When the Heavens Fall (33 page)

“Very beautiful.”

Philemon turned to face Brandon. “She's in love with you, isn't she, Mr. Winslow?”

Brandon was startled, and grimly felt the heat of shame rise up his neck to his face. “I never wanted that. All I wanted to do was get her out of Spain and into England. I wouldn't want her to be hurt.”

“No, you wouldn't want that, but what about now? You saved her from a pretty bad life, and she's leaning on you with everything she's got. Why, her eyes follow you whenever you're in sight, and she has a certain smile every time she sees you. What are you going to do about that?”

“I don't know, and I wish you'd keep your own counsel!” Brandon stalked angrily away. Philemon wisely didn't follow.

Captain Kirkegard was standing beside the wheel, staring at the horizon. “Well, the wind is picking up. That's the good news.”

“That is good,” Brandon said. “I hope it picks up still more.”

“We have a shadow.”

“A shadow?”

“You can barely see it there, but take my glass.” He took a brass telescope from his pocket and handed it to Brandon, who followed his directions and swept the horizon.

“She's a long way off.”

“But she's fast, Winslow, and she's making straight for us.”

“Well, aren't there ships going and coming all the time?”

“I'll know more in a few hours,” Kirkegard said, taking back
his telescope. “I'm putting on more sail. To my way of thinking, we'll need all the speed we can get.”

Brandon picked at his food. Sitting beside him, Dolores tried to get him to speak more of England. Brandon saw the love in her eyes, and he wanted more than anything to blurt out the truth. But he did not know how to say it without making her absolutely miserable. He couldn't simply tell her of the Fairfaxes, her lost family. He could plainly see that he had become very important to her, her only hope.

They heard a shout from topside and Dolores said, “What was that?”

“That was Captain Kirkegard. Let's see what it is.”

They went to stand beside Kirkegard, who gave them a rather serious look. “Well, she's coming for us, and she's armed much heavier than we are. I think it's a pirate vessel.”

“May I see?” Dolores took his telescope and looked at the ship. At once she drew a sharp breath. “That's the
Mirenda
, my father's ship from San Sebastián.” She handed the telescope back to Kirkegard.

“Can we outrun her?” Brandon asked.

“No chance,” Kirkegard said. “We're built to carry cargo, and she's built to skim across the water. She'll be up with us in four hours.”

“Can we defeat them in a battle?” Brandon asked.

“It would take a miracle. Her crew is likely trained to fight. My men can fire guns fairly well, but they're mere sailors.”

Nobody left the deck. All eyes were on the ship that seemed to be eating up the seas between them. “Her guns are run out,” Kirkegard said, peering through his telescope.

Dolores said, “May I see?” With trembling hands she took the telescope again and peered through it. “That's my father,” she said faintly. “He's aboard that ship. He'll kill all of you and
take me back to Spain.” She glanced up at Brandon with fear-filled eyes.

He said quickly, “No, it's not over yet. God can bring us through this.” But even as he spoke, he was aware that he was merely parroting the faithful. For what reason should God answer his prayers now? He put his arm around Dolores and felt a sudden fear not for himself but for her. He could think of nothing else to say, but his depth of concern for her rattled him.

An hour later the
Mirenda
had come just aft of the
Flower.
Captain Kirkegard had armed his men with pistols and swords. Brandon stood beside him. “What will they do, Captain?” he asked.

“They'll board us. We'll keep them off with the big guns as long as we can, but those men are practiced in boarding other vessels. And if they get aboard, my poor fellows can't handle them.”

A memory suddenly seemed to explode in Brandon's mind. He said to Kirkegard, “You know, Captain, once when I was in the army, we were about to be overrun by a heavier force. About the same situation that we have here.”

“What happened?”

“I decided we'd have to surprise them, so instead of waiting for them to charge us, I told the men we would beat them to it, and we made a charge. I thought I was a dead man. But they were taken off guard. They retreated, and we won the battle.”

Kirkegard stared at him. “I think I hear you saying that we need to take advantage when they come alongside.”

“Yes. Our marksmen will knock down as many as they can, but as soon as they touch, we'll throw ourselves down on them.”

“And we'll surprise them.”

“They can't retreat. The battle will be immediate and soon decided. Let me lead the charge, Captain.”

Kirkegard bit his lip. “All right,” he said. “You want to talk to the men?”

“Yes.”

Kirkegard spoke to the first mate, who blew his whistle. The men gathered, and Kirkegard said, “Mr. Winslow is an experienced soldier, and we are soon to be under attack. He has a plan to tell you about.”

Brandon said, “We've got some heavy odds here, men, but I think we can win.” He went on to describe his plan. He said, “I'll be the first one across, and I'll lead you. Will you come with me?”

There was little hesitation. The first mate said, “It's the only chance we got. I say let's go with the soldier.”

