“Is this a trade run?”
“I thought it best to seem as normal as possible,” the young man explained. “Your father seemed to prefer all the secrecy I could provide. I had thought to make you French nobles, but then…”
Jacob said nothing. He hurried his family through the boat and into the storeroom reserved for them. Once they settled into the tight quarters, Ingelby turned to leave saying, “Try to keep the baby as quiet as possible. If we can get you there without the crew knowing you are aboard, it would be best.” Just as he began to shut the door behind him, the man added, “Oh, and there are buckets in the corner.”
The family waited, huddled together for warmth and comfort, until the crew returned and someone loosed the boat from its moorings. Simeon, still curious about the buckets, finally whispered, “Papa, why would we need buckets? I thought you said it would only take two or three hours to cross.”
“We must hope we don’t,” Jacob murmured with little confidence.
They were not so blessed. Within the first twenty minutes, Clara grew violently ill with the motion of the boat. “I am sorry, Jacob. You know how even riding a horse unsettles me. This is so much worse.”
One by one, the children succumbed to the rocking of the boat until the stench in the little storeroom caused as much sickness as the sea did. Even Jacob struggled to keep the light supper he had eaten where it belonged.
Despite the rough waters, the clear, bright, moonlit night allowed the sailors to make the journey safely. Though an unpleasant thing to sail at night—easy to be blown off course—even with the choppy water and the frigid air, they reached France within hours and under cover of darkness.
Ingelby took a very long time to come release them from the room. Simeon listened curiously as his father complimented the man on his forethought and suggested that he do it for “all of the crossings.”
Jacob and Ingleby, with Simeon’s help, loaded their cart and things into a longboat and watched as Ingleby rowed it out of the way and pulled another close for the family. They lowered Clara first, the terrified woman fighting waves of nausea with each jolt of the rope. One by one, the children followed until Jacob climbed down after them. Jacob took one oar, Clara the other. Simeon tried to man a third oar, while Rose and Leah both shared the fourth. Their slow, awkward movements made for a slow journey from ship to shore, but at last they arrived, weary and Clara insisting she never wanted to see the sea again.
Ingelby waited on the shore for him, having only had the cart to row across with the help of one of the crew. Their belongings, the little that they had brought, had been piled in it once more and Jacob stepped up to it, ready to grab the handles. “Thank you, Mr. Ingelby.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a note. “Give this to my father when you are next in town.”
With that, the cold, exhausted family trudged inland, reaching Calais as the sun rose in the sky. Home.
Chapter Fourteen
Out to Sea
Wind buffeted the ship within hours of exiting the strait of Gibraltar. The men grew anxious—excited. Sebastian could feel the sizzle of anticipation in the air. They loved it; why, he could only wonder.
His father stood on the quarterdeck, surveying the scene before him. The ship rocked as the waves grew more powerful, but still they sailed out into the Atlantic. Eduardo hurried to Nicolo’s side, and what they said, Sebastian couldn’t hear, but they also looked both excited and anxious.
From his corner of the deck, Sebastian tried to see all that happened around him. He knew that within hours, he might be sent to his tiny cabin with orders to shimmy into that horrible dress. Maybe he should wash his hair and put on perfume while he waited for the opportunity to “dress up.” His inward sarcasm made him snicker.
Hector crept along the gangway, doing his best to stay out of everyone’s path. The men didn’t like him, but Sebastian didn’t yet quite understand why. There could be many reasons—usually because the new men rarely knew anything. His father’s idea of training men for the life of piracy made no sense to any of them. Why bother when you would then give them a hefty portion of loot and set them safely aground somewhere for them to start a new life?
Again, Sebastian noticed Hector as he slunk down into the hold. Where was he going? Didn’t he have ropes to hold for the men running the rigging? He couldn’t row— not a flabby man like Hector. What else could it be? Curious, Sebastian decided to follow— to see what the man would do. At least it’ll be more interesting than watching Papa watch the men, he reminded himself. To combat his suspicions that the trek would prove lackluster at best, Sebastian tried to imagine that Hector was really a Spanish spy trying to learn how Nicolo Soranzo had become so successful at capturing the Spanish treasure ships.
