Sea Robber (10 page)

After about a mile, where the channel skirted around a low green island, he noted a third defensive fort being built on a bluff. There was a web of scaffolding and the ant-like figures of workmen toiling on the battlements, which were already formidable. Hector wondered if this was something it was intended that he should see.

Ensign Carvalho leaned forward. ‘The Viceroy sends us the best military engineers, who have had their training in Spain. He is determined Valdivia is secure from attack, whether by land or from the sea. His Majesty in Madrid takes a close interest. He has declared that he intends to protect the southern flank of his possessions here in Chile, as he has done in Barbary.’

The mention of Barbary gave Hector the opening he needed. ‘I spent some time at the court of the Moroccan Emperor.’

Carvalho’s eyes lit up with interest. ‘Is it true that he employs Spanish officers?’

‘I made several good friends among his Spanish cavalrymen. Thanks to one of them, I managed to escape from the imperial household.’

‘It’s strange that some of my countrymen are willing to serve a foreign potentate, a man whom my King regards with such suspicion that he builds castles to protect his realm from him.’

‘Sometimes it is wiser to adapt to changing circumstances,’ said Hector, hoping the ensign would pick up the hint.

Fortunately the Spanish ensign had a thirst for tales of exotic adventure, and for the rest of the journey he plied his visitor with questions. Hector found himself describing his days in the service of a Turkish corsair operating out of Algiers and how he had been taken prisoner by the French, working first in the royal galley yard in Marseille and later chained to the oar bench until he was shipwrecked on the coast of Morocco. Discreetly he said nothing of the time he had then spent as a buccaneer in the Pacific, and he made no mention of his search for Maria. He judged it was a topic that would require careful introduction.

By the time the little piragua reached the landing stage at Valdivia, the atmosphere between himself and the ensign was relaxed and friendly.

It was clear that a great deal of money had been spent on Valdivia. An imposing defensive wall had been built of massive cut stone, with bastions at each corner, a ditch, and embrasures for cannon and musketeers. Beyond the city gate, the city planners had laid out wide streets and numerous plazas. But, as Hector walked up the main avenue with Carvalho and the two soldiers, he had the impression that the town had yet to fulfil its ambitious design. The roadway itself was unpaved, many of the subdivisions were empty plots that had not yet been built upon, and several large public buildings of brick and stucco had been left half-finished. There were surprisingly few people to be seen. Those he did encounter were going about the everyday business of any small town: mothers with their children picking over the local produce at food stalls or sorting through barrows heaped with second-hand clothes, idlers gossiping on street corners, a few tradesmen carrying their tools on their way to work. He supposed the occasional passer-by with lank black hair, a broad high-cheeked face and wearing a long fringed cloak of animal skin was from the local Indian tribe. He saw no evidence of any unusual prosperity and wondered if Captain Swan would be disappointed in his hope of lucrative commerce. As far as Hector could tell, the bulk of the goods being offered for sale were farm tools and cords of firewood.

They reached the main plaza and arrived before a tall double-fronted building. Set over the main doorway was a stone slab carved with Spain’s royal coat of arms. They entered, and Carvalho asked Hector to wait while he went ahead to find his uncle the Governor and inform him of their arrival.

Hector had expected some delay before he was granted an interview. But in less than five minutes Carvalho was ushering him through the building and out into a pleasantly shaded walled courtyard at the rear. It was a very informal scene. Trellised across the far wall was a luxuriant climbing plant with deep-green leaves and star-shaped blossoms of a delicate purple. Rose bushes grew out of half a dozen large earthenware pots arranged on the flagstones. From one corner came the sound of trickling water where a stone spout dribbled into a small pond covered with water lilies. Seated beside a low table was a small, grey-haired man neatly dressed in an old-fashioned dark-velvet doublet and knee breeches. He was peeling an apple. To add a further touch of domesticity two large, hairy dogs lay dozing at their master’s feet.

‘This is Señor Hector Lynch. He brings the letter from the foreign ship,’ explained the ensign. Turning to Hector, he said, ‘May I introduce my uncle, Don Alonso, the Governor of Valdivia.’

Without rising from his chair and still holding the apple, the small man looked up at Hector with bright interest. Hector was reminded of the sharp scrutiny of a blackbird disturbed while foraging.

‘Tell me about your vessel,’ said the Governor affably. He made no effort at formality.

‘The vessel is the
Cygnet
from Bristol. Her captain, Charles Swan, wishes to trade.’

‘Bristol is in England, is it not?’ The Governor dropped a curl of apple peel on a blue and white plate on the table beside him, and carefully began to cut himself a slice from the fruit.

‘Yes, in England.’

‘Your captain knows that we are forbidden to trade with foreigners?’

‘He was on his way to the East Indies …’

The Governor interrupted with a wave of his paring knife. ‘Please, Señor Lynch, my nephew has already told me of this fable. We can dispense with it, as no one believes it.’

Hector coughed and began again. ‘Captain Swan is genuine in his desire for peaceful trade. He has written you this letter, which explains everything.’ He held out the sealed despatch from Swan. The Governor took it, prised open the seal with his fruit knife and unfolded the parchment. Belatedly Hector realized that Swan would have written it in English. It was unlikely Don Alonso would be able to read the contents.

The Governor barely flicked his eyes over the writing before returning the parchment to Hector.

‘My nephew tells me that you have excellent Castilian. Please be good enough to read out what is said.’

Hector began to translate. ‘To His Excellency the Governor of Valdivia, greetings …’

‘Yes, yes,’ interrupted Don Alonso with a sigh. ‘Leave out the compliments. Just give me the gist of the contents.’

Hector quickly ran his eyes down the page. He decided it was best to proceed straight to Swan’s request that the ship be allowed to enter harbour, and then read out the list of goods he had for sale.

