The Scent of Betrayal (34 page)

Once they’d cleared the Yazoo, Tucker took the galley well out into the centre of the main channel of the Mississippi, which followed a very erratic route at this point, turning to the northeast before swinging round in a long arc to a southerly course at Walnut Hills. On the second bend stood a fort, once Nogales under the Spanish, now the American Post of Fort M’Henry. If they were noticed from the ramparts they were not called upon to stop and they proceeded downriver with Tucker calling off the various locations: Palmyra, Point Pleasant. They passed the mouth of the Big Black River, a deep confluence only forty yards wide that acting on the current caused a sudden and unnerving increase in their speed.

‘We’re coming to the Grand Gulf next,’ shouted Tucker. ‘So if you’ve a mind to pray, I’d be thankful for your efforts.’

The river, he explained, narrowed at Trent’s Point to a mere quarter of a mile, while at the same time turning sharply south-west.
This acute angle and sudden compression formed two great eddies, one on either side, just below the narrows, which ran for about half a mile.

‘Don’t be fooled by that sluggish water on either side, Ludlow. This is one of the deadliest stretches of the river. We have to stay plumb in the middle. If we get sucked in with the crowd we’ve got aboard we’ll very likely capsize.’

Harry was looking hard at a pair of portholes close to the stern. His aching shoulders spurred on his tired brain and he had Pender run ropes from the sweep through the gaps so that the men on the deck could take some of the strain of holding the weight.

‘Nice idea, Ludlow,’ said Tucker. ‘Just as long as they don’t hold on when they should let go.’

The speed increased alarmingly, the water rushing down the side now creaming as it swished by. The river dead ahead seemed designed by a godlike hand, with the two swirling eddies marked out by the flat, benign nature of the water. Their avenue was like a foaming arrow down the middle, so constrained that the boat seemed to fill it. The ropes Harry had rigged creaked and strained, the noise of that and the rushing water made the orders Tucker gave hard to hear. At one point the bows swung right towards the larboard bank. Tucker cursed, his voice rising above the river noise, calling for a supreme effort by those steering to bring it back onto its course. The keelboat began to tip to one side, the deck canting enough to dislodge some of the passengers. Men were yelling in panic when the pressure suddenly eased, the boat came level abruptly, and the men on the sweep fell to one side. When Harry stood up, he could see that the eddies were behind them and the pace of the keelboat had slowed. He turned to look at Tucker, who was smiling.

‘Next stop, Bayou Pierre,’ he crooned. ‘And to my mind, that’s cause for celebration. I’d be thankful if someone would fetch me a dram.’

Tucker’s galley was still where he’d left her, nestled against Judge
Bruin’s levee. They transferred men, stores, and bullion rapidly, soaked with sweat in the humid, sticky atmosphere of the swamp. Tucker went ashore to buy a pirogue for Harry and Pender, that being the only vessel that the two of them could manage by themselves on the river.

‘No Indian in his right mind would go far in a bark canoe on the Mississippi,’ he explained, ‘and they’re none too fond of the night.’

Harry looked at the boat, a hollowed-out tree trunk, in which Pender was loading their possessions, with something less than enthusiasm.

‘So this represents the fastest way to get to New Orleans. If McGillivray is not ahead of you now he will never be, as long as you manage this properly.’

‘A bit o’ advice wouldn’t go amiss,’ said Pender.

‘Well, it’s a lot like a horse, Pender,’ Tucker replied, grinning when Harry’s servant groaned. ‘A mite contrary. You’ve got to recall it’s heavier than a planked boat, and long, so if you’re going to turn a Mississippi bend you must start early, especially if’n you’re in any kind of fast water. But you’ll find that in normal currents the paddles, once you get used to them, are better on the river than proper oars. As long as you work together you can turn on a small coin. When you stop for the night choose a midstream island. Don’t bed down on the ground in case of alligators, pay out a piece of rope and sleep in the bottom of the canoe.’

‘How long?’ asked Harry.

‘I’ve done Natchez to New Orleans in a week, and that’s in a keelboat. You can shave two whole days off that, I reckon.’

There was little time for farewells. Tucker was taking the Frenchmen north, in a boat that Wilkinson wouldn’t recognise, should he be on the river. McGillivray, they suspected, would come to the Bayou Pierre, which could take him several days. Harry and Pender took time to shake each man’s hand, warmed by the affection that they showed. Brissot had tears in his eyes, which caused Pender to observe that he was ‘a contrary bugger an’ no error.’
Harry was closer to Lampin and Couvruer, the two who had done the most to ease relations between the groups. Lampin, who in some ways had assumed the leadership of the entire party, pressed a package of de Carondelet’s ingots into Harry’s hand, overcoming any objections that he might have by alluding to the danger the crew of the
Bucephalas
faced. He opened it to discover four thin bars, two gold, two silver, each bearing the royal crest of Spain, twinned with that of New Orleans.

