‘Neither have you to me.’
For a moment the two men stared at each other, then Marmolejo lowered the tone of his voice and said, ‘I came here for advice and to make common cause with you for the greater safety of this ship.’
But Iago was too aroused to be so easily appeased. ‘You came here to discover me a sodomite!’
‘No!’
‘You meddle! You intrude! It is the business of you priests! The hearts of men are not their own but that you must pry into them and, like the man extracting an oyster from the shell God encased it in, you tear the entire fabric asunder to its utter destruction!’
‘Master! Please, recover your temper, I beg you!’ cried Ximenez, leaping to his feet, his flaccid member still dangling from his half-untied codpiece.
‘Your dwarf is right, Don Iago,’ Marmolejo said, recovering and sharing with the dwarf a recognition of the power of the Church over men. ‘Have a care. You talk like a Protestant dog and you are playing with fire.’
‘Then burn me!’
Ximenez gave a great cry and flung himself at Iago’s feet, clasping his legs and staring up at his master as Marmolejo drew back.
‘I think, Don Iago,’ Marmolejo said breathlessly, ‘it is best that we consider ourselves to have equally traded insults. For myself I am sorry that I misjudged you, though what legitimacy you place upon a heathen marriage is something to be taken up later. For the time being will you, when you are composed, come and discuss what can be done about the disordered state of this ship with myself and my Brothers?’
‘Go, master, go,’ pleaded Ximenez, shaking Iago’s legs so that he almost toppled over. Kicking himself free of Ximenez’s awkward and supplicating embrace, Iago frowned and then nodded.
‘Very well. I shall come in a few moments.’
When Marmolejo had gone, Iago sent Ximenez for some water and took Ah Fong in his arms. ‘Thank you for what you did for me there, my dearest one,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘In tomorrow’s daylight, if it pleases the gods to send us sunshine, you shall put on a lady’s dress and I shall walk with you as my most honourable wife.’
‘I shall ask the house gods of my ancestors to send us no wind and much sunshine, my beloved one,’ she answered smiling, selecting a scented joss stick and lighting it from the lantern swinging from the hook in the deck beam. ‘I am glad you made a fool of the foreign devil priest.’
Iago laughed, relieved that it had been Marmolejo and not one of his fellows that had come upon them. ‘You were wonderful,’ he said, ‘a soft scabbard . . .’
‘For your bright sword.’ She finished the intimate remark with another wide smile.
Turning away, Iago said, ‘Cover yourself before you excite Ximenez. I must go to talk with these men of God.’
After Ximenez had brought him a beaker of water, Iago joined the friars. It was clear that Marmolejo had just explained the error of his wild assumption, though how or when it had come to their knowledge Iago had no idea.
‘Well? You have summoned me and I have come,’ Iago began coldly.
‘We wish to consult you about the ship, Don Iago,’ Hernando began. ‘We feel that not all is being done to save her. No one is pumping, she lies deeper in the water, she will founder if . . .’
‘Have you raised these anxieties with the captain-general?’ Iago asked.
‘We wished to seek your advice.’
‘Upon what? Whether the ship will sink unless you pray and every other man pumps?’
‘Don Iago!’ Marmolejo growled a warning. ‘Do not trifle . . .’
Iago bit off a retort and expelled his breath. ‘I fear, Fathers,’ he said in a more conciliatory tone, ‘that I am of little influence but I shall see what I can do.’ He made to turn away but Agustin called:
‘Stay, Don Iago. A moment more if you please.’
‘Fray Agustin?’
‘If, Don Iago, as may well be the case, there is a necessity to contest Don Juan’s captain-generalship . . .’
Iago gave an incredulous laugh and looked at the circle of friars. For the first time he realized they were in a state of heightened emotion. Then he shook his head. ‘You purpose mutiny? You? The guardians of all things spiritually conducive to good order?’
‘No!’ Marmolejo said sharply, holding up his hand. ‘No, my Brothers, no! We purpose nothing but the maintenance of the King’s discipline and the Church’s rule aboard this ship. But neither shall we founder by ill-conceived concubinage and wantonness. This is neither time nor place . . .’
‘A man may couple with his wife whenever it pleases him,’ Iago said frigidly, stung with the reference to his recent lovemaking.
