Sea Robber (29 page)

I
NCH BY INCH
Dan raised his head. He was crouched in the sawgrass on the hillside above Aganah. Below him lay the untidy sprawl of the native town and, beyond that, the rectangular block of the Spanish Presidio. He faced down into the valley, held his breath and opened his mouth. He kept totally still, for that was how his father had taught him to listen when scouting. It had been part of his training for slaving raids on the inland villages where the Miskito kidnapped their servants and concubines. Dan could still remember the excitement of his first raid: the cautious river journey by canoe, a landing well short of the target village, the silent march through the jungle, the lone scout sent ahead to examine the best line of attack.

Now he assessed Aganah in the same way. He’d been at his vantage point since first light, watching the houses, counting the number of people moving about, noting where they were going and how soon they returned, gauging the best route to reach the walls of the Presidio without raising the alarm. Tonight there was no moon, and if the sentries were as incompetent as Jacques had reported, it was unlikely they’d spot the raiders approaching the wall. The real risk of discovery would come sooner, while crossing the town itself. If the local residents were disturbed, the raid would be a disaster. That was why he listened so carefully, ignoring the background whisper of the breeze through the tall grass around him and the buzz and scratchy chirps of insects in the warm early afternoon. He picked up snatches of voices from below, indistinct and very faint, the thumping sound of someone chopping or pounding, the cry of a baby. For a moment he was startled by a long, hollow moan. Then he recalled hearing that the Spaniards had brought water buffalo from the Philippines as draught animals and for milk. But it wasn’t the water buffalo that concerned Dan, or the handful of imported horses, which had so terrified the Chamorro, who thought of them as outlandish monsters. Dan was listening for dogs.

They were the real guardians of the settlement, and as yet Dan hadn’t seen any. A single cur, awoken during the night and barking loudly, would wreck the entire plan.

Dan resumed breathing. At the back of his throat was the faint taste of wood smoke from the cooking fires in the houses below. He eased himself down into the grass, and crawled to where Hector and the others were waiting.

As he slithered through the long grass, Dan thought of Ma’pang and his clan. He feared they would suffer the same fate as the native peoples of Peru and New Spain, when the confident pale-skinned strangers had insisted they worship a different god and adopt new and alien ways. Unless the Chamorro followed the example of his own people, the Miskito, they would lose both their lands and their identity. They needed to arm themselves with the white man’s weapons, and draw so much blood they would always be left alone.

Once the Chamorro had their hands on enough firearms, Dan knew they’d quickly learn to look after them, as well as use them. For the raid, Jacques had drawn sketches of a set of pick-locks that he required if he was to open the door to the prison where the hostages were kept. Within half a day the Chamorro fishermen had fashioned a dozen hooked and curved tools of different thicknesses, lengths and shapes. They had made them from bone and shell and sticks of close-grained hardwood. When Jacques had decided the tools were strong enough for the prison doors, but might snap in the heavy fetter padlocks, Ma’pang had produced the bronze cross he’d been given by the missionaries. A Chamorro craftsman had reshaped it into exactly the stout pick-lock the Frenchman specified.

Dan smiled to himself, amused at the thought that the symbol of the foreigners would be used to free their captives.

He reached the clearing where Hector and the others waited. There were just five of them altogether: Jacques, Jezreel, Ma’pang, Hector and himself. Stolck had stayed aboard the galaide layak that had delivered them under cover of darkness to a sheltered bay on the northern side of the island, and would return the following evening to collect them.

‘The north wall of the fort is the best place to climb in,’ Dan said. ‘It is farthest from the watchtower where the night sentry might be. There are also huts on that side of the town, which seem to be storehouses rather than homes. They should give us some cover.’

‘What about the wall? How high is it?’ asked Jezreel.

‘Maybe twenty feet. Easy to scale,’ Dan answered.

Jacques had earlier explained the layout of the fort’s interior. Now he looked at Hector with a worried expression. ‘If we climb over the north wall, we will have to divide. I believe the Chamorro hostages are kept in the long, low building that looks like stables. The windows there have bars. Maria is in the Governor’s quarters, and they are in the opposite direction.’

‘We stick to the plan we discussed,’ Hector insisted. ‘You, Dan and Ma’pang go in search of the hostages. Jezreel stays with the ladder to secure our line of retreat. I’ll go on my own to find Maria.’

To Hector’s surprise, Dan shook his head. ‘No, I will go with you. Jacques and Ma’pang are enough to free the hostages.’

Hector saw the stubborn expression on Dan’s face. He looked at the others to see if anyone objected.

‘If that’s the way you want it, we’d better get going.’

T
HREE HOURS LATER
Hector stood with his back pressed against the inner face of the Presidio wall. He could feel the rough coral blocks through his thin cotton shirt. Everything had gone exactly to plan. Dan’s assessment had been faultless. An hour before midnight, when the town’s folk were asleep, the intruders had stealthily made their way through a skein of back alleys without being noticed. They had then scuttled across the open ground around the fort that provided the Spaniards’ field of fire. Ma’pang had carried a makeshift scaling ladder made by driving cross-bars through a length of stout bamboo. He had set it against the wall, scrambled up and waited on the wooden walkway that ran along the inside of the top of the wall. Here the others had joined him. Then the ladder had been used again to descend into the fort itself. Now it was time for the group to split up.

There was sufficient starlight for Hector to get his bearings. He could make out the shape of the little chapel, the darker shadows of the barracks, even the patch of the garrison’s vegetable garden. Everything was as Jacques had described. To his left Ma’pang and Jacques were already creeping away. They would follow the line of the wall until it brought them to the outbuilding with the barred windows. Jezreel was to wait at the spot where they had entered the fort, staying well within the shadow of the overhang of the walkway in case a sentry should chance to make his rounds. His task was to guard the ladder until the others returned.

