PIRATE: Privateer

by Tim Severin

  ‘She is called Maria. If she is using her married name, it is Lynch. She is my wife.’

  Reeve was looking even more penitent than before as he moved towards the cell door.

  ‘Stop!’ said Hector. A last-minute thought had occurred to him.

  The secretary turned and lingered, though the look on his drawn and weary face told Hector he could see no point in staying any longer.

  ‘Mr Reeve, there is someone else who might be able to assist if you could contact him on my behalf.’

  The secretary raised an eyebrow enquiringly, without any enthusiasm. Clearly he thought that it was unlikely that anyone could help Hector.

  Hector chose his words carefully. ‘When I was in Cartagena, an important merchant assured me that he knew someone here in Port Royal who would intervene on my behalf when I came to trial.’

  ‘An implausible claim,’ observed Reeve, regaining a touch of his old rigour.

  ‘I had been of assistance to the merchant, saved his son, and he felt that he was in my debt. He said someone in Port Royal owed him a favour. This man would know when to help me. Do you have any idea who that might be?’

  Reeve pondered the question before he answered, speaking cautiously. ‘My first thought would be that he was referring to Señor Pimiento, the asiento representative here. He oversees the purchase and shipping of slaves to the Spanish colonies under licence and is in regular contact with Cartagena. But Señor Pimiento could hardly be able to fill the role as your mysterious benefactor. He has no power in the colony.’

  ‘It would be someone of importance, someone capable of influencing a judge and sentencing.’ Hector tried not to sound desperate, but he had to follow up any possible lead that might result in his release and that of his friends.

  Reeve spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘This unknown person will be keeping his connection with Cartagena a very close secret. If his relationship with your friend in Cartagena is so firm, then it must have been built up over many years, from a time when the Spanish were our enemies. That was treason.’ He gave a thin smile. ‘What you claim is interesting. At one time I thought I had my hands on all the levers of power in Jamaica, and knew all that went on. But it seems that I was mistaken.’

  *

  CAPTAIN BLACKMORE was strolling beside Maria as he and his family returned from Sunday service. The Blackmore townhouse was only a five-minute walk from St Paul’s, the church favoured by the wealthier citizens of Port Royal. To an observer it would have seemed that the planter was being courteous, falling in step beside the governess of his children and chatting to her casually as they returned home along the seafront. His mother and three children were a few steps behind, out of earshot. The little group was passing the battery of a dozen cannon known as Morgan’s Line in honour of the late Governor.

  ‘This pirate Lynch is back in our custody,’ said Blackmore conversationally, though keeping his voice low. ‘He and his accomplices were caught with sacks of loot, taken out of English and Spanish ships. He even used a French privateer flag.’

  He gave Maria an enquiring sideways glance. ‘He’s of average height, fair complexion, dark brown hair, and has hazel eyes. In his late twenties. Does that sound familiar?’

  When she said nothing, he added, ‘He’s a fluent Spanish speaker, with a trace of a Galician accent. Surely that should place him if he is your husband.’

  Maria kept her head down, struggling not to let her emotions show. Hector was in Port Royal but in terrible trouble. She had to make contact with him, discover if there was a way to help him. She was very conscious of Blackmore’s gaze. To some it might have seemed kindly and avuncular. But it made her skin crawl.

  She avoided answering Blackmore’s question directly. ‘Have the authorities dealt with him severely?’ she asked.

  Blackmore smiled grimly. ‘Not yet. He’s in the Marshalsea prison, along with his accomplices. I expect the trial will be held within a week. No question about the verdict. After that my colleagues and I will decide what’s to be done.’

  Maria paused in her stride and looked to her right, out across the glassy sea, as if to admire the view. It had the advantage of turning her face away from Blackmore, and it meant that the three children and their grandmother would catch them up. There was no point in continuing the conversation.

  Blackmore lowered his voice still further. ‘If that man is your husband, I can arrange for you to have a meeting with him.’

  Maria resisted the temptation. She knew it was a trick. If she admitted that Hector was her husband, Blackmore would take advantage of the fact. It was better to lie to him. ‘My husband speaks no Spanish. This Lynch must be a stranger.’

