He grinned. Perhaps he should have taken Hector’s advice. Wouldn’t the man be thrilled to have his share of a ship loaded with sugar?
“Papa?”
Nicolo jerked. “Sebastian. You startled me.”
“Why were you smiling? Eduardo slugged Hector in the hold.”
“Well, that is reason to grin, I agree,” Nicolo joked, “but no, I was imagining Hector’s face when his take of a prize was several hundred pounds of sugar.”
Chuckles erupted from both of them as they pictured the blustering man whining about not being able to live on sugar alone. Sebastian pointed at the ship slowly disappearing from site. “Is that why you didn’t chase? Portuguese export sugar instead of gold?”
“Yes, that and they are not responsible for Hector’s troubles.”
The boy was quiet, pensive. “I don’t think Hector is a spy,” he murmured, almost as if to himself.
“Why is that?”
“I—” he hesitated midsentence. “I just don’t think that a spy would make himself that disliked. He knows we’re watching him, he knows that he irritates everyone. What would stop someone from tossing him overboard if he keeps it up? I think he’s just a foolish man.”
“Well thought out, Sebastian. I agree with you, as do Jaime and Eduardo.”
As if he heard his name, Jaime hurried up on deck. “I think Eduardo snapped. He is beating Hector and won’t listen to me.”
Without a word, Nicolo passed the telescope to Jaime, jogged to his cabin, grabbed his matchlock gun, strode down the gangway, and lowered himself into the hold. As much as he hated to do it, he had to protect Hector. His honor was at stake.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Jaime?”
The young man stared out at the horizon. “Hmm?”
“Your story, Joseph, is there more to his life in Calais?”
His friend nodded, saying, “You’ll have to wait to hear, won’t you?”
“But I don’t understand. What was the statue thing? Why was it a problem?”
“Statute. It was an edict that said Jews couldn’t lend money anymore. They had to live in certain places and could only do certain jobs. All debts to Jewish moneylenders were cancelled. They lost a lot of money.”
“How did Joseph know it would happen? It did happen, right?” Sebastian knew that Jaime loved to put his stories in true settings. The Statute of Jewry must have happened, even if Joseph wasn’t real.
“Well, he was a shrewd man. He knew that when kings start talking about limiting what Jews can do, terrible things happen later.”
“Terrible things like what?” Sebastian urged. “I want to know.”
Jaime laughed. “Isn’t that the point of the story? I think your questions tell me that I am doing my job. I have you intrigued.”
“But what is wrong with Jews?”
An internal struggle showed on Jaime’s face. After a long minute, he shrugged. “I think that Christians are insulted that they do not accept Jesus as their Messiah.”
That answer unsettled Sebastian, but he didn’t know why. “What is a Messiah?”
“Don’t know how to explain it. Jesus was a Jew too. That makes it doubly confusing, doesn’t it?”
The sun slowly set, growing both dimmer and yet now glaring directly into their eyes. Sebastian dropped to the deck cross-legged with his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands. After a few more minutes, Jaime settled down beside him and pulled out his latest carving and a knife, working on it in spurts as he kept an eye on the men around them.
“So Joseph was very wise, wasn’t he? He got his family—the whole family, too—out before the king could do that. His family wasn’t affected by the statute.”
“Right. That’s why they left. Calais was owned by the Dutch and they were not anti-Semitic.”
Sebastian thought for a moment and then leaned back against the side of the ship. “Is there really more to the story? It seems like a good ending. They reached safety in a place where they weren’t going to be persecuted anymore.”
A signal—one that spelled disaster if ignored—sent Jaime scrambling. “Life isn’t that simple, I’m afraid,” Jaime said before striding toward the galley.
Whatever had Mac riled in the galley, it couldn’t be good. There was no fresh food and little variety left. Much of what they had hoped to enjoy had spoiled in the storm. They’d have to hope that the Spanish ships carrying gold and silver back to Europe also had excellent supplies.
