Mistress of the Sea (29 page)

‘If you were Spanish, then I cut off your nose.’

‘But because I am English I am favoured with your smell?’ Kit sheathed his knife calmly and tipped back his head. ‘Is there a reason for this just now?’

‘The Spaniards are on the road to Nombre de Dios. Many of them.’

Fast as a snake’s tongue, Sancho slashed at something by Kit’s side, slicing the blade back and forth, then holding it flat to display what he had caught: a giant black worm with a multitude of legs, rippling wave-like as it writhed. He grinned.

‘They travel in a long line, north from Panamá.’

‘How many?’

‘
Ciento
– a hundred. Maybe more.’

With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, Sancho threw the worm aside, but Kit followed his black eyes and knew, when another man yelped having been struck by the creature, that he had taken aim with some care. Sancho feigned bemusement and scratched at his neck beneath a silver gorget and a tattered silk cord.

‘They have
cañón
and
armas
,’ he added. ‘Muskets and bows.’

‘Soldiers?’

Sancho nodded, shaking his matted locks. He spat.

‘
Soldados
.’

‘A hundred more soldiers for Nombre de Dios . . .’ Kit murmured, reasoning aloud. ‘Have we frightened them that much?’ He looked from Sancho to the others, all still and watching him
closely.
‘Show me.’ He glanced up; then he smiled. ‘Since I have a good nose for a bad smell, I would like to sniff them out for myself.’

Ellyn tugged at another weed below the spindly yucca plants in the furrow. A tremor of pain ran through her back. She straightened and gazed towards the shore, beyond the tops of the mangroves that grew below the level of the fields. The horizon was as empty of anything unusual as it had been whenever she looked. When would Drake’s men return? Surely after four months, and near the end of the worst rains, they might be expected any day? She bowed her head and saw her clod-caked shoes, her mud-spattered skirts and the thin sleeves she had rolled up because she was sticky and hot. She looked like a churl. Suddenly she was troubled by the thought that, if Will could have seen her just then, he would not have wanted to kiss her as he had before they’d argued. She wished their parting had been better. She wanted him back.

She bent again, wiping her hands on leaves still dripping wet from earlier rain. Apart from Marco, she had no one to talk to. Friar Luis only visited rarely, and the labourers on the island behaved as if they had been told she was a witch. Perhaps they had. Such tactics would be consistent with the guile of Bastidas, if his strategy was to drive her to seek companionship in the city. What was happening? Were Drake’s men in any trouble? Sometimes she feared her spirit would break – that news was her sustenance, and she was dying of starvation. Couldn’t she ask Friar Luis to take her to the city, just for a day? And if Bastidas intervened, couldn’t she face him? She would, she resolved. She
might
even send a message to the friar with the next fieldworker she saw.

Rubbing the small of her back, she stood and turned to cast a fond eye on Marco at the end of the plot. He was knocking dirt from a yucca root, scraping the tuber with a stick. He was a small scrawny urchin, but her heart went out to him. His arms were still stick-thin as she saw when he waved. His quaint manners puzzled her. Why was he waving? Without comprehending she began to wave back. Then with a shout he was gone, over the edge and down the slope.

‘Marco!’

She stumbled after him, hearing him calling from a distance but unable to make him out. What was wrong? At the side of the clearing she came across the sword they kept to deal with snakes. She picked it up and sped after him.

Vegetation closed around her, and the stink of hot swamp. Insects whined past her ears. Marco’s cries became louder. Suddenly she was out in the open, on the shore, not far from the shelter. Before her were two giants with Marco pinned between them.

‘Stop!’ She brandished the heavy sword. The blade wobbled as she thrust it forward. But she marched straight at the men. ‘Let him go!’

The men were tall and black, wild-haired and daubed, garbed in pieces of armour and the remnants of fine clothes. They had bows and arrows with quivers on their backs. She recognised their scars as she neared them, and the tattoos of one that ran in lines down his chest: the giant who drew his knife as he pulled Marco to his side.