‘If she is his wife,’ put in Hernando, ‘as sanctioned by the holy sacrament of marriage.’
‘And if she is,’ added Agustin, ‘why hast thou concealed the fact for so long and deceived us into thinking quite otherwise?’
‘Huh! For two reasons, the first of which you presently demonstrate: that you do not recognize a form of marriage other than that of the Church.’
‘How can we? Besides God’s rule is worldwide and includes Cathay,’ Agustin parried.
‘You should not have lain with her, Don Iago, until bringing her before a priest.’
‘And how, a captive, was I to know whether I should ever again encounter a priest, Fray Agustin? Pray tell me—’
‘What,’ broke in Marmolejo, ‘was the second reason?’
Iago shook his head to clear it. ‘The second reason? Oh, I should not have secured a passage with a wife in train. Or so I judged. Perhaps in this I was mistaken, but in the other matter, your own questions prove the truth of my argument.’
‘You speak,’ Hernando said, his eyes narrowing, ‘like a man who would defy the very authority of the Church.’
‘Do you threaten me with the Inquisition, Fray Hernando? If so shall I sit down and pray the Santa Margarita founders soon and takes you all with me to Hell!’
‘Do not,’ said Hernando, his face a mask, the words spat at Iago, ‘talk lightly of such matters.’
‘If the foundering of this ship is a matter to be taken lightly,’ Iago responded, ‘then I see that you, Fray Hernando, are bent upon martyrdom.’
‘Don Iago!’ Marmolejo interjected as Iago spun on his heel and walked from their presence.
‘You see,’ said Hernando, ‘the man is intractable. I smell a Protestant . . .’
‘You may smell what you like, Fray Hernando,’ said Marmolejo quickly, ‘but I fear that Fernandez is right in one thing, your martyrdom is nearer than you may wish.’
‘The man is an apostate, like the captain-general,’ argued Hernando furiously.
‘But we failed in our objective, Brothers,’ Marmolejo added, shaking his head.
‘But God has revealed a sinner,’ Hernando persisted. ‘His will is absolute and His purpose divine.’
‘Aye.’ Marmolejo sighed and shook his head. Then he fell to his knees and, crossing himself, fell to praying.
Iago went on deck. He was furious with himself, furious with Marmolejo and furious with Guillestigui, whose stupidity lay – he felt in some indeterminate way – at the heart of their troubles.
The wind had dropped, though a confused sea still ran in which the Santa Margarita wallowed with a sluggishness that presaged a waterlogged hold. The full darkness of the night had fallen, though intermittent cloud exposed the stars and a sickle moon sufficient to show the figures upon the deck. Lorenzo and Olivera stood at the break of the half-deck, facing aft and in conversation with Guillestigui, a few of whose suite stood about him. It was clear that this was no casual conversation, but a conference of sorts. Someone among the captain-general’s entourage spotted him, for the pale ovals of several faces turned towards him and he sensed rather than heard all conversation cease.
Then someone, Calcagorta Iago thought, made a remark. Iago heard Guillestigui say, ‘No, let him come forward, we have need of him.’ Then, raising his voice, the captain-general s
ummoned him. ‘Don Iago, pray come hither.’
‘Excellency?’
‘Don Juan Lorenzo and the carpenters have found a leak and believe they can reduce the ingress of water. Even now the carpenters are preparing to work but we must relieve the ship of some of the water she has taken so that they can get at the place, as you will have no trouble comprehending. The men are exhausted, now they have given way to vice and further prostrated themselves but with leadership and example they will return to their duty without I must resort to the cat . . . Do you follow my argument, Don Iago?’
‘Yes, Excellency. You wish that I and some others prominent in the ship but not strictly of her again make ourselves useful on the pump handles.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Then I shall lead the Franciscan brothers, Your Excellency, if you will permit me to.’
‘Of course,’ Guillestigui said, and even in the darkness Iago saw the gap in his beard where his teeth gleamed with a smile. ‘And my officers will muster others. Don Rodrigo, Don Joanes . . .’
But Iago had gone, returning to the friars with an alacrity that surprised himself.
