That made sense. It made a lot of sense, actually. Once more, the young man proved his loyalty even though it seemed he didn’t. He started to agree when a shout sent him running from the room.
Sail ho!
He stood at the bottom of the mast, waiting for Eduardo to reach the crow’s nest and see for himself. Seconds ticked past as his faithful quartermaster climbed the mast, crawled into the crow’s nest, and took the telescope. After what seemed an age, the man’s arm pointed to the northeast. Nicolo ran for his telescope.
There it was. Relief washed over them. They would eat—possibly within hours. He sent word for Sebastian to dress. The men readied themselves at the oars. Sailors prepared to adjust the sails, and Eduardo finally reached the bottom with Filipe right behind him. Nicolo took over the wheel.
He must give chase. To buoy the men’s spirits, he called for wine, passing the bottles amongst the men. “Don’t be greedy with it, in case we fail to capture, but have a little for strength!” he called.
Eduardo called for him, pointing to where the ship would appear. Nicolo hurried to take the telescope and see for himself. “I can’t make out the flag,” Eduardo said.
He couldn’t see it either. However, as directly south as the ship was sailing, he knew instinctively that it must be Portuguese or at the least, Dutch. “It’s not Spanish—not unless it is already being chased.”
“Nicolo, we have to—”
“I know!” He lowered his voice as the eyes of the crew turned toward them. “I don’t have to like it,” he growled. “We’ll sail northeast for a few leagues—just until we see them better. Then we’ll turn and give chase. Tell the men.”
Eduardo turned and gave orders, rallying the men while Nicolo watched further. The new direction and their speed gave them a better vantage point. He smiled. The Spanish flag flew above the ship after all.
Busyness became the order of the day. Nicolo rushed to tie Sebastian into his dress and lock him into the room. He left a biscuit on the bed and tried not to choke as he hugged the boy before leaving. It was always such a risk; always, the likelihood that something might go wrong hovered in his mind.
On deck, the men scrambled, while below, the oarsmen rallied, pulling with the extra force needed on the open ocean. He rushed back to the quarterdeck and took over the wheel—almost time to turn. The unmarked ship seemed unconcerned with the sight of a flagless ship sailing toward it. It did not alter course at all. Once more, Nicolo smiled.
Chapter Seventeen
The Chase
From his cabin, it seemed to Sebastian as if they were running from the ship, but standing there in an embroidered velvet gown—a padded velvet gown—with jeweled combs in his hair, he knew this was not the case. At any moment they would turn. Once the call to helms-a-lee came, he knew the chase had begun.
The rowing chant of the oarsmen created the cadence of the death march for the Galleon they pursued. A cannon roared in the distance—a warning shot that announced their prey would not yield without a fight. The Vengeance fired a volley of shots, none of which could possibly reach the target.
They had the advantage. Being smaller and lighter, with oars to help them turn quickly, they usually made quick work of capturing a ship because their opponents could not keep The Vengeance in the line of fire long enough to cause damage. Hand to hand combat provided the enemy with a fair chance to win, but often ships surrendered in order to save lives—particularly if they recognized the name of The Vengeance or Nicolo Soranzo.
The ship zigzagged through the water chasing its prey. Alas, even with its swifter speed, the waves seemed to drag it down. Bouncing atop the enormous waves, the crew of The Vengeance worked non-stop to keep her afloat. Waves battered the ship, making their efforts to pursue the Galleon futile. Water rolled over the deck as the sea grew wilder with each passing minute. Nicolo turned into the wind, allowing the sails to speed them southeast and away from their prey as it turned to fire upon them.
Sebastian’s heart sank, and the bitter taste of hypocrisy filled his mouth. He talked about how much he wished for a different life, but when hunger came into play, he suddenly wished for them to capture a ship—one with meat, fruit, and maybe even vegetables.
Fights broke out on deck and below deck. It seemed as if the entire crew would turn on Eduardo, Jaime, and his father. Mutiny—the one thing captains truly dreaded. Now Sebastian shivered in fear for more than himself.
