The Iron Rose

by Marsha Canham

  She wanted to clout him on the head, but she planted her hands on her waist instead.

  “This is the important business you have been holding so close to your breast? This? This … Act of Grace?”

  “I was under oath—”

  “A pox on your oath, sir. Have you not been listening to a word I have said to you? The only way the Spanish will negotiate is if their cities are sacked and held to ransom. Drake did it. He sailed right into Maracaibo Bay, bold as brass, and demanded five hundred thousand ducats in exchange for keeping his guns from blasting the town to perdition—and he had half the firepower we do right now! Did you know Father sailed with Drake on those raids?”

  “Are you telling me he’s planning to raid Maracaibo again?” The question had come out heavily laced with sarcasm, but at the look on Juliet’s face, Varian stopped and stared. “Juliet?”

  “No. No!” she exclaimed with more conviction. “But he certainly could if he wanted to.” She brushed past him to retrieve the boot she had thrown at Gabriel and started slightly to see her brother lounging in the shadows.

  “I thought you were going to wait outside.”

  “And miss bearing witness to what might well be your only proposal of marriage? A sorry opportunist that would make me, would it not? And besides, I am seething with curiosity to hear the rest of the duke’s arguments for peace. He is aware, is he not, that the king has made this generous offer before? Not two years ago,” he said, coming forward to the edge of the pool, “another envoy came bearing documents titled an Act of Grace, and some of our brethren believed in the notion enough to sail into the port of Hispaniola, where they were guaranteed to earn a warm welcome from their Spanish counterparts. It was warm, all right. If you live long enough you could ask Captain David Smith how it felt standing on the deck of his ship, being the only one to have escaped from an ambush that saw four other ships trapped in the harbor, bombarded and set aflame, their crews thrown into shackles and led off to cut sugarcane for the rest of their days.”

  The tension stretched out for several long seconds. The eerie greenish light from the water touched the curves and angles of Gabriel’s face and made his eyes glow out of the darkness like those of a big cat. Like his sister, he seemed capable of concealing his emotions until the wrong trigger was pulled and the spark hit the powder.

  “I was not aware of any former Acts of Grace, no,” Varian admitted.

  “And now that you are? Do you still feel you can go to our father and present your offer without choking over the king’s sincerity?”

  “King James is no fool, though he plays the part well at times. He shares the former queen’s disdain of the Spanish and while he sees no reason why they should hold a trading monopoly in these waters, he also knows that a declaration of war now would utterly deplete the resources of both countries. Spain lost their one and only chance to conquer England twenty-five years ago. We have heard rumors in the past that the dons kept trying to rally another armada to revenge their ancestors, but Philip III is not a zealot like his father, and their navy at home has never fully recovered from the devastating loss in men, ships, armaments. Conversely, our strength has grown by leaps and it is only a matter of time before we have a navy capable of challenging for supremacy at sea. A war now would set that back for many years.”

  “We have no intentions of declaring war,” Gabriel said, the words so exactingly polite they were obviously meant to bait the recipient. “We’ll settle for cutting out a few of the fat treasure ships when the plate fleet leaves Havana next month.”

  “You cannot do that,” Varian said wearily. “You will never come out of it alive.”

  Gabriel tipped his head. “Zounds, Jolly. You could at least have picked a lover who had more faith in our abilities.”

  “I have an incredible amount of faith,” Varian said. “But I also happen to know the fleet that is scheduled to leave Havana in four weeks’ time is no ordinary fleet. There has been a drastic shift of power within the Spanish government and many high ranking officials have been recalled home. There are going to be an inordinate number of ships making the crossing—double, treble the number of usual vessels—and not all of them merchant ships.”

  “What are you talking about?” Juliet asked.

  “As you undoubtedly already know, it was commonplace fifty years ago for Spain to send fleets of a hundred ships or more back and forth across the Atlantic. Over the past couple of decades, those numbers have been drastically reduced, in part because the fleets simply are not as profitable as they once were. The mines are playing out and they have to search farther inland for their gold and silver. Slaves die and have to be replaced, or they rebel and burn out the towns. Easily half the cargo comes overland from the Manila fleet, which has its own route between Panama and the Far East.”

  “You are not telling us anything we do not already know,” Juliet said, buckling her belt with an impatient slap of leather on leather.

  “Then you also know that the single massive flota was reduced out of necessity to two much smaller treasure convoys—the Tierra Firme fleet, which arrives in Havana in late April, and the Nueva España fleet, which arrives in late summer. Both fleets are escorted from Cádiz to Havana by galleons which merely take on water and provisions before immediately turning around to escort the departing fleets back home. In an average year, it may be that thirty merchantmen arrive, fill their holds with treasure, and depart six months later, escorted by fifteen or so armed galleons.”

  “Closer to twenty,” Juliet said dryly. “I could impress you with their names, if you like, their tonnage, weaponry … ?”

  “I can appreciate that your information is very good, but are you aware that once every decade or so, there is a noticeable overlap, when ships of an arriving fleet remain in port longer than they should, or require repairs, or are impeded by weather? Some that are due to depart in April, for instance, are delayed until the September flota and vice versa.”

