And neither of us could ever know safety as long as Rafe Leckenbie lived.
Now was the time….
Captain Dabney was on his poop deck and I went to him. “Pursue them,” I said. “We cannot let them escape. There is a man aboard there, whom I—”
He interrupted. “Captain Chantry, you are now aboard my ship. Yours is most of the cargo aboard, but the vessel is mine. I shall not risk it in needless pursuit of some reprobate you wish to fight.”
He brushed lint from his sleeve. “You were in grave danger, so I came to your help. Now you are safe and I see no reason to risk either the vessel or a single man of my crew in order to follow up a fight that is yours alone.”
“Do you think he will lie quietly by, knowing I am aboard and have what he wants? He will not. He will attack at first chance.”
“Very well, then. If he attacks, we will defend ourselves. But if we can avoid his attack we will do so. I do not command a ship of war, Captain, nor a privateer. I am a simple merchant seaman and I shall do my best to return the investment of those who ventured with me, of whom you are one.”
He turned and looked me up and down. “I would suggest, Captain Chantry, a bath, a change of linen, and a good night’s sleep. In the morning you will think better of your insistence.”
Ashamed, I shrugged. “You may be right, Captain. I am a fool.”
“Not a fool, Captain. No man is a fool who can survive ashore there and come back aboard with a lovely lass and whatever is in those chests. I imagine you have done well.”
He gestured toward the pinnace, limping away toward the inlet. “If you are wise in your judgment of that man, whomever he may be, he will come upon us when he can. Better get some sleep.”
“The man aboard there,” I said, “is Rafe Leckenbie!”
“Ah? The man who was driven from London. So this is what he came to! Well, well! Yes, I think we shall see more of him.”
He bowed. “Captain Chantry, a good night to you.”
A good night? With Rafe Leckenbie alive? Would there ever be a good night until I had faced him again?
CHAPTER 32
SURPRISINGLY, I SLEPT. Not the night through, but for several hours. The bath I had, and the change of linen lay hard by my bunk and ready for use. Yet when I awakened it was not the clash of arms that brought me from a sound sleep, nor a woman’s scream, but the sound of the wind.
Our harbor back of Cape Lookout was a snug one—if any harbor is snug when a hurricane blows. The main force of the wind came, at first, from the southeast and that was the point of our best protection, but even there the land was not high. The waves broke on the outer shore, but the wind swept, almost unimpeded, across the low dunes that made up the point.
The Good Catherine was a snug vessel, her crew well chosen and tautly disciplined, the ship herself well kept and secure. Knowing the sort of man Dabney was, I felt secure despite the wind, and so did we all. I heard it from the crew when we went on deck.
For I could not lie abed with the wind blowing at such strength. Awakening, I dressed to be prepared for any emergency and was about to go on deck when the door to Guadalupe’s cabin opened a crack. “Tatton? Is the storm very bad?”
“It is bad,” I said, “but we’re in as good a place to last it out as there is along this coast, the vessel is a strong one, and her captain an excellent seaman. If there is serious trouble I will come to you.” Suddenly a thought occurred to me. “Will you wait, Guadalupe? I have something for you.”
Hastily I returned to my cabin where all was battened down and secure and took from among the chests the one containing her clothing. It was the largest of all, but not heavy for one of my strength, and I took it to her.
When she saw what I had she drew back the door, remaining behind it, and I placed the chest just inside the room. I showed her hooks upon the wall, low down. “Lash it, or it may break a leg for you. The lines are there.” Stepping out, I went on deck quickly and after a moment heard the door close just as I was leaving the passage.
Sheets of driving rain swept the deck like volleys of grapeshot, and the sky was weirdly lit by continuous flashes of lightning. Grasping the ladder, I went to the poop deck where Dabney stood, his legs spread wide to take the roll of the ship.
He saw me and lifted a hand. When I drew near he shouted above the storm, “She’s holding well. I think we may have no trouble.”
