Isle of Broken Years

by Jane Fletcher

  A forest of hands waved in the air. There was no need for Captain Williams to count.

  “Right. It’s decided. Henceforth, this ship is the Maiden’s Prayer.” The crew cheered. “We’ll give both ships a quick check and patch them up if needed. Luckily, it doesn’t look like anything got too banged up. I want to be heading west by sunset. We’ll have to split crews, which will need juggling. Senior hands come to my cabin back on the Golden Goose. And, lad…” He turned to Sam. “See if you can find a bottle of Spanish brandy, in case our throats get dry from talking.”

  The main hold of the newly renamed Maiden’s Prayer was two-thirds full. Most of the cargo was weapons and luxuries, intended for Spanish colonies in the Americas, all now gratefully received by the privateers. In theory, a share of the profits was due to the Dutch who issued the letter of marque. In practice, things might turn out slightly differently.

  The main battle prize was the galleon herself. A month earlier, they had lost their frigate, the Grey Lady. Eastward bound treasure ships were too well defended for lone privateers to tackle at will, especially if the Spanish traveled in convoy. With two ships working together, the chances were greatly improved.

  Sitting in the gloom below deck, the prisoners formed a row, chained together with leg irons. The links clicked with the roll of the waves. No slaves had been on the captured ship, although human freight was common enough, as the chains showed. The men scowled at Sam as she riffled though the crates. Did any now regret not joining the privateers?

  “King Phillip will cleanse the seas of this filth once God grants us victory. The heretics and traitors will all burn.” The Spanish was spoken loudly enough to overhear. Clearly, the man did not care whether Sam understood, but he then switched to English and raised his voice. “You, pirate. Do you not fear for your immortal soul?”

  Sam did not bother answering. The war in Europe had been going on for over ten years, and could easily last ten more. It had started as a religious dispute in the German states, but had gotten quite out of hand. The Dutch had pitched in, wanting freedom from Spain, and now Sweden and England were caught up in the struggle. Who could say how things would turn out?

  Sam snagged a bottle of brandy and left the Spanish loyalists to their dreams of God finally pitching in on their side. The two ships were still bound together, facing the sinking sun. Sam vaulted over the gunwale onto the Golden Goose and entered the captain’s cabin. She caught part of a report by Donal, the first mate.

  “…able deckhands. Six are Portuguese conscripts.”

  “So no love lost there,” the captain said, smiling.

  “True enough. They’d probably have volunteered to pitch their old captain overboard, given the chance.”

  Captain Williams pointed to a row of glasses. “Set ’em up, lad.” He turned back to Donal. “What about the Spaniards?”

  “One’s getting on in years. Says he was a cook. The other two are disillusioned youngsters. They ran away to sea to make their fortune, but it’s been too slow coming.”

  “Might they be trouble?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The captain nodded. “Right. Before we cast off the grappling irons we’ll transfer the prisoners to the Golden Goose, so I can keep my eye on them, her ladyship and the maid included. The new recruits can all crew on the Maiden’s Prayer, to cut out any risk of them getting a change of heart and deciding to free their old shipmates. They’re also familiar with the ship. Though, on second thought, the old cook can come onto the Golden Goose. We ought to be able to handle him if he tries making mischief and we can see what his salmagundi is like.” He rapped his knuckles on the table. “Sam, lad.”

  Sam stopped midway though pouring a glass. “Cap’n?”

  “What are you hearing? How’s the crew taking today’s action?”

  “They’re happy. We only lost four men, and we’ve got a second ship. They’re a bit…excited about the women.”

  “I bet they are.”

  “But it’s just talk. Most have already spent their share of the ransom three times over in their head.”

  Captain Williams laughed.

  “How much can we screw out of Don Perez for her?” Donal asked.

  “If you had his money, how much would you pay? You don’t find a woman with looks like hers every day.”

  “She’s pretty enough, I’ll grant you that. So what’s the plan? I take it you’ve got one?”