‘Good luck in America,’ Harry said, his hands on both of Lampin’s shoulders.

The bright blue eyes flicked to the sparkling ingots, which had been passed to Pender. ‘If we can keep possession of the rest of that, then we should never have a care.’

‘Look after Tucker,’ said Harry softly. ‘I think he is sacrificing his livelihood to help you.’

Lampin nodded and spoke softly. ‘
Certainement
.’

The American was by the side of the boat, prepared to help them down into the pirogue, his final contact a handshake of the bone-crushing variety.

‘Now just you make sure, friend, that the next time I’m in New Orleans Hyacinthe Feraud is there, and you ain’t, otherwise we might have to take off on that dance floor where we left off.’

Not sure if he was joking, Harry kept his face blank. Tucker grinned suddenly. ‘Apart from that, Harry Ludlow, I’m right thankful I met you.’

‘Likewise,’ said Harry, with genuine feeling.

Tucker had fired Wilkinson’s keelboat before they’d paddled out of sight. Through the thick humid air they heard him order the Frenchmen to the oars and the galley followed them down the bayou to the Mississippi. For all that Harry needed speed, he waited, holding the pirogue steady till Tucker exited into the main current. The boat swung north, its oars dipping steadily into the dark brown waters of the river. On the air, Pender and Harry heard the first bars of a song, a rhythm that would keep the beat of the oars steady.

WITH JUST
the two of them in the pirogue, on a stretch of river that was wide and slow, the urgency which had been a feature of their lives for the last weeks fell away. There was a speed that could be decently achieved and that was that. Harry had a sailor’s ability to avoid fretting over things he could do nothing about. Time and tide had their own momentum, which no amount of gnawing and gnashing would alter. Not that his mind was a blank: the Mississippi required a lot of attention, especially from their low elevation, since hazards which they could not see ahead would come upon them quickly; he was mulling over his plan to get
Bucephalas
and the crew out of danger. Then there was Hyacinthe Feraud, the thoughts engendered by her image making him somewhat uncomfortable. Added to that was the need to cover himself against any hint of duplicity, especially with such a suspicious character as de Carondelet. If his reason for being out of New Orleans was a stated desire to hunt with El Señor Cayetano de Fajardo de Coburrabias, the logic demanded that even if it delayed him, he’d be wise to fulfil such an obligation, if only to furnish himself with evidence of a visit.

But most of all he was racking his brain for a way to detach de Carondelet from that chest full of treasure. Now that the Frenchmen had the Governor’s bullion, what he’d robbed them of was fair game. The safety of the ship and his crew was paramount, but if a way could be found to safeguard them, effect an escape, and steal the money, then Harry would be an exceedingly happy man. Since leaving Deal the previous year he’d not enjoyed much in the way of success as a privateer. Not a single member of his crew – who shared in the proceeds – had alluded to this, aware
that circumstances had deflected their Captain from pursuing his chosen occupation. But he didn’t relish the thought of sailing for home with empty coffers. Certainly, with war against Spain imminent, he could soon take prizes in the Gulf of Mexico, which would be a clear hunting ground for any privateer already in the area, but the problem was then a place to sell what he captured that didn’t involve long voyages for the prize crews. His options in the Caribbean, the closest landfalls, were limited, and added to that, the goods he could expect to trade, cotton, sugar, and indigo, would be more profitable if sold in Europe.

Thinking that turned his mind back to the
Gauchos
and those boxes of sugar; to Rodrigo and the raft. If, as Pollock said, the man was a smuggler, then he’d probably risked his neck many times. But he hardly deserved the fate he was granted, and that probably for being honest. Harry had been in a lot of ports in his time, but thinking about New Orleans and the Louisiana Territory he could recall few places where people so rarely told the truth. San Lucar de Barrameda had falsified a report that had led, indirectly, to their internment and the loss of the treasure. De Carondelet had lied to Harry more by omission and despite what it had cost it was hard to feel too personally aggrieved. After all, he hadn’t even been honest with his own subordinates and officials. Idly, as he paddled along, he and Pender discussed these matters, the taking of the
Gauchos
, and the various potential culprits.

‘What about Fernandez?’ said Harry. ‘Capable of violence, remember. He was closest to the point at which the ship was intercepted, had a cutter, which would have been perfect, though I will own he didn’t look the type to walk past a square meal.’

‘But you just said that very few people knew the stuff was supposed to be on the ship. Fernandez was stuck in Balize when it was loaded, and he can hardly be rated as popular with the nobs.’

‘I’ve revised my previous assertion that Rodrigo didn’t know.’

‘Why?’

