by Dudley Pope
Aurelia nodded. “He made me too cross to try to find clothes for him. Anyway, I don’t think we have anyone as fat as that on board.”
Chapter Thirteen
At noon Ned led the Griffin’s men into the plaza. Groups of buccaneers from other ships still roamed through the town, occasionally breaking into a house but more often just drinking spirits from bottles and casks. In one street several men had set up a cask and were refilling the mug of any man that passed. The town, Ned noted, smelled like a bonfire doused with water: burned houses reeked like piles of wet charcoal.
He arrived at the plaza with the mayor, who was still barefooted and in his nightshirt, unshaven and pale-faced, his eyes flicking round him, as if wary that a cutlass could jab at him from any direction.
The group of citizens were standing in the same place, waiting for him. Ned counted them. Only eleven men.
“Where’s the twelfth man?” he demanded.
“He hasn’t come back,” one of the eleven said.
“I can see that,” Ned said, and gestured to some of his men.
They went over to the cotton tree and, starting off by climbing on to each other’s shoulders, they got up the tree and two of them scrambled out along a branch. Round the end of it, as far as they could reach out, they tied a block, reeved a rope through it, and dropped the two ends down to the men waiting on the ground below.
As the men aloft climbed down, so a man on the ground tied a noose in one end of the rope, while several of the others picked up the other end and walked a few feet with it, until the noose was shoulder high.
As soon as they had finished, Ned gestured towards them and said to the eleven: “You–” he pointed to the most prosperous-looking of them, “–go over to that tree and put your head in the noose.” He took out his watch and examined it. “Yes, you–” he pointed to the youngest-looking of the men, “–have ten minutes to find the missing man. If you fail, then the men holding that rope will walk away from the tree and your neighbour will be hauled up head-first to the bough.”
While the young man hurried from the group the prosperous-looking man sighed and fainted. Ned gestured to the other men to attend him, and turned to the mayor.
“You’ll end up in that noose if they don’t pay your ransom. Say a few prayers that your neighbours value you.”
In fewer than ten minutes the young man was back with the missing citizen, who was white-faced and trembling. He looked at his neighbour, who by now had been revived and was standing under the tree with the noose round his neck.
“What happened to you?” Ned asked politely.
“I – well, I was detained.”
“Indeed? You nearly caused the death of your friend,” Ned said, gesturing towards the tree. He took out his watch and examined it again. “Yes, another four minutes would have done it. It’s not long, four minutes.”
He waved as he saw Thomas come into the plaza at the head of a score of buccaneers, and while Thomas came over to join him Ned said to the group of Spaniards: “You have the ransom?”
Three of them spoke at once, and Ned held up his hand to silence them and pointed at one man to be the spokesman.
“No, we haven’t been able to find the money,” the man said, looking first at the tree and then down at the ground. “Not nearly that money.”
“How unfortunate,” Ned said softly. “Well, if you say you can’t find it, that’s an end of the matter. Since you will now all hang, we might as well start with that fellow who has the noose round his neck. He can be first and the mayor last. That makes you the thirteenth,” Ned said to the mayor, who groaned piteously and started saying prayers in a low, trembling voice.
“You can’t do that!” exclaimed the man chosen as spokesman. “That’s murder!”
“Some of your people murdered eight villagers in Jamaica,” Ned said. “I’ll hang eight of you first and then we’ll have a pause before we finish off the last five.”
“But you’ve given us no time to find the money!”
“You had two hours or more.”
“We need more time,” the man grumbled.
Ned spoke in English to Thomas, translating what had been said so far. Thomas had no sympathy. “String that fellow up,” he growled. “The sight of him kicking about at the end of a rope might change their minds.”
Ned turned back to the men. “Well, my friend and I agree: no ransom means you don’t value your mayor, so he will be hanged. But,” Ned added ominously and speaking very slowly and distinctly, “he’ll be hanged last. He’ll have the pleasure of watching the twelve citizens who did not value him being hoisted up to the bough first.”
The spokesman took a step forward, his arms held out appealingly. “What can we say?”
“You can say ‘Goodbye’,” Ned said helpfully. “But you are wasting time; we’ll start with the fellow who already has his head in the noose.”
“But please,” the spokesman exclaimed, “give us more time!”
“Can you find the ransom if you have more time?” Ned asked.
“We can try!”
Ned stared at them. “I suspect you are just humbugging me, but I’ll give you one more chance. I’ll let you go, one at a time and with two of my men escorting you, and you’ll come back with as much money and plate as you can find. When the last man is back we’ll add it all up, and if it comes to the ransom, you all will go free, taking the mayor with you. If you are short – of even one piece of eight – you’ll all hang. And, of course, forfeit the money and plate.”
He eyed the spokesman. “You can be the first to go.” He called over a couple of buccaneers and gave them their orders, and the three men trotted out of the plaza.
“This is a gigantic game of bluff,” Thomas commented in English.
Ned shook his head vigorously. “Oh no, I’m not bluffing,” he said. “The tackle is rigged, the block is turning freely, and we already have the first neck in the noose. Oh no, I’m not bluffing. Nor do I think our Spanish friends think I am.”
