by Tim Severin
Hector felt a touch on his shoulder. Dan pointed in the direction of a large square building, pale white in the starlight, which faced the central parade ground. It had to be the Governor’s quarters. Quietly the two men began to move to their right, circling to position themselves where the bulk of the building would shield them from the watchtower.
Hector noticed how easily and confidently Dan covered the ground. The Miskito seemed to glide along. Now and then he paused to listen and check the shadows, alert to every noise or movement. Hector felt clumsy and awkward by comparison. Anxiously he tried to follow directly in Dan’s path, stopping whenever he stopped, placing his feet gently. Yet he feared he might blunder and make a noise at any moment.
Several minutes of this furtive progress brought them to the rear of the Governor’s quarters. Hector relaxed a little. They were no longer in the sentry’s line of sight, and even if he left his watchtower, Dan and he could hide in a lean-to shed built against the back wall of the Governor’s quarters. From the smell, it was obviously used by the kitchen staff as a place to pluck chickens, gut fish and put out the slops.
Treading lightly, Hector approached the back door to the house. Gently he lifted the latch. It was as he’d feared: the door was locked and barred from the inside.
He stepped back and looked up at the rear face of the building.
Above and a little to one side of the lean-to shed, a window was ajar. Hector thought back to Jacques’ description of his brief visit to the Governor’s residence. The front door opened into an entrance hall. From there a stairway led to the upper floor, and it was safe to assume that the best rooms – those that overlooked the parade ground – were used by the Governor and his lady, probably as their bedroom and a drawing room. Maria and any other members of staff who slept in the house would have rooms at the rear of the building.
Hector counted the number of upper windows. There were five. He guessed that the central one gave on to the stairwell and those on each side were for bedrooms. The half-open window was one of them.
He slipped off his shoes and gestured to Dan to hoist him on to the roof of the shed. The tiles of the lean-to shifted and grated alarmingly as he scrambled for purchase. Despite his care, there was a slight clatter as a section of broken tile slid away and fell to the ground. He froze and flattened himself to the roof. With no reaction from the house, and after a few moments, he rose on all fours and slowly began to crawl forward. At the rear wall, he gingerly stood upright and stretched for the open window. But he’d misjudged. The window ledge was too far away for him to reach. He cursed under his breath and shuffled backwards, afraid to turn round for fear of dislodging another tile. As he reached the edge of the roof, where Dan should have been ready to help him back to the ground, he looked down and saw that the Miskito had gone.
He thought Dan must have ducked under the roof. He waited, but the Miskito was nowhere to be seen. Very cautiously, Hector lay forward on his stomach, eased his legs over the edge of the roof, slid himself backwards and dropped to the ground with a slight thud. Once more he held his breath, fearful that he’d woken someone in the house. Still there was no sign of Dan.
As he groped for his shoes, he saw a shadow coming towards him. He realized it was his friend, and he carried the bamboo ladder that Jezreel had been guarding.
The Miskito put his mouth close to Hector’s ear. ‘You need this,’ he whispered.
Hector was alarmed. ‘What about the others? If anything goes wrong, without the ladder they’ll be trapped,’ he hissed.
Dan gave a dismissive grunt. ‘Jezreel said you need the ladder more than they do. Now don’t waste any more time.’
Together they put the ladder into position against the rear wall and Hector clambered upwards. He eased the window fully open, his heart in his mouth. He was well aware of the extravagant risk he was taking. There was no way of knowing whose bedroom he was entering. It could be some stranger’s, or where the Governor’s children slept. Even if it was Maria’s room, she might be sharing it with another member of the Governor’s staff.
With excruciating care he eased himself into the darkened room and stood by the window waiting for his vision to adjust to the gloom. It was a bedroom – that was clear. Close beside him, where the light from the window was strongest, stood a small chair. Some garments lay across it. The farthest corners of the room were deep in shadow, so it was impossible to see what was in them. The middle of the room was dominated by a large, ghostly white shape reaching to the ceiling. It took Hector several moments to realize it was a net canopy to keep out insects. Whoever used the room was asleep inside. He could hear nothing, not even breathing.