  Plans were the captain’s specialty. It was one reason why the crew voted for him. “We’ll drop the prisoners with the ransom demand a couple of hours north of St. Augustine. The lady’s maid can go with them, to prove we’ve got the discipline not to drill every woman we lay our hands on. Then we’ll find somewhere quiet to hole up. We’ll give him two months, then send the Maiden’s Prayer to pick up the ransom. If he comes through with the money, we’ll tell him where to find his bride and be on our way with a hold full of gold.”

  “Supposing he double-crosses us?”

  “I’ve got a few other ideas.” Captain Williams picked up a glass and swilled the contents, thoughtfully. “Thanks, lad. Leave the bottle. Go back to the Maiden’s Prayer and call on her ladyship. Tell her she’ll be coming aboard the Golden Goose with her maid. Anything they want to bring over has to be in a bag and ready within the hour.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” Sam left the cabin.

  No doubt Captain Williams’s other ideas would be inventive, but Sam would have to wait with the rest of the crew to learn more.

  A lone sailor was outside Doña Catalina’s cabin, supposedly standing guard. However, Hugh was curled on the floor, snoring loudly, with an empty bottle in his hand. The captain was not the only one to enjoy brandy.

  Sam resisted the urge to kick Hugh. Maybe there was little risk of Doña Catalina escaping—if she had any sense, she would not set foot outside her cabin—but he was supposed to be protecting her. There were men on ship who did their thinking with their dicks whenever they saw a woman, and Hugh would not be the only one who had helped himself to a bottle. Supposing some swillbelly dog tried to force himself on Catalina?

  Sam shook the drunken sailor’s shoulder, but got only a cough and a grumble before the snores resumed. He was as much use as a wet paper sail in a hurricane. After passing on the captain’s message, she would stay and keep watch. With a sigh, Sam stepped over Hugh’s legs and pushed open the cabin door.

  A single candle supplemented the weak daylight. Doña Catalina was sitting with her maid at the table. A book, probably the Bible, was open before her. At the sound of the latch, the maid flinched visibly and gave a whimper of fear. However, Catalina slowly and coolly turned her head and treated Sam to a look of utter contempt, as if she were a bad smell that had wafted in.

  Sam was held spellbound by the pair of startling blue eyes trained on her. Catalina had a heart-shaped face, framed by sculptured jet-black ringlets, which were thrown into yet sharper contrast by the fine white ruff around her throat. Even compressed in a straight line, there was no disguising the fullness of her lips. The bodice on her crimson dress was thick with gold embroidery. Her sleeves were tied with ribbon and cut to reveal the cream cloth beneath. She was a picture of wealth and elegance, and easily the most beautiful woman Sam had seen in ages—although to be fair, a sailor’s life did not throw up much by way of competition.

  She put Catalina’s age at maybe a little over her own tally of twenty years. She had previously seen that Catalina was of average height for a woman, although several inches shorter than Sam. She spoke English fluently, with a low voice, and a bewitching, musical accent.

  And she was still glaring at Sam. “Well? Are you here for a reason? Or do you just want to look at me?”

  There were worse ways to pass the time.

  Sam struggled to find her voice. “Your ladysh…miss. The captain sent me. You’ll be moving to the other ship, the Golden Goose, with your maid, in about an hour. You should pack a bag of things you want to take with you.”<
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  “How large a bag?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say. I guess as long as you can carry it. Or I’ll carry it for you.” Sam forced herself to shut up. She was babbling.

  “How old are you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You’re a child.”

  “No, I’m not.” Although true, it hardly sounded convincing.

  The contempt on Catalina’s face was changing to stern disapproval. “How sad to see one as young as you, already lost to the devil. Your mother must shed bitter tears when she thinks of you.”

  “My ma is dead. So is my pa.”

  “Yet you strive only to turn more children into orphans.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Isn’t it? Then tell me how it is.”

  Sam stared at the floor. This conversation was not going anywhere good. She should let actions speak for her. “Is there nothing I can do for you?”

  “No.”

  “I could help you pack.”

