Calling Crow Nation (The Southeast Series Book 3)

by Paul Clayton

  CALLING CROW NATION

  (Book Three of the Southeast Series)

  By Paul Clayton

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning or any information storage retrieval system, without explicit permission in writing from the Author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © Copyright 1997 by Paul Clayton

  Other works by Paul Clayton:

  Calling Crow (Book One of the Southeast Series)

  Flight of the Crow (Book Two of the Southeast Series)

  White Seed: The Untold Story of the Lost Colony of Roanoke

  Carl Melcher Goes to Vietnam

  The Blue World and Other Amazing Stories

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  THESE WRITINGS RELATE divers’ actions taking place in the late sixteenth century in the area of the Caribbean Sea and along the east coast of that land that the mapmakers call Terra Florida.

  The port town of Isabela, on the north coast of Hispaniola, the West Indies, 1572

  Chapter 1

  Samuel Newman, merchant, stood on the quay and looked worriedly down the red dirt road that led away to the town. Where in Hades was that bloody, fat Spaniard? he wondered. Nearby, ropes as thick as a man’s arm tied his three-masted, lateen-rigged caravel tightly to the pilings of the quay. More than sixty years old, the ship’s rigging was frayed, and its triangular, age-browned sheets worn and full of patches.

  Thirty-five years old, dressed in a padded blue doublet, black breeches and brown boots, Samuel wore a mustache and beard like most Englishmen his age, and his were trimmed close. Unlike most Englishmen, however, his teeth were still white, perhaps because of his dislike for sugar and sweets. His thick, curly brown hair hung down over his collar.

  Again he looked down the road. Where was their buyer?

  A sudden surge in the calm sea leaned the ship over noisily. Named the Contempt, it had been seized from the Spaniards in the channel by English privateers. It was then quickly sailed into Bristol. The Spanish crew, after being stripped of their belongings, were rudely run off and told to make their way home any way they could-- begging passage on one of the many freight-carrying ships calling in Bristol, perhaps, or by swimming. The hold of the ship had been emptied and the goods sold. Finally, the ship itself had been sold to Samuel Newman.

  Samuel glanced down the road and then turned to William. In addition to being a smith, the old Englishman was also their pilot, having learned about the coasts of the New Lands from a Portuguese named Mendes. “How seaworthy is the Contempt now, William?” Samuel asked. “She’s leaking an awful lot.”

  William, his silky white hair and beard contrasting with the ragged brown of his leather jerkin, turned an iron rod in a small, charcoal-fired forge that sat upon a stack of quay stones. A ship’s boy of fourteen or fifteen worked the bellows beside him. William glanced surreptitiously to both sides. “She’ll get us home, all right, m’lord,” he said finally, “but we’ll have to have her careened when we get there. The teredo worms are finding her old beams a tasty meal.”

  Samuel nodded. “Yes,” he said absently, “when we get back.” Over the steady hiss of the bellows, an angry shouting erupted. Samuel and William turned to watch some crewmen wrestling one of the heavy bales of cloth into position on the other side of the quay. As tall as a man, the bales now stood in orderly rows, thirty-eight in all, linen cloth from Munster and dyed woolens from London. Only two more remained in the hold of the ship. But where was their damn buyer?

  Fenwick, a short, thick-necked, red-faced tailor, came up beside the small iron forge. Smiling at the ship’s boy, he put his finger in his mouth and removed a gob of spit. He deftly pressed it against the side of the forge, where it popped and hissed, eliciting a smile from the boy.

  Samuel turned away and looked up to the half deck of the Contempt. The rest of the crew were busy sewing canvas, splicing ropes and readying the hold and deck to receive its new cargo. Periodically they, too, looked down the road upon which the buyer should have arrived at sunup.

  “Where do you suppose he is?” said Fenwick to Samuel.

  “I left my crystal ball on the ship, Fenwick,” said Samuel impatiently. “I cannot give you an answer.”

  Fenwick smiled sadly, but said nothing in return.

  The men remained silent. Not far away Samuel’s brother John argued loudly with the only Spanish member of the trading expedition, Senor Gredilla. John was thinner than Samuel, but stood a full head taller. He wore a red-banded felt hat, and beneath it, his hawk-like nose gave him a predatory look. Gredilla, a thin, compact, leathery-skinned man from San Lucar, backed away involuntarily. Although Samuel and John had put up all the money for the venture, they had made the Spaniard Gredilla a full partner because his name and nationality made the venture possible. It had been the coin with which they had purchased their license from the Casa de Contracion. They had even temporarily put ownership of the Contempt in Gredilla’s name. All this was necessitated by the fact that Spain limited trade with her New World colonies to Spanish merchants operating out of Seville. But Spanish merchants alone could not supply the growing demand of her colonies for finished goods, and so more than two-thirds of the goods arriving in the New World came from merchants in London, Flanders, Paris and Venice. Off-loaded in Seville, they made the trip across the Sea of Columbus on Spanish ships.

