by Dudley Pope
“You’ll be glad to see them when they’re installed in batteries on the Palizadas.”
“Aye, but you don’t expect me to admit it, do you?”
The two men stood together for another couple of minutes, and then Thomas turned and Ned saw he was holding out his hand. “Good luck, Ned. Two or more pistol shots, and we’ll know you’re having to fight for it, and we’ll go ahead and attack the town.”
“And if there’s a big explosion,” Ned said, “you’ll know some fool fired a pistol in the magazine!”
With that Thomas laughed and strode off towards the groups of men waiting at the top of the track leading down the steep side of the valley to the town.
Ned’s men were still squatting behind a big wedge-shaped rock, out of sight of the castle but less than three hundred yards from it. He stood in the midst of them and said quietly: “The entrance is on the other side from here – the landward side. There’ll be sentries. I want a couple of men to come with me now: we’ve got to silence those sentries. Then you can all come in and secure the rest of the garrison. Find the governor of the castle – take him alive, if we can. Roberts – you pick five men, and your job will be to find the magazine and seize it. The governor will probably have the key. Raven – you have the nails and hammers? Right, pick your men and you’ll be responsible for spiking the guns if necessary. The rest of you will be with me but you stay outside until we’ve dealt with the guards. Who’s coming with me for the sentries? Ah, Day and Lloyd. Right, we’ll start. Now, remember, everyone: no shots unless it is to save your own lives: we don’t want to raise the alarm down in the town and make it harder for the others.”
He led the way to the eastern side of the castle, the three men creeping from one great boulder to another and managing most of the time to stay out of sight of the castle battlements. The rock forming the whole ridge was criss-crossed with splits and crevices which slowed them up, but when Ned looked behind from time to time at the rest of the men he was hard put to distinguish them at fifty paces.
Then they were close up against the castle walls and Ned led the way round to the side. There was no path, indicating how often the garrison inspected the place, and he had to push through low brush, thankful that, like the rest of the men, he had lashed strips of canvas round his shins to keep out the painful thorns and prickly pear spines.
Suddenly he was at the north-east corner. From here he could look down on the town and distinguish the path up to the castle which led to the doorway halfway along the north side. He stopped and took out his pistols and felt in his pocket for the spanning key. Putting down one pistol he fitted the key on to the other and turned it until he could feel the tension hard on the spring. Putting that pistol in his belt he fitted the key on the other one, conscious that Day and Lloyd were doing the same. The three men then drew their cutlasses. The sword seemed heavy and clumsy in his hand and Ned suddenly realized that drawing it was the last act before tackling the sentries in the sequence that started in Jamaica. Before killing the sentries. He felt dizzy for a moment. What about Day and Lloyd, did they feel squeamish? He doubted it; both had been transported and although they had been good workers at Kingsnorth and enthusiastic members of the Griffin’s crew, Ned had always guessed that the crimes for which they had been transported had been serious. That, he realized, was an advantage at a time like this: he needed men about him that would not hesitate to cut a throat.
He began creeping towards the path, keeping as close to the castle as he could, but over the years masonry had fallen from the walls, stones that were rectangular and still as sharp-edged as when the masons had chiselled them to shape a hundred years ago. Now the blocks, two and three feet long, were often hidden in low bushes and forcing Ned and his two men to walk three or four yards away from the shadowy shelter of the wall. Were there snakes in Cuba?
Suddenly he was on the path, realizing that his concern to avoid cracking his shins on the stones had led him to walk with his head down. The doorway of the castle was now only five yards away and he was standing in front of it like an obelisk!
He promptly crouched and turned slightly. The doorway was enormous, a great black square studded with bolts to blunt the axes of attackers. Inset at the side of this door was a much smaller one just large enough to admit a man. It was open, but beside it Ned could distinguish a black bundle, as though someone had left a sack of potatoes for the garrison cook.
He turned and gestured to Day and Lloyd to follow as he crawled towards the door. A yard or two to one side of the worn path, the rock showed up lighter than the surrounding dried grass and scrub. Ned realized that a sentry looking out through the door would see three black tortoises coming towards him.
It was painful: every shrub seemed a hedgehog of thorns, every stone as sharp as the point of a knife. And now he could hear a strange noise, as though a child was blowing up and deflating a pig’s bladder. He stopped warily. It was coming from above so he lay down and rolled over on his back to be able to peer up at the top of the door. At once several thorns stuck into his shoulders, but now the noise seemed to be coming from ground level. He rolled over again and raised his head. It was coming from both sides.
He moved another couple of yards towards the door and listened again, and Day crawled up alongside. “It’s that sack thing by the door, sir. I think it’s the sentry sitting there asleep and snorin’. Shall I…?”
The man was holding a knife in his right hand, as well as the cutlass in his left. Ned hesitated a few seconds and then thought of Thomas and the other 250 buccaneers descending on the town. “Yes,” he muttered.
Day moved slowly and evenly towards the sentry and stopped beside him, obviously sizing him up. Then he put a knee against the man’s left shoulder and pulled his head towards him. The knife winked a moment in the starlight, there was a hoarse intake of breath, and then the snoring stopped.
