Cross of Fire (56 page)

The uppers of Christopher Manvell’s shoes were deerskin, the soles shark leather. They kissed most floors, but the black and white tiles of the corridor echoed his confidence as he strode along.

The doors opened to his approach, a darkened room beyond. It was August but the room was cold as he crossed the threshold and the doors clicked softly shut behind him.

The candlelight from the table and the shuttered windows pricked at his eyes, their glow permitting his gaze to sweep the room. He saw the smutty outlines of paintings recently removed, liveried men with kerchiefs about their faces standing behind him at the doors. And the white masks coming slowly forward from the back of the long room.

‘Do you not announce yourself to your superiors, Lieutenant Manvell, when you enter chambers?’ A muffled voice. Manvell could not tell which mask spoke. He cleared his throat.

‘I have been sent from Walsingham House, sir. I do not know what this building’s official capacity represents, beyond victualling. Nor whom I address, sir. Not when they wear masks.’

‘It is called security, Lieutenant.’ The other white face now.

‘Yours or mine, sir?’ Manvell’s voice snipered from the dark.

‘Both, Lieutenant. Both. We understand that you return from your sojourn with Captain Coxon. Unsuccessfully we might add.’

Manvell was taller than them both and straightened himself even more.

‘Most unsuccessful, as the voyage ended with Captain Coxon’s death. Had you not heard? And why am I here? Who are you, sirs? I was told that I would receive my orders here.’

The masks turned into profile as they shared a look.

‘We are informed that you are the Duke of Beaufort’s son-in-law, Lieutenant?’

‘And that implies . . .?’

‘A great deal. Or nothing. You should understand.’

‘Then you misunderstand, sir.’ Manvell came forward. ‘I am a publican’s son. I married a good woman. Not for her nobility. You misjudge me. I have no society that grants me privilege. I work for my king. I will go to Walsingham House.’

The masks froze.

‘You know, Lieutenant, that Walsingham – he whose face is etched above the door of your Board – was Elizabeth’s spy-master general? Even if you were not born a gentleman you surely have gleaned something from the horse you have spurred your heels into?’

Manvell’s hand gripped his sword.

‘You dare speak of my wife, sir?’

Silence. The masks came together, whispered together, then lifted in unison so that Manvell could not tell which one spoke.

‘She is due again, is she not? A birth lost before? Such a pity. And the duke has suffered considerably since the collapse of the South Sea Company. There is much you need to discover when you are home. The duke is one of many nobles who have suffered financial pain.’

Manvell did not loose his grip on his sword’s hilt.

‘I will go home when I am released from my ship. And I do not think that anything you have to say has any meaning to me.’

‘Not Devlin?’ one of them said. ‘That must have some meaning surely?’

Manvell let go his sword.

‘I have given my report.’

They moved to behind the table.

‘And Coxon’s orders not part?’

Manvell had nothing to hide.

‘There was nothing on them.’

‘Yet they were sealed. The seal broken. What does that mean, Lieutenant?’

Manvell went into his waistcoat, pulled out one half of the purple seal, sure he should keep the other. He tossed it like a penny to a beggar at the mask’s feet.

‘It means he was betrayed.’

A foot upon the seal. ‘No,’ a black gloved finger raised. ‘It means he knew the value of trust. Of secrecy. And of reward.’

‘Captain Coxon was a Norfolk parson’s son,’ Manvell extolled. ‘I am a publican’s. And just as provincial. You measure us both wrongly from your towers, sir. I am done.’

He put back his hat, turned to the door. The scarfed guards barred.

Manvell wrapped his fist to his hilt.

‘You may ask the gentlemen if it be wise to delay me, sirs. I’m sure such detail has been granted them.’ He scraped the blade an inch, sure the glint in his eye reflected.

They looked to the masks, something given, and stepped aside. Manvell pushed back his blade with a snap. A perfect sound. He made for the door, a sharp voice like a slap stayed his hand.

‘It would take a captain to bring us Devlin, Lieutenant. Out of war this is how commissions can be sanctioned. Great destinies can be made for those who know the pirate’s face. Great destinies.’

Manvell opened the door, flushed the room with light. He had words to reply but they choked in his throat as he saw Thomas Howard a step from the door, waiting to enter.

Howard’s face glowed, his joy at seeing Manvell at the place where he had expected the end of his season. Manvell closed the door, marked across the floor the count of his steps to kill them both.

‘So you will inspire the boy with your lusts when the man refuses? Loyalty to his captain his coin? Is this our navy now? The pocketbooks of companies?’

The masks did not move. Took turns to speak.

‘No. Not companies. Prime ministers. Kingdoms backed by companies.’ They pressed forward. ‘And he is hardly a boy.’

They came on, but mindful of the sword’s length that might still appear.

‘You would let Roberts and Devlin to their work? Let them stop a third of your country’s trade? The African work almost halved. Is this not as noble as war? Is half-pay your ambition? Your captaincy papers will be signed on the morrow. Your wife proud. The duke’s credit restored.’