  Under Samuel Newman’s direction, they had carefully navigated the shifting winds and jagged shoals of commerce, and yesterday their efforts had seemed ready to bear fruit. The quay had swarmed with local merchants and landowners, and the bidding for their cloth had been intense. Senor Fernandez, a wealthy merchant from the town, had made the best offer and they had struck a deal. Did his absence mean he was now backing out of the contract?

  Senor Gredilla came over as if to escape from John, but the thin Englishman followed him. John looked at Samuel. “I told you at the beginning of this that they were not to be trusted!” He looked angrily at Gredilla. “I cannot stand the smell of them!”

  Gredilla flinched visibly and turned away. They stood in angry silence. “Ah,” Gredilla exclaimed sudde
nly, as he looked toward the town. He tapped young Samuel Newman on the back. Samuel turned and fixed his sharp brown eyes on the smaller man. “Senor?”

  Gredilla indicated the road leading back to the town. At last, thought Samuel, as he recognized Fernandez’s black two-horse carriage leading a caravan of twelve flatbed wagons.

  Samuel’s smile constricted into a frown as the wagons drew closer; they were all empty! The old Spaniard was to bring his payment of hides and sugar today. What had changed?

  “He comes,” said Gredilla, stating the obvious in broken English, “but he brings nothing in his wagons.”

  “Then he will take nothing away,” said Samuel. Samuel looked up at the ship. She was small, a hundred feet in length. A half dozen men were wrestling a bale of cloth toward the rail. He called up to them. “Leave it for now. I’ll tell you when to bring it down.”

  Samuel’s brother John started over. John, five years older than Samuel, pushed Fenwick and Gredilla out of the way. He watched the approaching wagons for a few moments then turned suspiciously to Gredilla. “What is Fernandez up to, anyway?”

  Gredilla blanched at the look. “Senor, how would I know?” Samuel shook his head. There wasn’t an Englishman alive who hated Spaniards more than his brother. He almost regretted having brought him along on this venture. But, soon they should be finished here. Then everything would slowly return to normal.

  Although a head shorter than his older brother, Samuel was broader in the chest and stronger. He had a quiet, confident, commanding nature and none of the men ever doubted who was in charge when both brothers were present. He started walking toward the upright bales. “Let us go see.”

  Samuel walked to where the street met the quay. John, Gredilla and Fenwick followed him. Up on the half deck of the ship, the men had stopped their work and crowded around the rails to watch. Others were coming up from the hold.

  Fernandez’s wagon came to a stop. Holding tightly to the side of the wagon, he carefully lowered his great belly down the steps to the road. A tall, emaciated Indian jumped from the rear of the wagon and ran around to Fernandez, opening a parasol to shade the rotund grandee from the sun.

  Samuel nodded a greeting to Fernandez as John, Gredilla and Fenwick came up behind them.

  “Buenos dias, senor,” said Samuel pleasantly. Samuel had learned conversational Spanish while a boy at the knee of a Spanish Jew, a refugee of the Inquisition.

  The Spaniard nodded. “Buenos dias, senors.” Despite the circle of shade his attendant’s parasol provided, Fernandez perspired profusely. He glanced worriedly behind him at the road that led to the town, then turned round. Recognizing Gredilla from the day before, he spoke rapidly in Spanish. Fernandez then turned and waved commandingly at his men. They jumped down from the flat wagons and started toward the bales of cloth.

  “What did he say?” Samuel asked Gredilla. “He speaks too fast for me to follow.”

  “He has told his men to start loading the bales,” said Gredilla.

  “What?” said John, his hand going to his sword.

  “Calm yourself,” said Samuel.

  John frowned, but seemed to relax some. Samuel turned and shouted over at the approaching men. “Espere!” The men stopped and stood where they were as they waited for Fernandez to countermand the Englishman’s order.

  Gredilla spoke rapidly in Spanish to Fernandez.

  “Ask him where our hides and sugar are,” said Samuel.

  Gredilla’s brow furrowed as he translated Samuel’s words for the old Spaniard.

  Fernandez looked at Samuel furtively before replying. He spoke slower, and Samuel understood the old Spaniard’s words.

  “Late, eh?” said Samuel to Gredilla. “Should we believe him?”

  Gredilla nodded. “The wagons may even be loaded by now. He said they will be here soon.”

  Fernandez turned away and shouted to a mestizo wearing a wide brimmed hat. “Miguel,” he said, pointing. The man walked toward the bales.

  “Where in blazes is he going?” said John. He started over and Samuel took his arm, stopping him.

  “Wait,” Samuel called up to the men on the ship. “Collins, Butler, bring the others.” He turned back to Gredilla. “Tell him nothing will be loaded until we have our hides and sugar.”

  Gredilla blinked nervously. “But, senor, he has already explained. The men were late in rising. They will be here at any moment.”

  “Tell him!” demanded John angrily.

  Gredilla looked at Samuel.

