The sight before them when they climbed to the top of the ship horrified him. Three of The Vengeance sailors were dead, two fought with the last strength they had—seconds from a fatal blow—and the men from the Plata seemed unaffected from the battle. The men with Nicolo scrambled over the railing and rushed to defend their brethren. Nicolo, on the other hand, scanned the deck, dreading the moment he found what he sought, but it never happened. Where was his son?
He called out for Sebastian but heard no response. Frantic, he raced to the boy’s cabin, hoping against his better judgment that his son would be safe in the little room, but it was empty. The others didn’t have time to direct him, so he ran for his quarters, for the galley, the listening post in the hold, and in desperation, the head. The ledge was empty. The boy seemed to have vanished. That thought made him want to retch.
Had he been killed already? Did he float lifeless in the water somewhere around the boat? It was possible; actually, it was probable and he knew it, but Nicolo didn’t want to give into his fears. Hans ran past as he headed out to help the others and thrust his cutlass in the air before spinning and slicing across his pursuer’s waist. Nicolo turned, trying to understand what Hans said and avoiding the horrifying sight of the man’s innards spilling on to the deck. He never did understand the Dutchman, but never had it annoyed him as much as at that moment.
A Spaniard rushed him. His mounting grief morphed into anger as he prepared for the fight. His hand weighted the cutlass as the man drew nearer. Seconds of action played out before him as though minutes passed. Nicolo was tired, exhausted really, and angry. Fury flooded his heart as the man made a great swinging arc, designed to remove his head from his body. For the briefest of moment, Nicolo felt the temptation to drop his weapon and end the ten-year battle for revenge, but death at the hands of a Spaniard would be intolerable.
Sebastian could be alive. Giving up before he knew his son’s fate could never be an option. Nicolo swung his cutlass, slicing off the advancing man’s hand, and then the man lost his head. Again, Nicolo turned, willing his stomach to contain their contents. His success seemed to give the others a burst of fresh energy. One by one, their opponents died or dove overboard to avoid it.
The first boats arrived, water seeping over the sides and bailers working every moment to remove the constant spillage of water into it. So overladen were they, that without their efforts, they would have sank. The men called for help to raise them up to the deck, but it was nearly impossible; the weight was too great. Slowly, the men walked up the side of the ship, using ropes tied to the mast and then helped to hoist the smaller boats out of the water.
Hans stepped up beside Nicolo and whispered something to him. Without a moment’s hesitation, Nicolo turned and shimmied up the main mast to the crow’s nest. His heart resumed a normal beat, his eyes softened, and he relaxed at the sight of Sebastian seated, hidden by the sides of the bucket, his knife poised to throw.
“So, how did you like your first battle, son?”
“Skirts aren’t so bad, you know. Jaime says the priests, bishops, and cardinals wear them.”
“You are turning holy on me?”
Sebastian shook his head. “No, just coward. I thought I was going to die, Papa,” he choked.
It seemed cruel to affirm the boy’s worst fear, but lying was fruitless. The boy knew. “Yes, but you didn’t. What made you come up here?”
“Hans said there wasn’t time to go to my cabin and change, so he told me to hide.”
“And this is where you chose to hide? Why?”
“Because I can go up quickly, and I have the advantage if someone tries to attack. I can just push them off—or throw my dagger.”
“You did well, Sebastian. I’m proud of you.”
“Can I come down now?”
Nicolo glanced down at the mutilated bodies below him. “You can, but it’s terribly gruesome down there.”
“Well, I think I’ll just stay here until we’re on our way.”
“That’ll be sooner than you think,” Nicolo muttered.
“I heard the shots. Has anyone looked out?” As he spoke, Sebastian pulled out a telescope.
