Mad Morgan (15 page)
Authors: Kerry Newcomb
“Why me?” Pettibone said, his voice a hoarse rasp.
“Because you're here,” said LeBishop, and pinned the man's heart
to the sand. Pettibone gasped and clawed at the cutlass blade jutting from his chest. He groaned, his features contorted, and his hands outstretched, reaching for the life that was beyond his grasp, then dropped loose as a rag doll's. His head turned to the side.
to the sand. Pettibone gasped and clawed at the cutlass blade jutting from his chest. He groaned, his features contorted, and his hands outstretched, reaching for the life that was beyond his grasp, then dropped loose as a rag doll's. His head turned to the side.
It took a healthy tug to drag the weapon free. By then Pettibone had quit wriggling.
LeBishop heard footsteps behind him in the sand and he whirled about, weapon ready, only to confront his quartermaster, Peter Tregoning. The gnarled little Cornishman brought up sharply a few paces from the red-stained tip. Tregoning had no use for a cutlass. Pistols were his weapon of choice and he carried a half dozen on his person at all times. But he wisely kept his hands clear of the weapons and held them palms upward and empty. His cheeks were red and he was breathing heavy from the run up the beach; his eyes seemed to bulge as he fought to catch his breath.
“Captain LeBishop, see you there. The Dons are sailing into Kingston bay.”
LeBishop scanned the approach from the sea and blanched at the sight of a Spanish frigate, the
San Bartolomeo,
bearing down on the peninsula. The frigate had chased him from a prize ship on more than one occasion. He looked back toward Port Royal. The ramparts protecting the waterfront were completely unmanned.
San Bartolomeo,
bearing down on the peninsula. The frigate had chased him from a prize ship on more than one occasion. He looked back toward Port Royal. The ramparts protecting the waterfront were completely unmanned.
“Blast your eyes, where's the alarm?” LeBishop exclaimed. “Who is tending the signal bell?”
“Begging your pardon, Captain, but you've gone and killed them,” said Tregoning.
The Black Cleric glanced at the two corpses, then at the great brass bell on its scaffold and carriage erected a few yards back from the water's edge. “The devil, you say.” LeBishop trotted over to the bell; his speed increased as the three-masted warship swung toward them, revealing an impressive array of guns along the length of its solid-looking hull. The Black Cleric climbed the scaffolding hand over foot, and gaining the platform, grabbed the pull rope and gave a mighty tug. The bell began to swing on its housing, gained momentum, and finally began to ring out its warning.
Behind them, farther up the shore in Port Royal, buccaneers stumbled from taverns and crib houses and inns and made their way to the battlements. Despite the fact that the frigate was flying a flag of truce, the Brethren of the Coast hastily swabbed out their batteries of twelve-pounders, loaded them with roundshot, and replaced the fuses as the colors of Spain rounded the point and entered the harbor.
“Here comes a grand marquessa,” Tregoning called out, striving to be heard above the bell. The
San Bartolomeo
was rigged with a variety of fore-and-aft and square sails. It plunged through the greenblue waters with a sense of purpose that dared defiance. “And see, she flies a flag of peace.”
San Bartolomeo
was rigged with a variety of fore-and-aft and square sails. It plunged through the greenblue waters with a sense of purpose that dared defiance. “And see, she flies a flag of peace.”
“That may be,” said LeBishop, eyeing the frigate whose decks bristled with hardened seamen and troops of well-disciplined musketeers. Its gunports were open to reveal a lethal array of twelve- and fourteen-pounder cannons. “But she's dressed for war.”
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Elena Maria basked in the warm sunlight that washed the second-floor balcony fronting the English governor's estate. She leaned upon the wrought-iron railing overlooking the circular drive, relishing this last moment of calm, this last opportunity to be herself. Soon she must drape herself in pretense, like a well-worn shawl. But at least Don Alonso had made a timely entrance. Now she would not have to depend solely on an incompetent English governor to keep her plans alive.
An hour earlier Consuelo had roused her charge from a late-morning nap and alerted the señorita about the arrival of the
San Bartolomeo
in the harbor. Anticipating a visit from Don Alonso, Elena Maria had quickly dressed, choosing a flowery-print dress, sewn from brown-dyed bolts of Indian cotton. Its broad-lace-trimmed bodice was simply embellished with tiny pearls, while the accompanying cream-colored apron and mantilla were embroidered with pastel blue silk thread. She wanted to appear both chaste and elegant for the governor of Panama.
San Bartolomeo
in the harbor. Anticipating a visit from Don Alonso, Elena Maria had quickly dressed, choosing a flowery-print dress, sewn from brown-dyed bolts of Indian cotton. Its broad-lace-trimmed bodice was simply embellished with tiny pearls, while the accompanying cream-colored apron and mantilla were embroidered with pastel blue silk thread. She wanted to appear both chaste and elegant for the governor of Panama.
