Galleon (21 page)

He thought of waking her and trying to lose his worries between her thighs, but he knew he would not lose them; they would be thrust away for an hour but they would return as surely as the tide turned or the sun rose.

One thing was certain: given the present odds, it would be madness to blunder off towards San Germán without having more details about the track they would follow and the position and type of building in which Thomas and his people were held.

So, at what would seem to the Spaniards a normal hour, Julio and Fernando could go on shore, have another chat with the
alcalde
and his cronies, and then hire a couple of horses and ride into San Germán: it would be a natural thing to do, and the two men rowing them on shore could return to the
Griffin
and, eight or nine hours later, keep a watch on the jetty ready to collect Julio and Fernando on their return and, Ned hoped, with all the information he needed.

After breakfast, as he stood on deck giving last-minute instructions to the Spaniards, Lobb hurried up. “Look at the jetty, sir; who are all those people?”

Ned reached for the perspective glass which was kept in the drawer of the binnacle box and pulled out the tube to focus it. Yes, there was the
alcalde
, recognizable because of his sagging belly, the
aduana
with his goatlike beard, the priest in black… Why were all the fishing boats gathered at that side of the jetty, the men in them standing up? And the priest was talking to them. And who were those twenty or so men in long robes? Monks? Yes – but what were they doing here in Boquerón?

He handed the glass to Julio, who had been nodding knowingly. The Spaniard took one look and shut the glass before putting it back in the drawer.

“I forgot to tell you, today is a
fiesta
. The Blessing of the Boats – it ensures good fishing,” he explained. “The monks – the men you can see in long robes – are on a pilgrimage round the whole island. They come from a monastery near San Juan, and other groups of them are visiting all the towns and villages. It’s something they do every year around Easter. Don’t forget it’s Good Friday in three days’ time…”

“I hope all this doesn’t mean you’ll find it difficult to hire a couple of horses to take you to San Germán,” Ned said.

“No,” Julio assured him. “What’s more, the
alcalde
will be more talkative. Everyone can drink as much as he likes at
fiesta
. I’ll wait until the boats have been blessed before I go on shore, otherwise the priest, who is probably
borracho
by now because he drinks heavily, will want to bless our boat, too, and as it is a good Protestant boat it’d probably start leaking in protest.”

“You have enough money to hire the horses?” Ned asked.

“Enough to buy a dozen!”

“And you remember all the questions I want answered?”

“Yes, sir, and Fernando has a good memory, too.”

“And you–”

Ned stopped as Julio held up both hands. “Please, sir,” he said, “Sir Thomas is also one of our leaders as well as your friend.”

“I’m sorry,” Ned said impulsively, shaking Julio’s hand.

Bats were just beginning to jink round the ship as darkness fell and the damp hay smell of the shore drifted invisibly over the ship. The seamen always came up on deck now in an anchorage like this just to watch in near-disbelief as the bats weaved through the rigging and round the mast. They had long since given up betting each other that one of the creatures would hit something and fall to the deck stunned. Now every man in the ship was listening as well as watching the bats and sipping rum.

“Ah,” one of them exclaimed, “here they come!”

In the silence that followed Ned listened and in the distance finally heard the creak of oars pressing against thole pins and then the faint splashes as oar blades dipped into the water and lifted again. The boat had gone in at twilight, even though Julio and Fernando had not appeared, with orders to wait for them amid the buzzing mosquitoes.

Suddenly they heard Julio shouting, announcing his arrival: doing just what any watcher on the shore would expect, Ned realized: the jovial master of the ship returning on board after a happy day spent on shore.

The night began to feel chilly and, as Ned shivered, Aurelia held his arm in the darkness. A lantern hanging in the shrouds threw darting shadows as the ship rolled slightly; Ned reckoned there must be at least thirty bats flying over the ship. Maybe even fifty, he thought to himself. Or sixty. Think of anything to avoid trying to guess what Julio is going to report.

