by Tim Severin
‘Sometimes it is wiser to adapt to changing circumstances,’ said Hector, hoping the ensign would pick up the hint.
Fortunately the Spanish ensign had a thirst for tales of exotic adventure, and for the rest of the journey he plied his visitor with questions. Hector found himself describing his days in the service of a Turkish corsair operating out of Algiers and how he had been taken prisoner by the French, working first in the royal galley yard in Marseille and later chained to the oar bench until he was shipwrecked on the coast of Morocco. Discreetly he said nothing of the time he had then spent as a buccaneer in the Pacific, and he made no mention of his search for Maria. He judged it was a topic that would require careful introduction.
By the time the little piragua reached the landing stage at Valdivia, the atmosphere between himself and the ensign was relaxed and friendly.
It was clear that a great deal of money had been spent on Valdivia. An imposing defensive wall had been built of massive cut stone, with bastions at each corner, a ditch, and embrasures for cannon and musketeers. Beyond the city gate, the city planners had laid out wide streets and numerous plazas. But, as Hector walked up the main avenue with Carvalho and the two soldiers, he had the impression that the town had yet to fulfil its ambitious design. The roadway itself was unpaved, many of the subdivisions were empty plots that had not yet been built upon, and several large public buildings of brick and stucco had been left half-finished. There were surprisingly few people to be seen. Those he did encounter were going about the everyday business of any small town: mothers with their children picking over the local produce at food stalls or sorting through barrows heaped with second-hand clothes, idlers gossiping on street corners, a few tradesmen carrying their tools on their way to work. He supposed the occasional passer-by with lank black hair, a broad high-cheeked face and wearing a long fringed cloak of animal skin was from the local Indian tribe. He saw no evidence of any unusual prosperity and wondered if Captain Swan would be disappointed in his hope of lucrative commerce. As far as Hector could tell, the bulk of the goods being offered for sale were farm tools and cords of firewood.
They reached the main plaza and arrived before a tall double-fronted building. Set over the main doorway was a stone slab carved with Spain’s royal coat of arms. They entered, and Carvalho asked Hector to wait while he went ahead to find his uncle the Governor and inform him of their arrival.
Hector had expected some delay before he was granted an interview. But in less than five minutes Carvalho was ushering him through the building and out into a pleasantly shaded walled courtyard at the rear. It was a very informal scene. Trellised across the far wall was a luxuriant climbing plant with deep-green leaves and star-shaped blossoms of a delicate purple. Rose bushes grew out of half a dozen large earthenware pots arranged on the flagstones. From one corner came the sound of trickling water where a stone spout dribbled into a small pond covered with water lilies. Seated beside a low table was a small, grey-haired man neatly dressed in an old-fashioned dark-velvet doublet and knee breeches. He was peeling an apple. To add a further touch of domesticity two large, hairy dogs lay dozing at their master’s feet.
‘This is Señor Hector Lynch. He brings the letter from the foreign ship,’ explained the ensign. Turning to Hector, he said, ‘May I introduce my uncle, Don Alonso, the Governor of Valdivia.’
Without rising from his chair and still holding the apple, the small man looked up at Hector with bright interest. Hector was reminded of the sharp scrutiny of a blackbird disturbed while foraging.
‘Tell me about your vessel,’ said the Governor affably. He made no effort at formality.
‘The vessel is the Cygnet from Bristol. Her captain, Charles Swan, wishes to trade.’
‘Bristol is in England, is it not?’ The Governor dropped a curl of apple peel on a blue and white plate on the table beside him, and carefully began to cut himself a slice from the fruit.
‘Yes, in England.’
‘Your captain knows that we are forbidden to trade with foreigners?’
‘He was on his way to the East Indies …’
The Governor interrupted with a wave of his paring knife. ‘Please, Señor Lynch, my nephew has already told me of this fable. We can dispense with it, as no one believes it.’
Hector coughed and began again. ‘Captain Swan is genuine in his desire for peaceful trade. He has written you this letter, which explains everything.’ He held out the sealed despatch from Swan. The Governor took it, prised open the seal with his fruit knife and unfolded the parchment. Belatedly Hector realized that Swan would have written it in English. It was unlikely Don Alonso would be able to read the contents.
