Collected Works of Rafael Sabatini

by Rafael Sabatini

  “What in hell’s here?” he cried, as he advanced. Then he checked, as his men had done, before the elegant figure, so straight and tall, confronting him. In his coppery face the little eyes seemed to flash and then narrow like a cat’s.

  “De Bernis!” he ejaculated, and he added an obscene oath to express an amazement that was blended with suspicion.

  Monsieur de Bernis advanced. He removed a hand from its pistol butt and proffered it.

  “Well met, my friend. You were ever opportune. But never more opportune than now. You come just as I am on my way to seek you. On my way to Guadeloupe, for a ship and men to sail to find you. And behold! You have the complacency to drop from the skies on to our deck. C’est charmant.”

  Eyes still narrowed, his attitude crouching, as if his muscles were gathered for a spring, the ruffian disregarded the proffered hand.

  “Will ye cozen me, De Bernis? You was always a sly rogue, you was. But not sly enough for Tom Leach. I last heard tell of ye wi’ Morgan. Morgan’s right-hand man ye was when ye quit the brotherhood along of him.”

  Monsieur de Bernis was amused by this absurdity. “My choice was between that and Execution Dock. As long as I am in Morgan’s hands, I must dance to the tune he pipes. So I dance and wait for my chance to slip away to you.”

  “Why to me? I never knew as ye loved me.”

  “To you because I need you. You’re the only leader left with men enough and spirit enough for the enterprise I’m set on. There’s fortune in it, Tom. Something better than poor merchantmen like this, laden with hides and logwood.”

  Leach advanced a step, and set his arms akimbo. “What’s the enterprise?”

  “A plate fleet, Tom. To sail in a month from now. I have the information.”

  There was the faintest kindling of interest blending with the suspicion in the little eyes. “Sailing whence?”

  The Frenchman shook his head. “Nay, now We’ll leave that until later.”

  THE pirate’s view of Miss Priscilla, partly screened hitherto by Sands’ bulk, was cleared now by a movement of the major’s. His eyes quickened evilly.

  “Who be these? Who’s the doxy?” He would have advanced, but De Bernis got in his way.

  “My wife and her brother. I was to leave them at Guadeloupe until our return.”

  The foolish major would have repudiated the relationship but for the lady’s warning clutch upon his arm.

  “Your wife?” The pirate’s manner was daunted, crestfallen. “I never heard tell you was married.”

  “How should you? It happened lately. In Jamaica.” Airily he dismissed the matter. “It’s not important. We have this other business to settle, now that we’re met, so oddly opportune.”

  “Mark you well. I’ll need a deal of convincing of your honesty, De Bernis.”

  “Reflect that I should be a fool not to be honest with you when I’m in your hands.”

  Thoughtfully pondering him, Leach stroked his thin nose. Abruptly taking his resolve, he ordered his men away to clear and swab the decks of which their beastliness had made a shambles. He even suffered De Bernis to usher the major and the lady into one of the lesser cabins, before sitting down with him at table, over the rum which the Frenchman fetched from the cupboard, and disposing himself to hear the details of the enterprise to which he was invited.

  THESE details were disappointing in their paucity. Monsieur de Bernis claimed positive knowledge of a plate fleet that was due to sail for Spain in just one month’s time. It consisted of three ships, a thirty-gun galleon with the enormously rich cargo, and two lesser vessels of twenty guns apiece as escort. The aggregate of the crews could not number above two hundred and fifty. So much Monsieur de Bernis freely announced; but whence the fleet came and whether to be looked for north, south, east or west — details without which the rest of the information was of little value — he would not disclose.

  Greed and vexation conflicted in the eyes of Tom Leach. “I’ve ways to make men talk, De Bernis,” he threatened.