Julio was not drunk but a pedant could argue that he was not sober, either. He was tired, and like Fernando his clothes were covered with a light dust thrown up by their horses. Constantly wiping perspiration from their faces with the back of their hands had smeared the dust, giving them a startled, almost dazed look.

The two men stood before Ned who, as if to postpone listening to their report in case it contained more bad news, said: “You are hungry? Do you want to eat first? A drink?”

Julio shook his head. “Thank you, but no sir: we have just had supper with the
alcalde
, the priest and the commander of the garrison at Cabo Rojo – the man whose soldiers captured the
Peleus
.”

“Very well. How did your journey go?”

“We have the answers to all your questions, sir. The road to San Germán is bad. It passes through several villages, I’ve never seen so many packs of dogs, the hogs walk along the track as though it is all one big farmyard, every family (I swear this is true) comprises at least twenty nosy children: the men and women can never rest o’ nights. I defy a barren donkey to roam the streets without becoming pregnant.”

“Oh,” said Ned, for the lack of any other comment. “You’d better come down to my cabin and tell me all about it.”

The cabin was hot and the lantern smoky. Although Julio’s report – with many appeals to Fernando for confirmation of various points – was long, the facts it contained were not very encouraging. Nevertheless, when Ned sorted them out in his mind after Julio and Fernando had left, he realized that although the idea which had come to him earlier in the day might not work, it offered the only chance of rescuing the people of the
Peleus
.

Julio’s supper with the
alcalde
and the garrison commander yielded the fact that the Cabo Rojo garrison originally comprised – in addition to the commander – a lieutenant, one sergeant, two corporals, sixty men and a cook. The total had been lessened by one corporal, whose body, still in its armour, must rest on the sea bed close to the
Peleus
, and two private soldiers, one shot by Diana and the other spitted by Thomas. Julio noted that the garrison commander, a drunken sot clearly sent to Cabo Rojo as a form of exile, was vastly amused at the way the corporal met his death: the corporal came from Villalba, in the far north of Spain at the foothills of the mountains of Galicia, and his heavy accent and the independent spirit of mountain folk had upset the commander, who came from Jerez de la Frontera, down in the south, and considered himself, as an Andalusian, among the country’s élite.

More important, though, was that only four of the original garrison (a sergeant, two men and a cook) remained in Cabo Rojo: the rest, who had captured the unarmed men of the
Peleus
as they filled their water casks on land and the few left on board, had to march them to San Germán, and the
alcalde
there had kept them to act as guards. Three other soldiers had been left on board the
Peleus
as guards.

So much for Cabo Rojo and its garrison of four (plus the commander). The route to San Germán was very twisty; there were plenty of rolling hills and steep-sided valleys. Apparently San Germán itself, Julio had discovered, had been rebuilt several times in different places after being founded. Originally it was built so close to the coast that it was always being raided from the sea. Now it stood astride several hilltops, bunched together with the church more or less in the middle.

By dawn, Ned had made up his mind about the rescue attempt, and immediately after they had finished their breakfast the
Griffin
’
s
crew were busy with sail needles. Fernando was sent back to the
Phoenix
with orders for Saxby which would also start his men measuring, cutting and stitching.

At ten o’clock, Julio and Fernando were sent on shore again to drink with the
alcalde
. This time, Julio was told, he should say he wanted to inspect the
Peleus
, implying that he was more than halfway towards deciding to buy her, once permission came through from San Germán and a reasonable price could be agreed.

The boat came back shortly after noon, the two oarsmen no longer wearing armour: as Julio had explained, the
Griffin
(under her assumed name of a Spanish saint) was now thoroughly accepted, and there was no need for formality – having one’s boat crew wearing breastplates was just such a formality.

It was Maundy Thursday and, Ned noticed, none of the fishing boats had gone out – because or in spite of the previous day’s blessing? Interesting that neither the
alcalde
nor the priest (according to Julio) paid much attention to Lent in the privacy of their own homes.

