by Tim Severin
The lawyer came quickly to the point. ‘Mr Lynch, please show to Mr Hack your material from the South Sea.’
From his bamboo tube Hector slid the page copied from Captain Lopez’s notes which he and Dan had consulted as they tried to decide where Trinity had so nearly been wrecked. The paper was creased and stained, and there were scuff marks where they had laid it out on the rock many months ago. Hack walked over to the window to examine their handiwork in the light. Beyond him the surface of the Thames suddenly flecked with white as a gust of wind riffled the water. A moment later came the sound of raindrops spattering against the window glass.
‘What do you make of it, Mr Hack?’ Brice was asking.
There was a long pause. ‘Very interesting. The entrance to the Fretum Magellanicum agrees with Mr Jansson’s depiction in his atlas, but here it is in greater detail.’
‘Would such information help a navigator attempting the Strait?’
‘Most certainly.’
‘This provides extra detail,’ said Hector holding out Ring-rose’s journal.
Hack took it from him and began to turn the pages slowly and deliberately until he came to Ringrose’s sketch of the anchorage where they had mended Trinity’s rudder. Several moments passed before he looked up and said, ‘If I had time to correlate the details in this journal with the page of navigation notes, I would be hopeful of providing a chart for this section of the coast.’
Earlier Hector had thought that Hack might be a sea captain. Now he knew that Hack was a professional cartographer.
Brice glanced at the bamboo tube Hector was holding. ‘Mr Lynch, you say that you have other pages of navigation notes. Who made them?’
‘The captain of the Santo Rosario. He was a very experienced mariner, and conscientious. Besides making his own observations, he compiled information from other captains, going back many years. There are details of anchorages and navigation dangers and port facilities.’
Brice picked up a pair of compasses from the mapmaker’s table and began fiddling with them, opening and closing them as he considered Hector’s statement. ‘Mr Lynch, the Spanish ambassador, Señor Ronquillo, is pressing to have your case decided by the Court. He has personally intervened with His Majesty who has agreed to his demand. I have an offer to make to you.’
‘What do you have in mind?’ Hector asked.
‘If you agree to work with Mr Hack, correlating your notes with the general maps of the South Sea coast, I am willing to represent you in any action brought against you by the ambassador. I will ensure that you receive a fair hearing.’
Hector looked Brice in the eye. He was reassured by that same gleam of penetrating intelligence that he had noted on their first encounter. He decided that he had nothing to lose by trusting the attorney.
‘If I’m to work on the maps, I’ll need Dan to help me.’
‘Of course. That will be easy. There is no mention of him or your other companions on the watch list we received from the Caribees.’
Brice spoke to the mapmaker. ‘Mr Hack, I suggest that Mr Lynch and his colleague Dan spend some time with your staff. Not here at your official premises, but somewhere in the close vicinity.’
Brice gazed out of the window, thinking aloud. ‘Of course the Spaniards are aware that we must have acquired some knowledge of the Peruvian coast. But as yet they don’t know how much.’
‘We also found a folder of more general charts aboard the Santo Rosario. They cover the coast all the way from California to the Cape and the Land of Fire,’ Hector said.
‘And where is this folder now?’
‘It was given to Captain Sharpe.’
‘Then we will find Captain Sharpe and get it. Our sources tell us that Captain Sharpe has reached London and is staying in lodgings in Stepney,’ said Brice. He seemed remarkably well informed. The lawyer looked across at the marshal who had been standing patiently near the door. ‘Mr Bradley, do you have with you the watch list?’
Bradley handed him the document, and Brice took a pen and struck out a name.
‘It would seem sensible that I remove Mr Ringrose’s name from the list of Gaol Delivery.’
‘Why’s that?’ Hector dared to ask.
‘Because Mr Ringrose will be your unwitting ally. With his help I’m sure that Mr Hack here can produce a South Sea atlas which will satisfy and distract the king. The basis of that atlas will be the folder of maps now in the possession of Captain Sharpe. The new atlas will be a work of art. It will be beautiful but of little practical use to navigators, and serve the dual purpose of reassuring the Spanish ambassador that we have learned little of real value. Meanwhile the more detailed version – your prime derotero as we may call it – will be lodged with the Admiralty against the time when it might come in useful.’
Brice’s expression became very serious. ‘Lynch, the Spanish ambassador remains most insistent that you are put on trial for piracy. I gather his people have been working hard to prepare evidence to place before the Court.’
Hector was taken aback. ‘But I thought the Court of Admiralty was to oversee the gathering of evidence?’
Brice allowed himself a weary grimace. ‘The ambassador has friends in high places, and permission has been granted for his legal counsellor to question you and prepare witness statements.’
‘When is this to happen?’
‘In three days’ time marshal Bradley must bring you to the ambassador’s residence where you will be interviewed. I have arranged that I will be present at the meeting and, as promised, I will do my best for you. But please bear in mind that officially we have never met, and that the outcome of the questioning will decide your future.’