Several seconds later, Nicolo scrambled down the mast and demanded they get ready to leave immediately. “We sail in half an hour. Furthermore, when the last boat has reached our side, send a volley into the hull of the Plata. They must not be able to sail after us.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hector
Sebastian crawled down from the crow’s nest as soon as he decided that the next ship had no desire to give chase—and once the entrails of dead men had been cleared from the deck. The rowers rested on deck, drinking wine and exhausted. Rowing to attack might be hard work, but it was work that they were fit for and trained to do. Rowing to outpace a galleon while overloaded with silver and gold wasn’t quite as simple a project.
He wanted to go into his father’s cabin. They—Jaime, Eduardo, Giorgio, and his father—were counting the take, deciding on how much they could give to Hector and still provide the others with a large prize. Usually, his father got the largest share, but he wouldn’t take much this time. Pride swelled in Sebastian’s heart. His father was fair—just—even when he wasn’t.
That thought made him smile. It made no sense and yet it perfectly described his papa. He shoved away from the mast and strolled toward the cabin, a grin on his face. Papa would enjoy hearing his thoughts.
“Who’s there?” Nicolo barked as he knocked on his father’s cabin door.
“Papa? Can I come in? I have—”
The door flung open, and the eager look on his father’s face told him that the battle had taken its toll. His father had been truly afraid for him. Sebastian spoke again. “I wanted to tell—” He stopped abruptly. Suddenly the funny story seemed so unimportant. “I—”
“What did you want to tell me, son?”
“It seems silly now.” He shuffled his feet, trying not to gape at the bags of coins littering the floor, table, bed, and every other surface of the cabin.
Jaime and Eduardo slipped out of the room, expecting that he had something important to share—expecting that it would make Sebastian feel more comfortable. Giorgio hesitated and left too. They were wrong; he felt even more nervous standing there alone with his father. “Um…”
“What is it, Sebastian. You didn’t look over the edge of the nest, did you?”
“No! I was just curious about the money, wanted to see it…”
“But you said you had something to tell me.” Nicolo sounded concerned still.
“Well, I was thinking about Hector and wondering how much he’d get and when he would be gone. Then I thought about the other men and how they’d get more than their usual share because you brought them out here without giving them a choice. You usually—”
“I usually get the largest share, you’re right. Are you worried that we won’t have enough?”
“Oh, no! I was just thinking about how giving the men some of your share was such a good thing to do.” He grinned as he raised his eyes to meet his father’s. “Then I thought, ‘Papa is fair and just—even when he isn’t.’”
Laughter filled the room. Between guffaws, Nicolo called for Eduardo and Jaime and made Sebastian repeat it. Reluctantly, the boy crept toward the door as the men chuckled at his observations, but his father stopped him. “Stay, son. You can help us count.”
“Really?”
Eagerly, Sebastian began separating large bags into smaller ones. The men worked, sometimes without speaking for several minutes, and then joked about their take. Hector got one out of every ten coins. It was an enormous amount of money. To Sebastian’s surprise, all of the money wasn’t even in the cabin. “I have men guarding the rest in the hold,” Nicolo said, grinning. “It’s the largest prize we’ve ever had.”
“We’ll be rich!” He frowned. “Well, they will.”
“We will have plenty too, Sebastian. I would not leave my son without means. W
e are building your future, Sebastian.”
So many times he’d wanted to ask why it was always about him. This time he asked. “Why not your future, too?”
“Because that is what fathers do. My father did it for me, and you will do it for your son.”
“I am not likely to have a son, am I? We have no home—no family.”
The moment he spoke, Sebastian regretted it. Had he not been gazing into his father’s eyes, he would not have seen the pain cloud them before his father blinked it back again. He hesitated, trying to decide what to say or do to undo some of the damage he’d inflicted on his father’s heart—again.
Jaime interrupted before he could speak. “I have always thought that we have a larger home than most people can boast, and the men here are all like family. We protect and serve each other just as you expect from your family. Men died for us during the storm and during the fight today. If that isn’t family, what is?”
