Authors: C. S. Forester
Tags: #Inquisition, #treasure, #Caribbean, #Indian islands, #Indians, #aristocrats, #Conquistadors, #Orinoco, #Haiti, #Spain, #natives
“Would any of you gentlemen care to comment?” asked the
Adelantado
, but the Admiral spoke before anyone else could open his mouth.
“I will not have the matter discussed,” he said. “This treaty is your Viceroy’s decision, and it would be treason to question it.”
The Admiral sat in his chair, with his hands on his thin knees. He had spoken with an old man’s querulousness, and yet — and yet — there was a suspicion of triumph in his glance, a self-satisfied gleam in the blue eyes. It was as if he thought he had done something clever, hard though that was to believe. Rich remembered earlier discussions. Perhaps the Admiral had decided that to retain his power he needed to create some new party for himself which he could play off against the
Adelantado’s
brutal bullying, or against Rich’s vague powers. Or possibly he wanted to send a dispatch to Spain saying that he had arrived to find the island in disorder, and had dissipated the disorder immediately by a few judicious concessions. Or perhaps he knew he had been weak and would not admit it. Or — anything was possible — he might by now have deluded himself into thinking that he had brought off a really creditable coup, just as he believed he had discovered the mines of Ophir and the Earthly Paradise. Meanwhile, Rich saw various loopholes of escape from this treaty.
“Your Excellency signed of your own free will?” he asked. “You were not coerced into it?”
“Of course not,” said the Admiral indignantly.
“A promise entered into under compulsion is not binding, Your Excellency,” persisted Rich.
“I know that.”
“And these gifts of land, Your Excellency . . . Land is a tricky thing to deed away. It is Crown property. I doubt — please pardon me, Your Excellency, but of course we are all anxious to have everything as legal as possible — if Your Excellency’s viceregal authority entitles you to dispose of the property of the Crown. The recipients would be well advised to have their title confirmed by Their Highnesses, and until Their Highnesses have given that confirmation I myself, for one, would be chary of entering into any dealings regarding those properties.”
“My agreement with Their Highnesses gives me full powers.”
“Powers can only be expressly given, Your Excellency. Any powers not named are by every rule of law retained by Their Highnesses.”
“Oh, why split these hairs?” broke in the
Adelantado
. “Their Highnesses are two thousand leagues from here, the treaty is signed, and there’s an end of it for a year or so. Roldan and his men will have the land if anything my brother can do can ensure it. There is no profit in continuing this debate, I fancy, gentlemen.”
Rich was of the same opinion. He escaped from the room as soon as he could, and went to sit in the tiny apartment which he shared with Antonio Spallanzani. The
Holy Name
and the
Santa Ana
would be sailing soon, and his report must go in one ship while he sailed in the other. He thought longingly of Spain, of his cool stone house and the fountain in the courtyard, the while he sat sweating and fighting the flies. It would be a long voyage home, reaching far to the northward to avoid the path of the eternal easterly breezes, but in three months at most he would be in Spain. The King would be at Valladolid or Toledo, and he might be kept cooling his heels round the court for weeks. But six months at most, and he would be home again, in his own house, leading a decent and orderly life. He could sit in his big leather chair reading through the pleadings of law-abiding merchants, or, with a hushed band of students behind him, he could issue his judgments, in stately Latin, to the expectant litigants assembled in his hall.
That was the world he knew and loved, not this mad new world of rain and mosquitoes, of slaughter and mutiny, of mad theories and madder politics. And yet mad though it all was, he was conscious of a queer regret that he was leaving it. He would have liked to stay a while longer, even though he knew that he would be bitterly disappointed if some unforeseen circumstance compelled him to stay. He told himself that he was as mad as everyone else in Española.
Meanwhile the report had to be written, and he had to make up his mind what to write. As he repointed his pen he began to form phrases in his mind. He did not want to word them too strongly — the contents of the report would need no emphasis of phrasing.
Roldan and his followers had come to San Domingo under the protection of the free pardon which had been solemnly proclaimed at the foot of the flagstaff. They were swaggering about the place, Roldan and Bernardo de Tarpia and Cristobal García and all of them. They had brought a long train of Indian slaves with them, well set up and handsome young women, each bearing burdens. Slaves and burdens, in accordance with the recent treaty, were to be sent to Spain in the
Holy Name
; the crop-eared Martinez was to sail with them as agent for all the recent mutineers, and he was to be armed with a long list of the luxuries which he was to buy with the proceeds of this plunder.
Rich’s report was completed, signed and sealed. Rich had given it with his own hands to Ballester, who was sailing as captain in the
Santa Ana
. The action had reminded him — if reminding were needed — of the impermanence of life in this world. He was taking the precaution lest the
Holy Name
, with him on board, should never reach Spain at all. Perhaps the next week would find him with the saints in Paradise, or suffering the pangs of purgatory, or — he felt a shudder of fear — more likely cast into the eternal flames of hell as a result of his recent heretical thoughts. He was in a state of profound dejection and agitation of mind which was not relieved in the least by the suspicious glance which Ballester darted at him when he received the letter; Ballester could suspect only too well what the contents were, and Ballester was one of those who loved the Admiral.
