He left the wheel in Eduardo’s capable hands and went to take over for Jaime. “Why don’t you rest? You were up late with your stories again last night.” He turned to Sebastian and nodded at the boy’s cutlass. “Show me what you can do.”
At first, Nicolo let his son push him up and down the deck with moves that he could have disarmed in an instant. Then a look came over the boy’s face. Nicolo recognized that look. Understanding. “Now you see. Begin again.”
The boy charged, swinging wildly it seemed, but Nicolo’s attempt to disarm Sebastian failed. In fact, had they been using steel instead of wood, he would have sported a nasty gash on his forearm. “Well played, son. Very well played.”
It seemed for a moment as if the two fighters were equally matched, but once Nicolo recovered from his surprise, he disarmed his son with a speed that discouraged the boy. “That didn’t take you long.”
“No, but you managed to wound me. In real battle, I would have had to switch hands. I should have done that to be fair. You did well for your first time fighting me.”
They walked along the deck to the bow, staring out over the ocean. “Papa?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you hear Jaime’s story last night?”
“Most of it, yes.” Nicolo allowed himself to stare at his son’s profile for a moment. If he squinted, even in the slightest, it would seem as if she were there beside him.
Sebastian’s question jerked him from his reverie. “Why did Joseph get so mad at the man—Ingelby? It wasn’t Robert’s fault that the ship sank. His father lost a lot of money too.”
Pain ripped into Nicolo’s heart afresh before he choked out, “Grief.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
Nicolo gazed into his son’s eyes, steeling himself against the next wave of pain that he knew would follow, and repeated his answer. “Grief. People are not rational about grief. When you lose someone you love that dearly, you crave something that will soothe it. Joseph thought that driving Ingelby from his life forever would help.”
“You don’t think it would?”
“No,” he snapped. “I know it would not. He said that God would ensure that Joseph got his revenge. He was a fool.”
“Why do you hate God, Papa?”
It took Nicolo some time to answer the question. He pondered how much to say, and eventually decided that simple honesty would be best, even if it prompted new questions. “I do not hate God, Sebastian. It surprises me that you ask that, son, but I think I understand why you believe it to be so. I have seen much evil done in the name of the church.”
“But what does that have to do with God.”
“The church is God’s people. I can’t help but seem to reject God when I reject association with His people.”
“But why? What is so terrible…?”
As his son’s question evaporated in the morning sun, Nicolo realized his anger must have shown. Again. Jaime said it would drive a wedge between them. Eduardo said it was worse than a whipping. He’d ignored them and now it seemed as though it were true. “Hector. Do you know why he is here?”
Sebastian shook his head, his gaze sliding up to the crow’s nest where the lazy man huddled alone and miserable. “No…”
“The church, son. The church is why I am helping him. They tortured him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Good,” Nicolo snapped, his hand slamming against the rail. “You shouldn’t understand. It is wrong what they have done to him. They took his land, his money in the name of religion. They tortured him, demanding he recant heresies he was not guilty of.”
“Why not just kill him?”
“Officially,” he spat, disgusted at the lies that he felt the church spewed, “the church does not kill or even draw blood. They merely torture mind and body until they believe the person’s promises of faithfulness. If the person is found guilty of the crimes they are accused of, they are turned over to civil authorities who execute for the church.”
“Why does Jaime still go to church if that is what it is like? He finds such peace there. How is that possible?”
This question Nicolo had pondered many times over the years. The young man’s answers when questioned had always been unsatisfactory. “I think,” he began cautiously; “you should ask Jaime. I cannot understand it, but I know he has found a way to accept the Church as a whole while rejecting the Inquisition.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Inquisition. The word terrified him. It was ominous—foreboding. Sebastian watched as the familiar melancholy slowly shrouded his father. All his life he’d watched his papa battle the despondency that came when people discussed God, family, and especially his mother.
This despondency often kept him from asking much about the woman he could not remember. Oh, sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning when he waited for the sun to rise, he thought he remembered a woman with long flowing gowns, jeweled combs in her hair, and a voice that soothed him. He imagined that he remembered a man throwing him in the air, tickling him with a beard.
Someday he’d ask Jaime, but for now, he would be content to know that his father didn’t despise God as he’d always assumed.
Hector strutted past, dismissive of everyone as usual. Despite the story his father had told him, despite the pity the man should receive, Hector disgusted him. How could someone who had suffered so much be so rude to the people who risked so much to give him a new life? He couldn’t imagine.
A nudge at his elbow distracted him. “How many men has Papa helped?”
“I can’t tell you—dozens—maybe even a hundred.”
“Were they all—” Suddenly it didn’t seem very diplomatic to attack the church his friend loved. “At odds with the church?”
Jaime laughed at his not-so-subtle attempt to change his question. “No. Your father helps anyone who has been wronged. Remember MacPherson? He was in London—at the wrong place just when it would look as though he killed someone. They threw him in the Tower until his hanging day.”
“How did he get out?”
