by Eric Flint
“No, they’re not. But they are also not the owners, anymore. I mean to talk to the Nepoia.”
Chapter 47
Port-of-Spain, Trinidad
Hugh awakened from dreams of being in the belly of a ship . . . and realized that reality had been seeping into his dreams. He was once again in the “dignitary” cabin of Pieter Floriszoon’s Eendracht.
When the advice packet he’d sent to Port-of-Spain returned with Hyarima’s prompt reply, he’d meant to sail there with the Orthros. But inasmuch as that ship carried few and lighter guns and would be traveling alone, O’Rourke persisted in loudly opining that the unusually swift and heavily gunned Eendracht would be a far better choice. And damn it if O’Bannon and even Floriszoon didn’t agree with his aide-de-camp-become-nursemaid.
However, by the time that debate had been resolved, and other matters requiring his orders had been settled, it was late afternoon and Eendracht was still replenishing her supply of fresh water for the journey. The winds were acceptable, but it was a twenty-five-mile sail from the southern to northern reaches of Trinidad’s coastline on the Bay of Paria. Consequently, it was dark when the jacht arrived, which meant dinner and sleeping aboard.
After a breakfast of half a cassava roll and a few slices of guava, Hugh was in armor, on deck, and wondering where Pieter was. O’Rourke was already waiting, as was the oversized dinghy that would take them to Port-of-Spain, where a few more of the once predominant ajoupas had been replaced with walled buildings. Hugh asked his aide, “Where’s that Floriszoon?”
The other jutted his square jaw back in the direction of the jacht’s modest quarterdeck. “Cuddled up wi’ invisible lightnings.” Which was one of O’Rourke’s many colorful euphemisms for the radio.
When Pieter did come on deck, though, his face was not that of a man who had been cuddled up with anything. Except, perhaps, a porcupine.
The two Irishmen stood. “I’m thinkin’,” O’Rourke muttered, “that it’s not a happy Dutchman we’re looking at.”
Hugh shushed his friend and nodded at Floriszoon. “Bad news is a bad start to any day, Pieter. What have you heard?”
Floriszoon gestured to several barrels that would be unloaded after the two Wild Geese had been ferried to shore. “Well,” he sighed, “we knew it was coming. For a year now.”
“Ah,” Hugh nodded, “the Cartagena fleet. Where’s it been spotted?”
“Just east of Puerto Cabello. Three hundred fifty miles over the shortest water route, but they won’t sail between Isla Margarita and the coast. They’ll go around to stay in open water. So, say, three hundred and seventy.”
“How old is the news?”
“Six days. It was either Moses’ ship which saw them or one of the captains he helped get started.”
O’Rourke shook his square, shaggy head. “That Hebrew fellow’s patache is a wonder, ’tis. Largest I’ve ever seen and the fastest, as well. He’s given us a good start on making ready.”
“How long until the Spanish arrive?”
Pieter shrugged. “Well, they’re fighting the westward current and headwinds. Tacking in those square-rigged monsters will increase the actual distance by half again, I’d say. So, three hundred seventy miles becomes five hundred and fifty. They might make a knot and a half, at best, so sixteen days from where they were spotted. But the news is six days old.”
“So they could make the mouth of the Bay of Paria in ten days.”
Floriszoon nodded. “Probably more, of course. But I agree: plan on ten. Any extra time is just that much more for preparation.”
Hugh frowned. “We’ve other worries, though.”
Pieter nodded. “The oilers.”
“The what?” O’Rourke asked.
“Oilers. Most of the naos taken at Dominikirk have been, or are still undergoing, conversion into hulls for carrying liquids. The first half of them are on their way down here now, in convoy with some of the galleons taken at the same time.”
Hugh frowned. “Do any of them have a radio aboard?”
Floriszoon nodded tightly. “Only one, and it’s not the best.”
Hugh shrugged. “It will have to do. They have to be turned around. It sounds like we’ve got a job for Ed—eh, Commodore Cantrell’s observation network.”
