Buccaneer

by Tim Severin

  ‘That’s why the captain risked our musket fire. He was trying to get to the cabin to reach the folder,’ said Hector when he and Dan got back to the galley and found Jezreel running a large thumb round the salver on which Jacques had served the coconut syllabub. ‘He must have known that his ship was likely to be captured and he was determined not to let his navigation notes fall into our hands. He would have dumped the folder into the sea the moment he decided to surrender.’

  ‘But what about those other charts, the ones in the oilskin folder?’

  ‘Those were much less detailed. They provide only the general outline of the coast. To use them properly, Lopez would be relying on his detailed navigation notes.’

  ‘Ringrose is going to be happy. It’s going to save him a lot of paper and ink. He’s been scribbling away at that sort of stuff ever since we came into the South Sea,’ commented Jezreel, licking his thumb.

  ‘Ringrose has been mapping only a small portion of the coast,’ Hector corrected him. ‘I didn’t have time to check just how far Captain Lopez’s navigation notes extend, but he was exceptionally well travelled. He may have had precise sailing and pilotage directions all the way from California to the Cape.’

  ‘Is that important?’ asked Dan.

  ‘I worked for a land surveyor in Port Royal for a few days, copying maps for him. One day when he was drunk he said to me that really good charts of the South Sea would be priceless. They would be the key to enormous riches. I remember him saying that the Spaniards would murder to prevent such information falling into the wrong hands.’

  ‘Sounds as though they are as dangerous as they are valuable,’ joined in Jezreel doubtfully. ‘Captain Lopez’s charts would be handy for us now, but we’ve been managing pretty well without them, thanks to you and Ringrose as our navigators. If Dona Juana and her companion are released back to their own people, what happens then? The Spaniards will know we have the folder, and they will redouble their efforts to hunt us down.’

  ‘And anyone they caught would be tortured to learn just how much was known, who else had the same information, and then strangled to silence them.’ Jacques added.

  Hector thought for a moment before replying. ‘Then we’ll keep quiet about our discovery . . . At least for now.’

  ‘What about Sharpe? Do we tell him what we’ve found?’ Jezreel asked.

  Again, Hector paused before replying. His mistrust of Sharpe made him cautious. ‘No. He’ll be outraged if he learns that Dona Juana has made a fool of him. We’ll do what Jacques did with those dice he retrieved from the bushes. He guessed they would come in useful at some time. These maps could be the same for us when it comes to dealing with Sharpe.’

  ‘And how do we prevent the two women from knowing that we have the charts?’

  ‘We copy them,’ said Hector firmly. ‘Dan can help me. There was a time when we both drew maps and charts for a Turkish sea captain. Dan’s a quick and accurate draughtsman.’

  ‘Even so, it will take time,’ Jezreel objected.

  ‘Captain Sharpe seems in no hurry to part company with the beautiful Juana,’ said Hector. ‘He will be cosying up to her for the next few days. I already have a supply of paper and ink for helping Ringrose. Every time we have the chance, we remove a few sheets from the folder, copy them, and return them. I doubt that Dona Juana or Maria do more than check that the folder is still safe in their trunk. They won’t have time to count the pages.’

  ‘How long will all this take?’ asked Jezreel.

  ‘Dan and I should be able to complete the job in less than a week. We don’t have to make fair copies, only quick sketches and notes. I’ll keep the results safe in that bamboo tube I’ve been carrying so no one will even suspect what we are doing.’ He looked at his friends. ‘Are we all agreed?’

  Dan and Jacques nodded, and Jezreel with a glance at the Frenchman added, ‘Jacques, here’s your chance to shine. Let’s hope you can come up with seven days of dinner dishes and never repeat the same menu.’

  In the end it took a full ten days to copy the contents of the folder. Hector had failed to anticipate how often he would be needed to act as interpreter for Sharpe. In his infatuation for the delectable Dona Juana, Sharpe took every excuse to visit the Santo Rosario, and Hector had to be on hand to untangle the buccaneer’s clumsy gallantry. So it was left to Dan to burgle the cabin while Hector remained outside on deck, deliberately prolonging his captain’s flowery compliments to the Alcalde’s wife. By the time all the pages had been copied, the crew of Trinity were at breaking point with their captain’s dalliance. They demanded a general council and insisted that the two women be sent on their way. Reluctantly Sharpe agreed.

  ‘We will sail to Paita, contact Dona Juana’s family and arrange an exchange,’ he told the crew assembled on Trinity’s maindeck.

  ‘What sort of an exchange?’ someone had called out.

  ‘The lady in return for a pilot who can guide us in these waters. In addition we’ll demand a ransom to be paid in ship’s supplies. We are running short of sail cloth and rope.’

  ‘But we can take the sails and rigging from the Santo Rosario,’ objected one of the older men.

  ‘That is not sufficient for what I have in mind,’ said Sharpe. He paused for effect, then called out, ‘We need that material if Trinity is to make a long voyage. I am proposing that we return back to the Caribbean by sailing around the Cape!’