Grinning, Jaime sank to the deck and leaned his back against the bow. He pulled out a carving knife and a piece of wood and began carving—a bird. “The real murderer helped him escape. He bribed a jailer, paid a ship’s captain to take him south, and sent someone to ask your papa to give him a new life.”
“But why would a murderer do something like that?”
“Well, because he knew an innocent man would die for his crime.”
Sebastian’s eyebrows drew together as he tried to make sense of Jaime’s explanation. “But didn’t the murderer kill an innocent man himself?”
“No, he killed a man—one he felt was guilty of many crimes that would go unpunished. MacPherson was just in the way.”
“I don’t think I understand, but I’m glad Papa helped him. Didn’t we leave him at Algiers?”
“Yes. He has a good business there—raising sheep, I think.” A long curl of wood dropped to the deck as Jaime smoothed the edge of a wing. “What makes you so curious today?”
“I asked Papa about Hector.”
Though he nodded an acknowledgement of Sebastian’s words, Jaime didn’t speak for some time. His knife sliced through the wood, leaving curly shavings on his breeches and the deck. “I know your father has told you, but I am telling you as well. Stay away from Hector. I don’t trust him.”
“Do you think he’s a spy?”
A snort of disgust gave away his friend’s opinion before he could answer. “Not in the least. But he’s a coward, Sebastian. Cowards are sometimes the cruelest and most dangerous people. Your father will find out before it is too late. We have been fooled by others and paid the price. Nicolo is wiser now. He will learn what he needs to know about Hector.”
“He listens whenever he thinks no one is watching. He only does part of his work, and he does it slowly and badly so that others will take over for him. He is lazy,” Sebastian muttered.
“Men of means
often have little understanding of how the common man must work to earn his bread. I don’t think Hector means to be remiss in his duties. He has just never had to work on a consistent basis.”
“I could do his work better,” Sebastian insisted.
“I agree. But could you endure months or years of torture, not knowing what happened to your family, knowing that even if you live, you’ll be all alone and with no money to survive?”
Sebastian’s shoulders slumped. He stared at his hands, not willing to meet Jaime’s eyes. “I don’t want to feel sorry for him. I don’t like him. I don’t trust him.”
“That’s understandable, and it’s good too.”
“Good? That I am that selfish?”
“No, good that you said you don’t want to feel sorry for him. It means you do have some compassion. That is good.” Jaime handed up the carving—a seagull—and added, “And I think it’s also good that you aren’t too trusting. Your father is good, but he’s not infallible. He could make a mistake.”
“It’s not likely.” Sebastian didn’t bother to hide his discouragement. “It seems as if Papa never does anything wrong.”
“I think it seems that way to every child who has a good mother or father. I know your papa would tell you that he makes many mistakes—daily, most likely.”
Sebastian pushed away from the deck. “I’ll be back.” He hurried down the gangway to the quarterdeck where his father stood at the wheel, holding steady in the stiff winds.
“What are you doing today, son?”
“Do you make mistakes?”
“What?”
Desperate for an answer, Sebastian repeated himself. “Mistakes. Do you make mistakes?”
“Well, sure. Everyone makes mistakes.”
That wasn’t what he meant. Of course, everyone made mistakes, but the idea that his father made mistakes as often as he did was improbable in his mind. “I mean, like me—all the time.”
“Well, I don’t make mistakes exactly like you, and I hope not quite as often, but I make many more mistakes than you probably realize. It’s just part of being human.”
“I bet you didn’t make mistakes to disappoint your papa.”
Nicolo signaled for Giorgio to take the wheel and led Sebastian to his cabin. Once inside, he seated his son on the ledge and hunkered down on his heels. Gazing into Sebastian’s eyes he said, “I broke my papa’s heart, Sebastian. I don’t even know if he’s alive anymore.”
A lump filled Sebastian’s throat. He nodded as if he understood, but of course, he didn’t. What would make his father do something that obviously hurt his own papa? He mentally scrambled for something that would comfort his father. “I am sure that your papa understands—deep down, don’t papas usually understand, even when they don’t like it?”
Without a word, Nicolo left the cabin. Sebastian hesitated, wondering if he should follow, and then dashed across the little cabin and flung open the door. His father was nowhere in sight. He hurried to Jaime’s side and sank to the deck beside his friend. “I think I hurt Papa.”
“Maybe. He understands.”
A new idea came to him. “Papa said he broke his papa’s heart.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “That was because of me, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Clouds darkened overhead, but to Sebastian it was a fitting way to set the tone of his mood. The air cooled and the wind blustered about them. Up in the crow’s nest, Hector screeched about a storm approaching from the southeast. The crew ran around them, frantically doing their jobs, but Sebastian hardly noticed any of it. His eyes fixated on his father as Nicolo took the wheel again.
“He saved me after that man murdered my mother. If I had died too—”
“He would have died as well. His body would have lived, but who he is inside would have died. He would have had no reason to live.” Jaime nudged him. “Never think he regrets it. He doesn’t.”
Hector’s terrified scream of an enormous wave sent Eduardo scrambling up the mast and then back down again, with Hector nearly sitting on his shoulders in his desperation to get out of the precarious perch. The ship rocked. Waves washed overboard and sent men sprawling across the deck. The oarsmen tried, but the strength of men was no match for the strength of the sea.
