Corsair (13 page)

Ned put the perspective glass back in its drawer. There was something strange somewhere, but he could not put his finger on it.

“You look very unhappy,” Aurelia said from the hammock on which she was sitting in the shade of the awning. “Worried, rather.”

“Puzzled rather than worried,” he said, and told Aurelia about the extra fishing boats and the oars left in them.

“Were there oars in the boats that were there yesterday?” she asked.

“I didn’t notice,” he admitted.

“
Chéri
, it seems to be an odd thing to be puzzling about,” she said, laughing to take any edge off the remark.

“That’s only half of it,” Ned said, and went on to relate his curiosity about the time fixed for Heffer’s meeting next day.

Aurelia thought about it. “You know, it could just be thoughtlessness. The governor is comfortable in his house and doesn’t think about Heffer having to ride in from the fort in the heat of the sun. Why, don’t you remember that you made old Loosely stop having legislative council meetings in the evenings because of the mosquitoes? I remember you were so cross because you found out that he didn’t know the mosquitoes were worse at dawn and dusk.”

Ned laughed at the memory. “Yes, it was small enough satisfaction that he thought mosquitoes just stung all day! They were certainly stinging him!”

“So you see,” Aurelia said, “the governor here might be another Loosely, either not knowing or not thinking. Or even not caring.”

“It could be,” Ned said doubtfully, “but I don’t like ignoring these nagging thoughts.”

“You’re just bored because you’ve nothing to do,” Aurelia said. “You want to be giving orders and making things happen!”

Ned grimaced. “I think you’re right,” he finally admitted. “All this sitting and standing around doesn’t suit me.”

“It’s your own fault,” Aurelia said unsympathetically. “You told Sir Harold that you’d simply bring Heffer here, but wouldn’t have anything to do with the negotiations. Now you’re paying the price by being bored.”

“It’s not boredom that makes me puzzled about the boats and the time of Heffer’s meeting tomorrow,” Ned protested.

He sat down on a hammock opposite Aurelia. “You realize that we might find things changed when we get back to Port Royal?”

“In what way?”

“Well, now the brothels have been closed, some of the buccaneers will leave for Tortuga.”

“But you and Thomas don’t intend going there.”

“No,” he agreed, “because we have the houses built. But if all the buccaneers go, and the Spaniards in Cartagena do try an invasion…”

“
Chéri
, short of telling Sir Harold about our raid on Riohacha and making him reopen the brothels, what can we do about it?”

“Nothing, I suppose. But if the Dons do come and the buccaneers have left, we’ll just have to get on board the
Griffin
and make a bolt for it. Go to Tortuga, or up to the Windward or Leeward Islands. Go back to Barbados, perhaps.”

She shuddered at the mention of Barbados. “When the Roundheads drove us out, and we left that wretch of a husband of mine behind, I was so excited at being free that I swore I’d never go to Barbados again. Then when my husband was killed and I was truly free, I knew nothing could ever make me go. So if we have to escape, then not to Barbados! Antigua is too arid and I don’t like the people there. But there are other islands, and we’ll find somewhere.”

Ned laughed and said: “Don’t get too sad: the Spanish haven’t come yet! They might only be planning a plate convoy.”

“That would be exciting. We’d be pirates, according to Sir Harold, but it would be exciting to try and capture some plate ships. Would they be big galleons?”

“They might be, but I expect they’d be smaller. Galleons draw too much water to get into Riohacha and Santa Marta, yet the governor of Colombia was worrying about foreign ships seeing any of the vessels from Spain. Galleons would stay in Cartagena and sail from there to Havana and then out into the Atlantic.”

“Would our ships stand a chance against frigates?”

“Not in size, but we’d outnumber them – perhaps as much as three to one.”

Aurelia pulled her hair back clear of her forehead. “Which do you think it’ll be – a plate convoy or an attempt to invade Jamaica?”

Ned pulled a face. “If the Spanish captured Jamaica and the buccaneers were dispersed, the Dons wouldn’t have to worry about plate convoys: they could sail them at their leisure. They might meet trouble the other side of the Atlantic with French privateers, but they’d be content to risk that.”

