The Butcher's Daughter, page 30
But then, as the galleon held her station, the rest of the convoy swung around to the north and I breathed a sigh of relief. The freighters were only lightly-armed. Next the galleon’s crew realigned their sails, brought their ship about and went chasing after the convoy. The galleon’s captain had no appetite for exchanging blows, for engaging us in slugfest. He was only protecting his little chicks. I could hardly fault him. My plan had been the same. We would dub this brief skirmish off the Island of Margarita the First Battle of La Asunción.
With the Spanish sailing off in full retreat, the Carib pulled-up alongside us as my men and I secured the guns. I saw Hunter standing in her main mast shrouds looking down at me, his bearing and broad smile proclaiming proudly: I am the triumphant hero. He had earned the right. We had all earned the right to savor a moment’s glory.
“Well,” Hunter called down to me, “that was most entertaining!”
“More entertaining,” I said, “than what I bargained for. I can still feel my heart lodged up in my throat.”
Atwood, standing tall at Carib’s tiller, turned my way and laughed. “Nothin’ a drink or two to wash away the brine won’t cure, Madam!”
Then Abuelita pulled-up alongside the Carib. MacGyver, less brash than his brothers, contented himself with a friendly wave.
“Let’s muster the men on deck and take a count of heads,” I told all three men. “Find Efendi, oh, there you are Mustafa. Mustafa, call the roll and make certain we haven’t left any man behind, stranded on shore. Then we’ll rendezvous back in Guadeloupe and divvy up our plunder.”
Once we had accounted for all our men, we floated out into deeper water where our sails caught a good, stiff wind. We left fair La Asunción behind us in high spirits and made an easy passage back to our favorite port-of-call. But before we went ashore, we circled around the island to look for other sails. We all knew the Twins, their black hearts craving bloody vengeance, would return to Guadeloupe’s serene waters someday looking for us. I was hardly any different.
After I sent lookouts up into the mountains to keep a watchful eye on the surrounding sea, I paid homage to our good friend and ally Chief Paka Wokili. I walked into his village with a swagger in my step and handed him a small bag of pearls, a fortune to him, a pittance to me, and then pulled him aside to cut a deal. I offered him a private arrangement just between the two of us.
Later in the evening the chief held a sumptuous feast for us in honor of our great victory over the Spanish at La Asunción. I was flattered of course, but our great victory was as insignificant to the Spanish Crown as the chief’s small bag of pearls was to me.
When the feast came to an end, we said our farewells and returned to our ships. We could not risk making camp in Guadeloupe again and so we sailed for an island a bit south of Dominica, to a place Henry told us was quiet, secluded and had good water. The island, when we found it, wasn’t even on our charts. It had no name and so I gave it one. I named it Gilley.
With our ships anchored close by, we pitched our tents along the shore near a stream of fresh water and then, underneath a sky of brilliant red and orange, I gathered all my officers, which included Henry and Kinkae now, around my campfire for a council of war. I passed around bottles of mellow wine, wine Atwood’s men had liberated from the taverns in La Asunción during our raid, and tossed another faggot on the flames. The green wood hissed and crackled back at me.
After Henry and Kinkae gave their binding oaths of loyalty and trust, after I stabbed the dead fish to a piece of wood, I anointed both their scalps with seawater - our lifeblood - and kissed them on their heads. My officers then voted, one and all, to accept one African Moor and one New World Indian into the clan. And then it was time to reflect on our mistakes, mistakes that could have undone us all.
“Well now,” I began, “our little excursion into La Asunción was nearly a disaster. We let the Spanish sneak up on us with no plan of escape. Had those freighters carried heavy guns, or had the galleon’s captain had bigger bollocks, we might all be sitting in a Spanish jail this night, waiting for our executions in the morning. The blame is mine and mine alone.”
Henry looked at me. “What is bollocks?”
MacGyver howled, stood and grabbed his privates. “Your stones, lad, your balls!”
“We’re all,” Atwood said softly, staring at the fire, “to blame Mary, leastwise those of us with military service. We were sloppy.”
