by Tim Severin
The young man raised his head and looked back at Fawcett still standing in the doorway. ‘I prefer to carry out my mission,’ he said quietly.
Fawcett looked unsurprised. ‘I thought you would say that,’ he said. ‘I once said to Smeeton that you had the manner of someone who always took his own line even if it meant being out of step with everyone else. I’ll tell Don Fernando of your decision. It’s up to him and the council to decide what is to be done with you. And I’ll ask the guards here to let you have a proper wash. You’re beginning to get that prison stink.’
THE VETERAN sergeant and two soldiers came to fetch Hector in mid afternoon. Fawcett had kept his word for they took Hector out to a pump at the rear of the courthouse and stood by while he washed himself. Feeling cleaner but still very dishevelled, he was then brought into the same interview room as before. This time the Alcalde, Don Fernando, was not alone. An extra table had been set at right angles to his desk. Seated behind it was a thin-faced man with heavily lidded eyes and an austerely intellectual appearance emphasised by his high forehead and receding hairline. He wore a lawyer’s black robes. A few sheets of blank paper and a pen lay on the table before him. Hector, looking around, saw no sign of any secretary or official clerk and this gave him a moment’s hope. Whatever was going to be decided at this meeting was to be known to only a few. Even the sergeant and his escort had been told to leave the room.
One other man was present, someone whose weatherbeaten features Hector recognised at once. Seated beside the lawyer was Captain Francisco de Peralta whom he had last seen on the beach at La Serena.
‘I believe you already know the Capitan del Navio. He is attending in an expert capacity,’ began the Alcalde. His eyes flicked towards the black-robed lawyer. ‘Don Ramiro is His Majesty’s fiscal. As an attorney, he is here to represent the audiencia, the council.’
The man in the lawyer’s robes acknowledged his introduction with the briefest of nods.
Already Hector had detected a subtle change in the Alcalde’s manner. Don Fernando was not as openly aggressive as before. His hostility was still there, seething below the surface, but it was being kept in check.
The Alcalde addressed his opening remarks to the fiscal. ‘This young man has brought a proposal from the leader of a pirate band operating in this area. You will already be familiar with some of the atrocities they have committed. Recently they captured the merchant ship Santo Rosario. The leader of the pirates offers to return the vessel, her passengers and surviving crew in exchange for naval stores and the services of a pilot who can assist the pirates in leaving our waters.’
The Alcalde lifted a sheet of parchment from the desk in front of him. ‘This is a deposition made by a passenger on the Santo Rosario. It describes an unprovoked attack on the vessel, the butchery of her captain, and the capture and pillaging of the ship. It also states that the survivors of the assault are unhurt.’
‘Can we be sure of the accuracy of the deposition?’ asked the fiscal.
‘I have arranged for the deponent to be available for questioning.’ Raising his voice, the Alcalde called, ‘Send in Dona Juana’s companion.’
The door opened, and Maria stepped into the room. In that moment Hector’s eager anticipation of seeing her again turned to disappointment. Maria had reverted to the person he remembered from the Santo Rosario. She was wearing a long, plain brown skirt with a matching bodice, and her hair was covered with a simple cotton kerchief. She was deferential and subdued, and she did not even look in his direction. Her face showed no expression as she walked forward and stopped a few paces in front of the Alcalde. The anticlimax was so great that Hector felt as if a chasm had suddenly opened beneath his feet and he had dropped into it.
‘Señorita Maria,’ the Alcalde began, ‘Don Ramiro is an attorney for the audiencia. He wishes to question you about your statement concerning the seizure of the Santo Rosario.’ He handed the sheet of paper across to the lawyer who took it and began to read aloud. Occasionally he looked up at Maria to make sure that she was paying attention.
Maria listened with her eyes fixed on the floor and her hands demurely clasped in front of her. Hector recalled that this was exactly how she had stood and looked when he saw her on the day he had gone onto the Santo Rosario with the boarding party. He even recollected how he had noticed on that day how small and neat her hands were. With a pang, he also remembered exactly how it had felt when she placed her hand on his shoulder and steadied herself as she climbed across the thwart of the little fishing boat.
