"I thought you said there were no others?"
"Not from our ships. They were English. I saw them run up into the hills to hide when the bombardment started. I have heard them too, at night. Sometimes they creep down to find food and I shoot guns to scare them away."
Varian spoke up for the first time. "Prisoners? Did they take away many prisoners?"
"I did not see with mine own eyes, señor, but si. I overheard boastful talk of Capitán Recalde having captured the pirata lobo and taking him to Barranquilla."
Jonas tensed visibly at the mention of the name, but he let it pass for the moment. "Did you say Barranquilla?"
The Spaniard nodded, showing an eagerness to please now. "There were others… in manacles and chains… I did not have enough fingers or toes to count them."
"And they were being taken to Barranquilla also? Are you certain of that?"
Batistahunched his shoulders and whined. "The governor of all of Nueva Española is there now awaiting the results of the raid. That is what I heard, señor, and I cannot tell you what I did not hear."
After a long moment, Jonas asked, "You Spaniards claim to be such righteous Catholics, why did no one bury the bodies of the dead?"
Mierda shook his head. "There were too many, señor," he whispered. "Even of our own. It was only by God's grace I was not found and thrown in the water to feed the sharks. So many sharks," he added and shuddered.
"Why was no one left behind to hold the island?"
The Spaniard's gaze slid away evasively. "I am only a humble cook, señor. I am not privy to reasons why or why not."
Varian murmured, "A humble cook, you say?" He reached out and grasped the thick gold chain the Spaniard was wearing around his neck and gave it such a yank, the links cut into the flesh before they gave way and snapped apart. "Do all humble cooks wear the crest of the royal Serrano family? Do they all wear shirts of fine Venetian linen and boots made by Barzano of Castile?"
"I… I stole them, señor. I took them from the body of a dead hidalgo! I swear it!"
"The ring as well?"
Mierda looked down as Varian grabbed his hand and started to pry a heavy gold signet ring off his finger. He tried to curl his fingers to prevent the removal, but too late. When the ring came off, a white indent remained… an indent that would have taken much longer than a few weeks to form.
The humble demeanor and the cowering in the dark brown eyes blew away and was replaced by cold, dark hatred. The trembling whimper in the voice gave way to clear English spoken with icy steel. "You think you are so clever. And so invincible. Look around you, señors. See how invincible you truly were." He paused to spit a wad of phlegm at Varian's boots. "It was child's play to come and take what we wanted. Even your women, most of whom we filled with so much seed their cunnys ran like rivers."
Varian made a sound in his throat and stepped forward but Jonas reached out a hand to stop him. "He hasn't told us everything we need to know."
"Nor will I," Batistasaid defiantly. "Other than to say that most of the prisoners will be sold into the cane fields, scattered amongst a dozen islands. As for el pirata lobo, if he survived his wounds—of which there were many—he will be put in a cage and displayed for all to see on the streets of Barranquilla."
A muscle in Dante's jaw flexed. "Brave words. We'll see how loudly you keep screaming them." He turned to Grundy. "Strip him. Nail him onto the beam then find the Turk."
Hobson's eyebrows arched. "The Turk?"
"He has a fondness for peeling the skin off Spaniards strip by strip, does he not? And a knack for keeping them alive for a very long time. Come find me when the bastard is raw and ready to talk. Oh…" he paused mid-step as he started to walk away, "and tell that bloody ghoul to carve the liver out sooner this time. All that screaming and pissing… the last one he flayed was filled with so much bile even the dogs would not eat it."
~~
"I would be the last one to stay your hand at skinning the bastard to bloody ribbons," Varian began as he fell into step beside Dante.
"Then don't. We need to know what he knows."
Varian glanced again but the rugged face was as unreadable as a slab of granite.
"You don't believe what he's told us?"
"Look around you. Some of those big piles of rubble are still smoldering. If they left three or four weeks ago, as he claims, the embers would have burned out. The bodies we've found… they would be nearly cleaned to the bone as well. A week, at the outset, would be my guess."
