"Ask him about the timbers," I murmured to Jublain.
Jublain spoke to him and Valdez nodded. "Yes, I believe so." I understood enough to know what he was saying even before Jublain translated for me. I had been observing some of the vessels at anchor, three with damaged spars.
"It is possible we might purchase them," concluded Valdez.
When he was gone, we looked at each other and Jublain shrugged. "A fine young gentleman, and were it only up to him ... well, we might manage it. However, there is this in our favor. I think they wish no more trouble than they already have."
"We are armed," I said. "I saw him looking at the guns. He also noticed our position. If there is trouble with us, we could do much damage before they sank us." I hoped I was right.
Some of the noise of the guns was smothered by the bulk of Compass Hill.
What we could see of the town was much damaged. One street seemed to run around the hill, with steep, slippery lanes going up its side. Many of the houses were built with large balcony windows overlooking the harbor. On the opposite shore were two other villages which, Jeremy told me, were Cove and Scilly.
Actually, despite its approach, the harbor was large, commodious, and capable of handling a considerable number of ships.
Standing by the rail I studied the town and our situation. If the Spanish chose to take our ship and ourselves as prisoners, there was little we could do. We might run for the harbor entrance, but the guns of the ships ... warships all of them ... would surely do us damage beyond recovery.
Jublain had learned from Valdez that the force was under the command of Don Juan D'Aquila, and numbered 4,000 men.
We waited, a long, slow afternoon, for permission to go ashore, well aware of how delicate was the balance.
As it was obvious the Spanish ships themselves needed replacements for spars smashed in battle, our cargo might be timely. Yet what I feared was that they would simply take the ship, the cargo, and ourselves, throwing us all into irons.
It was dusk when Valdez returned. Obviously, he was disturbed, but not by us, as I first assumed.
"The timbers? May I see them?"
With him was a sturdy Basque, a craftsman, without doubt. And so he proved, for when we unbattened the hatches and took him below his manner was brusque, and no foolishness about him. He looked over the timbers, climbed down upon them, walked along them, and muttered to himself.
His report to Valdez was stated flatly, in a very few words.
Valdez was obviously pleased. He turned quickly to us. "He says your timbers are excellent! Just exactly what we need." Then his smile vanished. "The price?"
Aristocrats, I knew, did not like to bargain, yet our position was uncertain, and what we needed was good will if we expected to get out alive and with our fluyt.
I spoke briefly with Tilly, who knew better the price than I, and then I had Jublain tell him: "We appreciate your situation, but we would not wish to profit by it. Pay us what they would cost in Spain."
Unwittingly, I had not only said the right thing but had raised the price on the timbers, for they were at this time much more in demand in Spain than in England.
At our table I received an order from him. "For the money," he told me, "you must go ashore." He wrote down the directions. "Present this order at the ship chandler's shop and you will be paid at once."
He turned to go, then stopped and looked back. "Your wife is very lovely." He spoke in English, looking directly at me. "I would not have her life endangered.
When you have your money ... go. Go at once."
He went over the side and down the ladder to his boat, and they pulled away. He seemed in a very great hurry.
Our hatches open, we rigged our gear to get out the timbers and drop them in the water overside, where they would be towed to the ships needing them. We worked swiftly.
"Tilly," I said, "stand by to get under way immediately on my return. Get all the timbers they bought into the water as quickly as possible. We will heave in the anchor if there is time, and if there is not we'll simply cut loose. I have an idea Valdez was trying to tell us they are through here."
"The guns now are louder," Pim said. "You wish me to go with you?"
"No. I shall take Jeremy." Turning to Jublain, I suggested, "Tilly will work the ship, you will handle the direction of the fighting, if any. If I am not back by an hour after dusk, cut your anchor and get out ... fast. Do not worry about me."
I turned back to Ring. "Jeremy, bring two pistols as well as your blade."
He grinned under his moustache. "I have four tucked behind my sash, and a dagger as well."
