by Wilbur Smith
"Take a deep breath, sir." Sir Francis laid his hand casually on the hilt of his sword. "That whiff of spice is all the share you'll get from me."
The Buzzard cheered up miraculously and gave a huge, booming laugh. "Franky, my old and dear comrade in arms. Come and dine on board my ship this evening, and we can discuss your lad's initiation into the Order over a dram of good Highland whisky."
"So it's Hal's initiation that brings you back to see me, is it? Not the silver and spice?"
"I know how much the lad means to you, Franky to us all. He's a great credit to you. We all want him to become a Knight of the Order. You have spoken of it often. Isn't that the truth?"
Sir Francis glanced at his son, and nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Well, then, you'll not get a chance like this again in many a year. Here we are, three Nautonnier Knights together. That's the least number it takes to admit an acolyte to the first degree. When will you find another three Knights to make up a Lodge, out here beyond the Line?"
"How thoughtful of you, sir." And, of course, this has no bearing on a share of my booty that you were claiming but a minute ago? "Sir Francis's tone dripped with irony.
"We'll not speak about that again. You're an honest man, Franky. Hard but fair. You'd never cheat a brother Knight, would you?"
Sir Francis returned long before the midnight watch from dining with Lord Cumbrae aboard S the Gull of Moray. As soon as he was in his cabin he sent Oliver to summon Hal.
"On the coming Sunday. Three days from now. In the forest," he told his son. "It is arranged. We will open the Lodge at moonrise, a little after two bells in the second dog watch."
"But the Buzzard," Hal protested. "You do not like or trust him. He let us down, -" "And yet Cumbrae was right. We might never have three knights gathered together again until we return to England. I must take this opportunity to see you safely ensconced within the Order. The good Lord knows there might not be another chance."
"We will leave ourselves at his mercy while we are ashore," Hal warned. "He might play us foul."
Sir Francis shook his head. "We will never leave ourselves at the mercy of the Buzzard, have no fear of that." He stood up and went to his sea-chest.
"I have prepared against the day of your initiation." He lifted the lid. "Here is your uniform." He came across the cabin with a bundle in his hands and dropped it on his bunk. "Put it on. We will make certain that it fits you." He raised his voice and shouted, "Oliver!"
His servant came at once with his housewife tucked under his arm.
Hal stripped off his old worn canvas jacket and petticoats and, with Oliver's help, began to don the ceremonial uniform of the Order. He had never dreamed of owning such splendid clothing.
The stockings were of white silk and his breeches and doublet of midnight-blue satin, the sleeves slashed with gold. His shoes had buckles of heavy silver and the polished black leather matched that of his cross belt. Oliver combed out his thick tangled locks, then placed the Cavalier officer's Hat on his head. He had picked the finest ostrich feathers in the market of Zanzibar to decorate the wide brim.
When he was dressed, Oliver circled Hal critically, his head on one side, "Tight on the shoulders, Sir Francis. Master Hal grows wider each day. But it will take only a blink of your eye to fix that."
Sir Francis nodded, and reached again into the chest. Hal's heart leaped as he saw the folded cloak in his father's hands. It was the symbol of the Knighthood he had studied so hard to attain. Sir Francis came to him and spread it over his shoulders, then fastened the clasp at his throat. The folds of white hung to his knees and the crimson cross bestrode his shoulders.
Sir Francis stood back and scrutinized Hal carefully. "It lacks but one detail, "he grunted, and returned to the chest. From it he brought out a sword, but no ordinary sword. Hal knew it well. It was a Courtney family heirloom, but still its magnificence awed him. As his father brought it to where he stood, he recited to Hal its history and provenance one more time. "This blade belonged to Charles Courtney, your great-grandfather. Eighty years ago, it was awarded to him by Sir Francis Drake himself for his part in the capture and sack of the port of Rancheria on the Spanish Main. This sword was surrendered to Drake by the Spanish governor, Don Francisco Manso."
He held out the scabbard of chased gold and silver for Hal to examine. It was decorated with crowns and dolphins and sea sprites gathered around the heroic figure of Neptune enthroned. Sir Francis reversed the weapon and offered Hal the hilt. A large star sapphire was set in the pommel. Hal drew the blade and saw at once that this was not just the ornament of some Spanish fop. The blade was of the finest Toledo steel inlaid with gold. He flexed it between his fingers, and rejoiced in its spring and temper.
"Have a care," his father warned him. "You can shave with that edge."
Hal returned it to its scabbard and his father slipped the sword into the leather bucket of Hal's cross belt, then stood back again to examine him critically. "What do you think of him? "he asked Oliver.
"Just the shoulders." Oliver ran his hands over the satin of the doublet. "It's all that wrestling and sword-play that changes his shape. I shall have to resew the seams."
