The Chronicles of Captain Blood cb-2

by Rafael Sabatini

  Now this speech was the most amazing thing that had yet happened to Don Ildefonso in that day of amazements.

  «Tortuga!» he exclaimed. «Tortuga! You sail to Tortuga, do you say? But what to do there? In God's name, who are you, then? What are you?»

  «As for who I am, I am called Peter Blood. As for what I am, faith, I scarce know myself.»

  «You are English!» cried the Spaniard in sudden horror of partial understanding.

  «Ah, no. That, at least, I am not.» Captain Blood drew himself up with great dignity. «I have the honour to be Irish.»

  «Ah, bah! Irish or English, it is all one.»

  «Indeed and it is not. There's all the difference in the world between the two.»

  The Spaniard looked at him with angry eyes. His face was livid, his mouth scornful. «English or Irish, the truth is you are just a cursed pirate.»

  Blood looked wistful. He fetched a sigh. «I'm afraid you are right,» he admitted. «It's a thing I've sought to avoid. But what am I to do now, when Fate thrusts it upon me in 'this fashion, and insists that I make so excellent a beginning?»

  III — THE KING'S MESSENGER

  ON a brilliant May morning of the year 1690, a gentleman stepped ashore at Santiago de Porto Rico, followed by a Negro servant shouldering a valise. He had been brought to the mole in a cockboat from the yellow galleon standing in the roadstead, with the flag of Spain floating from her main truck. Having landed him, the cock–boat went smartly about and was pulled back to the ship, from which circumstance the gaping idlers on the mole assumed that this gentleman had come to stay.

  They stared at him with interest, as they would have stared at any stranger. This, however, was a man whose exterior repaid their attention, a man to take the eye. Even the wretched white slaves toiling half–naked on the fortifications, and the Spanish soldiery guarding them, stood at gaze.

  Tall, straight, and vigorously spare, our gentleman was dressed with sombre Spanish elegance in black and silver. The curls of his black periwig fell to his shoulders, and his keen shaven face with its high–bridged nose and disdainful lips was shaded by a broad black hat about the crown of which swept a black ostrich plume. Jewels flashed at his breast, a foam of Mechlin almost concealed his hands, and there were ribbons to the long gold–mounted ebony cane he carried. A fop from the Alameda he must have seemed but for the manifest vigour of him and the air of assurance and consequence with which he bore himself. He carried his dark finery with an indifference to the broiling tropical heat which argued an iron constitution, and his glance was so imperious that the eyes of the inquisitive fell away abashed before it.

  He asked the way to the Governor's residence, and the officer commanding the guard over the toiling white prisoners detached a soldier to conduct him.

  Beyond the square, which architecturally, and saving for the palm trees throwing patches of black shadow on the dazzling white sun–drenched ground, might have belonged to some little town in Old Spain, past the church with its twin spires and marble steps, they came, by tall, wrought–iron gates, into a garden, and by an avenue of acacias to a big white house with deep external galleries all clad in jessamine. Negro servants in ridiculously rich red–and–yellow liveries admitted our gentleman, and went to announce to the Governor of Porto Rico the arrival of Don Pedro de Queiroz on a mission from King Philip.

  Not every day did a messenger from the King of Spain arrive in this almost the least of his Catholic Majesty's overseas dominions. Indeed, the thing had never happened before, and Don Jayme de Villamarga, whilst thrilled to the marrow by the announcement, knew not whether to assign the thrill to pride or to alarm.

  A man of middle height, big of head and paunch and of less than mediocre intelligence, Don Jayme was one of those gentlemen who best served Spain by being absent from her, and this no doubt had been considered in appointing him Governor of Porto Rico. Not even his awe of majesty, represented by Don Pedro, could repress his naturally self–sufficient manner. He was pompous in his reception of him, and remained unintimidated by the cold, haughty stare of Don Pedro's eyes, eyes of a singularly deep blue, contrasting oddly with his bronzed face. A Dominican monk, elderly, tall, and gaunt, kept his Excellency company.

  «Sir, I give you welcome.» Don Jayme spoke as if his mouth were full. «I trust you will announce to me that I have the honour to meet with his Majesty's approbation.»