The Governor barely flicked his eyes over the writing before returning the parchment to Hector.
‘My nephew tells me that you have excellent Castilian. Please be good enough to read out what is said.’
Hector began to translate. ‘To His Excellency the Governor of Valdivia, greetings …’
‘Yes, yes,’ interrupted Don Alonso with a sigh. ‘Leave out the compliments. Just give me the gist of the contents.’
Hector quickly ran his eyes down the page. He decided it was best to proceed straight to Swan’s request that the ship be allowed to enter harbour, and then read out the list of goods he had for sale.
When he had finished detailing the last of the inventory – apparently the Cygnet’s cargo included a stock of black-velvet caps, serge, silk, ribbons and knives – Hector paused. The Governor instantly picked up on the hesitation.
‘What else has your captain to say to me?’ he asked.
Hector cleared his throat. He was shocked by what Swan had written in the final paragraph of his letter. Reluctantly he continued, ‘Captain Swan wishes to inform His Excellency that an English pirate ship is cruising in this area,’ he said. He was stunned by Swan’s perfidy.
The Governor settled himself more comfortably on his chair. ‘Please read out to me your captain’s exact words.’
Hector had to concentrate as he delivered an accurate translation of Swan’s treachery. ‘The captain writes: “I feel it is my duty to report that two weeks ago in latitude fifty I encountered a vessel, the Bachelor’s Delight. The vessel is armed with thirty-two guns and sails under a false flag. Her captain, one John Cook, is English. I suspect him of being a bloody and known pirate. He claimed to be en route for the island of Juan Fernandez, but is clearly seeking plunder.” ’
Hector stopped reading and raised his eyes from the despatch. The Governor regarded him thoughtfully.
‘I see from your expression you find it shameful that your Captain Swan is so eager to open trade that he informs against his own countrymen,’ observed the Governor quietly.
There was a short silence. Then Don Alonso spoke as if Swan’s disloyalty was of no importance. ‘Señor Lynch, some of those trade goods on board the Cygnet could be of interest to our merchants. We have not received a supply ship for several months.’ The Governor turned to his nephew. ‘You say that the ship has anchored in the mouth of the gulf?’
‘Off the Niebla battery,’ answered the young man.
‘Then send word to the fort that she may remain there. I will consult the merchants of the Consulado and discuss which goods we might buy and what we may offer in exchange.’ Addressing Hector, he added in a friendly tone, ‘Perhaps you will be kind enough to pen a note to Captain Swan to advise him that we are prepared to consider his proposal. My nephew can carry the message back to the ship tomorrow morning.’
Hector allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief. Everything had gone more smoothly than he had dared to hope. Now was the moment to find out about Maria.
‘I will be happy to write such a letter. Meanwhile …’ he deliberately left the sentence unfinished.
‘Yes? Is there anything I can do?’ asked the Governor. His tone was solicitous.
Hector took a deep breath. ‘Would you be able to tell me where I might find His Excellency Don Fernando de Costana? He w
as formerly the Alcalde of the Real Sala del Crimen of Paita, but I believe he has been advanced to a higher office.’
As the words left his mouth, Hector felt a twinge of anxiety. He sensed a very brief, subtle change in the Governor’s manner. It lasted only a heartbeat, but a shadow flickered across the little man’s features.
‘You know Don Fernando?’ enquired the Governor.
Hector was ready with his reply. ‘A member of his household is a distant relation on my mother’s side.’ It was a lie, but a plausible one.
The Governor appeared to be distracted by the blade of his paring knife. He was turning it this way and that, as if to catch the glint from the sun.
‘Of course I am familiar with the name and reputation of the Alcalde. But I have never met him. I will be glad to make enquiries and try to learn his whereabouts.’
He put down the knife and smiled. ‘Señor Lynch, it is too late for you to return to your ship. I will arrange for a room to be prepared so that you can stay overnight. And if you would be my guest at dinner this evening, I would be honoured. Meanwhile I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Ensign Carvalho.’
