by Tim Severin
The surgeon's name, Hector now remembered, was James Fawcett.
'I hear that conniving swindler Sharpe is back in command, and that he intends to run for home with his tail between his legs. But I doubt he'll make it with his skin intact,' Fawcett observed. His tone was casual, almost smug.
Hector's mind was in a whirl. He looked searchingly at his visitor. Fawcett was in his late thirties, a lantern-jawed raw-boned man whom Hector remembered from as far back as Golden Island when Fawcett had gone ashore with Cook's company. On the march through the jungle Fawcett had struck up a friendship with Hector's own mentor, Basil Smeeton. The two had often compared medical notes and talked together of the new techniques in surgery. When Smeeton turned back after the disappointment of Santa Maria and its phantom gold mine, Fawcett had borrowed some scalpels from Smeeton and had continued on with the expedition. Later Hector had seen him firing a musket against the Spanish flotilla in the sea battle before Panama. So it was all the more extraordinary that Fawcett should now be loafing about a Spanish courthouse looking like a respectable member of Paita's professional community. It would have been more understandable if he had been half-naked, shackled in chains and awaiting the garotte.
'Don't look so surprised, Lynch. The last time we met I seem to remember telling you that people like ourselves are too valuable to be slaughtered uselessly.'
Hector swallowed. His throat was dry. 'Could you ask someone to bring me some water to drink, and perhaps a little food. I haven't eaten for the past thirty-six hours,' he said.
'Of course.' Fawcett spoke over his shoulder to someone in the corridor behind him. His Spanish was slow but accurate. Then he turned back to face the young man.
'There's no need for you to continue to be cooped up in this disgusting hole. The Alcalde can arrange for you to be transferred to more comfortable accommodation. I've persuaded him that you are halfway to having a full medical qualification. Smeeton always said that you showed great promise, and there's such a shortage of surgeons here that you'll be able to set up your own practice almost anywhere in Peru even without formal credentials.'
Hector was scarcely listening, his attention distracted by his recollection of what had happened in the church at Arica, the charnel house of the makeshift hospital, the wounded men lying groaning on the flagstones of the church floor.
'What about the other surgeon? The other man who was meant to be taking care of the wounded? What's happened to him?'
Fawcett gave a wolfish smile. 'Same as me. He's got a very lucrative medical practice. Not here in Paita but farther along the coast in Callao. Doing very well I'm told. Even found himself a wife, the handsome widow of a peninsular as they call those who were born in Spain. I doubt that he'll ever go back to life at sea.'
'What about the others? The wounded men in the church in Arica? What happened to them?'
Fawcett gave a casual shrug. 'The Spaniards knocked them all on the head. Saved a lot of trouble. Not many of them would have survived their wounds, and those who did would have been tried and executed.'
Hector felt sick to the stomach. Fawcett appeared utterly indifferent to the massacre of the wounded.
'The Alcalde said something about Watling's head being carried around the town on a pole.'
'The worthy citizens of Arica made a real fiesta of the affair. Dancing in the streets, bonfires, self-congratulatory letters to the Viceroy and the Court in Madrid saying how they had vanquished the pirates. Of course they exaggerated the number of the attacking force. Said it was four times more numerous than it really was.'
The mention of bonfires had jogged Hector's memory. 'After we evacuated Arica, the Spaniards sent up two columns of white smoke, the agreed signal to our boats. We thought someone, maybe the quartermaster Duill, was tortured to reveal the signal. It nearly brought our boats into harbour and they would have been annihilated. What really happened?'
There was a slight hesitation before Fawcett replied, and Hector noted that the surgeon did not look at him directly as he gave his answer. 'I don't know how the Spaniards obtained the signal. I have no idea of Duill's fate. I didn't even see his corpse. He simply disappeared.'
