‘No sign of Bartholomew?’ he said, shading his eyes.
‘I’m not surprised. He’ll be days yet, even if he’s had more favourable winds than us.’
‘You intend to wait here for him?’
‘No,’ said Harry, shaking his head. ‘I intend to go ashore and see what I can find, though in truth I don’t expect much. Once I’ve done that we’ll head back out to sea.’
‘Am I correct in assuming that this is his destination?’
‘One of them, yes. Why is a mystery. But I wouldn’t want to be caught at anchor when he arrives, and with the odds the way they are, I don’t want him to anchor either.’
‘Would he not be at your mercy if he did?’
‘Quite the opposite. He could adopt a defensive position that would be near-impregnable, especially in a bay shaped like this. With the number of hands he’s got, we’d be outnumbered three to one. No, I intend to stand off the island, and attack him before he ever gets near the bay. With luck, he’ll never drop his anchor.’
‘And if you fail?’
Harry grinned. ‘He’s got to come out again sometime. I shall attack him again when he does.’
‘At the risk of sounding too pessimistic—’
Harry interrupted him, his face set, for he knew what the surgeon was driving at. ‘I know where he’s going. I shall follow him there, fight him on the way if I can. Failing success I’ll fight him all the way back to Genoa, and if needs be, I’ll kick in the doors to his room and kill him there.’
The surgeon had gone quite pale, for in his anger Harry had looked as if he was about to assault him in lieu. ‘Forgive me, Captain Ludlow. Although it’s not something I could undertake myself, I do understand.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE JETTY seemed in good order for a harbour that had no shipping. Lubeck brought the cutter alongside, and Harry climbed out, followed by a party of armed men. The small walled town was silent, apparently without life. Harry walked towards the gateway searching the top of the walls, and the embrasures, for any sign of life. Nothing stirred. He had his men stand well back from the walls as he hammered on the gates. There was no response.
‘Let’s go round the walls and see if there’s another entrance.’
‘I go one side, you go other,’ said Lubeck.
‘Best if we stay together, Captain Ludlow,’ growled Pender.
Harry smiled and nodded. ‘If you only knew how much faith I have in your instincts, Pender.’
They made their way around the outer walls, stopping suddenly as they heard a cry, straining to hear it again. It was repeated, but it couldn’t be called a threatening sound, more of a high-pitched squeal, followed by another. Harry signalled to his men and they made their way round to the rear wall of the town to find another gate. The sound was clearly audible now, and a very peaceful one at that, for it was the noise of children at play. Harry tried the gate and it swung open easily. He stepped through cautiously, and found himself in an alleyway with whitewashed and ochre-coloured buildings, in some disrepair, rising on each side. Pender immediately pushed the door of the first building open. The men took the hint, and started to search each door-way they passed.
Pender emerged and shook his head to indicate that his was empty. So were the others. They walked on, following the sounds of the voices, until they emerged into a decent-sized square. A whitewashed building, larger than the surrounding dwellings, stood alone in the centre. Nondescript, it looked, if anything, like a place of worship. Perhaps an Orthodox church. They made their way over to the entrance. There was a lion’s head carved in stone above the doorway, with a Latin inscription underneath. It was the Lion of St Mark, the symbol of the power of Venice. Harry was no Latin scholar and had some trouble with the inscription. When, eventually, he made sense of it, he froze. They were in a leper colony.
He was just about to order them to get out of the place when a young boy, blond haired and very healthy, ran into the square. He stopped when he saw the party of armed men. Other children, boys and girls squealing with pleasure, rushed into the square in pursuit. They too were all fair haired and pale skinned. What’s more, their complexions were unblemished. Not inmates of a leper colony, more the pupils of some privileged school.
Seeing the new arrivals they stood for a second, gazing fearfully, before racing off. The boy who’d come into the square first didn’t stay to ask questions either, but headed after his companions down the side of the building. One or two of Harry’s men looked set to pursue them, but he called them back. There was no need for heavily armed men to go in pursuit of children. He was debating what to do next when an extremely fat fellow, wearing a Turkoman’s headdress and a long loose garment, came waddling into the square. He stopped when he saw them, hesitated for a moment while he worked up his courage, and then addressed them in a high-pitched voice.