  She could tell by his cold stare that he did not believe her. There was just time for him to murmur one last comment. ‘Nevertheless I think it would be better if you met him. My information may be incorrect in some details.’ He turned to address his mother, who had joined them. ‘I’m arranging for you to go back to the plantation tomorrow. I have little confidence in our manager there. The children can stay on with me for a couple of days. There’s a meeting of the Assembly tomorrow and it will be a chance for them to see their father at work. Their governess can bring them to the public gallery when I am speaking.’

  It was neatly done, Maria thought. Blackmore had reminded her of his importance and at the same time got his mother safely out of the way. She decided that for the next few nights she would move into the children’s room, in case the captain came knocking at her bedroom door.

  *

  THE WEATHER BROKE on Tuesday. The day dawned with no trace of the overcast that had blighted the town for more than a week. In his cell Hector could see the patch of blue that had replaced the sullen drab in the single window and hear the voices of passers-by, more cheerful now the sun was shining. He had worked out that the chief warder liked to spend his afternoons in the tavern. He always smelled of drink in the evening, and it was in his absence that his son ran the prison. Hector had no way of knowing if his conversation with Secretary Reeve would produce news of Maria or some sort of message from Señor Corbalan’s mysterious contact in Port Royal. There was nothing he could do but wait and, being accustomed to the need for patience during long sea voyages, he was able to spend most of his time stretched out on the bench in his cell, dozing.

  The lad’s creaky voice roused him. ‘You have a visitor.’

  Hector sat up so sharply that he nearly fell to the brick floor. He swung his feet to the ground and turned. Maria was standing in the open doorway. He felt giddy for a moment as if about to faint. Then in two quick strides he was across the room and had thrown his arms around her. He hugged her so fiercely to him that he felt her struggling to draw breath. But she had her arms locked around him and the two of them stood there, without the need for words. Looking past her he saw the warder son standing in the open doorway and watching them open-mouthed. The lad had probably never seen such a display of emotion. With his eyes Hector beseeched the boy to leave them alone. The lad understood. Without a word, he stepped back and gently closed the door.

  ‘Let me look at you,’ said Maria finally. He slid his arms lower until they were around her waist and she could lean back and see him. Her face was radiant, filled with love and relief. He bent forward and kissed her hungrily, feeling her body curve forward again against his. It was the sensation that he had craved. They stayed like that, the whole world distilled into the space around them. Finally Maria pulled away, though she still kept her arms around his neck. Neither of them was able to give up the other’s touch.

  ‘Thank God, I’ve found you,’ she said. Her voice was husky with emotion, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

  ‘No need to cry over it,’ said Hector softly. With his thumb he wiped away the tear. ‘How long have you been in Port Royal?’

  Before she could answer, another surge of emotion ambushed him and again he had to hug her close. For several more minutes they simply stood and held o
ne another.

  Eventually Maria, holding his hand, moved towards the bench. ‘I need to sit down,’ she said. She produced a small handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress and dabbed her eyes. ‘I came as soon as I knew where you were. All that matters is that you are alive and well.’

  She put away the handkerchief, stroked the back of his hand, and then rested her head on his shoulders. He could detect a faint perfume in her hair. Without raising her head, she murmured, ‘There must be some way to get you out of here.’

  ‘There is,’ he answered firmly. ‘I’ve told Mr Reeve that there is someone who can help me, someone influential who can get the charges quashed and arrange my release. I’ve asked Mr Reeve to find this man.’

  She looked puzzled. ‘Mr Reeve? Who’s he?’

  It was Hector’s turn to be bemused. ‘Lord Inchiquin’s secretary. The man who told you where to find me.’

  She frowned. ‘I found you for myself. My employer told me.’ There was a silence and then Hector said, ‘Perhaps I should start at the beginning. Jacques, Jezreel and I – and a man named Bartaboa – have been arrested for piracy, and accused of working with the French.’

  Maria nodded. ‘That’s what I was told.’