His fingers drew the big toe of his foot, almost unconsciously. Sebastian hadn’t had much time for drawing as of late, but he had other things on his mind—things that unnerved him. His old childish methods of envisioning their attack, including all that could go right and wrong, and preparing himself for the worst failed him. As far as he could see, their next raid might be their last.
The more he thought about it, the more unsettled Sebastian became. His first inclination was to take the questions to Jaime. The younger man seemed to remember what it was like to be young better than his father did. Then again, anytime there was any question of the best course of action, Jaime deferred to his father with a fierceness that garnered respect. Perhaps it would be best to speak to his father first.
Alone in his father’s cabin, Sebastian slowly grew nervous. Papa will laugh, he mused inwardly. He’ll say I am trying to sound grown up, and he might tell some of the others. They’ll laugh too.
That thought turned his stomach a little. It was bad enough for your father to think you were too ridiculous, but for the others… Jaime wouldn’t laugh. He’d listen and then tell me what made sense and why the stuff that doesn’t, doesn’t. Papa just tells me I don’t know what I’m talking about.
The truth of his thoughts couldn’t be denied. Even as he sat there, he could hear the words reverberating through the cabin. Ten years he’d spent onboard the ship—ten. In those years, he’d probably heard hundreds of admonitions to leave the running of the ship to those qualified to do it. Sometimes his father was right—he could be stubborn and arrogant. However, sometimes he really did mean to be helpful, to see if his thoughts made sense, and his father still scolded him for his interference.
Papa is busy though. A son underfoot is probably very annoying. I guess if I’ve been prideful about my input sometimes, it might be hard to see that I’m not meaning to be at others.
After a long time of internal struggle, Sebastian jumped from the bed and reached for the door. He would take his thoughts to Jaime first. Then, if Jaime thought them worth the bother to his father, he would speak to the captain as a captain. Perhaps respect for his father’s position rather than just as his papa would make a difference.
His resolve came too late. Nicolo stepped into the cabin and shook his head. “That Hector is a fool. You knew that, but I’m telling you again because it makes me feel better to say it. I’m acting like a woman who must talk out her dilemma regarding yellow ribbons vs. green.”
“Do women really talk about such ridiculous things? Who cares? Why not choose one today and the other tomorrow?”
“That, my son, is something that I do not think man will ever understand. Woman will never cease in making him try, though.”
“Was my mother like that?”
With a sigh, Nicolo sank to the bed, instantly weighted down by the question. Sebastian regretted it. He knew better than to ask about his mother, but it had come out before he realized he’d spoken it. “I’m so—”
“Yes, she was, Sebastian. She was just like other women in that regard. She would agonize over the pattern of lace or the style of a sleeve. I once saw her come downstairs, imagine that she saw disapproval on someone’s face, and hurry upstairs to rearrange her hair.”
“I never imagined my mother as being so silly.”
Laughter reverberated around them. Between chuckles, Nicolo shook his head. “With her, it was amusing rather than irritating. I suppose most men eventually learn to find the silliness endearing in some way.” Th
en, as if eager to change the subject, Nicolo’s eyes bored into Sebastian’s. “But you did not come here to tell me that you think that women like to talk things to death. What troubles you?”
“How do you know—?”
“I’ve learned to read you—much like I do a map. What is wrong?”
It took several attempts, but at last, Sebastian managed to blurt out a semi-coherent explanation of his concerns. “I know how we captured ships around Gibraltar and in the Mediterranean. I know how it worked and why it worked that way. I just keep trying to picture it when we reach the Americas, and it doesn’t fit.”
“What doesn’t fit?”
That was the question he’d dreaded. His father would either laugh or be angry after he elaborated. “Well, when we attack, we’ll fire on ships coming from the mines and going to Spain, right?”
“Hopefully, yes.”
“What happens when they limp home? We’ll still be there. What will keep them from coming back after us or sending others after us?”
Sebastian no longer needed the answer. He saw it in his father’s eyes. He turned, eager to get away before his father saw how much the idea upset him, but Nicolo’s voice stopped him. “They are barbarians, Sebastian.”