Harry didn’t understand a word of what he said. He looked around to see if anyone else had, but his companions were equally mystified. Harry motioned for his men to stay still, so as not to alarm the fellow, and walked over to him, addressing him in French.
‘You must have seen our ship come into the harbour?’
The man just shook his head, uncomprehendingly.
Harry decided on a lie, and this time he spoke in English. ‘We’re with Bartholomew.’
The man beamed and threw up his hands, repeating Bartholomew’s name, though the consonants were all ahoo. Harry tried to ask him another question, but it was plain that the only thing he’d understood was the name Bartholomew. He gabbled away in his high-pitched voice, in the same incomprehensible tongue that he’d used originally. Harry stood there trying to make sense of what was going on. By his voice and figure he suspected that the man was a eunuch. But how that, and the sign for a leper colony, fitted in to this place being Bartholomew’s landfall escaped him completely. He turned his thoughts to the other one in Asia Minor, then he thought about the fair-haired children who’d run into the square.
With a sudden gesture he signalled to his men to follow, and overriding the objections of the fat man they made their way down the side of the main building. No sounds of laughter now, but by an open doorway at the rear, Harry heard the sound of gentle sobbing. The fat man tried to bar his way, but Harry pushed him aside. He went into the room, which was like some kind of dormitory, in a parish workhouse, only twice as wide and five times as long.
Narrow cots lined the walls. Another two men, bald headed and similar in shape to the one Harry had already met, stood before a crowd of children. There were hundreds of them, all shapes and sizes. The girls seemed generally taller than the boys, and some of them looked mighty close to maturity. But they all had one thing in common. They were fair skinned and glowing with health. Pender, Lubeck, and the rest of Harry’s men had crowded in behind him, and were mouthing astonishment at what they saw.
‘Beggin’ your pardon, your honour,’ said his servant, ‘what the devil is goin’ on here?’
Harry didn’t answer the question, and his voice was full of anger as he spoke. ‘Pender, back to the ship and fetch Mr Fairbairn. The rest of you outside.’
Pender knew Harry’s moods. That tone brooked no delay. He dashed out of the door. The men were slow to react. Harry snapped at them and hustled them out into the sunlit square. He posted them round the building, with instructions to stop anyone from getting away.
‘And for the Lord’s sake, if it’s one of the children, be gentle.’
‘What if it’s one of ’em fat blokes?’
Harry snarled. ‘You treat them to a powerful kick up the arse.’
He paced up and down outside the door until Pender returned with Fairbairn. Then, after a few quiet words, they went inside. The children were still crowded up at one end of the room. The three fat men were now sitting down, looking disconsolate. Indeed one was crying copiously, using his sleeve to wipe his eyes. Harry ignored them, and tried to address the children direct. They looked at him with deep suspicio
n, and refused to come when he beckoned. He walked towards them. They shrunk away. But being hemmed in by the wall there was a limit to how far they could go. Harry pushed his way amongst them, patting them in a friendly manner and looking them in the eye. Some of their fear evaporated, and as Harry took one of the boys gently by the arm, he allowed himself to be led over to Fairbairn.
Harry then stood back while the surgeon examined him. It was a slow process, for the boy was not cooperative. The others watched silently. Fairbairn led the boy back to join the crowd and selected another. Feeling safer, this one was more willing. The surgeon then selected one of the girls. All the time he tried to talk to them, using English and French. Nothing, just silent stares.
Fairbairn walked over to Harry. ‘They seem well enough. In fact, they’re full of health. Do you want me to examine them all?’
‘I doubt it’s necessary. They will have been well cared for.’
‘What is it all about?’
‘Can’t you guess, Mr Fairbairn? Girls and boys, all young, all healthy and all of fair countenance. If you were to examine the girls you would find that they are virgins.’
