Infinite Devotion (Infinite Series, Book 2)

by L. E. Waters

  “The same thing happened to me, friend,” Alvaro says.

  The captain says sternly, “We must gather supplies and leave as soon as we can, then. The deputy will come here again and we’ll all be damned.”

  Andres and I, tired after our long journey and full belly, curl up with Bella and fall asleep to the sounds of the men planning the escape to Derry. Although it seems much colder without Pepe coiled up with us.

  Chapter 18

  The next morning, the bishop comes to take the captain to survey the pinnace. Alvaro’s allowed to come, but both of them have to dress in savage clothing. They’re gone for two hours, and when they return, the captain has his brows pinched together in what I’ve learned to be a look of great concern.

  “So tell us of the pinnace?” a Spaniard asks.

  The captain looks up to choose his words wisely, another bad sign. He begins slowly, “Well… I think she could get us to Scotland.”

  “Could?” the leader asks.

  Alvaro jumps in. “She’s in bad shape.”

  The bishop says, “I asked some of the lords in the area, and this is all that was offered.”

  “No, bishop, this is more than we could hope for.” The captain is quick to say. “Once Alvaro and I do some work on her, we’ll be sitting pretty, sailing off to salvation. We couldn’t have asked for more.”

  The bishop blows out a relieved breath. “I have no doubt you can repair her, Captain. Let me start collecting your supplies.”

  The captain makes sure he leaves before he whispers, “Men, I’ll do all I can, but we might be better off floating in a barrel to Scotland.”

  Alvaro chimes in, “The caulking’s spewed, the mast has rot, and the main sail’s threadbare in places.”

  “Well, can we repair it like you said?” the leader asks.

  “We can do our best, but we have no caulk and no replacement sail. I might be able to get some timber and try to reinforce the masts, and Alvaro can fix the riggings. But if we hit any unhappy weather, we could be sunk,” he says, looking at Andres’s worried face, which makes him finish far too happily, “but it’s all we’ve got, so we have to make it work. God has been in our favor this whole time, and I have no doubt He’ll bring us through this too!”

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  We stay in the dark room in the castle for another five days. Andres and I grow itchy from confinement, but we’re also wary of what is coming. Alvaro and the captain are gone most of the five days, and at the end, the captain comes in and claps his large padded hands together. “To Scotland’s shining shore!”

  All of us gather our things, and the bishop holds mass for us with a blessing that we shall escape our enemies. We follow him down to the pinnace in one long chain, and he lets us kiss his ring, saying, “And the Lord be with you.”

  The ship is fatigued and broken like an old nag left to die in a green pasture. When I leap on, I can hear her moan, saying, “Leave me be!” The wood is dark with age and the floor’s slippery from rot. I notice all of the captain’s improvements but wonder if you built strong on top of weak, isn’t it still weak? Everyone appears weary. Even the soldiers notice a sea-tired ship when they see one. Even Bella, once we put her on the ship, goes scratching at the railing feeling safer on the dock. But when we look back at the bishop and see his hopeful, chubby, saintly face—we feel the power of his blessing.

  The captain yells out, “Thanks be to God for Saint Redmund O’Gallagher!” and we all repeat, “Saint Redmund O’Gallagher!” and make the sign of the cross.

  The captain hollers to Alvaro to untie the rope and push off, and we wave good-bye to the bishop and the hostile, mysterious island we thought we’d die on. Andres gives me a look, and we both remain quiet thinking the same thing, I’m sure—we won’t ever see him again now.

  As dusk draws near and the misty land is completely out of sight, Alvaro, after checking the riggings once again, sits down, leaning his back against the mast, and starts an Irish song on his flute. We all lie back and watch each star appear.

  The captain breaks our moment of relaxation by saying after coming up from below, “Everyone up except Alvaro, and get a bucket. We’re taking on water far too fast, and we have to bail out the bilge.”

