~~~~~~~~~~
Eduardo crept through the hold, across the ship, and to the little corner beneath the captain’s cabin. It would have been impossible for someone to leave without being detected. Whomever Nicolo had heard must still be there. At first, he saw nothing, but a sneeze—the very thing that probably alerted the captain in the first place—told him that someone was still there.
“Come out of there now, you fool. What do you think you are doing?”
At first, no one stirred from within the small space, but at last, the swarthy face of Hector appeared. “I am trying to discover why our captain is trying to kill us.”
“He is not trying to kill you, you fool. Why would he bring you on board, and promise to help you even though you are a worthless fool, if he wanted to kill you?”
“You argued; I heard you,” the man whined. “You think it is unsafe too.”
“I argue what I know the men want me to say. It is my job to represent them. It is also my job to encourage the men to take over if the captain is unsound. Have you seen me do that?”
Hector sniveled, whining about bad food, bad wine, and no alcohol. The man’s thirst for rum had barely been held at bay by the weak wine they served on board. His hands shook, and his eyes darted in all directions—wild. He craved the drink that he had long used to numb the pain of his memories.
Without mercy, Eduardo dragged him up on deck, informing every man that they encountered the he’d caught the man eavesdropping and denouncing him as a possible spy. He didn’t believe it. Between Hector’s stunned expression at the accusation and his pathetic whimpering for rum, it seemed highly implausible that the man would be capable of being anything more than the weak fool that he was.
Several of the crew cried out for blood. Hang him! Eduardo refused. “He has been proven guilty of nothing but eavesdropping. He’ll be flogged for that at least, but if that is his only crime, it is not worthy of death.”
Nicolo stood outside his cabin, waiting for Eduardo to appear with their uninvited “guest.” At the sight of Hector, his face clouded. “He was the one?”
“Yes. I think we can get some information from him if we give him a cup of rum.”
“Oh, yes!” the man pleaded. “I will tell you anything you want to know. Just give me a little!”
To his surprise, Nicolo capitulated. “Send Jaime, meanwhile, let’s go inside. I have questions for our friend.”
Jaime appeared at the door a short while later with a large cup and a small jug of rum. Eduardo filled the cup and refrained from kicking Hector as he lunged for it. “Keep yer hands off it,” he ordered.
“It works like this,” Nicolo said, injecting a deadly calmness to his tone. “You answer quickly and truthfully and the cup stays full. You lie to me or hesitate and I will pour some back.”
Hector nodded, licking his lower lip in anticipation. “Anything.”
“How did you hear of me?”
“I told you—” Nicolo nodded and Eduardo poured a little of the amber drink back into the jug. “No! Ok, I will tell you. When the man freed me from the prison, he sent me to Málaga. I was in a tavern, having some rum, and the proprietor asked me where I had come from. I must have been drinking more than I knew because I told him everything—about them taking everything from me, being imprisoned, the torture, everything.”
“Go on.”
“He told me he knew someone—someone who could not only help me start over, but also get revenge. He mentioned you.”
“And how did you come to Siracusa?”
“He told me to go there. He said to get him word of where I was staying, and he would send Nicolo Soranzo.” Hector ducked. “I almost didn’t do it when I learned who you were.”
“How did you get there so swiftly?”
“I hid on ships in caravans. I was just happy to get out of Spain, and if you could really help…”
The men listened as Hector answered question after question. From how he found a place to live, to where he got the money to pay for it, the man answered each question correctly and quickly. Nicolo argued that it was almost too perfect, but then what else could the man say? If it had really happened—and the recounting sounded like almost every story he heard—then it was truth. If a lie, shouldn’t something be out of place?
“I don’t know, Nicolo. How could anyone just happen to find Francois? Did you not get the word directly from him?”
“The right person…”
Hector’s eyes volleyed back and forth as he watched the men speak. At last, he tried again, begging for the rum. “You promised. I answered your questions.”
“What would you say if we set you on land tomorrow and let you go without food or money?”
A flash of anger filled the man’s eyes. “You promised that I could earn a share of loot. You promised it would be enough to start over somewhere.”
Nicolo handed over the cup of rum. “Drink up. You’re going to need it.”
“Wha—”
“You were caught eavesdropping, you imbecile! Do you think that can go unpunished?”
The man whimpered, sniveled, and almost guzzled the rum between pleas for mercy. However, the rules of the ship were clear. Nicolo and Eduardo would have no choice even had they wanted to show mercy. The man must be whipped.
They called Jaime to bind Hector. With hands over his head, the boatswain looped a rope between Hector’s arms to help hold him up when his knees buckled. They would buckle. The idea that they might not never occurred to any of them. A flogging meant pain, staggering pain.
Most of the crew crowded on deck, eager to watch. They jeered, cheered, and treated the spectacle as if it were a sporting event. Several made bets on how long it would take the man to fall, his lower legs kicking to regain support. Others speculated on the number of lashings or if the man would cry like a child.