When he had finished detailing the last of the inventory – apparently the
Cygnet
’s cargo included a stock of black-velvet caps, serge, silk, ribbons and knives – Hector paused. The Governor instantly picked up on the hesitation.

‘What else has your captain to say to me?’ he asked.

Hector cleared his throat. He was shocked by what Swan had written in the final paragraph of his letter. Reluctantly he continued, ‘Captain Swan wishes to inform His Excellency that an English pirate ship is cruising in this area,’ he said. He was stunned by Swan’s perfidy.

The Governor settled himself more comfortably on his chair. ‘Please read out to me your captain’s exact words.’

Hector had to concentrate as he delivered an accurate translation of Swan’s treachery. ‘The captain writes: “I feel it is my duty to report that two weeks ago in latitude fifty I encountered a vessel, the
Bachelor’s Delight
. The vessel is armed with thirty-two guns and sails under a false flag. Her captain, one John Cook, is English. I suspect him of being a bloody and known pirate. He claimed to be en route for the island of Juan Fernandez, but is clearly seeking plunder.” ’

Hector stopped reading and raised his eyes from the despatch. The Governor regarded him thoughtfully.

‘I see from your expression you find it shameful that your Captain Swan is so eager to open trade that he informs against his own countrymen,’ observed the Governor quietly.

There was a short silence. Then Don Alonso spoke as if Swan’s disloyalty was of no importance. ‘Señor Lynch, some of those trade goods on board the
Cygnet
could be of interest to our merchants. We have not received a supply ship for several months.’ The Governor turned to his nephew. ‘You say that the ship has anchored in the mouth of the gulf?’

‘Off the Niebla battery,’ answered the young man.

‘Then send word to the fort that she may remain there. I will consult the merchants of the Consulado and discuss which goods we might buy and what we may offer in exchange.’ Addressing Hector, he added in a friendly tone, ‘Perhaps you will be kind enough to pen a note to Captain Swan to advise him that we are prepared to consider his proposal. My nephew can carry the message back to the ship tomorrow morning.’

Hector allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief. Everything had gone more smoothly than he had dared to hope. Now was the moment to find out about Maria.

‘I will be happy to write such a letter. Meanwhile …’ he deliberately left the sentence unfinished.

‘Yes? Is there anything I can do?’ asked the Governor. His tone was solicitous.

Hector took a deep breath. ‘Would you be able to tell me where I might find His Excellency Don Fernando de Costana? He was formerly the Alcalde of the Real Sala del Crimen of Paita, but I believe he has been advanced to a higher office.’

As the words left his mouth, Hector felt a twinge of anxiety. He sensed a very brief, subtle change in the Governor’s manner. It lasted only a heartbeat, but a shadow flickered across the little man’s features.

‘You know Don Fernando?’ enquired the Governor.

Hector was ready with his reply. ‘A member of his household is a distant relation on my mother’s side.’ It was a lie, but a plausible one.

The Governor appeared to be distracted by the blade of his paring knife. He was turning it this way and that, as if to catch the glint from the sun.

‘Of course I am familiar with the name and reputation of the Alcalde. But I have never met him. I will be glad to make enquiries and try to learn his whereabouts.’

He put down the knife and smiled. ‘Señor Lynch, it is too late for you to return to your ship. I will arrange for a room to be prepared so that you can stay overnight. And if you would be my guest at dinner this evening, I would be honoured. Meanwhile I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Ensign Carvalho.’

The little man rose to his feet and murmured to the two dogs. They rose, stretched and followed their master into the main building, leaving Hector with the uneasy feeling there was something he’d failed to notice.

‘I’m glad my uncle has taken a liking to you, Hector,’ said Carvalho, leading the way indoors. ‘You’ll find he is kind-hearted and sincere. He’s been a parent figure to me ever since my own father died two years ago.’

He brought Hector to a room that was evidently a clerk’s office. There was a desk and writing materials, and Hector spent a few moments writing a report to Captain Swan explaining the satisfactory outcome of his visit. Then, after handing the note to Carvalho, he followed the ensign upstairs to find a bedroom ready for him. Already laid out were fresh clothes, and a tub of hot water stood in the adjoining bathroom. After Carvalho had taken his leave, Hector stripped off and lay soaking in the tub, wondering how long it would be before the Governor would have news of Maria’s whereabouts. At length, grateful to be getting rid of nearly three months’ accumulation of grime and sea salt, he heard a knock on the door and a servant summoning him to dine with the Governor.

He descended the staircase to find Don Alonso waiting in a small side room, where a table had been laid for two people. ‘Ensign Carvalho has already gone to contact the members of the Consulado,’ said the Governor genially. ‘So this evening the two of us will be dining alone. I don’t often have visitors, and never before someone who has sailed around the Cape.’

The meal was excellent, a dish of small, succulent oysters followed by delicious beef, and the easy-going, convivial Governor did most of the talking: Valdivia suffered from being very distant from the seat of government in Lima; there had been difficulties with the local Indian tribe, the Mapuche; early hopes of finding silver and gold had been dashed, but there was ample lumber and a potential trade in cattle; it was his intention to make sure the city flourished . .. and so on.

As the evening progressed, Hector found that he grew more and more drowsy. Partly it was the reassuring sensation of being back on dry land after so many weeks at sea. Partly it was the effect of the local wine. It had a slightly resinous flavour, which the Governor assured him was an acquired taste, even as he refilled their glasses yet again. By the time the dessert was served – a concoction of apricots, quince and whipped cream of which Jacques would have been proud – Hector could barely keep his eyes open. The Governor, noting that his guest was growing sleepy, summoned a house servant to escort the young man safely to his room. Hector climbed the stairs, undressed and fell gratefully into bed.