Several men were about the deck, but no more than would be around on any watch. Dabney was sparing of his men as of all else.
Standing beside him, I watched the rain and spray blow through the rigging and sweep the deck and thought of those far out at sea—or worse, those who had been caught sailing off the shore. Many a fine ship would go down this night, or be beached out yonder, and torn apart by the waves. In such a gale as this the safest place, unless one lay as we did, was far at sea. Often I’d heard landlubbers talking of ancient seafarers staying within sight of land, which was absurd, as it was by far the most dangerous place to be, what with rocks, sandbars, shoals, and contrary winds or unexpected capes on an unmapped coast.
During a lull in the roar of the wind I said, “I thought you might need a hand so I came on deck.”
“Kind of you, Captain. But I suggest you go below and have your rest. By the look of you when you came aboard I’d say you need it.”
He glanced at me. “How is the lass making it?”
“Fine enough. She heard me in the passage and asked if all was well. I assured her we had a sound ship and a sounder master. I hope she went back to sleep.”
“Aye.” He seemed pleased at my confidence. “You do the same, Captain. I might add that our trading to date has been profitable, very profitable.”
Below I did not lie down at first, being too much awake. Catching hold of the table, I eased myself onto one of the settees against the bulkhead and took a book from the shelf, where they were held in place by a strip of molding. It had been long since there had been time or opportunity to read and I sorely missed it.
The books upon the shelf were not the same as those it held when last I was aboard. Evidently those had been replaced by a store the captain maintained below decks.
One was called Ta’rikh al-Hind, and the language was strange to me. I was just replacing it when Dabney came in, stripping off the cloak he had been wearing on deck.
I held it up. “What is it?” I asked.
“A book about India,” he said, “written by Al-Biruni, one of the greatest Islamic scholars.”
He draped his cloak over a chair back and dropped to another settee. “My man will have some hot chocolate here at once.” He indicated the book. “We do wrong in the Western world to ignore the scholars of the East for they have much to teach us. He was one of the greatest and long resided in India. This book was written about 1030 or so…I am not sure of the date. But very good, very good, indeed.”
“You have been there?”
Dabney glanced up. “I am well past fifty years of age, young man, and nearly twenty of those years were spent in the Indian Ocean…the Arabian Sea, if you will. Men were sailing those seas before ever a Greek prow cut the waters of the Aegean.
“Hippalus, we Europeans say, discovered the monsoon winds that will take a ship across the Indian Ocean from the coast of Africa to India. Alexander found pilots from India who knew all those waters three hundred years earlier. They showed his admiral Nearchus the way to the Persian Gulf.”
A man entered bearing a covered pot. Taking cups from a rack, he filled two of them with steaming chocolate.
“The days are long at sea, Captain Chantry, and when one has an efficient crew there is time on one’s hands.
“I read…I replenish my books often, yet a few I always keep for they are like old friends. Once I read them through; now I dip into them from time to time and read a few pages.
“When I was a lad I went out East on a voyage with my father. Our ship was wrecked there and we remained for many years. First my father and then I myself were masters of ships there.”
We drank our chocolate and talked, the ship rolling with wind and sea. At last he returned to the deck, and I to my bunk.
All night long the wind blew hard and strong, the roar of the winds a mighty sound in the night. Then of a sudden there was no wind and the silence awakened me to a yellow, awesome dawn. There was no sound. Suddenly we were caught in a world empty of it, and my throat caught with fear. Then I realized. We must be in the eye of the storm. If so, the winds would return, but from another direction.
I dressed and started for the deck, but Guadalupe was there before me. “I need the air,” she said. When I started to explain about the hurricane she told me she understood. She had experienced such storms before.
She stood beside me and we watched the sailors, tightening up all that might have come loose, preparing for what was to come.
“Did you live in Lima?” I asked.
“In the mountains and at the sea, and then in Cuzco. Only at the last was I in Lima. There was much that was different. I remember the bullfights, and I remember once there was a new viceroy or some official and they decorated all the balconies with greenery. We went to a play given by the Society of Jesus entitled The Prince of Fez.
