The Woodcarver's Secret (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) (13 page)

Inside the lid he noticed, for
the first time, some light carving. Letters. V-I-R-T-U. Goodness. Virtue. Why
would that be written on the box? He shrugged—
no
es
importante
,
he thought. He tipped the box upside down and shook a few grains of sand onto
the floor. Cleaned up a little, it would be a nice gift for Mamá, a place for
her to keep her additional sewing supplies. He ran a finger around the inner edges
of the box—perhaps with a little sanding …

As his finger traversed the
fourth side, completing the circuit, a jolt shocked him. He screamed and
dropped the box, jumping away from the bed. What on earth—?

His door opened slightly. “
Rigo
? Everything is all right?”

“Si,
mamá
.
Sorry—I am not dressed.”

The door closed again and he
stared at the box on the bed. Edging toward it, almost sneaking up on it, he
reached out and gave a tentative touch. Nothing happened. He laid the palm of
his right hand on the lid. The wood warmed slightly and the ugly dark brown
finish lightened a little. Rodrigo’s breath came in quick gasps.

He glanced at the door but it
remained firmly closed.

The box sat benignly on the bed.

Rodrigo never took his eyes off
the strange object as he picked up his fresh clothing. He slipped his shirt
over his head and pulled on workaday pants and jerkin. Running his fingers
through his damp hair he neatened it and smoothed his narrow beard. A deep
breath.

He sat again on the bed and picked
up the box. Carefully raising the lid he saw nothing out of the ordinary. The
letters carved into the top were its only inner ornamentation. Taking a look
carefully for the first time at the outside of the box, he saw that it had been
crudely carved in a pattern of diagonal lines in two directions. At some of the
intersections where the design formed an X someone had added small polished
stones, held in place by metal prongs. As his hands traced the design, the wood
turned lighter in color, and after a few minutes the stones began to brighten
as well. He felt his forehead wrinkle as he puzzled over it.

Certainly in artistic objects,
mostly held by the Church, he had seen much finer workmanship. But there was
something special about this one, something that caused it to react to his
touch. He needed to learn more. He could not give this item to his mother until
he understood what had just happened. He slipped the box back into his travel
bag and finished dressing.

In the kitchen Ermelinda was
already at work, kneading a huge mound of dough. A plate with two boiled eggs
and fresh fruit waited for him.

“Lazy, as always,
mi
hermano
,”
she teased. “While the women slave away.”

He tried for a casual tone as he
responded, but his thoughts were already on the day ahead. Finishing his
breakfast quickly he walked to the main room of the house, the salon, where he
found his mother sewing another garment. At his inquiry she pointed out his
father’s tool box.

Done with the repair of the
kitchen door hinge in a short time, he asked what other little items needed
fixing. Both women were happy to supply lists.

Before the sun reached its midday
point he had made a new broom handle and replaced a broken one, repaired a
leaky bucket, cleaned and moved the outdoor privy, and carried a day’s supply
of water from the city well at the fountain near the cathedral. Even Ermelinda
had to apologize for calling him lazy that morning. His excess energy was
becoming noticeable and he took a moment alone in the side yard to wonder at the
cause.

Last night he had been so tired
he could do no more than drop into bed; now he was buzzing about the place like
a half-crazed animal, and still he felt as if he could go all day at this pace.
He had to get out, away from the inquisitive eyes of his family.

“
Hijo
, you have been so helpful,”
his mother said, eyeing the full barrel of water when she walked outside.

He kissed her cheek. “You work
too hard, Mamá. I should be here all the time.”

Her smile warmed his heart.

“In fact, I am going to my commandant’s
office today, to request my discharge from service. Our family has need of me,
more so than the king does.” He didn’t wait for her response but set off in the
direction of the city center.

The central administration
building, built of fine tan stone more than two hundred years earlier, sat
adjacent to the cathedral. The affairs of Church and State were closely
entwined and the proximity of these seats of power only reinforced the fact.
Rodrigo walked down the same corridor and into the same office he had visited
four years earlier when he enlisted. As before, a man sat at a bulky desk in
the anteroom. He barely looked up from writing notations in a large book of
thick, bound pages.

Rodrigo asked to speak with the
military commandant and received a nod toward an open door on the right. He
started to introduce himself to the commandant inside, a man who obviously ate
well and dressed in fine embroidery from foreign lands.

“I know who you are, Señor del
Fuentes. Word of your mission in Ireland and your contribution directly to the
king has reached my ears. His Majesty was most impressed.”

Truly? Rodrigo had assumed that
the king barely noticed his presence.

“The armada is sailing very soon
for the British Isles …”

For a moment Rodrigo had a
horrible feeling that he was about to be asked to dash back to the coast and
report for duty, to go along and fight.

“Meanwhile, once they go, the
king has other needs. We shall be outfitting another treasure fleet to travel
to the New World, carrying supplies to the Church missions there and returning
with the, shall we say, items we need here in Spain. Your experience as a
supply officer and your proven honesty will be needed for the mission. Rich
veins of silver in Mexico are feeding our economy now, and the man I choose
will supervise the loading of the silver bars, keep careful logs down to the
ounce, and see that the convoy returns safely.”

“But, my father—”

“I want you for this duty, del
Fuentes. You will be gone fewer than six months. I’m sure your family will understand.
Especially when you come home with the large bonus which is given each year for
the autumn delivery of these riches to your homeland.”

Patriotism, God, duty, financial
gain. The man had hit upon all the points that could convince Rodrigo to accept
the assignment.

“See to your family’s needs for
the next two months—then report to Sevilla, prepared to sail.” The commandant
picked up a quill and dipped it into his inkwell. “That is all.”

