Legends of the Vengeance : The First Adventure (9781310742866)

by Havig, Chautona

  “Why are you telling me all of this if I cannot know what it is you are telling me. It makes no sense.”

  “Because I have to hide these. They are vital to your future and maybe your life. You must pay attention and remember all I say to you.”

  He dropped the packet into the jar and sealed the cork. Sticking his head out the door, he called for Giorgio to bring hot tar. Carefully, he coated the entire jar with the tar and then rolled it in oilcloth. “Help me tie it, Sebastian.”

  “Are we going to throw it overboard?”

  Nicolo’s laughter rang out in the cabin. “No. We will bury it. This is why I sent for you. You cannot forget it. You cannot ever forget.”

  “A tar-wrapped jar. Not very forgettable but very confusing.”

  His father wrapped several lengths of string around the jar and tied the ends, weaving them in and out of the maze of string. Once again, Nicolo brushed the hot tar over the canvas until he coated it completely. “It should be safe now—even if crushed, the jar may break but it will still protect it.”

  “So if we aren’t going to throw it overboard, what are we doing with it?”

  “I am sorry. I keep getting lost in the past. We’re going to raid Formentera. Jaime and I are going ashore and will bury this—hide it so that no one will ever find it unless they know it is there.”

  “Am I going with you?”

  “I don’t know,” Nicolo hedged. He’d considered it, but the idea seemed even more dangerous than being in on the raid.

  “If I am not there, how will I ever find it if you need me to?”

  “I don’t know.” He ignored the confusion and uncertainty in his son’s eyes and pulled out the map. “Look at this. See, we’re going to go here to Formentera. Eduardo will let Jaime and me off in the dory, and we’ll row to this islet. When we get back, I’ll show you exactly where I buried it. We’ll draw it out until you never forget it.”

  “I think that means I should come with you. If it is so secret, drawing it doesn’t seem like a very safe idea…”

  Again, Nicolo laughed. “We’ll be sure to burn them once you have it memorized.” He stowed the map away again and sat on his bunk. “Sebastian it is very important that you find this jar as soon as you are of age. Read the contents very carefully. Things will make sense then that couldn’t possibly make sense now. Protect them. They are very important documents. Take them to Italy—to Parma and show them to my family. They will find you a lawyer. They will help you.”

  “Help me with what?”

  “They will keep you alive. It would be your mother’s wish.”

  Sebastian knelt in front of Nicolo and gazed into his eyes. “Why does someone want to kill me? I have never understood this. Why not you? You are the pirate! I have no choice.”

  “Do not be mistaken. They want me dead too. If I am alive at that time, I will help you myself, but if not, you must do as I say.”

  “When I come of age and have been paddling about the ocean waiting for that day to come, I am to go to the islet off Formentera, dig up this,” Sebastian stood and grabbed the jar, nearly dropping it from the unexpected weight. “What is in this? This is not a small packet and some paper!”

  “I added gold, too. Enough to get you home and keep you for some time.”

  His son eyed him oddly. “So I find it, dig it up, sail to Italy and inform family I have never met that I am come with this information and require their help as to what to do with it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Papa, isn’t that a little… a little crazy?”

  Nicolo looked up at his son, ignoring the incredulity in the boy’s eyes. “I suppose it is. Do it anyway.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Sebastian left his father’s cabin more confused than he’d ever been about their life, although with new purpose. He also felt a little closer to the man he called father but who felt more like a “captain” rather than a “papa” much of the time. Jaime waved from where he examined a torn sail and beckoned Sebastian to come to him.

  “Are you coming with us?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He still wants me in skirts.” Despite his added affection for his father, Sebastian couldn’t help complaining about the indignities he felt he endured.

  “I’ll try again.”

  “Thank you.” Sebastian frowned as the seaman stitched the sail. “The small lateen is nearly shredded. We have another full size sail, why not cut this one down for that one, get out the new mainsail, and then use the current one for this one—just cut it down a bit. It’d be work, but we could do them one at a time. We’d just replace the big one, use this as it is, and so forth.”