‘Well, Fathers,’ he said without any ceremony, ‘if you will follow me I shall lead you to your penance. We must needs lighten the ship in order that a leak may be stopped. Your energies as well as your prayers are required by the King’s captain-general on the pumps.’ Iago stared about him as the news sank in. Then, before anyone spoke, he led them below. ‘Come; I shall make seamen of you yet.’
Iago led them to the waist where the pump trunks stood amid the wreckage of the deck cargo. Once there he appointed them two to a handle with a reserve intended to spell each man in turn at half-hourly intervals. Already himself in his shirt-sleeves, he watched them divest themselves of their habits in the faint light, hearing the suppressed in-draughts of breath as they tore the rough cloth off their lacerated flesh. A few moments later the pump handles again rose and fell. After a moment the pulsating stream of water began to run from the outlet pipe over the deck at their feet.
‘You . . . will . . . find,’ Iago said, ejecting each word as he made the downstroke, ‘that . . . you . . . will . . . work . . . best . . . by . . . breathing . . . out . . . as . . . you . . . haul . . . on . . . the . . . handle . . .’ and so they found it. At regular intervals one of those resting stepped in and relieved one of those labouring at the tedious task. When he found himself thus recovering his strength, Iago encouraged them.
‘We are fortunate in one respect, Fathers. Since the ship is so grossly loaded the amount of water in her, although lowering her freeboard to a dangerous extent, prevents us taking on an angle of loll which would be the case were the water to rush to one side in an empty space.’
Grunts of comprehension greeted this news and, as his turn to resume work approached, Iago went to the side of Santa Margarita and stared over the rail. The waterline lay not far below the level of the deck, but it was clear that they stood a chance of overcoming the ingress, particularly if daybreak brought them relief, which Lorenzo had promised.
Iago tapped Marmolejo on the shoulder and took over his handle. Dark scabs seamed the older man’s otherwise white back, but these were splitting under the exertion and fresh bleeding ran into the sweat and showed up in the starlight as he drew to one side. Iago resumed the task as though he had had no break. Up and down, back bent then straightened, arms quickly numbed, his thoughts floating in the gloom.
After catching his breath Marmolejo asked: ‘Tell me, Don Iago, if the leak is – was – under water and the hold is so cluttered, how was its whereabouts discovered?’
‘I don’t . . . know . . . for . . . certain,’ gasped Iago, continuing in the same manner, ‘but I imagine that it is not far below the waterline. Perhaps, as the ship rolled, it was exposed . . .’
Those working with him grunted at the explanation. They moved like slaves, no further words passing between them. Hour succeeded hour, the rotating reliefs moved silently, like wraiths, the resting gasped until it was their turn to resume work. And so they laboured on until the first light of dawn flushed the eastern horizon and, at last, the ship seemed to awake to a new normality. Only then did some seamen, contrite and embarrassed, turn out to relieve them.
Before he went below to sleep, Iago ascended to the half-deck. He had been vaguely aware of others about the ship intent upon saving her. He had caught a glimpse of Lorenzo and one of the carpenters, dripping with water, emerging on deck. With the dawn more men came on deck and the sails were properly trimmed. Under the half-deck Iago found the pilot-major. Lorenzo seemed cheered and less doleful than he had become lately.
‘We have stopped the leak, Don Iago, or at least considerably reduced it,’ he said, clearly pleased with the efforts of himself and the carpenters. Without waiting for any further questions he went on, ‘It was a length of spar, probably the maintopmast which had all but beaten in the ship’s side and sprung a seam. We have caulked it and reduced the inflow to a mere trickle. You will be glad to know that you are no longer pumping the Pacific through the Santa Margarita.’
‘I am indeed.’
‘Now the pumps are gaining.’
‘Then I shall go below and sleep.’
‘And I must consider a jury rig,’ Lorenzo said nodding and looking about him. Puzzled at the pilot-major’s change of mood, Iago dragged himself below. Ah Fong was asleep in the hammock but Ximenez was awake and polishing his master’s boots.
‘I told you not to . . .’ But he got no further. Even before he had stretched himself full length on the wet palliasse he was fast asleep.
It was almost noon when Iago awoke. The first thing he saw was Ah Fong’s face and, recollecting that it was no longer necessary to pretend she was a youth, he reached out to her.