Consuelo joined her mistress on the balcony outside the guest bedroom. From the front of the house the two women could watch the road, the circular drive, and the sun-dappled bay. Elena Maria could watch the well-ordered streets of Kingston. She had walked them all during the past four days, escorted more often than not by Sir Richard himself, who kept up a constant chatter about the burdens of authority and the bright future he envisioned for himself after a successful tenure as the governor of the island. Sir Richard's wife had returned to England some time ago. Elena Maria assumed Purselley's lady had no stomach for adventure.
Elena Maria was quite the opposite: Life in Spain at the court of King Carlos would be a dreary fate. It was a trait she shared with the buccaneers of Port Royal who preferred their freedom to the comforts
and constraints of the Old World. She glanced aside at the nurse, who seemed preoccupied with her own thoughts.
and constraints of the Old World. She glanced aside at the nurse, who seemed preoccupied with her own thoughts.
“What do you see, old woman?”
Sunlight and memories had drawn Consuelo out to the balcony. She steadied herself against the railing, turned her weathered countenance with its blind right eye toward the bay and Port Royal. She did not answer at first, but continued to study the peninsula, the wind tugging at her cloth bonnet, lost in her thoughts or visions. It was hard to tell, for when the mood came upon her, it was as if the woman withdrew from the world. Something in the distance distracted herâperhaps the Spanish frigate in the harborâor had she divined that Elena Maria had not spent last night alone?
“Tell me, Consuelo, do you look to what-will-be? Perhaps your thoughts lie in Port Royal, perhaps in the bed of your recent paramour?” Elena Maria grinned as the servant swung about to protest: that got the old woman's mind off her mistress's affairs!
“But Señorita, I promise you, I never so much as even ⦔
Elena Maria stilled her with a glance and an upturned hand. “Nurse, you have never lied to me. I should hate to think you would deceive me now.” Elena Maria shooed a hovering dragonfly from her face. “I remember when that pair of handsome young English soldiers returned with you that first morning on the island. I had never seen you in such a state. Bedraggled as a lost puppy brought in from a storm. I could not understand where you had been or what you had seen. You made no sense.”
“I was lost and confused,” Consuelo tried to explain.
“Evidently you have been lost and confused for the past four days.” The Kuna half-breed had made a clandestine visit to the buccaneer stronghold each afternoon.
Elena Maria decided not to mention the curiously satisfied smile she had glimpsed on the old woman's face, a look of
amor
that she knowingly recognized. The servant immediately began to try to explain her absences and offer a litany of apologies, but her protests and shaky indignation only fueled Elena Maria's desire to tease her servant all the more.
amor
that she knowingly recognized. The servant immediately began to try to explain her absences and offer a litany of apologies, but her protests and shaky indignation only fueled Elena Maria's desire to tease her servant all the more.
“It is a day of joy. You will be reunited with Don Alonso del Campo,” Consuelo observed, changing the subject. From their vantage point they could see a column of men make its way from the frigate to the pier and down along the waterfront. The distance was too great to identify the men but she was certain Elena Maria's intended groom was among them.
“Yes, a day of joy,” the señorita echoed pensively. She turned and, leaning out over the railing, tried to catch a glimpse of the blockhouse on the point overlooking the sea. She could see the path to the jail winding off through the pineapple trees and the blockhouse itself rising just beyond a bluff fringed with almond trees and blue mahoe.
She pictured the man imprisoned within its sturdy walls, dangerous as caged heat, clever and ruthless if pushed to the point of no return. But he was still a man. And like all men, his vision was clouded by the fire in his loins. Still, she had to be careful, to choose her course with care. Morgan was nothing like Thomas LeBishop. The Black Cleric was predictable and had shown he would back down before an overwhelming force or a well-played bluff. Henry Morgan was different. He was fierce and determined, and his pride ran deep. She thought back to his surrender in Purselley's councilroom.
El Tigre
went along willingly with the English soldiers. He had avoided a melee, kept her safe from injury, and lured Sir Richard into a trap of the governor's own devising. Now Henry Morgan intended to place himself beyond Purselley's reach. Presenting his cause to an English court was certainly putting his life on the line. It was a life Doña Elena Maria intended to put to better use.
El Tigre
went along willingly with the English soldiers. He had avoided a melee, kept her safe from injury, and lured Sir Richard into a trap of the governor's own devising. Now Henry Morgan intended to place himself beyond Purselley's reach. Presenting his cause to an English court was certainly putting his life on the line. It was a life Doña Elena Maria intended to put to better use.
She heard the carriage approaching from the hillside; the rattle of harness and clatter of iron-rimmed wheels telegraphed its impending arrival. Elena Maria felt her pulse quicken. The wait seemed interminable here on the balcony, where the sun melted down like sweet amber honey and drenched the verdant hills. The world about her was an eruption of color, flowers of every hue and shade opened their petals like seductive maidens, revealing their intimate treasures to a worldly paradise rampant with a natural joy.
