Buccaneer (29 page)

‘Why didn’t they lock up behind them when they left?’ asked Hector wonderingly as he pushed open the heavy front door of the third house he and Jezreel had decided to investigate.

‘Probably thought we would do less damage if we could just walk in,’ guessed his friend. He had a trickle of juice running down his chin from a half-eaten peach he had plucked in the garden of the house next door.

‘They must have had plenty of warning,’ said Hector. ‘They’ve removed everything that could be carried away easily.’

It was the same in every house they entered: a central hallway off which were large, high-ceilinged rooms with thick, whitewashed walls and deeply recessed windows. The floors were invariably of tile, and the furniture dark and heavy, too cumbersome to be moved easily. Halfway down this hallway stood a massive cupboard made from some dark tropical wood. Hector swung open the double doors. As he had expected, the shelves were bare. He wandered into the kitchen at the back of the house. He found a large stove against one wall, a place to wash the dishes, a huge earthenware jar used for keeping water cool, more empty cupboards, a tub for laundry. But there were no pots and pans, no dishes. The place had been stripped bare.

They crossed the entry hall and tried a door on the other side. This time it was locked. ‘At last, somewhere we are not meant to be,’ said Jezreel. Putting his shoulder to a panel, he barged it open, and went inside with Hector at his heels.

‘Now we know what the owners looked like,’ commented the big man.

They were standing in a large reception room which the owners of the house had failed to strip entirely. They had left behind a large table, several heavily carved chairs with uncomfortable velvet seats, a massive dresser that must have been fully nine feet wide, and a row of family portraits hanging along one wall. Hector presumed that the paintings in their ornate gilded frames were too big to be carried away.

He walked along the line of pictures. Dignitaries, dressed in old-fashioned doublets and hose, stood or sat gazing solemnly out at him, their serious expressions set off by wide lace collars. The men were uniformly sombre in their dress, and all wore narrow pointed beards except one man who was clean-shaven and had a priest’s cape and skull cap. The women were posed even more stiffly and looked self-conscious. They held themselves carefully so as not to disturb the folds of their formal gowns whose fabrics were very costly, silks, brocade and lace. All the women wore jewellery, and Hector wondered how many of the pearl necklaces, diamond pendants and gemstone bracelets were now safely in the hills or buried in secret hiding places.

He reached the end of the row of pictures and came to a dead stop. He was gazing into the grey eyes of a young woman. Only her face and shoulders were shown in the portrait, and she was regarding him with a slightly mischievous expression, her lips parted in the hint of a smile. Compared to the other portraits the young woman’s complexion was pale. Her chestnut hair had been carefully arranged in ringlets to show off the delicate sweep of her neck and the creamy skin, and she wore a simple gold locket on blue silk ribbon. Her bare shoulders were covered with a light soft scarf.

Hector felt a rush of dizziness. For an instant he thought he was seeing a portrait of Susanna Lynch. Then the moment passed. It was ridiculous to think of finding Susanna’s picture in the home of a prosperous Spaniard living in Peru.

For several minutes he just stood without moving, trying to puzzle out why he had mistaken the portrait. Perhaps it was the smile which had reminded him of Susanna. He looked more closely. Or maybe it was the locket that the young woman in the picture was wearing. He was almost sure that Susanna had a locket just like it. He searched the details of the picture, lingering over them as he sought to identify the likeness between this young woman and Susanna. The more he tried, the less certain he became. He believed he could recall exactly how Susanna walked, the way she held her body, the whiteness of her arms, the slope of her shoulders. But when he tried to visualise the precise details of her face, the picture in front of him kept intruding. He became muddled and anxious. The beauty of the girl in the picture began to overlap and merge with his memory of Susanna. He felt uncomfortable, as if he was somehow betraying her.

His reverie was interrupted by a shout from outside. Someone in the street was calling his name. He was wanted in the plaza mayor.

Leaving Jezreel to continue searching, he found Watling and several buccaneers on the steps of the town hall. To judge by the small pile of silver plate and a few candlesticks on the ground before him, the ransack of La Serena was going very badly. Watling was glowering at a trio of Spaniards.

‘They rode into town under a white flag,’ Watling said. ‘Find out who they are and what they want.’

Quickly Hector established that the Spaniards were an embassy from the citizens and wished to discuss terms.

‘Tell them that we want a hundred thousand pesos in coin, or we burn the town to the ground,’ growled Watling. He was wearing a greasy and threadbare military coat that must have done service in Cromwell’s time.

The leader of the Spanish delegation flinched at the mention of so much money. The man was in his late fifties and had a long, narrow face with bushy eyebrows over deep-set brown eyes. Hector wondered if he was related to the family in the portraits, and the young girl.

‘It is a huge sum. More than we can afford,’ the man said, exchanging glances with his companions.

‘A hundred thousand pesos,’ repeated Watling brutally.

The Spaniard spread out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘It will take days to raise so much money.’

‘You have until tomorrow noon. The money is to be delivered here by midday. Until then my men will stay in possession of your town,’ retorted Watling.

‘Very well,’ answered the Spaniard. ‘My companions and I will do what we can.’ The delegation remounted and slowly rode their horses away.

Watching them leave, one of the buccaneers beside Watling asked, ‘Do you think they will keep their word?’

