Tim Severin - Sea Robber

‘And who sent this letter?’

Hector pretended to check the signature again. But he had no need to. It had been the first thing he had looked at, wondering if the letter came from the Governor of the Ladrones, Don Fernando de Costana. He should have been in office for at least a year now, with his wife, Maria’s employer. But Hector hadn’t recognized the name.

He made a conscious effort to hide his disappointment. ‘It’s signed by Sarjento Mayor Damian de Esplana. He describes himself as Maestre de Campo at the Presidio of Guahan.’

‘Well, at least we know exactly where we are,’ Arianz broke in. ‘Guahan is the largest of the Thief Islands, and Aganah is the provincial capital.’

Eaton rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Why should this Esplana offer us shelter in his harbour? Sounds like a trap.’

‘I think not,’ said Arianz. ‘He hopes we are either Spanish or French, or even Dutch, and therefore friendly.’

‘And what about the Latin?’

‘He’s guessing that we would know the language if we were Catholics.’

‘Or because Latin is a common language between nations,’ pointed out Hector.

The quartermaster ignored him. ‘Aganah is the most isolated place in the entire Spanish empire. This Esplana probably doesn’t see more than one ship or two in a year. He’ll be keen to enlist our help.’

Eaton frowned. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because he said not to trust the Chamorro. If they are the native people, then he’s obviously on bad terms with them.’

‘The men who brought the message are natives.’

‘Tame ones. Not like the mother-naked lot we saw first.’

Eaton was no longer listening. He thrust the French version of the letter towards Jacques.

‘Here, tell me whether it’s written by a Frenchman.’

Jacques read through the letter, then shook his head. ‘Definitely not.’

‘Can you pass yourself off as a French officer?’

The Frenchman gave a sarcastic laugh. ‘This brand on my face will not help.’ He rubbed the galérien’s G on his cheek, the brand faintly noticeable beneath his deep tan.

Eaton turned to Hector. ‘What about you? He’s your friend. Will you support him?’

Hector was wary. He and Dan both spoke reasonable French. They had first teamed up with Jacques when all three had served in King Louis’ galley fleet. ‘It depends what you want me to do.’

‘I want you to go to meet with this Esplana.’

‘So you won’t take the Nicholas into his harbour?’

Eaton shook his head. ‘Too dangerous. He’d soon work out we’re not to his liking.’

Hector thought long and hard before answering. He was being offered the perfect chance to investigate whether Maria was on the island. Yet if he came face to face with Don Fernando, everything would be ruined.

‘I can’t do it,’ he said finally. ‘The Governor might recognize me.’

‘You know the Governor?’ Eaton’s pale-green wolf’s eyes suddenly filled with suspicion.

‘When he was a high official in Peru, I negotiated with him for the ransom of his wife. I was told that he’d moved here when I was held prisoner in Valdivia,’ Hector confessed.

Eaton’s voice took on a menacing rasp. ‘That’s the first I heard of it, Lynch. I thought you were slippery when you hoodwinked my crew back on the Encantadas. Now I know for sure. Is this where you wanted to come all along?’

Hector refused to be cowed. ‘I’ve had no hand in what has happened these past few weeks. The crew made their own decisions.’

Eaton glared angrily at the young man. Then he swung round to face Jacques. ‘Lynch is too craven to meet the Spaniards, so you’ll have to manage on your own. I want you to scout this place of refuge we are being offered. Find out if its defences are weak enough that we can seize and loot it. Say that we are a royal ship sent by King Louis to search for new lands for trade and plantation.’

Jacques shrugged casually. ‘Bien. If this Esplana asks about my face, I will say I was released from the galleys because I am a skilled mariner and volunteered for this exploring mission.’

‘The question may never arise,’ said Eaton.

‘We can’t attack Guahan,’ said Arianz. ‘We don’t have enough powder for our guns.’

Eaton’s expression grew more cunning. ‘I’ve thought of that. If Esplana wants our help against the indios, then we’ll say we’d be happy to assist. We’ll claim that our stock of powder got ruined by the sea air, and ask him to send us a few barrels.’ He gave a nasty smile. ‘Then we’ll use it to attack him.’

JACQUES BOURDON, former Parisian pickpocket, burglar and ex-galérien, enjoyed masquerading as a seasoned mariner. Wearing a set of Eaton’s better clothing, he perched on the centre thwart of the native sailing canoe as it headed north along the coast of Guahan. Normally Jacques disliked small boats. He found them slow, wet and unsteady, and they made him seasick. But this vessel was different. The side float made it much more stable, almost comfortable, and the stiff breeze pushed the vessel along at a fine pace. This would not be a long trip.

Jacques shifted position slightly so that he could see past the sail of palm-leaf matting. The canoe – he had managed to learn from the crew that they called it a ‘galaide layak’ – was running into a sheltered bay. There was no sign of any coral reef. Deep water extended all the way to a short wooden pier, where a collection of thatched roofs lay along the lower part of an attractive valley. The grasslands on the slopes above the settlement were washed a pale lime-green by the morning sunshine.

‘Aganah?’ he asked, pointing forward. Close to the jetty rose the solid square shape of a small fort. It had to be the Spaniards’ Presidio.

The boatman with the extravagant bush of hair nodded.

Ten minutes later Jacques had clambered up on to the pier and was walking by himself towards the settlement. The houses with their weathered grey thatch were nothing more than overgrown cabins, too humble for the Governor of the Ladrones. His residence would be inside the fort itself, safe behind its fifteen-foot walls of coral blocks. Two small towers served as cannon platforms, and an open space had been left clear to provide a field of fire. But there was no sign of a sentry on the parapet, and the double gates of the entrance were closed.

Jacques picked up a stone and banged on one of the gates. The thick timber gave back a muffled thud. After an interval a voice demanded to know their business.

‘Visiteur,’ Jacques shouted, emphasizing his French accent.

The heavy gate eased just enough to enable him to step inside. Immediately he was through, it was dragged shut behind him. Jacques looked around. The area within the walls was considerably larger than he had expected. There was space for a little chapel, a barracks block and several storehouses. They were all modest, single-storey buildings with tile roofs and mud-brick walls. Small windows had unpainted shutters against the sun, and one or two were barred. The only substantial two-storey building had a balcony and porch and overlooked the parade ground. Judging by the flagstaff in front of it, this was where the Governor and his senior staff had their offices and accommodation.

Jacques presumed the four men whose combined strength had been required to shift the heavy gate were members of the garrison. They were uncommonly slovenly and, judging by their expressions, they resented being disturbed.

‘The Governor?’ Jacques asked in Spanish. Before he received an answer, he became aware of a man in a faded blue jacket of military cut, who emerged from the larger building and was striding across the parade ground.