  But Monsieur de Bernis, across the table, laughed in his face. “Not men like me, Tom. So leave that.” He paused, and resumed: “I’ve told you I was on my way to Guadeloupe to find another ship for you. But since you’ve captured the Centaur, you’ve all you need. All but a man to command her. I am that man. You’ll confess I’ve not my equal in the Caribbean at fighting a ship. So there it is. Will you take this chance of a fortune upon which to quit? Or will you wait until the Jamaica Squadron hunts you from the seas, or until Morgan sinks you, as sink you he surely will if you wait long enough?”

  Captain Leach may have thought that once the plate fleet was seized the matter of keeping faith with De Bernis could be reconsidered. Anyway, he yielded now. Pen, ink, and paper were fetched, and Leach sent for Hogan, the mate of the Black Swan, and for three of the men, as representatives of the crew, to come and settle the terms of the articles.

  When all was agreed, Monsieur de Bernis gave evidence of the practised seamanship he boasted. “You’ll need to careen before you come into action with these Spaniards.”

  Under his veneer of cunning, Leach was a stupid man and, like all stupid men, quick to resent dictation.

  “Careen?” he challenged, scowling.

  “You’re foul. I observed it as you sailed today. In a running fight the Black Swan would never handle to advantage. Had I commanded the Centaur I would have outsailed you by beating to windward. Against the Spaniards we shall be two ships to three and we may not increase the odds. There’s too much at stake.”

  “But the time—”

  “Time and to spare. We have a month. The Albuquerque Keys are convenient as a waiting station. I know a cove there on Maldita Key, where you can be well concealed whilst careened.”

  Masterfully, by such arguments, Monsieur de Bernis came to prevail, and thereafter went on deck with his new associates.

  THE Centaur was being cleared of the mess of battle. The dead had been flung overboard, and they included not only the unfortunate Bransome but every man of his crew. It was not the way of Tom Leach to cumber himself with prisoners unless they could be held to ransom.

  The shrouds of the captured ship were already under repair, and by evening the two vessels were able to go about. They headed south, Monsieur de Bernis now in command of the Centaur with a hundred men put aboard her from the Black Swan.

  In the cabin below, Major Sands voiced his bitterness at the turn of events: “You know now the man you’ve believed in, Priscilla. Another time perhaps you’ll heed my judgement.”

  “There may not be another time,” she reminded him.

  “Indeed, I fear that there may not.”

  “If there is, it will be thanks to him.”

  “To him! To him! Thanks to him?” The major was scandalised. “You can still put trust in him? In this pirate rogue?”

  “I CAN put my trust in no one else at present.”

  Major Sands would have given years of his life to have been able to reproach her with her lack of trust in himself. Since the circumstances denied him this consolation, he grew increasingly bitter.

  “You can say that, after all that we have overheard? Knowing the devilry now afoot? Knowing this rascal is making common cause with those other scoundrels? You can say that when he had the impudence to pass you off as his wife?”

  “In what case should we be if he had not? That was done to save me.”

  “You are sure of that? Faith, then ye’re singularly trusting.”

  Her pallor deepened before the implication of his sneer. But she flashed defiance of his mistrust. “If his motives were base why did he spare you? Why did he pass you off as his brother-in-law?”

  Although startled by this, the major obstinately refused to admit any explanation favourable to De Bernis. “Can I guess his base intentions?”

  “Why guess them base then? If he had let them cut your throat, you could not now be speaking evil of him.”

  “Gadslife, madam!” He grew almost
apoplectic. “For obstinacy commend me to a woman. I hope the sequel may justify this stubborn belief in a scoundrel. I hope it may, although I cannot hold the hope with confidence.”

  “Now that is brave in you, Major Sands. Brave, is it not, to feed the anxieties of a woman in my case?”

  He was stung to penitence. “Oh, forgive me. It is my anxiety for you that goads me. I would give my life for you, my dear...”

  “So much may not be required, my dear major.”

  THUS Monsieur de Bernis entering and interrupting. He stood within the cabin doorway, smiling. “You are now my guests. Let my sense of hospitality reassure you both. Here you are in danger only of a little delay and inconvenience.”

  To recover some lost prestige in the lady’s eyes the major adopted a blustering tone: “Do you assure us of that?”