‘I doubt it,’ answered Watling bluntly, ‘but we need time to search the town thoroughly. I want those churches ransacked down to the gilded statue and side altar, and don’t forget to pull up the paving stones. It’s under them that the priests usually bury their treasures. Tonight we post double sentries in case the Spaniards try to retake the town in the dark.’

F
ORTY
-
EIGHT
hours later Hector was wondering if he and Dan would be accused of cowardice or desertion. They had slipped quietly out of La Serena without informing Watling and made their way back to the landing beach. There, with Jacques’s help, they had persuaded the boat guards to let them use a small canoe to get back aboard
Trinity.
As had been planned, their ship was now moored a few miles down the coast in La Serena’s anchorage and waiting to pick up the raiders and their booty.

‘Where’s Watling?’ Sharpe called out to them as the canoe came alongside.

‘Still in La Serena,’ Hector answered.

‘What about plunder?’ enquired the captain. He had seen that the canoe was empty.

‘Not much, at least by the time we left,’ said Hector as he and Dan clambered up the swell of the galleon’s tumblehome and onto her main deck.

‘But surely Watling and his men took the town?’

‘Yes, and with little resistance. The citizens agreed to a ransom of one hundred thousand pesos if our men would leave.’

‘Then what are they waiting for?’ Sharpe asked.

‘Neither side kept the bargain. That same night the quartermaster led out a raiding party of forty men, hoping to catch the Spaniards by surprise and rob them. The following day the citizens of La Serena opened the sluice gates of the town reservoir. We woke to find the streets a foot deep in water.’

Sharpe frowned. ‘I suppose they thought it would make it much more difficult to set fire to the town.’

‘Watling flew into a rage. When I left, the men were in the churches, scraping off any gold or silver leaf, smashing windows, overturning statues.’

‘You should be there with them.’

‘It was more important to come to warn you that a trap is closing about them. I tried to tell Watling, but he was too angry to listen.’

‘What sort of a trap?’

‘Dan went out to scout. He counted at least four hundred militiamen moving into position on either side of the road leading here. They’ll wait for our men to come to the anchorage loaded with the plunder. Then they’ll cut them to pieces.’

Captain Sharpe stared thoughtfully towards the shore. There was no sign of life. He could make out the flagpole on the tall stone watchtower the Spaniards had built to survey the anchorage. If the tower was manned its occupants would long ago have hoisted signals to alert their forces farther inland. But the flag staff was bare. Nor was there any movement among the cluster of warehouses, or on the broad gravel-and-sand road which led up from the shingle beach and inland towards the town. But anything could be happening out of sight behind the swell of the ground. That is where the Spanish troops could be massing. He took Hector by the arm. ‘Let me show you something.’ He led the young man to the stern of the ship. ‘Look over the rail,’ he said. ‘What do you see?’

Hector stared down towards the galleon’s rudder. There were black scorch marks on the timber and the rudder’s fastenings, traces of a fire.

‘Someone tried to burn away our steering,’ he said.

‘If they had succeeded, this ship would have been crippled. Luckily we spotted the fire before it had spread and managed to put it out. Someone came quietly out from shore in the darkness, stuffed pitch and rags between the rudder and the stern, and set it alight.’

Hector thought back to how Dan had disabled the Spanish patrol ship off the Campeachy coast.

‘It was a brave thing to do.’

‘We found the float the arsonist must have used, an inflated horse hide lying on the beach.’

Sharpe wheeled to face Hector and said fiercely, ‘Make no mistake about it. The Spaniards are willing to fight for what is theirs, and fight hard. I want you to return to La Serena. If Watling won’t listen to you, persuade the others. Tell them to abandon the place and get back here as fast as possible.’

Hector shook his head. ‘Half the men are drunk. They won’t leave the town until they’ve looted it to their satisfaction, probably by mid afternoon. Then they’ll stumble back in no fit condition to fight their way through.’

Sharpe regarded the young man with interest. There was something about his quiet manner which suggested that he had a plan in mind.

‘Now is the time to use our prisoners,’ said Hector. ‘Put them ashore where they will be visible to the Spanish, but keep them under guard. I will go to the Spaniards and tell them that we will release the prisoners unharmed if they allow our men to return safely to the ship.’

Sharpe gave Hector a long, calculating look. ‘You’re learning this trade,’ he said softly. ‘One day you could be elected general yourself.’

‘I’ve no wish for that,’ said Hector. ‘Just let me talk to Captain Peralta and his comrades.’

Sharpe gave a grunt. ‘This scheme is your responsibility. If something goes wrong, and I have to leave you on shore, I will do so.’

Hector was about to answer that he expected nothing less, but instead began arrangements with Jacques and the crew of the canoe to ferry Peralta and the prisoners ashore.

‘S
HARPE IS NOT
to be trusted,’ was Peralta’s immediate response when he and Hector had landed on the beach and the young man told him what was intended. ‘The moment your captain sees that his men are safe, he’ll decide to take his prisoners back on board and sail away.’

‘That is why you – not I – will be the one who goes to find the commander of the Spanish forces and arrange the safe conduct.’

Peralta pursed his lips and looked doubtful. ‘Are you telling me that you will stay with the prisoners and personally see that they are released unharmed?’

‘Yes.’

‘All right then. I am known in these parts and my word will carry weight.’ The Spaniard’s voice grew very serious. ‘But if the sack of La Serena has been barbarous, then I cannot guarantee to hold back its citizens from seeking revenge. My countrymen think of your people as bloodthirsty vermin to be exterminated.’