Nicolo stood in front and called out his crime. The boat roared with indignation, demanding the whipping. Hector once again cried for mercy. As was their custom, Nicolo offered to release Hector at the crew’s request. Again, they demanded the whip. With the full support of every man on ship—save the accused—Nicolo held up the whip and offered it to Eduardo.
“You found him. You have the right.”
Eduardo shook his head. “He insulted you with his actions. It is your right and your responsibility.”
The first lash barely flicked the man’s calf and brought about screams of pain. Unable to endure the theatrics, Nicolo tossed his hat aside and uncoiled more of the whip. He stepped back, rolled his eyes at the crew, and sent the whip flying once more. This time, it ripped through Hector’s shirt and left a bleeding welt on the man’s back. Again he struck. Again. The screams of agony filled the air around them.
After six lashings, one of which was the first flick that caused no injury, Nicolo slowly recoiled the whip. “You earned seven, but I will give you mercy on the last one. It will, however, be added to any future punishment if you ever betray my trust again. Do you understand me?”
The blubbering mess of a man whimpered his agreement and struggled to stand to relieve the pressure of the weight of his body on his wrists. Nicolo turned, ready to return to his cabin. The men separated, leaving a path to the door. He had regained their respect.
Eduardo left Hector hanging while he pulled out the telescope and scanned the ocean to ensure no ships had sailed into view while they had “enjoyed” their little display of discipline. He swept it over every inch of water that he could see but found nothing but water, waves, and sky. Leaning against the rail, he stared out over the water, anxious for what he knew would happen if they did not capture a ship soon.
Jaime spoke quietly to him and then went to release Hector. His knife slit through the rope and the man dropped to the deck. Gently, he unbound the ropes that bound Hector’s wrists together and examined the welts on the man’s body. “You’ll need to see Mac. He can clean them.” Blubbering, the man staggered toward the wrong side of the ship. Jaim
e caught him and turned him in the correct direction. “Be glad of the rum. It would be worse without it I am sure.”
As he turned, his eyes met Sebastian’s. Troubled and revolted, the boy tried to hide his disgust, but it was too late. Visibly shaken, Sebastian crept back to his cabin. Jaime sighed. The life that they had created to keep the boy alive might save his body, but sometimes, it seemed as if it would kill his spirit.
Chapter Sixteen
Unrest
Alone in his cabin, Sebastian curled on his bunk, trying to erase the memory of the whipping from his mind. Try as he might, he failed. Instead, he stared at the wadded up rag in the corner as if it had betrayed him somehow. It wiped away his sketching mistakes, but nothing worked well for the images floating behind his eyes, searing themselves into his heart. Hatred for the life he ached to leave burned in his heart.
“I do,” he whispered. “I hate this.”
His greatest fear was that he would find himself facing the noose, hung as a pirate. Each time they gave chase on a ship—battle for ownership of the property—he inwardly trembled at the idea of failure. The odds were against them, weren’t they? It didn’t seem plausible that they could continue to plunder and pillage unchecked indefinitely.
Jaime’s head peeked around the door. “Sebastian?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you all right? You shouldn’t have been there.”
“I know.” Knowing rarely stopped him from doing stupid things. That was probably why his father treated him like a child still. He acted like one more than he cared to admit.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Jaime chided. “Are you all right?”
“No,” he whispered. Suddenly, all the thoughts and questions he often wanted to ask poured from him unchecked—something he realized had become a habit of late. “How can he do this?” Sebastian whined. “He talks about how much he loves me—that he wants to keep me alive.”
“I—”
“He’s certain someone is trying to kill me, as if anyone cares about the son of a pirate, but then he puts us in harm’s way,” Sebastian continued without giving Jaime a chance to explain. “He hires these idiot men like Hector, who know nothing, gives them large portions of the prize, and for what? Why?”
“Because it is who your father is. I know it seems crazy when you don’t understand—”
“Then help me understand!” he cried.
“—but your father is a great man.” This time Jaime continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Few people will risk their lives to help others as your father does. He is not perfect, but he is a true champion of the misfortunate.”
“He’s a criminal.”
The judgment hung in the air between them. Sebastian knew that his friend would do anything his father asked, but he also knew that Jaime did not like the violence either. Jaime would never condemn Nicolo as Sebastian did and that bothered him. He wanted the support of his friend.
“Yes, we both are. I am a criminal. Eduardo is a criminal. Mac, Filipe, Giorgio, and now Hector are all criminals. Someday, you too will be a criminal.”
“If we are captured today by the military, I will be hung as one alongside the rest of you.”
“It is possible, but we hope that it isn’t true. I think we can ensure your life is spared. At the least, we might be able to delay things long enough for you to have a chance at escape. This is why we tell you not to resist—to deny your father and play the victim. It will help you.”
Sebastian didn’t respond for some time. Jaime started to leave, prompting him to whisper, “Why will he not take the money we steal and buy a house somewhere. He could grow grapes for wine or raise cows to make cheese. He should have enough to buy all we need so he doesn’t have to work. Ten years as a pirate? Isn’t that enough time to amass a fortune?”
“Not if you don’t keep it for yourself.”
“I just don’t understand.”
