The Butcher's Daughter, page 17
I held the lantern for Hunter as he unbolted the lock to the rope locker. The stench nearly bowled me over when Hunter opened the door. Hunter reached down, grabbed the Englishman by the collar and yanked him to his feet.
“Who are you, Master Martin?” I asked, covering my nose and mouth with a handkerchief. “I would know your story.”
“Why, as you can see, Madam, I am a man in need of a bath and a fresh privy bucket,” the Englishman answered cheerfully with a thin smile.
I grit my teeth, unamused. “Ordinarily, I appreciate humor in a man. It shows intelligence. But you, sir, best tip-toe lightly with me. I’m in no mood for puerile humor and we have no time for idle banter. Are you or are you not a pirate, a common criminal, as the Spanish claim?”
The Englishman shook his head. “Pirate maybe my lady though the term privateer suits me better. But common? No, never. Never in my life has anyone accused me of being common.”
“You sailed with Drake?”
“Yes. I deny it not.”
“How is it,” Hunter asked, still holding the Englishman firmly by the collar, “you were separated from your crew? Privateers don’t often leave their own behind.”
“Hunter is it not? James Hunter?”
Hunter looked at the Englishman with surprise. “What of it? Our paths have never crossed. You don’t know me.”
“No, perhaps not, but I know of you. You did some interesting work for the French not too long ago in the Americas.”
Hunter turned to look at me. Few men knew anything about his past.
“And you, my lady, you had some trouble in Westport awhile back, or so I’ve heard. It is also rumored you have O’Malley blood.”
I could feel my cheeks turn flush. I could feel my temper rising. How could a stranger know such things?
“Master Martin,” I said with an edge in my tone. “Let us speak plainly. Perhaps you don’t fully understand your predicament. In the morning the Spanish will come to fetch you off this ship and then you’ll dangle from the end of a rope until you’re dead. That is if I don’t turn you over to Mustafa first. He’s the fellow standing over there in the shadows. Mustafa is a Turk and what he can do with a knife will, well, I best not say lest your balls shrivel up or you foul yourself and God knows how badly you reek already.”
“Well, Madam, there’s no denying I’m in a fine pickle now. A Spanish noose around my neck or a Turkish blade in the bowels you say? Those are my two choices?”
“I think,” Hunter said impatiently, “the man wants to die, Mary.”
“No, Master Hunter, I have no wish to die, certainly not today and certainly not by the hand of some stinking Spaniard.”
“Tell us then,” I demanded, “and be quick about it. Who are you? Deserter, spy, provocateur, saboteur, thief, murder, pirate or privateer? And, fair warning, my patience is waning quickly.”
“Truth be told,” the Englishman replied casually, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, “I am just clumsy. It was night when we took Nombre de Diós. There was fighting in the streets and in the houses when we torched the place to cover our retreat back to the ships. The winds picked-up. The flames spread faster than we had expected and I became separated from Drake and the others. There was much confusion. And then I was struck in the head from behind by something heavy and fell to my knees, unconscious. When I came to in the morning, I found myself chained to a post outside the town’s fort. I was not the only prisoner. I watched the Spanish behead the rest.”
The Englishman leaned down to show me a nasty gash across the back of his head to help prove his story. His hair was matted down in dry blood.
“Why did the Spanish let you live?”
“I cannot say for I do not know, Madam. Certainly my appointment with my executioner will not be much delayed.”
“You must have some clue why the Spanish kept you alive and brought you here to Santo Domingo. What is special about you?”
“I was the only English prisoner. The others were French or Cimarrons.”
“Cimarrons?”
“Cimarrons, former Negro slaves who’ve escaped their masters and have signed with Drake and others to fight the Spanish.”
“So?”
“So, we seized a lot of gold and silver, tons of it. The Spanish must believe Drake buried most of it along the shore somewhere as it would have taken his men days to transport that much weight over to the ships. That’s a fair assumption. The Spanish must think I know where Drake buried it.”
“And?”
