Thomas Hoover - Caribbee

Now Morris was gazing warily down the road toward Villa de la Vega. He consulted briefly with Calvert, then ordered his men to take cover in the scattering of trees across the clearing.

Coming toward them was a row of Spanish horsemen, with long lances and silver-trimmed saddles, their mounts prancing deferentially behind a slow-moving cluster of men, all attired in the latest Seville finery. In the lead was an open litter, shaded from the sun by a velvet awning, with the poles at each of its four corners held shoulder high by an aged Negro wearing a blue silk loincloth.

Katherine heard a rustle at her elbow and turned to see the admiral bowing. "Edmond Calvert, madam, your servant." He quickly glanced again at the Spanish before continuing. "Colonel Morris just advised me you are Dalby Bedford's daughter. Please allow me to offer my condolences.”

She nodded lightly and said nothing, merely tightening her grip on the pistol she held. Calvert examined her a moment, then addressed Winston. "And I'm told that you, sir, were gunnery commander for Barbados."

Winston inspected him in silence.

Calvert cleared his throat. "Well, sir, if that's indeed who you are, I most certainly have cause to know you for a first-rate seaman. I take it you somehow managed to outsail the Gloucester." He continued guardedly. "You were a wanted man then, but after what's happened today, I think allowances can be made. In truth, I'd like to offer you a commission here and now if you'd care to serve under me."

"Accept my thanks, but I'm not looking for recruitment." Winston nodded, then turned back to study the approaching cavalry. "The 'commission' I plan to take is right here. And that's the two of us. Miss Bedford and I expect to make Jamaica home base."

Calvert smiled as he continued. "Well, sir, if you're thinking now you want to stay, there'll surely be a place for you here. I'll take odds the Spaniards are not going to let us commandeer this island without soon posting a fleet to try and recover it. Which means we've got to look to some defenses right away, possibly move a few of the culverin from the Rainbowe and Marsten Moor up here to the breastwork. There's plenty to…"

"What are you saying!" Katherine stared at him. "That you're going to try and hold Jamaica?"

"For England." He sobered. "I agree with you it'll not be an easy task, madam, but we expect to do our best, I give you my solemn word. Yes, indeed. And if you and the men with you care to assist us, I will so recommend it to His Highness. I fear we'll be wanting experienced gunners here, and soon."

While Katherine stood speechless, Benjamin Briggs edged next to them and whispered toward Calvert, "Admiral, you don't suppose we'd best look to our defenses, till we've found out what these damn'd Spaniards are about?"

"This can only be one thing, Mister Briggs. Some kind of attempt to try and negotiate." Calvert examined the procession again as it neared the edge of the clearing. "Not even Spaniards attack from a palanquin."

Now the approaching file was slowing to a halt. While the horsemen reined in to wait in the sunshine, one of the men who had been walking alongside the litter began to converse solemnly with a shadowed figure beneath its awning. Finally he reached in and received a long silk-wrapped bundle, then stepped around the bearers and headed toward them.

He was wearing a velvet waistcoat and plumed hat, and as he approached the four figures standing by the breastwork, he appeared momentarily disoriented. His olive skin looked sallow in the early light and his heavy moustache drooped. Finally he stopped a few feet away and addressed them collectively.

"I am Antonio de Medina, lieutenant-general to our governor, don Francisco de Castilla, who has come to meet you. He regrets that his indisposition does not permit him to tender you his sword from his own hand." He paused and glanced back at the litter. An arm emerged feebly and waved him on. "His Excellency has been fully advised of the situation, and he is here personally to enquire your business. If it is ransom you wish to claim, he would have me remind you we are but a poor people, possessing little wealth save our honesty and good name."

"I am Admiral Edmond Calvert, and I receive his greeting in the name of England's Lord Protector." Calvert was studying the shrouded litter with puzzlement. "Furthermore, you may advise don Francisco de Castilla that we've not come for ransom. We're here to claim this island in the name of His Highness Oliver Cromwell. For England."

"Senor, I do not understand." Medina's brow wrinkled. "Ingles galeones such as yours have come in times past, and we have always raised the ransom they required, no matter how difficult for us. We will…"

"This time, sir, it's going to be a different arrangement." Briggs stepped forward. "He's telling you we're here to stay. Pass that along to your governor.''

"But you cannot just claim this island, senor." Medina examined Briggs with disbelief. "It has belonged to Spain for a hundred and forty years."

"Where's your bill of sale, by God? We say it belongs to whoever's got the brass to seize hold of it. Spaniards took half the Americas from the heathen; now it's England's turn."

"But this island was granted to our king by His Holiness the Pope, in Rome."

"Aye, your Pope's ever been free to dispense lands he never owned in the first place." Briggs smiled broadly. "I seem to recall back in King Harry's time he offered England to anybody who'd invade us, but none of your Papist kings troubled to take up his gift." He sobered. "This island's English, as of today, and damned to your Purple Whore of Rome."

"Senor, protestante blasphemies will not…"

"Take care, Master Briggs." Winston's voice cut between them. "Don't be so quick to assume England has it. At the moment it looks like this fortress belongs to me and my men."

"Well, sir, if you're thinking to try and steal something from this place, which now belongs to England, I'd be pleased to hear how you expect to manage it."

"I don't care to steal a thing. I've already got what I want. While we've been talking, my lads down on the Defiance were off-loading culverin there at the Cayo de Carena. On the Point. As of now, any bottom that tries to enter, or leave, this harbor is going to have to sail under them. So the harbor's mine, including what's in it at the moment. Not to mention this fort as well."

"Perhaps you'd best tell me what you have in mind, sir." Calvert glanced up at the breastwork, its iron cannon now all directed on the anchored ships below.

"We might consider an arrangement." Winston paused, then looked down at the bay.

"What do you mean?"

"These men sailing with me are boucaniers, Cow-Killers to you, and we need this harbor. In future, we intend sailing from Jamaica, from right over there, at the Point. There'll be a freeport there, for anybody who wants to join with us."

"Are you saying you mean to settle down there on the Point, with these buccaneers?" Calvert was trying to comprehend what he was hearing. Could it be that, along with Jamaica, Cromwell was going to get armed ships, manned by the only men in the Caribbean feared by the Spaniards, for nothing?

Perhaps it might even mean Jamaica could be kept. The Western Design might end up with something after all…

"Well, sir, in truth, this island's going to be needing all the fighting men it can muster if it's to defend itself from the Spaniards." Calvert turned to Briggs. "If these buccaneers of his want to headquarter here, it could well be a godsend."

"You'd countenance turning over the safety of this place to a band of rogues?" Briggs' face began to grow dark with a realization. "Hold a minute, sir. Are you meanin' to suggest Cromwell won't trouble providing this island with naval protection?"