  Don Pedro made him a deep obeisance, with a sweep of his plumed hat, which, together with his cane, he thereafter handed to one of the Negro lackeys. «It is to signify the royal approbation that I am here, happily, after some adventures. I have just landed from the San Tomas, after a voyage of many vicissitudes. She has gone on to San Domingo, and it may be three or four days before she returns to take me off again. For that brief while I must make free with your Excellency's hospitality.» He seemed to claim it as a right rather than ask it as a favour.

  «Ah!» was all that Don Jayme permitted himself to answer. And with head on one side, a fatuous smile on the thick lips under his grizzled moustache, he waited for the visitor to enter into details of the royal message.

  The visitor, however, displayed no haste. He looked about him at the cool, spacious room with its handsome furnishings of carved oak and walnut, its tapestries and pictures, all imported from the Old World, and inquired, in that casual manner of the man who is at home in every environment, if he might be seated. His Excellency, with some loss of dignity, made haste to set a chair.

  Composedly, with a thin smile which Don Jayme disliked, the messenger sat down and crossed his legs.

  «We are,» he announced, «in some sort related, Don Jayme.»

  Don Jayme stared. «I am not aware of the honour.»

  «That is why I am at the trouble of informing you. Your marriage, sir, established the bond. I am a distant cousin of Dona Hernanda.»

  «Oh! My wife!» His Excellency's tone in some subtle way implied contempt for that same wife and her relations. «I had remarked your name: Rueiroz.» This also explained to him the rather hard and open accent of Don Pedro's otherwise impeccable Castilian. «You will, then, be Portuguese, like Dona Hernanda.» And again his tone implied contempt of Portuguese, and particularly perhaps of Portuguese who were in the service of the King of Spain, from whom Portugal had reestablished her independence a half–century ago.

  «Half Portuguese, of course. My family …»

  «Yes, yes.» Thus the testy Don Jayme interrupted him. «But your message from his Majesty?»

  «Ah, yes. Your impatience, Don Jayme, is natural.» Don Pedro was faintly ironical. «You will forgive me that I should have intruded family matters. My message, then. It will be no surprise to you, sir, that eulogistic reports should have reached his Majesty, whom God preserve …» he bowed his head in reverence, compelling Don Jayme to do the same «… not only of the good government of this important island of Porto Rico, but also of the diligence employed by you to rid these seas of the pestilent rovers, particularly the English buccaneers who trouble our shipping and the peace of our Spanish settlements.»

  There was nothing in this to surprise Don Jayme. Not even upon reflection. Being a fool, he did not suspect that Porto Rico was the worst governed of any Spanish settlement in the West Indies. As for the rest, he had certainly encouraged the extirpation of the buccaneers from the Caribbean. Quite recently, and quite fortuitously be it added, he had actually contributed materially to this desirable end, as he was not slow to mention.

  With chin high and chest puffed out, he moved, strutting, before Don Pedro as he delivered himself. It was gratifying to be appreciated in the proper quarter. It encouraged endeavour. He desired to be modest. Yet in justice to himself he must assert that under his government the island was tranquil and prosperous. Frey Luis here, could bear him out in this. The Faith was firmly planted, and there was no heresy in any form in Porto Rico. And as for the matter of the buccaneers, he had done all that a man in his position could do. Not perhaps as much as he could ha
ve desired to do. After all, his office kept him ashore. Had Don Pedro remarked the new fortifications he was building? The work was all but complete, and he did not think that even the infamous Captain Blood would have the hardihood to pay him a visit. He had already shown that redoubtable buccaneer that he was not a man with whom it was prudent to trifle. A party of this Captain Blood's men had dared to land on the southern side of the island a few days ago. But Don Jayme's followers were vigilant. He saw to that. A troop of horse was in the neighbourhood at the time. It had descended upon the pirates and had taught them a sharp lesson. He laughed as he spoke of it; laughed at the thought of it; and Don Pedro politely laughed with him, desiring with courteous and appreciative interest to know more of this.

  «You killed them all, of course,» he suggested, his contempt of them implicit in his tone.