  “We will wait for the hides and sugar,” said Samuel calmly. “Tell him.”

  Gredilla relayed the Englishman’s words and Senor Fernandez replied rapidly and angrily in Spanish.

  “What was that?” said John suspiciously

  Samuel smiled at Fenwick. “Maybe we don’t want to know.”

  Gredilla looked chagrined. “He did not add anything else, senors. He simply repeated what he has already said.”

  No one spoke as the men stood about waiting for orders. Samuel watched his brother carefully. John’s hand was again on the hilt of his sword, his face reddening. Samuel knew he should not have brought him along, that he was a liability, but he had felt sorry for him. John’s fortunes had fallen of late and he needed money badly. Samuel felt guilty too. When they were boys, their father had favored Samuel over his older brother, apprenticing Samuel to a kindly wool broker, while turning John over to the strict charge of Mathew of Rose Lane, a fishmonger. Samuel had worked hard and learned much, and now had a thriving wool business. John, on the other hand, had thought the work beneath him. There were many beatings and John left Mathew when he was of age and did a tour of soldiering in the Irish campaign in Munster. It had been a very brutal, bloody experience and John had never been the same since. Each brother had inherited one of their father’s houses at his death. John lived the life of an idle lord, although he really couldn’t afford it. From time to time he was forced to work for his brother in order to pay his debts. This was one of those times.

  But, Samuel comforted himself. They were almost finished with their business here. He felt confident that he could control the situation now. “John, give me your sword.”

  “What?” John laughed.

  Samuel faced him. “Give it to me. I’ll not have you threatening these people and ruining the business.”

  John looked at him wryly. He pulled his sword and handed it to Samuel. Samuel tucked it into his belt.

  The tropical sun burned down and for a while the only sound was the gentle slapping of the waves against the stones of the quay.

  Senor Fernandez walked over to a stone block sitting by the road and sat tiredly upon it. Senor Gredilla walked over and stood beside him. They talked softly in Spanish, occasionally looking over at the Englishmen.

  “They get along rather well,” said Fenwick.

  Samuel frowned. “Yes, and the friendship of the old senor will be all Gredilla brings back if Fernandez does not bring his hides and sugar.”

  “Enough of this,” said John angrily. He walked over to the two men and rudely pushed Gredilla aside. He glared down at Senor Fernandez.

  Samuel walked quickly over to them, Fenwick following. “Calm yourself, John,” said Samuel. “We will give him a little more time. We’ve waited this long already.”

  John’s face was fierce with anger as he turned to his brother. “Why? I have invested heavily in this venture too. I only want to question him, brother. He is up to something.”

  As John stood over Senor Fernandez, the Spaniard cast his big, moist eyes plaintively toward Samuel and then looked down at his feet. John continued to stare down at him and then turned angrily to Gredilla. “Tell him that if his bloody hides don’t get here soon, I will take him over there and throw him into the sea.”

  Samuel moved closer.

  Gredilla looked at him. “Senor,” he said, “surely you don’t want me to say such a thing?”

  Samuel would not let John hurt the old man, but there
was no harm in putting a scare into him. Samuel nodded to Gredilla. “Say it.”

  Gredilla translated.

  Fernandez looked down at his boots as he answered.

  Gredilla looked ashen as he translated. “He said he is very sorry, senors. He said that he wanted to do business with us, but that the Hidalgo of the town has instructed him to confiscate your goods and put them in his warehouse.”

  Samuel shook his head in incredulity. “What?”

  “I told you we couldn’t trust any of them,” said John.

  Samuel held up his hand. He looked at Gredilla. “The ship is in your name,” he said, striving for calm, “we have our license, everything is legal. What has changed?”

  “The corsair who is called Drake,” said Gredilla somberly.

  “Francis Drake?” said Samuel.

  Gredilla nodded. “He has been ravaging the ships and towns along the Main. Everyone knows it now. Senor Fernandez says that word has come that any English who dock in these ports will be detained and their cargo impounded until there is a hearing.”

  John pushed closer. “Like hell they will!”

  “Here come more wagons,” said Fenwick.

  Samuel turned with the others to look. A distant smudge of dust hung in the air. He squinted in the bright light, but could not see the wagons yet. “Ask him what he thinks the outcome of the hearing will be,” said Samuel.

  Gredilla put the question to Fernandez and listened to his reply. “He says he thinks it will come out in your favor. He knows several lawyers in the town who he is sure we can bribe to ensure that.”

  Samuel looked down at the Spanish grandee in disdain and then turned back to look at the approaching wagons. Shading his eyes with his hand, he saw that the approaching column of dust was thrown skyward not by wagons but by a column of Spanish cavalry. He could now make out the distinctive Spaniard comb helmets glinting in the sun. He turned in anger to Fernandez.

  “Soldiers! What is the meaning of this?”

  At the sight of the approaching column of soldiers, Fernandez’s nervousness changed to fear. He got to his feet and began speaking rapidly.