Should anyone of the Admiral’s party come to know exactly what was written in his report, Rich knew that his life might be in danger. There were subtle poisons in this island — the deadly manchineel was one — even if it might not be the more simple matter of a knife in his back. He had to set himself for these last few days before the ships sailed to play the part of the conscientious supporter, critical but not too much so — certainly not the man who would write to the King that the Admiral was not fit to govern a farmyard, let alone an empire. It was a comfort to him now that Roldan knew of the letter. Certainly neither the Admiral nor Ballester would dare to incur the penalties of high treason by tampering with a sealed document addressed to His Highness himself — at least, not while an enemy knew that such a letter existed. Rich could not trust either the Italians or the Andalusians, and he waited with impatience during the interminable delays in fitting out the
Holy Name
.
He was walking back in the dark after dining with the
Adelantado
. The
Santa Ana
had actually sailed with his report on board; the
Holy Name
was almost ready; another thirty-six hours and he would have seen the last of this island. Overhead the stars were brilliant; the moon would rise soon in all her splendor. The cicadas were singing wildly all round him, and the lusty croaking of the frogs in the stream supplied a cheerful bass. Fireflies were lighting and relighting their lamps about his path, far more brilliant and mysterious than their duller brothers of Spain. Altogether he was in a cheerful mood — two cups of the Admiral’s wine may have had something to do with that.
A denser shadow appeared in the darkness close at his right hand, and then another at his left. There was a man at either elbow walking silently in step with him; Rich felt the skin creep on the back of his neck, while between his shoulder blades he felt the actual spot where the stiletto would enter. Yet even in that moment he found time to wonder why they were troubling to murder him while his report was on its way to the King and beyond recall.
And then the walking shadow on his right spoke to him with the voice of García.
“Don Narciso,” he said. “I must trouble you to turn back and come with us.”
“And if I do not, Don Cristobal?”
Both men pressed in close upon him, forcing his elbows against his sides.
“I have a dagger here, Don Narciso. I will use it if you cry out.”
“And I have another,” said the voice of Diego Moret on his left. “And I will use it, too. There will be one in your back and one in your belly.”
“Turn back with us, Don Narciso,” said García, insinuatingly.
Rich turned; he felt there was nothing else he could do.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked; he had to try hard to keep the quaver out of his voice.
“This is not the time for explanations,” said García grimly. “I would prefer you to keep quiet.”
They were walking down the slope from the citadel; the little town lay on their right, and there was only one solitary gleam of light from it. Rich decided they were going to lead him into the forest and kill him there. His body might lie forever in that tangle of vegetation and never be discovered, even within a mile of the place. But he was still puzzled as to the motive, so puzzled that quite involuntarily he broke the silence with another question.
“What do you want to kill me for?” he asked.
“Be quiet. And we are not going to kill you,” said García.
“Probably not going to,” amended Moret in the darkness on his left.
Even with this amendment the statement was reassuring. The wave of relief which surged over Rich astonished him; he realized that he had been far more afraid than he had suspected at the time. He trembled a little with the reaction, and then battled with himself to stop it. He did not want these two men at his elbows to know he was trembling. They were coming nearer to the trees and the forest.
“There are four horses here, Don Narciso,” said García. “One of them is for you. The others are for Don Diego and myself and Don Ramon who is waiting for us. There will be no reins for you to hold — the reins will be in my charge. But I hope you can stay in the saddle by holding on to the saddle bow.”
“I can try,” said Rich — the whinny of a horse told that they were drawing near to them.
“Did you find him?” asked an unknown voice. “Yes,” said García, and then to Rich: “Mount.”
Rich felt in the darkness for the stirrup, and with the effort usual to him he hoisted up his foot and got it in. By the time he had swung himself into the saddle Moret was already mounted; García sprang into the saddle of the third horse. They began to move along a path — the unknown Ramon, who had been waiting with the horses in front, followed by Rich and García, while Moret brought up the rear. The horses blundered along in the darkness; Rich felt his face whipped painfully occasionally by branches, and his knees received several excruciating knocks. For a space his mind was too much occupied with these troubles, and with the necessity of keeping his seat in the saddle, to have any thought to spare for the future, but as soon as the forest began to thin, and the rising moon gave them light to an extent quite remarkable compared with the previous blackness, he inevitably began to wonder once more. Suddenly a new aspect of the situation broke upon him, with a shock which made him sweat and set him moving restlessly in the saddle.
“Mother of God!” he said. “The
Holy Name
sails tomorrow. You will let me get back in time to sail in her?”
The first reply he had was a light-hearted chuckle from Moret behind; the question seemed to amuse him immensely. García allowed a painful second or two to elapse before answering.
“No, my pretty one,” he said. “You will not be sailing in the
Holy Name
. Rest assured about that.”
‘Assured’ was not at all the right adjective to describe Rich’s mental condition. There was bitter disappointment at the thought of not returning to Spain, but his other doubts overlaid that at the moment; he was intensely puzzled. It could hardly be ransom that these kidnappers were seeking; they must know that in the island he possessed practically nothing that anyone could desire. Then it occurred to him that perhaps he was being carried off to give legal color to some plan they had in mind. They might be intending to force him to construct some binding agreement regarding their grants of land.
“I will do nothing,” he announced stoutly, “to distort the law for you. I have my professional honor to consider.”
Moret seemed to find this announcement extremely funny too. He broke into high-pitched laughter again; Rich, who could not see him, could imagine him writhing convulsed with merriment in his saddle.