The King's Armada

by Doug Walker

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  García said those who would remain behind would like safe enclosed quarters with the ability to come and go as they pleased. “We might want to purchase a few things from the townspeople. We can feed ourselves.”

  Wellston seemed extremely pleased with the arrangement, knowing now that he would have to feed neither the troops nor those who remained as hostages. Not two hours later, Lord Percy returned and led García, the three cadets and Sergeant Jesus and Doria Queveda to a ruined castle with the keep intact.

  It was an extremely strong stone structure with a sturdy oak door that could be barred from the inside and no windows on the first level. The higher windows were mere archer slits in the stonewalls.

  Everything moved like clockwork with Major Wellston hurrying the loading along and Lord Percy hovering around the six hostages. By the afternoon of the following day the vessel was loaded and ready for the evening tide.

  “Will that Irish vessel actually take our troops home to Iberia?” Don Diego asked García.

  “It must. With over 300 of our troops on board and what officers of ours there are keeping 24-hour watch on the quarterdeck, Captain Kennedy has little choice.”

  “Captain, sir,” Jesus said, “I think we should be with them. This hostage idea doesn’t sit well with me. Even Poncho seems to be nervous, and that dog has the gift.”

  “And I have the gift,” Jesus. “Nothing is 100 percent, but we have safeguarded the troops. Now we shall look out for ourselves, and there is my plan.”

  “If you have a plan to get us out of this,” Francisco said, “you must be a dark sorcerer. But we are in agreement that the safety of the larger force is of greater importance than the fate of the six of us. We are in the hands of God.”

  “Well spoken, Francisco,” Don Diego said. “We are truly in God’s hands, but our trust is in Captain Don Pedro García, and he has proved an able leader.”

  “Enough talk,” García said. “We will need at least two or more bottles of grape wine and we could use a few candles. Francisco, if you and Jose will go shopping in the village I will be obliged.”

  “You feel it’s safe?” Jose questioned.

  “While the ship is anchored in the Shannon, we are protected.”

  At that moment, Major Courtney Wellston watched the vessel from his spartan headquarters, anxious for Kennedy to sail down to the sea. “When they are gone,” he told Lord Percy, “We shall hang that evil sergeant and two of the cadets, and then I will accompany that proud Captain García and the surviving cadet in chains to London.”

  “I’m shocked,” Lord Percy mouthed, a hand on his hip.

  “Don’t be. It gets me out of Ireland.”

  “Well, I’ll go too.”

  “You mustn’t. You’ll be in command.”

  “In command of what? This isn’t even a corporal’s guard. It’s miserable. Bad food, only beer to drink. No wine. No decent servants. Now you want to hang two cadets. Well don’t hang the one called Francisco. I’ve taken a liking to the boy.”

  “Percy, you flaming fag. Why do you have to be so obvious? That’s what got you to Limerick in the first place.”

  “You’re a great one to talk. A major in command of this rag-tag place. Not even a green lieutenant would consider it an honor. You’re way out of favor at court.”

  “But I shall return to court.”

  “Then leave me Francisco. You can hang one of the other cadets and take one with you if you like, or just hang that sergeant. What about his wife? She’s not so bad for a woman.”

  Wellston stared at the vessel, fully loaded now and awaiting only the tide. “I’ve thought of that. She’ll simply be freed here in Limerick. The Irish gentlemen can look after her.”

  “If you’ve met an Irish gentleman here, I’d like to know his name and address. I’ve been in this hell hole for more than a year and all I’ve seen are Irish layabouts and a few greedy merchants.”

  “Don’t forget the smugglers and other blackguards.”

  “Of course. But I will make a place for that Francisco. What a beautiful young man. Have you ever seen a boy that beautiful, Courtney?”

  “Oh, shut up, Percy. You can have the boy.”

  Percy smiled sweetly and drew himself a half pint of Irish beer.

  Late in the afternoon Francisco and Jose reported that there was no grape wine, or any kind of wine in the entire town.

  García was upset. Without grape wine the formula, dicey at best, was certain to fail. Of that he was certain. He wondered if they still might board that ship. But it was daylight and the ship would sail at dusk. Wellston had guards everywhere and such an attempt would mean a fight.

  Jesus, stretched out on a straw pallet nearby, said, “I can get you grape wine and candles, my Captain. Just say the word.”

  “You have the word, Jesus. Now which of us is a magician? Take Jose. He speaks English.”

  “Yes,” Jose said. “There is more Gaelic than English spoken here, but I can get through a few thoughts.”

  “Together, we will do it. And it’s good to go before that ship slips anchor. I have no trust in that English major.”

  The two of them were gone just under an hour, and Jose looked pale upon their return. “We have the wine,” she said, hoisting a cloth sack. “Four bottles of the grape, plus half a dozen candles. But my God, at what expense!”

  “Why? What happened?” García inquired. He noticed that Jesus was not disturbed in the least; in fact the tough old bad-eyed sergeant had a faint smile on his face.

  “The old priest at the cathedral at first insisted that there was no wine. Jesus said that was nonsense and drew the knife from his boot. Then the padre said there was a little wine, but for the sacrament only. Jesus slashed his garment, what do they call them, cossacks?”

  “Something like that,” García agreed.

  “Anyway a little blood was spilled.”

  “A slight scratch,” Jesus tossed in.