At that moment a court usher appeared, carrying a large pitcher of water and some bread, dried fish and olives. Hector gratefully drank, then leaned forward and poured the rest of the flagon over his head, neck and shoulders. He felt better, though he wished he could find a water trough and wash himself properly. He sat up, stared at Fawcett and waited for him to broach the subject which, Hector had already guessed, was the real reason for his visit.
'Lynch, don't be in a hurry to judge me harshly. I came to the South Sea to get rich, to have my share of the wealth of this land. I have not altered that ambition. Instead I've decided to earn it honestly rather than take it at pistol point. I'm using my skills as a healer. I look after people who are ill with fever or have sickly children or need assistance in childbirth. Surely that's something to approve of?'
'So you are proposing that I do the same?'
'Why not? You could settle down here and have a very pleasant life. You speak the language fluently, and in a year or so you too could find a wife and maybe go on to raise a family in ease and comfort.'
For a moment the thought of Maria flashed into Hector's mind, but he put it to one side. 'And to do this I have to betray Sharpe and the company?' He did not add that he thought this was what Fawcett had done at Arica.
'You owe Sharpe nothing. He would do the same in your position. He always looks after himself, first and last.'
'And the rest of the men on Trinity, what about them?'
'I realise you have friends on board. The striker Dan, and Jacques the Frenchman and big Jezreel. It's quite possible that Don Fernando, the Alcalde, will agree to their freedom in exchange for your cooperation.'
'My cooperation in what. . .' Hector prompted him.
'. . . in arranging some sort of ambush where Trinity might be lured into a trap and overwhelmed by Spanish cruisers.'
Hector stared down at the floor. Already he had made up his mind. It was the mention of Jezreel which had decided the matter for him. He recalled the day that Sharpe had tricked Jezreel into pistolling the innocent Spanish priest. Spanish prisoners had been exchanged or released from Trinity since then, and they would have carried the story of the atrocity back to the authorities. If Jezreel ever appeared before a Spanish tribunal, he would certainly be condemned to a painful death, even if Hector had pleaded on his behalf.
The young man raised his head and looked back at Fawcett still standing in the doorway. 'I prefer to carry out my mission,' he said quietly.
Fawcett looked unsurprised. 'I thought you would say that,' he said. 'I once said to Smeeton that you had the manner of someone who always took his own line even if it meant being out of step with everyone else. I'll tell Don Fernando of your decision. It's up to him and the council to decide what is to be done with you. And I'll ask the guards here to let you have a proper wash. You're beginning to get that prison stink.'
The veteran sergeant and two soldiers came to fetch Hector in mid afternoon. Fawcett had kept his word for they took Hector out to a pump at the rear of the courthouse and stood by while he washed himself. Feeling cleaner but still very dishevelled, he was then brought into the same interview room as before. This time the Alcalde, Don Fernando, was not alone. An extra table had been set at right angles to his desk. Seated behind it was a thin-faced man with heavily lidded eyes and an austerely intellectual appearance emphasised by his high forehead and receding hairline. He wore a lawyer's black robes. A few sheets of blank paper and a pen lay on the table before him. Hector, looking around, saw no sign of any secretary or official clerk and this gave him a moment's hope. Whatever was going to be decided at this meeting was to be known to only a few. Even the sergeant and his escort had been told to leave the room.
One other man was present, someone whose weatherbeaten features Hector recognised at once. Seated beside the lawyer
was Captain Francisco de Peralta whom he had last seen on the beach at La Serena.
'I believe you already know the Capitan del Navio. He is attending in an expert capacity,' began the Alcalde. His eyes flicked towards the black-robed lawyer. 'Don Ramiro is His Majesty's fiscal. As an attorney, he is here to represent the audiencia, the council.'
The man in the lawyer's robes acknowledged his introduction with the briefest of nods.
Already Hector had detected a subtle change in the Alcalde's manner. Don Fernando was not as openly aggressive as before. His hostility was still there, seething below the surface, but it was being kept in check.