“No, they’re sure they’re done for,” Thomas said. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you so bloodthirsty before.”
“No, you haven’t, but I’m going to put an end to the Spaniards murdering our people and burning their villages, and this is the only way to do it.”
By now the sun was directly overhead and men cast hardly any shadow. Ned felt as if the sun was beating him. “I am going to wait under the shadow of that tree,” he announced. “Come and join me. It’ll be a famous tree in Santa Lucia’s history if these people don’t pay up. I wonder what they’ll call it.”
“Not a lot of choice,” Thomas said cheerfully. “Noose, hangman, gibbet tree…that’s about it.”
Ned sat down on the ground and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. He gestured towards the man standing with his head in the noose. “There’s a fellow who doesn’t think I’m bluffing,” he told Thomas.
“Nothing like feeling the noose round your neck for believing you’re going to be hanged,” Thomas said. “Especially if you have any imagination.”
Ned felt his eyelids getting heavy. “I’m going to doze for a few minutes; wake me when the men come back.”
Thomas nudged him a few minutes later. “Here they come,” he said.
Ned walked back across the plaza to where the man stood between the two buccaneers. “You managed to find something?”
The man gestured to the small sack one of the buccaneers was carrying. “In there – all I have,” he said in a strangled voice.
“Tip it out,” Ned told the seamen, who shook out half a dozen gold plates, several mugs, a crucifix, and what must have been three or four hundred pieces of eight.
Ned pointed to another of the group. “Now you,” he said in Spanish, adding in English instructions for the two seamen.
“This is going to take all night, sending ’em off one at a time,” he said. “I’ll send a couple more as well.”
He gave orders in Spanish to the two men, and in English to the four buccaneers who were to escort them.
“Supposing they end up just a little short?” Thomas asked.
“We’ll give them the benefit of it,” Ned said. “Likewise if they end up with more than we’re asking, we’ll leave the balance with them. After all, we mustn’t get the buccaneers a bad name!”
As the men were sent off three at a time, and came back with their buccaneer escorts, the pile of gold began to grow larger. Gold cutlery joined gold plates, some men produced three or four crucifixes, two of them had swords with gold hilts inlaid with precious stones, all of them had many gold coins.
Ned looked round for the Griffin’s bosun, who had brought a pair of scales. “You might as well start weighing up the plate,” he said. “But keep a careful tally.”
The Santa Lucia citizens who had already brought their valuables watched as the bosun held up the scales after putting gold in one pan and a weight in the other. Sometimes he added extra weights to make the scales balance; occasionally he exchanged a piece of plate for something heavier or lighter. Each time he finally spoke a weight, which was written down by a buccaneer crouching beside him.
Ned could hear the figures, and murmured to Thomas: “Unless these last two or three let us down, I think we’ll have it.”
“No hangings, eh?” Thomas commented.
“We could hang this poor fellow who has been waiting so patiently with his head in the noose,” Ned said jokingly. “I’m sure by now he’s made his peace with his Maker!”
“By all means hang a few of them,” Thomas said, running his finger round the inside of his collar. “After all, they’ve kept us waiting long enough in this hot sun.”
But the last three men did not bring enough: there was little plate and few coins. Ned watched it all being weighed and counted, and then shook his head sadly.
“I said the ransom was forty thousand pieces of eight, or the equivalent, and you have produced only thirty-eight thousand. That’s much too short. By the way,” he said, as though it was an afterthought, “do any of you want a priest?”
They all did, and they told Ned where to find him. Ned sent a couple of buccaneers off to fetch him, telling them not to worry about explanations; just bring the man, by force if necessary.
Ned turned to the men again. “As soon as the priest arrives, he had better attend to that one over there first,” he said, indicating the man at the noose.
The mayor was whimpering something and a few moments passed before Ned realized what he was saying. He turned on the man. “We are two thousand pieces of eight short. Are you saying you can provide the difference?”
“I think so; I don’t know how much the plate will weigh. It should be enough,” he said, with something approaching eagerness.
Ned gave orders to three buccaneers and then said to the mayor: “Go with these men. Search your house well. You’ve seen the tree and you’ve seen the noose.”
“Oh indeed, indeed,” the mayor exclaimed and hobbled off, the sharp stones obviously agony because of his bare feet.
Ned translated to Thomas what had just passed. “First time I’ve ever heard of a man paying his own ransom,” Thomas said. “Still, his gold is as good as anyone else’s.”
The mayor and the buccaneers came back fifteen minutes later, two of the buccaneers holding sacks, which they tipped out on the ground.
Ned realized that the mayor must be the wealthiest man in Santa Lucia, and Thomas murmured: “Our fellows didn’t search his house very well.”
One of the buccaneers emptying the sack looked up at Thomas. “Had it all well hidden, sir. Secret hole under the floor of one of the rooms in his house.”
“Did you–”
“Yes, the floors in all the other rooms,” the man said with a grin. “Come up easy, they did. ‘Mazing how the sight of gold doubles your muscles!”