For a long while the young man stood still, undecided. He didn’t know whether to tiptoe to the door, leave and attempt to find some clue as to which was Maria’s room, or just try and check who was sleeping under the canopy, without waking them.
He stood there, gripped with uncertainty, when a voice spoke softly and clearly from within the canopy.
‘Is that you, Hector?’
He felt as if the ground had dropped from beneath his feet and he was in mid-air. The air was sucked from his lungs. His throat went dry and, unable to speak, he went to her. The canopy was drawn aside and a woman’s shape sat up, dark hair loose and falling around her shoulders. Then Hector was on his knees, his arms around Maria.
For what seemed an age, neither of them spoke. He was dizzy with emotion. Then, very gently, she put her mouth close to his ear and whispered, ‘I knew you would come.’
Reluctantly, slowly, he eased his embrace. ‘I want you to leave with me,’ he murmured. It was a simple, brief statement. There was no time to say more.
She didn’t answer, but laid her hand on his arm and freed herself from his embrace. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose to her feet, and the canopy fell back in place as she walked swiftly to the other side of the room. Dimly Hector saw the lid of a chest lift, and then Maria was back beside him with a bundle in her arms and a dark hood tied around her hair. Only then did he realize that she’d been sleeping fully dressed.
‘Jacques and the others are waiting outside,’ he began, but Maria merely laid a finger on his lips to silence him, kissed him quickly on the cheek and was already on her way towards the open window.
In a daze, Hector followed her as she climbed over the windowsill and, without a moment’s hesitation, began to descend the ladder to where Dan was waiting.
Hector’s feet had scarcely touched the ground when Dan was already leading the way back to the outer wall, moving at a quick walk, the ladder balanced over one shoulder. With every step Hector expected to hear a shout behind him or the sound of a musket shot. But the entire Presidio was still quietly asleep. Everything was happening so fast that his mind could only concentrate on what was immediately in front of him. All that mattered now was to stay as close as possible to Maria, not to let her out of his sight. He took a deep breath and caught a faint waft of her perfume. He felt weak at the knees.
They reached the outer wall and turned to the right. Another couple of minutes of rapid walking and Hector saw ahead of him the unmistakable bulk of Jezreel lurking in the shadow of the walkway. Beside him were three more men. At the last moment Hector realized he hadn’t warned Maria about Ma’pang. It would be a shock for her to come face to face in the darkness with a huge, naked islander with sharpened teeth.
He needn’t have worried. As they joined the waiting men, the young woman nodded politely to the nude savage, then gave Jacques a quick embrace.
‘Good to see you again, Maria,’ whispered the Frenchman.
‘Hello, Jezreel,’ she said softly, laying a hand on the big man’s arm. ‘I’m glad to see you’re here as well.’
Something was wrong, Hector realized belatedly. There should have been at least three or four escaped hostages waiting to escape up the ladder. But there was only one additional figure. In the darkness it was difficult to make out his features, but he a
ppeared to be an older man, small for a Chamorro and dressed in a smock. ‘Where are the others?’ he asked Ma’pang quietly.
‘We couldn’t find any others,’ the Chamorro replied. ‘Maybe the Spaniards took them north. Only Kepuha here.’
Hector felt a twinge of disappointment. He had found Maria, but the mission was only partly successful.
‘Did you search elsewhere?’ he asked.
Ma’pang shook his head. ‘Already we have stayed long enough. We must leave now.’
‘There is no one else held in that building,’ Jacques added from the shadows. ‘The other rooms are used as the armoury. That is why the windows are barred.’
‘Did you get inside?’ Dan enquired.
‘Of course,’ Jacques gave a quick grin. ‘I thought it might be the strongroom where the pay chest is kept. Tant pis, no such luck.’