A cheer went up. Captain Kirkegard said, “Everyone to his station. Lash additional ropes now, so we're ready!”

The two ships moved closer together. Men with muskets were firing. One of the men on the
Mirenda
fell, but four men on the
Flower
went down and lay still.

“They're not firing their big guns.”

“It's Dolores. Her father wants her returned unharmed,” Brandon said.

Captain Kirkegard said, “I've given orders. We should hear a charge any minute now.”

The ships drew closer together. When they were even, the guns below deck went off. The
Flower
shuddered.

“Those guns were filled with pieces of old iron. Look, it took some of their fellows out.”

“They're still coming on, though,” Winslow said. “I'm going, Captain.”

“God be with you, Winslow!”

The two ships slipped closer together. Brandon scuttled down the leeward deck beside the rail, hoping that all his men on deck were fairly hidden from view. “As soon as they're close enough, we get them. All right, fellows?”

A yell met his cry. Brandon waited. All seemed quiet except for the waves slipping by and the groaning ship timbers. Peeking over the rail, Brandon could see the fierce faces of Mendoza's
men. He glanced at the quarterdeck of the
Mirenda
—and there was Jaspar Mendoza.

Mendoza saw him and let out a wild cry. “I'll kill you, Englishman!”

At that moment the ships closed the gap. The crew of the
Mirenda
was ready to board, but Brandon screamed, “Come on, boys, let's get them!” He took a leap, cleared the space of blue water, and landed on the deck of Mendoza's ship. He had his sword in his right hand and his pistol in his left. Lying on his back, he fired the gun and blew a hole in the breast of a man who was coming at him with a pike. He scrambled to his feet, aware of the sound of battle all around. Men screamed with rage and pain and fear. He crossed swords with a huge, bare-chested sailor with one eye and a fierce leer who was strong but fortunately not talented. Brandon parried his thrust and swiftly cut his throat with one sweep of his sword. The man fell, and instantly two more leaped into his place.

Brandon fought his way along a deck already slippery with blood. He fought until his arm grew weary and suffered one cut along his side. Suddenly he saw Mendoza, who was steadily making his way toward him. His face was twisted with fury and he screamed something unintelligible. Moving to meet him, Brandon raised his sword, but Mendoza raised his pistol and pulled the trigger. Something struck Brandon in the thigh, driving him to the deck. He watched as Mendoza started screaming with his sword lifted high. Brandon had lost his own sword and struggled to get to his feet, but he saw that he would never make it.

As Mendoza closed in, Brandon Winslow cried out, “Oh, God, be with me and help me in this hour!” And even as he prayed, he saw a small black hole appear over Mendoza's left eyebrow. The last thing he saw was Philemon lowering his pistol, and smiling in his direction.

Captain Kirkegard had tied the two ships together. The surviving members of the pirate crew had been put below in the brig, and the fighting crew of the
Flower
were coming back on board, many of them wounded. Dolores saw Brandon, his arm looped over Philemon's shoulders, his clothing soaked with blood, his face pale. She ran to help Philemon with him.

“He took a musket ball in his leg, but it ain't bad,” Philemon said. “He's got to have that musket ball out. Come along, sir.”

Captain Kirkegard called for the member of the crew in charge of wounds, who ripped away Brandon's clothing. “This won't be much fun,” he said. He pulled what looked like a pair of pliers from his pocket and probed for the ball. Dolores was hanging onto Brandon's hand and watched as he clenched his teeth and bared his lips but uttered no sound.

“There. That wasn't hard at all. He'll be right as rain.” The sailor grinned. Sweat ran down in rivulets from Brandon's forehead.

Kirkegard had come to watch. “Another miracle, eh, Philemon?”

“I'd say so, Captain.”

Dolores held Brandon's hand. “What about my father?”

Brandon was weak, but he managed to whisper. “He'll never trouble you again.”

“Did—did
you
kill him?”

“No, I didn't.”

Dolores kissed his hand. It was bloody, but she paid no heed. “I'm glad. He was not a good man, but it would have been something between us.” She kissed his cheek, and Brandon's eyes closed as he fainted.

Philemon was carefully changing the bandage on Brandon's wound. He had proved himself to be quite efficient in such matters as this. Now he looked up and saw that Brandon was smiling at him. “You feeling better, are you, sir?”

“Much better.” Brandon hesitated then reached out his hand. For a moment Philemon stared at it, then he grasped the hand. Brandon said, “You saved my life, Philemon.”

“Oh, probably not. You would have recovered in time to have fought that man off.”

“No, I was helpless. If you hadn't been there and put a ball right in his brain, he would surely have killed me. What can I do to reward you?”

Philemon said, “Why, let me serve you, sir. That's all I ask.”

Brandon studied the faithful little man and smiled. He said, “That's no reward.”

“Well, perhaps it is. We can help each other, sir. I can be your servant and your friend at the same time.”