Treasure

by W. A. Hoffman

  “What can I do for you, good sir?” he called loudly enough for most of the square to hear. And he needed to call out, as he did not seem inclined to approach us.

  He was wearing his patch on the left, and I wondered if he truly had a bad eye, or whether it was as Gaston and Striker once suggested, and Hastings moved the patch from side to side to provide for seeing in darkness or bright light.

  “You can meet me on the field,” I called back jovially.

  Hastings feigned astonishment for our audience; but even at twenty paces, I saw his eye narrow for a moment with sincere surprise. “Whatever for?”

  “I will see you dead before I will allow you to collect any bounty on Gaston or Striker,” I said pleasantly. I would have been astounded if he had accepted my challenge.

  The square began to buzz with mutterings, and men moved from the shade to stand closer and listen.

  “Are you mad?” Hastings asked. “What are you speaking of? I don’t know of any bounty.”

  I grinned. “Then the men of the Mayflower have had the unfortunate judgment to elect a deaf and daft quartermaster.” I looked around at the crowd. “How many of you have heard there is a bounty on Striker’s and my matelot’s heads?”

  Amidst laughter, nearly every hand in the square raised.

  “How many think you can do it?” I called out.

  There was more laughter, much head shaking, and no hands raised – though several fellows pushed their friends’ arms up, for which they received hearty curses and punches from those so used.

  “Why would you think I would?” Hastings asked with sincere curiosity and speculation as he walked closer.

  “Because you enjoy killing,” I said.

  “There are more than enough Spaniards for that,” he said slyly.

  “Aye, but I think you are the kind of man who enjoys killing those who do not expect it. You take pleasure in murder.”

  For a moment he regarded me with sincere astonishment and wonder, and then the mask of feigned innocence and indignation returned. “You’re a damn fool!”

  “Then prove me wrong,” I said.

  He shook his head adamantly. “I’m no fool. I know of your prowess. I’ll not waste my life over some damned allegation. Say what you will. Think what you will. Slander my name. I don’t care. I have no quarrel with you.”

  I grinned at him. “Ah, but you do. You can own it or not as you choose. Just remember what I said. I will see you dead.”

  He shook his head and walked away to return to what he was doing, ignoring the men making catcalls and daring him to take my challenge.

  I led Gaston and Pete back to the house we had appropriated.

  “Well?” Striker asked.

  I snorted. “He knows we know. And now all the Brethren here know he knows, and we know, and…” I shrugged. “That is all I sought to achieve this day. Now we will see what he does next.”

  We continued our daily routine as if nothing had occurred. Two days after my confrontation with Hastings, we found the town physician’s house. We were overjoyed, as it contained a treasure trove of medicines: more than the apothecary had held. We took the valuable quinine and the flower pods necessary for laudanum back to our house, choosing to inventory the rest of the materials later in case we had need of them.

  Thus, when our bedmates decided Striker was well enough to engage in carnal activities and they wished to have the room, Gaston and I were pleased we had a place to which we could retreat and a task to occupy us and keep us awake – as we dared not sleep alone in some other house with no one to watch over us. So we left our wolves to their pleasures, slipped away from the party over which Cudro was presiding downstairs, and carefully returned to the physician’s house by the light of the moon. We justified our risk as necessary to flush out Hastings or any other would-be assassin; sitting in the light with our friends was surely not going to accomplish it.

  Once at the physician’s house, we shuttered the windows, lit a lamp, found paper and ink, and began to arrange and list the herbs and concoctions Gaston felt we might need. I was actually not surprised to hear the noise of the back latch a little later. My matelot had heard it as well, and we turned the lamp very low and left it in the office as we padded through the doorway to the back room: the surgery. We crouched in darkness and saw the door open, but we did not see anyone enter before it closed again. As we were behind the surgery table, which had drawers beneath it, I thought it likely someone had entered, but they were keeping themselves as close to the floor as we were. A moment later my suspicion was confirmed: we heard the strike of a flint, and the weak light of a candle glowed beyond the table.

  We each had a pistol and knife, and Gaston motioned left and I went right, and we came around the table at the same time, and found a young Spanish boy who squawked in honest fright at the sight of us. Gaston dropped his weapons and dove atop the lad before he could escape. Much struggling and cursing ensued, until the boy finally realized he would not escape us and another form of defiance was in order.

  “I will tell you English dogs nothing!” he spat.

  “I would find concern in that if I had asked you a question,” I said in Castilian, which surprised him greatly.

  He closed his mouth tightly and regarded me with eyes full of bravado. Now that he was still, I judged him to be young, but not a babe: perhaps seven or eight years of age. While Gaston held him pinned, I searched his pockets and found no real weapons, only a small knife like boys will carry and the flint and tinder. He was clutching something in his hand, though; and after prying it open, I found a note. It contained one word, apparently a Latin name; and I showed it to Gaston, and he frowned.

  “It is a concoction sometimes used to treat the flux by balancing the humors,” Gaston said. “It is useless.”

  I sighed and looked back at the boy. “You have the flux?”