‘Hector,’ said Dan, ‘I need another few minutes. You and Maria get out now. Ma’pang and his friend can go with you. I will need Jacques and Jezreel to stay behind with me. There is still something useful we can do.’
With Maria beside him, Hector did not feel like arguing. What mattered most to him at that moment was to make sure the woman he loved was clear of the fort. ‘Don’t be too long, Dan. Our luck can’t hold forever.’
He held the ladder steady with Jezreel, as Maria followed Ma’pang and the Chamorro hostage up its stubby rungs. Behind him he heard Dan say, ‘Jacques, show me the way to that armoury.’ When Hector next looked round, the two men had melted away into the darkness.
THE FIRST GLOW of dawn was seeping into the sky, turning the shadows from black to grey, as the raiders scrambled up the slope and regained the comparative safety of the hill above Aganah. They had succeeded in making their way back through the town undetected and were moving at a brisk pace, walking and jogging by intervals. Ma’pang was in the lead, with Kepuha, the rescued hostage, close behind him. As they reached the first bushes the old man paused long enough to strip off his smock of plaited palm leaf and hide it in the undergrowth. Now he was as naked as his fellow clansman. Hector, looking past Maria who was directly in front of him, could see Kepuha’s thin shanks and buttocks and bony shoulders moving steadily as he kept up the stride, his head of white hair bobbing at each step. Farther back in their little column Dan and Jacques each carried two Spanish muskets they had taken from the armoury, and Jezreel was draped with half a dozen bandoliers. The sack over the big man’s shoulder contained bullet moulds, half a pig of lead and several large cartridges of gunpowder, which had been intended for the fort’s cannon.
To Hector, Maria looked more graceful and shapely with each passing minute. She was wearing a maid’s working skirt, and she had pulled up her petticoat and tucked it into a sash to allow her legs free movement. On her feet were plain flat shoes, and her dark-brown bodice with its long sleeves matched the skirt. Hector wondered if she’d selected the colours to be less conspicuous. They hadn’t exchanged a single word during the quick dash over the wall and the furtive scurry through the native township. Now, as the little party paused for breath, he just had time to say, ‘So you did recognize Jacques when he came to the Governor’s house.’
Maria turned towards him. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ‘How could I forget a man with a convict’s brand on his cheek?’ Hector hardly heard her words. It was the first time he’d seen her face properly in nearly three years, and he was drinking in the sight. Here was the image he’d tried so hard to retain in his memory. Now, in the strengthening light, he saw that she had indeed changed. There was a maturity that hadn’t been there before. It enabled him to see more clearly the harmony of her features, the wide-set brown eyes, the neat, straight nose and the generous, soft mouth. Her eyebrows were thicker and more pronounced, accentuating her level, confident gaze. Her complexion seemed to be slightly darker than he remembered. She had obviously been much exposed to the tropical sun, but she’d also lost the fresh bloom of earlier years. Now her skin had taken on the colour of newly peeled hazelnuts. There was still the scattering of light freckles. He wanted to reach out and stroke her cheek.
‘Here, let me carry that,’ he said, and took the small bundle she had brought from her room. It was very light in his grasp. He guessed it contained just a few clothes.
She glanced at him gratefully, when Dan called out that they should move on. He worried that a party from the fort was in pursuit.
They marched on at the same blistering pace. The day soon turned very warm, but Ma’pang was unrelenting. No one spoke, preferring to save their breath for the effort of travel over the broken ground. Occasionally they had to force their way through the undergrowth, and there were places where the path dipped down into awkward gullies or traversed patches of bare hillside and the footing became treacherous with loose soil and gravel. As the hours passed, Hector worried that Maria might not be able to continue. Great sweat stains began to soak her bodice, and there were moments when she stumbled and nearly fell. Yet she made no complaint, and from the determined set of her shoulders Hector knew she would reject any offer of help. Grimly he pushed himself forward, turning over in his mind what he would say to her when, at last, they had a chance to be on their own. He was overawed that she’d been ready to run away with him with no need of persuasion.