‘No!’ Ellyn cried and dropped the sword. She ran towards Marco, arms outstretched, while the giant with the knife began shouting, stepping back. His companion, by a canoe, hurled something out onto the sand. But all that concerned her was taking hold of Marco. She did not look up until the men had jumped into their boat. They began paddling furiously away. Then, as she hugged Marco, she saw what they had left.

The men had given her fish.

17

Unrest

‘. . . Such is the state of affairs and the great unrest which the French and English have created here, as the
Audiencia
of this kingdom will report to Your Majesty. As soon as I arrived on this coast I manned the remaining brigantine with thirty men . . . and this vessel is escorting the barks which leave this port with merchandise which must go forward. Up to the present no mishap has befallen them, nor do I think any will befall them while I am here . . .’

—
From the report of Diego Flores de Valdés, Commander of the Indies fleet and armada, to King Philip II of Spain, written at Nombre de Dios, 20th February, 1573

Nombre de Dios, the Americas

January 1573

‘AH!
LA SEÑORITA
Cook-esley. You look enchanting! I wish you good cheer this Twelfth Night.’

Captain Bastidas bowed from the far side of a long table resplendent with fine plate and sumptuous food. Though the sun still streamed through half-shuttered windows, glass and
silverware
glittered under clusters of lit candles. Ellyn held her head high as she walked into the room. But while the starched lace of her ruff was tight around her neck, the cut of her bodice left her feeling exposed – a reminder that the clothes were not hers, and she had been given no choice but to wear them. Soldiers had accosted her without warning as she was leaving church with Friar Luis. Then, despite his protests, she had been marched away, taken to the Governor’s house, and left with Indian maids whose instructions must have been to pamper her whether she liked it or not. She had been washed, changed, powdered and perfumed, dressed magnificently and had never felt so abashed. All this left her rueing ever having asked for another visit to the city. She should have stayed on the island, out of sight of Bastidas. Now he could see her too clearly. She had no veil. Her chest was bare above her breasts, and only the fan that she held could provide any concealment. So she made use of it as she entered, with her other hand on her skirts, conscious of the farthingale like a cage around her hips.

Bastidas waved his hand and the guards either side of her left the room. He proffered a thin smile.

‘This is the Eve of the Epiphany, the day we call in Spain “
El Día de los Reyes
”: the day of the kings who found the baby Jesus. Please share with me this feast to honour them.’ With a sweeping gesture he indicated the lavish display, and then beckoned for the servants to help her sit.

‘Surely not alone?’ Ellyn let her affront at the suggestion show. To dine alone with him would be unseemly, and she wanted him to know that the invitation did not appeal to her.

Bastidas inclined his head, and she noticed how sleek his oiled
black
hair looked in the sparkling light. His expression formed the suggestion of a sneer as he watched her.

‘I am sure you would not wish for public show? No?’

‘I wish to be shown respect,’ she said crisply. ‘I would like a duenna.’

By way of response he snapped his fingers, at which two Negro page boys took her arms and began guiding her down to a chair. She considered resisting, but then allowed herself to be seated, deciding that nothing could be gained by making a scene. A footman poured out wine, while Bastidas took his place facing her along the length of the table.

‘Alone is better for talking.’ With another wave of his hand he dismissed the servants. ‘I have good news,’ he announced as she heard the door close.

‘Indeed?’ She tried to conceal her apprehension. Christmas had passed by and Will had not come back for her. She had heard nothing of Francis Drake and his men since the day they had left the island following the attack on Nombre de Dios, and that was almost six months ago. Did Bastidas know what had become of them? But if Bastidas considered he had good news, then it was hardly likely to be good news for her.

His answer was to push several dishes along the table.

‘Let us eat. Try this. It is
olla podrida
. The meat is like pig,’ he added, indicating a dish containing a stew-like mix of meat and fruit. ‘And there is
perdiz con chocolate
,’ he went on, gesturing to a silver platter on which joints of roasted fowl lay under a thick brown sauce. ‘You know chocolate?’ he asked. ‘The taste is bittersweet.’

Something about the dish reminded her of the birds she had
plucked
when she had been with Will last. She ignored it and placed a small piece of ‘pork’ on her plate.

Bastidas helped himself and proceeded to eat with a show of relish.

