Buccaneer (45 page)

There was some murmuring among the men, and it was clear that Sidias was not entirely trusted. But when Gifford put the matter to the vote, it was agreed that £50 would cover the value and that the ship’s launch would ferry Sidias and his goods to the jetty. After that, he was on his own.

The quartermaster moved on to other matters. ‘It will be too dangerous to land as a single group. To do so would draw the attention of the authorities. Instead we go ashore in small groups, over the next few days, no more than ten or twelve at a time and disperse.’

‘How do we do that?’ asked the cooper.

Sharpe intervened. ‘Buy passage on local ships and quietly leave. Your silver will open many doors.’

‘And what about those who have no silver?’ Hector searched the faces of the crowd, to see who had asked the question. The tone had been bitter. He saw it was one of a dozen or so men who were inveterate gamblers. During the return voyage they had wagered away all their plunder, mostly to Sharpe himself.

There was an awkward silence and for a moment Hector thought that there might be violence. He sensed a wave of sympathy wash through the assembled crew. A couple of the malcontents were armed. They could set upon Sharpe and give him a beating.

Sharpe must have spotted the danger for he turned to Gifford. ‘Quartermaster, I propose that
Trinity
is given to all those who have no money. They can use the vessel in whatever manner they wish, though I suggest they sail her to a port where she will not be recognised as a Spanish built. Thus they get away from Antigua and may have a chance to earn some capital.’

There was a murmur of approval from the crew, and the moment of tension passed.

‘Neatly done,’ murmured Jacques beside Hector. ‘Our captain is as slippery as ever. He’s got rid of
Trinity
and saved his own skin.’

Gifford was already drawing lots to decide the order of disembarkation. Hector and his friends were among the earliest to be set ashore, and they had barely time to collect their share of plunder which amounted to some three thousand pieces of eight each, mostly in coin but also in broken pieces of plate before they were on their way to the jetty.

As they climbed up the steps they found Sidias already there, seated on a roll of sailcloth and looking very satisfied with himself.

‘How will you get all this stuff to the town for sale?’ asked Hector.

‘I won’t bother,’ the Greek replied. ‘It can stay here and rot.’

‘But you just paid fifty English pounds for it,’ Hector said.

‘And I’ll pay your giant friend another five shillings if he carries this into town.’ With his foot Sidias nudged the heavy ingot brought up from
Santo Rosario
’s bilge.

‘Lead’s not that valuable,’ said Hector.

‘It’s not lead,’ answered the Greek with a crafty grin. ‘Those nincompoops wouldn’t recognise raw silver if they shat it out of their posteriors. This “lead” as you call it is a half-smelted silver from the Potosi mines. Fifty per cent pure. On its way for further smelting in Panama. I’d say it’s worth seventy or eighty English pounds. Enough to set me up here as a shopkeeper.’

Jacques let out a groan, ‘Hector, do you remember how many more of those ingots were in the
Santo Rosario
’s bilge? Seven or eight hundred wasn’t it? So many that we thought it was nothing more than ballast and paid no attention. We gave away a fortune. The Spaniards in Paita must still be laughing themselves sick at our stupidity.’

T
HE SUNNY
Caribbean had been left far behind. A small group of port officials, dressed in long cloaks and broad-brimmed hats, stood waiting patiently on the wharf for the ship to make fast. A cold penetrating drizzle was drifting down, soaking everything it touched. The fronts of the warehouses which lined the dockside were streaked with rainwater dripping from slate roofs. The air smelled of damp, fish refuse and wet sacking. This was Dartmouth in Devon on a blustery March day, and the four friends were sheltering under the awning rigged to protect the cargo hatch of the merchant ship that had brought them from Antigua. It had been a plodding six weeks’ voyage across the Atlantic, and the ship’s agent had insisted on being paid in English coin, grossly overcharging them. But they had been glad to accept his price, knowing that every mile would put them at a greater distance from the South Seas raid. Their only concern had been to discover that a dozen others of
Trinity
’s former crew, including Basil Ringrose, were among their fellow passengers.

The mooring ropes were made fast, and the little covey of officials on the dockside moved forward as a gangplank was manhandled into place.

Without warning Jacques put out an arm, holding back his companions.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Hector.

‘I’d recognise a police agent anywhere,’ the Frenchman said softly.

‘We don’t have police in England,’ Jezreel corrected him. ‘That’s only for uncivilised foreigners like you.’

‘Call him what you want. But the tall fellow with the satchel is something to do with the law. And those other two close behind are the same. I spent too many months on the run in Paris not to recognise legal jackals when I see them.’

The tall man with the satchel was making his way onto the ship. Behind him, his two assistants took up position on either side of the gangplank, blocking it.

The ship’s master, a rotund and genial Welshman with a beerswiller’s belly, waddled forward from where he had been standing to supervise the process of docking. Hector was near enough to hear him demand of the stranger, ‘From the customs office, are you?’

The tall man did not reply directly but opened his satchel and took out some sort of document which he showed to the captain. Hector watched the captain read through the paper, then glance nervously towards the place where Ringrose and the others from
Trinity
were gathered, waiting to disembark.

‘Gentlemen!’ he called out. ‘Would you be kind enough to step this way? There’s something which may require your attention.’

Ringrose and the others sauntered over though Hector could tell from their watchful manner that they were on their guard.

‘This is Mr Bradley,’ said the captain. ‘He comes with a warrant from the High Court of Admiralty and has a watch list of persons whom he has been instructed to escort to London.’