“And? And I truly do not know what Drake did with his plunder, Madam. Drake divided his forces after we ambushed the Silver Train. Drake and his crew took the loot. I went with our French and Cimarron allies. Our mission was to set the town on fire as a diversion for our escape and I did not see what Drake and his men did with the silver and gold. No doubt they carried what they could back to the ships and buried the rest somewhere along the coast as I said.”
“You are not,” Hunter said, “some lowly seaman, friend.”
“No. I never claimed to be some lowly seaman. But I will not say more. Aye, you can torture me and I will talk. All men do. But I’ll only spill out gibberish along with my guts. Better death, even an ugly one, than to betray my allegiance.”
“Allegiance to whom?” I asked.
The Englishman took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Lady Mary, I will tell you who I am not. I am neither a deserter nor a pirate. I am not a murder or a thief. And I am certainly not your enemy.”
I looked at Hunter. “Hunter?”
It was Hunter who had persuaded me to speak to the Englishman before the Spanish came to take him.
“I find it most curious,” Hunter replied, “that he hasn’t begged for his life or promised us of gold if we set him free. He’s no pirate or brigand on the run. I don’t care to see a fellow Englishman dance at the end of a Spanish rope. But I don’t know Mary.”
I looked the Englishman up and down. “Mustafa, please fetch me clean water, soap, some bandages and a bottle of whiskey so that I can dress the prisoner’s wounds. Best bring a needle and thread too. Master Martin - if that is even your true name - what will you do if I stich you up and set you free?”
The Englishman cracked another thin smile. “I’m known as a rather resourceful fellow in some circles, circles that might interest you. If you release me, I will find my way off this bloody rock and you, you my dear lady, will have a friend for life. And that Madam is no small matter...”
In the morning the officer of the watch came to my great cabin with an urgent matter. He woke me to inform me that the rope locker was empty, that our prisoner had escaped. The Englishman had somehow found a way to remove his shackles the seaman reported and then had used the iron to pry the hinges off the door. I immediately had my men search the ship from top to bottom, but the Englishman was long gone.
“I shouldn’t worry about it, Mary,” Cortés said as we sipped our morning coffee on the quarter deck together. He paused to remove a cigar from a breast pocket inside his jacket. “The Englishman could not have gone far. He has no money, no friends and no resources. He is alone on an island.”
I put my hand to my mouth to hide a grin. Martin had money, money I had given him.
Cortés mistook my gesture for unease or something else and tried to reassure me. “The garrison at Ozama will send out patrols immediately. Rest assured, they will find him.”
“But Don Villanueva entrusted that rogue into my care,” I offered in earnest. “I am embarrassed that I have lost his prisoner, that I have failed him. Don Villanueva will be most displeased. He will have good cause to find fault with me and I can hardly blame him.”
“Nonsense, Mary! The blame is hardly yours alone to bear. The man was able to pry apart inferior Spanish iron before he forced the door to your rope locker open. In any case he was nobody, a lowly sort, and he will be caught in a day or two and swiftly hanged - or he’ll die in the jungle. Either way he is dead. Please, I beg you, think no more on this.”
“Thank you, Rodriguez,” I said while I removed a lantern from the rail to light Cortés’s cigar for him. “You are a dear friend.”
And I knew Cortés would have kissed me that very moment if I would have let him. But I excused myself to see to my duties as the ship’s owner, or so I said.
Don Villanueva remained behind in Santo Domingo when we raised our anchor and dropped our sails. Nothing more was said about Martin. Cortés again traveled with us. We cruised west of the city for just a little ways to a quiet, little cove to offload Phantom’s Old World cargo. We moved the goods in the early evening light from ship to shore where Cortés’s men, with torches in hand, were waiting for us. After we finished transporting every crate and every barrel using rafts provided by Cortés’s men, the gentlemen who had purchased our goods at Cortés’s auction paid us with large sea chests filled with silver escudos, gold doubloons and pieces of eight. We counted our treasure on blankets spread out across the sand and then sailed back to Havana in ballast with Cortés as a passenger, richer than when we had left.