Pieter shook his head. “It’s several links short of finished, Hugh. The Kalinago of the Windward Islands are not trusting people. If that chief from Guadeloupe, Touman, wasn’t trying to convince them, they wouldn’t be talking to us at all.”
Hugh sighed. “Very well. Then you have to sail to meet the convoy, to send word.”
Pieter’s eyebrows raised. “Well, we’ll have to see what Houtebeen has to say about that. And besides, Hugh, it’s a wide sea. There’s no guarantee that we’ll approach close enough to be in range during the limited intervals we can send. Those batteries don’t give us many minutes, you know.”
“I do. That’s why it can’t be just a single ship reaching out to find them. It has to be two or more. On divergent courses. As you say, the seas are wide, so we’ll need a wide net to be sure of catching that fish.”
O’Rourke looked sideways at his friend. “I should like to hear what Admiral Peg Leg will have to say about sending his fastest picket boats out chasing that fish while the Spanish are bearing down on ’im.”
Pieter put up warding hands. “You’re welcome to take my place and be the one to bring the request before him.”
Hugh leaned forward. “Pieter, I’m not suggesting this merely as the commander of the Wild Geese. I’m making an urgent request as one of the owners of the Trinidadian oil enterprise.”
Floriszoon looked uncomfortable. “Hugh, you are only a five-percent holder. As a Dutchman, Jol represents almost ten times as large a share of the ownership.”
“Yes, but I am an actual shareholder. The Dutch portion is in the hands of the Stadtholder, Prince Fredrik Hendrik, and this is a matter of state authority, not military command.”
Pieter turned the palms of his still-warding hands upward. “And if the admiral agrees to your request, is there a course of action you wish conveyed to the convoy?”
Hugh shrugged. “The obvious. They are to return to St. Eustatia, scatter if intercepted. But above all, they cannot come here until Admiral Tromp receives confirmation that Trinidad is secure.”
“Which is why Jol may resist your plan. If he reduces the flotilla to send out these fast ships, then he could lose Trinidad and the wells.”
Hugh stood. “Then we will take them again. But if we lose those converted naos, then what’s the good of producing oil we can’t move? Because we’ll wait quite a while before we find ourselves with a fleet of oilers again. Now, I don’t want to keep the ruler of Trinidad waiting.”
O’Rourke slapped his palms down on his knees before rising. “I wouldn’t be eager to tell the cacique that his old foes are on their way. And in greater numbers than he’s ever known.”
“I assure you, old friend, it’s not the way I had hoped to start our friendly chat.” They headed toward the waiting boat.
* * *
Hyarima waved a dismissive hand at Hugh’s announcement of impending invasion. “Do not be troubled by bringing us this news, Hugh. It is already known to us.”
Well, beat me like a blind donkey. “You already know?”
“Of course,” Hyarima said with a casual sweep of his hand toward the west. “We are friends with the Arawak of the mainland. They brought this news. That is why we are finishing our war with the Arawak here.”
“You are making peace with them?”
He gazed at Hugh as if he doubted he had understood the Irishman’s words. “No, I am killing the last of their men. If I do not, they will join with the Spanish again. They have done so many times. We shall make an end of them and those worries. Now, we have shared food and drink and soon we shall smoke. But first, I hear upsetting words of your people. They are cutting down trees in forests that are not theirs. At the far end, near what
you call Pitch Lake. Did they do this with your permission, Hugh?”
Hugh sought for words. “I did not think to either permit or forbid them. The fault is mine, for not asking if the lands around Pitch Lake were free for our use, since you had agreed that we could use the lake itself.”
Hyarima frowned, but nodded. “It is a reasonable confusion. The limits of the farms and buildings we gave to you were clear; how and where you may use the lake is not. We will correct this. But for now, tell me: how much wood do you need there?”
“Perhaps a hundred trees, to improve our defenses. But there are others we may wish to cut down.”
Hyarima reflected. “All men may use what the forest gives, but not so much that it dies away. And this is what the Spanish and Dutch have done. We have seen this. How can I know how many trees you mean when you say there are others you may wish to cut down?”