Hunter nodded in agreement. “She’s a seductress, the Caribbean. She’ll lull you into complacently with her beauty and kill you later in your sleep. We must resist her charms, harden our resolve if we are to survive this place while we go sneaking about robbing the King of Spain.”
I grabbed a bottle out of Atwood’s hands and took a long swig. “Well said, my good lads. We must start thinking and acting like soldiers. Indeed we are soldiers. We are legionaries on military campaign.”
Efendi startled us when jumped to his feet and drew his sword. “We start this very night. I’ll double the watch on each ship and in the camp. Let’s put out every campfire, snuff out every candle and all the lanterns. We must be invisible. Our enemies could be lurking about anywhere.”
Atwood grabbed his bottle back and sighed. “You’re a cruel one, Mustafa. Ha! You Turks always are. But I can find no fault with what you say. You see to the camp, Mustafa, and I’ll see to the ships. I’ll return to the ships tonight with enough men to stand watch and man the great guns if needs be. From this day forward, we should keep half the men on the ships, just in case trouble finds us. As you say Mary, we are indeed legionaries on campaign.”
I yawned. “I am proud to serve with each of you. Goodness I am tired. Tomorrow then. We rise early and break camp at first light.”
“And then?” Hunter asked.
“And then we sail for fair La Asunción.”
“La Asunción?” Hunter asked. “Again? What the devil for?”
“Because,” I answered. “I’ll wager the captain of that galleon - that brave, devilish Spaniard who had the gall to stand and fight - turned his ships around after we departed to complete his mission at La Asunción. The Spanish will not expect us to return so soon. I want that galleon and her guns.”
When Hunter rolled his eyes at me, I blew him a naughty kiss. I wished my officers a good evening and returned to my tent to turn in for the night.
I awoke in the next morning to the sounds of a man moaning in pain. I quickly dressed and traced the sounds to a tent pitched away from the others, a tent set close to the stream. Inside I found Hunter knelling next a sailor lying on his back, applying a wet cloth to the man’s brow.
“What is this?” I asked and dropped to my knees next to Hunter.
“It was Murphy’s wish that only a few of us knew of his affliction. He insisted you not know, Mary. He felt ashamed. He is suffering from the great pox and he’s taken a turn for the worse. He can barely piss and when he does the pain is unbearable for him. His water recently turned black and now he has a frightfully high fever.”
I took the cloth from Hunter. I dipped it in a basin of cool, clean water and tenderly dabbed the beads of sweat off Murphy’s face. He was burning up. Lesions and a nasty rash covered his body.
Murphy looked up at me with bloodshot, yellow eyes. “Good lord, are you an angel?” he asked.
I forced a smile for him. “No, my dear Pat, no. You are such a tease. It is only me, Mary.”
“Ohhh, Mary. Lady Mary, they’ve shot me all up. I think they’ve shot me dead.”
I looked over at Hunter. “He’s been shot?”
“No,” Hunter whispered in my ear. “The unlucky wight is slowly going mad.”
“Is there anything we can do for him?”
“I’m afraid not, Mary. There is no medicine for this.”
“No chance he might recover?”
“Nada, none. If the fever doesn’t kill him, when his pain becomes too great, his heart will simply give out.”
“How long?”
“Hours, days, weeks perhaps, there is no way of knowing. But he will suffer and suffer badly until his end.”
I looked back down at Murphy. “Pat, you chose a most excellent spot to place your tent and rest. You are next to a good stream with living waters flowing out into the boundless sea. We have no medicine for your pain, but we will make you as comfortable as we can - or - we can help you sleep and end your pain. The choice is yours and yours alone to make.”
Murphy grimaced and started moaning again.
“Oh merciful God, I want to sleep,” he said weakly. Then he grabbed my arm and tried to lift himself. “Avenge me, Mary! Kill ‘em bastards who shot me up, will you? Please Mary.”
“I will. You will be avenged. We’ll bury you here, next to the stream and the ocean. It is a peaceful, lovely spot. We’ll name the stream Murphy’s Creek. Now close your eyes and sleep my friend...”