  “Is that why we’re not making good time?” Alvaro asks as he studies the old compass. “We should be a quarter of the way there by now, but since we’re taking on water and the winds blowing against us, we’re half that.”

  The captain squints up to measure our distance by the stars and nods in agreement to Alvaro. “Well, as long as we get there, don’t matter how many days it takes.” With that, he grabs a bucket and goes down to start bailing.

  We bail all night until we have blisters, but there’s no reprieve. Even though we formed a chain and didn’t go five seconds before emptying a bucket over the side, the water’s gaining. Alvaro yells down to us, “The winds picking up and dark clouds are blowing toward us.”

  The captain heads up to check as we keep passing buckets. We start losing our footing as the boat tosses around, and we realize there’s a big difference being on a galleon in rough weather and being on a pinnace.

  Andres hollers up after a rather serious crash into the hull and splashes into the water. “Captain, can we quit and come up? We’re getting thrown around down here!”

  But the captain doesn’t come, which means things must not have been good above.

  One of the men yells back, “We must keep bailing!”

  Andres, miserable and wet, fishes his bucket that went floating away and gets back into his place in the chain. We try to balance each other during violent rolls, but all of us end up floundering in the bilge at different points. I feel queasy from the rocking and turn to see Andres bent over, getting sick in his bucket. After he’s done, he just passes it up, palely, in the chain, and the men turn their heads at its passing. It becomes routine after every few buckets to get some of Andres’s breakfast passed up, and he gets so used to throwing up that he merely takes a bucket, spits up, and keeps passing. We all tiredly laugh in the way you do in strange, stressful circumstances—a brainless laugh that your worn body can’t control.

  Suddenly, we hear a terrible tearing sound and the thunderous flapping of a loose sail. It’s a sound we dreaded, since we know we have no replacement sail. We yell up the chain, “What happened?” and receive back down the chain, “The main sail’s torn.”

  “Great, another thing to slow us down,” the dark-haired Spaniard beside me says, and I decide to make another sign of the cross before getting my next bucket.

  Andres got the next break, and when he comes back, he ceases getting sick. The winds die down overnight, and our two other smaller sails survive the storm, to our relief.

  On my break, I go up to sleep on the damp deck and hear the captain say, “We’ll make it there, boys! Keep the buckets coming!”

  When I open my eyes again, everyone’s on deck celebrating.

  Andres, seeing me awake, runs to me. “We see Scotland!”

  I run over to what looks like the Irish coast we just left. I jump and hug Andres, and his eyes are full of tears. Alvaro, in one swoop, picks up Andres and me and spins around on the deck. Can we really have gone through all of this and see Spain again? I look at the misty shore with wonderment. How could Pepe have had such doubt?

  A bucket’s handed to me, and I turn to see the captain. “We’re not there yet. We still need to keep this barrel afloat.”

  When I go back down, I have to roll my wool pants up above my knee, for the water has risen so since my break. We float into the bay half-submerged, and some kind fisherman, seeing our distress, comes out to the boat to aid us.

  The captain anchors the pinnace and, being the last to leave her, says as he hits a jug of wine on her porous hull, “I christen thee Pinnace O’Gallagher in the name of our patron saint.” Then he kisses the mainmast and the boards of the small fishing ship that takes us into shore, where we get off an
d embrace the glorious rocky sand.

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  Many days later, I’m watching the majestic sight of Edinburgh castle come into view. It looms there, almost a league above the village, a massive and imposing stronghold at the top of a giant rock. Two sides are built straight up from steep, deadly cliffs and the other slightly less steep side, with a winding and perilous path. Our horses, pulling us up the mountain, are already straining a quarter of the way up, and I wonder what will happen should the harness or hinge to the carriage break. Andres, already sick from the bumpy and long carriage ride, has to put his head between his knees at the sight of the incline. I can breathe again once we’re within the fortified wall surrounding the castle. The captain gets excited. “The good bishop told me that King James has aided, clothed, and delivered passage to all Spaniards that have sought his help.”

  Alvaro speaks. “King James is no Catholic, though. Why would he assist us?”