The strange Spaniard didn’t seem to know what he was doing. He tried one place and then another. Sebastian kept busy jumping out of sight. He knelt behind barrels, flattened himself against beams, and ducked under tarps. At last, the man found the one place Sebastian hoped he wouldn’t— the small area beneath his father’s cabin. He waited, hoping that the men hadn’t moved inside to discuss anything important. Telling his father about a spy using his listening area was a great way to get it boarded up.
Frustrated, Hector scrambled back down and moved forward, directly under the quarterdeck. Now Sebastian knew what he wanted. He did want to listen. He just didn’t know how to find his way around the ship. It shouldn’t have been difficult. After all, the lower decks weren’t flipped in any odd direction from the upper. Right then, Sebastian concluded that the Spaniard had not been abundantly blessed with intelligence. If he were a spy, and it seemed as if he was, Hector might need to find a new profession because he wasn’t a very good one.
Could it be though? Could the man his father had promised to help be there to sabotage the ship in some way? Hector was the man his father had to meet in Siracusa— the reason they chose that port. What if it had all been some kind of set up? His father had been recognized—was that before or after he’d met with Hector?
Overwhelmed with the possibilities, Sebastian scuttled up top and ran to find his father. “Papa!” Just as he shouted, the boy remembered that Hector could be listening. “Um, can you come see what I’m drawing?”
It sounded pathetic even to his ears, but growing desperate, Sebastian had to try. He nearly dragged his father to his cabin and shut the door. Nicolo glanced about the floor and started to ask about the lack of picture there, but Sebastian put a finger over his lips. “I saw something,” he hissed. “Hector below decks.”
“The man is lazy, but I don’t see how that requires so much secrecy.”
“He kept going from place to place, trying to listen. I think he was hoping to find something— hear something.” He hesitated. What if his father thought he was crazy? What if it were too much? If he continued to do foolish things, his father would continue to see him as a pesky child. He blinked. “In Siracusa, did you see Hector before you were recognized or afterward?”
“Before...” Nicolo appeared to be thinking as well.
“Could he— do you think it is possible?”
His father hugged him and slipped out the door without a word. Sebastian stared at the wooden planks that shut him out from the rest of the ship, wondering what it all meant. If he stopped a spy from learning whatever that spy thought he’d learn on deck, his days of wearing dresses might be over. He grinned. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?
Staring at the door had an added effect. The latch caught his interest. Without taking his eye off the latch and the wood, he reached for the stick, his hand floundering around until he found it. Line by line, he tried to draw it. His eyes flitted back and forth from drawing to object until he almost didn’t look down again. The sketch was the best he’d ever done. Lines. Straight lines, simple circles. They seemed to be his strength. It was so easy. He raced out the door and found a bucket of sea water, dipped in the rag from his back pocket and ran back. Again he drew, the beams of t
he boat overhead appearing on the floor as if by magic. Perfect— simple. Again he erased, and again he thought. The porthole. He drew it as if effortlessly. Though not as well done, he still recognized it easily. Pride flooded his heart.
One last idea came to mind. He scrubbed until no traces of the charred drawings remained and then drew his first line— straight but with slight curves at the ends. He closed in the line with a half ellipse. It looked exactly like he wanted it to— the hull of a ship. Sebastian struggled with the attempt to draw his cabin, his father’s cabin, and the quarterdeck, but the sails and masts appeared before him quickly and realistically.
Sebastian stood back to survey his work. It was the first thing he’d ever drawn that he wanted to show someone. Jaime. He had to find Jaime.
~~~~~~~~~~
Men worked, preparing to get the ship into position to capture the first thing coming out of Spain. Sebastian’s theory had driven a cold dagger of fear into Nicolo’s heart. If Hector was not who he was supposed to be, he had placed the entire ship in danger, but particularly his son. What to do about it proved more difficult to decide as he’d hoped. At last, he sent Giorgio to look for the man. If they kept Hector within sight, he could get into little trouble. Sabotage wasn’t likely, but if he were willing to kill to get to the boy... The idea nearly made him sick to think of it. He hadn’t protected Sebastian from danger all these years to have him killed by a scurvy weasel like Hector.