  “They’ll need replacin’ before we head west anyway, Jaime. The lad makes sense.”

  “It’ll only be a few days before we get there,” Sebastian argued. “Even with bad wind and leaving off the oars, it would be less than a week, wouldn’t it?”

  “To Formentera? That sounds right. You have a good sense of time and direction.” Jaime kicked behind his knees, making them buckle, and pushed him toward the gangway. “Go down to the galley and see if Filipe needs help with our Spaniard. The man is touchier than a girl.”

  Dismissed, Sebastian hurried down to the galley, curious about the man’s injuries but uncertain if he really wanted to see them. He wasn’t fond of gory sights. He’d seen too many men lose an eye, an arm or leg—one even sliced in half by rigging. He shuddered at the memory. Life is gruesome on a ship, Sebastian mused.

  Moans grew louder as he neared where Mac and Filipe took turns ripping large and small splinters from the man, the largest still lodged in the right cheek. After each one, he took a swig of rum. Mac grinned at the look of disgust on Sebastian’s face.

  “Our new man is not keen on pain. The rum is makin’ it a bit more bearable.”

  “Does Papa know he’s drunk?”

  “Aye, I think yer papa is more understandin’ of a man’s pain at a time like this.”

  He turned to leave, but Filipe called him back. “We will need you in a minute. You’ll sit on his legs so he can’t move while we take out the big one.”

  “Nooooooooooo!” Hector cried, sobbing now at the thought of what pain it would mean.

  “It has to come out. Yer ugly enou’ wi’out it. You wouldn’t want to be frightening the wee ones wi’ it, now would ye?”

  After a few more swigs of rum and another dozen protests, Sebastian seated himself on Hector’s knees and leaned his upper body on the man’s feet. “I’m ready.”

  Mac tied a rope around Hector’s upper body, holding down the man’s arms and then went to hold his head. “Ok, I canna hold ‘im for long. Ye be swift about it, man.”

  “On three. Uno, due, tre!”

  Hector’s scream filled the galley, rose to the decks, and sent men scrambling to see what had happened. Mac stuffed a rum-soaked rag in the cheek and poured a bit more rum down Hector’s throat. When the room filled with men, all crowding to see, he shooed them back again.

  “Ye be gettin’ outta here. Can’t ye see the man is half-dead? Give ‘im some peace or I dinna ken that I’ll be inclined to cook anymore today.”

  “That’d almost be a relief,” one man muttered as he left the room.

  “Ye’d think they didn’t appreciate my fine cookin’,” Mac teased.

  “Well, if you didn’t try to kill us once or twice a week, they might not have anything to complain about,” Filipe shot back, winking at Sebastian.

  “Someone has to keep ‘em on their toes. They get lazy.”

  Hector groaned again and Mac called back a few of the stronger men. “Come get this whinin’ dog off my table. I’ve got some meat to cook before you lot complain it’s gone rancid.”

  Sebastian watched as they wriggled out of the galley and carried the wailing man to his bunk. “Sometimes I think Papa is crazy for taking on these fools. He just makes more work for the rest of us.”

  “Don’t be criticizin’ yer papa. He’s a
good man, Captain Nicolo is. Takes care of people—helps them when no one else cares. If it weren’t for yer papa, I’d be a dead man.”

  “And if it weren’t for you, we’d never have to worry about becoming one,” Filipe retorted. “Get the fire going. These men want food. It’s been a hard morning with nothing to fill their bellies.”

  Mac grumbled good-naturedly about people and their lack of appreciation as he added wood to the stove, poking it with a small stick. The cook thought he tossed the stick inside, but instead it fell on the floor. Quickly, Sebastian stomped on it and then picked it up to see that it was not still burning. The blackened end was hot but extinguished. He started to open the door and toss it in when the artist’s words came back to him. “…Burn a stick and use the charred end to practice. Try large and small.”