The sun was well past its zenith by the time they finally reached the spur of high land that overlooked the bay where the galaide layak would come to collect them. Here at last they stopped. Dan returned along their path to watch for any signs of pursuit, and the others made a small clearing in the long grass and went to ground. Silently Hector took Maria by the hand. ‘Let’s sit by ourselves,’ he suggested. The two of them quietly made their way to a patch of shade by a large boulder.
Maria sat down, her back to the rock, pulled off the headscarf and shook out her hair. Then she leaned her head forward to rest on her knees. Clearly she was exhausted.
Hector sat down beside her, and for several minutes there was a silence. Finally he asked softly, ‘Maria, how did you know it was me?’
She didn’t raise her head. ‘Because I’d waited,’ she replied. Her voice was muffled and Hector had to strain to hear. He heard a hint of sadness in her tone and was overwhelmed with confusion. He didn’t know what to say.
The silence between them lengthened and Hector began to sense that something between them was slipping away. He felt wretched, fearful of saying the wrong thing. Finally he said, ‘Do you remember the letter you wrote me after the trial in London?’
‘Every word . . .’ Again the muffled response.
‘I read it every day.’ The words sounded lame and pointless even as he spoke them.
This time there was no reply.
His bewilderment growing, Hector tried again. ‘You haven’t asked where we are going.’
Again the flat reply, the curtain of hair hiding her face. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
There was a finality in her voice that shook Hector. He looked down at an ant crawling slowly between the crushed stalks of grass, as it clutched a green leaf. The leaf was several times larger than the ant, and the insect faltered under the strain. He and Maria had each been carrying their own burden, he thought, a burden of hope. For a grim moment he wondered if he’d been deluding himself, if he was about to lose Maria.
As he watched the ant struggle onwards, a small dark spot suddenly appeared on the dry earth. Then, as it faded, another appeared close beside it. With a lurch, he knew they were tear drops. Maria was crying silently.
Bereft, he reached out and took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. To his utter relief he felt her squeeze back, certainly and strongly. He allowed himself to feel reassured, to think all would be well. But he knew, in that same instant, it would be better to wait. The two of them could talk later about all that had happened while they had been apart, and what each hoped of the other.
THIRTEEN
THE GALAIDE LAYAK slipped into the cove soon after dark to collect the little
group, and next morning delivered them safely back to Rota. Ma’pang’s villagers were far from disappointed that only a single hostage had been rescued, and came splashing out into the shallows with whoops of welcome. Their women gazed with open fascination at Maria, the first guirrago female they had ever seen, then whisked her away to the village. Hector and his companions followed, escorted by a chattering crowd and heralded by four Chamorro warriors jubilantly waving the muskets that had been stolen from the fort. The group had hardly arrived at the bachelor house before a celebration feast was under way. Hector, Jacques and the others were assigned places of honour, seated on the ground before a cooking trench filled with glowing coals. Heaps of fish and plantains were grilled and handed around, and several large jars of palm wine were set out, with coconut shells as cups. Trying to locate Maria, Hector spotted her standing beside Ma’pang’s wife on the fringes of the watching crowd.
‘They do love the sound of their own voices. He has been shouting for a good half-hour,’ Jacques said, as he turned to watch a Chamorro warrior striding up and down, haranguing the assembled villagers in a lather of enthusiasm.
‘What’s he saying, Ma’pang?’ Hector asked. He couldn’t understand a word, but clearly the orator was repeating himself.
‘That Kepuha is a great makhana. Now he is back among us, he will intercede with the spirits of the otherworld, and they will rise up and protect the village from the guirragos.’
‘What’s a makhana?’
‘The missionaries have a word for such people – a shaman.’
Dan spoke Spanish well enough to have followed the conversation and gave Hector a meaningful glance. ‘Hector, you have to tell him the truth,’ he said.
