Tim Severin - Sea Robber

‘Lynch, this is when your knowledge of Spanish can be put to good use,’ said Swan. ‘I will write a letter for you to carry to the Governor of Valdivia explaining that we come to trade, and providing a list of our merchandise. If he lacks a competent translator, you can make our intentions plain.’

‘Should I mention that you have a licence from the Duke of Grafton?’

Swan shook his head. ‘No. The Governor may never have heard of the Duke. Say instead that we intended to make for the East Indies by way of the Cape of Good Hope, but met with such heavy weather that we were obliged to turn around and go westabout. Our stopover here is a chance matter.’

Hector thought such a far-fetched tale was unlikely to be believed, but he made no comment. All that mattered to him was to get ashore and begin in earnest his search for Maria. The smuggled note she’d written to him on the day she’d saved his life told him of her expected return to Peru and her employment with Doña Juana, whose husband Don Fernando de Costana had been promoted to the Audiencia, the ruling council. The Governor of Valdivia should surely know the whereabouts of such a prominent colonial official.

Within moments of Swan disappearing into his cabin to write his letter, word of his plan had spread throughout the ship, and a worried-looking Jacques emerged from his galley and came to speak with Hector. ‘Mon ami, you should not go on your own,’ said the Frenchman.

‘I’ll be all right. You stay behind with Dan and Jezreel,’ Hector assured him. Day by day Dan’s damaged eyesight had improved, though the Miskito still found it difficult to see clearly objects at a distance.

‘Jezreel can look after Dan,’ said Jacques stubbornly. He wiped his hands on a rag to get rid of a smear of soot.

‘Lynch will manage very well on his own,’ insisted Swan, overhearing their conversation. He had reappeared with a folded and sealed paper in his hand.

By now the guard boat was within hailing distance. Hector climbed up on the rail and waved the note in the air. ‘A letter for the Governor,’ he called in Spanish. The guard boat was a small piragua rowed by what looked like half a dozen fishermen. In the stern sat two uniformed soldiers and a young man of about Hector’s own age, wearing an officer’s red and white sash, who appeared to be in charge.

‘I wish to speak with the Governor of Valdivia. I have a letter to him from our captain,’ repeated Hector, shouting at the top of his lungs.

After a short hesitation the boat crew bent to their oars, and Hector was climbing down into the piragua, which shoved off as quickly as if the Cygnet ’s hull was hot to the touch.

‘My captain wishes to open commerce. We were on our way to the East Indies by way of the Cape of Good Hope, but bad weather forced us to turn back and take the westward route,’ said Hector after he’d introduced himself. The explanation sounded even lamer than before.

‘I am Ensign Luis Carvalho,’ said the young man. His mournful dark eyes set in a long, narrow face regarded Hector with open disbelief. ‘My uncle—’ He corrected himself, ‘the Governor wishes to know by what authority you bring your vessel to Valdivia.’

‘If you will take me to the Governor, this letter will explain everything,’ Hector answered.

The ensign glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Your ship may anchor where she is. There is good holding ground. Valdivia is some distance from here and it will be at least two hours before we get there, even with the flood tide under us.’

For the first part of the journey Carvalho sat stiff and silent, leaving Hector to watch the passing scenery. His initial impression of a land barely touched by humans was confirmed. Beyond a shoreline of granite rocks began virgin forest, and after so many weeks at sea he could smell the resin of pine trees. The nearer hillsides were the first in a series of dark, sombre ridges, which extended to a far cordillera, its crest marked by a thin band of snow. Everything was on a vast scale, empty and brooding.

Closer to hand, the waters of the gulf teemed with wildlife. A flock of squabbling seabirds chased a shoal of anchovies directly into the path of the piragua. The gulls dived repeatedly as fish rose to the surface, and once or twice Hector had a quick sighting of a sleek, black fin when a dolphin came up from below, feeding on the same shoal, driving them back towards the birds’ greedy beaks.

After about a mile, where the channel skirted around a low green island, he noted a third defensive fort being built on a bluff. There was a web of scaffolding and the ant-like figures of workmen toiling on the battlements, which were already formidable. Hector wondered if this was something it was intended that he should see.

Ensign Carvalho leaned forward. ‘The Viceroy sends us the best military engineers, who have had their training in Spain. He is determined Valdivia is secure from attack, whether by land or from the sea. His Majesty in Madrid takes a close interest. He has declared that he intends to protect the southern flank of his possessions here in Chile, as he has done in Barbary.’

The mention of Barbary gave Hector the opening he needed. ‘I spent some time at the court of the Moroccan Emperor.’

Carvalho’s eyes lit up with interest. ‘Is it true that he employs Spanish officers?’

‘I made several good friends among his Spanish cavalrymen. Thanks to one of them, I managed to escape from the imperial household.’

‘It’s strange that some of my countrymen are willing to serve a foreign potentate, a man whom my King regards with such suspicion that he builds castles to protect his realm from him.’

‘Sometimes it is wiser to adapt to changing circumstances,’ said Hector, hoping the ensign would pick up the hint.

Fortunately the Spanish ensign had a thirst for tales of exotic adventure, and for the rest of the journey he plied his visitor with questions. Hector found himself describing his days in the service of a Turkish corsair operating out of Algiers and how he had been taken prisoner by the French, working first in the royal galley yard in Marseille and later chained to the oar bench until he was shipwrecked on the coast of Morocco. Discreetly he said nothing of the time he had then spent as a buccaneer in the Pacific, and he made no mention of his search for Maria. He judged it was a topic that would require careful introduction.

By the time the little piragua reached the landing stage at Valdivia, the atmosphere between himself and the ensign was relaxed and friendly.

It was clear that a great deal of money had been spent on Valdivia. An imposing defensive wall had been built of massive cut stone, with bastions at each corner, a ditch, and embrasures for cannon and musketeers. Beyond the city gate, the city planners had laid out wide streets and numerous plazas. But, as Hector walked up the main avenue with Carvalho and the two soldiers, he had the impression that the town had yet to fulfil its ambitious design. The roadway itself was unpaved, many of the subdivisions were empty plots that had not yet been built upon, and several large public buildings of brick and stucco had been left half-finished. There were surprisingly few people to be seen. Those he did encounter were going about the everyday business of any small town: mothers with their children picking over the local produce at food stalls or sorting through barrows heaped with second-hand clothes, idlers gossiping on street corners, a few tradesmen carrying their tools on their way to work. He supposed the occasional passer-by with lank black hair, a broad high-cheeked face and wearing a long fringed cloak of animal skin was from the local Indian tribe. He saw no evidence of any unusual prosperity and wondered if Captain Swan would be disappointed in his hope of lucrative commerce. As far as Hector could tell, the bulk of the goods being offered for sale were farm tools and cords of firewood.