The little man rose to his feet and murmured to the two dogs. They rose, stretched and followed their master into the main building, leaving Hector with the uneasy feeling there was something he’d failed to notice.
‘I’m glad my uncle has taken a liking to you, Hector,’ said Carvalho, leading the way indoors. ‘You’ll find he is kind-hearted and sincere. He’s been a parent figure to me ever since my own father died two years ago.’
He brought Hector to a room that was evidently a clerk’s office. There was a desk and writing materials, and Hector spent a few moments writing a report to Captain Swan explaining the satisfactory outcome of his visit. Then, after handing the note to Carvalho, he followed the ensign upstairs to find a bedroom ready for him. Already laid out were fresh clothes, and a tub of hot water stood in the adjoining bathroom. After Carvalho had taken his leave, Hector stripped off and lay soaking in the tub, wondering how long it would be before the Governor would have news of Maria’s whereabouts. At length, grateful to be getting rid of nearly three months’ accumulation of grime and sea salt, he heard a knock on the door and a servant summoning him to dine with the Governor.
He descended the staircase to find Don Alonso waiting in a small side room, where a table had been laid for two people. ‘Ensign Carvalho has already gone to contact the members of the Consulado,’ said the Governor genially. ‘So this evening the two of us will be dining alone. I don’t often have visitors, and never before someone who has sailed around the Cape.’
The meal was excellent, a dish of small, succulent oysters followed by delicious beef, and the easy-going, convivial Governor did most of the talking: Valdivia suffered from being very distant from the seat of government in Lima; there had been difficulties with the local Indian tribe, the Mapuche; early hopes of finding silver and gold had been dashed, but there was ample lumber and a potential trade in cattle; it was his intention to make sure the city flourished . .. and so on.
As the evening progressed, Hector found that he grew more and more drowsy. Partly it was the reassuring sensation of being back on dry land after so many weeks at sea. Partly it was the effect of the local wine. It had a slightly resinous flavour, which the Governor assured him was an acquired taste, even as he refilled their glasses yet again. By the time the dessert was served – a concoction of apricots, quince and whipped cream of which Jacques would have been proud – Hector could barely keep his eyes open. The Governor, noting that his guest was growing sleepy, summoned a house servant to escort the young man safely to his room. Hector climbed the stairs, undressed and fell gratefully into bed.
HE AWOKE with a start. His head was aching from the wine, and his eyelids were gummed together. From the angle of sunlight flooding in through the narrow window, he judged it was nearly midday. He rose and found his borrowed clothes where he had dropped them. His own shirt and breeches were missing, and he supposed that they had been taken away for washing. A tray of food had been placed on a table near the door, and he gratefully ate the bread and fresh fruit. A pleasant surprise was the small jug of chocolate. The fact that the drink was barely warm told him how badly he had overslept. He washed and dressed and went to the door.
He was surprised to find it locked. Crossing the room, he leaned out of the window. Below was the courtyard where the Governor had interviewed him the previous afternoon. But there was no one about. Puzzled, he went back to the door and tried it again. It did not budge. Thinking that whoever had brought the tray of food had locked it by mistake on leaving, he banged on the door with his fist and called out, hoping to attract someone’s attention. There was no response. He returned to the window and tried shouting out of it. The only result was that one of the Governor’s large, rangy dogs loped around a corner and gazed up at his window. Then the creature turned and padded away, ignoring him. Hector sat down on the bed to decide on his course of action.
The door was solidly constructed from a dark, heavy timber. The hinges were of forged iron and opened inwards. He couldn’t see how he’d be able either to force the door open or smash through the panels. He checked the window. It was possible to squeeze through, but then he’d be faced with a thirty-foot drop to the flagstones of the yard. There was no handhold, or even a bush to break his fall. He was still sufficiently uncertain of his situation not to want to be found lying in the courtyard with a twisted ankle.