His hand rested on the doorjamb, but Sebastian did not turn around. “What makes them barbarians?”
“They kill innocent people in the name of religion. They lie, steal, and murder. Do you not see that?”
With trembling hands, and words he expected to regret, Sebastian asked the one question he’d never allowed himself to speak. “And how are we who murder and steal in the name of revenge any better?”
Before his father could respond, Sebastian stepped through the door and closed it behind him. His feet flew across the deck and into his cabin. On the bed, he tried to erase the images of a burning, sinking ship with men crying out for help from his mind.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Revenge
From the crow’s nest, Hector called out a decidedly uninspiring, “Ship ahoy.” Nicolo frowned. Pouting didn’t become the man—then again, did it become anyone?
Dozens of heads rose to await the pronouncement, but Nicolo spoke before Hector. “Spanish. Ready the canons; get the oarsmen in place. We fight before sundown. The day is half gone, so we must be swift!”
Eduardo took his cue from Nicolo and barked orders with apparent abandon. The men knew what to do with just a few short instructions. Excitement sizzled, popping and snapping like bacon in a pan. Eduardo ordered Hector down from the crow’s nest, and he climbed up there himself.
“Jaime?”
“What?”
Sebastian knew that Jaime didn’t mean to snap, but it stung regardless. “I just wondered why Eduardo goes up there. He sends the others up there when they get out of line, or like Turk—” The memory of the young man hardly older than Sebastian himself choked him. “—because he’s—was—young. Why does he go up then when things get exciting?”
“Because he wants to be certain that what others say they saw is accurate. A mistake could be deadly.”
“So could falling off that mast.”
Before Jaime could respond, his father called out from the quarterdeck. Three simple words—“To your cabin.” The meaning clear, “Get changed into your dress.”
“A boy my age shouldn’t have a dress to change into in the first place,” he muttered as he stomped toward his cabin. Halfway there, he slowed his pace and walked deliberately—calmly. No matter what the reason, Sebastian considered himself above acting like, well, like Hector.
Once in his cabin, he went to work. Sebastian pulled off his shirt and the dress dropped over his head. He shimmied out of his breeches and stuffed them and the shirt in their place. If taken captive, they’d go out the porthole. While he waited for someone to lace him into the thing, he worked to get his hair in combs and hid the hairpin.
At last, Sebastian’s father stepped in the door, a piece of cloth and rope in his hand. One look at him and Nicolo grimaced. “You truly hate that thing, don’t you?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.” The answer was swift. “You’ll hate the rest as well.”
“What rest?”
His father’s hands see-sawed in the air. “I need to tie you up this time.”
“What! Why? I don’t—”
“Because we’re so far from home. It’ll be even more believable.” The look that Sebastian tried to repress—and failed—prompted Nicolo to continue rapidly. “I’m sorry, but if we were near Spain or Italy, we’d have people who would come to your rescue. From here, they won’t risk it unless they’re sure you are worth it. So listen to me. Speak only in Spanish. I mean it. Tell them you are related to don Carlo of Madrid. He will redeem you. Try to keep your voice a bit of a frightened whisper. Don’t let yourself retaliate if they are unkind. Indignant is fine, but show a lot of fear.”
The intensity in his father’s voice concerned him. Sebastian found it difficult not to ask the burning question in his heart. You don’t think you will succeed, do you?
Mac’s large frame filled the small doorway. “I brought the laddie food like ye said.”
“Good. Get to your station. We’ll fire within the half hour.”
It sounded risky to him, but Sebastian, now panicking, found it impossible to speak. He tried to be nonchalant as he hugged his father, wished him a successful capture, and curled up on the bed while they locked him in the cabin. Battle would commence shortly.
When the first cannon ball roared across the water, Sebastian squeezed his eyes tight and covered his ears. At the following volley of cannon fire, he curled up in a ball, pressing himself against the corner of the cabin and he prayed. They were about to die. He just wanted to be sure that he went with them.
