The Butcher's Daughter, page 16
But when we pulled up alongside the Star in the longboat, a surge of energy shot through me. Standing at the rail, holding a lantern in his hand, I saw Hunter staring down at me with a wide grin. I bit my tongue to hide my smile. I felt my heartbeat quicken.
“Did you miss me, Mary?” Hunter called down to me unabashedly and laughed.
“You flatter yourself, Master Hunter,” I answered matter-of-factly. “Truth be told, we thought you dead. Atwood here would have filled your shoes nicely as Captain of the Guns. It may however please you to know that a day or two ago I decided to rename the Star. I thought we’d call her Hunter in memory of you.”
“Ha! Ha! The good ship Hunter, eh? I trust you’ll be denied that pleasure for a good, long while, Madam!”
When I climbed up the rope ladder and stepped up on the rail, I fought off the urge to fall into Hunter’s arms and smother him in kisses. I contented myself with an affectionate squeeze of his arm instead as he took me by the hand to help me down.
“Where the devil have you been, Hunter?” Gilley asked as he stepped on board behind me. He patted Hunter warmly on the shoulder.
Atwood and Ferguson fell in behind Gilley and took turns shaking Hunter’s hand. We were all relieved to see Hunter.
“We lost a week when Westport lost her rudder in heavy seas. We had to tow her into Santo Domingo to purchase a new one.”
“Any complications?” I asked.
“None. The loss of Westport’s rudder was the worst of it. Ben was crestfallen when he lost that rudder. But there was no blame to him. We’ve returned from Ireland loaded down to the scuppers with finished goods of high quality from many countries across Europa, even from as far away as Persia. We lost a few men to their families and had to sign on a number of new replacements. Two men died at sea, one from a bad heart I think and the other simply disappeared one evening. And how did you scallywags and the good lady spend your time in paradise?”
“We explored,” Atwood answered, “the Spanish Main much like Christopher Columbus and acquired a new friend or two.”
“We lost twelve good men to the sweeting sickness,” added Gilley solemnly. “And we damn near lost Mary too.”
Hunter’s smile vanished. He could not hide the concern in his eyes; he scrutinized me with tenderness.
“I’m all healed,” I offered nonchalantly.
Hunter nodded. “I’m glad to hear it, Mary. Well, I’ve returned with gifts, including some good Irish whisky. Who’ll join me in a drink or two?”
“Ah, praise God, uisce beatha, the water of life!” Gilley exclaimed and licked his lips.
“I’m a tad woozy from a long day,” I said truthfully. “Too much heat from this afternoon and too much wine at supper has sapped me of my strength, but you boys go on and enjoy yourselves. No whiskey for you though Captain Gilley.”
“Mary!”
“No, I’ve worked too long and too hard to keep you sober all these years, Tom Gilley. And that’s the end of the matter. You’re lucky I ignore the ale and wine. Well gentlemen, I am to bed. It’s good to have you back, Master Hunter.”
“I bid you a good night then, Mary,” Hunter replied. “When you are better rested I can give you my full report.”
The others stood by awkwardly, quietly, and made no comment. No one offered a crass remark. None would snicker impolitely behind my back later, but they all understood Hunter’s meaning.
I couldn’t help myself. I tossed martial discipline over the side and wrapped my arms around Hunter’s neck and kissed him, just a quick peck on the check. “Good night, James and welcome back. I missed you.”
The following day I took Gilley, Hunter and Atwood with me into Havana and we found our favorite Spaniard at our favorite tavern. It was time to make arrangements for another trade. We haggled for a bit, finally agreed on a price, and ordered drinks and food all around to celebrate. Cortés wanted me to send one ship to the Port of Spain in Trinidad and another on to the port of Santo Domingo in Hispaniola to avoid so many foreign goods coming into Cuba all at once. I agreed.
I wanted to try our luck in Veracruz with the third ship as I was certain our cargo would fetch the best prices there, but Cortés convinced me otherwise. Trying to smuggle contraband into New Spain through Veracruz would be too risky he said. Not even his political friends in Santo Domingo had influence over the king’s stalwart minions in Veracruz. The loyalty of the Casa de Contratación in Juan de Ulúa to the king was unflinching. Its agents there could not be bribed.