Nicolo found the man in the galley, begging for more fruit or meat. New recruits often found the rations on board ship to be insufficient to their hunger— particularly weak men like Hector. He had begun his life as a pirate with one simple goal—to help every man, woman, or child who felt the hand of injustice rip apart their life. He wanted the success of one more blow to the pride of Spain, but if the man was a liar, that would be another story.
The memory of the fear, the cowering of Hector in that dark, filthy hovel he’d found the man in—they seemed to indicate truth. Then again, why had he been skulking about the ship, listening for things that he shouldn’t? Nicolo didn’t know, but he would find out. If the man was a traitor, he would regret his actions, and the captain of The Vengeance would enjoy ensuring that he did.
Eduardo— the man should know. Nicolo trusted few people without question but Eduardo, Jaime, and Mac were certainly among them. He fought with the men, argued with them, but he trusted them. Jaime, too. Jaime should know. He saw the younger man striding toward him, a grin on his face.
“What brightens your countenance this fine afternoon?”
“Did Sebastian show you his ship? It is magnificent! An amateur’s work, yes, but he has promise. I just know he has promise.”
“What ship? What are you talking about?”
“I just came from his cabin. Didn’t he show you the ship when you went? I thought sure...”
Nicolo shook his head. “Come here.” He led the younger man to the very tip of the bow and murmured, “He brought me there to tell me about Hector.”
“Hector? What are you talking about?”
“He followed our Spaniard and found him hiding in the hull, trying to listen in on Eduardo’s and my conversation. He took me to his cabin to tell me about it, but there was no ship on the floor.”
“He must have drawn it after you left. You should go see it, Nicolo. It is good. I will keep my eye on Hector. The man considers me sympathetic.”
The captain hesitated. It took several seconds to decide, but at last, he pushed away from the bow and strode to Sebastian’s cabin. If the boy did draw something well, he should see it. As the boy’s father, he should know these things. Shouldn’t he?
It took several seconds for the boy to answer the door, but this time Nicolo did not hear the scrape of the bar that locked the door from the inside. This time, he hadn’t hid his work. That was good— a definite relief.
“Papa?”
Nicolo nodded and gestured to the floor. “Jaime says you have drawn a very good ship. May I see it?” Asking nearly killed him. He was a captain— a father. He gave orders, not requests. However, Jaime’s words still haunted him.
“Yes, but it is not that good. It is just better than I have done. Look.”
Jaime and the boy were right. It was good— better than Nicolo could have done, that was for certain. “I can see the masts, they look like they are where they belong. The shape is correct, but you did have trouble with the cabins. I like it. Very well done, son.”
Sebastian beamed. Just a few words of praise opened the lad’s heart to him. Perhaps this new obsession of the boy’s would prove to be a way to reach his son— make him understand that their life was necessary to their survival. Survival might not be much of a life, but it was just for another decade at most. It would work. It had to work.
“Did you see about Hector?”
The concern amused him. Sebastian was like most boys—like Nicolo had been as a young lad—trying to grow up with dignity that he didn’t yet possess. He wanted to sound wise and important. Somehow the boy would have to temper the arrogance that often came with it—the arrogance that Nicolo himself had never overcome.
“Jaime is looking into it. I have a hard time imagining that the coward I saw in Siracusa would risk his life to be a spy, but perhaps he is an excellent actor. If he is, he will be a martyr too. I hope his cause is worth it.”
“Must he die, Papa? Why not set him adrift somewhere with just enough to make it to shore if he is wise? Wouldn’t that be more terrifying? Wouldn’t that require more from him?”
Nicolo shrugged and pointed to where Sebastian had drawn the little cabin where his son slept. “I think you are trying to make that section too linear. Go look at it. I think it looks like it angles when you look at it. It doesn’t, but I think looking at it has that impression because of where you stand. Try it.”
