Feeling the satisfaction of forthcoming praise, Sebastian struggled to reach his bunk. He’d lay there until the worst was over. After his first step, the boat jerked suddenly, throwing Sebastian off his feet and into the wall. The room spun wildly, terrifying him. Was the boat sinking? Why—how—did it spin so crazily? Panic overtook him seconds before everything went black.
~~~~~~~~~~
The moment Nicolo lost sight of his son, his heart sank. If he had brought them all out there to die, may God have mercy on his son’s soul and may his burn in hell. It would be too little punishment.
He felt the ship lurch again, but with his concentration centered on finding Sebastian, he couldn’t grab on to the railing. The result sent terrifying shockwaves through him—even for such a seasoned sailor. The waves flung him against his cabin door and then onto the railing. With hands barely holding on to the slippery wood, he swung one leg over the side, but another rock sent him flying—this time across the roof of his cabin, along the quarterdeck, and onto the little ledge the crew used to relieve themselves. There he huddled, semi-protected from the rock and roll of the ship but cold, wet, and unable to leave. If he tried to climb back over the rail, he’d be tossed into the ocean.
For a moment, the idea seemed worth it. Sebastian had disappeared in one of the great waves. The boy was probably dead. He’d failed her—Sebastian’s mother—he had truly failed her. Reason returned to him before the next wave threatened to topple the ship. Risking his life to do the impossible, potentially leaving Sebastian as an orphan— unacceptable. No good option remained but to wait.
He tried to listen—to hear what happened on deck—but with the roar of the wind and clap of thunder and lightning, it was impossible. One of the men, Bernardo, floated past, struggling to stay above the waves. Nicolo tried to lower his leg far enough for the man to grab on to it, but failed. Over and over again, the man tried to swim to him, desperate, but at last a great wave poured over them. Bernardo was gone. And Nicolo prayed for his soul.
The storm raged, pummeling the ship repeatedly. At times, he felt certain that the ship would capsize. He had never felt so helpless. The ship was his responsibility, and yet he sat huddled on a ledge doing nothing to help.
Nicolo’s arms ached. Numb with cold, it grew more and more difficult to hold on to the little railing that kept him trapped on the rear of the boat. Things improved a little as the rain slowed and finally stopped. At last, a sliver of moon peeked out from behind the clouds. The waves still rocked the ship until the creaks and groans sounded as if the masts would snap.
In time, he heard men calling his name over the sounds of waves crashing into and over the ship. The wind blew his voice out into the ocean each time he replied. They couldn’t hear him.
At last, Jaime’s head peeked over the rail and his eyes widened. “Nicolo! We all thought—”
“Get me a rope before the next wave hits.”
Seconds later, the wave washed over him, but a rope followed quickly. Jaime leaned over the railing again. “I didn’t quite make it before, but—”
He ignored the young man as he pulled himself over the edge and onto the deck. “Sebastian—I saw him…”
“He’s in his cabin.” Jaime smiled at his relief. “He did well. You should be proud of him.”
Nicolo pushed past Jaime and hurried to Sebastian’s cabin. He found the boy ineffectually mopping up the water. “Son?”
Sebastian dropped the mop and rushed to him. “One minute you were there and then… I didn’t know…”
Arms around his son, Nicolo shivered as he said, “Jaime told me you’d come to the cabin. You did well. I thought you were gone.”
“Where’ve you been? Everyone was so careful not to mention you that I thought you were dead.”
“People do that, don’t they,” Nicolo sighed. “I saw Turk and Bernardo go under.”
“Turk went over before I got off deck. I tried but Jaime wouldn’t let me—”
“He was right. Risking your life for another is a noble thing, unless there is no hope for either of you if you do. Then it is suicide.”
“But maybe—”
“Tell me the odds, Sebastian. What were your odds of survival? How many men did we lose today?”
The boy’s eyes answered long before he relented. “I don’t think I had a chance. I just didn’t want to watch someone drown.”