It took hours for someone to come help him. Jaime finally unlocked his door just before sundown. “Sorry it took so long. The men were disappointed—turned on each other, everyone blaming everyone else.”
“But not Papa?”
“Not this time. We nearly had to pull weapons on them.” Jaime unlaced him and then pulled a jeweled hairpin from his pocket.
“Oh, Jaime. No! I have these. They’re enough.”
“Keep this in your hair every time you’re dressed like that.”
“Aren’t the combs embarrassing enough?”
His friend nodded. “Enough to make you look like a girl, yes. They won’t help you get out though.”
“Get out?”
“Your father isn’t going to like it when I tell him I did this, but I’m doing it.” He turned to the door, opened it, glanced out to ensure no one was coming, and then locked it with the door wide open.
“Wha—”
Without a word, Jaime took the hairpin, put it in the lock, twisted for a few seconds, and to Sebastian’s astonishment, the latch pulled back into the door as it was supposed to. “You need to learn to do this. Practice. Those ends must be pushed in to help move that piece. You have to turn it to open.”
Sebastian tried. Over and over, he fought to turn the little piece inside the latch, but he failed. “I can’t do this.”
Patiently, Jaime showed him once more, but the sounds of someone coming sent the boatswain out the door. Sebastian protested, but Jaime’s sharp retort silenced him. “If you want to be able to get out of your room when that door is locked, you will figure out how to do it.”
Sebastian heard Giorgio urge Jaime to hurry—some trouble in the galley. His lip quivered as he realized it must be regarding food. Desperation drove the men to do things—behave in ways they usually would not. How long would it be before he too fought and wailed for something to eat?
~~~~~~~~~~
After three days, and no other ships in sight, rations dwindled to one bowl of gruel per day. The men’s lips cracked and bled from the lack of water and wine. The little food they had left wouldn’t last but another few days. After that, they would be forced to use the reserves Nicolo had stored for when they attempted to capture a ship. Once that happened—once they had no food left to strengthen them—they had no hope of success.
The men, weakened by lack of food and discouragement, had no will left to fight amongst themselves—something even Sebastian had noticed. “If they don’t quarrel, doesn’t that mean they’ve given up?” His son’s words haunted him as Nicolo stood at the quarterdeck and listened to the lapping of the waves against the side of the boat. Unlike in the Mediterranean, no seagulls flew close, trying to steal scraps of food. The vast emptiness of the ocean left the men’s spirits empty—bored.
Ship ahoy!
He jerked, hope rising within him. Nicolo’s telescope trained in the direction indicated by Turk in the crow’s nest. Eduardo shimmied up the mast, eager to see for himself. Still on the quarterdeck, Nicolo saw nothing. Minutes passed, his eye never leaving the water until at last he saw it.
A Portuguese ship sailed toward them. Nicolo fought against the revulsion he felt in attacking it. He must, and he knew it. Another day would mean even more weakness, and the men couldn’t afford to grow any weaker. They were parched—desperate. Even a few hours might be enough to risk their success. It must happen now. Perhaps it would be a good thing. He could watch Hector’s reaction. It might be a good test of the man’s faithfulness.
Sebastian rarely left his cabin
these days—likely drawing again. What once seemed like a safe pastime now felt like the hobby of a weak, girlish boy. The lad did his chores without complaint and did them well. Nicolo’s heart swelled with pride when he thought of Sebastian’s skill with daggers—still the best on ship at only twelve! Even the boy’s sword lessons with Jaime were going well, but no matter how hard he tried to hide it, Sebastian’s heart wasn’t in it. This Nicolo did not doubt.
His eyes met Jaime’s, and he nodded. Turning to the deck, Nicolo began calling out orders. The sailors changed the sails and passed around the very last of the wine. This time nothing must prevent them from overtaking and boarding their prey. They must succeed or die. Since no one considered death an option, all hearts on deck burned for one thing—victory.
Here—readying to fight and to fight for him and his son—his men shone in brilliant glory. Each man knew exactly what they needed to do and did it—often without direction. The ship neared—almost as if already surrendering. Nicolo called for Giorgio to raise the flag. Perhaps it would precipitate surrender. It would work. It must work.