‘I shall get you food,’ she said rising and Iago lay back. The ship seemed easier, riding better but with a slight heel that bespoke progress. ‘We are under way,’ he whispered and, staring about him, noticed his polished boots. A moment later Ximenez lifted the canvas curtain and came into the space.
‘You are awake, master.’
‘So it would seem.’
Ximenez lowered himself to bring his mouth close to Iago’s ear. ‘They are saying much of the stores are spoiled, master, ruined by the sea water.’
‘That is very likely. Do you go and get me some hot water that I might shave.’
‘And that the captain-general is sending men into parts of the ship to secure comestibles for his party,’ went on Ximenez, rising to do Iago’s bidding.
‘Is that a fact or mere idle gossip?’ Iago asked sharply.
‘I have seen men in hauberks going below. They are the captain-general’s guard and not seamen. They were armed,’ added Ximenez thoughtfully.
‘Hot water.’
‘Yes, master.’
After he had eaten, Iago went on deck where Olivera stood the watch. Above the forecastle rose the stump of the foremast and from its yard the forecourse bellied out, helped by a smaller sail set on the main, and abaft the main the lateen mizzen was drawing. At the root of the bowsprit a gang of men were at work. Ducking to see below the roach of the forecourse, Iago watched the young Silva out at the end of the bowsprit.
‘We are setting up a foretopmast stay to raise a jury foretopmast,’ explained Olivera. ‘Then we must work on the main.’
‘You have done well, Antonio. Happily Don Juan seemed much cheered by our progress this morning.’
Olivera nodded. ‘He had a dream in which he lay with his wife. He is convinced it was sent by the Virgin in answer to his prayers.’
‘Ahhh.’ Iago recollected Ximenez’s dream that the pilots were lost, but held his tongue, merely commenting, ‘Faith is a wondrous thing.’
‘For those who believe.’
The conversation went no further for in the waist below them Marmolejo emerged and, looking up at the rail above him, remarked upon their progress.
‘This is encouraging, gentlemen
.’
‘Indeed it is,’ Iago responded.
‘And I must speak with you, Don Iago.’
Iago descended to the waist. ‘If this is about the captain-general’s conduct or about my own—’
‘It is about your soul, Don Iago,’ Marmolejo interrupted.
‘My soul?’
Marmolejo nodded. ‘It is imperilled. I shall forget much of what passed between us, but some matters I cannot ignore. You must be married.’
‘I am.’
‘Not according to the Christian rite.’
‘Can this not await the conclusion of our voyage?’
Marmolejo appeared not to have heard him. ‘Your wife needs conversion, baptism and a Christian name . . .’
‘Fray Mateo . . .’
‘Beware, Don Iago. You have enemies. There are those that believe you to be a spy, an apostate – even a Protestant. This is not a matter to prevaricate over, for prevarication will be taken for conduct so suspicious that, at the end of our voyage, it may attract unwelcome attention. Submit to this and all will be well. You will draw the sting of those who wish you ill.’
Iago looked at Marmolejo, seeking meaning beyond the friar’s words. The older man met his stare.
‘My son . . .’ he began, but seemed unable to go further.
Iago’s anger of the day before had gone, wrung out of him by his labour at the pumps. ‘Are you too under suspicion, for befriending me?’
Marmolejo lowered his eyes. Iago sighed. ‘Fray Mateo, you may say what you like to Ah Fong, she will neither understand nor see the virtue in what you intend.’
‘That does not matter, Don Iago, as you well know.’
‘I know only that she is Chinese and quite unlike us.’
‘God created the world, Don Iago, even the likes of her.’
‘She will not relinquish her household gods.’
‘All you have to do is to persuade her of the paramountcy of the Christian religion. Come, do you make a start today. See,’ and here Marmolejo gestured at the men working about the ship, his voice uplifted, ‘we are set fair to make a new start. Why, even the sun shines. Perhaps we have suffered enough,’ he added, somehow making Iago recall the mortifying self-flagellation Marmolejo and his brethren had inflicted upon themselves. Did they think the wind and sea thus easily mollified?
The Disastrous Voyage of the Santa Margarita Page 17