  Quietly, he crept from the galley, the stick hidden at his side. While men scurried to fix the sails or help the carpenter, he crept to his quarters and hid his new acquisition. He’d practice as soon as he found a rag to clean up any trace of his attempts. I will draw, Sebastian promised himself.

  Chapter Eight

  The Legend: Part Two

  Becalmed. Nicolo nearly went insane with frustration. The men had rowed a little, but he didn’t want them tired in case they needed to run. So, for the past day and a half, they’d traveled less than a mile and were only half way to Formentera. The men sang and danced, and Sebastian played his flute during it all. However, eventually he begged off, saying he needed to catch his breath.

  Jaime’s stories had always been saved for evening. A well-told tale by the light of a few lanterns in the darkness and on the water captivated the men in a different way. However, the entire ship had become so restless, so Nicolo asked for more of the young man’s new tale.

  “Have you more of your story? Has there been time to concoct some wild scheme for our friend Joseph? Perhaps he can be hit by splinters after cannon fire on those boats from Dover,” he teased, grinning at Hector’s chagrin.

  The Spaniard did not protest, but a flash of anger filled his eyes before he shrugged. “It is possible. Joseph was no more a seafaring man than I am. He likely wouldn’t know any better than I did.”

  Laughter erupted around them, but when Jaime shifted, taking a long drink, everyone settled in for what they all hoped would be a long installment of this new story.

  “Where did I leave off? Oh, yes, he started to make plans for Jacob’s leaving.”

  Nearly a week passed before Joseph received news from Charles. On a Wednesday, only a couple hours before dawn, a servant woke him and said Charles waited in his counting rooms. “He said it was urgent.”

  Joseph didn’t hesitate. He pulled on breeches and a coat and hurried downstairs in his slippers. Outside his rooms, the other man waited, eager to share his news. It would be good or Charles would not look so pleased.

  “Come in and tell me what you have learned.”

  Once Joseph had seated himself behind his table, Charles pulled a velvet pouch from a pocket. From within, he pulled a gold chain, and dangling from the end was a Star of David. “What do you think?”

  Joseph’s hand caught the star and took it from his visitor. He turned it over and over in his hand, his fingers tracing the Hebraic letters of the Shema etched into each angle of the star. He smiled.

  “You have done well. How quickly can he fill my order? What is his price?”

  “He can do it immediately. It won’t take long, but the price is steep. It is a risk to him to make something so overtly Jewish.”

  “What is the price?” Joseph demanded.

  The price was indeed high. Joseph wondered if the price quoted was inflated by his courier or if the jeweler was truly so expensive. “I will not pay that. I will pay seventy-five percent of the asking price or take my business elsewhere—even then that seems extreme.”

  Charles grew visibly uncomfortable. Small beads of perspiration dotted the man’s forehead as he nodded. “I will see what I can do. He owes my family a favor. We got him a good commission not long ago. I think he will come down.”

  So it was true. Charles had inflated the price. Joseph smiled again, but this one was not one his informant would enjoy. He pulled a pouch from a drawer behind him and slowly counted out enough gold to pay for the many chains and pendants he had ordered. Passing a handkerchief across the table, he said, “You seem to be overly warm, my friend. Oh, and be sure to bring me a signed receipt. I must keep my books in perfect order.”

  The other man blanched. He knew he’d been caught, but admitting it would be disastrous. Joseph waited to see what he would do. As Charles pocketed the money, Joseph leaned back in the chair.

  “I want six as soon as you can get them to me. It is very important. Now, get out of here before you are seen.” Joseph stood and waved the man to the door. “It would not be seemly for a fine gentleman such as yourself to be seen in such a dubious establishment at this hour. Someone might think you were in debt!”

  Two days later, Ingelby arrived not long before midnight in answer to Joseph’s summons. “I don’t know what I’ve done, Joseph. I have made my payments on time, have I not?”

  “Yes, you are a conscientious debtor. I will say that for you.”

  “Then why am I here, and at this hour?”