Soon Ned and Aurelia sat quietly and dozed in their hammocks. There was just enough breeze to flap the awning and keep them cool. When Ned woke from time to time – usually when a pelican splashed into the water nearby, or a couple of terns quarrelled with each other, squawking as they flew in tight circles – he found himself picturing the untidy row of boats pulled up on the beach. He was now almost certain that if the oars had been in the boats yesterday, he would have noticed them: oars in boats drawn up on the beach was something most seamen would notice. No oars yesterday; oars in every boat today. Why?

It was late afternoon, just at the time the mosquitoes would be coming out on shore, and he was thankful that the ship was anchored far enough out to be clear of them. Then he connected the boats and the noon meeting arranged for Heffer. He sat up suddenly, startling Aurelia, picked up the perspective glass and looked again at the boats. Still not a man in sight; no one repairing a broken thole pin or painting over a scratch on the elaborate designs on the sides. It was all too quiet.

He made up his mind: he would risk making a fool of himself. “I’m just going over to see Thomas: I shan’t be ten minutes.”

He shouted for Lobb to find some men to row him over to the
Peleus
. Once on board he walked Thomas aft, where they could not be overheard, and told him his suspicions.

Thomas listened to him carefully, and then shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure it’s simply a coincidence,” Thomas said. “I’ll do as you suggest, but I think you are too suspicious of the Dons.”

“No one’s ever grown old from trusting them,” Ned said quietly.

“That’s true. Anyway, I’ll do what you suggest. Shall we tell old Heffer?”

“No, don’t bother him: he’ll only start braying, and you and Diana can do without that.”

Thomas took his perspective glass out of its locker and looked at the boats. “You’re right about the oars, and there’s certainly not a soul on the beach. But the oars may just be a custom of the port: maybe people here don’t steal as much as they do in Jamaica.”

“Perhaps,” Ned agreed, “but I’m pretty certain the oars weren’t in the boats yesterday.”

“You’re not absolutely sure, though. Don’t forget you were more interested in what the garrison was doing, and old Heffer galloping off on the horse.”

“That’s true,” Ned agreed, and added: “Pity there’s no moon tonight. Still, unless the wind gets up it’ll be quiet enough.”

Ned and Aurelia stood side by side in the darkness, looking over the
Griffin
’s bulwarks towards the shore. Round them men sat or sprawled on the deck, muskets or pistols beside them, and cutlasses at their waists. The
Griffin
’s guns were loaded and run out. Several pieces of slowmatch glowed in the darkness, hidden below the level of the bulwark, ready to be twisted round a linstock and used to fire the guns.

“It must be midnight by now,” Aurelia said.

Ned had been listening to the sounds from the shore. There was the occasional sharp cry of a night heron; in the distance the pack of yapping dogs so familiar in any Caribbee town. The occasional subdued splashing of fish trying to elude an enemy made Ned listen carefully, and then relax when he was sure. The water gurgled alongside the
Griffin
as she swung gently to her anchor.

Lobb padded along the deck and stopped beside Ned. “Just the usual noises so far,” he muttered.

“Yes, birds, dogs and fishes.”

“I’m not sure whether or not we should be disappointed!” Lobb admitted.

“Plenty of the night left,” Ned said.

“Yes, and the men aren’t losing much sleep. Most of them are asleep already. They seem to find the deck as soft as their hammocks.”

After another quarter of an hour Ned said to Aurelia: “Why don’t you go down and have a sleep? You’ll soon wake if anything happens.”

Aurelia stifled a yawn. “I think I will. How about you?”

“I’m not sleepy,” Ned said, thinking about the
Peleus
, where Thomas and Diana were probably having a similar conversation, and the ship’s deck would be crowded with sleepy men, the slowmatches burning with the same slightly acrid smell.

After Aurelia had gone below, Ned found himself staring up at the stars as they shone between the clouds. The Southern Cross was bright on the horizon, almost vertical. Orion’s Belt above, the Pole Star low on the northern horizon… So different from England, where the Southern Cross was never seen and the Pole Star was much higher. Yet his memory of things in England was now becoming appreciably fainter: he could remember the places where he spent his childhood, but Canterbury, London, Oxford, places he had only visited before coming out to the Caribbee – they were blurred in his mind.

