The other prisoner was telling them that he saw his neighbor stash his gold in a cistern.
I frowned toward his wailing.
Gaston patted my cheek. His eyes were kind, in opposition to his words. “Will, if we had lost that battle on the plain, and the Brethren had withdrawn, these Spaniards would have subjected our wounded to horrors far beyond this, and the townspeople would have stood about and watched.”
“And cheered, most probably,” I sighed. “Though some would say they would be within their rights, as we came here to attack them and they did naught to us. Non, do not misinterpret me. I do not feel these people are innocents. Yet, some amongst them may be lost sheep. Some may deserve mercy in my eyes, and this is all so arbitrary. If I must kill, I prefer to kill a man I know, not a nameless, faceless enemy. I want a catalog of a man’s sins before I run him through. And I…” I thought of Vincente in Florence. “I have killed at the behest of others and for gold far too often. I find it no longer sits well with me.”
“I am of two minds on the matter,” Gaston frowned. “And I do not know if it is due to my madness or not. The Horse surely takes no issue with killing, but it does not wish to kill because of another’s whim.”
Striker approached. Behind him, I saw Morgan eyeing us.
“Morgan wishes to speak with you. He wants you to talk to the ones in the church,” Striker said.
I shrugged, and we walked over to join Morgan, Bradley, and the Lilly’s captain, Norman.
We were now closer to the prisoners. The man who claimed to know the whereabouts of his neighbor’s gold had been released and was being trussed so that he could lead men to the treasure.
Morgan’s gaze flicked over the Spaniard and then moved to Gaston and me.
“Striker says you wish for me to speak to those inside,” I said.
“Aye, aye,” Morgan shrugged and leaned close to me to drape a companionable arm over my shoulder and speak quietly. He smelled of garlic and wine.
“Tell me, does the maroon’s translation seem adequate?” he asked.
I had not heard Julio referred to as a maroon in so long it took me several moments to discover who he was speaking of. “It has been my experience that Julio’s Castilian is far better than mine, and his English is better than that of most of the men we sail with. I am quite sure he is more than capable for the task at hand. He is literate in both languages, as well.”
“Truly?” Morgan asked.
“Truly,” I said without expression.
“I did not know the Spaniards taught their bastard savages to read,” he remarked.
I did little to hide my annoyance. “Julio was taught by a Jesuit priest. He is a fine man and I am honored to call him friend.”
Morgan regarded me with a cunning smile. “What would your father say of such sentiments, I wonder?”
“I give you leave to ask him,” I said flatly.
Morgan chortled appreciatively, and dismissed our exchange with a wave. “Well, since he is as he is, I do not think the Spanish will be kindly disposed toward me if I send a former slave in to speak with them.”
“I agree,” I sighed, and awarded him a smile. “So, what do you wish for me to say to them?”
He gestured at the small mound of treasure. “We are not finding what we need, and this method is proving fruitless as well. I wish to ransom the town. I wish to send a delegation in search of the wealth we require.”
Hadsell, the captain who had suggested Puerto del Principe, was standing nearby, overseeing the interrogation.
“It appears Hadsell overestimated their wealth,” I said.
Morgan sighed, “So it would seem. I feel his leading us here had more to do with revenge than greed, though he was correct about the place being rich with cattle and hides. Little ready money, though.”
“Hatred often walks hand in hand with poverty,” I said.
He shrugged. “Aye, but of greed and revenge, one pays; the other doesn’t. We should have gone for Havana.”
I grinned. “You are mad. I will see what can be done.”
I left him smiling, and Gaston and I went to the church. We left our muskets and pistols with the men guarding the door, and cautiously stepped into the darkness beyond. I could feel the eyes upon me long before my own became accustomed to the dimness.
The church was not a grand cathedral, but it was large and had been built to hold the entire town. Now it did, at least what we had found of the survivors. I could not see most of them, though, for the line of men before us. They were eyeing one another speculatively, no doubt wondering who would be interrogated next.
I held my hands wide and addressed them in my best Castilian. “Be at peace for but a moment my good gentlemen. I am here to inquire as to whether a delegation of prominent citizens can be formed to meet with Admiral Morgan and carry a message for him beyond the town.”
A man stepped forward to ask, “What message?” He was incongruously both sharp-featured and portly. I thought I recognized his voice from the day we captured the place.
“Admiral Morgan wishes to ransom the town.” I said.
This set them all grumbling and cursing, though some sounded optimistic. Beyond the wall of men, I began to hear female voices of curiosity and hope.
While they talked, a priest emerged from behind them and approached us. “Please, my son, tell your admiral we require food and the skills of a surgeon. Our wounded are dying without care, and the children are starving.”
“You have not been given food?” I asked.
“No,” the priest said. “We have been given nothing but a cask of water.”
Apparently possessing sufficient Castilian to follow the request, Gaston asked at my elbow, “What became of their physicians?”
I relayed the question.
“Our physician died of an ailment last month. Our surgeon died in the battle,” the priest said. “We have midwives,” he added.
