The Butcher's Daughter, page 11
“His Most Catholic Majesty, King Phillip II of Spain, granted a sizable tract of land in Cuba to me. I came here to Trinidad to purchase more labor to work my ingenios, my mills.”
“Mills, what kind of mills?” Gilley asked.
“I use the mills to process sugarcane though, ahem, that endeavor has so far not been as profitable as I would like. I do much better with tobacco. There is money in tobacco, and in cattle too. We slaughter the herd around August each year and sell the meat to the treasure fleet for the journey back to Spain. The Spanish navy pays very well for beef.”
“Ah, so you are a butcher then?” I asked intrigued. “I know something about the trade.”
Cortés smiled and seemed unruffled by my coarse description of his stature. “I cannot imagine you anywhere near a slaughterhouse my dear lady.”
“Blood has never made me squeamish, Señor Cortés. Have you any knowledge or experiences with imports and exports?”
“As it so happens, I do. I do indeed. As you can imagine, vast amounts of goods and materials are exchanged between New Spain and the many kingdoms of Europa. I dabble in exports and imports from time to time. Might I know where you are from and what your business is here in Trinidad?”
“Of course,” I replied. “We have just arrived in Trinidad from Ireland and as it happens, we carry assorted manufactured goods, mostly from France and England.”
“Ah muy bien, how interesting,” Cortés said. He gestured for us to lean closer and dropped his voice. “You wish to sell these things?”
“Quite so.”
“How fortuitous we meet,” he continued, lowing his voice to a whisper. “The governor of Cuba is a dear friend of mine. Well, the governor of Cuba is actually the Governor-Captain General of Santo Domingo, a man named Gregorio González de Cuenca. He is also el Presidente of the Audiencia. Perhaps I could arrange to introduce you to the governor?”
“And why would we want to meet the governor of Cuba?” Hunter asked.
The Spaniard stared at Hunter, perplexed. “¿Que? Why would you not? The governor is a very good man to know my friends, a very good man to know indeed. People pay favors, handsome favors, to have an audience with his Excellency.”
“And what favor do you ask from us in return?” Hunter asked.
“Why, none. You misunderstand. It is good business, Señor Hunter, or a chance to make good business between us. It is not every day three ships like yours, three very fine ships, sail into Trinidad. You are looking for a port of entry, no? The quinto, the taxes, levied by the Casa de Contratación of Seville on cargo being brought into the New World can be very steep these days. Spain is always in need of more revenue to pay off her debts.” Cortés paused and vigorously shook his head to show his disapproval. “She is a glutton, Spain. The endless flow of pearls, gold and silver into the royal coffers is never enough. Her appetite to spend and spend is ravenous. Her appetite is never sated.”
“And the governor,” I asked, “may be helpful to us in this matter?”
Cortés smiled and rested his hand over mine. “My lady is most perceptive.”
“How fortuitous we have met indeed then.”
“Perhaps. You do not know me. I do not know you. Even with friends and allies the New World is a treacherous place. I am not necessarily an honest man. But I am a gentleman of excellent reputation with a keen knowledge of business as my friends in Cuba and Santo Domingo can attest. I take care of my associates and they take care of me. Trust among friends is a currency worth far more than gold here.”
“I think I catch your meaning, Señor Cortés,” I said. “When will you conclude your affairs here in Trinidad?”
“I shall return to Cuba on the sloop Aruba today, tomorrow, soon. I hope if you have cause to visit Cuba you will come to my modest hacienda near Havana. I am not difficult to find. Allow me to leave you with my visiting card.”
“Your card?” I asked as the Spaniard handed me a paper card with his name printed in fancy calligraphy on one side and the name of his plantation in Havana, the Hacienda la Aurora, on the other.
“A Chinaman introduced me to the notion of leaving visiting cards and I thought the custom quaint so now I do the same. Please enjoy your drinks and food. They are my gift of welcome.”
“You are most gracious,” I said. “Perhaps you could excuse my officers and me for a moment?”
Cortés, puzzled by my words at first, stared at me with a blank expression. And then he smiled broadly and clapped his hands. “¡Mi señora, qué extraordinario! My lady, how extraordinary! Your officers indeed! I shall wait for you outside, mi Capitana.”