The law officer consulted his hand bill. ‘Which one of you is Bartholomew Sharpe?’

When there was no reply, he looked around the little group and read out Samuel Gifford’s name. Again he received no acknowledgement, and this time he stared straight at Ringrose and said, ‘I presume that you are Mr Ringrose. You fit the description I have here.’ He consulted the paper again. ‘About thirty years of age though may look younger, average height and well set up, curly chestnut hair and fair complexion.’

Ringrose nodded. ‘I am Basil Ringrose.’

‘You are to accompany me to London.’

‘By whose authority?’

‘I am a marshal of the court.’

‘This is preposterous.’ Ringrose’s eyes flicked towards the gangway but he could see that there was no escape in that direction.

‘He’s taking only those who held some sort of rank on our expedition,’ Jacques whispered to Hector.

Bradley folded up his paper and replaced it in the satchel. Turning towards Ringrose he announced, ‘We leave for London in an hour’s time by coach. Bring only essential personal possessions with you.’

‘Am I under arrest?’ demanded Ringrose.

‘Detained for questioning.’

‘And what am I to be questioned about?’

‘His Excellency the Spanish ambassador has brought several complaints to the attention of the Court and demands redress. The charges include murder on the high seas, robbery and assault on Spanish possessions in contravention of existing treaties of friendship.’

‘His Excellency the ambassador,’ mimicked Jacques in the marshal’s tight voice, but speaking softly, ‘wields a broad brush. Where’s that bastard going now? I doubt he’s just getting himself out of the rain.’ Bradley was following the captain towards his cabin.

‘Probably off to inspect the ship’s manifest,’ said Dan, and was proved right when some minutes later, the captain’s steward came over to where Hector was still standing with his friends. ‘The marshal’s asking for you by name,’ the steward said, then added in a lower voice, ‘He’s a right puritan, that one.’

‘I’ll be there in just a moment,’ Hector assured him, and as soon as the steward was out of earshot he turned to his friends. ‘Get off the ship as soon as you can, and disappear! Take my sea chest and my prize money. Anything that may connect me with the
Trinity
.’

‘You’ll need to keep some money by you if they’re taking you to prison, to sweeten the gaolers,’ Jacques said.

‘I’ve a few coins in my purse. Enough to see me through. I’ll contact you when I know what’s happening. Where will I find you?’

‘In Clerkenwell,’ said Jezreel at once. ‘I’ll take Dan and Jacques there and find lodgings for us. Ask for “Nat Hall” or the “Sussex Gladiator” in Brewer’s Yard behind Hockley in the Hole. That’s the name they would know me by from the days when I used to perform the stage fights. It’s a rough part of town where few questions are asked. Also it’s full of foreign mountebanks who perform in the sideshows when there’s bull and bear baiting.’

As Hector turned to go, Jacques clapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Keep your wits about you, Hector, and rejoin us soon. Otherwise Jezreel will have me performing conjuring tricks, and Dan put up on display as a painted Indian.’

Ducking in through the low door to the captain’s cabin, Hector came face to face with the marshal.

‘Your name is Hector Lynch?’ Bradley asked. He had taken off his hat, revealing that he wore his straggly grey hair long and tied back in a queue.

There was no point in denying it. That was the name Hector had used when buying his passage, and it was entered on the ship’s passenger roster.

‘You speak Spanish?’

The question took Hector by surprise. ‘My mother was Spanish. Why do you ask?’

‘My instructions are to detain one Hector Lynch, but the name appears on a separate warrant and no physical description is given. Only that he speaks good Spanish. It is important that I make the correct identification.’ The marshal had the list of wanted men in his hand. ‘His Excellency the Spanish ambassador has particularly requested that you be brought to justice promptly.’

Hector was thunderstruck. ‘Why have I been singled out in this way?’

‘That I am not at liberty to say,’ replied the marshal stiffly. He gave a small, brittle cough. ‘Please be ready to leave within the hour.’

D
URING THE LONG
, slow and muddy journey to London in the coach provided for their transport, Hector and Ringrose talked much about the marshal’s watch list. When Hector told his companion about the interview with the lieutenant governor of Antigua, Ringrose gave a snort of disgust.

‘The greedy swine! He didn’t have enough men to seize
Trinity
so he took his bribe. Then the moment we were gone, he informed on us. There was plenty of time for his message to get here ahead of us in that tub of a merchantman, and have the marshal waiting on the quayside.’

‘Do you think that Sharpe, Gifford and the others have been picked up as well?’ Hector asked.

Ringrose looked thoughtful. ‘Probably not Sharpe. He’s astute. He told me he was going to Nevis before finding a ship bound for England. He must have suspected that vessels arriving direct from Antigua would be watched.’

The coach gave a sudden jolt on its unsprung axle as a wheel dropped into a rut. Both men had to hold on to their wooden seats or be thrown to the floor.

‘Lynch, how is it that marshal’s list is so accurate? He even had my physical description.’

‘Maybe Henry Morgan had a hand in it. A poacher turned gamekeeper never relents.’

‘But I’ve never met Sir Henry so he could not know what I look like.’

Hector watched the drenched countryside drag by and did not answer. He had his own suspicions of the informer’s identity, but he was far more perplexed that the Spanish ambassador should be showing such a special interest in him. He could think of no reason why the ambassador was so anxious to arrange his prosecution.