Eduardo’s voice called down to him from the crow’s nest. “Spanish ship, ahoy!”
“Spanish?”
The men groaned, but this time, they groused good naturedly. They knew he’d fight harder for a Spanish ship with Hector on board than he would for anything else. With his heart into the fight, they could—they would succeed. He turned the wheel eastward, as if running from the Spanish ship, but the men roared their excitement. The battle would commence.
As if prescient, the Portuguese ship turned sharply and sailed due south, obviously trying to outrun the coming battle. Nicolo ignored it. He had a job to perform.
Jaime hurried to his side. “Sebastian is set. I—helped him prepare for anything. He knows there is food in your cabin and where to find it. He’s prepared.”
“Well done. Get the cutlasses. We’ll need them now. Have Turk pass them out.”
“We’ll succeed, Nicolo. You know we will. The men will be so excited they will likely rejoice to hear of the Caribbean!”
“Perhaps. Thankfully, if they don’t, they still won’t have the strength to overtake those who are definitely loyal to me—to Sebastian anyway.”
While Jaime hurried to tell the others, Nicolo slowly turned the ship until the guns faced the Spanish ship—ready to fire when it grew close enough. They dropped the sails to prevent being knocked off course by the wind. The worst part of battle preparation arrived at last— the wait.
Eduardo refused to leave the crow’s nest. Usually reserved for men who needed disciplinary action or men like Giorgio who liked to be alone, when it came time for battle, Eduardo became possessive of the vantage point. His genius in predicting changes in direction long before others would have any idea made him the most valuable choice. “Three leagues out,” he called, eager for the battle to begin.
Nicolo shouted orders, pulled on his hat, and ensured his weapons were within easy grasp. Turk raced to the galley to inform Mac of their situation and then onto the oarsmen. The excitement on board became palpable.
The ship drew nearer, flirting with danger. With the sails down, Nicolo knew The Vengeance looked weak and ineffective, but they could raise the sails much more swiftly than captains of larger ships realized. Thanks to Jaime and Filipe’s ingenuity, they had swift mechanisms that responded almost instantaneously when they pulled the ropes. Best of all, they had oars.
“Chase!”
Sails billowed, the oars pulled them swiftly through the water, and at last, they were able to pull alongside the ship just hundreds of yards away. A cannon ball whizzed across the water, one so misdirected that it had no hope of hitting them. In fact, it seemed as though the Spaniards had deliberately tried to fail. Nicolo would not be so generous.
The call came out, “fire in the hold!” A full volley of cannonballs sailed across the water, over half striking their target. A mast went down. Another. Two large holes in the hull left significant damage but not enough to cause the white flag of surrender that rose moments later.
Nicolo’s eyes met Eduardo’s and he nodded. They lowered the dory and Jaime, Mac, and Giorgio went with Nicolo to meet the captain of the Victoria de Reina. It was a trap, but one that they expected.
With all eyes on the boats, Eduardo led a large group of sailors to move the canons out of the firing holes and they slipped into the water. On deck, the others cheered and jeered at the larger ship, mocking the carpenters who worked feverishly to repair the damage before it took on more water than it could stand. Turk, in the crow’s nest, screeched his mockery loudest of all—and for good reason.
Nicolo didn’t wait for the captain of the Victoria to speak first. The moment he saw his men climbing the bow of the ship, he threw a dagger into the man’s chest and one into the chest of the first officer. Jaime leapt from their boat and dove under water, swimming under the longboat and coming up on the other side. He jerked two of the captain’s companions out of the boat before they knew what hit them and then, once again, swam under the boat and back to the dory.
One of the Victoria’s men drew a cutlass, but Nicolo pulled a gun from the hip of his baldric and aimed. “I could care less about your life, you dog. Sit down and toss every weapon overboard.” At those words, a horn blew, and men poured out of The Vengeance and swam for the damaged ship. The captain and first officer, struggling to obey Nicolo’s orders, cried out in pain as they dug daggers and knives out of sheaths inside and outside their clothing.