‘You like the dress?’

He stared as she cut up her meat. She was conscious of his eyes roving over her while with each restricted breath her chest rose and fell. She speared a morsel with her knife feeling a surge of anger she could barely contain. The dress might have cost a fortune, but she did not care for the way in which it had been foisted upon her. Yet he had hinted at news, and she wanted to know what that was; she could not ignore him.

‘The cloth is rich,’ she answered coolly.

‘It is
brocado
from Seville. I had it cut and sewn specially for you. Please accept as my gift for
Los Reyes
.’

She put down her knife and picked up her fan.

‘I prefer the English fashion in cut. It is more genteel.’ She watched his face twitch.

He gave a stretched smile and raised his glass.

‘We have reason for celebration.’

She forced a smile back, certain that he was hinting at more than the festival for the holy day.

‘The Day of the Kings?’

‘Better than that.’ He drank deeply. ‘The fleet from Spain has reached Cartagena. Soon it will be here. Perhaps tonight.’ He spoke in a way that showed the jut of his lower teeth. ‘We will have a great fair and market. You must enjoy it.’ Beneath the thick line of his brows his eyes gleamed darkly. ‘I hope you are not upset because your friends have not returned.’

Ellyn looked down at her plate.

‘You have not seen them at all?’ he asked.

She raised her eyes, wondering what he knew.

‘Not since the day you saw them also on the island.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Do you have any idea where they are?’

Bastidas turned his gaze towards a pile of papers on a side table. He nodded.

‘I have reports.’

‘Please tell me.’ She clutched at the napkin in her lap, screwing it into a knot as she waited.

Bastidas pushed aside his plate and reached for the documents.

‘Your friends have been troublesome around Cartagena,’ he spoke while placing the documents in front of him. He picked up the first letter.

‘“On the thirteenth day of August in this year of . . . ”’ With a supercilious wave he continued reading. ‘“There appeared before this city and coast two ships and three boats . . . English corsairs who sought to land, but . . . ” How do you say it? They were spied. “They did not dare to come ashore . . .”’ He lowered the letter and looked at her. ‘I read from the report of the officer who had the defence of Cartagena when your Capitán Draque arrived.’

‘The officer thinks much of himself.’ She met his gaze, wondering what Drake had been about. Why had he chosen to attack Cartagena? With so small a force he could have had no real hope of success.

Bastidas angled his head.

‘Shall I go on?’

‘Yes,’ she said stiffly.

‘“The corsairs were more than two months by this port,
capturing
and burning coast traders and doing much damage . . .”’ Bastidas riffled among the remaining papers, going through the motions of summarising as he looked at them. ‘They attacked a large frigate at the mouth of the harbour. But they were fired on by troops from the shore, so they fled.’ Tapping at another letter, he glanced at her. ‘Twice the corsairs have raided a trading post to the east. On the second raid they took nothing. It was empty.’ He paused to drink, and again his eyes settled on her. ‘It seems that Capitán Draque has caused much inconvenience but achieved very little.’

Ellyn looked at him. She had no idea of Drake’s strategy, or why he had been harrying shipping so far to the east; she thought Drake had wanted the treasure that the mule trains brought from Panamá. But where was he now? Where was Will?

She fanned herself briskly.

‘I am glad that no alarm has been caused here in Nombre de Dios.’

Bastidas nodded and smiled wryly.

‘I think the people of Cartagena were not too concerned. Your friends were driven away by the fire of cannon, then, possibly, they went to find the supplies they had left on some of the islands nearby.’ He flourished a letter embellished with the remains of a large seal. ‘Your friends would have been vexed. Their provisions were found by us. Of course, we took everything.’

She speared a piece of fruit, anything to appear unconcerned.

‘You cannot know those stores were Captain Drake’s.’

‘We found more . . .’ He waved the letter and eyed her sharply. ‘The wreck of a ship. You are interested?’

Ellyn tensed. Had Drake’s fleet suffered a catastrophe? Had one
of
the ships struck the reef? She put the fruit in her mouth and swallowed uneasily.

‘The coast must be littered with wrecks.’