Hector felt a touch on his shoulder. Dan pointed in the direction of a large square building, pale white in the starlight, which faced the central parade ground. It had to be the Governor’s quarters. Quietly the two men began to move to their right, circling to position themselves where the bulk of the building would shield them from the watchtower.

Hector noticed how easily and confidently Dan covered the ground. The Miskito seemed to glide along. Now and then he paused to listen and check the shadows, alert to every noise or movement. Hector felt clumsy and awkward by comparison. Anxiously he tried to follow directly in Dan’s path, stopping whenever he stopped, placing his feet gently. Yet he feared he might blunder and make a noise at any moment.

Several minutes of this furtive progress brought them to the rear of the Governor’s quarters. Hector relaxed a little. They were no longer in the sentry’s line of sight, and even if he left his watchtower, Dan and he could hide in a lean-to shed built against the back wall of the Governor’s quarters. From the smell, it was obviously used by the kitchen staff as a place to pluck chickens, gut fish and put out the slops.

Treading lightly, Hector approached the back door to the house. Gently he lifted the latch. It was as he’d feared: the door was locked and barred from the inside.

He stepped back and looked up at the rear face of the building.

Above and a little to one side of the lean-to shed, a window was ajar. Hector thought back to Jacques’ description of his brief visit to the Governor’s residence. The front door opened into an entrance hall. From there a stairway led to the upper floor, and it was safe to assume that the best rooms – those that overlooked the parade ground – were used by the Governor and his lady, probably as their bedroom and a drawing room. Maria and any other members of staff who slept in the house would have rooms at the rear of the building.

Hector counted the number of upper windows. There were five. He guessed that the central one gave on to the stairwell and those on each side were for bedrooms. The half-open window was one of them.

He slipped off his shoes and gestured to Dan to hoist him on to the roof of the shed. The tiles of the lean-to shifted and grated alarmingly as he scrambled for purchase. Despite his care, there was a slight clatter as a section of broken tile slid away and fell to the ground. He froze and flattened himself to the roof. With no reaction from the house, and after a few moments, he rose on all fours and slowly began to crawl forward. At the rear wall, he gingerly stood upright and stretched for the open window. But he’d misjudged. The window ledge was too far away for him to reach. He cursed under his breath and shuffled backwards, afraid to turn round for fear of dislodging another tile. As he reached the edge of the roof, where Dan should have been ready to help him back to the ground, he looked down and saw that the Miskito had gone.

He thought Dan must have ducked under the roof. He waited, but the Miskito was nowhere to be seen. Very cautiously, Hector lay forward on his stomach, eased his legs over the edge of the roof, slid himself backwards and dropped to the ground with a slight thud. Once more he held his breath, fearful that he’d woken someone in the house. Still there was no sign of Dan.

As he groped for his shoes, he saw a shadow coming towards him. He realized it was his friend, and he carried the bamboo ladder that Jezreel had been guarding.

The Miskito put his mouth close to Hector’s ear. ‘You need this,’ he whispered.

Hector was alarmed. ‘What about the others? If anything goes wrong, without the ladder they’ll be trapped,’ he hissed.

Dan gave a dismissive grunt. ‘Jezreel said you need the ladder more than they do. Now don’t waste any more time.’

Together they put the ladder into position against the rear wall and Hector clambered upwards. He eased the window fully open, his heart in his mouth. He was well aware of the extravagant risk he was taking. There was no way of knowing whose bedroom he was entering. It could be some stranger’s, or where the Governor’s children slept. Even if it was Maria’s room, she might be sharing it with another member of the Governor’s staff.

With excruciating care he eased himself into the darkened room and stood by the window waiting for his vision to adjust to the gloom. It was a bedroom – that was clear. Close beside him, where the light from the window was strongest, stood a small chair. Some garments lay across it. The farthest corners of the room were deep in shadow, so it was impossible to see what was in them. The middle of the room was dominated by a large, ghostly white shape reaching to the ceiling. It took Hector several moments to realize it was a net canopy to keep out insects. Whoever used the room was asleep inside. He could hear nothing, not even breathing.

For a long while the young man stood still, undecided. He didn’t know whether to tiptoe to the door, leave and attempt to find some clue as to which was Maria’s room, or just try and check who was sleeping under the canopy, without waking them.

He stood there, gripped with uncertainty, when a voice spoke softly and clearly from within the canopy.

‘Is that you, Hector?’

He felt as if the ground had dropped from beneath his feet and he was in mid-air. The air was sucked from his lungs. His throat went dry and, unable to speak, he went to her. The canopy was drawn aside and a woman’s shape sat up, dark hair loose and falling around her shoulders. Then Hector was on his knees, his arms around Maria.

For what seemed an age, neither of them spoke. He was dizzy with emotion. Then, very gently, she put her mouth close to his ear and whispered, ‘I knew you would come.’

Reluctantly, slowly, he eased his embrace. ‘I want you to leave with me,’ he murmured. It was a simple, brief statement. There was no time to say more.

She didn’t answer, but laid her hand on his arm and freed herself from his embrace. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose to her feet, and the canopy fell back in place as she walked swiftly to the other side of the room. Dimly Hector saw the lid of a chest lift, and then Maria was back beside him with a bundle in her arms and a dark hood tied around her hair. Only then did he realize that she’d been sleeping fully dressed.