‘He wasn’t supposed to know. But just think about the cabin. Do you remember it? I’d assumed that the owner of McGillivray’s chest was a passenger. I now know that was not the case. So there weren’t enough people aboard to justify the number of places set.’

‘What about the master?’

‘You don’t know the Spanish, Pender. They’re not much given to sitting down with those they consider their inferiors.’

‘So whoever came alongside was invited to eat.’

‘Was expected, Pender. It was a rendezvous and a happy one. It was only when the first box was opened that things changed.’

‘Rodrigo had a mate who reckoned he’d been dunned.’

‘It makes sense. One of the people de Carondelet had witness the loading of the ingots into the sugar casks tipped the nod to Rodrigo, made the rendezvous, then killed him because he thought he’d been cheated by the only person who could have accomplished it. He couldn’t know, because it was an even better kept secret, that it was never loaded aboard. Neither did Rodrigo, so protesting his innocence must have sounded very hollow indeed.’

‘Poor bastard,’ said Pender, sitting up suddenly. ‘Current’s gettin’ up, Capt’n.’

Harry sat forward too, his paddle dipping into the water with greater force as both men worked to keep the pirogue on a true and safe course. They hadn’t quite mastered the techniques and once the hollowed-out tree had yawed it was the very devil to get back on course. On top of that Harry lacked Tucker’s knowledge of the river, so they were not always best placed in the stream to avoid trouble, and furious paddling was required to get them out of whirlpools and eddies that they should never have got into in the first place, hazards that were thankfully lessened by the low water-level.

‘I’m not one to be untouched by men dying,’ said Pender, as they exited in calmer waters. ‘But what difference does it make to you who killed Rodrigo?’

‘None,’ Harry replied. ‘But it would give me enormous pleasure to find out, if only to give de Carondelet a bilious attack.’

‘If’n he went to all that trouble, would he care? He must’ve suspected that his bribe was at risk.’

‘He would if it was printed in the French newspaper. He hates Saraille with a passion.’

‘Well, if’n I were you, I’d leave Fernandez out of it. I’ve met him more times than you an’ I reckon he’s not that way inclined. Mind, that would be more through bein’ lazy than anything else.’

But Harry wasn’t listening, instead mentally ticking off all the possible culprits. The three members of the
Cabildo
, de Lovio, de Pontalba, and de Aquivar, didn’t impress him as having either the brain or the brawn to contemplate such an act, being no more than functionaries elected to carry out de Carondelet’s wishes. De Chigny, the Governor’s aide, was in the city the whole time, while de Guerin was heading north with the true cargo before the
Gauchos
was set adrift. McGillivray had been genuinely surprised and would never have shipped anything in the
Gauchos
if he’d had knowledge of the bullion. De Fajardo de Coburrabias had come in on the transports. That left either someone completely unknown or Harry’s favourite candidate, San Lucar de Barrameda. He had the means, was in the vicinity, and had lied about the
Bucephalas
, an act which made complete sense if he was trying to cover his own tracks. Against that he had several ships with him, as well as his own crew. Perhaps he’d left the
Navarro
and taken to something smaller. But was he devious enough to create the elaborate illusion that Harry had come across, on a ship that someone had apparently tried to sink? San Lucar de Barrameda might not be much of a sailor, but even he would know how to go about sending the
Gauchos
to the bottom without leaving a trace of her presence. And that, if he was intent on covering his tracks, was a far better method than his lame attempt to blame the innocent Ludlows.

‘How’re you doing, Capt’n?’ asked Pender.

‘I just realised why I care, Pender. Much as I’d like to beard de Carondelet, sinking that pompous oaf de Barrameda would be
much more satisfying. Trouble is, for all I think he’s a fool, I cannot bring myself to believe he’s that stupid.’

‘You’ve lost me.’

‘Anyone with an ounce of knowledge about ships could have sunk the
Gauchos
. Why leave it floating about in mid-ocean?’

‘That puts old Fernandez back in the pit, I suppose.’

‘Yes, Pender, I’m afraid it does.’

Two days saw them approaching the Manchac Post with Harry still undecided as to the best course of action: to stop and visit de Coburrabias, using an excuse to make a swift departure, or to try to skip past the guard boats and get back to New Orleans as fast as possible. In the event the decision was taken out of his hands. As they entered the bend to the north of the post a flag was hoisted atop the ramparts. There was nothing ahead or behind him, so that Harry couldn’t advance any excuse for a failure to stop, and to ensure his compliance, a guard boat was patrolling the river, with armed soldiers aboard.

‘What are we going to do about them ingots?’ asked Pender, as they began to steer for the shore. The boat swung in a wide arc to cover their stern and an officer advanced onto the jetty, waiting to greet them as they landed.

