An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition

by Cartland, Barbara

  Rodney laughed.

  “There was something to be excited about this time.”

  He turned as he spoke to lead the way to the after cabin and then, as they reached it, through the open door on to the deck came a man. For a moment they were all too surprised to do anything but stare at him in astonishment.

  He was young, extremely good-looking, with an olive skin and dark eyes which proclaimed his Spanish origin. He wore a claret-coloured doublet and breeches of the same hue; his stockings were a lighter shade and his small ruff was piped with gold. The roses on his shoes matched his doublet and were also spangled with gold; and round his shoulders was a great chain of precious stones.

  For a moment no one said anything. The strange young man stared at Barlow, Lizbeth and Rodney. The latter was suddenly conscious of his naked raggedness. Nevertheless it was for him to take the initiative. Straightening his shoulders and with a swagger he was far from feeling, he stepped forward.

  “Your name, Señor?”

  He spoke in Spanish and the young man answered him in the same language.

  “I am Don Miguel, son of the Marquis de Suavez, owner of this ship.”

  Rodney inclined his head.

  “I am Rodney Hawkhurst, servant of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth of England, Commander of the Sea Hawk, and also, due to capture, of the Santa Perpetua.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  The Spaniard’s tone was quiet and level. He put his hand to the sword which hung at his side. He unstrapped the belt and lifting it, handed it to Rodney in the time honoured gesture of those who have been conquered.

  Rodney took it from him and handed it to Barlow. “Thank you, Señor de Suavez,” he said. “ You will of course, consider yourself my prisoner, but we will make you as comfortable as possible until we return to England.”

  The Spaniard gave a little wry smile, as if he knew only too well the hardships of prison life that awaited him there.

  “You are most gracious, sir,” he said. “I regret I did not hear you come aboard. Unfortunately I have been ill of the fever and the ship’s doctor prescribed a sedative of such potency that I must have slept while the battle was taking place.” He hesitated for a moment and then continued. “You will forgive my curiosity, but were many of the officers and men of the Santa Perpetua killed?”

  “I am glad to set your mind at rest. No one was killed,” Rodney replied, “except the six sentries left on board while the rest of the crew were feasting on the beach.”

  For the first time an emotion showed on the young man’s face.

  “I told them feasting was unnecessary and quite ridiculous,” he said irritably. “We had nothing to celebrate but a broken rudder.”

  “I will, of course, be only too glad to tell you all that occurred when we have more time,” Rodney said, “but at the moment there is much for me and my officers to do. I would be grateful, Senor, if you would return to your cabin and stay there.”

  The Spaniard bowed and, passing through the after cabin, crossed to a small door on the other side. It was the fact that his sleeping cabin was through the aft cabin which had prevented the men who searched the ship from finding him the night before. The other cabins were empty and Rodney’s eyes lit up with pleasure when he saw the log-books, maps and charts which lay about in the Captain’s quarters.

  He had never seen or anticipated anything so luxurious as the officers’ accommodation aboard the Santa Perpetua. He noticed with astonishment that the bunks were furnished with the finest linen sheets and there were feather mattresses too , things he had never before seen at sea. Certainly the Spaniards knew how to make themselves comfortable.

  The furnishings of the aft cabin brought forth exclamations of awe from both Lizbeth and Barlow. Huge tables, carved and painted, were laden with a profusion of gold and silver ornaments, while it was obvious that the Captain of the ship and his guests habitually ate off gold plate. There were soft rugs on the floor and hangings of rich velvet over the portholes, while tapestries and pictures relieved the darkness of the panelled walls.

  But such wealth cried aloud danger, for the Spaniards were not likely to let such a valuable ship as the Santa Perpetua disappear from sight without a search for her.

  Without wasting time Rodney told Barlow to man the Santa Perpetua with the best hands that could be spared from the Sea Hawk. He had already decided, contrary to the usual procedure, to take over the Santa Perpetua himself rather than to put in a subordinate to take charge and run it with a prize crew. There was no one else, he thought, capable of navigating such a large ship; besides, he could anticipate how useful her great armament and heavy guns might be to them.