Sebastian never talked about prayer—not even to Jaime. His father was at odds with the church. Jaime was at odds with his faith when you considered his profession. Sebastian didn’t even know if he believed that God would hear the prayer of the son of a pirate, but when life terrified him or something exceptionally wonderful happened, he prayed. Just in case. God might ignore him—probably did—but in case prayers from boys like him actually reached God’s ears, he wanted to be on good terms with that God.
Once more, the ship rocked, this time from the impact of a cannon ball. Tears sprang to his eyes—fearful ones—but he blinked them back. He wouldn’t be a coward. The shouts of his father and Eduardo became impossible to hear, but he knew what they said. Turn to starboard, helms-to-lee, man the guns… the orders would be endless—relentless.
Though the words were indiscernible, the shout of victory that came hours later was not. They’d won! Sebastian jumped from his bunk, eager to see. From the porthole, he craned his neck to see the damage done, but only smoke told the story. They’d used hot shots. Eduardo must be desperate to rid them of Hector.
~~~~~~~~~~
Nicolo drew his gun and shot the captain of La Reina la Plata. It brought him no great sorrow. The moment the man’s hand twitched, it had been a fair shot in his mind. You risk my life or the life of my men, you die. Simple. A second man, probably the quartermaster, raised his cutlass, but Eduardo’s shot propelled him into the water.
The other men threw their hands in the air, begging for mercy as Mac raised his gun. Nicolo grinned inwardly. After all, if Mac fired, he was as likely to hit himself as he was anyone else. Mac handed the gun to Nicolo, climbed in the other boat, and reached for it once more.
“Don’t kill anyone, Mac. They surrendered.” His wink must have confused the others, but he didn’t care. It never hurt to remind Mac of his limitations.
“Will do, cap’ain.” Mac grinned. “Hurry up with those boats. I don’t want to mind these brats any longer than necessary.”
For a moment, he felt the unfamiliar temptation to release Sebastian. Perhaps the boy would enjoy the change of scene. He might like having the chance to help unload the prize, and it must become ted
ious being locked in the cabin so often. He turned to climb aboard one of the longboats and stopped.
“Filipe,” he called, “let Sebastian out. He can help sort in the hold.”
The shock on Filipe’s face almost made him take it back. Forcing himself to turn and go, Nicolo reminded himself of all the times that Jaime insisted that Sebastian was old enough to be out of the cabin after a successful capture. “Just do it!”
They reached the other ship, his men ready with swords to fight. The moment Mac and some of the others moved to tie the crew together, they charged with a roar. Nicolo vented his frustration and disgust with the vehemence he used in attacking every man within his reach.
Three shots fired from The Vengeance sent chills through him. “Slaughter them if you have to, but hurry,” he screamed.
The men all knew what it meant. Three shots said another ship approached—likely more fortified than the one they’d captured. Time was against them. They must win. Why did I let the boy out? He groaned to himself.
He had no time for regrets. The best way to protect his son would be to subdue the Plata. He attacked with renewed vigor. Blade hit blade and then flesh as he swung his cutlass with apparent abandon, yet absolute precision.
The crew of the Plata slowly surrendered. In fact, it seemed almost too easy. Nicolo glanced around him as the others tied up their prisoners, looking for some sign of hidden crew. Another shot from The Vengeance made his stomach turn. A line of men swam their way to his ship.
“Find any guns you can and shoot the mongrels.”
While his men tried to pick off the swimmers, not a likely successful mission, he hurried to examine their prize. The take was surprisingly large. There would be enough to pay all of the men, set Hector up on Trinidad, and keep them fed if they were forced to buy their food. However, they had to hurry. He couldn’t ask for more—not with a straggler in a Spanish convoy.
With that, he filled his pockets with silver and hurried back to the deck. Quickly scanning the boats, he beckoned five men to join him, jumped in a dory and they rowed back to their ship. The sound of steel against steel grew ominous. He decided to row to the opposite side of the ship. It would take longer, but it would be a surprise attack on the men from the Plata.
Legends of the Vengeance : The First Adventure (9781310742866) Page 15
