To the Indies (10 page)

“Thank you, gentlemen. I need take up no more of your time.”

They swaggered out of the cabin with all the dignity the low deck-beams over their heads would allow, leaving the Admiral fondling the glistening treasure and Rich staring malignantly after them.

“These hot-blooded gentlemen,” said the Admiral, “are a little unruly. Even unreasonably so, occasionally.”

“Without a doubt,” agreed Rich, bitterly.

What was he to do or say? he wondered. The moment had clamored for a sharp example, and had been allowed to pass. In the essential matter of discipline the Admiral had allowed his authority to be challenged successfully. The dissensions and squabbles and final anarchy in the colony of Española were explained by that one incident. He thought of that ludicrous agreement between Their Highness and the Admiral, which made the latter Viceroy of all the lands he might discover. The fact that a man was a capable navigator, or even that he had ideas and was tenacious of them, did not imply that he would be an effective governor. The agreement handed over unlimited territory to a man who could not control his subordinates — there was no blinking the fact. Rich wondered to himself how Caesar Borgia, conquering Central Italy, would have treated those two.

“The pearls we have already obtained on this voyage,” remarked the Admiral, “are nearly sufficient to repay the cost of the expedition. There will be much profit.”

“Let us hope so,” said Rich.

He felt himself to be friendless and desolate; he had incurred the hatred of García and Tarpia, which meant that his very life was in danger. He did not dare to risk antagonizing the Admiral as well with untimely criticism. No one would trouble much about the fate of a wretched lawyer, not even Their Highnesses across thousands of miles of sea. He was very sorry he had come.

“And I expect,” went on the Admiral, “that when we reach Española we shall find a shipload of gold awaiting us there. I made arrangements for its collection. The royal fifth should be a large sum. So should my eighth and tenths.”

That absurd agreement gave Their Highnesses a fifth of all treasure; but to the Admiral it gave a tenth of everything shipped home, not merely of treasure, but of merchandise or spices. Besides that he could claim an eighth share of the gross profit, and an additional one-tenth share of the net profit, of each individual expedition that sailed from Spain. Moreover, the agreement itself made the Admiral the judge as to what was or was not merchandise, and what was or was not profit; it made him Admiral and Viceroy with the right to nominate all his officers; lastly, it empowered him to leave by will all these varied privileges and powers in perpetuity to whomsoever he should think proper. It occurred to Rich that perhaps it was as well for Spain that the Admiral was not the ruthless leader of men Rich would have liked him to be five minutes back. Such a man could make himself greater than Their Highnesses themselves. If the choice lay between anarchy and independence he would have to choose anarchy for the Admiral’s empire.

The consideration had made him forget his own misery for the moment. Outside the cabin awaited him the hatred of the men he feared; he felt like a tale-telling schoolboy, safe for an instant with his teacher, but doomed sooner or later to have to face the resentment of his fellows. He yearned to stay a little longer here in the light and safety. Why, oh why had he ever allowed his restless curiosity to carry him off on that infernal expedition in the longboat?

Antonio Spallanzani came into the cabin and broke the chain of Rich’s thoughts.

“Ah, you are in time to lock these away,” said the Admiral in his native Italian, handing over the armlets, and then in Castilian, “Thank you, Don Narciso.”

There was nothing for it now but to leave. Rich took a deep breath as he set his hand to the door, for he was by nature a timorous man. Then he passed out into the darkness of the after deck, under the break of the poop. The inky blackness here, even after the dim light of the cabin, left him blind for a second or two. Somebody brushed against him, and he jumped with nervousness, and then breathed with relief as he heard Rodrigo Acevedo’s voice.

“Who is that?” asked Acevedo.

“It is I,” said Rich, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice

“Don Narciso? Our two companions of today have been here breathing fire and murder against you.”

Acevedo’s voice was pitched low, and Rich whispered when he replied.

“Where — where are they now?”

“Over on that side, talking with Moret and the others.”

The night was warm, but to Rich the sweat that beaded his face was cold.

“I don’t know what to do,” whispered Rich, pathetically, and was promptly startled by hearing Acevedo suddenly start speaking in a normal tone, loud enough to be heard by the dark mass of figures on the far side of the ship.

“Oh no, Don Narciso,” said Acevedo, speaking with a distinctness which was agony at first to Rich. “You can hardly do that. I feel for you, and sympathize with you. But you ought to know the rules of shipboard life if anyone on board does.”