Jaime pointed to his cabin. “Go.”
“I can help—”
“Your best help right now is being where your father knows you are safe.”
With each step, it became harder to make it across the ship. The waves poured water over the sides and the spray drenched him. Sebastian stumbled, sliding across the deck as the ship lurched leeward.
“Sebastian!” His father’s terrified voice barely reached him over the shouts of the crew and the roar of the sea in the wind.
He waved his arm to show he hadn’t been injured. The wind blew his father’s hat into the ocean, and Sebastian’s eyes locked with his papa’s. “I am fine!” he screamed over the gale that seemed to rise about them.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I am fine,” his son screamed above the gale that had formed almost out of nowhere.
Before Nicolo could respond, a huge wave crashed over the deck, washing three men overboard. The captain’s eyes scanned the deck, searching for his son. Sebastian seemed to have vanished.
Chapter Twenty-One
Storm
Coughing and sputtering, Sebastian grabbed on to the mast and held on. The ship listed so far that it seemed as though it would topple completely. His eyes sought his father, but Eduardo now gripped the wheel, and his father seemed to have vanished.
Where had he gone? A captain does not leave the helm at such a time. Surely, such an excellent sailor would not have been washed overboard—would he? The question made his stomach churn. Frantically, he scanned the boat for Jaime. Shoes, bare feet, even breeches and hair— he observed them all, but Jaime seemed gone as well. Turk rolled past him, heading straight for the railing that nearly touched the water. Sebastian twisted, sticking out his foot. “Grab on!”
Relief washed over him as Turk’s hand grabbed his ankle. The young man tried to crawl up the deck, holding on to Sebastian, struggling to grab on to the mast as well.
The ship lurched again. Waves too strong, even for Eduardo to control, spun the ship however they pleased, rolling it to the other side unexpectedly. Taken by surprise, the motion flung Turk against the rail and knocked him senseless. “Noooooooo!”
Sebastian leaped to save the young man before he was tossed overboard, but strong arms jerked him back. “You can’t help him. Hold on tight and look away.”
Jaime. At least Jaime was safe. “Where’s Papa?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got to get down to the oarsmen and have them lean. I’m sure they’re doing it, but...”
Jaime’s words made sense. If the men all piled on the opposite side of the ship that threatened to roll into the sea, it helped to keep the ship level. It helped, but it didn’t solve the problem. Only calmer waters removed the danger. As long as they could keep afloat until the storm ended, they’d be fine. They’d weathered worse, hadn’t they?
As if his thoughts had tempted God to prove how bad things could be, thunder roared and the skies dumped rain down on them in sheets. Sebastian panicked. His hands slipped with each attempt to grab tighter to the mast. He couldn’t stay there. The distance to the little cabin his father had built for him so many years earlier seemed endless, but he had to get there. That would be the safest place for him now. He wanted to search for his father but knew he wasn’t large enough. His arms were too short to hold on to the mast well. He was too thin—too scrawny—to be of any use. The best thing for all was to get out of the way and to safety. No one would worry about him if they knew he was safe.
Determined, he glanced around him. The closest sailor was Filipe. “I’m going to my cabin. Tell Papa and Jaime if you see them!” he yelled, hoping his words wouldn’t be lost in the crash of thunder and sizzle of lightning.
Filipe shrugge
d, clearly not understanding. “My cabin! I—” he pointed to himself, “—go—” he pointed in the direction of the cabin, “—to my cabin!” Feeling silly, he made a one-handed sleeping motion that he prayed the man would understand. Filipe nodded.
Mac stumbled out on deck, ready to help. He saw Sebastian and rushed to assist. “Well, now, laddie,” he roared over the din, “I’m thinkin’ ye be needin’ to get outta here.”
He nodded. “I’m going to my cabin. Tell Papa and Jaime if you see them!” Mac started to lead the way, but Sebastian held on to the mast. “No! Go help Eduardo. He can’t control the wheel. I’ll get there.”
“It’s too wet—too dangerous. I’ll help ye first.”
Adamant, Sebastian pushed the larger man away. “I can do this!” With those words, a great wave washed overboard, throwing Mac across the ship as though he weighed nothing. He crashed into the wheel with a look of surprise and held on to it. Sebastian grinned to himself. “Well, that was one way to get there quickly.”
He saw Mac shouting to Eduardo. The quartermaster looked for Sebastian; their eyes met. The man nodded at him—understanding. Now all he had to do was wait for the next roll.
It came sooner than expected and sooner than he’d have liked. The moment the wave tossed the boat leeward again, Sebastian ran against the roll, grabbing a rail here, a beam there, until he reached the door of his cabin. Water washed over him, nearly jerking his hand from the door, but he managed to scramble into the room and shut the door behind him.
His eyes blinked as he tried to adjust to the darker space. Every inch of it dripped with water. The porthole had allowed much too much water into the room. Two inches of water covered the floor, but at least he was safe. His father would be proud. He had done what they would want him to do rather than what he wished to do. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
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