Buccaneer

Hector took the speaking trumpet and had to repeat his shouted instructions three or four times before a small group of sailors emerged warily from the hatches and made their way to the sheets and halyards. Minutes later they had brailed up the sails and the Spanish ship lay rolling on the swell, waiting submissively for her captors to take possession.

'The sea's too rough for us to go alongside. We risk damaging our ship,' observed Ringrose.

'Then lower the pinnace,' Sharpe told him, 'and go across with half a dozen men and see what we've caught. Take Lynch with you as interpreter.' Sharpe was looking satisfied with himself for he had not had a single one of his own men killed or injured, and the Spanish ship appeared to be a juicy prize.

As Hector helped ease the pinnace into the water, Jezreel appeared beside him, carrying his smallsword. 'I think I'll go with you in case it is a trick. The Spaniards gave up all too easily. I'm suspicious that they've merely retreated below deck and are waiting to ambush us.'

Hector murmured his thanks, and the two friends helped to row the boat across to the waiting prize. As he approached the Spanish ship, Hector looked up at its wooden side and, as always, was struck by the fact that the vessel which had seemed so low in the water from a distance, was much higher and more awkward to board when seen from close at hand. Timing his leap, Hector jumped for the rail of the ship, caught hold and swung himself aboard. Jezreel, Ringrose and three of Trinity's men armed with muskets and cutlasses followed him.

The body of the dead Spanish captain was the first sight that met Hector's eyes. It lay where it had fallen, close to the break of the poop deck. The captain had dressed in a faded blue uniform jacket which was now soaked with blood. His hat had rolled off, revealing wisps of grey hair surrounding a bald patch of scalp. One hand was flung out as if still reaching out to open the door to his cabin. Standing beside the corpse was a thin-faced young man, no more than Hector's own age, and he was pale with shock. Hovering in the background half a dozen sailors were casting nervous glances at the boarding party.

'Who is in charge?' asked Hector quietly.

There was a pause before the young man answered shakily, 'I suppose I am. You killed my father.'

Hector glanced down at the corpse. The face was turned to one side, and the profile was enough for him to see the resemblance.

'I'm very sorry. If you had not opened fire on us, this would not have happened.'

The young man said nothing.

'What is the name of your vessel?' Hector enquired as gently as possible.

'Santo Rosario. We sailed from Callao yesterday morning.' The young man's voice was thick with misery.

'With what cargo?'

Again the captain's son did not reply. Hector recognised the symptoms of deep distress and realised that there was little point in asking any more questions. 'There will be no more bloodshed if you and your men cooperate peacefully. We'll search the ship, and after that my captain will decide what is to be done.'

Behind him he heard Jezreel warning the other members of the boarding party to watch out for hidden surprises. Then came the sounds of the men opening up the hatches to the cargo hold.

Searching a captured ship was always a tense time. No one knew what might be found in the darkness of the hold, a desperate sailor lurking with a knife or cudgel, or someone holding a lighted match near the gunpowder store and threatening to blow up the ship unless the boarders withdrew. Ringrose kept a pistol pointing at the crew of Santo Rosario while he and Hector waited to learn what the ship had been carrying.

There was disappointment on the faces of the buccaneers as they re-emerged from the hatchways. 'Just some sacks of coconuts and a few bales of cloth which might be useful for sail-making,' one of them exclaimed. 'The ship's in ballast. There are several hundred ingots of lead in the bilges.'

'If it's lead, then that will make the quartermaster happy,' commented Ringrose. 'Bring up a sample so we can take a closer look.'

When the buccaneer returned, he was cradling a misshapen lump of some dull grey metal in his arms. Ringrose took out his knife and scratched the surface of the ingot. 'Not lead, more like unrefined tin,' he announced. 'Gifford will be disappointed. But at a pinch it just might do for making bullets. We'll take one of them back to Trinity to try it out.'

Hector turned to the young man. 'My captain will want to see the ship's papers,' he said. 'And any other documents such as bills of lading, letters, maps, charts. Also I need to speak with the pilot.'

The captain's son looked back at him with grief-stricken eyes. 'My father took charge of everything. This was his own ship, held in partnership with friends. He had sailed these waters all his life, he didn't need a pilot or charts. Everything was in his head.'

'Nevertheless I must examine the ship's papers.' said Hector.