When Murphy closed his eyes, I gave Hunter a solemn nod. Hunter gently placed his jacket over Murphy’s face, pressed one hand against Murphy’s mouth and pinched Murphy’s nose with the other. Murphy hardly struggled as Hunter choked the life out of him.
After we assembled all the men and buried Murphy’s body, I offered only a few words. I did not know the man well. In fact none of the men knew Murphy well. I invited Pike, our man of Holy Scriptures, to offer up a proper prayer. The service was simple and to the point. And then we broke camp, returned to our ships and headed south again for La Asunción.
When I stepped out on deck to stretch my legs, I found Hunter hunched over the chart table. He offered me a weak smile with a slight nod and I could tell that something was amiss, but I bit my tongue. I waited until he was ready to share his thoughts.
“I don’t,” he finally said, “want to die alone and unloved.”
His words took me aback. I had never heard Hunter say such a thing before. I would never be a mother, but at that moment I felt a mother’s love. Hunter’s fear, his naked vulnerability, touched my very soul. I felt the urge to coddle him as if he were my own flesh and blood, as if he were my child.
But with rough and hardy men all around us tending to their duties, I could only take Hunter’s hand discreetly in my own and massaged his skin with my thumb. “You won’t die alone or unloved my precious man, I swear it.”
And then the skies turned angry, followed by cold and numbing rains. From the north raucous winds whipped the sea into an evil frenzy. Whitecaps soon popped up all around us. Our little ships struggled against heavy seas and gusts of punishing wind and though we had seen far worse, this gale was unrelenting and dragged on and on for days. We couldn’t sleep or eat cooked food. We lived in wet clothing soaked in sticky seawater and were miserable. Spring, eternal in her beauty, but temperamental in her ways, had finally returned after a long and peaceful slumber.
After the gale spent herself into oblivion, once we had passed through the last of the rain and a morning mist, La Asunción appeared before us like some lovely, sparkling jewel set against a sky of stunning, cobalt blue. She looked no worse for wear. And in the town’s small harbor we saw a familiar Spanish galleon, not the largest galleon I had ever seen nor the smallest, secured against the main dock with sturdy rope and chain. She was a handsome craft. Five familiar merchant ships sat anchored in the bay nearby. Our spirits soared.
I stripped Carib and Abuelita of most of their men and we sailed straight into the harbor with Phantom’s guns run out, already primed and loaded. There was no need for finesse or parlor tricks. This was an attack of brute force, surprise and speed. I intended to take us in, pick the Spaniard’s pocket, and sail us quickly out again.
We had already spiked the fort’s cannon and I supposed that most of the galleon’s men would be in town drinking and whoring about as sailors on liberty are wont to do. And as we eased-up alongside the galleon my hunch proved true, her decks were nearly deserted.
Hunter and his boarding party of two hundred men, hiding out of sight below deck, sprang into action when I gave the signal. No battle cry was raised. No champion’s taunt was offered. My men boarded the galleon with swords and pistols drawn but without any bravado. I was not among them. I was just the cook’s lowly apprentice now - and forced by solemn promise to remain behind - just a spectator.
Hunter made his way up to the galleon’s forecastle to direct the assault from there while his fighters poured out across the galleon’s decks like an irresistible, rolling wave. My heart filled with pride as I watched Hunter and his company in action. Hunter’s men overpowered and disarmed the ship’s meager watch with ease. And then Atwood led half the men below where they found another twenty Spanish souls off-duty enjoying a hot breakfast. Atwood’s men hustled the bewildered Spaniards topside and forced them to join their sad-faced shipmates standing around the fore mast.
The galleon was ours without a shot fired, without any alarm sounded. We accomplished all this in broad daylight in hostile waters.
After Hunter’s men striped the galleon’s skeleton crew of any weapons, Hunter set them free. No good purpose was served in kidnapping the king’s good subjects. And as the Spaniards sheepishly wandered back into town, with no urgency in their step, Hunter’s men moved out smartly. They quickly slipped the galleon’s mooring lines and readied her guns for action. Topmen scrambled nimbly up the shrouds like tree monkeys. Nary a slouch among them, they spread out across the spars using the foot stirrups for balance and prepared the ship to sail.