Both men stopped walking as they caught sight of lights higher up the slope. It was almost dark but they could see where lanterns flickered through the trees to guide the darker shapes of people being led past a citrus grove.
Young Pitt came running down the hill to meet them. "We found 'em, Captain Sir. They were hiding in the caves, like you said. Twenty-seven so far, with more caves to search.
Dante's chest tightened and he could feel the rage building again. Twenty-seven! Out of more than a thousand who called Pigeon Cay home!
Varian's face betrayed a glimmer of hope as he gripped Pitt by the shoulders. "Captain Juliet. Is she among them?"
"No Sir. But Lily Rose is… and my brothers Homer and Augustus."
Jonas saw the shine in Varian's eyes warring with the agony on his face. His daughter was saved… but at what cost?
"Captain Simon?" Dante asked. "My mother?"
"No Sir."
"Captain Gabriel?"
Young Pitt shook his head. "No Sir."
"Evangeline?"
"No Sir. But there is a baby, and I think it is little Joseph."
Jonas drew a breath. "Your father? Your mother?"
Pitt shook his head again, his mouth quivering, his whole face struggling with the effort to hold back tears. "Just Augustus and Homer, sir. Some wounded men, but most of the others are women."
Dante clenched his jaw and nodded. "Run back and tell them to stop where they are. I warrant none of the survivors need to see the beach again at least until the bodies can be moved. Have some men build a fire. Take Bella and Molly with you to tend to any of the injured. Then find—" he groped for a name and was at a sudden loss—"someone… to bring enough canvas from the ship to built tents. And food. Tell Chedley the survivors need hot food and plenty of it."
When Young Pitt scampered off back up the slope, Dante remained standing for a moment. "We'll bide here as long as it takes to bury our dead." He paused as the first scream from the Spaniard's throat cut through the night air. "He said they were taking the prisoners to Barranquilla, but I don't believe it for an instant."
"You think he said that to send us chasing in the wrong direction?"
"It's possible. Probable, in fact. Barranquilla is a ten day sail from here. Havana is closer."
"Havana?"
"Aye. The ships will be gathering in the harbor for the spring flota. A hundred or more, and with well-armed India Guards as escorts for the crossing home to Spain. Which may well be the reason they departed the Cay with such haste. They plan on returning to Seville with the fleet."
They walked a few more minutes in silence before Varian glanced at Jonas. "If you're thinking what I think you're thinking… even without the treasure fleet in port, there are never any fewer than fifty ships at anchor at any given time, most of them armed to the gunwales."
Dante's mouth curved with a cold smile. "The governor of Havana died in January. The temporary Capitán-General is Jerome Quero."
"Quero? Why do I know that name?"
"We have dealt with him before. He is greedy as well as corrupt. When the Casa de Contratacion imposed a monopoly on all trading in the New World, it was Jerome Quero, owner of one of the largest tobacco plantations on the island, who started dealing directly with privateers to avoid the sixty percent tax levied in Seville. He also knows his position is only temporary until a new governor can be appointed by the crown, so he will be looking to get as rich as he can while the power is in his hands."
&
nbsp; "You think he would entertain an offer of ransom?"
"If the alternative was having his head blown off, I suspect he might."
"Ah. Gentle persuasion."
Dante turned to Young Pitt, who was following a few steps behind. "Our first priority needs be to offload that damned copper. Every scrap of it. Now. Tonight. With no time to waste on ferrying it to shore, we'll have to toss it overboard. I want the Tribute at full fighting speed as soon as possible. Load in fresh provisions… water and whatever food can be found. As soon as it's done and as soon as we've finished searching the island for survivors, I'll want us out of here and under full sail." He stopped and looked around. "Where the devil is Grundy?"
"No doubt enjoying the Spaniard's screams."
"I'll need him to take a pinnace to Gull Cay. I doubt the Spaniards would have lingered to search for caches buried on the other atolls. We will need to fill our coffers if we expect to have any possibility of success in buying back hostages."