“A good evening to each of you,” I said as I glanced around the table with all my officers present.
Falling Star, Phantom, Godsend, Westport and the Fair Irish Maiden, all my ships, were anchored close together in a quiet spot of water off the island of Guadeloupe. Yes, I had chosen to return to Guadeloupe after I felt too many prying eyes on us in Havana. Chief Paka Wokili had gladly accepted the gifts we brought with us after his nephew Henry - now our man - vouched for their worth under the terms of our pact, under the terms of the friendship treaty between the Irish and the Carib. The chief graciously allowed us to set up camp on his island once again and my men, all in high spirits, happily pitched our tents along Guadeloupe’s idyllic shores.
“I seek your good counsel, gentlemen. We’ve done exceedingly well in the New World thus far. Good Fortune has smiled broadly on us. The first order of business is to consider welcoming Masters Jacob Atwood and Michael MacGyver into the fold. Jacob, you’re first. Our rules require a unanimous vote by this assemblage. Are you willing to swear an oath, a blood oath, to me and to the officers sitting around this table if they accept you as a brother?”
“Aye, I am.”
“Good. And will you honor, on your life, the Ten Rules?”
“Aye, I will.”
“Then stand and give us your binding oath now with God as your eternal witness.”
“I swear, on my life, to faithfully honor the Ten Rules. I swear this to each of you and before Almighty God as my witness.”
I had placed a dead fish in the center of the table earlier. I pulled my dagger from my boot and stabbed the fish through the heart, leaving my dagger imbedded in the table. “Excellent. Understand this Jacob Atwood: I will, by Christ, hold you to your sacred oath.”
“I understand full well, Mary.”
“Very good then. What say the rest of you? Are we all agreed to accept Jacob as one of us, as our true brother, or does any man here desire to express his objection?”
Gilley was the first to cast his vote. “Jacob has proven his mettle to my satisfaction. I say aye.”
“You have my blessing too, Jacob,” Hunter offered next.
And one-by-one all my officers around the table followed Gilley and Hunter’s lead and voted to accept Atwood as one of us. I was well-pleased that my brothers thought as much of Atwood as I did.
“Welcome to the clan, Jacob,” I said.
As was our custom, Atwood knelt before me and I anointed his scalp with seawater - our lifeblood - and then I kissed him on the head. When I stood, all stood with me. “The meaning of the skewered fish is plain enough and the seawater is our aqua vitae,” I said and raised my glass of whiskey. “To life and fellowship,” I toasted and drained my glass. All my officers did the same.
I repeated the ceremony with MacGyver. He was a gifted mariner and tinkerer, but it was his steadfast bravery setting off the powder kegs against Medusa’s rudder that had won him our admiration.
“Now, then, to business. As the mistress of this little enterprise of ours, I have the right to appoint command. Thomas Gilley, you are the most senior among us, the most experienced, command of Falling Star, our grandest ship, is yours and the gallant Michael MacGyver, the newest officer among us, shall be your first officer. Michael, watch and listen well to Tom and someday you’ll have your own command, of this I have no doubt. James Hunter, you shall take command of Phantom and Jacob Atwood shall serve as your first officer. Hadley Ferguson shall keep command of Godsend and Albertus Fox, the Fair Irish Maiden is yours. And Benjamin Green, command of the good ship Westport goes to you. You masters of the merchantmen can choose your own first officers as you see fit. And Mustafa Efendi, I haven’t forgotten you. You my fine, brave Turk are a far better soldier than sailor and unto you I give command over all the ratings on every ship. The men will obey your will or else.”
“Mary,” Hunter asked with a droll smile. “I think I understand the hierarchy of things well enough, but pray tell us what will you do?”
“Oh, I’ll be here and there, watching you hooligans closely to protect my investments. Now, we’ll divide any profits with one-third to me as owner and one-third to me again as investor, which we’ll use to purchase more cargo to increase our wealth. The remaining one-third will be divvied up as follows: captains of the warships, Tom, James, you will each receive eight shares apiece. Masters of the merchantmen, Hadley, Albertus and Ben, you will each receive seven shares apiece. All second officers, Michael, Jacob and Mustafa, you each will receive six and one-half shares. The rest of the pie shall be divvied-up among the men, each according to his rank, as you, my officers, deem fit and proper. Does anyone disagree or wish to offer a better proposal?”