  Monsieur de Bernis preserved his urbanity. “As far as lies within my power.” He turned aside to summon his half-caste servant, who had been overlooked in the general slaughter until his master could protect him. “Sam will lay supper for us if it is your pleasure.”

  It proved a gloomy meal. The major, mistrustful, vexed and baffled, on several grounds was disposed to sullenness. Miss Priscilla, overcome by the horrors of the day, secretly racked by fears, sat listless and silent, scarcely touching the food that was placed before her. Monsieur de Bernis, observing the mood of his guests, was tactfully silent, beyond an odd casual observation.

  On some such footing their relations continued until, three days later, wafted south by gentle summer breezes, they made the Albuquerque Keys, and the Centaur led the way into a sheltered lagoon on the northern side of Maldita.

  Feverish activity followed, felling timber which grew almost down to the water’s edge, and building log huts with palmetto thatches and frames for the sailcloth pavilions that were to shelter the men ashore.

  When these were ready Captain Leach landed the crew of the Black Swan, and insisted that all those aboard the Centaur should also land. It was no part of the captain’s intentions that whilst himself immobilised ashore by the careening of the Black Swan, Monsieur de Bernis should remain afloat and mobile. If De Bernis was disposed to tricks, he had arts that would easily seduce the gang of scoundrels left to man the Centaur.

  GUESSING this to be the trend of Leach’s reasoning, Monsieur de Bernis, whilst contemptuously criticising the measure as futile, submitted to it. He had special quarters prepared for Miss Priscilla in the shelter of a cluster of palmettos at the head of the beach — a tent consisting of a sailcloth spread over a frame of timber.

  The buccaneers gave little heed to her or to her supposed brother. They were fully engaged by now in the laborious operation of careening their dismantled ship. And when at last the Black Swan was high and dry upon that silvery beach they set about the business of removing the barnacles and weeds that befouled her hull. At this season of the year the heat made work difficult. Consequently progress was slow, to the vexation of Leach and the utter indifference of Monsieur de Bernis. Before his calm assurances that there was plenty of time the captain’s vile temper flashed out.

  “Plenty of time, you fool? Time for what?”

  “Before the plate fleet sails.”

  “And what of others, then? Is the plate fleet the only fleet at sea?”

  “You are afraid of being found here? You want to laugh. Be at ease. None will come prowling into this lost cove.”

  “Maybe not. But if any did...hell, man! I’m not comfortable here, with the ship ashore.”

  HE was not the only one to be uncomfortable on Maldita. The general situation was all the more intolerable to Major Sands because he was forced to tolerate it. It was assumed by all that Monsieur de Bernis shared the quarters prepared for the supposed Madame de Bernis. The major spent sleepless nights in assuring himself that the Frenchman did not presume upon this, and that he slept in a cloak upon the sands before the entrance to her tent. As a result of these pernoctations, the major’s days were days of drowsy, sullen dejection, deepened by the spirit of apparently easy resignation in which Miss Priscilla accepted the situation. At moments his ill humour would find utterance.

  “Will you tell me, sir,” he asked one noontide when the three of them sat in the shelter of her tent, “what you intend by us when you sail away on your thieving cruise against this Spanish fleet?”

  Monsieur de Bernis smiled his queer, slow smile. “Ah, Major! Are you very brave, I wonder, or just very stupid? Sometimes you baffle me by the fanfaronade behind your foolish words.”

  “By gad, sir,” spluttered the major, “I’ll not take that from any man.”

  “A wiser man would know that he must take whatever I choose to give him. Therefore he would study not to be provocative.” He pointed to a branch overhead “There are easy ways of disposing of one who makes himself too inconvenient or aggressive. You should practice courtesy, major. It leads to longevity.”

  By the time the major found his tongue, De Bernis was twenty yards away.

  “It’s not be borne. Stab me, it’s not to be borne.”

  “Then why provoke it? Why not practise courtesy, as he bids you?” By this she added fuel to his rage.