  Already new, ambitious plans were forming in his mind, but for the moment the only thing which mattered was to get away with the least delay possible. The Indian boy and the Cimaroons who were to pilot them to the Darien coast came aboard. Rodney thanked the Indian for what he had achieved last night in making the capture of the Santa Perpetua possible and promised him as a reward for himself and his village a sum of pesos which made him gasp with excitement and gratitude.

  Rodney had not so much money in his possession, but he was certain that there would be plenty of money both in gold and silver aboard the Santa Perpetua and he was not mistaken. When they reached a small, concealed harbour south of the Isthmus of Panama and had time to inspect the Spanish ship, they discovered four hundred thousand pieces of gold, fifteen chests of coined silver, thirty tons of silver in bars, two hundred pounds of raw gold, apart from a cargo of amber and ambergris, ivory, musk, wines, Chinese silks, perfumes, laces, rare preserved fruits, fine porcelain and many other valuable and beautiful things.

  A proportion of this they transferred to the Sea Hawk to divide the risk, and the men were wild with excitement at the thought of the share of the prize they would receive when they returned home and the ship’s cargo was sold and divided.

  With two ships to handle they were, of course, shorthanded. Rodney sent the Cimaroons ashore to search for volunteers. He was bitterly opposed to Barlow’s suggestion that they should, as was usual, kidnap a number of the natives and make them their slaves. It was the custom amongst ships of all nations, but Rodney had an ingrained dislike of slaves, and though his officers thought he was crazy, he stuck firmly to his idea that he wished the men to volunteer and he would employ them and pay for their services.

  Apart from this course of action being quixotic and extraordinary, Master Barlow as well as the other officers thought it unlikely that the Cimaroon would obtain a single volunteer amongst his kind. Rodney knew, although they dared to say little to him, fearing his anger, that the officers as well as the men laid bets with each other against his enticing any native by such methods, even if they were sickly or deformed and therefore of little use to their tribe.

  And yet on the third day they were in harbour Rodney’s optimism was justified. The Cimaroon returned at dusk with twenty men and the news that there would be, perhaps, double the number waiting further down the coast where there was a bigger village.

  “They are young,” he explained to Rodney, “ but they are strong and keen, and I promised that they could trust your word that they would be paid. No one has ever paid them before,” he added a little wistfully, “and some of them would like to go to sea and learn how to handle a ship.”

  “I am grateful to you for helping me in this matter,” Rodney said. “My officers were certain that few of your tribe would wish to leave their own shores.”

  The Cimaroon shook his head.

  “It is not much of a life for a young man,” he said. “There are Spaniards everywhere. They increase from year to year. If a man works hard and is prosperous enough to have a few cows and pigs, the Spaniards come and take them from him. They have raiding parties to find slaves not only for their ships, but for the mines on the other side of the isthmus. Our young men grow afraid, but they trust you. You are the friend of our friend, Sir Francis Drake.”

  It
was not surprising that Rodney was pleased with himself, Lizbeth thought that night at supper, as he sat at the head of the great polished table. The candlelight glittered on the gold and jewelled ornaments. Don Miguel dined with them, for Rodney had learned in the Golden Hind with what courtesy and generosity he should treat important prisoners.

  They soon found that the young Spaniard could speak English, and more fluently than they could speak Spanish. He was aged twenty-three years and this was his first voyage to inspect his father’s property on the Spanish Main. He told them a little of the wealth and treasure that had been carried from the Nombre de Dios to Havana In the six ships which had preceded him, with which he would have been sailing now had it not been for the broken rudder.

  “No wonder Spain is arrogant with such riches at her command!” Rodney muttered.

  “We have tried to be the friend of England,” Don Miguel said.

  “You tried to rule us,” Rodney retorted.