  “We were led to the wine cellar where there were ample supplies. We helped ourselves to wine and candles. Jesus thanked the priest and said he would pray for him.”

  “That was nice,” García said, giving the sergeant a wink and a smile.

  “But that’s not all,” Jose added. “On the way out of the cathedral we were stopped by a young priest who said he would come to our keep to confess us just before dawn.”

  These words did not sound good to García, who at this time was examining the wine bottles. “And for what purpose?” the captain asked.

  “Because they will hang two, maybe three of us just after dawn. Gallows trees are being prepared. The handful of English troops and the townspeople will be turned out to watch.”

  “Why only two or three? Why not all of us?”

  “You and the other survivors will be flogged and taken to London in chains. Captain Wellston himself will accompany you.”

  García nodded. “A good excuse for Wellston to get out of this foul situation. I wondered what he had in mind for us. But this in no way interrupts my plan now that the good Jesus has come through for us. In fact, the forewarning you bring may add a little spice to the pot. Now, if I can just pull off one more trick, we may even surprise the good English major.”

  With the ship out of sight down the Shannon and heavy night descending on Limerick, the English had posted a heavy guard outside the keep of the ruined castle. García guessed that they would no longer be able to come and go as they pleased, and he stepped outside to ask the corporal of the guard to ask Major Wellston to come to the keep.

  There was no immediate response, but two hours later there was a heavy rap on the door and in walked the major, Lord Percy and a stoutly built trooper. Wellston and Percy had obviously been drinking and were in high spirits.

  “I was delighted to get your invitation,” Wellston said. “What comforts might we offer you on this pleasant night? Can we send for beer, or the local whisky? It’s rotten stuff, but extremely strong.”

  As
planned, Jesus slipped behind the three and barred the door. “We have heard your plan for us,” García began, “and have decided to make you our prisoner in this strong stone keep. Sergeant Jesus will tie your hands.”

  Wellston sobered and instantly shouted at his trooper, “Taffy, open the door and call the guards.”

  García, who had palmed his belly gun, raised his arm and shot Taffy in the back of the head, killing him instantly.

  “My God,” Percy said, also suddenly sober. “What was that?”

  “Nothing you’d be interested in,” García said. “Jesus, tie up Percy. I’ll take care of the major.” He told Wellston if he wanted to live the two of them would climb to the second level and the major would call out to the guard and tell them he intended to remain in the keep for the night.

  “If you kill me, you will lack your hostage,” Wellston said, still arrogant.

  “Not necessarily,” García insisted. “I think an English lord might serve as a better hostage than an obviously disgraced major. A little long in grade, aren’t you, Wellston?”

  “Percy’s an obvious faggot and not welcome at court,” Wellston huffed.

  “Faggotry is not unheard of in the English peerage.” He eyed Percy and added, “Many of them might be a bit more discreet.”

  “I didn’t want to kill anybody,” Percy shouted. “I already insisted that Francisco not be killed and Courtney agreed.”

  García shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs. “It never ceases to amaze me how popular Francisco is among both the ladies and certain males.” He laughed and added, “Maybe it’s the uniform.” Then he marched the major up the rough staircase where Wellston, with García’s knife in his back, announced that the three of them would remain in the keep during the night. No one outside disputed Wellston’s orders.

  “Now we have work to do,” García announced.

  Major Wellston hissed, “You’re a dead man, García. If you kill both me and Percy they’ll cut you down like the insects you are. Your only chance is to surrender now, and I will let you go free.”

  García smiled. “We already know what plans you have for us, hanging for some, flogging and chains for others. Except, of course, Francisco, who would be under Lord Percy’s protection. No, we have a journey to plan, a journey of the mind.”

  “You’ll not journey far from this place.”

  “Haven’t you heard? Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.” He turned to Jose. “What do you think, should we take the Brits with us?”

  “Interesting thought. A 500-year-old English major and peer. They would both be gold mines of daily life. Also studies in banishment. But could we keep them under wraps?”

  “We would have to debrief them. Certainly the same holds for our cadets, Jesus and spouse. We might as well give it a go. If it works for us, it should work for them.”

  “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

  The two Englishmen puzzled over the conversation, while the Spaniards were totally in the dark because the conversation was in English. García and Jose set about placing the candles and arranging crude seats in a circle. The prisoners were bound only by their feet so that their arms were free to clasp hands.

  With all the candles lit, further illuminating the ancient keep, casting ghostly shadows on the rough stonewalls, García explained the program. “We will all drink a measure of wine. There is plenty, thanks to Jesus. We will then hold hands firmly. Now this is important. The circle must not be broken. So hold hands firmly. Wellston will be between me and Jesus. Percy will sit between Francisco and Jose. I’m counting on the rest of you to not break your grip.”

  “What nonsense is this?” Wellston questioned.

  “A late night game,” Jose replied.

  “After the wine is down. We will all chant,” García explained in English and Spanish. The chant was the simple sound of oohm-ko, oohm-ko. Then I will make a speech in Latin. Then the game will be over and we will all rest for the night and face the morning with renewed courage.”

  “Will you kill us?” Percy asked.

  “Not if you cooperate. It’s the last thing on my mind. I’m sorry I had to shoot Taffy. But what’s done is done.”

  The wine was poured and drunk. They joined hands and the chant began.