  “I thought,” Joseph began, “you might be interested in a way to reduce your debt with me—something that should cost you nothing but mild inconvenience.”

  “What is it?”

  “Before I tell you, you must assure me of your absolute silence. If you betray my confidence, I will ruin you, and you know I can.”

  “Don’t I ever? You can rest well at night knowing that you have cured one man of living beyond his means.”

  Laughter filled the counting room. “Ah, but that is not good news for my business is it?”

  “If only the other poor fools swindled by you were able to see the risk they do to their family name and to their descendants, you would be out of business.”

  Joseph’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, rubbing his hands together thoughtfully. “I am no swindler. I enter legal and binding contracts with men who have need of my services.”

  “And lose their land and reputation in the process.”

  “So I am to blame for their extravagance? My terms are clear, I keep my word, and my rates of interest are much better than most.”

  “You became rich off the misfortunes of noble men,” Ingelby protested.

  “Noble by birth, perhaps. In heart and in character—not at all. Nearly every one of my debtors ruined himself with bad decisions and flagrant extravagance. I do not enter contracts with men who are unable to pay. It is good business—business that fills the coffers of the crown, I might add.”

  Robert Ingelby shook his head impatiently. “What do you want from me and what will it remove from my debt?”

  “Your father has a shipping operation at Dover, does he not?”

  “He does.”

  “I want you to take my son Jacob and his family across to France. At night with no one to see—keeping your men silent.”

  The man’s forehead furrowed. “Why the secrecy?”

  “Will you do it?”

  “It would be hard to ensure that no one mentions ferrying a family of Jews to France.”

  Joseph thought for a moment and then nodded. “All right, they will dress like nobles—French nobles. You will tell your men that they are.”

  “The beard—”

  “We will shave!” Joseph thundered, slamming his fist on the table. “This must be done in secret. If we cannot leave secretly, as ourselves, we will leave as someone else.”

  “And the reduction to my debt?”

  “Ten percent. If it goes well, I will have more crossings for you. Within a few years, you should be free of all debt without the necessity of giving me another coin.”

  Ingelby stood unspeaking for some time before he nodded. “I will do it. When do they leave? I will need
to go home to make arrangements.”

  “They cannot leave before a week—maybe two.”

  “And am I to assume that you are removing your family from England?”

  Joseph folded his hands and smiled. “Do not grieve us too much.”

  The door closed behind Ingelby but not before Joseph overheard him mutter, “Good riddance.”

  A low chuckle grew into full laughter, mocking the young man all the way to the street.

  Chapter Nine

  Secrets

  The calm drove Sebastian crazy. He wanted to go hide in the corner of the ship beneath his father’s cabin and practice drawing in privacy. No one could come upon him without his knowledge there. However, with the crew bored and anxious, he knew someone would follow him if he tried it now.

  He’d already found himself a lantern, but getting it lit might be difficult. Just as he rolled into his bunk at bedtime on the third night of the calm, clouds rolled over the moon and a wind rose. If the clouds moved—Sebastian smiled. There it was again. They could see. They could—there went the sails. Calls to deck rang out in the night air, and he pulled his blanket over his shoulder. Yes, indeed. They would be sailing free in the morning and possibly even immediately.

  Sleep eluded him for most of the night. Excitement filled him until he’d built up grandiose ideas of what it would be to be an artist. He would be great—magnificent. He would go below deck and draw a masterpiece so marvelous that his father would have the ship torn apart in order to preserve it for all time. And at that idea, the ship lurched, waking him from his first real slumber since he’d rolled into bed the previous night.

  “That isn’t likely,” he muttered, remembering the feeling of excitement he’d experienced at the realization of his supposed true talent. Sebastian had no reason to suppose he could draw a rock, much less a tree, boat, or a person. He envied those who were wealthy enough to own portraits of loved ones. If he only had one of his mother. Yes, his father often remarked how like her he was, but it wasn’t the same as seeing the face for himself.