“Watcha thinkin’, Mary,” Gilley asked after Cortés excused himself.
I leaned over and kissed Gilley on the cheek. “Thank you, Tom.”
“What the devil for?”
“For always trying to protect me. Well gentlemen, we came to Trinidad to try and make acquaintances. Brash or not, I like the Spaniard. Perhaps we should offer to return him to Havana as our guest, become better acquainted?”
“That one,” Hunter said as he pried Cortés’s card out of my fingers, “is lady’s man.”
“And you aren’t, James Hunter? Oh dear, do I sense a bit of jealousy?”
“Jealousy? Ha! No Englishman with any pride could ever be jealous of a Spaniard!”
“So you have no objection?”
“None,” Hunter answered gruffly as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms defiantly. “None at all.”
“Tom, Mustafa?”
“As you say, Lady Mary,” Mustafa replied, “we need to make new friends.”
Gilley nodded. “Havana, Havana is where I shall have my bottle of sweet wine!”
And so we were all agreed. Cortés eagerly accepted our invitation for a free passage home and two days later we prepared our ships to sail. But I was unprepared for what happened next. Cortés pulled up alongside the Star in a longboat packed full with twenty newly purchased black slaves, all males, shackled together with leg irons.
“I know that look, Mary,” Hunter said as we stood together against the rail looking down at the water. “Something is gnawing at you.”
“I didn’t expect Cortés to bring his slaves with him. We aren’t a slaver and we shall never be a slaver.”
“No, we aren’t a slaver, Mary. But Negro slaves are an accepted way of life here. From what little we know of Cortés, I would urge caution. I would not offend him. He could prove useful to us.”
“I wasn’t planning on beheading him just yet if that’s your worry, James.”
“I’m sorry, Mary. Are you cross with me?”
“I suppose I am annoyed, but not with you. Forgive me, James. I had no right to use such a harsh tone with you.”
“Zeus’s balls!” Gilley cried out loudly as he walked up behind us. “Stop this inane prattling. I tolerate a fair amount of twaddle aboard this ship, but I draw the line at having to listen to a lovers’ quarrel!”
The weather turned foul only a day out from Puerto de España. I didn’t mind. A modest storm sweeping down on us from the north-west brought sporadic downpours and a trough of cooler air. The rain and chill reminded me of Ireland and for me it was a pleasant respite from the tropical heat and humidity of the West Indies. I found the change refreshing.
We made slow progress against the contrary winds and currents though. Luckily, our guest proved to be a most engaging and interesting fellow. Each evening Cortés joined my officers and me for supper, for good conversation and a game or two of cards. We enjoyed Cortés’s company immensely. But there were undercurrents too. Cortés was ambitious and no one’s fool. We all recognized that he could well turn into a dangerous opponent if crossed or slighted in some way.
On the last day of our voyage the rains abated, though the sky remained overcast with thick, grey clouds and the air still held its chill, and Cortés and I shared breakfast together up on the quarter deck to enjoy the fresh air. We ate a simple meal of pineapple, bananas and fresh bread with strong coffee as we stood at the ship’s bittacle. Not far off I could see Havana with many ships at anchor in her harbor and many others under sail coming in to or out of port. Havana was a far busier anchorage than the Port of Spain.
“I have very much enjoyed our time together, Mary. I’m most grateful to you for your kindness and hospitality.”
“It has been our sincere pleasure. We’ve enjoyed your gracious company. Do you, Rodriguez, know what day it is?”
“I must confess, I do not. Saturday, perhaps?”
“Why Señor Rodriguez Miguel de Cortés y Ovando, I’m certain you must be a good and faithful Catholic. This day is holy. Today we celebrated the birth of our or Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. It is Christmas Day. Happy Christmas, Rodriguez.”
“Ah! One loses track of time out here in the West Indies. I will be severely reprimanded by my priest for failing to attend midnight mass. I will fall to my knees and beg la Santísima Virgen Maria for forgiveness at my next confession and all will be well. Our Blessed Mother is most understanding about such things! Happy Christmas to you, Mary.”
I smiled sweetly at Cortés and handed him a leather purse. “Thank you, Rodriguez.”