"Then take him to his cabin and see to it." Sir Francis dismissed them both and turned back to his desk. He sat and opened his leather-bound log-book.
Hal paused in the doorway. "Thank you, Father. This sword-" He touched the sapphire pommel at his side, but could not find words to continue. Sir Francis grunted without looking up, dipped his quill and began to write on the parchment page. Hal lingered a little longer in the entrance until his father looked up again in irritation. He backed out and shut the door softly. As he turned into the passage, the door opposite opened and the Dutch Governor's wife came through it so swiftly, in a swirl of silks, that they almost collided.
Hal jumped aside and swept the plumed Hat from his head. "Forgive me, madam."
Katinka stopped and faced him. She examined him slowly, from the gleaming silver buckles of his new shoes upwards. When she reached his eyes she stared into them coolly and said softly, "A pirate whelp dressed like a great nobleman." Then, suddenly, she leaned towards him until her face almost touched his and whispered, "I have checked the panel. There is no opening. You have not performed the task I set you."
"My duties have kept me ashore. I have had no chance." He stammered as he found the Latin words.
"See to it this very night," she ordered, and swept by him. Her perfume lingered and the velvet doublet seemed too hot and constricting. He felt sweat break out on his chest.
Oliver fussed over the fit of his doublet for what seemed to Hal half the rest of the night. He unpicked and re sewed the shoulder seams twice before he was satisfied and Hal fumed with impatience.
When at last he left, taking all Hal's newly acquired finery with him, Hal could barely wait to set the locking bar across his door, and kneel at the bulkhead. He discovered that the panel was fixed to the oak framework by wooden dowels, driven flush with the woodwork.
One at a time, with the point of his dirk, he prised and whittled the dowels from their drilled seats. It was slow work and he dared make no noise. Any blow or rasp would reverberate through the ship.
It was almost dawn before he was able to remove the last peg and then to slip the blade of his dagger into the joint and lever open the panel. It came away suddenly, with a squeal of protesting wood against the oak frame that seemed to carry through the hull, and must surely alarm both his father and the Governor.
With hated breath he waited for terrible retribution to fall around his head, but the minutes slid by, and at last he could breathe again.
Gingerly he stuck his head and shoulders through the rectangular opening. Katinka's toilet cabin beyond was in darkness, but the odour of her perfume made his breath come short. He listened intently, but could hear nothing from the main cabin beyond. Then, faintly, the sound of the ship's bell reached him from the deck above and he realized with dismay that
it was almost dawn and in half an hour his watch would begin.
He pulled his head out of the opening, and replaced the panel, securing it with the wooden dowels, but so lightly that they could be removed in seconds.
Would you allow the Buzzard's men ashore?" Hal asked his father respectfully. "Forgive me, IS Father, but can you trust him that far?"
"Can I stop him without provoking a fight?" Sir Francis answered with another question. "He says he needs water and firewood, and we do not own this land or even this lagoon. How can I forbid it to him?"
Hal might have protested further, but his father silenced him with a quick frown, and turned to greet Lord Cumbrae as the keel of his longboat kissed the sands of the beach and he sprang ashore his legs beneath the plaid furred with wiry ginger hair like a bear's.
"All God's blessings upon you this lovely morning, Franky," he shouted, as he came towards them. His pale blue eyes darted restlessly as minnows in a pool under his beetling red brows.
"He sees everything," Hal murmured. "He has come to find out where we have stored the spice."
"We cannot hide the spice. There's a mountain of it," Sir Francis told him. "But we can make the thieving of it difficult for him. "Then he smiled bleakly at Cumbrae as he came up. "I hope I see you in good health, and that the whisky did not trouble your sleep last night, sir."
"The elixir of life, Franky. The blood in my veins." His eyes were bloodshot as they darted about the encampment at the edge of the forest. "I need to fill my water casks. There must be good sweet water hereabouts."
"A mile up the lagoon. There's a stream comes in from the hills."
"Plenty of fish." The Buzzard gestured at the racks of poles set up in the clearing upon which the split carcasses were laid out over the slow smoking fires of green wood. "I'll have my lads catch some for us also. But what about meat? Are there any deer or wild cattle in the forest?"
"There are elephants, and herds of wild buffalo. But all are fierce, and even a musket ball in the ribs does not bring them down. However, as soon as the ship is careened I intend sending a band of hunters inland, beyond the hills to see if they cannot find easier prey."
It was apparent that Cumbrae had asked the question to give himself space, and he hardly bothered to listen to the reply. When his roving eyes gleamed, Hal followed their gaze. The Buzzard had discovered the row of thatched lean-to shelters a hundred paces back among the trees, under which the huge casks of spice stood in serried ranks.