Several of the men behind him scoffed.
Gaston sighed and began to shed his blades. I knew he intended to walk in amongst them, and I could not allow it.
“Hold,” I said gently in French. “Let us do this in a manner that does not risk you, please.”
He stopped and nodded with resignation. I turned back to the prisoners.
“I will convey your needs to the Admiral and we will seek remedy for them. I am sorry… We did not intend to be here so long and…”
“Why have you stayed, then?” the portly sharp-nosed man asked.
“Because we have not found nearly enough treasure to make the journey worthwhile,” I said. “The sooner we do, the sooner we will leave. Now, I will talk to the Admiral. It would be in your best interests to decide upon a delegation.”
Outside, Morgan had been joined by several more captains and quartermasters. He watched expectantly as we approached.
“They are hungry and in need of a surgeon,” I told him.
“Are they making demands?” Morgan scoffed.
“Why not simply burn the church down around them and be done with it?” I snapped.
“Because that would make it very hard to send any for ransom or locate their gold,” he said, his own ire rising.
“Precisely,” I said.
He sighed.
“Bein’ hungry’ll help them find their tongues an’ gold,” another captain said.
“Aye, and someday I am sure someone will write of this and our exceedingly un-Christian conduct toward women and children,” I said expansively.
“We don’t have no food for them,” another captain said. “We’ve eaten it all. We’ve got hunters out now to bring in cattle for our men.”
“They shall have food once some is located,” Morgan said. “As for a surgeon….”
“I will do it,” Gaston said in English. “I am a physician.”
“We will need a few volunteers in addition to myself to watch over him while he works,” I added.
I looked to Striker, and he nodded.
/> “I will leave the matter to you, then,” Morgan said. “I will ask of the other surgeons. While you organize the relief of their suffering, what of my delegation?”
“I told them to discuss it and make a decision. I will bring them out.”
I returned to the church with Gaston, Pete, and several of our men, including Bones and Nickel.
We found four men standing ahead of the others. Their number included the portly sharp-nosed man.
He spoke for them. “Ask about; the priests will attest to it. We all have family here in this church and much to lose should we not return.”
I nodded somewhat distractedly, as Gaston was handing me his baldric and belt. “This man is a physician and we will have food for you as soon as some is located. Apparently, we have eaten all that was readily available.”
The delegates and the men near them eyed Gaston with disbelief.
“I do not jest,” I said. “I would suggest you allow him to tend your wounded. And I would strongly suggest that no malicious act occur to his person. If any harm befalls him, or is threatened, the retribution will be swift and bloody and spare none.”
“Your Admiral must prize his surgeons highly,” the portly sharp-nosed man said.
I met his gaze with fire in my own. “This has not a damn thing to do with Morgan.”
Portly looked from Gaston to me and frowned speculatively.
Gaston smiled. “You speak for the Gods,” he whispered to me in French.
I kissed him, just a chaste buss upon the corner of his mouth, but it was not a kiss between brothers.
The prisoners gasped and stood silent as one.
“I always wanted to do that in a church,” I whispered in French.
“Among other things?” he teased.
“Oui, though I feel we lack the time today,” I said with mock sorrow.
He smiled, and kissed me briefly, though he did take the time to find my tongue with his own for a short caress. “Get them to Morgan and return to translate for me.”
I glanced at Pete and the others as I turned to go: they were laughing.
“You be the Devil himself to ’em,” Bones said.
“Excellent,” I grinned.
“Worry not of Gaston,” Nickel said, “None will get behind him.”
Behind him, Pete’s gaze told me none would get behind any of them.
I thanked our friends and waved the delegates to me. “Let us go speak with the Admiral, then.”
They seemed ill-inclined to follow me anywhere, but Portly worked up his courage and stepped out, and the rest fell in behind.
Morgan adopted a self-important air as we approached. I introduced him in a courtly manner and allowed the Spanish to introduce themselves as I knew not their names. Thus I learned Portly was called Escoban, had been a captain in the army, and was now the town’s magistrate. The others were equally prominent in Puerto del Principe’s civil structure, and had much to lose. Morgan asked them to raise fifty thousand pieces of eight, or he would burn the town, not around their ears, just to the ground so that they had nothing left. They gasped and protested and said it would take weeks to raise that sum. Morgan gave them two days and horses. He assured them the interrogations would continue while they were gone, so the sooner they returned, the fewer the people who suffered.
They were off finally, and I was free to return to the church. A good hour had passed, and I was hungry. I smelled roasting beef somewhere nearby, and considered fetching some for Gaston but quickly dismissed it. It would not be polite to be seen eating until the prisoners were fed. So I asked about food for the Spanish. Morgan had forgotten, and most of the hunters were quite disgruntled when he ordered them to give up one of the carcasses. They delivered it still smoldering and partly raw to the church, and unceremoniously dumped it inside.
Thankfully, all the commotion had attracted others of our crew, and I was able to leave Liam and Otter to butchering the steer for the prisoners while Cudro watched over them. Now that I knew those around me would be fed, I went out and returned with a hunk of meat for Gaston and me, taken from another roasting animal: one that was done through.