“Do you think Turk wanted to watch you drown too?”
Startled eyes met his. “I hadn’t thought of that. Dying knowing someone else would die trying to save you. That’d be terrible!”
Despite his best efforts to hide it, Nicolo shivered again. Sebastian pushed him toward the door. “You should go change—if you can find something dry. Blankets. Get warm. Where were you?”
The lad’s attempt to try to make him leave even while asking a question that would make him stay—so like the boy. Nicolo opened the door and said over his shoulder, “I was clinging to the head for the bulk of the day…”
“I think I should have been there,” Sebastian mused.
Nicolo stopped and turned, confused. “Why?”
“I was the one who was scared enough to need…”
All the way to his cabin, even with the rolling of the ship, Nicolo staggered, laughing hysterically and looking like a drunken sailor. The others stared after him, exchanging curious expressions. Jaime hurried to Sebastian’s cabin for clarification.
Minutes later, he stumbled on deck and announced the source of the captain’s mirth. Giorgio shook his head as he retied the rigging. “That boy has always had a timely sense of humor.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Legend: Part Five
Three long, wearying days passed as the crew repaired the damage done to the ship. Every crew member from the captain down to Sebastian swept, dumped, and mopped up hundreds of gallons of water from the vessel. Torn sails, a cracked mast, and the lost at sea took a toll on the morale of the crew. Seven men—dead. They’d sailed all over the area, knowing it was hopeless, but trying to find any sign of anyone.
Hector had been counted amongst the lost for almost two days. Eventually, Sebastian had found him in the hold, hiding in the listening post he’d learned to love—had been there during the entire storm. A blow to the head made him confused and muddleheaded. It had also made him more pleasant— tractable even.
In the wake of their recent distress, Jaime took the first opportunity to settle in for a story—anything to buoy the men’s spirits. First, he went below deck and told it to the men down there so they wouldn’t have to struggle to hear. Later that evening, he settled on deck with a bottle of wine. “I thought it was time to revisit Joseph...”
The deep mourning that the family entered placed a pall over every aspect of Joseph’s life. He was short with customers—impatient for payments. He called dozens of men into his counting rooms but few stayed longer than a few minutes. Courtesy was minimal. He called in debts so quickly that the word spread. Joseph ben Saolomon was collecting large amounts of gold.
He sat in his rooms late each evening, waiting for the men he’d summoned that day. They entered at the appointed time, answered a few questions, and left once more with stern warnings to pay their debt in thirty days or lose their lands. Each time one left, he shook his head and poured over his ledgers once more.
Just after midnight one Thursday night, Richard Lennard appeared at the door, escorted in by a servant. “You sent for me, Joseph? Did your payment not arrive on time? Was the receipt I received a forgery?”
“Silence!” He took a deep breath and continued. “You have an uncle with ships, is this correct?”
“It is...” Lennard looked nervous.
“I have an offer for you.” He smiled at the strangled swallow Lennard forced down. “Would you like to hear it?”
“I have a feeling that I have no choice in the matter.”
“You think correctly. I will erase your debt to me if you give my wife, daughter, he
r husband, and myself safe passage to Calais under cover of darkness—and with absolute secrecy. No one must know you did this.”
“You’ll—that is—erase? The whole thing. Just for passage?”
Joseph nodded. “I surmise those are acceptable terms?”
“I don’t know.”
Furious, Joseph struggled to keep his temper in check. He carefully folded his hands, breathed with slow, measured breaths, and leaned forward. “What do you not ‘know?’”
“If the price is worth it.”
~~~~~~~~~~
The day of departure closed with the descent of darkness over a clear night in Dover. Not a single cloud hid in the black, moonlit sky. No threat of fog hovered and only a mild breeze blew— everything they needed for safe passage. They loaded four carts onto the small ship and hid them in the storerooms of the hold. Unlike his sons and daughters before him, Joseph demanded that the storeroom not be locked. “I will not be trapped to drown like cats. It won’t happen.”