And then Spaniards by the score, sailors, marines and conquistadors, an angry mob plainly bent on killing, suddenly came gushing out of the town and raced across the docks. But when my lads fired a whiff of grapeshot just above their heads with the swivels, when the Spanish saw one hundred muskets lined-up along the galleon’s bulwarks pointing down at them, they lost their ardor to advance. I saw the proud Captain Menendez in the crowd again, looking uncertain of what to do. I felt a twinge of pity for him. He now had to swallow a double dose of humiliation by my hand. At least he had a Spanish galleon’s captain for company.
Hunter barked out orders coolly, inspiring all around him. His topmen undid the reef points, allowing the galleon’s massive square sails, emblazoned with large, scarlet crosses, to drop. Each one unraveled with a loud flap. And as the galleon slowly lurched forward, her poor, deflated crew looked on from the quay, powerless to stop us.
I eased Phantom out into the harbor, swung her nose around and headed out to sea. Hunter did the same and followed me with the galleon. And as we sailed past the five freighters anchored in the bay, my men smiled cordially at the Spanish seamen standing along the rails, gawking at us, and waved. The freighters were tempting targets, but I had no wish to offend Good Fortune with an act of gluttony. We left those prizes behind for another day. We had what we had come for. Our raid on Margarita, the Second Battle of La Asunción, had been lightening quick with no blood spilt on either side.
With no one scrambling to try and catch us, we shortened sail an hour later and my fleet of four came to rest on the open sea in a tight circle. The gale we had sailed through earlier had broken North Wind’s cold grip and the day was turning uncomfortably hot and muggy. Flushed with a cheap and easy victory, my men were too excited to care.
“My compliments to you and your prize crew,” I called over to Hunter under a scorching sun. “An extraordinary feat-of-arms!”
Hunter put his hands on his hips and began strutting about the galleon’s quarter deck like some proud peacock. “Child’s play, Madam!” he boasted proudly.
Atwood, an exceptionally agile athlete despite his size, grabbed a line and swung himself out over the water from the galleon to the Carib. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he shouted over to Hunter with a stern voice, all for fun. “You had some help.”
“Not from you, I didn’t,” Hunter replied playfully. “When last I saw you, you were headed below to change your soiled trousers. I trust by now your bowels have settled down!”
Men roared with laughter.
“Lady Mary,” Atwood asked indignantly, “how long must I suffer these outrageous barbs from this English dog? From a man who, speaking of trousers, is all mouth and no trousers!”
“Now, now, boys,” I said, beaming. I did not know how many galleons King Phillip of Spain had or even if he would notice that he was missing one. But this was a good and memorable day. “Play nice. Does this prize have a name, Captain Hunter?”
“She does, Madam, she does indeed. If her papers are authentic, she’s the good ship El Cid.”
“How does she handle? Is she a good sailor?”
“She’s soundly built, Mary. But she’s too high off the water and too slow and cumbersome for our purposes. Weatherly she is not.”
“Anything of interest down in her holds?”
“Other than stores of rotting food and a good supply gunpowder, we haven’t found a thing. We have some crates and barrels to open yet.”
“What of her guns?’
“Like the ship herself, they’re old and of inferior quality I’m afraid. I wouldn’t trust them.”
The months had slipped by for us since departing Ireland. I had men who wanted to be paid. I had men who wanted to see their homes and families again. And now I had a galleon I couldn’t use. Still, she might be worth a pretty penny at auction. I also needed to refit the Carib, convert her to a warship, or sell her off and buy a proper battlecruiser. I couldn’t auction-off the galleon or refit Carib in the New World. And the Abuelita, well, she was too old and too small to be of much more use. Each day she sprung a new leak.
“Well, let’s put in at Guadeloupe, take on fresh provisions and then we’ll set our course for England. After we conclude our affairs in London, we’ll sail on to Ireland and visit Westport where I’ll pay all you men your fair shares and then release you to tend to your homes and families.”
My words were greeted with a rousing cheer…
How does one ask for an audience with the queen? Who does one even approach to ask for an appointment with royalty I wondered? I had no clue.