The attorney continued with his dry, punctilious reading, pausing between the sentences. Despite his inner turmoil, Hector had to admire Maria’s memory for detail and the accuracy of her testimony. She described Trinity’s slow, innocent-seeming approach in the wake of Santo Rosario, and the moment that Captain Lopez had become suspicious. She made no mention of the death of Lopez because, by the time he was shot, she and her mistress had been sent away to the safety of the locked cabin. Her description resumed at the point that she had heard the boarding party attempting to open the door of the cabin and she and Dona Juana had stepped out to confront Hector, Ringrose and the others.
The fiscal reached the end of his narration and looked up at Maria. ‘You provided this deposition?’ he asked.
‘I did,’ Maria answered. Her voice so low as to be barely audible.
‘Is it accurate?’
‘Yes.’
‘And no violence was shown to your mistress or yourself, then or at any other time?’
‘No.’
‘Nothing was stolen or pillaged from you?’
‘Dona Juana handed her jewellery and other valuables to the pirates before they made any demands. She wished to forestall any excuse for violence.’
‘And that was all that was taken from you and your mistress during this piracy?’
‘That is correct.’
The attorney placed the deposition on the table, picked up his pen, and made a note at the foot of the page.
‘Señorita,’ he said. ‘You have heard your statement read out to this gathering and agreed to its authenticity. I would be grateful if you would sign it.’
Maria crossed to the table and, taking the pen held out to her by the fiscal, she signed the deposition. The lawyer set the document neatly on top of the other sheets of paper before him, squaring up the pile with his fingertips. There was something about that little gesture, its air of finality, that alerted Hector. It appeared that the attorney had made up his mind about something significant.
‘I have no further questions,’ said the lawyer.
‘Maria, you may now leave,’ said the Alcalde, his voice formal.
Hector watched the young woman walk to the door, and he tried to memorise the moment for he had a premonition that he might never see Maria again. Until she passed from view, he still hoped that Maria might perhaps glance in his direction. But she left the room without a backward glance.
‘Capitan, do you have any observations to make?’ The Alcalde’s truculent voice broke into Hector’s thoughts. The judge was looking towards Peralta.
The Spanish captain leaned back in his chair and surveyed Hector for several seconds before he spoke.
‘Young man, when we met on the beach at La Serena I gave you a warning. I said that you and your piratical band would not be so lucky next time they came ashore. The events at Arica proved me correct. Only one thing drives your people – insatiable greed. Can you give me any reason why they can be trusted to honour any agreement we might make?’
‘Captain Peralta,’ Hector answered, standing a little straighter. ‘I can give no guarantee. The decisions of our company are made by general vote. But I can say this – and with your seagoing experience you will know that I speak the truth – we have been in the South Sea now for well over a year. Many of the men are looking forward to returning to their homes. I believe that they are in a majority.’
‘And what about Dona Juana? We have been told that she
is unharmed and that she cooperated in the matter of handing over her valuables. If we agree to the exchange, we expect her to continue to be treated with the respect due to a lady of her quality.’
‘Captain Sharpe has already made her welfare a priority,’ Hector assured him.
Peralta looked towards the Alcalde, and Hector had the feeling that an unspoken message had passed between them when Peralta continued.
‘Your Excellency, I recommend that we agree to an exchange but make sure of Dona Juana’s well-being.’
‘How can that be done?’
‘Send this young man back to his ship. Let him take the pilot with him. That will be the first part of our bargain. The second part will be honoured only after the pirates have brought the Santo Rosario within range of our shore cannon. We will send out an inspection party and if they find the lady onboard and unharmed, we will despatch a supply boat with the stores they require.’
‘Isn’t that taking a risk? Surely the pirates will sail away the moment they have a pilot, and not wait for the stores.’