  “You’re hoping to delve through my spare undergarments?”

  “No!” Though now that Sam thought about it, her face burned. She must have been blushing like a nun in a brothel.

  “So young. And racing on the path to hell.”

  “I’m not a child.”

  “No. You’re a monster in training.”

  A dozen comebacks in an equal number of languages shot through Sam’s head. She bit them back. It was unreasonable to expect sympathy from a prisoner being held for ransom.

  Catalina returned to her book. She appeared totally composed. Yet the warm candlelight could not mask the paleness of her cheeks, nor did the ruff hide the rapid pulse in her throat. Catalina was not as immune to fear as she acted.

  Sam’s anger dissolved. “You needn’t worry. Don Perez will pay your ransom. Then Captain Williams will set you free. You’ll be all right.”

  “I put no faith in your pirate captain to honor his word. And I doubt Don Perez will either.”

  “Captain Williams is a man of—”

  “Actually, there is something I’d like you to do for me.” Catalina cut Sam off.

  “What?”

  “Go. And please, shut the door after you.”

  Sam opened her mouth and closed it again. She must look like a dying fish, and hanging around was not going to make things better. Sam ducked her head in an awkward bow and left.

  Alone in the corridor, with only Hugh’s snores as a distraction, Sam rested her forehead against the wooden wall and took several deep breaths. Her pulse raced and her knees were weak. So what if Doña Catalina despised her? The Spanish noblewoman was enough to send anyone’s brains on the journey south.

  In the days ahead, Sam knew she would need to act very sensibly indeed.

  * * *

  Two days later, the Golden Goose and the Maiden’s Prayer dropped anchor in the estuary of a river. Sunrise was approaching and the light was just strong enough to see the banks on either side. These were low and covered in a knotted mat of shrub-like trees and palms. The shoreline showed up clearly, a ribbon of white sand, luminous in the waning moonlight.

  Sam rested her elbows on the gunwale of the Golden Goose and watched the longboat return from ferrying its load of prisoners ashore. The sound of the oars carried on the dawn breeze. The privateers would not hang around for long. A few miles farther south, a wider river led to the Spanish outpost of St. Augustine. Apart from any danger posed by the settlement defenses, there was always the risk of visiting warships.

  The prisoners would not have to travel far before reaching safety, although it would require care. The land was low-lying swamp, cut by a lacework of alligator-infested rivers and streams. As long as they watched where they were going, most should survive the journey, although possibly not all.

  “Sam,” Captain Williams called.

  “Cap’n?”

  “Fetch the lady’s maid. She’ll go in the next boatload.”

  “Aye-aye.” Sam headed below deck.

  She found Lucia sobbing and clinging to Catalina. The maid was wearing what must have passed as outdoor clothing for a Spanish gentlewoman but was hardly suited to wading through swamps. Fortunately, there was no shortage of sturdy men among the prisoners. Someone would need to carry Lucia across the wetland. The floor-length petticoats would weigh a ton once they soaked up water. On the other hand, an alligator would have to chew through layers of starched cloth before getting anywhere close to her legs.

  “It’s time for you to go, miss.”

  The sobs got louder. Catalina pulled free from the encircling arms and captured Lucia’s hands between her own.

  “You must be brave,” Catalina said softly in Spanish.

  “I’d rather stay here.”

  “And I’d much rather go with you. The pirates will set you ashore, close to a friendly fort. The commander there will take care of you.”

  A niggle of guilt poked Sam when she remembered the alligators. Lucia stifled her sobs with a loud gulp, but showed no sign of moving.

  Sam put a hand under Lucia’s elbow to draw her away. “You have to come now.”

  Lucia took her first, teetering step toward the door.

  Abruptly, Catalina said, “Please, can we have just five minutes more?”

  Her eyes met Sam’s, pleading. For the first time, there was no scorn, no defiance. More than anything, Sam wanted to agree, so Catalina would continue looking at her in that way, but she was not in a position to grant the request.

  “I’m sorry. Captain Williams is waiting.”