Lennard agreed. “That is fine. What about my receipt.”
“When we get to the other side. I would not wish you to take it and run.”
“Any man who was fool enough to run from you,” Lennard began cautiously, “deserves what we both know he’d get.”
“Wise man. It’s a shame that you are not Jewish.”
“I think we both know that I would be a lousy Jew.”
Laughing, Joseph slowly pushed the door shut, squeezing out Lennard. “I wish I had known that you had a sense of humor. It would have made your payment visits much more enjoyable for both of us.”
“And to think you will be deprived of my company forever...”
They sat in the room, Miriana huddled close to her Aaron, clutching Levi to her chest, and his Rebekah trying to look brave as she sat stoically beside him. “We will arrive safely, Miriana. Your father has found us safe passage. Yvo’s death was a tragedy, but it was an accident.”
Joseph gazed down at his wife. “You are a wise woman, Rebekah. We will not be trapped as they were. Even if there is another accident, we will survive.”
It seemed as though hours passed before they finally felt the ship moving. Joseph ignored the unsettled feeling in his stomach and squeezed Rebekah’s hand. “We go.”
“Will we ever return, Papa?”
His Miriana loved London and her prosperous life there. Of all his children, she was the least likely to stay true to her faith. Perhaps leaving would prove best for all of them—particularly her. They lost much in the move; he’d sold the properties he held to other moneylenders for half their worth.
His gut soured at the idea. He’d robbed his brothers—possibly. If this statute came, they’d lose their livelihood, but what about their property? Perhaps he’d left them better off. He didn’t think so.
“Calais will be safe ground. Like Moses, we flee through the sea to safety from persecution.” He sounded more confident than he felt—exactly as he hoped. He saw no reason to worry the family. The money they’d lost galled him but it worried him more. Money was their security in a very unsecure world.
The boat rocked as they hit a choppy patch, but even hidden in the storeroom, he could tell there was no danger. They would make it. It would work. They’d be happy in Calais. Maybe Jacob had already found them a house and set up business.
Lennard knocked and entered. “We’re nearly there. We’ll lower the boats in less than an hour. Do you want the women to go first?”
“Aaron will take Miriana and Levi. I will go with Rebekah, but you will take our things first.”
“If you think it is safe…”
“What?” Joseph snapped. “Are you threatening my family?”
“No, your things alone there. That’s what I meant. If you think leaving them unattended…”
Joseph stared at Lennard. The lantern in the man’s hand made strange shadows on his face, but he looked sincere. “We will have to risk it.”
The decision made, their things were rolled on to the deck and lowered into the boats. Men questioned, then complained about their jobs, but Lennard ordered the boats to land. The trip from the boat to land took nearly as long as crossing the channel had.
At last, they led Miriana and Aaron up on deck. Joseph prayed as he had never prayed before, begging God for his daughter’s life. He hadn’t felt so uncertain—so terrified for safety—for his other children, but something about being there—waiting—so close but so helpless to make a difference, tore at him. Rebekah murmured soothing words, but they gave little comfort.
After what seemed an age, Lennard came to lead them to the boats. “They made it just fine. I suggested that they leave immediately, but Aaron thought you might think something was wrong if you arrived and did not see them.”
It was true. He would have assumed the worst. He hadn’t liked Aaron at first, but the young man proved to be a very prudent husband and father—his favorite son-in-law. Once again, a simple forethought had saved much anxiety. He would be a comfort in their old age.
Rebekah trembled as they helped her over the railing and down the ladder into the boat below. When Joseph arrived, he found her with her fingers wrapped around the star of David, praying. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears in the moonlight. “This star, Joseph. Thank you for it. It is such a comfort. Is that wrong, do you think? Is it idolatry?”
He placed his arm around his wife and murmured into her ear, “It is a reminder of who you worship and why. As long as your comfort comes from your faith in God, as is symbolized by the star, it cannot be idolatry.”
