Corsair (8 page)

“Ask him again about disbanding the Army,” Ned told Secco and then took Thomas by the arm and led him outside.

“That was a good shot,” Thomas said. “My Spanish isn’t much good, but you have him worried with that last question about receiving ships.”

“Yes, but it’s all a puzzle. I think some ships have come out from Spain, and I expect they’re in Cartagena. And it looks as though this fellow is visiting the ports along this coast to get them ready to receive ships.”

“That means one of two things,” Thomas said. “Either the Dons are getting ready to make a bolt for Spain with a plate convoy – or else they are going to make some move against Jamaica.”

“That would explain the interest in disbanding the Army,” Ned said thoughtfully. “But they’ve never had enough ships to make any move…”

The mosquitoes were whining round their heads and Ned brushed them off his neck. Out here it was humid and in the night air the perfume of the flowers and shrubs hung heavily, almost oppressive.

“Look at if from the Viceroy’s point of view,” Thomas said. “He’s heard that the Jamaica Army has been disbanded, which means his own troops wouldn’t meet any opposition. He’s probably heard that the buccaneers have had their commissions withdrawn by this same governor and intend going to Tortuga. That leaves Jamaica helpless. So just a few Spanish ships crammed with soldiers…”

“I wonder…that’s strange: Coles and Gottlieb were questioned about the Army: they weren’t asked about us and commissions being withdrawn.”

Thomas sniffed. “Maybe the Viceroy knows for certain about the commissions: don’t forget, no one made much secret about them. In fact, you went round to every ship and collected them up for old Loosely.”

“Come on,” Ned said, “we’ll ask the governor!”

Sanchez was lying on the floor again, curled up, and Secco and the two buccaneers were standing over him. The major, wide-eyed, was watching still squatting on the floor.

Secco gestured at Sanchez and said contemptuously in English: “The man has started fainting. His arm is a bit bloody but only from pinpricks.”

“There’s no hurry,” Ned said, thankful that Secco had not been too enthusiastic with the dagger, “but I have a particular question I want to ask him.”

“He hadn’t any more to say about disbanding the Army,” Secco reported. “But I’m sure some ships have arrived from Spain. The way he answered that question – tried to avoid it, rather. More ships from Spain, and they’re afraid some of the smugglers will see them and report them in Jamaica.”

Ned nodded as Sanchez groaned and stirred. When he is asked questions in Spanish by Secco, he answers immediately, without pausing, Ned reflected. When I ask him a question in my not-so-good Spanish, he pauses, and that gives him time to think up an answer.

Ned told Secco: “When he recovers, ask him when he heard that the governor of Jamaica had withdrawn the commissions of the buccaneers. Try to trap him into a sudden answer. I think the Viceroy already knew, but he wasn’t sure about disbanding the Army.”

Secco grinned. “I understand perfectly.” He pushed Sanchez’s body contemptuously with the toe of his boot. “He’s a very frightened man. He thinks he is going to be killed any minute, when we have finished questioning him.”

Finally Sanchez was back on his feet, supported by the two buccaneers, and before Secco resumed his former position, Ned said: “Can you understand me?”

Sanchez nodded.

“You are not answering our questions properly, so you’re no use to us,” Ned said harshly. “There is no point in keeping you alive. I warned you to make your peace.” A sudden thought struck him. “Would you like a priest?” he asked innocently. “Isn’t there some ritual you Catholics have when a man is dying?”

“I…I’m not dying,” Sanchez protested feebly.

“Oh, but you are,” Ned said, summoning up a fiendish laugh which left him wanting to giggle. “Oh, yes, you are a dying man. The Last Rites, isn’t that what the priest administers?”

Sanchez fainted again, sliding to the floor like a collapsing sack.

“Ned, you’re being nasty to the poor man,” Thomas said lightly. “My Spanish isn’t very good, but you’re frightening him.”

“I don’t know what I said that upset him,” Ned said. “I just told him that he was dying, and asked him if he wanted a priest.”

Thomas roared with laughter. “Masterly, he’s dying and does he want a priest! Oh, wait until I tell Diana. She’ll love that! Very droll, Ned, very droll.”

“Our friend on the floor doesn’t seem to appreciate the drollery,” Ned said. “I do wish he’d stop fainting.”