  «Not yet.» His Excellency spoke with a relish almost fierce. «But I have them under my hand. Six of them, who were captured. We have not yet decided upon their end. Perhaps the rope. Perhaps an auto–de–fe and the fires of the Faith for them. They are heretics all, of course. It is a matter I am still considering with Frey Luis here.»

  «Well, well,» said Don Pedro, as if the subject began to weary him. «Will your Excellency hear the remainder of my message?»

  The Governor was annoyed by this suggestion that his lengthy exposition had amounted to an interruption. Stiffly he bowed to the representative of Majesty. «My apologies,» said he in a voice of ice.

  But the lofty Don Pedro paid little heed to his manner. He drew from an inner pocket of his rich coat a folded parchment, and a small flat leather case.

  «I have to explain, your Excellency, the condition in which this comes to you. I have said, although I do not think you heeded it, that I arrive here after a voyage of many vicissitudes. Indeed, it is little short of a miracle that I am here at all, considering what I have undergone. I, too, have been a victim of that infernal dog Captain Blood. The ship on which I originally sailed from Cadiz was sunk by him a week ago. More fortunate than my cousin Don Rodrigo de Queiroz, who accompanied me and who remains a prisoner in that infamous pirate's hands, I made my escape. It is a long tale with which I will not weary you.

  «It would not weary me,» exclaimed his Excellency, forgetting his dignity in his interest.

  But Don Pedro waved aside the implied request for details. «Later! Later, perhaps, if you care to hear of it. It is not important. What is important on your Excellency's account is that I escaped. I was picked up by the San Tomas, which has brought me here, and so I am happily able to discharge my mission.» He held up the folded parchment. «I but mention it to explain how this has come to suffer by sea–water, though not to the extent of being illegible. It is a letter from his Majesty's Secretary of State informing you that our Sovereign, whom God preserve, has been graciously pleased to create you, in recognition of the services I have mentioned, a knight of the most noble order of Saint James of Compostella.»

  Don Jayme went first white, then red, in his incredulous excitement. With trembling fingers he took the letter and unfolded it. It was certainly damaged by sea–water. Some words were scarcely legible. The ink in which his own surname had been written had run into a smear, as had that of his government of Porto Rico, and some other words here and there. But the amazing substance of the letter was indeed as Don Pedro announced, and the royal signature was unimpaired.

  As Don Jayme raised his eyes at last from the document, Don Pedro, proffering the leather case, touched a spring in it. It flew open, and the Governor gazed upon rubies that glowed like live coals against their background of black velvet.

  «And here,» said Don Pedro, «is the insignia; the cross of the most noble order in which you are invested.»

  Don Jayme took the case gingerly as if it had been some holy thing, and gazed upon the smouldering cross. The friar came to stand beside him, murmuring congratulatory words. Any knighthood would have been an honourable, an unexpected reward for Don Jayme's services to the crown of Spain. But that of all orders this most exalted and coveted order of Saint James of Compostella should have been conferred upon him was something that almost defied belief. The Governor of Porto Rico was momentarily awed by the greatness of the thing that had befallen him.

  And yet, when a few minutes later the room was entered by a little lady, young and delicately lovely. Don Jayme had already recovered his habitual poise of self–sufficiency.

  The lady, beholding a stranger, an elegant, courtly stranger, who rose instantly upon her advent, paused in the doorway, hesitating, timid. She addressed Don Jayme.

  «Pardon. I did not know you occupied.»

  Don Jayme appealed, sneering, to the friar. «She did not know me occupied! I am the King's representative in Porto Rico, his Majesty's Governor of this island, and my wife does not know that I am occupied, conceives that I have leisure. It is unbelievable. But come in, Hernanda. Come in.» He grew more playful. «Acquaint yourself with the honours the King bestows upon his poor servant. This may help you to realize what his Majesty does me the justice to realize, although you may have failed to do so: that my occupations here are onerous.»

  Timidly she advanced, obedient to his invitation. «What is it, Jayme?»

  «What is it?» He seemed to mimic her. «It is merely this.» He displayed the order. «His Majesty invests me with the cross of Saint James of Compostella. That is all.»