Fairbairn was surprised at that. ‘Virgins!’
‘Oh yes. Innocent girls and boys, taken from their homes. Brought here in dribs and drabs until there are enough to warrant a trip to their final destination.’
‘And where would that be?’
Harry turned away, but Fairbairn saw the look of disgust, and heard the cold anger in his voice. ‘Asia Minor was Bartholomew’s next destination, Fairbairn. Can you imagine how much these children would fetch in an Ottoman slave market?’
‘Slaves?’
‘Yes. The brothel keepers would be lining up to buy them, boys and girls.’
‘African slaves to the Americas, yes,’ said Fairbairn. ‘But here in the Mediterranean! I was not aware that it still went on.’
They were out in the sunlight. Harry stood looking around him, a worried frown on his face. ‘It’s proscribed, of course. Every Catholic country has banned the trade, and the Genoese and Venetians put a stop to the pirates from the Barbary Coast, who made a mint out of Christian slaves. Not that slaving doesn’t still go on. The brothels of Spain depend on the North African coast, and they lay claim to being the most pious nation in Europe. I suppose they justify their activities on the grounds that their captures are not Christians, just like the African slavers. But this is anathema, especially to the Roman Church. Anyone caught in this trade, operating from a papist country, would face the gallows or the garrotte.’
‘I cannot believe that Bartholomew is involved in this.’
Harry rounded on him. ‘There is nothing too base for that bastard. The profits are enormous, Fairbairn, and that’s all he cares about.’
‘I didn’t mean that I don’t believe, only that it is hard. I rather saw him as a dashing figure at one time.’
‘Don’t be fooled by the way he dresses. All those plumes in his hat count for nothing.’
‘I’m not one to be fooled by plumes,’ snapped Fairbairn, in a rare display of strength. ‘I had time to observe him long before the events of that night in the warehouse. And trust me when I say that I could not believe him to be so cruel.’
His shoulders seemed to sag, as though the effort had been too much. ‘He had, on occasion, shown me some kindness.’
‘By financing your habit?’ The look in the surgeon’s eye confirmed that Harry had guessed correctly. ‘I wonder that you call that kindness.’
‘Many times I’ve refused a beggar a coin for fear that he would waste it on drink. I doubt I’d do that now. I cannot believe that Bartholomew’s generosity was prompted by malice.’
Harry put his hand on Fairbairn’s shoulder to reassure him, for he knew he was still in the grip of his addiction. ‘All I’ve witnessed is the malice.’
‘He was not the same man, Ludlow. I have never seen him like that. Reserved, yes. Cold even, for he seemed to exist without friendship. But not evil.’
Harry waved at the building, his voice angry again. ‘Yet he’s involved in this. If this does not qualify to be termed evil, what does? Please do not plead Bartholomew’s virtue to me.’
‘Perhaps I was questioning my gullibility.’ Fairbairn shook himself, as if trying to rid himself of a bad dream. ‘What do you intend to do?’
‘God alone knows. But I can’t leave these children here.’
‘You mean to take them home?’
Harry laughed. ‘Would that I knew where home was, Fairbairn.’
‘That’s the first thing to find out, your honour,’ said Pender, who was leaning against a wall, in the shade, close enough to overhear their conversation.
Harry turned and looked at him. ‘If you’ve any ideas on how that can be achieved, I appreciate hearing them.’
Pender put his head down and sucked on his teeth. ‘How much time have we got?’
‘Hard to say, Pender. If Bartholomew kept to the speed he showed us, it could be weeks before he turns up.’
‘Seems to me that these here nippers would take a lot of feeding.’
‘And this place doesn’t look too fertile,’ said Fairbairn, looking at the barren hillsides.
Harry acknowledged the point. ‘Which means one of two things. Either they are supplied from somewhere on the mainland, or there is a limit to the time they’re supposed to stay here.’
Harry made his way towards the doorway again. ‘Those eunuchs will know.’