Secco gestured to the two buccaneers, who hauled the governor to his feet. Secco looked at Ned with raised eyebrows, and when Ned nodded said immediately in Spanish: “When did you hear about the commissions?”

“A man in Port Royal – what commissions?”

Secco turned the dagger, his thumb along the flat of the blade.

“What man in Port Royal?”

Sanchez shook his head muzzily. “I don’t know; an agent of the Viceroy, I suppose.”

The dagger flashed again and Sanchez recoiled, trying to wrench his right arm from the buccaneer’s grasp so that he could protect his left. The dagger moved a second time and Secco said quietly: “What did you hear about the commissions?”

“Oh my God, that they had been withdrawn!”

“And then what did you hear?” Secco asked relentlessly.

“That the buccaneers were going to Tortuga.”

“The Viceroy knows all this for certain?”

“For certain,” Sanchez agreed hurriedly, as though anxious to avoid another jab from the dagger.

“So there’d be no buccaneers and no soldiers?”

“I suppose not,” Sanchez said wearily, and fainted again.

“We’re wasting our time,” Ned told Thomas. “Let’s collect the bishop.” He told Secco: “Take the governor and the mayor out to the ships, we’ll keep them with us, along with the bishop. You never know when a trio of hostages might come in useful.”

Thomas said: “Why not send the governor and this greasy mayor to the
Dolphyn
or the
Argonauta
: those fellows will guard them carefully!”

“I was going to ask you to be host to the bishop!”

“No Papist on board the
Peleus
,” Thomas said firmly. “Not even sitting in a boat towing astern.”

“All right, we’ll let Secco guard him.” He turned to the Spaniard. “How do you feel about having a bishop on board?”

“I have two murderers, a coiner, a triple bigamist and four thieves among my crew, so I’d hardly notice a bishop.”

“Chat with him,” Ned said. “You never know what information you might pick up.”

“Search the priest’s house thoroughly,” Secco advised. “The bishop is probably travelling with all his finery: these fellows like their comfort.”

The bishop, when they had hammered on the priest’s door and demanded that he produce him, turned out to be a man who made the mayor look like a fine upstanding example of the human race. He was almost as wide as he was tall; his eyes were so close together they seemed to touch; his mouth reminded Ned of a squashed banana. His hands kept moving, as though he was washing them. He was a man, Ned decided, who could never be trusted to give a straight answer about anything: to him the shortest distance between two points was the most devious way.

Ned had wasted no time: he had introduced himself as the leader of the buccaneers, agreed he was responsible for the explosion which had brought them all out of their beds in alarm, and asked the bishop: “Why are you here in Riohacha?”

“Just visiting my flock,” the bishop said ingratiatingly.

“Why are you travelling with the governor?”

“Because of the danger from bandits,” the bishop admitted. “Bandits commit any outrages against the Church.”

“So you and the governor have been warning the ports?”

The bishop’s eyes flickered. He was gross, as repulsive a man as a busy person would meet in a month, but he was shrewd.

“Visiting the ports. Why should we be warning them?”

“To keep a lookout for buccaneers.”

The bishop shrugged his shoulders, a gesture which started his stomach swinging from side to side. “I know nothing of buccaneers – except for you.”

The man was too quick to be trapped and too pathetic to be forced. “You will come with us,” Ned said, and turned to the buccaneers standing behind him. “Search the house.”

“But this is an outrage!” exclaimed the bishop. “I am a man of God engaged on his pastoral duties.”

“And particularly the bishop’s room,” Ned added.

Aurelia was waiting for him on board the
Griffin
, and the first hint of dawn was lightening the eastern sky as he climbed on board. As she kissed him she murmured: “You’ve been such a long time!”

“We had to ask many people many questions.”

“That explosion! How it echoed! But I didn’t hear any musket shots afterwards.”

“Not a musket or pistol was fired,” Ned said. “We took the fort by complete surprise; even the garrison commander was still in his nightshirt.”

“Did you find out anything from him?”

“Not really; we found out more from the governor of the province,” Ned said airily.

“The
governor
? But where…?”

“He’s on a visit to Riohacha. Or he was; he’s on a visit to the
Dolphyn
or the
Argonauta
now, on his way to Jamaica.”