Hurriedly, I went below. Abby was waiting, her eyes wide, her cheeks ashen. "Do not be afraid. And if I am not back by an hour after dusk, Jublain is to take the ship to sea. Do you understand?"
"We will wait."
"No." For the first time I spoke harshly to her. "You will go. It is you, and not only you, for now there is our son." I paused for a moment. "Get out ... get away. I will join you somehow."
For a moment I held her, then tore myself loose lest I should weaken.
Jeremy was already in the boat. I swung over the side and dropped in beside him.
We pushed off. While we went ashore, Blue was to remain with the boat, hiding deep in the shadows.
"How far have we to go?" Jeremy asked.
"Almost an English mile," I said.
Suddenly, there was a heavy boom from seaward. Turning, aghast, we stared back toward the harbor entrance. Slowly but surely, a great ship was coming down the harbor ... and she flew the flag of England.
There was another boom, and the explosion of a shell scattered fragments and flame aboard the Spanish ship nearest to her.
"Come ... we'll have to hurry now," I said, refusing to look back again, or turn my head. Blue left us ashore.
The sun was gone behind the hill, a cool wind blew along the waterfront, and we hurried, running and walking toward the street named on the order. A native had given us directions.
"You're going through with it?" Ring asked. "Why not? We delivered the timbers, and we need the money."
"And if he will not pay?"
Suddenly, before I could answer, there was an explosion within the town. A great light shot into the sky and vanished, there was a dull rumble of falling timbers and debris, and we saw great crowds of men fleeing down a street.
There were flames everywhere now, and the deafening sound of muskets. Behind us we could hear the boom of guns from the ships.
We pushed through a crowd of rushing, shoving men and turned into the comparative quiet of the side street. A man ran past me, his face white, his eyes distended. I do not think he even saw me. A woman with a child cowered in the corner of a stone building, half hidden behind a barrel. It was as safe a place as any.
As we came upon the ship chandler's shop, the front of the shop was smashed by a cannonball. We forced open the door.
Inside, on the floor, a man lay dead, his skull crushed by a falling timber.
Clutched in one hand was a sack which he had begun to fill with gold from an open strong box.
Near him lay a bundle of papers. They were signed Diego de Guzman.
"It is he," I said. "Our paymaster is dead!"
Jeremy Ring flashed a smile. "His gold is not. Do we collect it?"
"Of course." I tucked the order for payment into the dead man's pocket. "There, senor. The order is yours, the gold is ours.
"Take the box," I said, "perhaps we shall be overpaid a little, but who will care?"
Jeremy dumped the gold back into the strongbox.
He tilted the box. "It is heavy."
"It will be lighter," I said, "when we spend it. But then," I added, "gold is forever heavy." Yet I was not looking at Jeremy Ring when I spoke.
Four men had burst into the door, swords in their fists, stopping suddenly upon seeing us.
"We will have the box," said the first. He was a blond and square-faced man of forty
-odd with a livid scar across his brow and going into his hair. His face seemed familiar though I knew for a fact I had never seen him before.
Flames crackled and a nearby man cried out in pain. It was almost dark, and I had not noticed him in the leaping shadows. Out upon the bay, a big gun cleared its throat with a gush of flame.
My father's blade was in my hand when I looked at the square-faced man. "'At midnight,'" I said, "'in the flames of a burning town!'" I could hear my mother's voice. I felt as though another force had entered my body.
His ugly scar went a deeper red; the flames played a shadow game across his craggy face. His eyes went wide and he stared at me. "My God!" he said, and we crossed our blades.
Chapter 21
Oh, he was a strong one! The instant our blades crossed I knew he was good ... and dangerous. No stronger wrist had held a blade against me since I last had fenced with my own father.
" 'At midnight in a flaming town!' " I repeated, and he faltered, but only a little.
"Are you the one?"
"I am ... are you ready to die?"
"What man is ever ready?" He moved in, thrust, stooped suddenly and slashed a lightning stroke at my legs. Only I sprang back, and was sailing as he came to me again.