Finally the boat was back alongside and once again Julio scrambled over the bulwark. This time he was not smiling; in fact, Ned saw with something approaching horror, the Spaniard seemed to have aged five years: his face was white and drawn beneath the layer of heavy tan and there was none of the usual spring in his step when he approached Ned. “Could we talk down in your cabin, sir?”

Ned seated him at the table and waved Fernando to sit on the settee beside him. Then he slid over the two mugs that Aurelia, after one look at the men, had put on the table, along with an onion flask of rum.

Julio poured rum into both mugs and drank quickly. “It’s bad, sir,” he began without preamble. “The
alcalde
has just received the word from San Germán. All of them are to be executed the day after tomorrow, Saturday. They’re slipping it in between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.”

Ned felt the familiar cold perspiration soak his body, then suddenly remembered that Aurelia had been standing just behind him. He jumped up and turned to find that she was now sitting on the settee at the other side of the cabin, white-faced, but trying to muster a confident smile for Ned. “At least they’re still alive,” she said. “They could have been executed today. We still have time.”

Ned sat down again, thankful that she was still calm and hopeful.

Julio, wary because his past tactlessness had caused Aurelia to faint on deck, said with forced heartiness: “I was just going to say to Mr Yorke that we have plenty of time to get there for the ceremony.”

Ned jerked upright in his chair. “The
ceremony
?”

Julio looked significantly at Ned and then glanced at Aurelia, who said quietly: “Ignore me. I want to know everything.”

“Well,” the Spaniard said, “it is going to be a public execution. The Iglesia de Porta Coeli in San Germán is a church built on top of a large mound with a couple of dozen wide steps (thirty or forty feet wide) leading up to the west door. In front of the steps is a large
plaza
which can hold a crowd of – well, a thousand or more. The steps are like a section of a – in Spanish, an
anfiteatro
–”

“Almost the same in English,” Ned said. “An amphitheatre, like the Romans used.”

Julio nodded. “All the important people in San Germán will watch from those steps. Sir Thomas and Lady Diana and the mate of the
Peleus
will be garotted in the
plaza
in front of the steps; the seamen of the
Peleus
will all be shot, two at a time, against the wall on the north side. Everyone,
alcalde
,
aristocracia
, butcher and baker and salter – and their wives and children – will get a very good view of everything,” he said bitterly.

“Will there be many priests there?” Ned asked casually.

“Every priest for miles around, I suppose,” a startled Julio replied, “with those from the Porta Coeli in the front row. No doubt they’ll offer everyone the Last Sacrament just before the final turn of the garotte or the musket shots. It is all intended as a spectacle to impress the people with how they are being protected from pirates and buccaneers.”

“And the monks?”

“Well, yes, if there are any from that monastery still visiting nearby towns and villages they’ll be there for certain. No one misses a good execution. I doubt if San Germán has ever before seen a
mass
execution.”

“No, I suppose not. Now listen carefully, and put yourself in the place of people living in San Germán: soldiers, mayor, priests – anyone, even small boys begging, and see what faults you can find in this plan. What might give us away, in other words.”

Next morning the hollow and monotonous tolling of the single church bell at Boquerón woke them and reminded them that it was Good Friday. Lobb listened for a minute or two and then shook his head. “That’s an iron bell,” he said. “Probably had their original bronze one stolen years ago, long before even the Cow Killers started making raids.”

“How are the tailors getting on?” Ned asked.

“Julio and Fernando have inspected them all. Some of the fussier seamen are making last-minute alterations.”

“And pistols and cutlasses?”

“One or other issued to every man and some have taken one of each. I’ve checked matches with each man. All of them have spare ones in their pockets.”

“And the cutlasses?”

Lobb shrugged his shoulders. “No need to put a sharp on any of them – still larded from Port Royal and no sign of rust, and sharp. Just as well. I didn’t want to get the grindstone up and have it screeching away – they’d hear it on shore and might get suspicious.”

“Tell me when Julio gets back from visiting the
Peleus
.”