Lloyd immediately jumped up and helped Day pull the man’s body to one side, away from the door, and leaving it beside a helmet and pike. A moment later Ned was through the door and, expecting to find himself in a dark cavern forming the inside of the castle, was startled to see stars above him. The building formed a hollow square, the inside being a parade ground. Just inside the doorway a staircase spiralled up, obviously leading to the guardroom and the garrison’s quarters at a higher level.
Ned knew that the rest of his party, who must have been watching the grisly affair of the sentry, would be streaming in through the door at any moment. The magazine entrance would be somewhere out there in the square, and there might be another staircase, but this one was, for the moment anyway, the most important.
Day hissed at someone and the men filed in as Ned took a cautious few steps up the staircase. It began spiralling to the left in the usual fashion, so that a defender retreating up the stairwell (or attacking coming down) kept his body covered with the sword in his right hand, while the man below had his left side open, being forced to use his sword across his body and shortening his reach.
Treading on stone was better than wood: there was no risk of a plank squeaking. Yet it was not as dark as Ned had expected. He paused for a moment and, glancing up, he saw there was a light above – a lantern in the guardroom? He sensed that Day and Lloyd were close behind and resumed climbing. Down below, somewhere at the bottom of the stairwell, there was a metallic click as a careless buccaneer’s cutlass caught the wall.
Now it was much lighter – and again he heard snoring. He stopped and counted. He could distinguish at least four men, perhaps five. If there was always a sentry at the castle gate during the hours of darkness, the men would probably do four hours on duty and eight off. Oh, what did it matter? Suddenly he was in a corridor going to the left: facing him, opposite the top of the stairs, was the guardroom door and he saw seven men asleep on simple truckle beds, naked because the room was hot, both from the sun’s heat held in the thick stone
walls and the lantern hanging from a hook in the ceiling.
The thought of slaughtering seven sleeping men made him pause, but without thinking he moved to one side as he felt Day trying to pass him, followed by Lloyd. The two men moved as silently as shadows, passing from one bed to another like priests bestowing blessings, and each time a gasp told of a throat cut.
First Day and then Lloyd bent down over the last man to wipe the bloodstains from their knives before sliding them back into the canvas sheaths.
By now Ned, sick with the knowledge that he had hesitated when he should have acted swiftly, and feeling faint at the sight of the dark pools of blood spreading from the head of each bed, had reached up and unhooked the lantern.
“We must find the governor of the castle,” he whispered. “We want him alive. Ransom,” he explained.
“What about the officers?” Lloyd asked.
There must have been a couple of corporals or sergeants among the seven whose throats had just been cut. The governor might be a major – perhaps retired from the King’s service in Spain and sent out here to end his days quietly as the garrison commander at Santiago. He might have a captain or lieutenant under him. A captain or a lieutenant, Ned realized, could provide information: the whereabouts of the key to the magazine, for instance…
Ned led the way along the corridor towards a distant door. He drew his cutlass and, motioning Day to lift the wooden latch, pushed the door open and walked into the room. A man was asleep on a considerably more comfortable bed; an officer’s uniform was draped over what seemed a model of a man made of wicker, a hat with a large plume rested on a ball-shaped stand. At that moment Ned realized there was an archway leading to another room.
“Secure him!” he whispered to Lloyd, and nodded to Day to follow. He held the lantern long enough for Lloyd to wake the man and keep him down on the bed by the simple method of holding his cutlass blade horizontally across his windpipe. Through the archway was a similar room, complete with sleeping officer, well-tended uniform and hat with plume. “Secure him and bring him into the other room,” Ned said, taking a leather belt and a wide sash from the uniform.
In a couple of minutes both officers were sitting on the bed in the first room, blinking in the lantern light and looking absurd in their nightshirts. Both began talking in Spanish until Ned threatened them. Swiftly Day tied the wrists of one man behind him, using his sash, and Lloyd secured the other.
“I’ll need the lantern. Capsize them both onto the floor, put them face to face, and then buckle the belts together and use the length to secure ’em back to back. Lloyd, you can guard ’em. You can get a grip on their hair and they’ll be too scared to try anything in the darkness. Come on, Day!”
Ned hurried along the corridor just as he realized the rest of his force was hurrying along. There was one more door, and, afraid the men would make a noise, he flipped up the latch with the hand holding his cutlass, and burst in holding the lantern to one side.
It was a large room with a bed on a raised dais. There were two people asleep on it, a bald man in late middle age, and a young woman with long black hair. She was naked, with large breasts, and the mascara had run down her cheeks and smeared to give her an absurdly debauched appearance. As she opened her eyes, wakened by the light, she gave a shriek which owed nothing to modesty and snatched the sheet from the bald man, who woke with a grunt.
She looked like a whore and obviously more accustomed to bedroom dramas than the man. She ran towards Ned and Day, expertly manipulating the sheet and obviously intending to knock the lantern from Ned’s hand.