The bosun held up his scales and began weighing the various items. After his helper had written down the weights, the bosun counted up the coins.
Then he gave the total to Ned and the mayor sighed and collapsed when Ned translated it into Spanish.
“They faint easily, don’t they?” Thomas said unsympathetically. “That’s just about enough, isn’t it?”
“It’ll do,” Ned said. “When the mayor has recovered – ah, he’s opening his eyes – we’ll tell them all, and let that fellow take his neck out of the noose.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sir Harold Luce tugged at the end of his tobacco-stained moustaches as he looked at Ned and Thomas across the table. “Do sit down,” he said politely, remembering their last visit. “Welcome back to Port Royal. Did you have a successful voyage?”
“Yes, we achieved what we set out to do,” Ned said.
“Do tell me about it.”
“We went to Santa Lucia, raided it, set fire to a score of houses and ransomed the mayor. And gave the leading citizens a warning for Havana.”
Sir Harold’s sharp black eyes started to shine. “Oh ho, you ransomed the mayor, eh? For a good price?”
“For more than he was worth,” Ned said contemptuously.
“You will of course be paying the ransom into the Treasury,” Luce said.
Ned paused for a few moments. Pay the ransom into the Treasury? Was the man making an elaborate joke or was he serious? Well, he had no sense of humour, so one had to assume he was serious.
“I don’t have the ransom any more,” Ned said casually. And that was quite true: the purchase had been divided up before the ships left Santa Lucia: so much for each ship, and the captains had taken away the shares to divide up among their men. Within a few hours, Ned reflected, the first of the purchase would be spent in Port Royal’s taverns and brothels; just as soon as the men could get ashore with the spoils in their pockets. Kinnock, the pawnbroker, would be doing a flourishing business as the men sold plate, cutlery and other items which had been their share of the purchase. Kinnock, he thought, was probably one of the richest men in the island. Certainly the most mercenary; he thought only of money; the most beautiful gold jewellery meant nothing to him but a price in pieces of eight; nothing wrought in precious metals had beauty, only weight.
Luce was frowning now. “You don’t have the ransom? What do you mean? Where is it?”
“Oh dear,” Ned sighed, “the fact is you still don’t understand how the buccaneers work. For a start a buccaneer is just like any other businessman. O’Leary has his chandlery, Kinnock his pawnshop. A buccaneer captain his ship.
“Instead of hiring men to work for him in his business, he tells men they can come and work for him without pay, but they get a share of the profits. The profits are the purchase won in a raid.
“No purchase means no profit for the captain and no shares for his men. But men must eat, a ship needs new rope and sails and paint, and the captain can expect a fair return on the money he has invested in his ship.”
Luce said impatiently: “I can understand all that.”
“Very well,” Ned said. “An expedition to Santa Lucia costs money. Food for the men, cordage and canvas for the ship, powder, shot… The captains paid these costs when the expedition started because they were betting on there being purchase to reimburse them. Had there been no purchase, then they would have been unlucky; they would have lost money. But there was purchase – thanks mainly to the ransom – so the captains have got their outlay back and a profit, and the men have in effect been paid. So there is no question of paying ransom into the Treasury.”
“Oh yes there is,” Luce said stubbornly. “You and your men went on this expedition with commissions which I issued. If you sail with commissions issued b
y the governor of Jamaica, it stands to reason that you must pay for those commissions by paying some of the ransom. Not all of it,” Luce said expansively, with a show of reasonableness. “The captains can deduct their expenses, and you can allow the men the same pay a day that a seaman in one of the coastal vessels gets.”
He rubbed his hands together, as if washing them. “There, that seems a fair arrangement. Let me have a list of expenses and the total number of seamen, and we’ll work out the total and deduct that from the ransom. How much did you receive?”
Ned felt himself getting angry. The anger was flooding him in surges, like a rising tide. Luce knew well enough how the buccaneers worked: he was just trying to cheat them.
“I’ve already told Your Excellency that the ransom has been distributed. Neither the captains nor the men would have sailed on any payment-by-the-day basis: they have no loyalty to Jamaica, remember.”
“Well, they should have,” Luce snapped. “Anyway, that’s the end of the commissions.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“They are cancelled,” Luce said coldly. “If the Treasury isn’t to get its share of the purchase, then there is no point in you having commissions.”
“But you agreed they would be permanent when you gave them out – permanent unless you have orders from the Privy Council.”
“I have changed my mind,” Luce said, with more than a hint of a flounce in his voice.
“So you have no further use for the buccaneers?” Ned asked.
“I can see no further need for them,” Luce said airily.
The tone of his voice sent cold shivers down Ned’s back. “I suggest you think again,” Ned said calmly.
“I’ve no need to; I’ve already made my decision,” Luce said.
“You’ve made your decision based on Cuba,” Ned said. “Thanks to our raid on Santa Lucia, you think there will be no more raids on Jamaica from Cuba. But you forget the Main. You forget that the biggest Spanish base is at Cartagena. Cuba is of no consequence compared with the Main.”