The Alcalde addressed his opening remarks to the fiscal. 'This young man has brought a proposal from the leader of a pirate band operating in this area. You will already be familiar with some of the atrocities they have committed. Recently they captured the merchant ship Santo Rosario. The leader of the pirates offers to return the vessel, her passengers and surviving crew in exchange for naval stores and the services of a pilot who can assist the pirates in leaving our waters.'
The Alcalde lifted a sheet of parchment from the desk in front of him. 'This is a deposition made by a passenger on the Santo Rosario. It describes an unprovoked attack on the vessel, the butchery of her captain, and the capture and pillaging of the ship. It also states that the survivors of the assault are unhurt.'
'Can we be sure of the accuracy of the deposition?' asked the fiscal.
'I have arranged for the deponent to be available for questioning.' Raising his voice, the Alcalde called, 'Send in Dona Juana's companion.'
The door opened, and Maria stepped into the room. In that moment Hector's eager anticipation of seeing her again turned to disappointment. Maria had reverted to the person he remembered from the Santo Rosario. She was wearing a long, plain brown skirt with a matching bodice, and her hair was covered with a simple cotton kerchief. She was deferential and subdued, and she did not even look in his direction. Her face showed no expression as she walked forward and stopped a few paces in front of the Alcalde. The anticlimax was so great that Hector felt as if a chasm had suddenly opened beneath his feet and he had dropped into it.
'Senorita Maria,' the Alcalde began, 'Don Ramiro is an attorney for the audiencia. He wishes to question you about your statement concerning the seizure of the Santo Rosario..' He handed the sheet of paper across to the lawyer who took it and began to read aloud. Occasionally he looked up at Maria to make sure that she was paying attention.
Maria listened with her eyes fixed on the floor and her hands demurely clasped in front of her. Hector recalled that this was exactly how she had stood and looked when he saw her on the day he had gone onto the Santo Rosario with the boarding party. He even recollected how he had noticed on that day how small and neat her hands were. With a pang, he also remembered exactly how it had felt when she placed her hand on his shoulder and steadied herself as she climbed across the thwart of the little fishing boat.
The attorney continued with his dry, punctilious reading, pausing between the sentences. Despite his inner turmoil, Hector had to admire Maria's memory for detail and the accuracy of her testimony. She described Trinity's slow, innocent-seeming approach in the wake of Santo Rosario, and the moment that Captain Lopez had become suspicious. She made no mention of the death of Lopez because, by the time he was shot, she and her mistress had been sent away to the safety of the locked cabin. Her description resumed at the point that she had heard the boarding party attempting to open the door of the cabin and she and Dona Juana had stepped out to confront Hector, Ringrose and the others.
The fiscal reached the end of his narration and looked up at Maria. 'You provided this deposition?' he asked.
'I did,' Maria answered. Her voice so low as to be barely audible.
'Is it accurate?'
'Yes.'
'And no violence was shown to your mistress or yourself, then or at any other time?' 'No.'
'Nothing was stolen or pillaged from you?'
'Dona Juana handed her jewellery and other valuables to the pirates before they made any demands. She wished to forestall any excuse for violence.'
'And that was all that was taken from you and your mistress during this piracy?'
'That is correct.'
The attorney placed the deposition on the table, picked up his pen, and made a note at the foot of the page.
'Senorita,' he said. 'You have heard your statement read out to this gathering and agreed to its authenticity. I would be grateful if you would sign it.'
Maria crossed to the table and, taking the pen held out to her by the fiscal, she signed the deposition. The lawyer set the document neatly on top of the other sheets of paper before him, squaring up the pile with his fingertips. There was something about that little gesture, its air of finality, that alerted Hector. It appeared that the attorney had made up his mind about something significant.
'I have no further questions,' said the lawyer.
'Maria, you may now leave,' said the Alcalde, his voice formal.
