by Eric Flint
“So they have begun sending supplies and new forces to the Caribbean?”
The admiral shrugged. “If so, we have yet to get wind of it. But they might be on their way or already arrived.”
Gallardo frowned. “But are we not watching St. Eustatia, and for that very reason: to determine when and if they begin to receive reinforcements and supplies?”
De Covilla leaned forward, waited for Fadrique’s nod. “Watching St. Eustatia has proven problematic. We strongly suspect that Tromp’s home fleet is there, but he, with limited assistance from the English on St. Christopher, maintains a patrol that screens those islands. In the past six months, we have lost two packets probing them. Between the high ground from which to observe all approaches, highly refined optics, and radio communications which guide their patrols to intercept our ships, the heathens have thwarted our efforts at reconnaissance. We have, instead, contacted and recruited confidential agents through intermediaries.”
Gallardo growled. “You mean, through the pirates we’ve retained.”
De Covilla shrugged. “If they flew our colors, what good would they do us in this matter? Besides, after the admiral”—he nodded toward Álvarez—“all but expunged the English presence on St. Christopher’s eight years ago, the population had no choice but accustom themselves to such visitors. The only regular trade that colony could count upon was with independent ships that flew no colors and held no allegiance.”
“In other words, as I said: pirates,” Gallardo summarized.
De Covilla nodded, turned to Álvarez. “There is one factor I find puzzling about the interception of the Plate Fleet. How did these so-called ‘allies’ know when and where to find it? La Flota’s point of landfall varies, and the date of its arrival is subject to the many vicissitudes of both politics and weather.”
Fadrique tidied the papers that he did not need to consult. “Although the lowest in La Flota’s chain of command, the captains of the escaped pataches offered some insight into those matters. Last November, His Excellency Governor Riaño y Gamboa sent three advice boats from Havana to Seville to convey word of the USE steamships and the havoc they wrought at the Battle of Grenada. That report startled and worried both the persons responsible for organizing this year’s Plate Fleet as well as Philip, who, it is said, was angered by Olivares’ initial dismissal of it as ‘alarmist.’”
Gallardo frowned again. “Did the duke doubt its veracity?”
Álvarez shrugged. “Patache captains are not privy to such details, Captain. However, I suspect that Olivares’ reaction was not motivated by any profound dispute with the contents of our report.”
“Then why would he dismiss it as overwrought?”
Fadrique was not about to answer so pointed a question, not after having run afoul of Olivares earlier in his career. He glanced at de Viamonte, whose difficulties with the duke had been less pointed, and whose infirmities emboldened him much in the way a clearly mortal wound inspires otherwise prudent men to acts of suicidal bravery.
De Viamonte saw the look and smiled. “Captain Gallardo, when the up-timers developed their steamships for use in the Baltic, King Philip was assured that their ambitions did not extend to the waves of the wider ocean. And the person who spoke these assurances, often with less information than conjecture, was none other than Don Gaspar de Guzmán y Pimentel Ribera y Velasco de Tovar, comte d’Olivares et duc de Sanlucar la Mayor.” He nodded as Gallardo’s eyes narrowed. “So, you see now.”
The gruff captain nodded. “I see that Olivares can’t admit to the full danger upon us now, without making his earlier advice look idiotic—and himself an ass for spoon-feeding it to our king.”
Fadrique took a moment to admire Juan’s ability to show Olivares’ self-interest and incompetence merely by acquainting Gallardo with the facts. That was why Juan was a statesman and he wasn’t. It would have taken him the better part of a day to figure out a way to do what Juan did by reflex, and without uttering a single politically risky word.
“So,” Álvarez resumed, “while the report sent to Spain raised concerns, they did not center upon La Flota’s arrival in the New World, but what it might encounter afterward. Accordingly, the doctrine for landfall was unaltered: the ships of both the New Spain and Tierra Firme fleets were to remain together while the pataches went ahead to scout the first stretch of each fleet’s respective course. The objective was to enter the Caribbean swiftly and undetected. No one was thinking about the possibility of interception.
“As to why Dominica was chosen as the point to make landfall? Firstly, it is one of the most common islands used for that purpose. Its height makes it an excellent landmark for correcting any minor navigational errors; it is detectable from almost seventy miles into the Atlantic. Secondly, news of the Battle of Grenada and the allied fleet’s presence in that area was given serious consideration by the planners. It disinclined them to pursue alternatives such as breaking off the Tierra Firme fleet earlier to make landfall near Trinidad, or to risk sending it through the constricting clutter of the Grenadines.
“It is not clear why they chose not to make landfall further north. However, the patache captains relate overhearing conversations which supported our projection that Tromp had established himself in the Leeward Islands, particularly because our probes there prompted his move against Santo Domingo. It is presumed that La Flota’s planners were of the same opinion.
“Taken in sum, these many concerns resulted in La Flota being directed to enter the Caribbean between Guadeloupe and Martinique. Which is just where our enemies were waiting.”
“So they committed so much time, energy, and concentration of assets on the hope that they had guessed our own projections so accurately?”