‘Speaking as a seaman, I would say that the intruders’ vessel needs a thorough refit. The ship has been operating in hostile waters for so long that her rig will be worn out. There will be an acute shortage of rope and canvas. If her crew are contemplating a voyage out of the South Sea, those stores could mean the difference between foundering and survival.’
‘Thank you for your contribution, Capitan,’ said the Alcalde, and once again Hector had the feeling that something was left unsaid. ‘I would be obliged if you could select a suitable pilot and also draw up a list of appropriate ship’s stores. Enough to encourage the pirates to leave our waters, but no more. If the fiscal has no objection, I will make an order for the material to be released from the royal dockyard without delay. I wish to be rid of these bandits, and I am sure that Dona Juana does not want to spend a moment longer in their company.’
THE PILOT provided by Captain Peralta turned out to be a small, wiry man whose expression of distaste on meeting Hector made his feelings obvious.
‘I hope your ship handles well in bad weather?’ he grumbled as he stepped aboard the fishing boat waiting at the quay. It was the same vessel that had brought Hector and Maria ashore.
‘Trinity’s crew know their business,’ Hector replied. He had been half-hoping that Maria would be sent to rejoin her mistress. But the pilot had arrived alone.
‘They’ll need to,’ retorted the little man waspishly. ‘Where we’re going the weather turns nasty very quickly.’
‘You must be very familiar with that part of the coast,’ said Hector, anxious to please.
‘Enough to know that I wouldn’t chose to go there if I had a choice in the matter.’
‘I imagine the Alcalde can be persuasive.’
‘Someone tipped him off that my last ship had a slimy waterline when we came into harbour.’
‘What’s a slimy waterline got to do with it?’
‘It meant that she was riding higher than when we left our last official port of call. I was accused of stopping on the way to Paita and offloading cargo without paying import duty.’
‘And had you?’
The pilot shot Hector a venomous glance. ‘What do you think? The captain and the owner were both peninsulares, good Spaniards, so no one is ever going to charge them with smuggling, nor accuse the local consulado who sell on the contraband. On the other hand I am a foreigner. So I am disposable.’
‘I thought I detected a foreign accent,’ said Hector.
‘I’m originally from Greece. In the merchant service hereabouts you’ll find Portuguese, Corsicans, Genoese, Venetians, men from all over. Local-born lads prefer to stay ashore and run plantations with Indian labourers. It’s an easier life than tramping up and down the coast in merchant tubs.’
‘But at least everyone respects a pilot.’
The Greek gave a cynical laugh. ‘I’m only half a pilot. The Alcalde and his sort fear that we’ll gang up and run for home and take our knowledge with us. So the rules say that I can never serve aboard a ship whose captain is also a foreigner.’
‘But now you’ll be aboard Trinity and that’s a foreign ship.’
‘Even then my knowledge won’t be of much use. I only know the coast south of here, and most of that is a barren, godforsaken land. That’s about as much as this addled head can hold at any one time.’ The Greek smiled sourly and tapped his brow.
‘So you don’t have any charts?’
The Greek bared his teeth at Hector in astonishment. ‘Charts! If the Alcalde got to learn that I was making charts, or even possessed one, I would prefer to take my punishment as a smuggler. No one except a handful of the most trusted captains are allowed to keep a derotero and they must be Spaniards, like Captain Lopez of the Santo Rosario, God rest his soul.’
His remark reminded Hector of the glance that had passed between the Alcalde and Captain Peralta. It dawned on him now that the real reason why they had agreed to an exchange was the need to recover Captain Lopez’s folder of navigation notes and sketches. All their talk about Dona Juana’s well-being had been a sham. They had insisted that she was treated with respect because then no one would search her belongings and find the derotero.
Hector groaned inwardly. If he had not been so distracted by Maria, he would have worked this out for himself. Then an even more dispiriting thought occurred: the only person who could have told the Alcalde about the hidden derotero was Maria.
