Mad Morgan (22 page)
Authors: Kerry Newcomb
M
ajor Gilberto Barba made his way along the limestone wall of the slave compound, keeping to the shadows, pausing every few paces to search his obscured surroundings. If he hadn't lived in Panama City for most of his life, he would have been hopelessly lost. Barba was grateful for the fog that had rolled in from the bay during the night, blanketing the city in a ghostly gray shroud.
ajor Gilberto Barba made his way along the limestone wall of the slave compound, keeping to the shadows, pausing every few paces to search his obscured surroundings. If he hadn't lived in Panama City for most of his life, he would have been hopelessly lost. Barba was grateful for the fog that had rolled in from the bay during the night, blanketing the city in a ghostly gray shroud.
Although it failed to dampen the celebration, the mist served to drive the festivities inside. The grounds and ballroom of the governor's estate, as well as the taverns and crib houses near the waterfront, were crowded with men and women whose saturnalian excess was a match for any Roman bacchanal.
Earlier in the day, at the conclusion of the marriage rites, church bells had pealed throughout the city and continued unabated until sundown out of deference to the new governor. His marriage to Dona Elena Maria, Panama City's favored daughter, was the catalyst for a fete that promised to last from dusk till dawn.
Gilberto Barba thought of himself as an honorable man and yet this night had he had agreed to commit murder. Call it retribution. Don Bernardo de Saucedo, Elena's father, had been his friend and benefactor. Years ago, with Don Bernardo's blessing, Gilberto had assumed command of Panama City's entire garrison. His had been a position of power and responsibility.
The new governor, Don Alonso del Campo, had changed all that.
Barba scowled, finding in his anger the fuel to hold his course. He had been relegated to being little more than a glorified overseer by Don Alonso. This would not stand. Barba had served too long and too well to be shunted aside, cast off like an unwanted barnacle.
Barba scowled, finding in his anger the fuel to hold his course. He had been relegated to being little more than a glorified overseer by Don Alonso. This would not stand. Barba had served too long and too well to be shunted aside, cast off like an unwanted barnacle.
He paused to check his bearings, took a moment to catch his breath. This damp air was taking its toll on him. His chest was tight and he was struggling to breathe. He heard the trudge of bootheels as a pair of sentries made their rounds, patrolling the perimeter of the warehouse and compound that housed a volatile assortment of slaves and prisoners assigned to labor on the waterfront.
What if they discovered him, crouching in the shadows? Gilberto struggled to swallow, his throat was suddenly dry as a brick. He held his breath, heard the familiar murmur of a trio of men in conversation; voices he recognized were complaining about not being allowed to participate in the fiesta. However, the two men were going to be relieved from their post as soon as they returned to the guardhouse from their excursion around the block. There was still time for them to partake in the governor's good fortune and drown themselves in rivers of rum.
The footsteps halted momentarily and Gilberto overheard the sentries discussing the carriage and gelding he had left tethered to a post near an apothecary shop. But the hour was late and the men were tired. The waterfront was a lonely place to be with only the lapping of the waves against the piers and the creak of anchored vessels for company. Where was the man who would not prefer the gaily-lit fleshpots, the songs and bawdy laughter and the music of the strolling troubadours, to guarding a couple hundred slaves and prisoners?
The sounds of celebration that drifted on the mist-blanketed night kept their queries brief, and in the end led the soldiers off into the fog to finish their patrol without incident and return to the comforts of their post: a cheery blaze, a well-lit room, a jug of rum, and the easy camaraderie of friends.
That a slave might escape was of little concern to the patrol. Pity the poor miscreant who attempted an escape. The sea blocked one route, the well-patrolled mountain road held little chance for success, and the swamp and jungle-choked lowlands where the Kuna headhunters prowled provided a deadly deterrent.
Barba breathed a sigh of relief, listening to the sound of the receding footsteps. He did not relish a confrontation with the sentries, nor would it do for them to connect his presence with Morgan's impending escape from the compound. The major grinned, considering
Elena Maria's elaborate scheme. Her father would have been proud. The old Don had not achieved his wealth by being a choirboy. He had fought and clawed his way to power over the backs of his enemies. He had been born with a sense of his own righteous destiny, was unflaggingly loyal to his friends, and up until his death was determined to hold on to every gain.
Elena Maria's elaborate scheme. Her father would have been proud. The old Don had not achieved his wealth by being a choirboy. He had fought and clawed his way to power over the backs of his enemies. He had been born with a sense of his own righteous destiny, was unflaggingly loyal to his friends, and up until his death was determined to hold on to every gain.