Hector watched the young woman walk to the door, and he tried to memorise the moment for he had a premonition that he might never see Maria again. Until she passed from view, he still hoped that Maria might perhaps glance in his direction. But she left the room without a backward glance.
'Capitan, do you have any observations to make?' The Alcalde's truculent voice broke into Hector's thoughts. The judge was looking towards Peralta.
The Spanish captain leaned back in his chair and surveyed Hector for several seconds before he spoke.
'Young man, when we met on the beach at La Serena I gave you a warning. I said that you and your piratical band would not be so lucky next time they came ashore. The events at Arica proved me correct. Only one thing drives your people — insatiable greed. Can you give me any reason why they can be trusted to honour any agreement we might make?'
'Captain Peralta,' Hector answered, standing a little straighter. 'I can give no guarantee. The decisions of our company are made by general vote. But I can say this — and with your seagoing experience you will know that I speak the truth — we have been in the South Sea now for well over a year. Many of the men are looking forward to returning to their homes. I believe that they are in a majority.'
'And what about Dona Juana? We have been told that she is unharmed and that she cooperated in the matter of handing over her valuables. If we agree to the exchange, we expect her to continue to be treated with the respect due to a lady of her quality.'
'Captain Sharpe has already made her welfare a priority,' Hector assured him.
Peralta looked towards the Alcalde, and Hector had the feeling that an unspoken message had passed between them when Peralta continued.
'Your Excellency, I recommend that we agree to an exchange but make sure of Dona Juana's well-being.'
'How can that be done?'
'Send this young man back to his ship. Let him take the pilot with him. That will be the first part of our bargain. The second part will be honoured only after the pirates have brought the Santo Rosario within range of our shore cannon. We will send out an inspection party and if they find the lady onboard and unharmed, we will despatch a supply boat with the stores they require.'
'Isn't that taking a risk? Surely the pirates will sail away the moment they have a pilot, and not wait for the stores.'
'Speaking as a seaman, I would say that the intruders' vessel needs a thorough refit. The ship has been operating in hostile waters for so long that her rig will be worn out. There will be an acute shortage of rope and canvas. If her crew are contemplating a voyage out of the South Sea, those stores could mean the difference between foundering and survival.'
'Thank you for your contribution, Capitan,' said the Alcalde, and once again Hector had the feeling that something was left unsaid. 'I would be obliged if you could select a suitable pilot and also draw up a list of appropriate ship's stores. Enough to encourage the pirates to leave our waters, but no mo
re. If the fiscal has no objection, I will make an order for the material to be released from the royal dockyard without delay. I wish to be rid of these bandits, and I am sure that Dona Juana does not want to spend a moment longer in their company.'
The pilot provided by Captain Peralta turned out to be a small, wiry man whose expression of distaste on meeting Hector made his feelings obvious.
'I hope your ship handles well in bad weather?' he grumbled as he stepped aboard the fishing boat waiting at the quay. It was the same vessel that had brought Hector and Maria ashore.
'Trinity's crew know their business,' Hector replied. He had been half-hoping that Maria would be sent to rejoin her mistress. But the pilot had arrived alone.
'They'll need to,' retorted the little man waspishly. "Where we're going the weather turns nasty very quickly.'
'You must be very familiar with that part of the coast,' said Hector, anxious to please.
'Enough to know that I wouldn't chose to go there if I had a choice in the matter.'
'I imagine the Alcalde can be persuasive.'
'Someone tipped him off that my last ship had a slimy waterline when we came into harbour.'
'What's a slimy waterline got to do with it?'
'It meant that she was riding higher than when we left our last official port of call. I was accused of stopping on the way to Paita and offloading cargo without paying import duty.'
'And had you?'
The pilot shot Hector a venomous glance. 'What do you think? The captain and the owner were both peninsulares, good Spaniards, so no one is ever going to charge them with smuggling, nor accuse the local consulado who sell on the contraband. On the other hand I am a foreigner. So I am disposable.'