“Mary, you and I go back a-ways,” Gilley said. “And I’ve made a tidy fortune with you. Ours is a dangerous profession, but live tall I say! I think this arrangement is most reasonable and fair.”
“A few more successful runs between the Old and the New World like this last one,” Hunter added, “and you’ll have the most loyal crews in the whole of Christendom.”
“It is settled then,” I said, content. “So, our good friend Rodriguez Cortés is making purchases of New World materials for us in Havana. Tom, the honor is yours to lead the merchantmen back to Ireland this time around once the ships are loaded. We’ll need to rotate the crews to give each man his rightful turn to see family and home again. Cortés told me…”
I stopped in midsentence when we all heard a sneeze outside my cabin door. Efendi jumped to his feet, opened the door and found young Billy standing at the threshold. Startled, Billy looked up at Efendi in horror.
“Oh, sorry, Lady Mary,” Billy offered sheepishly while glancing down at his shoes, embarrassed. “I came to clear the table.”
“Thank you, Billy, but it is late and you may turn in now,” I said. “These plates and glasses can wait ‘til morning.”
“Very good, Mum. Thank you, Mum.”
“I accept,” Gilley said as Billy disappeared up the companionway and Efendi closed the door, “my charge to cross the ocean blue with our precious cargo, Mary. It’ll be good to see lovely Ireland again and fill my lungs with cool, fresh air. How long does Cortés require?”
“He told me he needed two weeks or so to make all the necessary arrangements for us,” I answered.
Hunter stood to stretch his muscles. “Mary, do you intend to keep Phantom and Godsend here?”
“I thought I’d keep Phantom in the Caribbean, aye, but send Godsend on with Gilley. Cortés was confident he could buy enough with the money I gave him in advance to fill all three merchantmen and maybe a little more.”
Hunter yawned. “And you intend to do what in the Caribbean to pass the time? I see that restless look in your eyes, Mary. Explore the lands to the north or south or do you intend sail around the Spanish Main and continue on to China to finish Columbus’s great quest?”
“Nothing so bold, James. But I suppose you’re right. My eyes betray me. I do crave some adventure. Do you, my wily provocateur, still carry around that map of yours?”
Chapter Eight
Heady notions of adventure filled my head in Guadeloupe. Fully rested and eager to set out again, we struck camp a week after our arrival. We set out with the tide for Trinidad in force. I had a powerful man-o’-war, a large, fast nao, one caravel and two sturdy brigantines under full sail with nearly four hundred men-in-arms under my command. Even by Old World standards we made an impressive sight. We tacked against a lively south wind and contrary currents the entire voyage and made poor time. But we were in no hurry. After we sold the rest of our cargo off to one of Cortés’s associates in Trinidad - for a handsome sum - we returned to Havana to find Cortés to negotiate new business.
When we reached Puerto de Carenas, Havana’s superb bay, we saw many warships riding anchor, including several magnificent Spanish galleons. I was certain we were looking at Spain’s fabled treasure fleet. We shortened sail and I took Gilley and Hunter with me in the longboat over to the Westport, a small ship the Spanish navy would show no interest in, and we sailed the Westport into Havana, leaving the rest of my fleet at sea.
We found Cortés at his favorite tavern eating an early supper of roasted pork with black beans and sipping good Spanish wine. He greeted us warmly and after he finished his supper he walked us down to the waterfront and then to a small, empty storehouse where he once again delivered.
“What ships did you bring with you into the harbor, Mary?” Cortés asked as he counted out the gold and silver we brought with us. We paid our Spanish partner half up front and half on delivery as was the custom.
“Only Westport and her holds are empty. We sold off the rest of the cargo in Trinidad.”
“Ah, muy bueno. The navy is inspecting all ships entering and leaving Havana.”