Saints above, thought Hugh, how will I be able to explain oil prospecting? But he took a deep breath and gave it a try.
Hyarima’s first reaction was dubiety, then a sideways glance as if he’d just discovered that his newest friend was also quite mad. But finally, as Hugh described the uses of the thick black liquid that lay deep beneath the lands close to Pitch Lake, relief and understanding prevailed. “I understand, now, all the strange activity and machines that have arisen there. Very well, then how many of these ‘well sites’ will you require?”
“Not more than ten or twenty at any one time, I believe. And only for so long as there is oil to extract. Once the well is dry, the land shall be returned to the forest, shall be made as it was.” Hugh hoped Ann’s descriptions of drilling what she called “clean, policed wells” were accurate rather than optimistic.
“Then you are welcome to the sites you require. If you discover you need more, we shall speak again. Now, we shall smoke.”
Hugh, who had never acquired a taste for tobacco, prepared to honor his host. But before he did, there was one last matter: “Hyarima, it is not right that my people should have all the oil that comes from the ground. I cannot speak for the others, but I wish to give a measure of each barrel to you.”
Hyarima stared, almost smiled. “And what would I do with this black blood of the earth? I have no machines that require it, so I have no need to share in it.”
Hugh was glad that none of the more business-minded Dutch were present, as they would certainly have wanted to strangle him for what he was about to say. “Hyarima, your generosity is that of a brother. So, to be as a brother in return, I strongly, very strongly, advise you: take this share of the oil, or the value it brings, for the good of your people.”
Hyarima looked at Hugh a long time. “The more we speak, Hugh, the more I hope to meet other pale men, that I may improve my opinion of people from over the sea. But my fear is that you are not like them.” He held up a hand against Hugh’s objection. “The wisest elders tell us that for everything we know to be true, there is at least one exception. I hope that you are not such an exception among your people.”
“Hyarima, I am not. Indeed, I am nothing like the best. I simply keep my word.”
“Which is rare enough, in my experience. But if there are more who are like you”—his eyes flicked to O’Rourke—“and like him, then why have they not come to our lands also?”
Hugh sighed; there was danger talking in generalities, but the upper limits of vocabulary and available time allowed nothing else. “My friend, most of us who first came to your shores came for wealth. It was that which made them leave their homes and sail at peril to unknown shores.”
Hyarima frowned. “Liars and cowards rarely do such brave things. Were they starving?”
“Some, but not all. And few were so poor that they lacked either food for their bellies or shelter for their heads.”
“Then brave though their doing may be, it was also foolish.” Hyarima looked out over his lands. “And evil, if they came to enrich themselves by taking what already belonged to others.” He looked back at Hugh. “And you came here to do their bidding?”
Hugh frowned, sighed. “In a manner of speaking.”
Hyarima frowned. “Those words say nothing. We are friends. Speak plainly.”
“Hyarima, when I arrived last year, it was to earn coin. To feed my men. We were soon to be as the Nepoia were: struggling to survive and without much hope that we would.
“But then”—Hugh turned a palm toward the sky—“then I saw what was happening here.” He forced himself to keep his eyes upon Hyarima’s. “You know the Spanish were my employers until I left to come here. They gave me titles and privileges. They told me that their deeds in the New World were one with the will of God Himself.”
He shook his head. “As a child, I believed that. But the older I grew, the more I doubted. Then I learned that they meant to break the promises they made to my people, to betray us. So, when I left their service and came here, and saw what they have done—well, I am that child no longer.” He looked Hyarima in the eyes, wondering what would happen next. “Do you understand?”
Hyarima nodded solemnly, and put forth his hand, resting it on Hugh’s shoulder. “I do understand, my friend. You were never evil, merely ignorant. A man whose leaders had lied to him, from childhood onward. There is no tribe, no nation, no town which is unfamiliar with such persons.” He sighed. “It is sad that most children follow the path set before them without ever questioning its rightness. You did not. You are a man of honor, of . . . ‘principle’ is the word, yes?”