Manvell listened, his head lowered. The masks noted the hesitation their barter had coaxed forth.

‘The pirates have plays now. Ballads. Where are yours? Where are Coxon’s? Who will remember him now?’

Manvell lifted his head.

‘I will remember him.’

‘And you will honour him. Why would you not? Or would you rather let Howard to the task?’

Manvell stepped closer. ‘Captains Ogle and Herdman? I would join with them? And what are they promised?’

‘Knighthoods. Would that suit? They will be the first men ever honoured for the extinction of pirates. Think how that would ring around the world.’

‘And am I only here because I have seen the man’s face? Howard and I? Is that our worth?’

The masks dipped respectfully. ‘That has worth. That gives you purpose.’

‘Written orders,’ Manvell demanded. ‘No blank vellum.’

The masks bowed.

‘There is only one small discretion . . .
Captain
Manvell.’

Manvell posed indifference.

‘It has come to us that Devlin is now a privateer. Under the Portuguese. That must be handled . . . delicately. Do you understand?’

Manvell pulled the door open, flushing the room with light again as the masks retreated.

‘My blade is ever “delicate”, gentlemen. I will see my wife now. Howard will be my First. Your letters will find me with the duke. Good day, gentlemen.’

He slammed the door behind him and began along the corridor, taking Howard’s arm. Thomas Howard slapped himself free.

‘I have an appointment, sir!’

‘You are with me, Thomas. We were sent here together apparently. And apparently we are set together also.’

He walked on, let Howard find his step with him as he took the piece of wax from his waistcoat, examined it minutely as he strode. The figure of a bull, a sea-serpent’s tail. He would enquire upon it.

‘Accompany me to my wife, Thomas. We will receive our orders there.’ He put the smooth token away.

‘We go back amongst pirates.’

Author’s Note

The story of Olivier Levasseur is one of the greatest tales of pirate lore. It is also probably one of the most fictitious.

For those who don’t know the legend (I mean the one
after
this story) the myth is that at his execution Levasseur rips from around his neck a small metal tube and yells to the crowd something along the lines of: ‘My treasure! To those who can find it!’ at which point he tosses the capsule into the baying horde.

Inside is a cryptogram, a code of Enigma style proportions which has baffled treasure hunters ever since.

And it’s all nonsense.

Well, mostly nonsense.

In between writing the other books in this series I was constantly researching this one as I always wanted to tell it, and others actually asked me if was I planning to do so because it is a pirate fan favourite, so in many ways it has been the book I have spent the most time on and the more research I did the less satisfied I became on any of the ‘truths’ attached to Levasseur.

The Portuguese treasure ship was real but if we start from Charles Johnson’s account(1) the pirates are Taylor, Condent, England and La Bouche. I reduced it just to Taylor and Levasseur for simplicity. In Johnson’s work a letter from a Captain Mackra names a pirate called Oliver(sic) de La Bouche and Johnson only refers to the pirate as La Bouche throughout. Also the story has different accounts from different sources but we will stick to Johnson’s for ease of understanding.

Johnson makes no mention of a pirate called Olivier Levasseur and it seems supposition to presume that the pirate that Johnson calls Oliver La Bouche is Olivier Levasseur. More confusion is that if we take for fact that Olivier Levasseur is nicknamed ‘The Buzzard’ or ‘The Hawk’ and is referred to elsewhere (outside of Johnson) as such why does Johnson not mention this fabulous nickname? This could be because Johnson’s work concentrates on British and colonial pirates but the supposition that Johnson’s La Bouche is Levasseur is probably Johnson’s atypical error in mistaking La Buse as La Bouche, or they are two entirely different pirates; especially as in his introduction Johnson says that La Bouche was eventually ‘castaway’ when at the time of Johnson’s writing La Buse would have been happily retired.

The largest French account of the story lists the the same pirates except that they name Captain England ‘La Buze(sic)’ and make no word on a French pirate at all, and another French account only mentions a French ‘Corsair’ and no others. Yet when Olivier Levasseur is executed almost ten years later he is called Olivier Levasseur ‘La Buze(sic)’. All very confusing.

Johnson mentions that the ship contained three to four million in diamonds as the most significant treasure and no mention of a huge gold cross encrusted with jewels.

And there’s the rub.

The Flaming Cross of Goa may be purely apocryphal; certainly there doesn’t seem to be any reference to it outside the legend or outside the 20th century and unfortunately most Portuguese records of the period were destroyed in the devastating Lisbon earthquake of 1755. Flaming crosses do exist and certainly a great deal of treasure would have left India for Portugal but obviously as the treasure has never been found it is all just legend and perhaps better for it. I am happy to take the legend of the cross and place it in the story as I felt that the cross had a certain metaphorical use in Devlin’s fourth tale.