but the Dons wouldn’t believe us and kept on with the bastinado.”

The man’s eyes closed: those few words had exhausted him. Ned bent down and said: “Mrs Judd in the
Phoenix
will soon put you right.”

Gottlieb was too exhausted to speak English; clearly his brain was working in Dutch, and Ned signalled to the three men carrying him to take him down to the boats.

Thomas grunted and said to Ned: “Paying off the Army in Jamaica, eh? Why are the Dons suddenly interested in that?”

“No Army means the island’s undefended on land,” Ned said crisply. “And if the buccaneers move to Tortuga…”

“Yes, old Loosely could find he has the crazy King Carlos as a new landlord,” Thomas said.

Lobb came out through the doorway carrying a lantern. “That’s all out fellows out. Phew, what a stink down there. There’s just someone in a nightshirt chained to the wall, but I expect you know about him. He’s mumbling in Spanish.”

“Yes, he’s responsible for all this trouble. Now, you hurry with those men and send the boats back.”

“Aye, but the men are right poorly,” Lobb said. “They’ve only been fed a little thin soup each night. No water during the day.” With that he followed the last of the freed prisoners out through the shattered archway and down to the beach.

“Come on,” Ned said to Thomas. “Let’s go down and question our man.”

At that moment Secco appeared out of the darkness. “You need help,” he said, making it a statement, not a question. Realizing that a Spaniard could best deal with a Spaniard, Ned led the way down into the dungeon.

The garrison commander, stretched out against the slimy wall by the chains, grey-faced with fear and looking absurd in his nightshirt, watched the three men nervously.

“What is your name?” Ned asked in Spanish.

“Balliardo. Francesco Balliardo.”

“You questioned our men; now it’s our turn to question you,” Ned said heavily, “and you will answer truthfully. If you do not survive, we’ll simply start on the mayor, and then the customs officer, and the priest… Do you understand me?”

“Yes, yes,” the man stammered.

Ned turned to Secco and said in English: “You question him. We want to know first why he took the
Argonauta
and
Dolphyn
people prisoner.”

Secco spoke rapidly, idly tapping his foot with his cutlass, a gesture which Balliardo watched warily.

Ned understood the halting reply. He had received orders from the provincial governor at Barranquilla.

What had the orders said?

That any buccaneers and smugglers along the coast were to be seized.

Why seize them now? Smuggling had been going on for years.

Yes, Balliardo said, he knew that; but his orders had been definite: seize any smugglers and buccaneers – indeed, any foreign ship – that came along the coast.

“And having seized them?” Ned asked.

“I was to ask their captains some questions, if the ships came from Jamaica.”

“What were the questions?”

“I cannot tell you,” Balliardo said, staring fixedly at the floor.

Ned looked significantly at Secco, who slapped the man’s face.

“Answer!”

“I can’t; it is more than my life is worth.”

“Why?” Ned asked innocently. “Will the authorities kill you?”

“I expect so,” the man said brokenly.

Ned gave a bloodcurdling laugh. “
What
an unlucky man you are. You think there is a possibility your people will kill you if you answer my questions. Just a possibility. But let me assure you, I am certainly going to kill you if you don’t answer me. Now,
what
questions?”

The man looked up like a trapped animal, sighed and then whispered, as though afraid of being overheard, “What ships there were in Jamaica. How many frigates. If more were expected.”

Ned guessed the Spanish authorities would never believe the correct answer – that there were no British frigates and none was expected, unless carrying despatches for the governor. “What else,” he said to Secco in English, leaving the Spaniard to ask the question, guessing that Balliardo might need persuading to answer.

“Nothing else, I swear.”

Secco did not bother to translate: instead he kicked Balliardo’s shin. The man said nothing.

“What else?” Secco repeated, his voice quiet but menacing.

Balliardo shook his head and Secco punched him in the stomach, leaving him winded and gasping for breath. As soon as Balliardo had recovered, Secco said once again: “What else?”

The man shook his head helplessly. Secco said coldly: “Our lives are at stake.” His cutlass flashed and a piece of Balliardo’s nightshirt fluttered to the ground.

“The rack…” Balliardo gabbled. “If I tell you anything they’ll put me on the rack!”

“How will they know?” Secco asked.

“But they’re here now!” Balliardo had blurted it out and a moment later realized what he had said.

“Who is?”

Balliardo shook his head but a moment later Secco was standing close to him, doing something with his left hand. Balliardo screamed with pain and tried to cover his groin with his hands, clanking the chains of the metal bands round his arms.

“I know a thousand painful and slow ways to kill you,” Secco said calmly, “and I have all night. I repeat, who is?”

This time Balliardo was taking no chances: he had obviously made up his mind that he preferred risking the rack administered by his own people to the certain death he inevitably faced at the hands of these heretics.

“The provincial governor from Barranquilla. He is here.”

Balliardo’s voice had again dropped to a whisper, and clearly the thought of the provincial governor terrified him.

Secco glanced at Ned to make sure he had understood. Ned nodded.

Secco said: “Where is he staying?”

“With the bishop. No, I mean with the major.”

“The bishop? Riohacha does not have a bishop!”

“No, of course, but he is here too, the provincial bishop. He and the governor are staying for several days.”

“Where?”

Balliardo was no longer even pretending to be reluctant to answer the questions. “The governor is at the mayor’s house; the bishop with the priest.”

Ned asked: “Are there any more important people staying here in Riohacha?”

“No, only the staff of the governor, who are lodged in some other house – I don’t know which one – and the bishop’s chaplain, who is also lodging elsewhere: the priest’s house is quite small.”

Then Ned said suddenly : “Why did you ask about the Army in Jamaica?”

Balliardo shrugged his shoulders and set the chains clanking. “We heard that the Army was being disbanded. Had been disbanded, by the new governor who had just come out from England.”

“Why are you interested?”

“Me? Balliardo exclaimed. “I am not interested. It was the governor.”

“Why did you torture the two captains?”

“Why are you torturing me? The same reason. To get answers.”

“But they knew nothing,” Ned said.

“How was I to know? They are brave men. They said nothing. One of them spat in my face.”

There was a flash of steel and the flat of Secco’s cutlass hit Balliardo across the face. “I spit in your face, too,” Secco said angrily. “Why was the provincial governor from Barranquilla interested in the disbanding of the Jamaican Army? Make a guess!”