The young man seemed to accept the inevitable. 'You'll find them in his cabin.' He turned and walked to the stern rail, where he stood, staring down into the sea, lost in his private wretchedness.

As Hector made his way towards the captain's cabin, Jezreel, who had reappeared on deck, fell in step beside him. 'There's still something not quite right here,' the big man muttered. 'If the ship was sailing empty why did they put up a fight? They had nothing worth defending. And why would such a fine ship as this one be on a purposeless voyage?'

'Perhaps the ship's papers will tell us,' answered Hector. They skirted round the body of the captain and had reached the door to his cabin. Hector attempted to open it. To his surprise the door was locked.

'That's odd,' he said. 'Jezreel, see if you can find a key in the dead man's pocket.'

Jezreel searched the corpse but found nothing. 'We'll have to break it open,' he said and, stepping back, delivered a hefty kick at the woodwork. The door shook in its frame and, just as Jezreel was about to deliver a second blow, Hector heard the sound of the lock clicking back. Suddenly he wished that he was carrying a weapon to defend himself. Fearing that whoever was inside might fire a shot through the wooden panel, he quickly edged to one side, out of the line of fire.

The door swung back, and out stepped a woman.

Hector was so surprised that his mouth fell open in astonishment. The woman was perhaps twenty years old, yet she held herself with the assurance of someone accustomed to being treated with respect, even deference. She was immaculately dressed in a long, dark green travelling mantle trimmed at the shoulders and sleeves with lines of black braid. A broad collar of fine lace emphasised her pale ivory skin. Her hair was so dark as to be almost black and had been dressed in long, loose curls, now partly covered by a light shawl. Her oval face was perfectly symmetrical with a high forehead and large, dark eyes. These now regarded Hector with defiance mingled with disdain.

'I wish to speak with whoever is in charge,' she said calmly. She spoke slowly and clearly as if addressing a dull-witted servant.

Hector stood in stunned silence, feeling foolish. He swallowed nervously and words failed him.

'I am Dona Juana de Costana, wife of the Alcalde of the Real Sala del Crimen of Paita,' she said. 'It would be wise of your captain to make arrangements for my safe return to my family with as little delay as possible. I presume that, as pirates, you are more interested in what you can steal.' She gestured towards the open doorway behind her, and said, 'Please bring out the purse, Maria.' To Hector's increasing amazement a second woman emerged from the cabin. She was of much the same age, but more plainly dressed in a long-sleeved, brown gown with a light collar of white linen. Her head of nut-brown hair was uncovered. She was clearly a companion to Dona Juana. In her hand she carried a small bag of soft leather.

Dona Juana took the bag and held it out to Hector. 'Here, you may have this,' she said with a trace of condescension in her voice. 'It will save you searching the cabin for other valuables. It contains all our jewellery.'

Hector accepted the bag and, through the soft leather, felt the irregular shapes of brooches and the smoother sensation of what he guessed were pearl necklaces. Maria, the companion, had taken up her position half a pace behind her mistress, and was regarding him with similar distaste. She had a darker complexion, lightly freckled, and Hector noticed that her hands which she clasped in front of her in a gesture of exasperation were small and very neat. Neither woman showed the least trace of fear.

He cleared his throat, still struggling to overcome his surprise, and said, 'We wish you no harm, but it is my duty to search the cabin. I need to retrieve the ship's documents.'

'Then do your duty,' said Dona Juana crisply. 'You will find that poor Captain Lopez,' and she cast a glance towards the captain's corpse, 'kept his papers in a chest under the stern window. But I would be obliged if you and your men refrained from touching any of the clothes or personal effects belonging to myself or my companion. You already have all our valuables.'

'I will respect your private possessions,' said Hector finally. 'In the meantime I am sure that my ship's navigator Mr Basil Ringrose would like to make your acquaintance.' Ringrose was standing goggle-eyed at the imperious young lady's beauty. She gave him a glance which clearly sent the young navigator reeling.