WILD HOUSE, the Spanish ambassador’s mansion near Lincoln’s Inn Fields, was a building designed to impress the visitor. Hector was intimidated by the imposing facade, its array of glittering windows separated by tall ornamental pilasters, and set off with a balustraded parapet which ran the full width of the building. Wild House was screened from public view by a tall brick wall and Hector had the sense of entering a secluded, private world as marshal Bradley escorted him across the broad gravel forecourt. A major domo opened the ornate double front doors and escorted the two visitors across a tiled entrance hall under a cupola decorated with scenes from classical mythology. Beyond it a long corridor, hung with tapestries, led to the rear of the house. There, without a word, the major domo indicated that Bradley was to wait in the corridor while he ushered Hector into what was evidently a private library. Most of the wall space was taken up with shelves of books, and the only light came in through a leaded window looking out on a small garden. A log fire was burning in a large grate to keep out the chill.
Involuntarily, Hector was reminded of his examination by the Alcalde of Paita. The furniture had been arranged in much the same manner. At a table, seated with his back to the window, was Brice, now wearing a lawyer’s sombre black suit with a white tab collar. He glanced briefly at Hector, as if he had never seen him before, and then looked down and began to arrange the papers on the table before him with the same neat gestures that Hector recognised from the fiscal in Paita. It set him wondering if all lawyers were alike, with identical mannerisms and the same circumspect outward show. Next to Brice a secretary was ready to take notes, and at a separate desk a few paces away sat a man dressed with great elegance in a sleeveless jacket embroidered with silver thread over a white satin shirt. A glimpse of his feet beneath the table revealed that he was wearing fine chamois leather shoes. Hector supposed that he was an embassy counsellor who was to conduct the cross-examination.
‘The purpose of this meeting is to establish whether you should face a charge of murder and piracy,’ began Brice. ‘Señor Adrian,’ the counsellor gave a slight inclination of his head, ‘is to present the evidence. The proceedings will be conducted in English as far as practicable.’
Hector was not invited to sit so he remained standing, feeling the thick carpet beneath his feet. Brice turned towards the S
paniard. ‘Perhaps we may begin?’
The counsellor picked up a paper from his desk, cleared his throat and in strongly accented English began to read aloud. After a few sentences it was clear that he intended to deliver a lengthy preamble to the case. Brice held up his hand to stop him.
‘Señor Adrian, from what I have already seen of the documents, the crux of what we have to decide today concerns the capture of the ship named Santo Rosario off the coast of Peru. Perhaps we can proceed directly to that event.’
With an exasperated look the counsellor searched through his pile of documents until he found the one he wanted, then once again he began to read aloud. He described the events of that day: the slow approach of Trinity, the moment when Captain Lopez had grown suspicious, the firing of the first cannon shot, the musketry that followed. As he listened, Hector slowly became aware that he had heard the contents before. It was, word for word, the same deposition that Hector had heard at Paita, read out to Maria. Grudgingly he had to admire the thoroughness of Spanish bureaucracy. Somehow the colonial officials in Peru had managed to supply the document from half a world away.
Señor Adrian came to the end of his recitation, and Brice turned his attention to Hector.
‘Were you present during these events?’
Hector felt trapped. Faced with such a precise and accurate account of what had happened, he could see no way of saving himself except to tell an outright lie and pit his word against Maria’s testimony. Yet he knew that to contradict her sworn statement was a betrayal of what he felt about her, her honesty and her courage. He hesitated before answering, and when the words finally came out, there was a catch in his voice as he uttered the falsehood.
‘I know nothing of the events you describe. I was aboard Trinity early in her voyage and only for a few weeks.’
The Spanish counsellor looked at him with open disbelief. ‘All the accounts we have from Peru speak of a young man, of your age and description, who acted as interpreter and negotiator. You – alone of all the pirates – were seen face to face by our officials.’
‘You’ll have to prove that,’ intervened Brice.
‘I will, beyond all doubt,’ snapped the counsellor. Turning to the secretary he said, ‘Summon our first witness.’
The secretary rose from his chair and, crossing the library, left by a far door. He returned a few moments later. Behind him walked Coxon.
Hector suppressed a gasp of surprise. The last time he had seen Coxon had been at Panama on the evening before the buccaneer captain departed to return to the Caribbean. Then Coxon had been carrying plunder looted from the Spanish. Now he was serving them. Hector wondered how the buccaneer had managed to convince the Spaniards of his new allegiance, and at the same time maintain his links as an informant for Morgan. Whatever Coxon had arranged, he was clearly prospering. He was expensively dressed in a dark blue coat worn over a fashionably long waistcoat whose sleeves had been turned back to show his ruffled lace shirt-cuffs. Coxon had also put on weight. He was chubbier than before, there was even more grey in his reddish hair, and he was beginning to go bald. Hector enjoyed an instant of satisfaction from observing that Coxon had powdered his face and neck thickly in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the blotches and sores on his skin. Hector hoped that the damage to Coxon’s complexion was permanent and owed something to the Kuna salve. Coxon gave him a malicious glance, full of quiet triumph, before turning to face the Spanish counsellor.