"My father taught me that one," I said.
"Your father? Must I fight him, too?"
"You fought him once," I said, "and bear the mark."
He was wary, pressing, but wary. I heard a pistol go off nearby, and from the tail of my eye saw a man sprawl dead, then saw another shot, and yet another.
"Ah? Was it he? But she said she had no husband!"
"She found him then," I said, "when he put his mark on you."
High mounted the flames, roaring, crackling, burning all about us. Red light gleamed in his eyes, reflected from his face, and the pall of smoke lay heavy over all. Our blades caught the glow and shone back the light. They clashed and joined, and the man and I stood like brothers close together, our swords uniting us. Then a quick disengagement.
"Finish him, Barnabas. We've far to go and the ship, by your order, will not wait."
Our blades crossed, I thrust, he parried, and I felt the thin line of pain as his blade caressed my skin and left a streak of blood for marker.
He was strong and very quick, a superb swordsman. Was he too good? Would we both die here?
No! There was Abby out there, and had it not also been foretold that I would have four sons?
Sweat streaked my face. Blood ran down my side. I moved warily.
"She was a grand, beautiful lass," he said suddenly, "with a fine lot of courage in her. Not a bit was she afraid, but she stood and told me to my face what would come."
"And well she knew," I said. "For she had the blood of Nial!"
"Aye." The blond and savage man moved in quickly, his blade like the flash of lightning in a far-off storm. "It took me a fair while to learn who he was!"
Suddenly his eyes lifted from our blades to mine, an instant only, "But she was wrong, for it is you who die this night, Son of Hers! You!"
He thrust low and hard, but my father had taught me that, too, and my blade was double-edged. I parried ... quite gently, and lifted quick my blade ... not gently.
My sword-edge missed his belly I'd intended to open but cleft his chin ... clean through as you'd slice a cheese. And then the smallest thrust forward and my blade was four inches out the back of his neck. He fell, almost twisting my father's sword from my hand, but I put my foot on his chest and drew out the blade.
The man was dead.
We went away then, dragging the strongbox, which was heavy enough for four men, and then Jeremy found a barrow and we loaded it in.
We ran, pushing the barrow at a stumbling run, first me, then Jeremy. We passed dead men and fleeing women and children, and then we reached the shore.
Blue was there. He had thrown matting over himself and the boat to conceal them from eyes who might want to escape across the channel.
We climbed in with the box and shoved off. Blue dipped deep the oars and the boat shot forward, and we looked once more at our ship.
"The devil!" Jeremy said. "She's moving!"
"Is she?" I looked. Was she? For a moment I could not tell, and then ... yes, she was, moving outward! She had caught the tide and was letting it take her, no sails lifted to attract attention, just a hand at the whipstaff.
"Let me spell you, Blue." I moved to the oars. He let me have them, and I put my back into it and the boat leaped forward. The tide was helping us, too. I glanced at the sky. There were stars, but it was fainting light, also.
We were gaining on the Abigail, and nearing the British warship.
We came alongside, and hailed, and somebody tossed us a line which we made fast to the boat. Then some tackle and we sent the chest up, and then a quick scramble and we were aboard, too, and picking up the ship's boat.
Yet scarcely was I aboard when a hail came from the starb'rd side. "Heave to!
We're coming aboard!"
Tilly crossed to me quickly. "It's the Royal Navy. What shall we do?"
"Heave to, instantly, and do our best. We're a Flemish ship with a largely British crew who were almost trapped by the Spanish until the coming of the navy gave us a chance to escape.
"Tell him that. It is all we can do. Keep Watkins and Wa-ga-su below and out of sight. If we have to, we'll bring Wa-ga-su up and be returning him to America as an emissary for Raleigh to the Indians, where he'll land his colony."
"You think quickly," John Tilly said dryly. "I hope it works."
"So do I," I said. "Otherwise it's Newgate for me."
The officer came over the side, a neat, trim-looking man, a fighter by the look of him and one who knew his business. "What ship are you?" he demanded.