Later in the evening, after we returned to the Star, I had Hunter all to myself. Neither of us wasted time on chit-chat.
“Do you, my lady, find my report satisfactory?” Hunter asked me with a sly grin after he rolled off me.
“Whew - most satisfactory. You haven’t lost your skills in bed I see.”
“You fill me always with burning passion Mary.”
“Me and half the tarts in Westport, I’ll wager,” I said, shamelessly baiting my lover.
“Stop, Mary. I’ll not play this game with you. We pledged trust and fidelity to one another and I have honored my pledge. I’ve been faithful to you without exception.”
I felt Hunter’s sting, his rebuke. I heard the displeasure in his tone and instantly regretted my callous remark. But no woman, no matter how rich or desirable, no matter how intelligent or charming she might be, can ever feel completely secure in her position. It is a man’s world after all governed by the nature and rules of men.
I took a moment to admire his lean body, his glistening flesh, in the soft light of a full moon pouring in through the great cabin’s windows. I brushed an unruly lock of hair off his forehead and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“Forgive me, James,” I said in an apologetic tone. “Women can be silly creatures. We constantly crave reassurance.”
“Reassurance? Reassurance of what Mary?”
“Reassurance that we are needed; reassurance that we are appreciated and loved,” I replied.
Ahhh, there, I said it. Love. Neither of us had ever touched the word before.
Hunter leaned over me. “You are needed my darling Mary,” he said and kissed me on the forehead. “You are appreciated my brave and feisty captain,” he said as he moved down to kiss me on the lips. He kissed me on both cheeks then worked his way down to my neck and then to my breasts, tenderly kissing each one. “You are, my beautiful girl,” he said without any hesitation as he looked up into my eyes and wrapped me in his arms, “with all my heart, very much loved.”
I could feel the tears pooling in my eyes. I brought his face to mine and kissed him sweetly on the lips. We lingered quietly in each other’s arms and held each other for a long while. That single moment in time was the most exquisite of my life.
Our bodies then resumed their slow, sensual grind together. Our kisses became more passionate, nearly savage. I wrapped my legs around his hips. I squeezed him hard as his movements quickened. And when the ecstasy washed over me, from head to toe I shook, I bit down on the sheets to stifle my raucous moaning. And after Hunter had taken me again, after he had ravished me with a raw lust he had never shown before, we settled back on the pillows and held each other tightly, exhausted and content.
Hunter stroked my hair as I rested my head against his chest, as I took comfort in listening to the sound of his heart beating. “So,” he asked me, “Atwood can fill my shoes I heard you say last evening.”
“As Captain of the Guns,” I replied and poked him in the ribs.
“Ah, he is a fine looking man and he is strong and smart and capable - for a Scot.”
“He is all those things. But he is not James Hunter.”
“I’m sorry, Mary. Like a woman’s sense of security, a man’s ego can be a fragile thing.”
“You need not be jealous.”
“Good. I like Atwood. I like him quite well in truth and would feel some small measure of remorse if I had to dispatch him in a duel.”
“Where women can be silly, men can be childish.”
“How true, my lady, how true. Gilley tells me you covered yourself in glory at something called the Battle of Cartagena.”
“I don’t know about glory, James. I remember a rock grazing my cheek and landing at my feet. I remember being drenched in seawater. Poor Schmidt suffered the worst of it when he lost his foot. He walks on a wooden peg now. But, I think, you would have approved of my actions. You might even have been proud.”
“I might even have been proud? Mary, Mary, Mary, I’m so very proud of you already. You are an extraordinary woman.”
I had never been filled with so much joy before. I had never needed another so much. So this was love.
I stood alone on the quarter deck in the early morning darkness. I was surprised when I saw young Billy Farrell rushing across the main deck towards me with his hands wrapped around a tin of hot coffee.
“Why, Master Farrell, I didn’t expect to see you again. Welcome back.”
“Thank you, Mum,” Billy answered simply and handed me the tin. Without another word he spun around on his heels and dashed off in a hurry.