“What is this?”
“It is a gift, a gift from me to you, to celebrate Christmas Day.”
“A gift? ¡Muchas gracias mi bonita amiga!”
“Please, have a look. I picked them up in Trinidad and I think the quality is quite good. But I have one favor to ask of you if you accept my gift.”
Cortés peeked inside the purse and snapped his head around, looking at me with surprise. “I do not understand, Mary. I promised to introduce you to my friends, some of whom may be useful to you in business, others who have influence. I require no gratuity, no favor, for myself.”
“Rodriguez, the value of the pearls you hold in your hand is thrice the amount at least of the pesos you paid in Trinidad for your twenty slaves.”
Cortés raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m purchasing your slaves.”
“My slaves? But why? If you needed slaves why did you not purchase them in Trinidad? I would gladly have assisted you, shown you how to look for quality and buy whatever you found pleasing at a fair price.”
“Women are curious creatures. We can be confounding and often don’t understand ourselves. Will you humor me and accept my gift?”
“This is most confounding. And I must tell you, you are paying too much for my Negroes.”
“I’m touched by your honesty, but I also wish to compensate you for your troubles too.”
Cortés grinned. He placed his hands on my shoulders and kissed me on the cheek. “How can I possibly say no, or resist your charms dear lady! Happy Christmas indeed, Mary. Will you use the Negroes on your slave galleys?”
“No. Leastwise not in the Caribbean. But rest assured I shall find a good and fitting use for them.”
“You will not be disappointed. I buy the very best. These Negros are healthy with good temperament and will work hard for you with little complaint.”
“I doubt you not, Rodriguez.”
Then Gilley and Hunter joined Cortés and me on the quarter deck. As the ship drew nearer to the outer bay, to the Bahia de la Habana, we passed the time listening to Cortés as he treated us to a brief history of the island.
“Havana over the years,” he started off, “has become an important villa and port in the New World. Much of the New World’s commerce flows in and out of Havana. This is where the treasure fleet assembles once a year in August or September to take on supplies before returning to Seville. Around 1560 or ‘61, King Phillip decreed all fleets returning to Spain must stop in Havana first. Most of Cuba’s industry supports the fleet. As we draw closer, you will see three forts. San Salvador de la Punta protects the west entrance of the bay. The Castillo de los Tres Reyes Magos del Morro, named after the three great magi who followed the star to Bethlehem to honor our Lord, protects the east entrance of the bay and the Castillo de la Real Fuerza guards the center of Havana. Real Fuerza is where the Capitán General resides when he visits. The forts are nothing more than earthworks and timber but, as you will see, Castillo de la Real Fuerza is being rebuilt with ironwork, stone and mortar. The castle will be a formidable fortification once reconstruction is completed. The king they say will eventually rebuild la Punta and del Morro too. Havana has attracted many a pirate over the years. In fact it was not that long ago, in 1555 to be precise, when the notorious French pirate Jacques de Sores sailed into Havana and burned the town to the ground. Havana can now protect herself from such villains.”
Cortés paused to wink at me. “And, of course, we have much contrabando trade in the West Indies, illegal trade that our good and pious king would like to put an end to. There are many in the Americas however who do not share King Phillip’s fondness for taxes and Havana is a busy port. Not even the king’s men are privy to every ship that comes and goes.”
“I have,” I offered with a smile, “no earthly idea what you are referring to, Señor.”
Cortés laughed and bowed his head. “My lady, of course you do not. Such sordid matters are not fit for the delicate ears of such a beguiling and refined creature as yourself.”
“How onerous,” Hunter asked, “are these taxes?”
“El Casa de Contratación controls all trade in the New World and is responsible for collecting the taxes. The Crown assesses a twenty percent tax against all goods entering Spain from the West Indies - forty percent if the Royal Navy provides armed escort during the voyage - and collects similar taxes on all imports coming into the Caribbean from the Old World. These costs can make it most challenging for an honest man to turn even a modest profit.”
I slipped my arm inside Cortés’s arm. “Did I not hear you say when we first met, Rodriguez, that you are not an honest man?”
The Spaniard chuckled. “Bless me. Did I, did I indeed? Well...”