Gilberto recognized much of the old Don in Elena Maria. They were two sides of the same coin. Like her father, the daughter was manipulative, clever as a fox, and utterly ruthlessâany man worth the red blood flowing in his veins was at her mercy, including the notorious Henry Morgan. The buccaneer was going to prove useful indeed, far more so than he would have been, dangling from the gallows in the plaza.
With the new governor out of the way, rank and power would be Barba's again, of that the major was certain, especially after he apprehended and killed the notorious
Tigre del Caribe
, avenging the pirate's despicable murder of Don Alonso on his wedding night. There had been a time when a man like Gilberto Barba would have balked at the notion of what he was about to do for Doña Elena. But ambition has a way of changing some men. Acts born of desperation and greed become palatable.
Tigre del Caribe
, avenging the pirate's despicable murder of Don Alonso on his wedding night. There had been a time when a man like Gilberto Barba would have balked at the notion of what he was about to do for Doña Elena. But ambition has a way of changing some men. Acts born of desperation and greed become palatable.
Gilberto reached the bolted iron door that permitted entrance to the walled yard outside the warehouse that served as shelter for the imprisoned. Barba pressed his cheek against the iron panel and listened, heard nothing, took his pistol and tapped the twin gun barrels against the door. His three short taps were answered in kind.
Barba glanced around, a useless gesture, as the fog had thickened to the point that it concealed most of the street. The air was heavy with the smell of algae and rotting vegetation carried ashore and deposited by the tides. The palms of his hands were moist, his mouth was dry.
You'd think it would be the other way around.
You'd think it would be the other way around.
The Spaniard leaned into the bolt. He gritted his teeth, doubled his efforts. The rusted metal slowly gave in under pressure, iron groaned, then the bolt began to slide back. Gilberto finished with the first bolt and started on the second, which was even more rusted than the first: the going wasn't any easier. He was thankful for the elements that cloaked the streets in the forgetful fog that seemed to absorb noise.
With the second bolt clear, the major thumbed back both hammers on his double-barreled flintlock, leaned his broad shoulder and well-padded physique into the door. The hinges protested every inch as it swung open.
Morgan slipped through.
“Be quick, I have aâ”
Gilberto never finished his sentence. Morgan's fist caught him flush in the throat. The officer sank to his knees, gasping for breath. The buccaneer snatched the pistol from the major's hand and tapped the man across the skull with the gun butt. Gilberto moaned and curled over on his side.
Morgan helped himself to the rest of Gilberto's weapons, a second double-barreled gun and a small-bore
miqulet
pistol the major had tucked away inside his coat pocket. Morgan glanced over his shoulder as Kintana emerged from the prison yard. The Kuna native warily checked his surroundings, his flat features vaguely discernible in the mist. His nostrils flared. He looked at Morgan, still uncertain whether the buccaneer was a friend or just some new kind of enemy. Years of persecution and warfare had taught him to regard all white men with suspicion.
miqulet
pistol the major had tucked away inside his coat pocket. Morgan glanced over his shoulder as Kintana emerged from the prison yard. The Kuna native warily checked his surroundings, his flat features vaguely discernible in the mist. His nostrils flared. He looked at Morgan, still uncertain whether the buccaneer was a friend or just some new kind of enemy. Years of persecution and warfare had taught him to regard all white men with suspicion.
Kintana noted the pistol in Morgan's hand and the others he had tucked in his belt. The buccaneer offered one of his weapons to the warrior. Kintana knelt by the unconscious major and removed a bayonet from man's belt, leaving the leather scabbard behind. The Kuna straightened, his primal senses searching through the gloom. He silently appraised the direction of the breeze, then with a nod in Morgan's direction, turned and loped off into the murky night.
“Be careful. Anglais,” drifted back through the gloom.
Morgan shrugged, closed the side door to the prison yard and bolted it shut before the other prisoners discovered it and a citywide alarm was raised. He managed to half drag, half carry the major's rotund frame back to his carriage, where he deposited the unconscious figure on the seat. Morgan discovered a change of clothes and a blunderbuss and a particularly nasty-looking hatchet.
Elena Maria had wanted to be certain Morgan had the tools to dispatch the governor. A mirthless smile split the buccaneer's haggard countenance. Capture and imprisonment had taken a lot out of him, sapped his reserve of strength. But he could still think, still reason, still observe. While laboring on the waterfront he had become acutely aware of the many ships anchored in the harbor, including those belonging to Elena Maria, none of which was in any condition to sail. He had enough sense left to read a trap when one was set for him, and just enough strength to effect his escape. Retribution would have to wait.