“Did anyone ever teach you how to draw?”
Nicolo shook his head. “No, but I used to know someone who was a very good artist. She used to talk about how we picture things as they are rather than as we see them.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Nicolo shrugged. “Try it anyway. It can’t hurt.”
Chapter Fifteen
Waiting
After three days in the Atlantic, the crew grew antsy—anxious for a ship. Nicolo scanned the waters repeatedly, watching. Nothing appeared. Hector spent every moment of those days growing more and more dissatisfied, complaining about everything from the rock of the small ship to the lack of decent rum on board.
Arguments broke out on a semi-regular basis. Tension became so thick on board it felt like a noose around Nicolo’s neck. Already the men suggested that they return to Gibraltar and raid somewhere along the Barbary Coast. He had to find something and soon. How, would be another problem altogether.
He turned at a roar of rage and saw one of the oarsmen rushing Filipe and pinning him against the deck. “Hey there! Stop!” Nicolo rushed to Filipe’s aid. “What is the problem?”
“He left that rope just lying there. I nearly broke my neck. It is irresponsible and—”
“Enough. He’s working on the rope. If you don’t like where it is, help him fix it.”
“What do I know about rope? I know how to row, and I am good at it. Put us to work rowing back to the coast, and I’ll show you my skills.”
Nicolo shook his head. “We’re not going back. We’re going to wait, capture a ship from Cadiz, and then be on our way. That is what we will do.”
“We’ve been out here for three days. We’re doing all right for now, but if a storm comes up, we’re in trouble!”
Before Nicolo could order the man down below, Eduardo strolled past, “Sailor, you are out of order. Get out of here or get to work.”
The furious man stalked down the gangway, presumably to join the other oarsmen. Eduardo beckoned Nicolo to follow him to the cabin. Two more arguments broke out on the way, but Jaime seemed in control of them. Once inside, Eduardo slammed
the door shut. “I know why you want to do this, but what if nothing comes for a week or two or more? We can’t stay out here forever. The men are getting frustrated already.”
“It has been less than a week since we raided Formentera!”
“And what did they find?” Eduardo shot back. “There was nearly nothing there! The inhabitants no longer inhabit! We are running out of food, wine, and water. We’ll make it a week but not much more! The cats will be food, and we will all get a single bite as our final meal.”
“You exaggerate.” Nicolo did not even attempt to hide his disgust. Histrionics are no reasonable way to argue a point, he grumbled to himself.
“I may exaggerate for today, but will you call those same words an exaggeration in a week’s time if we have not captured a ship? You cannot send men out into the ocean without proper supplies and a ship built for it.”
“Well, I did. You know why. You had the chance to leave and you didn’t. If you have a problem with that, it is your own fault.”
“You know—” began Eduardo, but Nicolo covered his lips with his finger.
Gesturing at the floor below, Nicolo slapped at his chest as hard as he could and then groaned. “What the—”
Eduardo stared at him as if he’d gone mad and then comprehension dawned. “I trust—”
Nicolo’s head shook violently as he gesticulated toward the door.
“—that you’ll have more sense when I return.” With that, Eduardo opened the door and slammed it again but did not leave.
Frantically, Nicolo glanced around the room and then spied a near empty bottle of wine. He took a swig, swallowing as much as he could and passed it to Eduardo who finished it off. Then, he slammed it down in a small wooden box, allowing the glass to shatter. “Idiot! They’re all idiots,” he yelled and then murmured into Eduardo’s ear, “Get Jaime to go down and see who is below.”
He pretended to open the door to leave himself and then shut it again. “Why go out and be bothered by men who are traitors to me. I have served them well—made most of them rich.” He snorted. “Well, most would be rich if they did not waste it ashore. What they did with their spoils is their problem. I did my part. I have never failed them, but this is how they repay me. Questioning my judgment. I know what I am doing. Despite their doubts, I will get us a ship, and we will feast once again.”
Legends of the Vengeance : The First Adventure (9781310742866) Page 9
