Pirate Freedom (23 page)

I translated for Rombeau and told de Santiago to speak French.

Rombeau said, "There were also two passengers, a man and a woman. They had a fine cabin. I have been in it."

De Santiago sighed. "Very well. You have found me out. Their families— it would be better, you understand, if they did not know. Much better."

Novia stood up to whisper in my ear. "This will be a new lie."

I nodded, trying not to make it obvious.

"My friend Señor Guzman was to travel with me. With him, his wife—"

I had felt Novia stiffen and relax, and did not hear the rest of it.

Rombeau said, "They were on board when you took the sea?"

Sadly, De Santiago nodded. "They were, Monsieur."

"In that case, you lied to us," Rombeau sounded angry, and I did not think he was faking it.

"I did, for their families' sake. You see, Monsieur, my old friend Jaime had lost his fortune. When I say so, you will think he gambled. You will be right. He had owned shares in ships, a dozen perhaps. Those he sold, and had built and fitted out a ship of his own, a fine ship. He provided a good captain and an ample crew, put his own brother on it to trade for him, and sent it to Brunei to trade among the Islands of King Philip. His so-fine ship never returned."

De Santiago sighed. "It destroyed him, that so-fine ship. He was a broken man. His house—all that he had—went to pay his debts. I persuaded him to accompany me. In New Spain, I said, you may recoup your fortune. Many a man of less ability has returned rich. He agreed."

"Get on with it," Novia said. "You squander our hours with your lies."

"If you were a man," de Santiago told her, "I should meet you sword to sword. As it is, Señora …" He smiled. "So lovely a lady may speak as she will. I am honored by the soiled shoes you scrape upon my honor. This man with his pistols, he is your husband?"

"He is," Novia said. (We had planned to marry, so it was not much of a lie.)

De Santiago turned to me and bowed. "You will defend your wife's honor, Señor?"

I said, "Sure."

"At some more convenient time, my seconds will wait upon your own."

I shook my head. "Now. Here. Hey, Chin! Bring Ojeda back."

It took a while to get the chains off de Santiago. While they were doing that, I borrowed a cutlass for him and explained to Ojeda that his boss and I had agreed to fight, and that he was there as a witness.

"You do not lie," Novia told de Santiago. (I could see how much it cost her.) "I am the liar. I tell many, many lies. Forgive me! I implore it!"

His smile might have coaxed a dead woman from the grave. "You love your husband, Señora."

"I adore him," she said, and indicated me. It makes me feel good, even now, when I remember it.

"Thus you must wish his honor unblemished, as I wish my own. They have been sullied by a female tongue. I do not say whose. We will cleanse both his and mine."

It was nearly dark by then, and I did not realize that Novia was crying until I heard her sob. "These men …" Her voice shook. "These pirates. They love him. All of them. If you kill him they will kill you."

"My father desired to die with a sword in his hand," de Santiago told her. "San Martín doubtless interceded for him as he asked, but God awaited the proper time. What was denied the father is granted his son this night. Do your pirates think us cowards, Señora? We Spanish? They will learn otherwise."

If you ever read this, you will already have guessed what I wanted to do. I wanted to throw something at de Santiago the way I had at Yancy. Sure I
wanted to, but there were a couple of things wrong with it that night. The first one was that I did not have anything to throw. The second one was that I did not know how Rombeau and the crew would take it. Everybody was watching by that time. Rombeau and Dubec chased anybody who tried to get too close, but there were men in the rigging and a lot of others crowding aft. I would like to say I breathed a prayer and decided to take my chances, but the truth is I ran out of time.

De Santiago knew more about sword-fighting than I did, and to be honest anybody who knew anything about it knew more than I did. But I knew more about just plain fighting than he did, I was younger and probably stronger, and I had a longer reach.

There was more, and I might as well write that, too. It had probably been years since he had fought with a sword or even practiced with one, and the swords he was used to were longer and had straight blades. Besides, it was dark and neither of us could see the other's blade very well. My night vision may have been a little better, too. I do not know.

Another thing I ought to say is that it did not last anywhere near as long as the sword fights on TV. Nobody jumped up on a table or swung from a rope or any of that. He tried to stab me the way I had stabbed Yancy. I got out of the way and cut at his arm. I remember those. Pretty soon we banged together. He grabbed the blade of my cutlass with his free hand, not expecting it to be as sharp as it was. I slugged him in the belly with my left, giving it all I had and trying to punch through him.

I do not think that punch traveled more than six or eight inches, but he doubled over. I banged him in the head with the brass guard of my cutlass. He still did not go down, so I kicked his legs out from under him.

That was when Rombeau surprised me. He grabbed the cutlass out of de Santiago's hand, and when de Santiago tried to stand up he had the points of both of them in his face.

"You had better concede, Don José." I said it in Spanish and tried to make it as polite as I could. "I'd hate to kill such a brave man, so give up and I'll get somebody to bandage your hand."

After a second or so, he nodded. "I am vanquished, Señor Capitán. What would you have me do?"

Novia said, "Tell us where the woman is," and I seconded her.

It was hard, but he managed to get up. "In the sea. Will you hear me out now, Señora?"

Novia did not answer and Rombeau was yelling for someone to stop the bleeding, so I told de Santiago to go ahead.

"It was our custom to breakfast together, Señor and Señora Guzman, and my wife and I. In fine weather, the little table would be carried from our cabin and placed on deck. You understand, I feel certain. One morning Señor Guzman was not to be found. I had the ship searched. He—"

Novia muttered. "That ship is searched very much."