“What do you mean?” whispered Rich.

“Brawling on board is terribly punished. The hand that draws a weapon is nailed by it to the mast, and remains nailed there until the owner tears himself free. If you were to kill him, you would be tied to his dead body and thrown overboard.”

“Oh, not so loud, not so loud,” whispered Rich, wringing his hands, but Acevedo continued quite calmly.

“So all I can advise is that you swallow your resentment, at least for a time — although I quite appreciate how unpleasant it is for you. Diego de Arana of Cordoba is alguazil mayor — master-at-arms — on board here, and you know his reputation. He holds his commission direct from the crown.”

“But why . . .?” began Rich, still too stupid with fright to see the trend of what Acevedo was saying.

“He’d stick at nothing,” continued Acevedo. “Gentle or simple, seaman or hidalgo — it’s all one to him. At the first sound of steel he’d be upon you with his chains and his fetters. Twenty stinking seamen would throw you into the hold, and next morning we’d see you nailed up. You’d never hold a sword again, and I for one would be sorry for that.”

“So would I,” said Rich, taking his cue at last.

“By God!” said Acevedo, striking one fist into the other. “Do you remember disarming that swashbuckling lout that night outside the Santo Spirito in Florence? If I’d been in your place I should have killed him — he deserved it. With his French swordplay and all, behaving like a boor because he thought he was the best fencer in Florence! Holy Mary, the look on his face as his sword fell on the ground!”

Acevedo laughed, lightly and reminiscently.

“That was ninety-two, wasn’t it? Or was it ninety-three?” said Rich, desperately trying to heap on the local color, and feeling a fearful joy in doing so.

“It was my second visit, anyway. But as I was saying, we can have nothing like that on board here, Don Narciso. No point of honor can be satisfied if the successful combatant is liable to execution. All courts of heralds are agreed upon that. Any offense given must be passed over in those circumstances — the dishonor is confined to the man who offers the offense.”

“Yes,” said Rich, remembering the frequent teasing he had undergone at the hands of his bedmates of the ’tween-decks. “Yes. I knew that. It was only because I was so angry this evening that I had forgotten it.”

Don Rodrigo yawned elaborately.

“Well,” he said, “I for one am sleepy. There is little enough to do — shall we go to bed? Or are you still too wrought-up to sleep?”

“Oh,” said Rich, “I think we might as well.”

Perhaps Acevedo sensed the intoxication which Rich felt at that moment, and appreciated the danger of his saying a word too many which might spoil the whole effect so elaborately built up. He slipped his hand under Rich’s elbow and guided him firmly to the companionway. As they fumbled their way in the darkness the silence which had overlain the shadowy group against the opposite bulwark was broken by a thin nervous cough.

Rich stripped to his shirt in the cramped ’tween-decks in a wild exultation, hardly knowing what he was doing. The reaction from his earlier terror was profound. He began a jocular remark to Acevedo at the farther end of the tier of chests, but the almost invisible figure there made no reply and offered no encouragement to conversation, so that Rich realized that in a ship anything he said might be overheard, if he did not desire it as much as if he did. One of the philosophers had said, “I have often regretted having spoken, but I have never regretted holding my tongue.” Rich remembered the saying, and got himself into bed with no more speech.

Of course he was not yet asleep when the rest of the party came into the ’tween-decks and prepared for bed, groping about in the puzzling light of the single evil-smelling tallow dip. Don Cristobal García came to his bed beside him, and Rich would not even feign sleep, only sleepiness, opening his eyes and then closing them again as if the sight of García was not enough to discompose him. And García, crouching under the deck-beams as he undressed, was much more careful than usual not to discommode his neighbor.

That may have been, decided Rich thinking tumultuously, because of his new reputation as a swordsman. Or it may have been because García now realized that any squabble might end in disaster for both of them. Or just conceivably he might have taken to heart Acevedo’s remark that it was ungentlemanly to offer provocation without the chance of satisfaction. Or it might be because García was in a sober mood. Or it might be just coincidence. In any case, it seemed a lifetime since, some fifteen hours ago, they had first sighted the Serpent’s Mouth. Rich’s agitated mind began to turn over afresh all the numerous occurrences since then, from the moment of sighting the Island of Grace to that of García’s retirement to bed.