"Do you think there will be enough? Your father alone is worth a king's ransom."
"Rest assured there is enough in the Gull's nest to ransom a king, a queen, and an entire court." Dante put a hand on Varian's shoulder. "You should go and find your daughter. I expect little Rose needs to see you alive and well."
Without a glimmer of protest, Varian turned and strode away. Jonas watched as the shadows swallowed the duke briefly before he emerged again as a silhouette running up the slope. Young Pitt was dispatched with his orders and Jonas found himself alone in the darkness.
"He must be worried sick. You all must be worried sick."
Dante acknowledged Bella's presence with a slight tilt of his head. "How is Follett?"
"He is drinking a little more and his body seems to be cooling now that the sun has gone down."
"Is he in possession of enough of his senses to answer some questions?"
"That was why I came to find you. Everyone else seems to be busy. I sent Molly up the hill to check on the others while I tended Follett, but if you don't need me here, I shall go and help her."
A long, gut-wrenching scream cut through the night air like a dagger and Bella covered her ears with her hands.
"Must they?" she whispered. "Must you?"
"Look around you. Then ask again."
"But what you're doing to him… it's barbaric."
He reached out and grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands down from her ears. His eyes were blazing, the amber depths reflecting points of light from the torches and fires.
"Exactly where do you think you are? Who do you think these people are? Who do you think I am?"
"I… I don't..."
"You want barbaric? Come with me."
"No, I—"
He snatched up her hand and dragged her behind him as he walked over to a burned-out shed. There, huddled at the base was a naked woman who had been stabbed a dozen or more times. Her breasts had been cut off, her belly slashed open, her nose and ears sliced away.
"Think you a pack of civilized gentlemen did this?"
He dragged her further to where some men were digging a large pit in the sand. Beside them were stacks of bodies, hacked and slashed beyond recognition of anything human.
"These were men and women that I knew. Every damned one of them. They chose to live here because the civilized world turned its back on them. But here, they could laugh, they could sing. They married and had families. They worked hard, and they trusted us to protect them."
"Jonas, please, I—"
He looked at her and his face was raw with pain. "They trusted us to protect them! To keep them safe!"
"What happened here… was not your fault."
"I should have been here!"
"To what end? So you could be buried along with the others?"
He released her wrist, turned away and raked both hands into his hair. "Maybe… just maybe we could have made a difference. Extra guns, extra men…"
"More graves," she said quietly. "And no one left to try to rescue them."
When he said nothing, she moved a step closer, cradling his cheeks in her hands as she turned his face forcibly toward her. She felt a shudder rippled through his body and was shocked to see shiny rivulets of tears streaking down his cheeks. Although he tried to turn his head away, she rose on tip toes and kissed each tightly squeezed eyelid, then each tear-dampened cheek, then finally his lips.
Not knowing what else to do, she wrapped her arms around him and held him. He resisted for as long as it took for a deep sob to wrack his body, then his arms engulfed her and he buried his face in her neck. Her own eyes filled with a hot, stinging liquid, though for some reason, she could not blink. She could only stare into the darkness of the night sky and hold her pirate captain close.
Chapter Twenty-One
The men worked through the long night. Search parties found twenty more survivors hiding in a cave, bringing the total to forty-seven. Twenty of those were children, twenty-two were women. All of the five men were badly injured; two would likely not live much longer, but because one of them, Murdock Johnson, was among the final defenders in the main house Jonas was able to get an eyewitness account of what had happened.
~~
The first indication of the hell to come had arrived with the ear-shattering, ground-shaking roar of multiple full broadsides unleashed on the ships riding at anchor in the bay.
Asleep in their beds, everyone in the big house had been on their feet before the initial round of reverberations had stopped shaking the floor and walls of the house. Simon and Isabeau were the first to run out onto the wide porch and stare aghast at the sight unfolding in the harbor below.