“There were many duels, for there was much talk of honor. And scarcely a week went by when someone was not killed, or so it seemed to me.
“My mother died when I was eleven and my father was killed….It was said to have been done by thieves but I did not believe so. I believe he was killed by assassins, for my mother had told him much and they thought to find among his papers what he would not tell them.”
“And they did not?”
She smiled triumphantly. “They did not. There were papers and maps also. I hid them.”
“They may have been found since.”
“They will never find them. The house where we lived was very old. My mother had once lived there with her grandmother, who was the daughter of a brother to the Inca. She showed me a secret place.”
We went below and Conchita served us breakfast. Silliman Turley came aft, but would not listen to moving aft with us. “I’ve a good bunk for’ard an’ I like it there. What about that Leckenbie? You think he’s through?”
“No.” I was sure about that. “He’s not through.”
What would he do? Would he dare an attack under cover of the storm? How badly hurt was the pinnace? She did not seem too badly damaged, but if she were damaged beyond repair he would have a double reason for attacking us. He would need a ship.
What had become of Don Diego? And where was Don Manuel’s ship, which was expected at any moment? Had the hurricane destroyed it? Or was it lying up in safety somewhere down the coast?
Rafe Leckenbie knew of that ship, too, and would be watching for it. Nor could either of us escape from the haven we had chosen until the storm abated. To try to get out now would expose us to all the dangers of a lee shore. Outside of our cove the shore stretched away to the northwestward before curving around to the south, low, sandy shores so far as I could see or remember, and a deathtrap for any kind of sailing craft in this weather. Like it or not we were bound here together until the storm blew itself out.
Dabney came down from the deck once more as we were finishing our breakfast. He listened to my thoughts about Leckenbie and agreed. “The rain is easing off, and as soon as it does so I shall have all the guns charged and ready.”
“Leckenbie will try for surprise,” I said, “using a frontal attack only as a last resort. He’s devilish shrewd, and a daring man.”
“We will be ready,” Dabney assured me.
Toward nightfall the wind began to die down, blowing in fitful gusts, but the sea remained heavy. Dabney had retired to rest, leaving his mate in command. MacCrae was a Scot and a solid man. Now twenty-six, he had been fourteen years at sea and had sailed with Hawkins and Frobisher before coming to the Good Catherine.
He was a tall, lean, no-nonsense sort of man who kept a tight ship, liked most men, and trusted none of them too far. “We’ve a good lot aboard here,” he told me, “and they sail with us because they like it. Most of the crew have been with us three to four voyages now.
“Captain Dabney lets them carry a bit of trade on their own account, so each makes a bit on the side. Nobody does his own trading. The captain does that. But they can carry up to ten pounds each in goods aboard here. As mate and sailing master I can carry up to fifty pounds, and I do. Translated into goods, that will make a tidy profit for the voyage. So we’ve all an interest in it.”
Alone, I paced the deck, looking off toward the inlet from which the pinnace would probably come. Now I avoided Guadalupe, as I was restless and irritable, knowing attack might come at any moment. If we were caught unawares not one of us would survive. The quality of mercy could not be expected of Rafe Leckenbie.
How had Tosti ever become entangled with him? He had been a decent young man of no particular talent, much knowledge, and a desire to have something and be somebody without any clear notion of how that was to come about. He had sat waiting for the pot of gold to fall into his lap, forever talking of inheriting money, of finding treasure, of somehow coming into wealth without doing anything to bring it about. I had liked him, and he had been friendly when I had no friends, yet Leckenbie may have offered an easy road to all he wanted.
The waters of the cove darkened, the heavy seas abated somewhat, although I believed the tail of the hurricane had still to pass over us. Occasionally stars were glimpsed through the clouds, and the wind had died down although surf could still be heard booming on the Atlantic shore, beyond Cape Lookout.