Day appeared to do nothing, but suddenly the woman sprawled across the floor, sheet flying and once again revealing a splendid but over-ripe body. A moment later Day, who had tripped her, was sitting on top of her as she lay face downwards, and had one of her arms bent up behind so that she could not move.
“I’ll look after ’er if you’ll see to the old scoundrel, sir,” Day said, grinning. By now several of the party were crowding into the two rooms and, after exclaiming at Day’s prisoner, who was trying to turn her head round far enough to spit at him, they hurriedly obeyed Ned’s order to secure the man.
“We’ve found the magazine but it’s locked, sir,” Roberts reported. “No sentry on it. Terrible great key it needs.”
Ned bent over the man with a lantern, concerned first with confirming that he was the garrison commander, although the fact that his was the last door seemed significant. Damnation, he needed Aurelia’s Spanish. Still, many Spanish officers had served in the Netherlands and spoke French.
Ned aimed the lantern at the man, who was still waking slowly, rheumy-eyed, and even now reaching out with his left hand, as though trying to find the woman.
Did he speak French? A little. What was happening? Why did the woman scream? Where is she? The best puta in the town, and she screamed like a cat!
Ned waited a few more moments for the man fully to recover his senses and then with a hard bark in his voice began his questioning.
“Where is the garrison commander?”
“Commander? I am the gobernador of the castle, Major Luis de Torres.”
“How many officers have you in the garrison?”
“Two, a captain and a lieutenant.”
Ned snapped his fingers to attract Roberts’ attention and pointed to a huge key hanging on a nail in the wall beside the bed.
“The key to the magazine – where is it?”
“I shall not tell you,” the old man said defiantly, although he could not resist a glance sideways.
Ned told Roberts: “Try that key in the magazine lock. If it fits secure the lock again and bring the key back to me.”
He turned back to the major. “How many men do you have?”
“Eight non-commissioned officers and men and two officers. The rest of my men are in the Catalina battery.”
“How many?”
“Why should I tell you all this? Who are you? Go away and leave me in peace!”
“Boucaniers,” Ned said crisply. “English buccaneers. If we go away, we leave you dead – unless you answer our questions.”
The man now was very wide awake and suddenly aware that he was naked and that outside the ring of lantern light was not just one man but a dozen or more.
“How many at Catalina?”
“An ensign, sergeant, corporal and six men.”
“How many guns are there?”
“Three.”
“You are lying about the men. Nine, including an officer, for three guns? Rubbish. How many really, eh?”
“Twelve men. But it is true for the rest.”
“Why do you have such a small garrison up here in the castle?”
“Last year we had the vomito negro. Twenty-one soldiers died. I ask Spain for more, but none come.”
“Why do you not ask for some from Cartagena or Vera Cruz?”
“My requests have to go to Spain,” the major said stiffly. “I am not under the Viceroy’s jurisdiction.”
“Are there troops here in Santiago?”
“No, of course not. They are here in the castle and at Catalina. Why should my troops be in town?”
Ned looked at the seamen round him. “Burne, help the major put on breeches, coats and boots, and then tie his hands behind his back.”
Then he remembered the woman who, from Day’s curses, was now trying to bite him.
“Major, tell your woman that unless she is quiet we will cut her throat. She has to put on her shift and then we will tie her hands. But if she continues…”
“You – you wouldn’t dare! You –”
“Major, the only men you have left alive in the castle are yourself, the captain and the lieutenant. Now, time is short!”
Five minutes later the buccaneers had the major, capta
in, lieutenant and the whore standing against the great door of the castle. In front of them the ground fell away steeply to Santiago nestling in the valley. Ned fingered one of his pistols. One pistol shot – that was the agreed signal. Then the 250 buccaneers would be breaking down doors, trying to explain to the sleepy burghers of Santiago that the buccaneers had arrived for their gold and silver.
There was a better way of waking and warning them.
“How many cannon have you here?” he asked the major.
“Only three.”
“Bronze or iron?”
“Iron. The rest – nine – are down at the jetty over there,” he pointed across the channel. “We are going to build a new battery to support the Catalina. This castle is not well placed – enemy ships can creep along too close to the coast for us to depress our guns.”
Three iron guns: they were of no consequence. He called for Roberts, gave him instructions, making sure all the buccaneers heard, and then followed him through the door back into the castle, warning Day and Lloyd to keep a tight hold of the prisoners, using as many buccaneers as they needed.
Roberts led the way to the magazine and when Ned gave him the key, unlocked the door. The dim light of the lantern showed steps going down and as Ned hesitated, Roberts said:
“If you just want to see how big the magazine is, sir, I’ll stand up here and shine the light down the steps so we keep the flame away from the powder. I went down in the dark and felt my way round. S’enormous, sir, there’s enough powder in there to blow up all o’ Cuba!”
Ned went down the steps. It was like descending into a crypt, except the air seemed unnaturally dry, and instead of coffins on shelves there were hundreds of bags of powder. Then, in neat rows, were barrels of powder, each as high as his thigh and about three feet in diameter in the middle. Enough powder to blow up Cuba – well, Roberts was hardly exaggerating.