Tim Severin - Buccaneer

Maria wrinkled her nose in disbelief. 'You would have pillaged the ship, and not touched us?'

'You call us brigands. So think of us as highwaymen who stop and rob travellers on the road. If the travellers are sensible they offer no resistance and are merely relieved of their valuables and allowed to go on their way. But if there is opposition, and someone fires a pistol, there is bloodshed. The travellers seldom come out best.'

'And why do you choose to make your living by such theft and piracy rather than by honest toil? You don't look or talk like a cut-throat.' Her tone was a little softer, and there was a hint of curiosity in her voice.

'There were special circumstances . . .' Hector began, and was about to explain how he came to be in the South Sea when he thought better of it and instead looked out towards the horizon. Trinity was no longer visible. The daylight was almost gone, and the first stars were appearing through rents in the rapidly moving clouds. It was threatening to be a wild night. The little boat was beginning to pitch and lurch on the blackness of the waves. The swirl of bilgewater beneath his feet released the smell of rotten fish. He wondered about Dan and the others.

Maria seemed to read his thoughts for suddenly she asked, 'What about your friends? There's one very big man, I think his name is Jezreel. I saw you often talking with him, and there was the Frenchman who was our cook, and a man who looked like an Indian.'

'They are my comrades, and we have come through many difficult times together.'

'Then why aren't they here with you now?'

Hector decided that the astute young woman deserved an honest answer. 'All three of them offered to accompany me. But I told them that their presence would only increase the danger. In Paita your people might decide to hold back one or more of them as hostages until your mistress is released, and even then there was no guarantee of their safety.'

'And what about you? Aren't you afraid of being held?'

Hector shook his head. 'No, if your people want the safe return of Dona Juana, they will have to let me go. I am the only one who can arrange her exchange.'

'And what if "my people", as you describe them, decide that it would be easier to torture you?'

Hector tried to meet her eyes, but it was now too dark to see her expression. 'That is a risk I am prepared to take. If you help me and the mission goes well, it means that my friends will be able to return to their homes.'

Maria paused before answering, and Hector detected that her antipathy was waning.

'And what about you? Do you have a family who are expecting you to return?'

'No, my father died some years ago, and I have lost touch with my mother. She is the one from whom I learned to speak Spanish.'

'From Galicia, to judge by your accent. It is surprising that you do not speak Galego.'

'My mother insisted that we learn Castilian. She said it would be of more use.'

'We?'

'My sister and I. But I will never see my sister again.'

He had expected Maria to question him further, but she fell silent, doubtless understanding that he did not wish to talk about his loss.

When she did speak again, it was in a much more friendly tone, almost confiding. 'I understand your feeling of being alone. But not because I have lost my parents. They are still alive as far as I know, small farmers in Andalucia. Life is hard in that part of Spain, and they were enthusiastic when the opportunity came for me to go abroad as Dona Juana's companion. So I was happy to accede to their wishes.' 'And you like the post?'

There was a short pause before Maria replied. 'Yes. I am fortunate. Dona Juana is a kind employer. She treats me as a friend, not as a servant which is what I could be.'

'But you still miss your family?'

'Spain seems so far away. Sometimes I think I will never see my homeland again.'

For a long time they both sat quietly, hearing the run of water along the sides of the little fishing boat as it grew more urgent, and the rising note of the wind in the rigging.

'Tell me about Dona Juana's husband, the Alcalde,' Hector said.

'He's older than her. Perhaps by twenty years, and he has the reputation of being a harsh man. He believes in the stern application of the law.'

'Would he put the law ahead of the well-being of his wife?'

Maria thought for a moment before replying. 'I believe so, but it is always hard to tell with him. He is a man of very strict principle.'

The moan of the wind and the noise of the waves were making their conversation difficult. Occasionally the little boat thrust her bow into the waves, and water came sluicing onboard. Hector had noticed a small cuddy under the foredeck where the fishermen stowed their nets, and he suggested to Maria that she might take shelter there. She stood up from the thwart, reached out to steady herself as the boat lurched, and placed her hand on his shoulder. He was aware of her grip, light but firm, a woman's touch. Then she was clambering past him, her hip brushed his shoulder, and all of a sudden he was swept by the knowledge that she was very attractive. He found himself wishing that she had stayed much closer to him, where he could relish her nearness and learn more about her.

Next morning the last of the gale was still whipping up a lively sea, the waves sending tremors through the hull planking of the little boat as she battled her way towards the watch-tower at the entrance to Paita's harbour. Hector sat on a pile of damp sacking and rope, his back pressed against the mast step. He was bleary-eyed, for he had slept only fitfully, his mind returning again and again to thoughts of the young woman curled up in the dark cave of the cuddy. He rehearsed every word of their conversation, still wondering how Maria had seemed to be able to read his thoughts. From time to time he glanced towards the place where she lay asleep, and waited for her to awake. When Maria did emerge half an hour later and crawled out from the cuddy, Hector had a glimpse of a neat ankle and a small bare foot. Sensibly she had removed her shoes before going to sleep. Maria stood up and turned her face into the wind and her long, loose hair streamed out behind her. In that moment Hector was confronted by a young woman very different from the person he had known aboard the Santo Rosario. In the shadow of her mistress Maria had been quietly dutiful and unassuming, easily overlooked, and probably this had been her intention. Now he saw that Maria had the gift of a natural, healthy beauty. As she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, relishing the fresh morning breeze after the stuffy confines of the cuddy, Hector noted the small heart-shaped face with a short straight nose, a soft mouth perhaps a trifle too wide for the delicacy of her features, a skin lightly freckled. Everything about Maria was neat and pleasing in a way that was simple and tempting. Then she turned and looked at him and the dark brown eyes under the perfectly arched eyebrows held an almost conspiratorial expression.

'Did you manage to get any rest?' he asked, aware that he felt light-headed, off balance.

She nodded, and all of a sudden Hector was overwhelmed by her presence. She was wearing the fine cloak which he had seen hanging in her cabin, but now it was bedraggled and crumpled, the hem sodden with bilgewater. Awkwardly he started to get to his feet, hoping to find an excuse to extend a hand, to touch her again and help her to climb over the thwart, when, without warning, he was rudely elbowed aside. One of the fishermen pushed passed him. The man was holding a chunk of dry bread and an earthenware flagon of water which he held out to Maria. He offered nothing to Hector. Instead he turned to face towards the land, placed two fingers into his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. In response a watchman appeared on the top of the watchtower. The fisherman waved, making what must have been an agreed code of signals, for the watchman disappeared, and soon a squad of soldiers was running to take position by a gun platform, and a horseman was galloping inland clearly carrying a message to the town.