But he could just imagine the look on Elena's face â¦
Â
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Don Alonso and his new bride left the governor's estate with the cries of well-wishers ringing in their ears. Elena Maria's husband helped her into the carriage and pointed the gelding away from the fortress-like “governor's palace” and the lingering line of merchants and mine-owners and planters, whose names the new governor could hardly recall.
“A wonderful idea,
mi amor,”
said Don Alonso, flicking the reins with his right hand, and with his left, unbuttoning the green-and-white tunic he had worn for the wedding ceremony. The heavy woolen material was weighted down with row after row of medals reflecting the light from the lanterns hung on either side of the carriage. He sighed as each brass button came undone, permitting his growing paunch to expand. “The governor's palace is a poor cousin to the house your father built. We shall live there until the palace is made suitable for us. I'll have a work detail adding rooms and several gardens.”
mi amor,”
said Don Alonso, flicking the reins with his right hand, and with his left, unbuttoning the green-and-white tunic he had worn for the wedding ceremony. The heavy woolen material was weighted down with row after row of medals reflecting the light from the lanterns hung on either side of the carriage. He sighed as each brass button came undone, permitting his growing paunch to expand. “The governor's palace is a poor cousin to the house your father built. We shall live there until the palace is made suitable for us. I'll have a work detail adding rooms and several gardens.”
Elena Maria looked demurely at him, playing the part of a nervous young bride as the carriage clattered down the Via España and turned onto the Via Mercado and on to the Avenida Balboa. Elena tried to listen and react to what her husband was saying, but her thoughts raced ahead to what they might find in the garden house. Major Barba had been dispatched hours earlier. Gilberto would have had ample time to free Morgan and prepare a proper reception for the governor.
Consuela suspected, Elena Maria was sure of it. The old woman had approached her earlier in the morning, while Elena was being dressed by half a dozen servants who laboriously fitted her into a lace wedding gown. The
criollos
had become furious with her nurse's innuendos and exploded in a tantrum, ordering everyone from the room but Consuelo. The half-breed had held her ground.
criollos
had become furious with her nurse's innuendos and exploded in a tantrum, ordering everyone from the room but Consuelo. The half-breed had held her ground.
“Well, old nurse, speak what is in your heart.”
“I see what I see.”
“With one good eye and one blind. Tell me, then.”
“I see what I see.” Her eyes, nose, mouth, cheeks look sculpted out of clay dug from the hills. She looked for all the world like a carved deity come to life.
“I do not want your counsel. I am my father's daughter, I am the house of Saucedo, and it will stand. And none will divide or despoil my birthright.”
Consuelo shakes her head. “You choose the shadow way, it changes you. You can never come back to the light.”
“You are a foolish old woman today, but I forgive you.”
Â
Â
“A foolish old woman?” Don Alonso said, guiding the carriage down the narrow drive that led past the barn out behind
la casa de Saucedo.
He applied the carriage brake when they pulled abreast of the garden gate. “What are you saying?”
la casa de Saucedo.
He applied the carriage brake when they pulled abreast of the garden gate. “What are you saying?”
“Consuelo,” Elena Maria explained, blushing. Caught in the act of reliving a memory she had not meant to speak aloud, the young bride was forced to defend herself. “She could not understand why I wished for us to pass this evening alone in the garden house.”
“The old witch, we should be rid of her. I find your idea rather exciting. And we will need no servants for what I have in mind,” Don Alonso chuckled.
“Mi madre!”
“Have no fear. I shall be tender as the rain. Now, out of this cursed mist before we grow ill from these vapors.”
“The gloom fills me with dread. See that the door is unlocked and the lamps lit within. I will follow.”
“As you wish, Señora,” said the governor. He had waited for this woman long enough. Tonight she was his, and the vast wealth that was her birthright. All his â¦
Elena Maria watched him enter the garden, heard the door to the garden house creak open. She waited, expecting a gunshot. Nothing. But Morgan had to be within. A knife, then, yes; of course, he was accustomed to close-in fighting. She climbed out of the carriage, stood alone in the dark, searched the mist for some sign of Gilberto Barba. But no, he would be within the garden house to finish what Morgan started. She felt a pang of regret, a secret, searing pain that tore through her. But she had done what needed to be done. And there would always be other lovers.
She walked through the garden, caught the scent of roses and lilacs and freshly turned earth. It was done, had to be by now. That made her a grieving widow. She practiced a suitable expression. She would need to wear widow's rags for at least six months. Then slowly abandon her mourning garb, allow her “grief” to subside while she went about her family's business.
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