Never had Sebastian felt more like an ungrateful, petulant child. For as long as he could remember, he’d felt lacking—deprived. He knew, in an abstract sort of way, that most boys lived in houses with a father, mother, and brothers or sisters—sometimes both! He couldn’t imagine that. There had never been a child on deck anywhere near his age. His memories of a mother were more imagination than memory. And, most fathers worked to earn their living rather than working to remove the living others earned from them. It seemed as if other boys had everything while he had nothing.
Shame made it difficult to speak. Instead, he nodded, trying to show his appreciation with his eyes when his lips failed him. At last, he choked out, “Yes. This is true. I am fortunate.”
“Blessed, Sebastian. You are blessed.”
“Oh, leave him alone,” Nicolo growled good-naturedly. “He is not an altar boy.”
“I know your son better than you think, Nicolo. If we lived on land, he would be.”
All the humor left Nicolo’s eyes. “You’d kill me first—or it would.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Nicolo felt the room chill at his words, but he didn’t care. No son of his would be a servant of the church. He would turn Huguenot, Reformer, or Jew first!
A change of subject seemed necessary to kill the pall that had descended over the room. “Jaime, why don’t you and Eduardo bring the next load? Sebastian and I will load these up for you to take back.”
While the others were gone, Nicolo and Sebastian loaded the smaller bags, one for each of the crew, and one for the prize belonging to those who died. It would be given to someone in need—in their honor. It was the way of the pirates of The Vengeance.
That thought produced an unintentional sigh. Sebastian’s head whipped up, and he asked, “What’s wrong, Papa. I won’t be an altar boy. I didn’t like being in the church. It was beautiful—the art—but I didn’t like the priest. He scared me.”
“No, son. I don’t like the idea of you being involved in the church. I just hate how many men we’ve lost on this voyage. My crew should be furious with me.”
“They understand, and when they see this prize—”
“The men who died had no idea of the prize they lost. They fought out of loyalty and self-preservation. I hate that I took that choice from them.”
His son stared at him in shock. “Papa! They would have come regardless. They knew you kept it quiet so no one could slip and tell. With El Cazador chasing, it was a wise decision; I heard many say so. Only Hector—”
As if summoned, the man burst into the room. “A ship—” he struggled to remember direction. “—windward?”
“How far?” Nicolo asked as he led the man from the room.
“Far. I almost didn’t come tell you because I thought I was wrong, but it turned just enough so I could see all four masts.” The man swallowed hard. “I won’t run this time. I won’t.”
“We’re not giving chase, Hector. We are almost to Trinidad, and you will have a new life. The ship can’t handle much more weight.”
He ducked his head. “I hoped I’d have a chance to redeem myself. I’m a coward, but—” Hector shrugged. “I wanted another chance.”
Nicolo watched as Sebastian crept from the room. Once the door shut, Hector sighed. “He’s a good boy. He doesn’t like me, but he’s respectful.”
“He is a good boy,” Nicolo agreed. “You can redeem yourself by living a good life again. This is why we brought you onboard. We didn’t expect you to be a hardened pirate—just an obedient one.”
“Eduardo did,” the man muttered resentfully.
“Eduardo is loyal to me. You threatened me—questioned my judgment. He doesn’t like a coward, but he hates a bully.” The words sounded harsh, but the man must learn to control himself. “Learn from this, Hector. You will be alone in a strange place. People sense weakness, and they will take advantage of it. If you allow rage to consume you, you weaken yourself.”
“How does it work for you then?”
At first, Nicolo didn’t understand what the man meant, but then realization dawned. “I don’t allow rage into my heart. This is why I seek revenge. People should not get away with mistreating others. I seek to reverse that. I’m not the law; I cannot dispense justice, but I can make people pay for their misdeeds when the law won’t.”
Hector nodded. “Thank you. I am grateful. I didn’t sound like it, I know, but I am.”
“Good, now get out there and do your job. You’ll be rid of us in a few days, if the weather holds.”