  ‘But it is a mistake. Lord Inchiquin issued me with a commission as a privateer. Unfortunately he is no longer in charge in Jamaica, and cannot vouch for me. Nor can his secretary, Mr Reeve. He’s the man I thought had found you.’

  ‘But what about this person who may be able to help you?’

  Hector rubbed his chin. ‘The trouble is, I don’t know who he is. If I did, I would get word to him.’

  ‘How do you know he exists?’

  ‘It’s a long story, but a Spanish merchant in Cartagena promised that he would arrange for this man to help me because this man owes him a favour.’

  ‘But your friend in Cartagena didn’t tell you his name?’

  Hector shook his head. ‘No. Maybe you could find out who he is more quickly than Reeve. You seem to be good at making enquiries. You found me here.’ He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.

  ‘That was nothing. The man I work for told me about you. He knew a great deal about you and where to find you. Even suggested that I visit you.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Captain Blackmore. He’s a wealthy planter and member of the Assembly. I have a job teaching Spanish to his three children.’ Hector looked down at the floor. A thought had occurred to him. It was a coincidence, but worth following up. ‘This Blackmore. Does he have any contact with the Spanish?’

  ‘He sees Señor Pimiento often. Señor Pimiento is the agent for the asiento in Port Royal.’

  ‘And you say that Blackmore knows all about me?’

  ‘Yes. He described your appearance, the colour of your eyes, even that you speak Spanish with a Galician accent.’

  ‘That’s odd,’ said Hector slowly. ‘As far as I know, I’ve never met this Captain Blackmore.’

  He turned to her, his eyes lit up with hope. ‘He has to be the man Señor Corbalan was speaking about!’ He jumped to his feet and began to pace up and down the small cell. ‘Maria, think for a moment. Is there any reason why Blackmore would have commercial contact with Cartagena?’

  Maria thought back to her days in Jamaica. Then she remembered the morning she had first come ashore from Petit Goâve and watched the furtive loading of the casks of rum from the isolated beach, rum that came from Captain Blackmore. Then there was the odd remark from the mulatto overseer who had helped her. When he had heard her Spanish accent and that she was looking for work, he had suggested that he take her to see Captain Blackmore. How had he put it? ‘He’s in thick with the Spaniards.’ It all added up.

  Maria’s heart sank as she looked into Hector’s excited face and said, ‘Hector, you’re almost certainly right. Blackmore is heavily engaged in smuggling. He probably has been dealing with the Spaniards for years.’

  Hector was triumphant. ‘Oh, Maria!’ He seized her hand. ‘This is the stroke of fortune that we needed. The man who employs you is the man who Corbalan spoke about. It will be the easiest thing in the world to work with him, and organize my release.’

  Maria looked at him, a flush rising to her cheeks. Her voice trembled as she said, ‘Hector, this man is the last person in the world who would help you.’

  He saw her distress, and his eyes searched her face. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Captain Blackmore would prefer to see you hang rather than help you. He risks being exposed as an accomplice of the Spaniards.’

  The light in Hector’s eyes began to dim. ‘That’s what Reeve said might happen.’

  Maria was twisting the scrap of cloth in her hands. She summoned up her courage before she looked Hector full in the face and told him, ‘There is another reason why I cannot ask Captain Blackmore to use his influence to help you. He has made it clear that he will only do so if I sleep with him.’

  Hector went white. He felt dazed and angry, strangely detached from his surroundings. It was as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He could not trust his emotions and dropped his gaze, staring at the floor, trying to gather his thoughts. The bricks in the floor seemed to ripple as if a wave had passed through them.

  Time stood still, and then the world was tilting and shaking in the strangest, most unnatural way.

  The bench on which Maria sat rocked a couple of times. Then it tipped over and she was thrown to the ground. Hector had already lost his balance and was sprawled on the floor. He tried in vain to get to his feet but everything was moving from side to side and there was nothing solid or firm which he could hold on to. Maria was staring about her wildly.

  Then they heard the rumble and crash of falling masonry.