A gull swung by heading in toward the shore. I went up on the poop, which offered a better vantage point for observing the cove, but all was dark and still. The few stars had disappeared under clouds.
MacCrae came to my side. “You know the man Leckenbie, Dabney says. Is he as bad as they say?”
“Worse. He will stop at nothing, has no regard for people and never did. He is a man who is totally evil because he is totally selfish. Men follow him because he leads them and because of hope of gain or fear. He will use people and discard or kill them without wasting an instant. He is also the finest swordsman I have ever met.”
“You fought him once?”
“And was nearly killed. That was long ago and I have learned a lot. I hope I have learned enough.”
Again I went below. Dabney was up, his chocolate on the table before him. Guadalupe was there also, tired but awake.
“All is well on deck?” Dabney had papers before him, and was engaged in some problem of navigation.
“So far,” I said. “He is at least making us lose sleep.”
“Which is probably a part of his plan,” Dabney commented calmly. “Being the man you say he is, he will no doubt choose a moment when we least expect an attack. I am sure he knows just what we are doing.”
“You mean he has spies here?”
“He needs no spies. He knows we expect an attack, so we must be forever on guard. On the contrary, he expects no attack and he will choose the time. His men can rest, relax, and await the proper moment. That is why I now have but three men on deck. The others are resting.”
“But if he should come upon us now?”
“We would have ample warning. How can a boat approach us without our knowing?”
Nonetheless, I was worried. Yet the hot chocolate tasted good as did the scones. “You live well, Captain,” I commented.
“Why not? My life is aboard ship. I see no reason for a Spartan existence. One needs the comforts, and I can have them nowhere else.”
Suddenly a man appeared in the door. “The pinnace, Captain. She has just com
e from the inlet, but is not heading toward us.”
“Thank you, Samuel. Now alert the men, but have them stay at their posts. See they are served a round of rum. I shall be on deck shortly.” He refilled our cups and his.
“You are complacent, Captain.”
“Not complacent. Confident. I trust in my ship and my men. Whatever Leckenbie is doing at this moment is not important. He is not planning a direct attack on my ship with his pinnace. His is the smaller vessel with fewer guns, and your Rafe Leckenbie is not a reckless man. He will not see his vessel destroyed until he has another.
“What he is doing now is a feint, perhaps, or he is getting in position for a later attack. For that, one man can watch him as easily as a dozen. We must simply hold ourselves ready. He has the advantage of the attack and the choice of time and place.”
He put his cup down. “You have recently been to France, Captain? Did you by any chance meet Montaigne? The man of the essays?”
“I did not. As you know, I was with the Spanish forces, who were waging war against Henry of Navarre. We were defeated and I was taken prisoner. I do know that Montaigne is no longer mayor of Bordeaux. Not since the plague. He has been, I heard, mediating between Henry of Navarre and Henry III.”
“King Henry freed you, you say? And spoke to you in person?”
“He did. I believe,” I hesitated, choosing my words with care, “that he knew something of my family.”
“Ah? Interesting! Most interesting, Captain! Did you know that you also had a mutual friend?”
My expression must have been blank, for he smiled again. “You do make the right friends, Captain Chantry. The helpful ones. I refer to Jacob Binns.”
He looked so smug that I was irritated. “I do indeed know Jacob Binns,” I replied. “He seems to have acquaintances everywhere, though when we met I thought him but a simple fisherman.”
“No doubt. He has been many things in his time, many things.” He paused, listening to some movement on deck. He was aware, I believed, of every creak of timber, every scurry of footstep, every lap of water and strain of rigging aboard his vessel. “If you do not know, Captain Chantry, I must explain. In his own way, Jacob Binns is an extremely important man. There is in the world a secret group, a society, if you will, of men of similar experience and ideas. It is old, older than any other, older than even any religion we now know. It is a society that crosses all boundaries, all lands, and all seas. Its numbers are few but they are everywhere.
Fair Blows the Wind Page 27