The wisest course was simply to wait and see what happened. He stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
After a while he thought he heard movement. Someone came quietly to the door and stood outside. He lay still and quiet. A moment or two later he heard the person tiptoe away, then the creak of the stairs. The silence returned.
It was well into the afternoon when he finally heard firm steps approaching the door. There was the rattle of a key in the lock and, when the door swung open, Hector was on his feet, ready to face whoever was there. In the doorway were the same two uniformed soldiers who had escorted him the previous day.
‘What’s happening?’ he asked, both puzzled and angry.
‘Come with us,’ was the flat answer.
Flanked by the two guards, he was taken down the stairs to the entrance hall and along a passageway to large double doors, which opened into what was clearly a council chamber. At its centre stood a long, well-polished table flanked by a score of chairs with ornately carved backs. The whitewashed walls were hung with formal portraits, including one of the Spanish king. In one corner of the room was an altar surmounted by a large crucifix.
But the sight that held his immediate attention was the figure of Jezreel. His friend stood next to one of the tall windows, the light falling full on him. His wrists were bound in front of him, his shirt was ripped so that it hung off his back and there was a blood-stained bandage around his neck. The enormous ex-prizefighter regarded Hector with an expression of both relief and exasperation.
‘Jezreel!’ Hector burst out.
‘Ambushed,’ grunted Jezreel. He had a badly swollen right eye, and his lip was cut.
‘Your friend is extremely difficult to subdue,’ murmured Don Alonso. Hector swung round to find the Governor standing quietly to one side of the room. ‘The intention was to capture your ship, Señor Lynch. But we failed.’
The Governor’s manner was as friendly and gracious as he’d been at dinner the previous evening. By contrast his nephew, standing beside him, looked less at ease.
‘You said you were willing to trade,’ said Hector heatedly.
The Governor allowed himself an apologetic smile. ‘Impossible, I’m afraid. The Viceroy’s edict is quite clear on that subject.’
‘Then why ask me to write to Captain Swan?’
Don Alonso made a slight dismissive gesture. ‘The note proved to be unnecessary. In the event, Luis here was able to attract a boat ashore from Captain Swan’s ship by wearin
g your clothes and standing where he could be seen.’
‘It fooled me,’ growled Jezreel. ‘I thought it was you and volunteered for the launch to get you. They jumped us the moment we set foot on the beach.’
‘But for the bravery of your friend here, the ambush would have succeeded,’ confessed the Governor. ‘He held us off long enough for the rest of his party to get away in their boat. My men claim they shot and wounded several of the pirates as they fled.’
Hector’s thoughts were in turmoil. ‘But the Cygnet is a genuine merchant ship. You could have refused to trade and merely turned her away. There was no need to attack.’
The Governor shook his head sadly. ‘Señor Lynch, I was dealing with pirates.’
‘You have no proof of that.’ Hector was despondent.
‘I had all the proof I needed from the moment you asked for the Alcalde.’
Hector didn’t understand. ‘Don Fernando de Costana?’
‘Señor Lynch, you underrate the machinery and intelligence of our government. In Valdivia we may be at the farthest end of the viceroyalty, but everyone knows of the Alcalde and how his wife was kidnapped at sea. We have been told to be on our guard, to keep watch for the culprits. Little is known of them, but for the man who acted as their interpreter when negotiating the ransom. He is described as being about twenty years old, with dark hair, eyes possibly hazel or light brown, courteous and well educated, and speaking excellent Castilian with a slight trace of a Galician accent. You should be flattered.’
Hector felt light-headed and foolish. He was dismayed that his past had been uncovered with such apparent ease.
‘What’s happened to the Cygnet?’ he asked.
‘She put out to sea the moment the launch returned to her. Unfortunately she was out of range of the batteries.’ The Governor sighed. ‘Now I have to deal with two pirate vessels in the area, maybe more. I have no ships capable of tackling them. That is why I’d hoped to capture the Cygnet and turn her against the other.’
Hector tried to gather his thoughts. The Cygnet was gone, taking Dan and Jacques with her. He and Jezreel were in the hands of the Spanish authorities, and his identity was known. His situation could hardly have been bleaker.