Looking back towards Paita’s church tower, Hector cursed himself for being a fool. He had allowed himself to be misled. But what made his chagrin even more painful was that he still could not stop thinking about Maria.
SEVENTEEN
‘YOU WEREN’T exactly honest with her either,’ Dan bluntly pointed out when Hector told him of Maria’s deception. ‘Neither she nor Dona Juana know that we’ve made a copy of the derotero. That was done behind their backs.’
It was a breezy afternoon with a scattering of high cloud and Trinity was beating out to sea under plain sail. Hector had come back aboard three days earlier and, as arranged with the Alcalde, Dona Juana and the Santo Rosario had been left behind at Paita in exchange for the stores from Paita’s royal dockyard. The supply of rope, canvas, tallow and tar meant that Trinity could be made fit for a long voyage, and as none of the crew relished the prospect of sailing back to Panama and returning through the jungle to the Caribbean, it had been decided to leave the Pacific by sailing south, all the way around the tip of South America.
‘Do you think our pilot knows what he’s doing? He seems more interested in gambling than in making sure we are heading the right way,’ asked Dan dubiously. He was watching the Greek, whose name was Sidias. After telling the helmsman his course, he had produced a tavil board and started a game of backgammon against the quartermaster. Now they were quarrelling as to how the game should be played. Sidias was insisting that they follow the Greek rules, as they were more ancient.
‘No harm in following his advice, at least for now,’ Hector assured the Miskito. ‘He says there’s a strong adverse current along the coast and we need to be at least a hundred miles offshore before we turn south. Sidias claims that, by staying well out to sea, we’ll trim weeks off our passage.’
‘Is he proposing to take us through the Passage or around the Cape?’
‘He hasn’t said,’ Hector answered.
‘Not much use as a pilot then,’ sniffed Jacques who had walked over to join them. He lowered his voice. ‘Will those navigation notes you copied be of any use when we are trying to find the Passage?’
‘I can’t be sure. We’ve never put any of them to the test.’
‘If Captain Lopez’s navigation notes were so precious, I don’t understand why Dona Juana did not simply get rid of them overboard. She could have dropped the folder out of the stern window at any time,’ said Dan.
‘You don’t know how those aristocratic women think,’ Jacques told him. ‘Dona Juana might have
known the value of the folder and wanted to make sure it got back into Spanish hands. But more likely she took a delight in believing that she was making fools of a group of slow-witted mariners. It was a game for her, to demonstrate her superiority.’
He fell silent as someone behind them coughed. It was Basil Ringrose who had just appeared on deck, carrying a back-staff and notebook. He looked ill, his skin waxy and pale, eyes bloodshot, and he had difficulty in breathing. Many of the crew believed that he was still suffering from taking shelter under a manzanilla tree on a night he had spent ashore. There had been a shower of rain in the night and he had woken up with his skin covered in red spots from the poisonous drips which had sprinkled on him while he slept. The spots and their burning sensation had long since faded, but Ringrose remained sickly. He suffered from frequent headaches and bouts of near-blindness.
Ringrose reached out and grasped a weather shroud for support as another fit of violent coughing racked him.
Dan spoke up. ‘I was just asking Hector if we would be better going around the Cape or through the Passage.’
‘The Passage would be my choice,’ Ringrose answered huskily. ‘Provided we can find the entrance. The coast is likely to be scattered with islands and reefs. We could finish up smashed to pieces.’
‘Then why not try for the Cape?’
‘Because no English vessel has ever gone that way. That’s something our captain failed to mention when he suggested we should sail our way out of the South Sea. The Spaniards and the Dutch have gone round the Cape, but no other nation as far as is known. Even Drake himself preferred the Passage. There are ice islands down there.’ He hawked, turned his head and spat a gob of phlegm over the rail. ‘Anyway, that’s a much longer way. I doubt we’d be back in home waters before Christmas. And who knows what sort of reception we will receive.’