  Juliet arched her eyebrows. “And? What of it?”

  “The last time it happened, there were seventy-five ships in the flota that sailed from Havana.”

  “Are you saying it is going to happen again?” Gabriel asked, all traces of indifference erased from his voice.

  “I am saying it is indeed going to happen again,” Varian agreed, “but in even greater numbers. Between our government’s sources in Seville and dispatches intercepted for the Spanish ambassador in London, it would appear there will be closer to one hundred treasure ships—the sum of three overlapping fleets—gathering in Havana to make the crossing home.”

  “One hundred ships?” Gabriel whistled softly. “We knew there was more activity than normal on the shipping lanes, but …”

  Juliet looked at Gabriel. “The reports we had from the Dutchman Van Neuk said there were an unusual number of ships anchored off Maracaibo. His exact words, I believe, were that he came close to pissing down both legs when he stumbled over a dozen galleons tucked behind a tiny leeward island that was normally used for trading with smugglers. He made away with all haste, but he said the patrols were thicker than he had ever seen them before.”

  “It doesn’t prove anything,” Gabriel said. “Van Neuk is a braggart. If he said he saw a dozen ships, it was likely closer to three or four.” He looked hard at Varian. “And if we have reason to doubt him, why should we believe you?”

  “Because I have nothing to gain—or lose—by lying to you.”

  “Except your life, of course,” Gabriel pointed out.

  Juliet waved a hand at her brother to hush him. “I am still at a loss as to why you think this would persuade us not to attack the plate fleet. If anything, your information would draw the brethren to the fleet like sharks in a feeding frenzy.”

  “I am telling you, because along with the extra merchantmen, they are also adding several squads of warships to the guardia. According to our sources, they are withdrawing more than half the ships in the Indies guard to supplement the normal
escort fleet back across the Atlantic. That would add roughly another thirty warships to the guardia, none less than four hundred tons. They will be filled to the gunwalls with cannons and soldiers, and their only intent will be to kill.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “You forget, I am not a duke by nature, only by the laws of primogeniture. I have been in the military for eight years, including three as Captain of the King’s Royal Guard. What you may not know, and what could very easily get me killed if it were to become common knowledge, is that when I inherited the title and all the trappings that went with it, I did not resign my post in the army. I may have traded the uniform and gold braid for purple velvet and silver lace, but only because it made it that much easier to travel freely around Europe.”

  “You were a spy?”

  “I prefer to say that I was in Seville to study the fencing techniques of Alejandro de Caranca, one of the most renowned masters in Seville. Among his other devotees were several high ranking officials in the government, including the admiralty. They are a boastful lot when they face an Englishman in the circle.”

  “And that is why the king thought you were so well suited to come here? Because you had a measure of success loosening the tongues of a few dueling Spaniards?”

  “Actually … I volunteered for the task. In a further search for truth, were you to press the point of a blade to my throat, I might even admit that I wanted to embark on one last adventure before my life became cluttered with rents and politics, though if you repeat that in front of Beacom, I shall deny it to my last breath.”

  Juliet smiled crookedly. “It would seem you got more adventure than you bargained for.”

  “More indeed,” Gabriel murmured dryly. “He can return home now and brag that he has fucked the daughter of the Pirate Wolf.”

  Varian’s patience was already on the edge and Gabriel’s crudeness gave it the final push. His fist came forward with the power and speed of an iron hammer, the punch catching Dante under the chin, cracking his head back, and lifting him off his feet with the force. He followed immediately with a second blow to the midsection, then a third that landed just below the breastbone and knocked Dante back toward the edge of the pool. The younger man staggered upright and his hand went immediately to his sword. The sound of steel sliding out of the sheath sent Varian stepping back, but only to lean over and snatch Juliet’s blade off the moss.

  “You don’t want to do this,” he warned.

  “You don’t know what I want to do,” Gabriel replied, wiping a smear of blood off his lip.

  The sound of the two blades slashing together shivered off the damp walls and sent Juliet leaping prudently to one side. She knew her brother’s skill, suspected the duke’s, and although she kept a hand close to the hilt of her dagger, she backed away and watched the two circle each other like cocks in a ring.

  Gabriel moved cautiously away from the soft edge of the pool, his sword arm extended full and unwavering. Varian had a slight advantage in height and build, but Gabriel was solid muscle and sinew beneath the elegant clothing, and his skill far exceeded that of his burly brother. There was genuine pleasure in his smile as he brought the fight to Varian St. Clare in several blindingly swift parries, his blade cutting through the air in a series of silver flashes.

  The stone walls rang with each echo as the swords crossed, touched, slid, and slivered together. The two men clashed without a break in stride or rhythm, each forward step brusque and efficient, each paced retreat calculated to draw the opponent here or there by intent. The ground was soft in places, the moss slippery underfoot, and once, when a lunge was overextended, the sword bit into rock and sprayed chipped fragments onto the ground.

  They came together, swords high and crossed, both men grimacing with the exertion and the knowledge that they were more evenly matched than either had suspected. Steel slid in a shrill scraping protest, then parted when Varian caught Dante’s blade and whirled it with a stirring motion, nearly wrenching it from his grasp. Startled, Gabriel recovered quickly and spun nimbly to the left, reversing into a counterattack that sent the duke splashing into knee-deep water. There was also a fresh cut on his cheek, barely more than a nick, but when his hand came away, it was slick with blood.