Geoffrey Pitt's slim, graceful sloop, the Christiana, had been anchored the farthest out and thus provided the first target for the four Spanish galleons on the far side of the bay. The Spaniards had formed up in a crescent shape to catch the Christiana in a deadly crossfire. Splinters from her boards and rails were thrown up into the air, then fell like rain into the clouds of dust and bursts of orange flame that had erupted on her decks. A hundred yards away the Endurance was taking fire as well, her masts, yards, rails all exploding under heavy barrages.
Simon had not stopped to wonder how or who or why; he had snatched up his breeches and ran bare-chested, bare-footed out of the bedroom and down the short hallway to the staircase. Gabriel Dante had met him at the top, pistols in hand, and together, father and son had raced down the stairs where they were greeted by Simon's first mate, Lucifer. The tall black Cimaroon was already armed to the teeth with pistols and a cutlass and pouches of shot and powder hanging around his neck.
The three charged out of the house and started running down the slope toward the clustered buildings that lined the shore. Some of the wooden structures were already taking fire from the galleons, but even more ominous was the pop pop pop of musketfire coming from the soldiers who had landed on shore.
Men poured out of the cottages and taverns, every bit as shocked and stunned as the Dantes. Ten- and fifteen-pound balls fired from the galleons were landing everywhere, sending up gouts of sand, tearing up palm trees, crashing into warehouses, shattering the docks. Men and pieces of men exploded along with the buildings, spraying the ground red underfoot.
Dodging the debris and bullet-like pellets of sand and rock, Simon, Gabriel, and Lucifer ran for the storehouse that contained the armory and the huge casks of black powder. It was furthest from the shoreline and the galleon's guns had not found it yet, but the men from Pigeon Cay were already there. Arming themselves with two, three pistols apiece, pouches of shot and horns of powder were the three veteran helmsmen: Spit McCutcheon from the Avenger, Nathan Crisp from the Iron Rose, and Stubs MacLeish from the Endurance. They were shouting orders to the men, dispatching some into the treeline to slow down the advancing soldiers, others into boats to try to make it to the ships.
"I'll no' see those great ladies go down wi'out a fight!" Spit declared, seeing Simon running toward them through a wal
l of crimson flame. "Bastards caught the Christiana cold but she's makin' a valiant effort to hold 'em off till we can get to our guns!"
The Avenger and the Iron Rose, two of the largest ships in the Dante fleet, were anchored closer in to shore and somewhat protected by the Christiana and the Endurance, but as shields, the two ships would not last much longer. Both were in flames, neither had been able to fire more than a few shots in response to the attack. There was, however, enough of a crew on board the Avenger that her guns were run out and she started firing back.
On shore, there was a mad cheering as the Avenger's guns blasted across the bay. Men scrambled into gigs and longboats to try to row out to the two ships, but a good many of the boats were blown out of the water before an oar was dipped.
Others came under a hail of musketfire as scores of Spanish soldiers stalked purposefully out from behind the trees and started moving down both sides of the beach. They advanced in deadly rows of ten. Those in the front line knelt to place their arquebuses in the forked rests that supported the heavy barrels while men in the row behind them shouldered their trumpet-nosed musketoons. On a signal, both lines fired then quickly reloaded their weapons while the next two rows moved forward.
"We need men on the embankment!" Simon shouted. "We need to slow the bastards down enough to get everyone into safer positions. Isabeau's garden wall! Get as many men as you can up there. We'll have the height advantage and the bastards will have to fight uphill to gain every bloody step!"
"Aye Cap'n!"
"Stubs!" Gabriel called to his quartermaster. "The women and children! Get them away from the shore, send them to the big house. My wife and Juliet are there."
"Juliet is not there," she said, stepping through the acrid haze. Her red hair was flown loose around her shoulders, she wore only a sack-like nightdress and tall black boots, but her sword was strapped around her waist above her swollen belly and she carried pistols in each hand. "I am right here and I intend to stay right here until I can find a boat to take me out to my ship!"
The Far Horizon Page 21