  The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders.

  “Friendships between nations is like marriage,” he said. “ One always has to be the master.”

  Rodney laughed.

  “Your King might master Mary,” he said, “but Elizabeth is a different proposition. No man will ever get the better of her, as no nation will ever get the better of England.”

  “We shall see,” the Spaniard remarked, and both Lizbeth and Rodney knew that he was thinking of the Armada.

  For a moment there was a touch of fear in both their hearts. What might not have happened while they had been away from England? Lizbeth was silent as she remembered the stories she had heard of the great galleons twice the size of the Santa Perpetua, waiting their chance to come sailing up the Channel with all the power, majesty and wealth of Spain behind them.

  But Rodney was recalling how Drake had “singed the beard of the King of Spain” in his assault on Cadiz harbour last year. The Spanish galleons, ponderous and unwieldy, encumbered by the very heaviness of their armament, had been useless against the speed, quickness and manoeuvrability of Drake’s smaller ships. Over a hundred ships had been destroyed that day. The Spanish Armada might appear formidable, but the English would outwit the Spaniards wherever they might meet them. he decided; but out of courtesy he did not voice such sentiments aloud.

  It was impossible, even though he might be an enemy, to dislike Don Miguel. He had a charm which nothing could deny, not even the blind hatred of those who averred that every Spaniard was a devil and a brute. Lizbeth had grown so used to hearing the most horrible and bestial things about the Spaniards that at first she shrank from Don Miguel, allowing her preconceived ideas to smother her instinct; but later as she met him day after day at meals, as they walked together on the deck of the Santa Perpetua, because, neither of them having anything to do, they were perforce thrown together more than was usual in such circumstances, she began to treat him as she might have treated any young man of his age whom she met at Camfield.

  It was impossible to talk all the time of ponderous and dull things such as war and national enmities; and instead, because they were both young, they talked of life and of living, and of all the things that interested them both.

  Don Miguel was a fine horseman and Lizbeth had ridden since she could walk and loved horses almost more than anything else in life. From being stiff and resentful in Don Miguel’s company Lizbeth began to look forward to the times when they could be together.

  When they were in harbour, except for meals, he was confined to his cabin and had a guard at the door; but when they were at sea he had the freedom of the ship, for Rodney knew it was impossible for him to escape. And so they talked, Lizbeth and the young Spaniard, sometimes in English and sometimes in Spanish, and occasionally they would try their French and Latin together, laughing over each other’s mistakes.

  The harbour where Rodney examined the cargo was too near to the Panama Isthmus for it to be safe to linger there for more than a few days, so with the native seamen aboard they set off down the coast, finding it more than beautiful, mile by mile.

  There were great forests stretching away as far as the eye could see, with rich tropical vegetation from which, when they went ashore, Lizbeth obtained many of the herbs she required for the wounded men. There were turtles’ eggs, coconuts, plantains, bananas and pineapples to be found; and they cooked and salted a turtle which was surprisingly pleasant to eat. There were other things, too, which were brought aboard which made the food on the first part of their voyage from England seem only a bad dream.

  Pheasants flourished in great profusion on the Darien coast. They passed the port where Drake had landed and which he had called Port Pheasant because there were so many of those beautiful birds to be seen there. Here it was definitely not safe to linger, for the Spaniards had never forgotten Drake’s raids from Port Pheasant, so they slipped by it, hoping that they passed unobserved.

  There were wild birds, venison, hens and pigs to be obtained from the natives. Rodney insisted on paying for everything he took, and in consequence, when the new volunteer seamen went ashore, they often returned with a friend or two who also wished to join the English crew.

  They were happy ships, both of them, and though sometimes there were floggings when a man got too obstreperous and had to be punished as an example to the others, Lizbeth knew that Don Miguel often looked in surprise at the smiling faces of the men hurrying about the decks and up the rigging, singing and whistling as they worked with a carefree light heartedness which bespoke their contentment.