When I returned, I faced the crowd before me with dismay. There were close to a thousand people, with more being brought in all the time as they were found on the ranches. I realized the one steer was not going to solve the hunger issue. I was appalled and filled with guilt. More than half of those present were women and children. Other than the hundred or so by the doors, the rest of the men were old, infirm, wounded, or adolescents.
I could not immediately see Gaston in the pool of humanity; but looking up, I could spy his angels, Nickel and Bones and two other men, in the architecture: perched so that they could rain musket fire down upon anyone below.
As I stood there, another set of families was delivered to the church. I guessed they had been hiding somewhere at an estate. The matrons had children ranging from adolescence through infancy. They clucked about as they stood in the doorway and their eyes became accustomed to the light. One of the children drew my eye because she was no longer a child, but a very pretty young lady who looked to be of marriageable age. The unmarred portions of her mud- and blood-smeared gown appeared surprisingly white in the shadows; and she staggered about, trying not to trip over those there before her, as she left her mother behind to work her way into the church, all the while calling for “Ernesto”.
I followed her path, looking for my own love.
When I found Gaston, he was amputating a gangrenous leg. I backed away and found myself surrounded by hungry eyes. I tore the meat I carried into smaller chunks and distributed it amongst the children.
Gaston was relieved to see me when at last I felt it was safe for my stomach to approach.
“Have you eaten?” I asked in quiet French. “I was bringing you food but…”
“I gave all the boucan and dried fruit I carried to the pregnant women,” he said irritably. “I am fine.”
He did not appear fine. He looked tired and strained.
“What may I do to aid you?” I asked.
He sighed in thought. “Ask the priests of the physician’s and surgeon’s houses. I need their apothecaries and anything else they had.”
I turned to a young priest and relayed Gaston’s question. All the priests looked relieved that the matter had been broached.
“All of the physician’s things were packed away until another one would come,” the first priest we had encountered said.
“Can you send someone with me to show me where?” I asked.
They discussed it amongst themselves and decided on a younger priest. Gaston listed the things he wished for and I despaired of finding them, even if they existed, unless they were well-labeled in Latin. I collected Cudro at the door, and assured the guards outside that we could handle one priest without needing to truss him.
At the physician’s house, we found everything packed away in several trunks. After pawing through them, I found my fears realized. The vials and jars and pots were not labeled in Latin, but by their initials in Castilian, and by a poor hand at that.
“I may as well attempt to decipher chicken scratches,” I told Cudro. “We had best take it all.”
He chuckled and went to get more men.
He returned with six of our men from the Queen, including Burroughs and Ash. We took the four chests to the church. I alone carried nothing, as it was felt the prisoner priest should not be left to walk about unfettered whilst we were all burdened. I thought this ludicrous, but did not argue.
As we walked, I told Cudro, “We will need to procure another steer or two as well.”
“For what?” Burroughs asked. “The bloody Spaniards? Let ‘em starve.”
It was much as I had heard when getting the first steer.
“Most of the prisoners in the church are women and children.” I said.
“They all look ta be fat. Goin’ without for a few days won’t kill ‘em,” Burroughs said. “It was how I li
ved as a child. There’s never enough food.”
I looked at the men around me and was reminded of Pete, who had not even known his father’s name or his own age, and then of the boys on the road to my uncle’s. I sighed and surrendered the field. I, who had rarely gone hungry, had little understanding of it. Still, I felt the way of the centaur surely involved aiding the weak.
Gaston was delighted with our four chests of treasure. He eschewed the labels and identified the contents by smell and sight. Once he knew what a thing was, he had me label it anew with ink the priests provided. Soon we were back to work. We amputated several more limbs, performed two surgeries, cauterized countless gashes that Gaston said would putrefy if sewn closed, and saw to a number of ailments not resulting from the battle.
All thanked and blessed him as he tended them. The priests worked tirelessly alongside us. Under Liam and Otter’s watchful eyes, they tended the small fire at the front of the church and the pot for boiling Gaston’s tools. They did not even argue at this curious procedure.
Through it all, I was his ears and mouth and second set of hands. Hours passed, and the light pouring through the stained glass windows waned. We began to work by lamplight. At last I noted with relief that the priests were no longer hurrying us along to another patient; we had nearly exhausted the supply.
Then there was a scream in the dark. Our men reached for weapons, and everyone else stilled to find out what the matter was. The young priest ran toward the sound into the back of the church. He returned a few moments later and said, “Come quickly.”
Gaston and I hurried to follow him. Our weaving path through the pews and aisles led to a family. I recognized the matron as one of those I had seen entering the church that morning. More importantly, I recognized the lovely young women whose head she now cradled in her lap.
The priest held out his lamp and the matron raised the blanket covering her daughter’s body. The spreading pool of blood would have been visible even in dimmer light.
“Senora, what has happened?” I asked.
“She was… she was… ruined…,” the woman sobbed.
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