  “You defend the knave! It is all that was wanting. What is he — in the name of heaven, I ask it — what is he to you, this swaggering pirate cur?”

  MISS PRISCILLA was now as cool as if she had taken Monsieur de Bernis for her model in deportment.

  “That is not at all the question. The question is what he may be to you. Don’t you see that if he were what you insist upon supposing him, he would already have disposed of your inconvenient and ungracious person?”

  “Fan me, ye winds!” cried Major Sands, and stamped off before he should utter in the presence of a lady that which a gentleman might afterward regret.

  To Miss Priscilla seated there alone came presently Tom Leach. His very presence and the leer with which he stood before her served to shatter the sense of security which had lately been growing out of her confidence in De Bernis and his chivalrous reticences. She strove to control the sudden alarmed flutter in her breast. If her eyes dilated a little, at least her voice was calm.

  “You seek my husband sir? He is not here.”

  The leer broadened. “I know he’s not. So, ye see, it’s not him I’m seeking.” On that he paused. His eyes glowed as they pondered her, so white and slim and golden. He knew no way of wooing that was not rough, direct, and brutal, like all else that he did. Yet instinct informed him that here something different was demanded. He attempted gallantries of speech.

  “Sink me, but you’re a rare beauty. You ‘mind me of a lily, so you does.”

  She remained frozen in her false composure. “I’ll tell my husband that you think so.”

  HE SNARLED at this. “Ye’re well matched with him in pertness, my girl. But that’s naught against you. I love a lass o’ spirit. I hate your mealy mouthed sickly doxies.” He flung himself down on the ground at her feet. “Now, where’s the harm o’ praising the beauty of you? Don’t ye like a man to speak his mind?”

  “That depends upon what’s in it.” She was discovering that safety lay in betraying no fear. Therefore it was in simulated boldness that she now fenced with him.

  And whilst Captain Leach was engaged in this disloyalty toward De Bernis, the Frenchman was engaged in a more insidious, because less apparent, form of disloyalty to Captain Leach. He stood watching the labours of the men on the careened ship; and he enheartened them. It might be cruel to toil in this blistering furnace, but soon there would be a golden unguent for their roasted backs. Within a week now they should be putting to sea, and within a fortnight every man of them would be master of more gold and silver than he could carry. He pictured to them the coarse delights which so much wealth would buy. They listened avidly, and in their evil anticipation laughed with the glee of the monstrous, wicked children that they were. Shrewdly were they led by Monsieur de Bernis to account themselves fortunate that he should have
sought them so as to bring these gross delights within their reach.

  He was still at his stimulating talk when Major Sands, breathing hard and bathed in sweat, came hurrying to interrupt him with a muttered gasping. For once and for an instant the Frenchman was startled out of his nonchalance. With a wave he dismissed himself from the toilers and was off at speed, the major panting at his heels.

  CAPTAIN LEACH had reached a point of ardour which had brought him to his knees before the lady. Clutching one of her hands, he was seeking to draw her into an embrace. She, still desperately playing her part, attempted to laugh whilst warding him off. Her white face was distorted into a grin, stark terror was staring from her eyes, until over the captain’s shoulder she beheld the approach of De Bernis.

  He came up in long swift strides that made no sound upon the sand. He tapped the absorbed captain sharply upon the shoulder.

  “You are at your prayers, I think, my captain. I am desolated to disturb you. But Madame de Bernis is not an idol for your worship.”

  Tom Leach leapt up and round with a snarl, his hand going by instinct to his belt.

  “By all means continue in your worship. But at a distance, if you please, in the future. Worship her as if she were a saint in heaven.”

  “Avaunt, you grinning mountebank, d’ye know what happens to them as gets pert with Cap’n Leach? Hellfire! I admire your boldness! But don’t carry it too far. Ye may be a tall fine figure of a man in your laced coat. But a word from me’ll make carrion of you.”

  “I’ll remember it.” Monsieur de Bernis was grim. “But there are things you, too, should remember. After all, the plate fleet’s whereabouts is my secret, as your men well know, my captain.”