‘Throw them in the bottom of the boat with Able Mabel and cover them with some canvas.’ Harry leant forward and picked up his coat, reaching inside for El Señor de Coburrabias’s invitation. Once he’d found it he held it up. ‘Let’s hope that this protects us from a search.’

‘An’ if it don’t?’

‘Pitch it over the side. Because if they find it they’ll probably hang us like that poor fellow.’

Pender looked round to see what his Captain was pointing at. The desiccated body of a Negro swung from a gibbet at the end of the jetty, with the remaining flesh on the head barely enough to disguise the coming skeleton. Close too, the smell of putrefraction 
was overpowering. It didn’t seem to bother the Spanish soldier, who stood patiently while Harry tied the pirogue to the jetty. He climbed onto the planking, jacket in one hand and safe conduct in the other, to be faced by an officer whose sole interest seemed to be in the stained nature of Harry’s linen.

‘My compliments to your commanding officer, Monsieur,’ his visitor said in French, proferring the letter. The officer took it without bothering to acknowledge if he’d understood, and began to read it with a supercilious look on his face. That changed when he saw the contents, which were written in Spanish. He came to attention immediately and favoured Harry with a bow.

‘Señor.’

‘My servant will stay here with the boat,’ said Harry, pointing down to Pender, still in the boat. That wasn’t questioned, being to a Spanish mind only right and proper. ‘I trust that El Señor de Coburrabias is here.’

‘I regret to inform you, Señor, that he left for New Orleans some ten days ago and has not returned.’

‘Ah!’ said Harry, hardly able to believe his luck. ‘So no hunting.’

‘I regret to say no.’

‘Then I’d best return to New Orleans.’ Harry hesitated a fraction. ‘I’m afraid I do not know your name.’

‘Lieutenant Oliverta.’

‘I will mention to El Señor de Coburrabias that we have met.’

‘But the
Comandante
would never forgive me if I let you go without offering refreshments.’ He turned to indicate the fort behind him.

Harry was in a quandary. Time was pressing, yet to decline the offer would look like bad manners. He had the young man’s name, and had a reasonably close view of the fortifications, which would suffice to establish that he had visited the post. But how much more telling it would be to have been inside. He could, with embellishments, make it sound as if he’d tarried at Manchac for
quite some time. De Coburrabias had been gone for ten days, so he could easily imply that he spent a week here.

‘Then it would be unforgivable to refuse.’

The whole structure was made of wood, even the quarters of the
Comandante
and his officers, the only stone building a handsome Roman church, yet they’d made their surroundings as elegant as they could, bringing good furniture and plate from New Orleans. Oliverta led him into a long chamber with a large polished table in the centre. The wall behind was dominated by a large crucifix and at the eastern end hung a decent-sized portrait of King Carlos, while the western wall held a slightly smaller one of de Coburrabias. Servants appeared at the sound of the bell and were despatched to fetch wine and fruit.

‘You came from the north?’ said Oliverta, a quizzical expression on his face.

‘I got lost on horseback, Señor,’ replied Harry quickly, walking towards de Coburrabias’s portrait. ‘Having found myself north of the post I knew the one certain way to my destination to be the river.’

‘Surely you could not have been lost for long, Señor. Did you not ask at the missions?’

Harry pretended not to hear. ‘He cuts a handsome figure, your
Comandante
.’

Oliverta smiled, since Harry was right, and got no further with his enquiries as his guest forcefully discussed the picture. His remarks flattered the youngster’s superior, but then so had the artist. The features were accurate, but the brush had caught the combination of arrogance and humour that was the core of his subject’s personality. He was in the full regimental dress of a hidalgo officer, the steel breastplate on his chest half hidden by a dark red cloak. The helmet of a Spanish soldier nestled under his arm, nearly touching a glittering, jewel-encrusted decoration, shaped like a bursting star. The background was one of the gatehouses of New Orleans, with an avenue at his back leading down
to the levee and the faint trace of masts and rigging that topped its height. Harry ranged over the whole landscape talking through the arrival of the refreshments. Running out of things to say, he pointed to the small white dog which sat against the bastion wall, looking forlorn.

‘A pet?’

‘Not that I’m aware of, Señor.’

Harry spun round and headed for the other end of the room, to examine and discuss the painting of the lieutenant’s King. Here was a less imposing creature altogether. Hard as he’d tried, the artist, probably executing a copy, had failed to disguise this mad monarch’s shifty look, or brush out the pose of a man expecting a blow. But Harry couldn’t say that, of course, so he fell back on everything James had told him, discussing the way that the two different artists had used their brushes. This involved him in a great deal of bluff and bluster, plus a parade from one end of the room to the other, and the topping up of his glass each time he passed the decanter. He dredged everything James had ever told him from his memory. The majority of it was totally irrelevant, but he was sure that this youngster knew even less about art than he did, and it served to keep the conversation off the route by which he’d come there.