  There was a widespread murmur of approval. Many of the crew were heartily tired of the South Sea. Sharpe looked towards where Hector was standing with his friends.

  ‘I am appointing Lynch as our go-between. Off Paita we will intercept a local fishing boat, and put Lynch aboard so that he can go ashore. He will conduct negotiations on our behalf.’

  ‘What am I to say?’ asked Hector. Sharpe was manipulating the situation, and might even be seeking to get rid of him.

  ‘Tell the Spaniards that once we have the pilot safely aboard and received the supplies, we will hand back the Santo Rosario and the lady, unharmed. We’ll leave the vessel at a suitable rendezvous which we decide.’

  Hector voiced his misgivings. ‘Why should the Spaniards believe me? They might just execute me out of hand.’

  Sharpe smiled cynically. ‘The Spaniards will do anything to speed us on our way, and we still have Dona Juana.’

  ‘And how can they be sure that Dona Juana has not been harmed?’

  ‘Because you will go to Paita with her companion Maria. She will tell them that Dona Juana has been very well treated. Maria will serve as your security.’

  Again there was a murmur of approval from the crew clustered around Hector, and before he could raise another objection, Sharpe treated him to one of his sly looks and added in a voice loud enough for all to hear, ‘I was very impressed with how you dealt with the Spaniards at La Serena. I’m sure you will do just as well on this occasion.’

  SIXTEEN

  A WEEK LATER, Hector was uncomfortably aware of how thoroughly he had been out-manoeuvred. Sharpe had disembarked him and Maria, Dona Juana’s companion, onto a small fishing smack out of Paita, and already Trinity had dwindled to a tiny dark shape on the horizon. The galleon, which had been his home for the last fifteen months, would soon be lost from view in the gathering darkness, and Maria was taking pleasure in baiting him.

  ‘Your new shipmates don’t seem to like you,’ she said mockingly. She was seated facing him on the centre thwart and had noted the surly looks of the smack’s crew. They were understandably sullen. Trinity had robbed them of their catch of mackerel and anchovies and, to make matters worse, the wind had turned foul. It was going to be a long hard slog for them to sail back into Paita.

  ‘One word from me when we land in Paita and the governor could have you garotted,’ Maria added maliciously.

  Hector said nothing. A burst of spray struck the back of his neck and he pulled his cloak around him.

  ‘It’s no more than you and your companions deserve. They are nothing b
ut arrogant brigands of the sea. Blood-soaked murderers.’

  The young woman had a low, musical voice, and the harsh words sounded strange coming from her.

  ‘If the Santo Rosario had not opened fire on us, we would not have been obliged to take the vessel by force,’ Hector replied.

  Maria wrinkled her nose in disbelief. ‘You would have pillaged the ship, and not touched us?’

  ‘You call us brigands. So think of us as highwaymen who stop and rob travellers on the road. If the travellers are sensible they offer no resistance and are merely relieved of their valuables and allowed to go on their way. But if there is opposition, and someone fires a pistol, there is bloodshed. The travellers seldom come out best.’

  ‘And why do you choose to make your living by such theft and piracy rather than by honest toil? You don’t look or talk like a cut-throat.’ Her tone was a little softer, and there was a hint of curiosity in her voice.

  ‘There were special circumstances . . .’ Hector began, and was about to explain how he came to be in the South Sea when he thought better of it and instead looked out towards the horizon. Trinity was no longer visible. The daylight was almost gone, and the first stars were appearing through rents in the rapidly moving clouds. It was threatening to be a wild night. The little boat was beginning to pitch and lurch on the blackness of the waves. The swirl of bilgewater beneath his feet released the smell of rotten fish. He wondered about Dan and the others.

  Maria seemed to read his thoughts for suddenly she asked, ‘What about your friends? There’s one very big man, I think his name is Jezreel. I saw you often talking with him, and there was the Frenchman who was our cook, and a man who looked like an Indian.’

  ‘They are my comrades, and we have come through many difficult times together.’

  ‘Then why aren’t they here with you now?’

  Hector decided that the astute young woman deserved an honest answer. ‘All three of them offered to accompany me. But I told them that their presence would only increase the danger. In Paita your people might decide to hold back one or more of them as hostages until your mistress is released, and even then there was no guarantee of their safety.’

  ‘And what about you? Aren’t you afraid of being held?’

  Hector shook his head. ‘No, if your people want the safe return of Dona Juana, they will have to let me go. I am the only one who can arrange her exchange.’

  ‘And what if “my people”, as you describe them, decide that it would be easier to torture you?’

  Hector tried to meet her eyes, but it was now too dark to see her expression. ‘That is a risk I am prepared to take. If you help me and the mission goes well, it means that my friends will be able to return to their homes.’

  Maria paused before answering, and Hector detected that her antipathy was waning.

  ‘And what about you? Do you have a family who are expecting you to return?’