“And our men? A boat passed nearby taking Gottlieb and Coles out to the
Phoenix
for Mrs Judd to nurse. What happened to them?”

“Torture,” Ned said. “The garrison commander was asking them questions – using a bastinado.”

“And the rest of their men?”

“Locked in the dungeon without water and with very little food, but they’ll be all right. And we found a bishop, too.”

“Ned – what do you mean, a bishop?”

“He was travelling with the governor. The bishop of the province. He was staying with the town’s priest.”

“Where is he now?”

“Being held on board Secco’s ship. He’s a little fat toad; I’ve seldom seen anyone so repulsive. Do I get some breakfast?”

Aurelia sat opposite Ned at the table in the saloon as he ate his food. “Did you find out much from the governor?” she asked.

Ned shrugged his shoulders. “Not much. He didn’t know anything really. He was just carrying out the Viceroy’s orders.”

“What were they?”

“That’s the part that wasn’t too clear. We spent some time trying to get him to tell us more.”

“What were you trying to get him to tell you?”

“Well,” Ned said, “it looks as though the
Argonauta
and
Dolphyn
were seized because the Spanish had some more ships arrive recently, and they’re afraid that buccaneer ships might see them and report back to Jamaica.”

“Why should it matter?”

“That’s the puzzle. The garrison commander was trying to find out for sure if it was true that the Army has been disbanded in Jamaica. The Viceroy already knows that old Loosely has withdrawn the buccaneers’ commissions. As far as I could make out from the governor, the Viceroy must know – or think, anyway – that Jamaica is defenceless, or soon will be: no army, no buccaneers. So if more ships have arrived from Spain, he might be planning to invade the island. Or he might be planning to send home a plate convoy…”

“You couldn’t get the governor to talk about that?”

“No, Secco did his best.”

“What do you mean – you tortured him?”

“Well, we tried to persuade him to help us.”

“You tortured him!” Aurelia said accusingly.

“What if we did? We didn’t kill him. And we are trying to find out something concerning the very safety of Jamaica.”

“But if you tortured him, you’re no better than the garrison commander who tortured Coles and Gottlieb.”

“They started it,” Ned said lamely. “They seized our ships and men. The garrison commander chained Coles and Gottlieb to the wall of the dungeon and went to work with the bastinado. Both were in a terrible state when we arrived. So the garrison commander and the governor can’t complain if we use a little persuasion as well.”

Aurelia sighed. “You men. You’ll always have excuses. And anyway, you didn’t succeed: you still don’t know anything for sure.”

“At least we know the Dons think they can take Jamaica,” Ned said. “It’s either an attempt on Jamaica or a plate convoy.”

He pushed away his plate. “It’s time we got under way. Lobb won’t be coming with us – he’s commanding the
Argonauta
or
Dolphyn
. Thomas has given up Mitchell, too.”

Aurelia sighed again. “Not much sleep for us, then, with no mate.”

“At least we don’t have two sick captains to nurse.”

“Ha, Martha Judd will be loving it. Nothing she likes better than nursing people. It’s something she knows about.”

Up on deck, Ned sent men to the windlass, and soon they were heaving down on the bars, bringing home the anchor cable. Water spilled across the foredeck, squeezed out of the cable along with sand which it had brought up from the bottom mixed with foul-smelling mud. Ned quickly had men with buckets swilling off the mud with sea water before the cable went below: it would attract enough flies without being coated with mud.

The clunking of windlasses came from all the ships as they followed the
Griffin
and began to weigh their anchors. The
Griffin
’s mainsail was soon hoisted and sheeted home, followed by the foresail.

Aurelia, standing beside Ned on the afterdeck, gave a shiver. “I wonder what waits for us in Jamaica this time,” she said. “There always seems to be some nasty surprise.”

Light winds gave them a slow passage: it took five and a half days to reach Port Royal, when the
Griffin
led the squadron of ships past the Three Fathom Bank and Salt Pond Reef to cross Green Bay, leaving Fort Charles and the Palisadoes to starboard. They passed the battery to larboard which had for obvious reasons been called the Twelve Apostles, and passed through the Port Royal anchorage before turning to windward to get up to the governor’s jetty.