“He’s a quiet boy,” I remarked when I heard Hunter’s footsteps behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and started nibbling on the back of my neck while no one was watching.
“Some might say peculiar, Mary.”
“He needs nurturing, that’s all.”
“He needs a swift kick in the arse.”
And then we saw, in the dim light of the new day, a small boat with a single oarsman rowing towards us from shore. The boat carried three passengers: Cortés, Don Villanueva and a third man whom I did not recognize. Even from a distance though, I could see that the third man was dressed in ragged clothing and appeared disheveled. I could not imagine what business would bring Cortés and Don Villanueva out to my ship so early in the morning.
Hunter helped all three men on board and tipped the oarsman. The stranger’s hands and feet were shackled and someone had worked him over. His face was a bloodied, bruised mess. He studied me with one eye swollen shut.
“Ah, mucho gracias, James,” Cortés said. “Mary, please, forgive our rude intrusion.”
“You are both welcome, always, aboard my ship. I assume this is not a social call. What brings you to us at this ungodly hour whilst the world still slumbers?”
Don Villanueva leaned down to kiss my hand. “Lady Mary, I require a very special favor.”
“Oh? How so?”
“A ship, El Camino, came into port late last evening. I know her master. He is a dependable fellow and has just returned from Nombre de Diós with the most distressing news. English pirates, led by a devil who is well known to us, has sacked and burned the town. Worse, these pirates have ambushed the Silver Train!”
“Who is their captain?”
“A most despicable rascal named Drake, Francis Drake.”
“I’ve heard of this man. He captured the Silver Train?”
“Yes, yes. This is a catastrophe! And this particular train was very large. One hundred and ninety mules carrying thirty tons of gold and silver were taken.”
“Thirty tons! Drake took it all? How?”
“Just so, Lady Mary, he could not move all thirty tons at once. He took the gold we think, about thirteen hundred pounds, and must have buried most of the silver. The gold alone has a value of roughly one hundred and thirty thousand pesos de oso.”
“Oh my.”
“Yes indeed, oh my. I must alert the Captain-Governor immediately. But his Excellency is in Santo Domingo.”
“And you want us to sail you to Santo Domingo, but why?”
“Please, Mary,” Cortés interrupted, “while we still have the tide. We could not find the master of Don Villanueva’s ship. He and his crew are no doubt in town too drunk to walk or scattered among the brothels and the master of El Camino refuses to sail. His ship has a cracked mast. He fears the mast will not hold in rough seas. Phantom is well-armed and very fast I know. Time is precious so our thoughts naturally turned to you.”
“And who is this fine fellow in chains with the swollen face?” I asked Villanueva.
“He is one of Drake’s men. He was left behind and is now our prisoner.”
“Name’s John Martin, Madam,” the stranger said with an English accent and bowed his head to me. “I am your most humble servant. Good to be back among my own countrymen.”
I ignored the Englishman for the moment and turned to face Hunter. “James, can Phantom put to sea without delay and make Santo Domingo?”
“We aren’t provisioned for a long cruise, but aye, Mary. We could be underway within the hour and make the tide.”
“Good,” I said and turned to Martin, looking at him crossly. “I’ve never been sir, nor shall I ever be, one of your countrymen.”
Unperturbed, the Englishman simply stared at me. A hint of smirk touched his bloodied lips as if he knew some secret thing that I did not.
Under threatening, grey skies and with the smell of rain, Phantom’s topmen scrambled up into the rigging and went to work unfurling the ship’s canvas. We departed Havana in haste under full sail with the tide and headed east for Santo Domingo, nearly three hundred leagues away.
Before setting out I had sent Green with the Westport on to the Port of Spain with one of Cortés’s agents to sell our cargo there and I had left Fox with the Fair Irish Maiden in Havana to deliver Maiden’s cargo to Cortés’s men waiting for him at the navy’s wharf. The Godsend, Falling Star and Gilley were to stay put in Havana’s bay and wait for my return. I took Hunter, Atwood and Efendi with me.