Elena Maria hid her gloom, buried her misgivings and the truth of her feelings deep within herself as she awaited Don Alonso, trusting he would make a grand show to impress the English. No doubt he paraded through the streets of Kingston with a detachment of well-armed Spanish musketeers in his wake. He would want to impress the locals, to present a show of force to keep the inhabitants of the island in their place.
“Señorita, why so glum?” Consuelo asked. She was deeply troubled by the woman's moodiness. Elena Maria had always been such a happy child. Her father's death had changed all that. No. The servant corrected herself, her memory sharpened. Everything had changed when Elena Maria had realized she needed to seek a husband of noble
birth among the courtiers in Spain to give legitimacy to her inherited holdings in the New World.
birth among the courtiers in Spain to give legitimacy to her inherited holdings in the New World.
Elena Maria was intensely aware that she and Morgan had at least one thing in common. She glanced at the rumpled conforters covering her feather bed and remembered the previous night's lusty interlude.
Well, more than one thing.
Whatever pleasures they had stolen could only be temporary. They were both prisoners. The constraints of Spanish society were as confining and unjust as Purselley's prison. Morgan had his ship and his guns and a crew of hardened rogues. Such a man could always fight his way to freedom. She had to use the weapons at her disposal, her wits, her courage, and the fire in men's eyes.
Well, more than one thing.
Whatever pleasures they had stolen could only be temporary. They were both prisoners. The constraints of Spanish society were as confining and unjust as Purselley's prison. Morgan had his ship and his guns and a crew of hardened rogues. Such a man could always fight his way to freedom. She had to use the weapons at her disposal, her wits, her courage, and the fire in men's eyes.
The carriage rolled into view. Don Alonso stood in the carriage as it rolled to a stop before the governor's estate. His scarlet coat and gold-trimmed waistcoat were resplendent, his white breeches and hose immaculate. He removed his plumed tricorn hat and swept it before him in a bow that almost dislodged him from the carriage. Sir Richard Purselley, seated next to the visiting dignitary, was pleased to see Joseph and the remainder of his servants emerge from the front door and present themselves as the carriage rolled to a stop. But Don Alonso only had eyes for the woman on the balcony. He rushed forward with Sir Richard at his side, leaving the carriage, servants, and a dozen musketeers in green and white to await their liege's pleasure.
Joseph snapped an order and Purselley's household staff instantly went to work, scurrying back into the estate like so many insects. Elena Maria took a deep breath, filled her lungs with the perfumed air and held it until the warmth filtered into her bloodstream and went coursing through her body. Now she was ready.
Elena Maria reentered the bedroom, stood in the center of the floor, her hands clasped together. She heard voices in the hall, then a soft knock at the door. She turned and summoned her servant.
“Consuelo,” she said, with a nod toward the door.
“Si Señorita.”
“I think while you were visiting Port Royal yesterday, you learned from a âfriend' that Henry Morgan intends to steal the
Santa Rita
tonight and sail for England. At least that is what I will tell Don Alonso.”
Santa Rita
tonight and sail for England. At least that is what I will tell Don Alonso.”
“Mistress? You wish me to lie?”
“Just do as you are told, old nurse. Or it will be the worse for both of us.”
The half-breed nodded and hurried across the room. The latch creaked beneath her hand and the door swung open. She stepped back to permit the governor of Panama to make his way into the room. He appeared none the worse for his ordeal in Maracaibo. Indeed, his brooding gaze burned with a singular purpose. But his expression revealed a mixture of delight and relief at finding the daughter of the house of Saucedo alive and well.
Elena Maria curtsied, sank to her knees and took his hand in hers and pressed her lips to his fingers. “I prayed you would rescue me. I never lost faith in you.” There was a slight flutter in her voice, as if she were attempting to hold back a torrent of tears.
“Señorita, I came as soon as the
San Bartolomeo
arrived in Maracaibo. A day earlier and we would have closed the trap on Henry Morgan. Sir Richard informs me that he has the situation in hand. But rest assured I would have sailed to the ends of the earth to bring you home.” Don Alonso was taken back by Elena Maria's heartfelt remarks. He had worried she might accuse him of betraying her into the hands of Morgan and his brigands. Evidently her experiences had left her a chastened woman. He liked the change. “There, there,
pobrecita,”
he added in a paternal tone of voice, stroking her hair beneath the lace mantilla. He helped her to stand. “I came for you,
mi amor,”
he told her tenderly. Then his voice turned cold. “And for one other.”
San Bartolomeo
arrived in Maracaibo. A day earlier and we would have closed the trap on Henry Morgan. Sir Richard informs me that he has the situation in hand. But rest assured I would have sailed to the ends of the earth to bring you home.” Don Alonso was taken back by Elena Maria's heartfelt remarks. He had worried she might accuse him of betraying her into the hands of Morgan and his brigands. Evidently her experiences had left her a chastened woman. He liked the change. “There, there,
pobrecita,”
he added in a paternal tone of voice, stroking her hair beneath the lace mantilla. He helped her to stand. “I came for you,
mi amor,”
he told her tenderly. Then his voice turned cold. “And for one other.”
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