As they climbed the bank to where their children stood waiting for them, Joseph fingered his own star in the little pocket of his vest. It had been a good investment—a wise one. His eyes scanned the strange shadows of this new place—home. It would be good. They were home.
“Let’s go find Jacob.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rage
Each day brought them closer to the Americas. After the storm that nearly drowned them all, the little storms that crept up seemed as if nothing. However, as they neared the equator, more and more days passed stranded on windless waters—becalmed. Occasionally, the crew rowed themselves onward, giving themselves something to do, but Nicolo didn’t allow too much of it. If a Spanish ship came close, they’d need their strength to fire, chase, and take it. The Caribbean had never heard of Nicolo Soranzo, but he was determined to ensure that those near Barbados and Havana feared him just as much as he had been along the Barbary Coast.
A stiff wind, one that made them look to the skies for a storm approaching, sent them streaking through the water at speeds they hadn’t reached in a long time. Nicolo watched their progress with satisfaction. They’d arrive sooner than expected now that they seemed to have left the doldrums.
“Ship ahoy!” Giorgio called from the crow’s nest.
All eyes stared in the direction Giorgio pointed, and Nicolo trained his telescope, waiting for it to come into view. The mast appeared in his sight. Minutes later, the flag appeared—Portuguese. “Let it go.”
“What?” Hector roared. He stormed across the deck and flung himself at the captain. “Why? Why not—”
Eduardo stepped up to the wheel and jerked Hector from Nicolo’s side. “Do not ever attack the captain like that again.”
“He’s going to let the ship go past! Why? Let’s get it. He promised me gold. All I have is a scar, and the worst nightmare I can imagine as my worst memory as well.”
“You are pathetic,” Nicolo sneered. “You endured the torture of the Inquisitors as an innocent man, but your worst nightmare was a storm. Get out of my sight.”
“I demand we fire on that ship. I want gold. I want freedom. I need it. You promised me!”
“I also promised to protect these men—to give them a profitable run and a safe one. I have a job to do, and I will do it. You,” he added with the merest hint of a growl, “will trust me to keep us alive and make you a wealthy man.”
&nbs
p; “What is wrong with that ship?”
“Portugal did not wrong you, Hector. I won’t fire on them when they are not guilty of crimes against any of us. If we needed to survive...”
“What are you, judge and jury? Fire and get me off this ship!”
“Glad to do the latter, but not until we find the right one. There is a reason that Nicolo has never been caught. There is a reason he is so successful. Mind your own business and go scrub the ledge of the head,” Eduardo snapped as he pushed the other man off the quarterdeck.
“I do not scrub excrement!”
“You do if you do not want me to throw you overboard,” the larger man growled.
Nicolo stood back and watched the interchange, amused at Eduardo’s vehemence. Hector brought out the worst in everyone, but Eduardo had a particular distaste for the cowardly, sniveling, overgrown weasel. Within seconds, if Hector did not silence himself, he would find himself with a terribly bruised jaw or a nice black circle around his eye.
“I—I—” the man blustered and then turned and stalked off the quarterdeck and down the gangway.
Eduardo and Nicolo exchanged glances. “He’s on his way to the listening post, isn’t he?” With a heavy, frustrated sigh, the quartermaster shook his head and went after him.
Alone once more, Nicolo raised the telescope to his eye, and surveyed the ship advancing toward them. He turned the ship’s wheel twenty degrees to show they did not intend to give chase. A Xebec so far out in the Atlantic would be a bold statement of their “profession.”
As expected, the ship turned until its gun deck faced them, in preparation. Not until they’d sailed miles past did the Portuguese ship finally turn and return to their regular shipping lanes.
He frowned. The Portuguese shouldn’t be this far north. He’d heard that they were exporting sugar from Brazil, but why would they sail so far north? It made no sense. Had they been blown off course? Was there a storm ahead, or had they been blown off course by the one that had nearly destroyed The Vengeance? The idea made him nervous. Whatever the reason, he should not see a Portuguese ship.
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