He could remember the family home in Ilex, on the edge of Romney Marsh in Kent; he could remember the estate at Godmersham, at the foothills of the North Downs, he could – was that a creak? Of oars against thole pins?

He stared out towards the beach, trying to penetrate the darkness. If only there was a moon!

He did not hear the noise again, and none of the five lookouts reported anything, so he must have imagined it. That night heron squawking – its cry was getting fainter, so it must be flying inland. Did something alarm it?

He found himself thinking about the house they had just built in Jamaica. Did Aurelia really like it, now it was finished? Well, she had said that when she was in the house she wished she was in the
Griffin
, and when she was in the
Griffin
she longed for the house, and since that was how he felt these days perhaps they would never find peace. What they were looking for was always round the corner.

Why was this? When he lived on the estate in Barbados, he had been content – no, he hadn’t, he contradicted himself. Always he had dreamed about Aurelia, living on the neighbouring estate with that brute of a husband. Then, when he had to escape from the estate because the Roundheads were coming, he had persuaded Aurelia to come with him, and since then they had lived this curious gipsy life in the
Griffin
– until, just a few months ago, they had built the house. So now, with the brutal husband long since dead, the house built, and Aurelia agreeing they could be married as soon as there was a proper church built at Port Royal, everything had at last seemed at peace. Until the new governor arrived.

It might have been possible for the Privy Council to have made a worse choice than Sir Harold Luce, but Ned doubted it. Apart from being a prejudiced fool who would never admit he did not know anything, the man was obviously a convert: he had spent his life under Cromwell as a fervent Roundhead, and by means Ned could not fathom, he had managed to get into favour once the King was restored. Anyway, Luce’s reputation, and a hint of his activities, had already reached the Spanish, so there was no certainty that Jamaica would remain a safe place where people could live happily.

Another squawking heron, and the dogs suddenly stopped barking – Ned turned his head, his ears straining for more sounds. The dogs started barking again, and a couple of fish jumped near the ship.

Time was passing: the Southern Cross had turned slightly and Orion’s Belt had crossed a little more of the sky. Had he been thinking of this and that for half an hour? More, perhaps.

He froze: that was definitely oars creaking against thole pins, and as he leaned on the bulwarks, turning his head and trying to hear the noise again and be sure of its direction, one of the lookouts padded up and whispered: “Boats – we can hear the oars!”

“Rouse the men,” Ned said. “Make sure they don’t make a noise. Could you distinguish the direction?”

“No, just that it was towards the fort.”

The man hurried off, his bare feet flapping against the planking. He bent over one sleeping man after another and shook them awake.

Ned found Lobb standing beside him. “Looks as though they’re coming,” the mate said.

“Yes, to us or the
Peleus
, or both?”

“Both, I reckon,” Lobb said. “If they’re using all those boats on the beach, there’s a couple of score out there.”

Ned listened, turning his head slowly. Yes, there were many boats and the men in them were rowing slowly, careful that the blades of their oars did not splash. The oars were probably wrapped with cloth for quietness but nothing could stop the thole pins creaking in their sockets.

Yes, boats seemed to be spread out from there, on the bow, round to the quarter. There was just enough light from the stars for the men in the boats to be able to make out the bulk of the
Griffin
, but the boats were small and low against the dark background of the sea, impossible to see from the ship.

His eye caught sight of a tiny red glow to one side: one of his seamen was twisting a slowmatch round a linstock. The guns were already depressed as much as possible: they could not be fired at anything nearer than sixty yards, and he was sure the boats were already closer than that.

There would be about twenty boats heading for the
Griffin
, each with up to twenty men in them. Twenty? Well, including oarsmen. The creaking was getting nearer, and he thought he could now hear the rippling of the water at the stem of the boats.

“Ready with muskets and pistols,” he hissed to the men behind and beside him. No shooting from the
Peleus
, so the Dons had not reached Thomas yet.

Then in the starlight he saw a black crescent approaching across the surface of the sea like a wind shadow: a score of boats perhaps thirty yards away, all converging on the
Griffin
, moving stealthily.