  ‘No, my father died some years ago, and I have lost touch with my mother. She is the one from whom I learned to speak Spanish.’

  ‘From Galicia, to judge by your accent. It is surprising that you do not speak Galego.’

  ‘My mother insisted that we learn Castilian. She said it would be of more use.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘My sister and I. But I will never see my sister again.’

  He had expected Maria to question him further, but she fell silent, doubtless understanding that he did not wish to talk about his loss.

  When she did speak again, it was in a much more friendly tone, almost confiding. ‘I understand your feeling of being alone. But not because I have lost my parents. They are still alive as far as I know, small farmers in Andalucia. Life is hard in that part of Spain, and they were enthusiastic when the opportunity came for me to go abroad as Dona Juana’s companion. So I was happy to accede to their wishes.’

  ‘And you like the post?’

  There was a short pause before Maria replied. ‘Yes. I am fortunate. Dona Juana is a kind employer. She treats me as a friend, not as a servant which is what I could be.’

  ‘But you still miss your family?’

  ‘Spain seems so far away. Sometimes I think I will never see my homeland again.’

  For a long time they both sat quietly, hearing the run of water along the sides of the little fishing boat as it grew more urgent, and the rising note of the wind in the rigging.

  ‘Tell me about Dona Juana’s husband, the Alcalde,’ Hector said.

  ‘He’s older than her. Perhaps by twenty years, and he has the reputation of being a harsh man. He believes in the stern application of the law.’

  ‘Would he put the law ahead of the well-being of his wife?’

  Maria thought for a moment before replying. ‘I believe so, but it is always hard to tell with him. He is a man of very strict principle.’

  The moan of the wind and the noise of the waves were making their conversation difficult. Occasionally the little boat thrust her bow into the waves, and water came sluicing onboard. Hector had noticed a small cuddy under the foredeck where the fishermen stowed their nets, and he suggested to Maria that she might take shelter there. She stood up from the thwart, reached out to steady herself as the boat lurched, and placed her hand on his shoulder. He was aware of her grip, light but firm, a woman’s touch. Then she was clambering past him, her hip brushed his shoulder, and all of a sudden he was swept by the knowledge that she was very attractive. He found himself wishing that she had stayed much closer to him, where he could relish her nearness and learn more about her.

  NEXT MORNING the last of the gale was still whipping up a lively sea, the waves sending tremors through the hull planking of the little boat as she battled her way towards the watch-tower at the entrance to Paita’s harbour. Hector sat on a pile of damp sacking and rope, his back pressed against the mast step. He was bleary-eyed, for he had slept only fitfully, his mind returning again and again to thoughts of the young woman curled up in the dark cave of the cuddy. He rehearsed every word of their conversation, still wondering how Maria had seemed to be able to read his thoughts. From time to time he glanced towards the place where she lay asleep, and waited for her to awake. When Maria did emerge half an hour later and crawled out from the cuddy, Hector had a glimpse of a neat ankle and a small bare foot. Sensibly she had removed her shoes before going to sleep. Maria stood up and turned her face into the wind and her long, loose hair streamed out behind her. In that moment Hector was confronted by a young woman very different from the person he had known aboard the Santo Rosario. In the shadow of her mistress Maria had been quietly dutiful and unassuming, easily overlooked, and probably this had been her intention. Now he saw that Maria had the gift of a natural, healthy beauty. As she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, relishing the fresh morning breeze after the stuffy confines of the cuddy, Hector noted the small heart-shaped face with a short straight nose, a soft mouth perhaps a trifle too wide for the delicacy of her features, a skin lightly freckled. Everything about Maria was neat and pleasing in a way that was simple and tempting. Then she turned and looked at him and the dark brown eyes under the perfectly arched eyebrows held an almost conspiratorial expression.

  ‘Did you manage to get any rest?’ he asked, aware that he felt light-headed, off balance.

  She nodded, and all of a sudden Hector was overwhelmed by her presence. She was wearing the fine cloak which he had seen hanging in her cabin, but now it was bedraggled and crumpled, the hem sodden with bilgewater. Awkwardly he started to get to his feet, hoping to find an excuse to extend a hand, to touch her again and help her to climb over the thwart, when, without warning, he was rudely elbowed aside. One of the fishermen pushed passed him. The man was holding a chunk of dry bread and an earthenware flagon of water which he held out to Maria. He offered nothing to Hector. Instead he turned to face towards the land, placed two fingers into his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. In response a watchman appeared on the top of the watchtower. The fisherman waved, making w
hat must have been an agreed code of signals, for the watchman disappeared, and soon a squad of soldiers was running to take position by a gun platform, and a horseman was galloping inland clearly carrying a message to the town.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Hector enquired.

  The fisherman gave him a black look. ‘Ever since you and your rabble attacked Arica we’ve been asked to keep a special lookout. Told to report any sightings of unknown vessels and report back immediately. Never thought I would be bringing in one of the scum who was responsible. I’ll enjoy watching your punishment. I lost a younger brother at Arica.’