  His eyes widened, but he clamped his jaws even harder.

  “Tell him I can give him something better to treat the flux,” Gaston said.

  “This man is a physician,” I explained, to which I received a look of vibrant incredulity. I sighed. “He can give you medicine for the flux. You can use it yourself if you ail, or take it to whomever needs it and sent you here.”

  “You lie,” the boy hissed.

  I crossed myself like a good Christian and said, “As God is my witness.” Thankfully Gaston did not roll his eyes.

  The boy now appeared quite confused. “Why? Why would you do this?”

  Gaston sighed. “Tell him I have taken an oath to God to harm none with my medical knowledge.”

  As he had expressed such sentiments to me before, I did not ask him about the oath to God part of the statement. I translated it for the boy.

  The child now glared suspiciously at me.

  “I serve him,” I added, and indicated Gaston.

  Our prisoner reverted to confusion, but at least this bout of it loosened his tongue. “If you lie, it will not matter.”

  “Why?” I asked kindly.

  “She will die without the medicine if I cannot bring it. And if you give me a poison, she will die. And if you find her, she will die.”

  “Your mother?” I guessed, not liking his fatalistic reasoning, but not having a lever to dislodge it as of yet.

  “No, my sister.”

  “All right, well, we will not follow you, so we will not find her. We will not give you a poison, but you will have to trust in God concerning that; and she might well die if you do not bring her something. So we will give you medicine, and you will sneak out of town the way you entered, and may God grant you speed in saving your sister.”

  With that, I motioned for Gaston to release him.

  The boy sat where he was as Gaston went and fished around in drawers and cupboards, and mixed various substances in two separate bowls, which he then poured into two bags: one small, the other large. Then he had me instruct the boy that the small bag must be steeped in boiling water and drunk first; and tha
t it would serve to clean away all the bad and evil humors in her bowels. And then the second, larger bag was to be steeped in truly large quantities of boiled water and taken every hour until the bag was empty. The boy seemed to understand my instructions, and I had him repeat them several times. Then we shooed him out the door.

  “What did you give him?” I asked when we were sure the boy was gone. “The first concoction sounds much like Michaels’ gypsy remedy.”

  “It was,” he sighed. “The second was some of those tea leaves from the orient mixed with sugar. I thought she would not consume enough water without it being made medicinal in some fashion.”

  I chuckled. “You are a truly fine physician.”

  “And liar,” he said with a troubled frown.

  “My love, you lie for the good of them. I will never fault you for that.”

  We returned to our task of arranging vials and pots and listing and re-labeling them. Unlike the physician in Puerto Principe, this man’s handwriting was quite neat: Gaston simply did not like the names given to many of the substances, preferring to use others with which he was more familiar.

  We heard the latch of the back door again several hours later, as we were beginning to tire. We did as we had before, and found the boy again. He did not panic at the sight of us this time.

  “My mother wishes for me to thank you,” he said solemnly. “My father died of the flux, and she is very scared she will lose us, too.”

  “When did your father die?” I asked kindly.

  “Many years ago, when I was a baby,” he said. “We have all been well since, but then we went to hide, and my sisters are becoming ill.”

  “You are the youngest, then?” I asked.

  “Si, but I am the only boy,” he said proudly.

  “Ah, how many sisters?”

  “Four.”

  Knowing what Gaston would wish to know when I relayed the boy’s words, I asked, “What are you drinking at the hiding place?”

  “Water from the well.” He wrinkled his nose. “But it is an old well. Why?”

  I told Gaston what he had said, and my matelot told me what I already knew they should be told; but it was best if the boy thought I translated the physician’s words and not the other way around.

  “You must boil the water from the old well before drinking it,” I said.

  Gaston fetched more of the tea leaves and gave it to him.

  “Put that in it: you can sweeten it with sugar or honey,” I said.

  “Will you be here if more is needed?” the boy asked.

  I sighed. “No, we are living at a house…” I described the location and look of our current dwelling as best I could; and told him that he should lurk about outside until he saw one of us, to make sure it was the correct house before speaking to anyone; and that those living there with us would not harm him, either, but he should trust none of our fellow pirates. He seemed confused by this, but he agreed to abide by it before I shooed him back out the door.

  After he was gone, we doused our lamp and slipped out the front door, and returned to our house. We were quiet as we went, but Gaston pulled me to sit with him on a cot in the parlor once we were safely home.

  “I truly wish to practice medicine,” he said.

  “Oui,” I said.

  “Non, not… like here. I wish to have an office and hospital, like Doucette had, and serve some town or village.”

  “Truly? You want to tend fat men with gout?”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I might be able to heal people with gout – if they would listen to me, which they might if I had an office and I wore fine clothes.”

  “All right,” I said, though I was appalled at the thought of having to cater to people’s expectations as much as I imagined such an existence would require.

  “What do you find wrong with it?” he asked with concern.

  “Town physicians are expected to be respectable, and have a wife and children – which you will have – and not have a matelot.”

  “Oui, I suppose it would be much as we would have to live in France,” he said sadly. Then he nodded and took my hand. “Maybe I will have to become an unrespectable physician.”