  The captain quickly explains, “Scotland is mostly Lutheran, but there are a few Catholic lords and counts that will sway the king for our last leg home, boys!”

  I look up the high expanse of the steel-colored walls of the castle and feel uneasy.

  It’s hours before we’re brought into a small room within the castle with no furniture and only one window. The captain paces while he waits for someone to bring us to the king. Finally, an attendant appears, and immediately the captain fumes. “There must be some mistake. The last attendant must have forgotten about us, since we’ve been standing here for hours waiting to see His Majesty.”

  The aged and bored-looking attendant barely bats an eye and says, “There has been no mistake. His majesty is very busy today and will have no time to meet with you. He asked us to bring you to your room, which we have. I’ve come to bring you your blankets and supper.”

  The captain appears shocked and watches dumbfounded as the attendant brings in a stack of blankets, pillows, a basket full of bread and butter, and a jug. The captain tries to move past his anger and asks, “We’ve had our clothing stolen from us and have been forced to wear the poor clothes of Irish savages. Could you please ask the king to bestow us with some civilized clothes?”

  The Spanish-speaking attendant acts as though he hasn’t heard what he said and coldly replies as he walks out the door, “I will make your request known.”

  The door slams, and we hear a slat swipe behind the door.

  Alvaro runs to the door and tries to push it open. “They’ve locked us in!”

  The captain’s taking it all in. “We’re prisoners.”

  Andres and I lay the blankets down on the stone floor and sit, eating the bread and butter we were given.

  Alvaro takes a drink of the water and makes a sour face. “Stale water.”

  “Even the savages treated us better,” the captain says as he stuffs a roll in his mouth.

  Two months inch by confined in the small room. No clothing is brought for us, and our diet’s poor. Andres loses all of his plumpness he acquired in Ireland, and we look like two street beggars once again. We can never get warm, even with two blankets laid upon the stone, the cold from the stones seeps through.

  One day there’s a knock on the door, and a well-dressed lord walks in, in clothing much like the captain and Alvaro had only months ago worn.

  He speaks in Spanish. “I am Lord MacDonald and a fellow Catholic. I heard you have been kept here, and I’ve done my best along with some others to have you meet with the king. I brought some clothes for you to wear to approach the king in court today.” He claps, and a servant carries in a pile of new clothes for us to wear.

  “Thank you, Lord MacDonald.” The captain bows slightly to him. “Your assistance is much appreciated.”

  The lord leaves, and we put on our clothes. The clothes are probably lesser quality than the clothes the captain had been used to, but for Andres and me they’re luxurious. The silk hose and the linen-and-velvet tunics were the softest things we’ve had against our skins, thickened from all of the rough linen and wool we’d worn before.

  Andres spins around in front of me when he’s dressed. “Good evening, Lord Alba. Ready to meet with the King?”

  We laugh and I say, “Would you ever have guessed we’d be meeting with a king?”

  Bella jumps up on his silk hose, and Andres pushes her off. “Bella, that’s silk!”

  There’s a knock at the door, and the sullen-faced attendant comes and says, “The king will see you now.”

  I pick up Bella to carry her with us, and Andres says, “Why are you bringing her?”

  “I’m afraid to leave her behind. You never know what they’ll do with us.”

  That makes Andres quiet. We walk behind Alvaro, who walks behind the captain, who leads the way aristocratically. Where he goes or whatever obstacles he faces, he always maintains an air of respect and confidence. When most would crumble, he grows stronger and makes us all stronger standing with him. The other Spaniards trail behind as we hurry to keep up with our pack. We’re led down a torch-lit and carpeted path that empties into a large and beautifully adorned room. The way the portraits all hang and the velvet curtains drape, I have a strange feeling of remembrance—like I had been in such a palace before. Visions of endless glimmering banquet tables, silk dresses swishing at the end of jeweled fingers, and courtly music filling a candle-lit ballroom flash before my eyes. I shake the foreign images from my mind, and I’m shocked when guards open two huge doors that lead to court.