"So you plan to beach and careen the galleon." Cumbrae turned away from the spice store, and nodded across the water at the hull of the Resolution. "A wise plan. If you need help, I have three first-rate carpenters."
"You are amiable," Sir Francis told him. "I may call upon you "Anything to help a fellow Knight. I know you would do the same for me." The Buzzard clapped him warmly on the shoulder. "Now, while my shore party goes to refill the water casks, you and I can look for a suitable place to set up our Lodge. We must do young Hal here proud. It's an important day for him."
Sir Francis glanced at Hal. "Aboli is waiting for you." He nodded to where the big black man stood patiently a little further down the beach.
Hal watched his father walk away with Cumbrae and disappear down a footpath into the forest. Then he ran down to join Aboli. "I am ready at last. Let us go."
Aboli set off immediately, trotting along the beach towards the head of the lagoon. Hal fell in beside him. "You have no sticks?"
"We will cut them from the forest." Aboli tapped the shaft of the hand axe, the steel head of which was hooked over his shoulder, and turned off the beach as he spoke. He led Hal a mile or so inland until they reached a dense thicket. "I marked these trees earlier. My tribe call them the kweti. From them we make the finest throwing sticks."
As they pushed into the dense thicket, there was a explosion of flying leaves and crashing branches as some huge beast charged away ahead of them. They caught a glimpse of scabby black hide and the flash of great bossed horns.
"Nyati!"Aboli told Hal. "The wild buffalo."
"We should hunt him." Hal unslung the musket from his shoulder, and reached -eagerly for the flint and steel in his pouch to light his slow-match. "Such a monster would give us beef for all the ship's company."
Aboli grinned and shook his head. "He would hunt you first. There is no fiercer beast in all the forest, not even the lion. He will laugh at your little lead musket balls as he splits your belly open with those mighty spears he carries atop his head." He swung the axe from his shoulder. "Leave old Nyati be, and we will find other meat to feed the crew."
Aboli hacked at the base of one of the kwed saplings and, with a dozen strokes, exposed the bulbous root. After a few more strokes he lifted it out from the earth, with the stern attached to it.
"My tribe call this club an iwisa," he told Hal, as he worked, and today I will show you how to use it." With skilful cuts, he sized the length of the shaft and peeled away the bark. Then he trimmed the root into an iron hard ball, like the head of a mace. When he was finished he hefted the club, testing its weight and balance. Then he set it aside and searched for another. "We need two each."
Hal squatted on his heels and watched the wood chips fly under the steel. "How old were you when the slavers caught you, Aboli?" he asked, and the dextrous black hands paused in their task.
A shadow passed behind the dark eyes, but Aboli started working again before he replied, "I do not know, only that I was very young."
"DO you remember it, Aboli?"
"I remember that it was night when they came, men in white robes with long muskets. It was so long ago, but I remember the flames in the darkness as they surrounded our village."
"Where did your people live? "Far to the north. On the shores of a great river. My father was a chief yet they dragged him from his hut and killed him like an animal. They killed all our warriors, and spared only the very young children and the women. They chained us together in lines, neck to neck, and made us march, many days, towards the rising of the sun, down to the coast." Aboli stood up abruptly, and picked up the bundle of clubs he had finished. "We talk like old women while we should be hunting."
He started back through the trees the way they had come. When they reached the lagoon again, he looked back at Hal. "Leave your musket and powder flask here. They will be no use to you in the water."
As Hal hid his weapon in the undergrowth, Aboli selected a pair of the lightest and straightest of the iwisa. When Hal returned he handed him the clubs. "Watch me. Do what I do," he ordered, as he stripped off his clothing and waded out into the shallows of the lagoon. Hal followed him, naked, into the thickest stand of reeds.
Waist deep, Aboli stopped and pulled the stems of the tall reeds over his head plaiting them together to form a screen over himself. Then he sank down into the water, until only his head was exposed. Hal took up a position not far from him, and quickly built himself a similar roof of reeds. Faintly he could hear the voices of the watering party from the Gull, and the squeaking of their oars as they rowed back from the head of the lagoon where they had filled their casks from the sweet-water stream.
"GoodV Aboli called softly, "Be ready now, Gundwane! They will put the birds into the air for us."
Suddenly there was a roar of wings, and the sky was filled with the same vast cloud of birds they had watched before. A flight of ducks that looked like English mallard, except for their bright yellow bills, sped in a low Vformation towards where they were hidden.
"Here they come," Aboli warned him, in a whisper, and Hal tensed, his face turned upwards to watch the old drake that led the flock. His- wings were like knife blades as they stabbed the air with quick, sharp strokes.
"Now!" shouted Aboli, and sprang up to his full height, his right arm already cocked back with the iwisa in his fist. As he hurled it cartwheeling into the air, the line of wild duck flared in panic.