Fadrique shrugged. “Doubtful. It is likely they had confidential agents watching preparations being made in Spain, even shadowing the fleet as it left. From that information alone, they could have had confirmed their hypotheses on our actions this year, committed them to the plan they had been preparing.”
De Viamonte nodded, added, “We can expect greater details at our next meeting. Just yesterday, one of our patrols watching the Anegada Passage and surrounding waters notified me that they had discovered some of La Flota’s survivors who had escaped and survived a perilous journey by small boat. One of the patrol’s boats brought word to us. The other conveyed the survivors to Puerto Rico.”
Gallardo frowned. “Why not here? A boat that carries news of survivors could have carried them to us just as well.”
De Viamonte held up a hand that stilled Gallardo like a dog told to heel. “It is quite likely they needed to recuperate before yet another voyage. I expect we shall have them and their depositions soon enough. But frankly, those details, while informative, do not materially affect our planning. Because the real issue that stands before us is not how our enemies captured La Flota, nor even how they knew when and where to find it.”
Álvarez heard his cue. “Indeed. Our question must be this: how did we fail to foresee this?”
“Well,” Gallardo temporized, “it is unprecedented.”
“Yes, but therein lies the lesson: taking unprecedented action is proving to be our enemy’s pattern. They are changing their strategic thought and plans at least as quickly as we adapt. And that is by design, not chance.”
De Covilla nodded. “We devise a counter to their strategy, just in time to discover they have shifted their emphasis to a different strategy. In short, we are allowing them to control this war. We are always reacting, not acting.”
Gallardo’s eyes were carefully focused on his own hands, so that it was unclear to whom he meant to address his muttered interjection. “You tried ‘acting’ at Vieques. What great victory did that get you?”
De Covilla’s retort was swift. “We lost more ships than the enemy, but most of them were pirates.”
“And more importantly,” de Viamonte added, “it saved this city. They meant to come here and destroy us. The Battle of Vieques c
ompelled them to turn back. But while we are on the topic of our ‘auxiliaries,’ Don Álvarez de Toledo, I presume this touches upon the other disaster you mean to address?”
“How well you know me, Your Excellency; it does indeed. Frankly, I am inclined to agree with Captain Gallardo: Vieques was a defeat.”
The captain stared at the admiral in stunned disbelief as Juan impatiently waved away Fadrique’s assertion. “Historians will bear me out on this matter, Admiral. I will concede that it was not the outcome we had hoped for: pulling the allied protection away from their supply ships so that our privateers might sink them. Which would have crippled their ability to move troops or keep their steamships supplied with ammunition and fuel.”
“Now that would have been a victory!” Gallardo exclaimed.
De Viamonte smiled indulgently. “I cannot disagree. But we won our survival, and because of that, our foundries and ways have been building weapons and ships for half a year, unmolested. Whatever the future holds, Santo Domingo and Havana have, between them, replaced many of the losses suffered last year and have begun making important changes. Our diving bells have allowed us to recover many of the cannon and other ironworks that we lost in that battle and elsewhere. But I suspect that the admiral does not mean to tell us how Vieques was a disaster, but rather, how that describes the outcome of our attempts to make privateers out of pirates.”
Álvarez sipped his wine before beginning. He disliked this topic almost as much as the loss of La Flota. “It was to our advantage that so many of the costs of Vieques were among our privateers. But there is also a heavy cost to us, strategically. They have become far fewer in number and now perceive the arrangement with us to entail far greater risks than they conceived. They also suspect that we always meant to spend their lives far more readily than ours.”
Eugenio shrugged. “Well, they are not entirely wrong in that.”
“No, but they will not hear the logic that we would never have paid so much silver for their loyalty simply to have so many of them sunk. Which is also true. But they are unconcerned with caveats; they only know what they have lost. And because they fear raiding our enemies and have sworn not to raid us, the price of their cooperation has grown. Alarmingly.”
Gallardo frowned. “Is it still worth it?”
De Covilla sighed. “For now, we have little choice.”
“Why? What purpose do they serve? Whom have they attacked?”
De Covilla seemed to spend a moment taming impatience. “The privateers are responsible for more than half of the patrols and reconnaissance we conduct beyond our own waters. And without their ships—numerous, lighter, self-sustaining—we would have little to no contact with those who tell us what our foes are doing in their own ports and colonies.”
“But they are not sacking such places?”
“Rarely, if ever.”
Gallardo looked around the table. “But then how are they surviving? Raiding the few remaining native tribes that persist in the Antilles? And even if they are, I’m quite certain that does not slake their three great thirsts: women, rum, and coin. And did I mention coin? I did? Well, let me say it one more time: coin.
“And I’ll say this as well: even if they were being supplied with all they desired through the largesse of our treasuries, that would still not make answer to their truest, deepest lusts.”
“Which are?” asked de Viamonte.
“As if you need me to tell you, Juan?” Gallardo replied, his use of the governor’s given name revealing that the connection between them was more personal than Álvarez had guessed. “Men become pirates not just for material gain, but because they are restless. And because they thrill to the sight of an enemy’s blood. It is in their nature.” He leaned far back in his seat. “So I will be happy to learn how it is that the impulses of their nature are being sated.”