Hugh felt his eyes getting wet. “It is the word you seek. Whether it describes me is another matter. But I aspire to it. With every fiber of my being.”
Hyarima removed his hand, nodding. “This I know. This I saw behind your eyes when first we met.” His tone became reflective, almost sad. “People who have always known the straight path, who have had good and thoughtful parents and leaders, are the ones who may claim to have always possessed these high principles. And yet, there is at least as much nobility in those who must search and fight to attain them. As you have.”
Hyarima stood. “You shall have your wood. We shall share in the wealth of the oil, and that shall be your lease to us for all you require and more besides. And you shall have our friendship. And our spears and guns against the Spanish.”
Hugh shook his head. “No! I am not here to ask you to fight the Spanish! Too many of your people have died already. As I said at our first meeting, the Spanish are our problem. We shall deal with them.”
Hyarima smiled. “I wonder how much it would please the wives and children of your men, to hear you increase the hazard to their husbands and fathers by refusing our help. Besides, we have both the need and the right to fight for these lands. If we do not, can we feel they are truly ours?”
Hugh drew in a breath, prepared a rebuttal he had not yet composed.
Hyarima raised a hand. “And lastly, Hugh, you will need our help. You will. The Spanish are many. Perhaps you will prevail without our aid in the battle that is coming. But the greater the cost to you this time, the more likely you will not be able to resist their next attack. And they will keep attacking until they vanquish you, or you vanquish them. That is who they are.
“Now, we smoke.”
Chapter 48
Oranjestad, St. Eustatia
“Lady Anne Cathrine? Is that you?”
Anne Cathrine stood up quickly, almost falling in her rush to do so before she recognized the voice behind her. She turned, smiling, “Yes, Dr. Brandão, it is I. You are up early, are you not?”
He leaned on his walking stick. “I agreed to see a fisherman who must be out upon the waves shortly after the sun’s rays sparkle upon his outward course. But you, what are you doing in this sad place?” He stared around the blackened, sagging shell that had been Edel Mund’s home.
“I . . . I find it a helpful place to look for answers. To understand why she died.” Which was technically true.
Brandão evidently heard her comment as a metaphysical e
uphemism, rather than as the ruthlessly clinical intent that had brought Anne Cathrine back to it. “Ah, yes,” said Brandão, putting both hands atop his stick, “it is difficult to see the world through the eyes of the person who perpetrated this tragedy. Particularly for one so caring as yourself. Well, I shall leave you to your meditations, dear lady—”
“Doctor, a moment. If you please.” Should I really do this here? Now? Well, when else will you be sure of finding him alone? “Doctor, Leonora has told me that your practice of medicine in the New World, and Recife in particular, has been . . . well, atypical.”
Brandão’s smile was accompanied by a frown. “That is true in so many ways, I cannot know which atypicalities you might have in mind.”
“Well, as she seems to be seriously considering following in your esteemed footsteps, she often mentions how, since Recife often had but one or two midwives, you witnessed women die in childbirth who would likely have survived had that not been the case. Or had they been willing to have you as their physician.”
He nodded. “Sadly, that is quite true.”
“Whereas, those few who were willing to consign their fates and privacy to your hands, to the hands of a man and a physician—almost all of them survived. And their infants, as well.”
Brandão was frowning again. “And that, too, is true.”
By God, how do I do this? “Doctor, it seems to me, therefore, that with your unusual combination of general medical knowledge, and familiarity with the most delicate matters of a woman’s health, that you might also have expertise in . . . or some insights . . . That is to say, you might have, in the course of your practice—”
Brandão’s eyes were now closed. “Lady Anne Cathrine, beholding you tongue-tied by your own self is a wonder I never thought to witness in this lifetime.” He opened his eyes; they were as kindly and welcoming as his smile. She thought she might sob. “Now, what is it you wish to ask me? You may trust to my discretion. Implicitly. Completely.”
“Doctor, I am so happily married to my husband, to Eddie.”