  “They are happy,” he said one afternoon as he and Lizbeth sat in the after cabin just before sunset.

  It was a burst of song which brought forth his remark, a sea shanty which every man aboard had known since babyhood and in which all joined at the very tops of their voices.

  “Yes, they are happy,” Lizbeth answered. “They are well fed and successful, and there will be good prize money for every man when we return to Plymouth.” She spoke without thinking. and feeling she might have hurt him by referring to the loss of his ship, she said, “I am sorry –sorry for you, I mean.”

  He smiled at her then and his eyes watched her as she sat half-curled in an armchair, her chin resting on her hand, her hair, which had grown longer since they had been at sea, curling almost to her shoulders. It was vivid against the dark velvet of the chair in which she sat and now, wondering at his silence, she raised her eyes to his and saw something there which made her feel suddenly tense.

  “You are very pretty,” he said softly in English. She felt the blood rising in her cheeks.

  “What do you mean?” she stammered.

  “Did you really think you were deceiving me?” he asked. “I knew, I think, from the first moment I saw you. Are Englishmen really so blind, or are they just pretending?”

  Lizbeth did not attempt to misunderstand him.

  “Rodney knows,” she said, “but not the others.”

  Don Miguel made a little gesture with his hands.

  “I always knew the English were stupid, but Sacremento! to imagine such loveliness could belong to a boy – that is madness !”

  Lizbeth laughed. She could not help herself.

  “Promise me you will say nothing,” she begged. “I will explain to you why I came here.”

  She told him her story, although to spare his feelings she glossed over her father’s anger with Francis’ friendship with Dr. Keen. She told him how she had taken Francis’ place and of Rodney’s fury when he discovered how he had been tricked. And of how, expecting her to be a boy, the men had accepted her and as far as she knew, had never had the slightest doubt as to her sex.

  Don Miguel listened carefully and then he bent forward in his chair.

  “Are you content to be a boy?” he asked.

  “Perfectly,” Lizbeth answered a little defiantly. “‘’Twas strange at first, but now I am used to it.”

  “And yet, if you were a woman, how different the atmosphere on this ship would be! They would all
be trying to please you; the officers would vie for your favours – there would be a gallantry about every man and about everything they did. Men work best when they have a woman to please!

  “What you are saying would shock Rodney,” Lizbeth said. “He does not approve of women aboard ship and who shall blame him? Only the worst captains and the worst women sail together in English ships.”

  “The English are always unpredictable,” Don Miguel replied. “But I cannot understand how you could deceive them for one moment when you are so lovely. I would like to see you dressed in some of the rich silks which lie below us now. There is silk from China so fine that it can pass through a ring, so soft that the mere touch of it seems to caress the skin. There is silk there the colour of an emerald and there are emeralds, too, which would look entrancing round your white neck.”

  He got to his feet suddenly and glanced towards the door on to the outer deck. It was closed, the men were still singing; overhead they would hear the slow steps of the officer of the watch.

  “I will show you something,” Don Miguel said.

  He crossed the room and, taking a picture from the wall, laid it on the floor. The panelling behind the picture was the same as the rest of the room. He pressed s secret spring and a portion of it flew open. It was a place of hiding skilfully contrived so that no one could guess of it.

  Lizbeth gave a little gasp of excitement. From the hole in the panel Don Miguel took a carved and ornamented box. It was padlocked and he drew from around his neck a ribbon on which hung a gold key. The small padlock, which was also made of gold, opened, and now the lid of the box was turned back and Lizbeth gave a cry of sheer astonishment, for the box was filled with jewels of every sort and description.

  There were pearls of all sizes and shapes, some strung, some just as they had been taken from the oyster. There were great sapphires set in carved silver and a necklace of emeralds set in gold, which Don Miguel held for her to see. It was the loveliest thing she had ever seen.

  Instinctively her hands went out towards it.

  “I would like to see it against your neck,” he said.