  He stood there staring down at his fingers so long, Gabriel glanced at Juliet and grinned. He heard the hiss of steel beside his ear and realized his mistake, too late to prevent a thick lock of dark hair from being sliced away from his temple. Outraged, Gabriel vaulted into another attack to avenge the insult. It was answered by a blur of slashing metal, the thrusts coming so fast and furious, he was driven well back into the darkest shadows of the cave.

  Juliet tracked their movements by the sound of grunts and oaths. At one point Gabriel made a gazelle-like leap from one stalagmite to another and balanced a moment on one booted foot while he parried and thrusted and engaged Varian in a breathless exchange of ripostes before vaulting onto level ground again.

  “By God, you’ve a worthy arm, man!” he cried. “I would not have guessed it of a lace-necked nobleman.”

  Varian bared his teeth. “I’m glad you approve. And now will you listen to me when I say I am not here with your sister to earn the right to brag? It was never my intention to do so; it was never a thought in my mind.”

  “Never? Not once?” Gabriel scoffed openly. “Your intentions were noble, virtuous, and honorable? And you were not the smallest part relieved just then when she refused to marry you?”

  Varian’s guard dropped, just for an instant, but it was long enough for Gabriel to launch himself across the bank. It was his fist, not his sword, that smacked into Varian’s jaw, spinning him around, sending him out over the ledge and into the iridescent water.

  Gabriel watched him sink to the bottom, then turned to Juliet with a triumphant grin—a grin that ended in a yelp as his ankles were hooked and he found himself hauled off balance and dragged backward into the pool.

  Juliet saw the horrendous splash and the huge cloud of white silt that was churned up as they touched the bottom together.

  In God’s name, she thought as she moved closer to the edge, but they were still fighting. The pull and drag of the water was slowing their movements, but the blades were flashing and fists were striking at one another in a graceful underwater ballet before they both ran out of air and were forced to the surface.

  The two dark heads rose in a font of bubbles and glittering droplets. Varian hung there for a few treads but Gabriel turned and swam for shallower water. He emerged, dripping and laughing, then stood doubled over at the waist while he fought to catch his breath.

  Varian slogged into knee-deep water behind him, the sword still clenched warily in his fist.

  “A draw,” Gabriel gasped. “It must be declared a draw, sir, for I would hate to have to run you through after such a fine display.”

  “Only if you will concede my motives were not what you thought.”

  Gabriel prodded gingerly at his jawline, moving his chin to and fro to ensure it still functioned properly. “I will concede you have a sweet fist. I damn near bit off my tongue. As for the other, proof of your motives is not owed to me.”

  Both men glanced into the shadows where they had last seen Juliet, but she was gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Varian slapped the side of his neck, killing one of the tiny buzzards that was gnawing at his flesh. As irksome as the insects had been on the climb up to the summit, the sun was well down in the western sky and they were like cannibals now, swarming around his head and shoulders in a dark cloud.

  Juliet had not waited for them, and the path Gabriel took back led around the eastern slope, taking them past several batteries of black, long-snouted cannon. There were two men posted at each emplacement but that, Dante casually explained, could increase within minutes to half a hundred at the ringing of the alarm bell.

  Once they were past the guns and making their way along the ledge that ran parallel to the channel, th
e vegetation thickened considerably. Through the palms and tangled vines of oleander, Varian caught glimpses of the water, noting that they were still fairly high up the side of the sheer wall. Here, the view and the perspective were much different from those from the deck of a ship passing through, for he could see where the path widened frequently into terraces, where men with muskets could stand in the camouflaged gallery and shoot down on any vessel that made it past the cannon emplacements. Looking down into water that was clear as gin, he could also see where thick cables had been woven into nets and rested flat on the bottom. On a signal, they could be drawn up and fixed tight to stanchions on either side of the passage, trapping any intruders in the middle.

  Varian slapped again and spared a scowl at Gabriel’s broad back. The younger Dante did not seem to be bothered by the fog of gnats; he kept to a fast pace and only slowed when he knew they were approaching a sentry post. His clothes were as wet as the dark curls of his hair, and his boots squeaked with moisture at every step. Despite the ready wit he displayed in the cave, he did not appear to have too much to say while they walked, and only spoke if asked a specific question.

  “Your ship,” Varian ventured at one point. “It is … the Tribute?”

  “The Valour.”

  “A regal name.”

  Gabriel stopped so suddenly, Varian almost walked up his heels. “Near the end, just before we went for a soaking, you did something with your wrist. An imbrocade that followed through with a quarter twist. A pinch more pressure and you could easily have broken the tension in my wrist and sent the blade spinning out of my hand. You had the advantage, sir, but did not press it.”

  Varian would have answered but for the bug that flew into his mouth the moment he opened it.

  “If you thought to win me as an ally to your cause, you were mistaken. Had you followed through, disarmed me honestly, then put the blade to my throat and held it there until I conceded the point, you would have scored higher.”