De Viamonte looked around the table. “I too find this puzzling and gladly anticipate a solution to the mystery Captain Gallardo has identified.”
De Covilla sat very straight. “As you must surely perceive, Your Excellency, it is not a mystery at all.” De Viamonte just stared at him, waiting for a statement that was substantive rather than evasive. “The captain is of course correct,” Eugenio resumed. “Pirates are incapable of inaction. It is one of the reasons their crews are likely to depose a prudent and patient captain, no matter how successful his raids might be, and no matter how much of that coin they still have in their pockets.”
De Viamonte frowned. “All known to me and in no way a useful response to the question I posed. However, I am certain I shall soon have the answer to how our pirates are being both provisioned and satiated. What I am not at all certain about is why a subordinate is attempting to distract me with declarations of the obvious while his superior allows him to squirm under my gaze rather than furnishing that answer.”
And he looked straight at Admiral Fadrique Álvarez de Toledo.
Chapter 28
Santo Domingo, Hispaniola
Álvarez suppressed the reflex to blink in surprise at the governor’s sudden stare, then suppressed the reflex to smile at the clever trap his friend had laid for him. Oh, you sly fox, Juan. So that’s why you have Gallardo here. So you do not have to joust with me directly. Very well, I tried to keep the dung from sticking to you, but if you must have it, then have it you shall.
Fadrique put two scarred fists on the table. “You are very frank. I hope you will not think ill of me if I am frank in asking a question in return.”
“And what question would that be?”
“Merely this,” Fadrique said slowly. “If I understand the wording and nature of your oath to the king, whatever enters your ear, you are required, in turn, to whisper in his. Is that not so?”
“You know it to be.”
“Then I pray you understand my dilemma. Together, we have taken steps that we abhor. None more so than retaining the services of degenerate and godless thieves, murderers, and rapists. But if those who manage those ‘privateers’ directly must make further . . . accommodations to secure their continued cooperation, and those details were reported to you, then you would have to report them to Madrid. And knowing you as the honorable man that you are, you will take responsibility for having given us the latitude to act as we must. And so, if any of those actions should displease Philip—or Olivares—your position here would be jeopardized. In fact, it might be in grave doubt.”
De Viamonte nodded. “I am aware of this as well. What I am not aware of is your apparent belief that it is part of your job to protect me from the consequences of my own oaths of fealty.”
“Not just you,” muttered de Covilla. “All of us.”
Juan frowned. “Now this I do not understand.”
“Don da Viamonte,” growled Fadrique, “in all my long years of serving the crown here in the Caribbees, you are the first person who has occupied this villa who was a man of principle, intelligence, prudence, and action. I swear on Our Savior’s Own Wounds that before you, we counted ourselves fortunate to have a governor with just one of those qualities.” He raised his chin. “If we were to lose you to Madrid’s wrath or Olivares’ scapegoating, we would not see your like again. And neither Spain, nor those of us who serve her in this distant place, can afford a lesser man than yourself in that chair. For that is surely what we would get.”
De Viamonte’s posture had become slightly straighter. His voice was no longer pointed, but it had not diminished in firmness. “And yet, despite the kindness you mean to do me and the service you mean to render to our empire, I ask you: how are the pirates being sustained in a relationship that is intrinsically antithetical to their very nature? It is my duty to know.”
De Covilla leaned forward as if to speak, Álvarez waved him back: no reason to let the young and the valiant sacrifice themselves for the old and the devious. “The details of our privateers’ letters of marque are worded thus: that they ‘shall not molest our convoys.’” Fadrique paused. “‘Our convoys.�
�”
De Viamonte frowned at the repetition. “So they remain free to attack any of our ships that happen to be traveling alone?”
“The language of the letters of marque does not prohibit it. But bear this in mind also, Don de Viamonte: with the exception of advice packets, we have forbidden the movement of individual ships.”
“A provision that has existed for years, and has been ignored for just as long.”
“Yet we took pains to repost it in all our ports.”
“And in the other viceroyalties and audiencias?”
De Covilla raised his well-manicured hands in a gesture of both uncertainty and powerlessness. “It was communicated to them, along with the rest of our advice and requests that Governor Gamboa echoed last year. But if either Armendáriz in New Spain or de Murga in Cartagena saw fit to publish or promulgate the reminder that ships are forbidden to travel alone, we would never hear of it.”
De Viamonte rubbed his eyes for several seconds. “This legal sophistry toes the very brink of validity.”
“But it has not fallen over the edge, your Excellency,” Álvarez pointed out, “and soon, we hope to be able to extricate ourselves from our disastrous arrangement with these privateers.”
De Viamonte nodded. “Because of the larger pataches and even some shallow-draft galleoncetes that are coming off the ways in ports such as Campeche and Portobello.”
Fadrique nodded. “Soon, we will no longer require our ‘privateers,’ and our fleet will grow beyond mere replacements for last year’s losses. Spain has accelerated shipbuilding to support us, despite a considerably increased indebtedness. And within the same week that your advice boats arrived there, the crown sent word to the East Indies that a goodly number of Manila galleons are to brave the passage around Cape Horn and add their guns to ours.”