‘How can you be sure they’re eunuchs?’ asked Fairbairn, for he hadn’t heard the first one speak.
‘They are,’ said Harry as he went through the door. ‘Who else would you leave on an island with all these virgins? If you hear a sound like a woman screaming, pay no heed.’
Getting the three eunuchs out of the main room was a task in itself. They didn’t want to go, either out of fear for themselves or fear for their charges. That there was a bond of affection between them seemed plain. The children’s anxiety increased the more Harry pressured them.
Eventually he got them into another room, theirs by the look of the three comfortable beds. He tried every language he knew. Half-forgotten words from a seafaring past that might just work. It was a slow process, with much sign language, but eventually Harry was led through a series of corridors to a storehouse. He could see that it was only a quarter full, and by the folded sacks that lined one wall, he could also guess that the place had once been packed to the rafters.
There was a small cell off the main storeroom, no doubt a place where some monk had contemplated salvation, and prayed for the souls of his diseased charges. He called to one of his men, pushed the three eunuchs into the cell, and told him to guard them. Getting hold of Pender, Lubeck, and Fairbairn, he went back to talk to the children. That was an even slower process, for though they all seemed to share the basis of a tongue, there was a fistful of different dialects and it was not one any of the adults had ever heard before.
Added to that, their lack of trust was a severe hindrance. Lubeck had the most success. He had children of his own, and being near white haired like most of these youngsters seemed to encourage their trust. Harry noticed that neither his nor Fairbairn’s colouring, both fair, achieved anything like the same result. Lubeck liked children, and they could sense it. Over the rest of the day they built up a picture. Some of the older children, taken out to the bay and asked to point, confirmed that they came from somewhere to the north.
The biggest breakthrough came when Lubeck took two pieces of stick and made a crucifix. They all seemed to recognise this, which meant they were from a Christian country. But which faith, Orthodox or Roman?
‘Fairbairn, you must know a good bit of Latin?’ The surgeon nodded. ‘Do you know any parts of the Roman Mass?’
‘I’m no papist, but the High Church service is somewhat similar.’
He began the Lord’s Prayer. That did the trick with one or two of the boys, who had, no doubt, served at altar. Harry listene
d carefully to what they said, drew several maps in the sand, then ordered them fed while he went back to the ship to look at his charts.
It was clear that the children were not Italian, for their tongue had no Roman derivations. They would be unable to read a map. But they knew that they’d come from the north, and they’d gone some way to describing the nature of their landscape, indicating that they resided within sight of a mountain range. They had also apparently, in their journey, crossed these high mountains, which put them as coming from somewhere on the northern side of the Dolomites.
That didn’t really answer what he was going to do with them. They couldn’t stay here, and he’d have a hellish job to get them all aboard the Principessa. Being that they were papists, the best solution would be to hand them over to the nearest priest. But the nearest priest was in Italy, as far from the homeland of these children as he was now. And he still had Bartholomew and his consorts to contend with. He couldn’t leave his crew here in case they turned up.
He went below decks and looked at the available space. It would be nip and tuck, and they’d have to use the deck as well as the hammocks, but he could probably get the girls and the younger boys down here. The older boys would have to sleep on the deck, as would the crew. That would be no problem if the weather stayed fair, but with autumn approaching, there was no guarantee that it would remain so.
Harry called to the cook. He ordered him to bake as much bread and biscuit as possible. Then he went ashore again, taking all the ship’s boats this time, and shifted the remaining stores of flour from the storeroom to the Principessa. The cook groaned when he saw the quantity. Harry called the men still ashore back to the ship and gave the whole crew a lecture about looking after their charges, promising a hanging for anyone who so much as touched a hair on the head of these children.
The galley, with the cook sweating profusely, was alight all day and half the night. Harry, with the aid of Lubeck, managed to convey to the children that they were going home. A couple of the older children seemed to be some kind of leaders, or at least they had the respect of the others. Once they’d convinced these two the rest followed like sheep.
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