  Even so, Sam was willing to stick her neck out and delay for as long as she dared, but she did not get the chance to say more. Immediately, Catalina’s guard snapped back into place.

  “Oh no. We can’t keep your captain waiting.”

  “I’m just obeying orders.”

  “Is that the sop you give your conscience? Do you think it will spare you the noose when you are brought to trial?”

  “No. I’ll stand no chance at all, if it’s a Spanish court.”

  “So why do you follow this life?”

  “Because I have no other options.”

  “We always have options.”

  “You need money to buy options.” A hard truth Sam had learned long ago. She tugged Lucia’s elbow. “Come with me, miss.”

  Sam steered the weeping maid from the room. As the door closed, she glanced back. Doña Catalina had not moved. Her eyes were closed and the mask of icy aloofness was gone. She was a woman alone and friendless, surrounded by danger, trying to control her fear. What would Catalina say if Sam went back, put an arm around her, and told her she was not quite as alone as she might think? Was it sensible even to ask the question?

  The door shut.

  * * *

  The waning crescent of the moon hung low on the horizon. Its light was not strong enough to challenge the glittering stars, splashed across the night sky. Sam lay on her back and picked out the constellations. They had been her guide across the oceans and were as familiar to her as the lines across her hands.

  Many sailors believed both stars and lines could also be a guide to the future. The port towns held more than their share of astrologers and palmists. Sam was doubtful, not least because those who relied most on fortune-tellers had the worst luck. A shame. It would be so much easier if she could only read the answers in the stars.

  Where could she go for guidance? Sam felt in desperate need of it. The nature of her life at sea meant emotions and desires were something to be ignored, not prodded around. The only available women Sam ran into were the dockside whores, who never interested her. Was that not proof she had no real interest in women? Other sailors would race to the brothels as soon as the ship made harbor.

  Occasionally, Sam had toyed with the idea of talking to the women—just talking—to see what advice they could give. What chance she would learn anything to justify the risk? If the truth got back to her shipmates, the outcome was predictable.

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p; Sam had pushed the whole subject to the back of her mind and stuck a very tight lid on it. She did not need to make her life any more difficult than it already was. Then Catalina arrived, and suddenly Sam was feeling out of control. The thought of saying something not at all sensible was a worryingly strong temptation.

  “What do you think I should do, Pa?” she whispered to the stars.

  Where was her father’s spirit? It would be nice to think he was up there, listening and watching over her. Sam smiled. If the afterlife contained a tavern, that was where to look for him, not drifting around over the ocean. Her father’s idea of heaven had always come in a bottle.

  Richard Helyer had not been the most cautious of men, even when sober, but he was someone she trusted, someone she could talk to. And while his ideas might not be well thought through, they were usually fun. Such as when he returned to Devon to find his sister on her deathbed, leaving no one to look after his eight-year-old daughter. So he told Sarah her name was now Sam, dressed her as a boy, and took her with him on his next voyage.

  With hindsight, his shipmates probably guessed the truth, but Pa was well liked and a good seaman. After all, a taste for rum went with the job. Everyone had turned a blind eye, until Sam had mastered playing the part of a boy. The steps she needed to take were now second-nature, and she had long ceased thinking of herself as Sarah.

  Everything had been fine until their last nightmare voyage together. Bad weather and worse luck had dogged the Portland Bessie. An outbreak of ship fever killed half of the crew. Sam had recovered. Her father had not. Then the mainmast snapped in a storm, leaving the Portland Bessie limping across the Atlantic, shorthanded. A galley fire destroyed most of the supplies. Her odds of seeing land again had been dropping by the day. The situation was so poor it had come as a blessing when they were waylaid by privateers, looking for recruits. Nobody had even pointed out that boarding a British ship was not covered by the letter of marque.

  Sam reckoned she had a year before she would need to part company with the Golden Goose. Much longer, and questions would start about why the cabin boy was showing no sign of becoming a man. With luck, she could find a place on another ship. Beyond that, she had a while longer before her face was too lined to pass as a teenage boy.