  FOURTEEN

  ‘EARTHQUAKE!’ BLURTED HECTOR. Without thinking he was crouching over Maria, trying to protect her with his body. Another tremor shook the ground, and several lumps of plaster cascaded down from the ceiling. The air was filled with a fog of swirling dust. Dimly he heard the first screams float in from the outside world, then another rumbling crash as somewhere in the distance another wall fell. He looked around for better shelter, but there was none. The bench was the only furniture in the cell.

  ‘We must get out of the building,’ he shouted into Maria’s ear. Her hair was powdered with brick dust. She had sustained a cut to her cheek, and there was a smear of blood. But she appeared unharmed, though numbed by the suddenness and severity of the earthquake.

  Still on hands and knees, Hector forced himself to take a long slow breath to calm himself. Then he rose slowly and cautiously, and made a dash for the door. He grabbed the heavy iron handle just as another tremor rocked the building. He clung on, lurching to one side and managed to stay upright. There was a splintering crack close above his head, and he looked up to see that the heavy doorframe had been twisted out of shape by the movement of the building. He wrenched at the handle and, to his relief, the door pulled a third of the way open before it jammed on its distorted hinges. He turned back and helped Maria to her feet. The ground had stopped shaking, though he dreaded that another tremor could come at any time. Holding her by the hand, he began to squeeze through the narrow gap, praying that the building would not shift, crushing him between the door and jamb. He burst free, and a moment later Maria followed him.

  They found themselves in a narrow corridor. A pile of slumped rubble blocked any movement to their left, but in the opposite direction the way was clear. Hand in hand they staggered forward, breathing in the fog of dust. ‘I must find the others,’ Hector wheezed, coughing to clear his throat. They passed several more doors that led into cells, for each had a shuttered window. Then they were in a room where the warders spent their time. It was deserted. Three or four chairs lay on their sides, a table still upright but streaked with spilled beer, a couple of leather tankards had tumbled across the floor. The door to the street was wide open. Clearly the warders had fled into the safety of the open air. Hecto
r looked to see if they had abandoned the prison keys. Lying under the table he saw them – a bunch of heavy metal keys on a ring. ‘Maria, get outside and wait for me. I’ll find the others,’ he said. She hesitated. ‘Go!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll be out in a moment.’

  She turned and ran.

  He tried to get his bearings in the unfamiliar surroundings. Two doors led off into the interior of the building. He opened the nearest of them. Another corridor, very like the first, more iron-plated cell doors on either side. ‘Jezreel! Jacques!’ he shouted. To his relief he heard an answering shout. It came from the second door along. He ran to it and slammed back the shutter. Jezreel, Bartaboa and Jacques were all inside and on their feet. None of them looked to have been harmed. ‘Hang on! I’ll get you out,’ Hector called. He tried the keys in the lock, one after the other. On the third attempt he felt the levers turn. ‘That’s it!’ he called, and pushed on the door. It did not move. He stepped back and threw his weight on the door. Still it did not budge. ‘It’s jammed. Try pulling it open from your side!’ he shouted. He slammed his shoulder against the metal panels, ignoring the jolt of pain. He felt the door move a fraction. He heard Jezreel’s deep voice say calmly, ‘Take your time, Hector. On my count, One, two, three . . .’ And this time the door banged open.

  His friends stepped out. ‘This way!’ Hector hustled them back the way he had come.

  ‘What about the other prisoners?’ asked Jacques.

  ‘There’s no time! If there’s another quake, the whole building may come down,’ Hector snapped irritably. He was thinking of Maria waiting outside. To have found her, only to be crushed beneath a collapsing building would be stupid.

  ‘You’ve done your bit. See you shortly,’ said Jezreel. He took the bunch of keys from Hector’s hand, and strode along the corridor, sliding open the shutters of the cell doors and peering in.

  Hector found Maria hovering anxiously by the main prison entrance. With her were half a dozen strangers, local worthies by the look of them. They were nervously watching the prisoners coming out of the gaol although they were doing nothing to stop them. There was no sign of any warder nor of the boy. Hector supposed that they had gone to their homes to see what damage had been done.