‘Your name is Captain John Coxon?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you took part in the assault on His Catholic Majesty’s possessions in the Americas two years ago?’
‘Only briefly. I had been led to believe that we were campaigning against the heathen savages of the area, and they had been troubling the civilised settlers. As soon as I realised the truth, I withdrew my men.’
Hector was stunned. Involuntarily he thought of the phrase his shipmates used to describe a turncoat. He ‘turned cat in the pan’. Hector stole a glance towards Brice. The lawyer’s face was expressionless. Hector had a worrying feeling that Coxon’s presence had also taken Brice by surprise.
‘Do you recognise this person standing here?’ asked the embassy counsellor.
Coxon’s face was hard-set. He looked Hector up and down as if identifying an item of lost property. Hector was reminded of the pitiless reptilian look he had seen when Coxon seized the L’Arc-de-Ciel.
‘He was one of the worst on the expedition. A number of your countrymen lost their lives when he promised them safe conduct, knowing that the savages were waiting in ambush to murder them.’
‘Where did this happen?’
‘At Santa Maria, in the Darien.’
Brice interrupted. ‘Señor Adrian, this line of questioning is irrelevant. The charge we are here to substantiate is one of piracy on the high seas. The event your witness has described took place on land and within the overseas territory of Spain, and is therefore outside the jurisdiction of the Court of Admiralty. It will not be admissible.’
The Spaniard looked exasperated. He made a gesture of impatience. ‘Captain Coxon, please wait outside. I will need you to give evidence in support of my next witness.’
As Coxon left the room, the smug expression on his face left no doubt that the buccaneer would take pleasure in doing Hector as much harm as possible.
‘Please call the second witness,’ said the counsellor. He was looking towards the door with an air of triumphant expectation.
Maria walked in.
Hector felt as if all the air had suddenly been emptied from his lungs. Maria was dressed in a plain russet gown with a lace collar, and her head was uncovered. She wore no jewellery and she looked the same as he remembered her, perhaps a little more mature, but just as composed. Hector was reminded of the moment when he had seen her standing in the little fishing boat early on the morning they had landed at Paita. Then, as now, she had seemed so self-contained, so sure of herself, and just as beautiful.
‘You are Maria da Silva, and you are companion to Dona Juana, the wife of the Alcalde of Paita?’ asked the counsellor.
‘That is correct.’ Maria’s response was strong and clear.
‘And you were aboard the Santo Rosario when the vessel was attacked by pirates, and witnessed the murder of her captain, Juan Lopez?’
‘I did not witness his death but I saw his body later.’
‘And you spent the next three weeks aboard the Santo Rosario, in company with your mistress, while the vessel was in the hands of the pirates.’
‘That too is correct.’
Hector could not take his eyes off Maria. The initial shock of seeing her had given way to an urge to attract her attention, to re-establish contact with her and somehow not let it slip away. But she did not look towards him. Her gaze seemed to be fixed on the papers lying on the counsellor’s polished desk.
Her questioner ground on. ‘During that time or at any other time, did this man offer you violence or rob your possessions?’
Only then did Maria turn her head and look directly at Hector and their eyes met. He could read nothing in her expression, however hard he tried. To his dismay he saw a disinterest, a blankness as if he was a stranger.
‘He did not.’
‘As far as you know was he responsible for the death of Captain Lopez?’
‘As I said, I did not see Captain Lopez die. I have no knowledge of the matter.’
The counsellor was becoming irritated. Hector detected that he wanted to clinch the matter.
‘Maria da Silva, was this man a member of the crew of pirates?’
Maria looked again towards Hector. There was a pause of a few heartbeats and then she said quietly, ‘He may have been aboard the other ship, but he never set foot on the Santo Rosario.’
Hector thought that he had misheard.
The counsellor was looking utterly taken aback. ‘Do you say that he was not aboard the Santo Rosario?’
‘Yes.’
The
counsellor picked up the written deposition, and held the paper out for Maria to inspect.
‘Do you recognise your signature at the bottom of this document?’
‘Of course. That is my signature.’
‘And was this statement not prepared in the presence of this young man and the Alcalde of Paita?’
‘It was prepared in the office of the Alcalde. But I have never set eyes on the young man before.’
The counsellor took a sharp breath, expressing utter disbelief. ‘Maria da Silva, this is a serious matter. You have been brought from Peru to serve as a witness to the piracy of the Santo Rosario and the murder of Captain Lopez. Yet you claim not to know one of the gang of brigands who was involved.’
‘I repeat, I do not know this man. There has been some mistake.’
Angrily, the counsellor tossed the sheet on the table before him. Maria looked down at the floor and clasped her hands in front of her in a gesture that Hector recognised. It was a sign that Maria was stubborn and unshakeable.
Brice intervened smoothly. ‘Señor Adrian, perhaps you have other witnesses?’
The Spanish counsellor was finding it difficult to conceal his exasperation. ‘Not now,’ he snapped.