Jaime nodded. “I know, but you will. Have I ever lied to you?”
“No.”
“Then trust me now. Someday you will understand. Every boy has to hear when he is young, ‘You will understand when you are older.’ None of us like it. My father said it. Your father said it to me!”
“Do you understand those things now?”
“Not as much as I should or as much as I thought I would. I am learning that understanding is not something that is handed to you all at once. It is more like something slowly poured into you over your lifetime.”
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t even understand that.”
Laughing, Jaime sauntered out the door. “You will, though. You will understand that sooner than anything else, I think.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Rations grew scarce. Very scarce. The men became hungrier by the hour and their tempers showed it. Mornings dawned with fresh hope for a ship to come within sighting distance, and every night fell with the disappointment of another day wasted. Despair—now a genuine threat and one that brought rebellion with it.
Nicolo knew the chances of surviving much longer without food were slim. They’d passed the point of no return. Even if they left now for Gibraltar, they wouldn’t make it before they were half-crazed with hunger and thirst—or dead. The wine was almost gone. They boiled their water daily to keep them safe from dysentery. Though they still had plenty of rum, even it wouldn’t last long once the wine and water ran out. However, the dismal food stores wouldn’t last them half as long as the rum and water. Rations had become limited to a small maggot-infested biscuit three times a day and a little gruel before bedtime. The gruel stopped tonight. They must save the grain for when the biscuits were gone.
Eduardo’s anger burned against Nicolo, and the crew noticed. He had refused to give chase to a British ship just the previous day, and three days before that, a Portuguese ship had sailed close enough to ensure their success. Nicolo would not give the order. It had taken all of Eduardo and Jaime’s influence to keep the sailors from rioting—or worse.
Now that time worked against them, Nicolo had to add options to his consideration. He could sail north and closer to Spain. A risky move, but the chance of a ship getting past became unlikely. He needed a Spanish ship. How could Hector retrieve his fortune from the crown unless they captured a ship out of Cadiz or Seville? He wanted nothing more than to get that man out of their lives. As a spy, he was either brilliant or pathetic. Nicolo truly believed that no one could pretend to be so stupid so consistently. Actors were never so perfect.
Watching Sebastian cut the deepest. The boy had begun to lose faith in him. He was also hungry. Despite Nicolo’s attempts to slip extra food to his son—usually from his portion—the lad seemed weakened by a lack of confidence, as well as a dearth in sustenance. Even still, Nicolo kept biscuits and wine hidden in his cabin. If the worst came, Sebastian would be the last to die. He prayed that it would not come to that. How it galled him to pray, but a lifetime of training seemed to push itself on him now.
Again, he fixed his telescope on the horizon, spinning slowly, looking for any sign of a ship. He would have to give the order to chase and attack any ship that came now. They’d capture a Spanish one in the Caribbean for Hector. Though riskier, he had to do it to provide food for his crew—for his son. If they waited too long, they’d be too weak to fight. That would be the biggest failure of all. How humiliating to try to board a ship and lose his head or his heart to the sword of a Spanish sea captain. The mere idea revolted him.
Nothing. It didn’t make sense. Ships always left for the Americas at this time of year. There should be many. Where were they? He stared again but saw nothing. Eduardo caught his attention across deck and shook his head. Desperation ripped at his heart.
Nicolo returned to his cabin, put away his telescope, and planned his next move. He had much that he should tell Sebastian. Perhaps that was the best choice. Sebastian.
Driven with new purpose, Nicolo strode from his cabin to Sebastian’s and knocked as he pushed open
the door. “Are you awake?”
“Yes.”
The boy had been terse for days, but Nicolo chose to overlook it. He stared at the floor. “If I had known that drawing would have you scrubbing your floor so consistently, I would have given you charred sticks years ago.”
The joke fell flat. Sebastian didn’t even respond. He must do something—show some kind of feeling while he could. It might be all he had left. His mother…
“Sometimes I look at you and wonder how anyone could look so much like someone else.”
“My mother.”
Nicolo nodded. It had worked. It always worked. Sebastian seemed incapable of sulking through a conversation that included his mother. “Your hair, your skin, your eyes, even your nose…”
“But my mouth is not hers,” he added as he always did.
“No, that you get from me.”
“I cannot see it—not with your beard. I try, but it is hard.”
“Perhaps someday you’ll have a beard and we shall see then.”
“Jaime says,” Sebastian began. He clamped his mouth shut.
“He says what?”
“He says that he thinks my chin and my mouth are from someone else—another family member. He thinks we all think they are yours because they are not my mother’s.”
“Oh he does?” Nicolo tried to keep his voice light, but the desire to strangle Jaime presented itself and almost steered him to the door. Thoughts like that would only drive a wedge between him and his son. Sebastian was his son regardless of how much or little resemblance they shared. More than anyone, Jaime should understand that.
“Yes. We were talking about it a few months ago—when we were in Algiers. I said that I thought your mouth was larger and your chin more pointed than mine. Jaime said that he agreed. That’s when he suggested we just assumed because it was logical.”
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