  A dozen or so lords have gathered for our cause, and we see the Lord MacDonald standing in front of them. There are many plain-clothed attendants and members of the court, and in the center, on a massive throne draped in velvet and silks, sits King James. Beneath the golden crown, silks, and velvets perches a weak and disappointing man. He’s plain and feminine-looking, and his legs barely fill out his hose. Above his chicken legs puff the pants that made his rear appear round. His doublet also seems inflated, twice the size it should’ve been with how small his legs, hands, and head are.

  We follow behind the captain, who stands in front and speaks for us. James studies our movements with obvious lack of feeling. A courtly man stands beside the king on his right, all puffed out like the king but with peacock feathers sticking out at every possible place. He whispers something in the king’s ear that makes him smile.

  The captain bows and says something in what sounds like Latin.

  The king clears his throat. “I grow tired of your church’s outdated Latin.” He says this rather flatly in good Spanish. Then turns to the man at his right and says something in some other language, and his court laughs.

  The captain stays quiet and waits for a question. The room’s hushed, all except for Bella’s panting.

  “The Duke of Parma is buzzing in my ear about sending you a ship.” He strokes the pointed goatee on his chin that was the same yellow-gold of his amber eyes.

  The captain nods graciously at this and still waits for more from the king.

  James sighs dramatically and flips his hand. “So, I don’t know what to do. Half of the world will be displeased with me if I give you safe passage, and half of the world will be vengeful if I decide otherwise.”

  The captain chances, “Maybe it would be wise to think of what God would have you do.”

  The king spurts out in laughter, and all those under him feel they have permission to laugh also.

  “You sound like my dear departed mother, Captain, really, it’s very sweet.” His voice is bitter as he plays.

  “I take that as the highest compliment, Your Majesty.” The captain bows again.

  The room starts to feel hot.

  James pulls back and raises his weak neck out of his giant ruff, showing that the captain’s starting to annoy him.

  “Talking for less than a minute and you speak of mothers and God. How truly Spanish of you.” He laughs, trying to regain his composure, and is satisfied with his people laughing with him.

&nb
sp; The captain smiles with equal composure. “I wanted to thank Your Majesty for making us feel so at home here. I will make sure everyone knows of your graciousness as soon as I reach Spain.”

  “That is if you reach home, Captain. I haven’t yet decided.”

  Lord MacDonald steps forward at this moment. “A merchant from Flanders has written to me that he will provide six vessels, supplies, and offers five ducats for every Spaniard that arrives safely on Flanders’ shore.”

  The captain’s happy to hear this and quickly says, “Your Majesty, what is your dilemma, then? You have no hand in our delivery other than making a profit off our ransom? Even Her Majesty would understand that.”

  He gives a look of warning to the captain under a downturned brow, but the captain continues, “That is if it is truly a decision you have the power to make—”

  The king jolts forward in his throne and spits, “Of course I have the power to make this decision. I am king!”

  The captain bows and feigns an apology by saying, “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I do not mean any disrespect; only I’ve heard rumors your reign is limited by Her Majesty’s hand.”

  James draws back slightly and proclaims, “Of course, I have the power and will do so if I so desire.”

  He turns to the man on his right and speaks to him. The man then helps him up by wrapping his arms around the king in a strangely intimate way. I hold my breath when he stumbles feebly down the small steps. “I am going to think upon this in my chambers.”

  Everyone parts for him to pass by, but when he approaches the captain, he turns and says, “Captain, I greatly respect your strong will to live and the passion you exude while doing so.” And he surprises everyone by leaning forward, grabbing the captain’s face, and kissing him on the lips.

  The captain, the most taken off guard, pushes back too late and wipes his mouth as the king draws back and proclaims, “Just what I expected—tastes like fish!”

  Those who understand Spanish in his court laugh heartily as others translate, and the laughter continues as the king slowly makes his way out of court with a sneer on his pale face.