Nicolo nodded to Jaime. “Bind them.” This time, Mac and Giorgio went with him as he swam to the longboat and tied up the men. Jaime shook his head as the first officer struggled for air. The knife had hit a lung for sure. He grabbed an oar and indicated for Mac to do the same. They rowed closer and Nicolo stared at the man.
“He won’t make it, Nicolo. It’s cruel to let him suffer like this.”
The second knife killed the officer instantly. They tossed the body and turned their attention to the captain. “I don’t know, Jaime. It looks bad but he’s not struggling.”
“Leave him then. Maybe they can save him when we leave. Let’s get over there and help.”
Chapter Eighteen
Fury
It took all day, through the night, and part of the next day to unload the food, wine, rum, and small amounts of gold and silver that they found onboard the Victoria. Nicolo examined the hold, the galley, and every other corner of the ship, and though he suspected that there must be more gold somewhere, they couldn’t find it. “We’ll leave immediately. Bring the men back, and we’ll set sail.”
“What do we do about the ship?” Eduardo looked around him. “We can’t let them die of starvation. Do we sink it or let them go?”
“Leave a knife barely within in reach. If they can get it and find a way to cut themselves loose, then they can sail home. They certainly won’t try to chase us.”
Eduardo hurried to call everyone back to the boat. He sent Turk across with a knife and instructions to make it possible but not easy to get. “We don’t want them firing on us before we get out of range,” he admonished the young man.
Mac, aided by Filipe, Jaime, and Ammon, began slaughtering a pig. Wine flowed and they dispersed apples and oranges to everyone on board. They feasted—something their shrunken stomachs would protest, but worth it in their minds.
With the revelry surrounding the coming meal and the excitement with their final success, no one seemed to notice the direction the ship took. No one but Sebastian, and he wouldn’t tell anyone. They sailed due west, the wind pushing them over the large waves with little resistance—for now. It wouldn’t last. Eventually a storm would come, the wind would shift—something would happen to remind them all that they were but a tiny tub of wood and flesh in an enormous ocean. One wrong wave, one bad storm, one foolish mistake and they could be lost forever.
Sebastian frowned at the sight of a crew of men spilling on to the deck. He held his dagg
er at his side, unwilling to throw when someone could step into the way. This could only mean one thing; the crew had noticed and weren’t happy.
“Why aren’t we heading south?” the biggest of the oarsmen roared. “Turn this ship around! We can’t keep—”
Eduardo stepped forward and set his fists on his hips. Feet spread, he pointed at the man. “Desmond, who is captain, you or Nicolo?”
“Maybe I should be. He’s going to kill us. This ship wasn’t designed to withstand it out here! No one mentioned going anywhere but to get a ship.”
Nicolo stepped forward. “Well, we’re not going back. We can’t. El Cazador chased us. We have to assume that he will try again.”
“If we didn’t kill him! You can’t take us out here without our permission. Who do you think you are?”
“The man who has saved your hides from the gallows, prison, slave ships—the man who will ensure you have enough money to live quite well in the Americas.”
Silence hung in the air. Filipe, Giorgio, Mac, and a few others joined Eduardo and Nicolo on the quarterdeck. Jaime crept up behind Sebastian and whispered, “You need to get to your cabin and lock yourself in. Now. Do it.”
He pretended to go. A glance back showed Jaime making his way to stand with his father and a few other men. It took some effort, but he managed to hide behind many of the men and then behind a few barrels left on deck. They’d be used first, but for now, he was thankful for them and the chance to stay and hear what would happen. If only he could hear things better!
Several minutes passed while the two groups argued. It’d been long enough that Sebastian hoped he could make his way closer to the front in hopes of hearing more of the argument. Twice someone said hello, but he ignored them, hoping they’d get caught up in the moment and ignore him. It worked.
By the time he worked his way forward, Sebastian realized his mistake. The men grew steadily more agitated. He hesitated and then worked his way back through the men, anxious to get to safety. Self-recriminations plagued him. Why did he do that? Why did he always ignore the things that would protect him most?
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