  “But then they would not listen to you as you would want them to,” I said. I shook my head. “I am sorry, my love, we will find some way to…”

  His fingers were on my lips. “Oui. We will find some way. And you are more important.”

  I gently pulled his hand away and kissed the back of it. “We do face the same problem as Striker and Pete, do we not?”

  “Non,” he said quickly. “We talk. It makes ours smaller.”

  We talked no more of it, choosing instead to curl together on the cot and sleep. I was still troubled, though; and I dreamed of chasing him down the road, but he was always just out of reach.

  We woke to light streaming through the front shutters and yelling from the back room. It was a girl’s voice, or perhaps a child’s, and it was all invocations to saints and the Mother Mary in Castilian. Gaston and I hurried in and found Farley trying in vain to quiet the small girl who knelt in prayer upon the floor.

  “Child, child!” I called as I knelt before her. “Who are you?”

  She opened her tear-filled eyes and peered at me for but a moment before gasping and looking about wildly until she spotted Gaston. “You are the green-eyed physician and the blue-eyed servant. I have found you! Miguel said to come here. He said to run here because they have found us and you might help us.”

  “Miguel? Your younger brother? You have a sister with the flux?” I asked quickly.

  “Si, si.”

  “And one of the pirates has found your hiding place?”

  “Si, si. I saw him following Miguel when he returned with the medicine. I was fetching water from the well, and it was dark, but Miguel came, and then I saw the white face in the trees. Then he was gone. I told Miguel, and he said he must stay because he is the man of the house, but he told me how to come here. He said to beg you.” She held up her prayer-locked hands plaintively, her eyes pleading. “Please, please, señor. Please…”

  “No need for that,” I assured her. “We will do what we can. You will need to lead us to your family’s hiding place.”

  “Si, si.”

  I turned and explained to Gaston and Farley, and now Pete and Alonso, and Cramer and Dudley, a trusted pair of matelots and musketeers from the Queen who had been sleeping in the house.

  “TheyTake’Em ToTheChurch,” Pete said as if there were little to be done.

  “I am more concerned with what will occur before they reach the church,” I said. “It is a mother and three adolescent girls.”

  Alonso swore, and Pete grimaced. Gaston was gathering our weapons and his medical bag.

  “ItCouldBeATrap,” Pete said.

  “Aye,” I said. “That is why we will be careful.” It was more bravado than I cared to admit. But he had not seen the boy earlier. Yet, perhaps we were being naïve. “Are the Spanish known for sending their daughters as bait?”

  “Nay,” Pete said and glared at me. “ButWhoeverFound ’EmKnowsTheBoy TalkedTaYou.”

  I cursed. “So you are not worried about the Spanish, but Brethren bounty hunters.”

  “Aye,” he snapped.

  Gaston leaned against the door, obviously torn. The girl looked from one of us to the other, and proffered her clasped hands and more invocations to the saints that we should hurry.

  “You should not go,” I told Gaston in French. “I will go: they do not want me.”

  “They might not care,” he said. “You die, I die.”

  I looked from him to the pleading girl.

  Gaston opened the door and glared back at Pete. “You are correct. It probably is a trap. But I will not sit here if I can save… someone.”

  “But we are here to rob them, and…” Farley said with a frown.

  “Aye, rob, not rape,” I said, and hefted my musket. “Even Morgan has said he does not wish for that to happen.
If they are brought directly to the church, then there is no problem.”

  “I will come with you,” Alonso said.

  “Us, too,” the men from the Queen said.

  Pete stood resolute with his arms crossed and disapproval on his face. We left him there with Farley. The five of us followed the little girl, whose name was Consuelo, out of town and along a small rutted road into the swamp for at least a league. Gaston, Cramer, and Dudley urged us to stop often while they checked about for signs of an ambush, and it was left to me to quiet and calm the girl at these intervals.

  While sitting in the bushes waiting, she whispered to me that she had seen angels and devils coming to her family in a dream, and that according to Miguel and her mother, we were angels. Her family seemed to possess the fatalism and abiding trust in God of the truly faithful. I found it disturbing.

  At last we reached their hiding place in the stone-walled cellar of a house that had burned on some long-overgrown plantation. We saw no one else, and the men checked about quite thoroughly. We heard nothing, either. There was a stillness to the air that raised the hair on my neck. It was judged that Gaston or I should not enter first, so Dudley and Cramer crept to the slanted door and opened it from the side before peering in, each with two pistols cocked and aimed. Cramer stood very still, but Dudley stepped back and dropped a pistol to place his hand over his mouth.

  “Keep the girl away!” Dudley gasped when he had apparently controlled his urge to retch.

  Alonso was in the doorway next, and he too turned away for a moment before squaring his shoulders and stepping inside with his pistols drawn. He returned a moment later.

  “Whoever did this is gone,” he said quietly in English.

  “Did what?” I asked. The girl crouched beside me with big concerned eyes.

  “They be dead, all dead,” Cramer said from the doorway. “It ain’t pretty.”