The winds were up, a bracing wind, whipping the sea into a frothy frenzy. I had nearly forgotten how quick and nimble the Phantom was. She plowed through the rising and falling swells with ease and we made good time. I made my Spanish guests as comfortable as possible, but Phantom was built for rugged war with little space for privacy or comfort and we had no fresh victuals on board to eat. Both men suffered. The English pirate suffered more. We tossed him in the ship’s rope locker near the bow and gave him a privy bucket, a cask of water and a basket of stale bread.
Don Villanueva and Cortés both informed us that the voyage between Havana and Santo Domingo typically took at least ten days. We coasted into Santo Domingo’s harbor in only five.
At the mouth of the Ozama River, guarding Santo Domingo’s harbor, stands Fortaleza Ozama. Smaller but not unlike San Juan de Ulúa at Veracruz, Ozama is an imposing citadel of thick stone walls, sturdy ramparts and tall watchtowers protected by batteries of heavy cannon. We parked ourselves underneath the shadow of the Ozama’s big guns, as safe a place as any, and dropped anchor.
While Don Villanueva scurried off to find the Captain-Governor with his distressing news, Hunter and I followed Cortés to tour the city - and to make arrangements to sell Phantom’s cargo of contraband. Santo Domingo was the New World’s first city we learned and there, at the Gateway to the Caribbean as many liked to call it, I felt the raw power and majesty of Spain in the New World for the first time.
Santo Domingo is a real city, not some crude village of straw and mud huts. She is grander than even Veracruz and she is a city of many firsts. We walked along the first street built in the New World, the Calle de Las Damas, and saw the New World’s first cathedral, the Basilica Santa Maria la Menor. In 1542 Pope Paul III had elevated the church to the lofty status of a cathedral where, they say, the remains of the great man himself, Christopher Columbus, lay buried. And we passed by the New World’s first castle, the Alcázar de Colón, a handsome structure of white stone and stately arches built in 1510 by Columbus’s son, and the island’s first viceroy, Diego Columbus. We spent a lazy day exploring Santo Domingo, the city of many firsts.
In the evening Cortés invited Hunter and me to his home for supper and I felt flattered by the intimate gesture. His house was spacious and well-built with stone and plaster and had a tiled roof. The house boasted luxuries like glass windows, tiled floors and a water closet imported from Córdoba. The kitchen stood apart from the main house in a separate stone building with double brick chimneys and not far beyond the kitchen we saw and number of small, wooden shacks used for curing meats and tobacco and served as living quarters for Cortés’s slaves.
When I complimented Cortés on his household slaves, who treated Hunter and I like royalty, who were most courteous and well-mannered to us in every way, Cortés explained that his household servants were Negros Ladinos, African Moors, who had been born and raised in Castile, surrounded by culture and etiquette - unlike the Negros Bozales who had been brought to the New World in chains from many lands in Africa to toil in the fields and work the mines and who knew nothing about Europa social graces. The Ladinos were refined. The Negros Bozales were no better than beasts of burden. And then there were the Negros Criollos, Negros born in the New World. The Criollos were often of mixed blood, the bastard children of their Spanish masters. Some Criollos enjoyed the status of Ladinos and some did not. My thoughts turned to a cute, young boy I had seen playing outside the kitchen earlier as Cortés explained the social order of slavery to us. The boy was a light skinned child, neither black nor white, with dark, knotted hair. I wondered about him but did not ask. I wondered too if a new race of men would someday inherit the New World.
A handful of gentlemen of substance, men who weren’t afraid to invest in tax-free imports, soon joined us for a delicious dinner of smoked pork, plantains, Spanish rice and boniatos. And for dessert, I had my first taste of sweet chocolate, or chocolãtl in the original Aztec tongue. Cortés’s servants served it warm, poured over crêpes with slices of banana, prickly pears and chunks of pineapple stuffed inside. I closed my eyes and softly moaned with guilty pleasure, savoring my first spoonful. The men all chuckled, amused by my reaction. After dessert, we retired to an outdoor veranda where Cortés served after-dinner cordials and handed out cigars. And when we were all feeling satisfied and mellow, Cortés proceeded to auction off Phantom’s cargo. I struck good bargains with each of the highest bidders.