“Is it wise,” Gilley asked, “for us to put in at Havana? We are not Spanish and we have no intention of paying any bloody, Spanish taxes.”
“Quite so, Master Gilley,” Cortés replied. “That is why we must introduce you to his Excellency the Capitán General. I would suggest you leave your merchantman and your second warship outside the bay for now.”
“How long,” Hunter asked, “have you had your plantation, your hacienda, in Havana?”
“Nearly ten years. In addition to breeding and raising cattle, we produce honey, wax, tobacco and sugar. Selling beef to the Royal Navy is a lucrative business as I have said. But I believe in tobacco and sugar. We harvest the tobacco leaves and hang them inside storage houses for curing. The process is not complicated. Demand for cigarros grows more and more each day. Making sugar requires additional effort but it is also profitable. We crush the cane with rollers powered by cattle or by using running water at the ingenios, the mills. Then we take the crushed cane and boil it down in steps using smaller kettles at greater heat each time until you are left with a thick cane juice we call molasses. Molasses is a dark, sticky mixture and as it cools sugar crystals form around the edges. That is how sugar is made. I’ve experimented with fermenting the molasses, but the product is not very satisfactory yet.”
“There are many ingenios?”
“There are three large ingenios in Cuba, James, and many smaller ones. The larger ingenios require one hundred Negro slaves or more to operate them efficiently. My ingenio is not quite as large, but is larger than most. My land is just outside of Havana to the south-west. I would take you there, but there is not much to see. It is a hot and dirty place with few amenities. Havana, as you shall soon discover, is still a crude villa though this is rapidly changing. We now have modern buildings with tiled roofs, archways and fountains. We have some beautiful churches made of stone and we are replacing our dirt roads with cobblestone streets.”
“So the Negroes you purchased in Trinidad will work at you mill?” Hunter asked.
“Why no, James. Our good Capitána Mary owns them now.”
Hunter turned to look at me. “Pardon?”
I shamelessly batted my eyes at Hunter and smiled sweetly for him. “Happy, happy Christmas, James!”
Chapter Six
On Cortés’s sound advice, we left the Phantom and the Godsend outside in the bay to sail around in circles while MacGyver deftly eased the Falling Star in-between a maze of ships sitting in Havana’s fine harbor. We let go our anchor in a quiet spot of water not too far from shore. But I soon regretted not leaving the Star outside the bay. There were warships in the harbor, not many, but impressive galleons nonetheless flying the royal colors of the Spanish king, flying the Cross of Burgundy, the Cruz de Borgoña, the cross they say Saint Andrew was crucified on. The navy’s ensign, a simple red, jagged-edged cross set diagonally over a field of white, is oddly plain for royalty. The powerful Star flew no flag, was not Spanish-built and caught the eye of many. Inconspicuous we were not. But then I reproved myself. There was no hiding the Star. I was right to sail her boldly into the harbor. A certain measure of cockiness was needed I reasoned if we were to survive and prosper in the New World.
As was my custom, I took Gilley and Hunter ashore with me, along with young Billy too after he begged me to let him come with us. We paid the harbormaster at the dock for the privilege of using the king’s anchorage and then made our way into Havana on foot with Cortés in the lead. Billy’s leg was all healed now but whoever had set the bone had done a poor job of it and he walked behind us with a permanent, pronounced limp.
I’ve heard an outrageous tale or two about cities in the New World being built with gold. Havana wasn’t one of them. The town was mostly ajoupas huts, like the kind we had seen in the Puerto de España, and cheaply made plaster buildings slapped together along dirt roads.
But there was evidence of change as Cortés had boasted. Money and people seemed to be pouring into the port. Havana was a vibrant, prosperous town with new construction. Buildings designed by talented architects and built to last by skilled craftsmen were popping up everywhere. We saw well-groomed gentlemen sitting next to their elegantly dressed ladies being whisked about in expensive, fine carriages. And, unlike the squalor we had witnessed in Trinidad, the citizens of Havana made a strong effort at cleanliness. The Cubanos impressed me as a proud and determined people, proud of their new heritage and determined to transform their frontier villa into a civilized, modern city.