The emptiness of the cabin was not unwelcome as Hector closed the door behind him. Nicolo leaned against the wall and surveyed all that surrounded him. He should have done this years earlier. He’d competed with the Corsairs of the Mediterranean for supremacy, and it had been lucrative. However, if he had moved west to the Americas when he’d first heard of the occasional raid on treasure ships, they might have been well enough settled to be able to rest easy for the next ten or fifteen years.
The ship rocked, and a few coins spilled from Hector’s open bag onto the floor. They’d never had such a grand take. Usually, it took several attacks to have enough to set someone up with a new life. This one would be all they needed, provided they didn’t have trouble before they dropped him at Trinidad.
Hector’s newfound gratitude and penitence grated on the nerves. He wanted to despise the Spaniard, but a small measure of respect hovered in his spirit. A man who could admit wrong was rare. Gratitude was common—but usually before boarding the ship or after holding a large bag of money. Receiving thanks while still on the sea was something he’d rarely heard.
Sebastian pushed the door open. “Papa, can we come in? We have the rest of the silver.”
“Come in. Let’s get this done. Jaime will want to tell stories tonight.”
Jaime shook his head. “After we reach Trinidad. I need to rest.”
“Jaime doesn’t trust Hector,” Sebastian teased. “He knows his stories are good. He thinks Hector will write them down and have them published—that he will become wealthy and famous because of it.”
The others laughed, Jaime included, but Nicolo knew what the young man wouldn’t say. Hector had heard enough. There was time enough for stories when the crew no longer shared their space with a stranger.
With the silver stored safely in the hold once more, and Hector’s portion locked in his cabin, Nicolo strolled to the galley, looking for something to eat, but a cry stopped him.
“Land ahoy!”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Barbados
They pulled for shore. Sebastian quivered with repressed excitement when his father called for him to join them in the boat. That had never happened—never. Sebastian looked before his grin exploded into verbal excitement but not before Jaime winked at him.
Stroke by stroke, the men pulled, their boats rocking over the waves and the ocean spray soaking their shirts. He didn’t care. As the boat hit sand, the men jumped out and even Sebastian helped pull it out of the tide.
Nervously, the me
n roamed the beaches, looking for some signs of life, but the island seemed deserted by all but wild hogs. Nicolo and a few others had heard of an island, Barbados, that had been captured and its inhabitants sold into slavery. Wild hogs had been left so that fresh meat would be available to anyone who stopped. This must be that island, Sebastian mused to himself as he followed the group across the beach.
Eduardo stomped inland in search of a hog, and soon a shot rang out. Horrible screaming followed, and the men grinned at one another. They’d roast a pig that night. Sebastian glanced at his father, eager for some sign that he could explore, but Nicolo’s attention remained focused on his map to see where they’d go next. “You could live here, Hector. You’d be king of your own island!”
The Spaniard shook his head, grinning. “I don’t think I am quite ready for such a solitary life.”
At last, Sebastian caught Jaime’s eye, and the young man’s nod was all he needed. He ran down the beach, stopping to examine a crab skittering along the sand. He saw two eyes peering at him between bushes. His throat went dry, and he jerked his head to see how far he’d wandered from the others. He was too far away if the eyes—his laughter sailed out over the water. Afraid of a hog.
He tried to charge the creature, but it rushed at him. Horrified, he ran into the water, fighting through the waves, and swam out as far as he could before turning. The animal was gone, but the crew had seen it all, and their laughter rang out over the waves.
“Of course I’d make a fool of myself,” he muttered. “Papa will never let me come ashore like this again. Disappointed, he swam back to the beach, avoiding the area where the hog had been.
“Find yourself an angry native?” Hector teased.
“One with a snout, anyway.” It would make the others annoyed if he let himself sound too put out about it. “He didn’t think me much of a threat when I charged. Now if Eduardo had found him…”
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