  She grew conscious that she was mocked. Her pale, delicate face flushed a little. But there was no accompanying sparkle of her great, dark, wistful eyes, to proclaim it a flush of pleasure. Rather, thought Don Pedro, she flushed from shame and resentment at being so contemptuously used before a stranger and at the boorishness of a husband who could so use her.

  «I am glad, Jayme,» she said, in a gentle, weary voice. «I felicitate you. I am glad.»

  «Ah! You are glad! Frey Alonso, you will observe that Dona Hernanda is glad.» Thus he sneered at her without even the poor grace of being witty. «This gentleman, by whose hand the order came, is a kinsman of yours, Hernanda.»

  She turned aside, to look again at that elegant stranger. Her gaze was blank. Yet she hesitated to deny him. Kinship when claimed by gentlemen charged by kings with missions of investiture is not lightly to be denied in the presence of such a husband as Don Jayme. And, after all, hers was a considerable family, and must include many with whom she was not personally acquainted.

  The stranger bowed until the curls of his periwig met across his face. «You will not remember me, Dona Hernanda. I am, nevertheless, your cousin, and you will have heard of me from our other cousin Rodrigo. I am Pedro de Queiroz.»

  «You are Pedro?» She stared the harder. «Why, then …» She laughed a little. «Oh, but I remember Pedro. We played together as children, Pedro and I.»

  Something in her tone seemed to deny him. But he confronted her unperturbed.

  «That would be at Santarem,» said he.

  «At Santarem it was.» His readiness appeared now to bewilder her. «But you were a fat, sturdy boy then, and your hair was golden.»

  He laughed. «I have become lean in growing, and I favour a black periwig.»

  «Which makes your eyes a startling blue. I do not remember that you had blue eyes.»

  «God help us, ninny,» croaked her husband. «You never could remember anything.»

  She turned to look at him, and for all that her lip quivered, her eyes steadily met his sneering glance. She seemed about to speak; checked herself, and then spoke at last, very quietly. «Oh, yes. There are some things a woman never forgets.»

  «And on the subject of memory,» said Don Pedro, addressing the Governor with cold dignity, «I do not remember that there are any ninnies in our family.»

  «Faith, then, you needed to come to Porto Rico to discover it,» his Excellency retorted with his loud, coarse laugh.

  «Ah!» Don Pedro sighed. «That may not be the end of my discoveries.»

  There was something in his tone which Don Jay
me did not like. He threw back his big head, and frowned. «You mean?» he demanded.

  Don Pedro was conscious of an appeal in the little lady's dark, liquid eyes. He yielded to it, laughed, and answered:

  «I have yet to discover where your Excellency proposes to lodge me during the days in which I must inflict myself upon you. If I might now withdraw …»

  The Governor swung to Dona Hernanda. «You hear? Your kinsman needs to remind us of our duty to a guest. It will not have occurred to you to make provision for him.»

  «But I did not know … I was not told of his presence until I found him here.»

  «Well, well. You know now. And we dine in half an hour.»

  At dinner Don Jayme was in high spirits, which is to say that he was alternately pompous and boisterous, and occasionally filled the room with his loud, jarring laugh.

  Don Pedro scarcely troubled to dissemble his dislike of him. His manner became more and more frigidly aloof, and he devoted his attention and addressed his conversation more and more exclusively to the despised wife.

  «I have news for you,» he told her, when they had come to the dessert, «of our cousin Rodrigo.»

  «Ah!» sneered her husband. «She'll welcome news of him. She ever had a particular regard for her cousin Rodrigo, and he for her.»

  She flushed, keeping her troubled eyes lowered. Don Pedro came to the rescue, swiftly, easily. «Regard for one another is common among the members of our family. Every Queiroz owes a duty to every other, and is at all times ready to perform it.» He looked very straightly at Don Jayme as he spoke, as if inviting him to discover more in the words than they might seem to carry. «And that is at the root of what I am to tell you, Cousin Hernanda. As I have already informed his Excellency, the ship in which Don Rodrigo and I sailed from Spain together was set upon and sunk by that infamous pirate Captain Blood. We were both captured, but I was so fortunate as to make my escape.»

  «You have not told us how. You must tell us how,» the Governor interrupted him.