De Santiago bowed to her again. "As you say, Señora. It is searched, but little is discovered. This was ten days, perhaps, from Coruña. He had thrown himself into the sea. There was no other explanation." De Santiago sighed. "His wife followed him two days ago. I have concealed this matter from my own wife. Señor Guzman's suicide was a great and terrible shock to her. She was devastated. Another suicide …" He let it trail away. "I have given her to think that Señora Guzman keeps to her cabin now, that she is indisposed. You understand, I am sure."

What I understood was that I was the biggest fool ever to have had Menton bring Ojeda forward. I had wanted him to see it was a fair fight. Now he had heard his boss's story, and he would probably stick with it. We got the chains put back on de Santiago and had Menton take both of them forward again.

That was when the watch changed, as close as I can remember. Then, or about then. Anyway we stood around and talked it over, Rombeau, Novia, and I. He thought it might be true. Novia said it was a pack of lies, and there had never been a Mr. and Mrs. Guzman on the ship at all—that this cabin had belonged to some other woman, and she was hiding on the
Castillo Blanco
this minute.

"Whoever she is," Rombeau said, "he would rather die than hand her over."

I pointed out that de Santiago was not dead.

"Well, Captain, he thought he was going to die."

Novia shook her head. "He thought he would kill Crisóforo. After that, who could say?"

"You understand him, too."

"You may be sure I do," Novia told Rombeau. "What I do not understand is his reason for sheltering the woman. He is not a man of the type of Ojeda. Why does he do it?"

It hit me when she said it, but I tried to pretend I had known it all along and I think I must have fooled them both. I said, "It's her hiding place. He knows where she's hiding, and that's where he's hidden the money."

They looked at me like Saint John looking at the angel on Patmos, and it felt wonderful. I wanted to say that I too was just a servant of the Lord's. It would have been the truth, but I did not.

Finally Rombeau said, "I cannot see through bricks. It is good that we have among us a man who does."

Novia touched my arm. "You comprehend all this, mi corazón?"

"I think so."

"He conceals his money in this very secret place, yet this woman knows of it, for she conceals herself there?"

"It's a little room," I told her. "Probably just big enough for two people to lie down in."

Rombeau spat. "I am still in the dark, Captain."

"I am not," Novia told him. She laughed, and just hearing her laugh made me feel wonderful all over again. "Her husband is dead. He consoles the widow."

"But his wife is on board." Rombeau rubbed his chin. "I am a donkey."

"You have not been married, I think. Crisóforo, should we go to the white ship to look?"

"It's dark," I said. "Finding her will be a lot easier by daylight. It'll be easier to go from this ship to that one, too. Let's see what the wife knows."

We had Pilar brought up after that. She was crying, and kept on crying even when we had the chains taken off her wrists. I got Novia to hug her and so on, but it took a while to get her quieted down.

"Your husband is still alive," Novia told her. "I swear it. So are you. If you tell us everything we ask, there will come a day when you are home once more, telling your friends of your capture by pirates."

Pilar nodded and tried to smile. It was full dark by then, but somebody had lit the stern lanterns and I could see her pretty well. She was years past her best, and she had been through a lot. Even making allowances for all that, I could see she had never been a treat. If de Santiago had married her for her money, I hoped he had gotten his money's worth.

"There was a woman besides yourself on your husband's ship," Novia began. "What was her name?"

Pilar nodded. "Señora Guzman."

"A younger woman, your husband said." Novia smiled. "No doubt she looked to you for wise counsel."

"Oh, yes." Pilar nodded vigorously.

"It is strange to me that a woman would journey so far alone."

"You are kind, Señora, but she was not alone. Señor Guzman accompanied her when she set out."

I said, "This is one of the people down there? Maybe I should see him."

"He is dead, Señor. Many are dead."

Rombeau touched my elbow, and I translated for him. He asked me to ask her if there was disease on board, and I did.

That started her crying again. Finally she whispered to Novia, and Novia said in French, "There is something that kills. A curse."

Rombau and I just stared at each other.

They whispered some more, and Novia said, "I have promised that she and her husband will be permitted to remain on this ship for the present."

I said, "Sure. Tell her she's got to pull herself together." I can be terribly, terribly dumb, particularly about women. But I finally had the sense to tell Rombeau we needed another chair, a bottle of wine, and a glass. Sitting down, with Novia patting her shoulder and a glass of medium-good wine under her stomacher, Pilar dried her tears and got pretty chatty. Señor Guzman had been the first to die, not long after they had left Spain. She did not know how long. A few days. The rest had been sailors. Sometimes they disappeared like Señor Guzman. Sometimes they were found dead. Her husband had not permitted her to view the bodies, and she did not know whether they had been stabbed or shot.

She leaned toward Novia confidentially. "They were frightened to death, Señora. That is what I think. Some so frightened they died, some leaped overboard rather than face the ghost. Their expressions were most horrible."

Naturally I wanted to know how she knew that, if she had not been allowed to see them.

"He told me, Señor. José told me. He saw them all. Their faces were hideous, he said."

"Only not Señor Guzman, right? He didn't see him?"

"No, Señor. He saw none of those who leaped into the sea, only those whose bodies we found."

I said, "But he must have been very worried about Señor Guzman, wasn't he? Señor Guzman was a close friend?"

"No, no! Only a friend of a friend. I never saw either of them until the day before we sailed. He was a tall, handsome man, Señor. Very strong. Muy macho. It frightened him to death even so. From this you conceive how much I feared it."

Rombeau said, "I'm surprised that Don José let him and his wife travel on his ship, a penniless couple he hardly knew."

When Novia had translated, Pilar said, "Oh, no, Señor! The Guzmans were not penniless. Far from it! They had very much gold. My husband desired to form a partnership with Señor Guzman in New Spain."