Of course, he had seen the name on the hull, but it was a formal question.
"The Abigail, Captain." He was no captain but the unofficial promotion would do us no harm. "A Flemish ship with mostly an English crew. Thank God you came when you did. We'd sailed right into a trap."
"What do you mean?" The officer's eyes were missing nothing, but John Tilly was the typically stalwart British merchant officer, and must have pleased his eye.
"We're from America, seventy-two days at sea, and needing fresh water. We knew Kinsale Harbor, and when we saw Old Head we thought we were safe. We came right on in, and the first thing we knew we were under the guns of a Spanish fleet.
"We went ashore to plead our case, hoping to be allowed to go, and then the attack came and our boat came back to the ship just as you fellows were coming in.
"By the lord, Captain, you were a sight for weak eyes! When we saw that British flag and heard those guns ..." Tilly mopped his brow with a handkerchief. "What can we do for you, Captain?"
"Where are you bound?"
"Falmouth, Captain, to discharge and load supplies for America again. We've an Indian aboard ... one of the savages, you know, but he's a fine chap, and a great help to us. We're taking him back to speak to his colony for Raleigh. He's a good fellow and we've treated him well. We believe he will speak well to his chiefs when we get him back. It will ease the way for us."
"Your name?"
"John Tilly, sailing-master."
"I am Ephraim Dawes, first officer of Her Majesty's ship, the Sprite. Let me see your manifest."
Tilly led him to the cabin while I kept out of sight. It was unlikely that he knew me, but he would certainly know my name, for such a story as the possible discovery of King John's treasure would be bandied about.
Leaning on the rail, watching the water, I suddenly heard a faint rustle close by. Warily, I put a hand to my sword. The sound came from the ship's boat we'd hoisted aboard. I waited, and suddenly glimpsed a white hand on the gunwhale, then a head lifted enough for the eyes to see over and then, quick as an eel, a boy went over the gunwhale, paused, then darted for the shadows.
The last thing I wished was to create a disturbance that would lead to
further delay in getting the British officer ashore, so I made no move.
A boy? A small man? Or perhaps a girl?
Hesitating only an instant, the boy ducked down the scuttle and vanished.
Unquestionably, whoever it was had somehow hidden himself carefully aboard the ship's boat ... perhaps with Blue's knowledge, possibly during Blue's momentary absence. Only one such possible hiding place offered itself ... the small compartment forward where the sail was stowed.
John Tilly and Dawes emerged from below. Tilly walked with him to the ladder where several British sailors were gathered.
"You're free to go," Dawes said, "but keep a weather eye out for Spanish vessels. There are a few about."
And then Abby came out on the deck. She looked quickly around, saw me, and started toward me. "Barnabas ... "
Dawes froze. Slowly he turned, staring at me. My clothes had been badly dealt with in the trouble ashore. I'd been somewhat singed, and I was dusted by falling plaster and wet from spray. I looked anything but a ship's officer.
"You, there! What's your name?"
"Cracker's the name, beggin' your pardon." I touched my forelock with diffidence. "Barnabas Crocker."
"This lady called you by your first name?"
"Aye, my family served her'n for nigh a hundred years, though we be from Yorkshire."
I'd worked with Yorkshiremen and was handy with the accent ... at least to a degree.
"Where are you from, Crocker?"
"Filey was my home, an' well I wish I was back there now."
He studied me for a moment, then turned and went down the ladder. When his boat pulled away we stood for a moment, watching.
"Get some sail on her, John," I said quietly, "but not too quick with it until we're a bit further along. Then we'd best make a run for it."
Abby came to me. "Barnabas, I am sorry. I just didn't think."
"There's no harm done." I glanced up at the sails. The wind was strong and they were drawing well. Soon we would be out at sea, and with any kind of a lead the British could not overtake us. Yet I had said we were going to Falmouth and the more I considered it the more I liked the idea.
to the Far Blue Mountains (1976) Page 18