Dismissed, Rodrigo left the
building in a daze. Mexico! For twenty years now, Spain had been reaping the
rewards of having established a trade route to the New World. He’d heard men in
Cordoba brag about the vast amounts of gold and silver that were routinely
being mined by Indian slaves and carried back to his own country. Now, it
seemed, he was to be a part of it.

His steps slowed as he approached
his mother’s home. He’d gone this morning with a promise that he would be there
to fill his father’s shoes, to watch out for the women and make their lives
easier. Now he was to be gone again. He did not relish telling her the news.

By the time he walked into the
salon at home he had decided upon his approach to the subject. He was man of
the house now; he would inform the women rather than apologize.

*
* *

Sevilla’s
central district teemed with life like nothing Rodrigo had ever experienced.
Merchants and bankers attired in fashionable clothing strolled along with women
of unimaginable beauty. Shops displayed piles of food, fine gold jewelry and
rich cloth. He walked until his feet burned and the bag slung over his shoulder
grew wearisome, unable to take in all that glory. That the port city received
shipments directly from the New World and was connected to the major ports on
the Mediterranean was obvious. When he returned from the voyage he would buy
some of these fineries for himself, he decided.

Gradually, he made his way to the
docks along the Rio Guadalquivir where he had been assigned to one of the
galleons in the
Flota
de India,
the Indies Fleet. The captain of the
Niña
Linda
(an auspicious sign, Rodrigo thought, that the ship bore a version of
his sister’s name) greeted him almost as an equal. Being supply officer aboard
one of the treasure ships was a prestigious position.

He was shown to his quarters, a cabin shared with no one since he would
keep the logs and private records of the shipment’s contents there. The cabin
contained a bed nearly as large as his at home, a desk, oil lamp, a large
supply of quills and paper, and a strongbox in which he was to store the
sensitive information whenever he was not physically present. He dropped his
bag on the bunk, taking out only the carved box and locking it into the
strongbox before he headed above decks again.

At the gangway, the captain handed him a sheaf of pages tied at the top
with a leather thong.

“The manifest. Check off each item as it arrives and order the crew to
properly stow everything in the hold.”

The man walked away, leaving Rodrigo to familiarize himself with the
list:
Food, cloth, nails and other construction implements,
weapons and ammunition, canvas, rope and tar for ship repairs, even paper.
Apparently, nothing was manufactured in the untamed place across the sea.
His new job had begun.

He quickly realized that many of the ordinary sailors were far more
experienced at making this journey so he began shamelessly listening to their
conversation.

“Enjoy the ham and bread,” one commented to another as they handed
crates down to the hold. “Coming home, the only thing they send back with us is
corn, maybe some potatoes. Once, I got a taste of that Indian drink—chocolate,
they call it. But mostly they save that because they can sell it to rich
people.”

Rodrigo checked off the items on his sheets.

“It’s stupid to fill the hold with food on the return trip,” a tall,
thin sailor added. “The whole ship will be full of silver and gold!” A
lascivious look crossed his face before he caught sight of Rodrigo.

“Stop and open that crate,” Rodrigo ordered. “I want to count the
contents.” Impossible that he would let the men think they could pilfer, not
when it would brand him as an easy mark. His bonus was on the line when it came
to arriving at each end of the trip with everything the manifest called for.

The skinny man frowned but pried the lid off a wooden crate of candles
and another of rosaries for the mission priests. Rodrigo made a show of
counting them and watching as the man nailed down the lids once more. He
ordered them to open several more crates and a few barrels, randomly. It slowed
progress but showed that he was diligent in his work.

As the hold filled and the day wore on, Rodrigo realized they had
several more days ahead of them before the entire shipment would be aboard.
This was a far bigger undertaking than he’d ever imagined. When cook called
time for supper, Rodrigo turned to the crew who’d been under his supervision
all day.

“There’s a cup of wine for each of us. Let’s relax now.”

The tall, thin sailor stayed aloof but the others soon warmed up,
seeing their superior officer was not above dining with them.

“Wait until we come back,” said a stocky man with muscles of iron.
“Sevilla calls a public holiday, there’s fireworks and wine—a lot better than
this—” he held his cup high. “And we all go home to our wives for a bit of a
good time!”

“Until the next ship sails,” muttered another.

“I didn’t say I don’t take my good times elsewhere too,” said the first
one with a chuckle.

Rodrigo left them to their banter and went up to the deck for fresh air
and a view of the city while he had the chance. Soon, there would be nothing
but water to look at in any direction. Not that he couldn’t handle it, but
endless days at sea were not his idea of a good time. Again, he mentally
counted on his bonus from this trip to get him established in something more
enjoyable back at home.

Down at the dock level he saw a boy of twelve years or so, running
through the crowd and making his way toward the gangway. The lad was flushed
and breathing hard as he said something to the guard at the lower end. Whatever
it was, he convinced the guard to escort him aboard the
Niña Linda
.

“Where’s the captain?” the guard demanded of Rodrigo.

“Probably dining in his quarters—I don’t know.”

The two started to rush off but the captain appeared just then in the
doorway to his cabin.

“The Armada went down,” the young boy said before the guard could steal
his thunder in making the announcement.

“What? Niño, what did you say?”

“Off the coast of Ireland. The invasion failed and our ships got off
course. Most all of them went down and our sailors were captured or killed.”

The captain’s face went pale but he thanked the boy and ordered the
guard to go down to the galley and get him some food.

“Do not speak of this. I must make the announcement myself. Muster the
crew as quickly as possible.”

Within minutes he had sent the messenger away with a piece of bread and
some ham. Rodrigo watched silently as their leader disappeared into his cabin
and reappeared wearing his dress coat and medals, taking his place at the
railing of the forecastle and gathering his thoughts. The ship’s bell rang and
men began pouring up to the assembly.