'If you'll excuse me,' said Hector and he ducked in through the low door of the cabin to begin his search. Behind him the doorway darkened and glancing back over his shoulder he saw that the companion, Maria, had followed him and was standing, arms folded, watching him. Evidently she was not taking his word that he would not touch the women's possessions. Selfconsciously he began to rummage the low-ceilinged cabin. The two women were travelling in some style. A folding dressing table was covered with expensive brushes and toiletries. There was a fine silk shawl draped over a cushioned stool, and two elegant cloaks hung from pegs. A silk rug was spread on the floor of the small, ill lit cabin, and over against a bulkhead stood a large trunk, obviously containing a full wardrobe. He smelled costly perfume.

He lifted the lid of the sea chest that Dona Juana had mentioned. It contained a log book and several scrolls and parchments as well as a thin leather case with several documents inside. They were various letters and bills of lading. Looking through them rapidly, Hector saw that the Santo Rosario had been bound for Panama. A letter addressed to the governor from Dona Juana's husband, the Alcalde, recommended Captain Lopez to him in the most civil terms, and there were several notes of credit in favour of the captain and drawn on leading merchants. The notes were for substantial sums of money. It was clear that Captain Lopez had been a wealthy man in his own right and well known throughout the colonial trading community.

He selected the more significant of the documents and tied them together with a length of silk ribbon he picked off the dressing table. He sensed Maria's disapproval behind him. Adding the captain's journal to the bundle, he straightened up and looked around him wondering if there was anything else that he should check. It was common practice for a ship's captain to have a secret hiding place where he kept his most valuable possessions and sensitive papers. 'To save you doing any damage, you will find there's a hidden compartment behind that trunk of clothes,' Maria said. 'It's where Captain Lopez kept the crew's wages and his own money he used in trade.' Her tone was scornful.

Hector pushed the trunk aside and soon found what he was looking for. The hiding place contained a substantial quantity of coin in bags and a collection of domestic silverware. There were salvers, jugs, silver gilt cups, and four very fine candlesticks. It was evident that Captain Lopez kept an elegant table. There was also a large folder, wrapped in a loose oilskin slip and evidently much handled. Opening it, Hector saw that he was holding a collection of sea charts. The first was a very detailed map of the approaches to Panama, showing rocks and reefs and shoals, and how to bring a ship safely into the anchorage. The remainder of the maps were much less precise. They showed the general outline of the entire South Sea coast, all the way from California to the South Cape.

Summoning one of the buccaneers to help. Hector carried the money and valuables out on deck and put them in a sack, ready to be transported across to Trinity. The oilskin folder he kept separately.

Sharpe had already brought his vessel close enough for a shouted conversation across the water, and when Hector explained what he had found, the captain told him to return to Trinity, bringing the documents, valuables and the female prisoners.

But when the young man explained these instructions to Dona Juana, he was met with a flat refusal.

'I have not the slightest intention of going aboard your ship,' she announced imperiously. 'If your captain wishes to speak with me, he can come across here.'

Hector wondered for a moment whether he should get Jezreel to pick up the woman and carry her into the cockboat, but Ringrose came to his rescue. Stepping across to the rail he bawled out to Sharpe, 'It would be easier if you would come across with a prize crew.'

To Hector's relief Sharpe agreed to this suggestion and before long the buccaneer captain was standing on the deck of the Santo Rosario and Hector was introducing him to the wife of the senior magistrate of the Criminal Court of Paita.

'I am most honoured to make your acquaintance’ Sharpe said, making a bow. His Spanish was slow and clumsy, and from the way he was looking at the young woman, it seemed that he was very much taken with her beauty as Ringrose had been.

'You are the leader of these people?' Juana asked. She managed to put her question as if she and Sharpe were superior to everyone else, should he prove to be in command.

Sharpe preened himself. 'Indeed I am the captain of that ship over there, senora, and at your service’ he confirmed.

'No doubt your own vessel is well appointed but it is hardly likely to offer the same quality of accommodation as this one. My companion and I have managed to make ourselves as comfortable as possible in such trying and cramped conditions. I have informed your assistant here that I have no intention of leaving the Santo Rosario.

Sharpe was positively fawning. 'I would not wish you to be put to any inconvenience, senora. By all means you may stay here. I will instruct my men not to disturb you.' Hector wondered if Bartholomew Sharpe knew what a spectacle he was making of himself.

'Come, Maria, it is time we withdrew,' said Dona Juana and without another word she swept back into her cabin in a swirl of green silk, followed by her companion.

'She should fetch a choice ransom,' observed one of the buccaneers.

Sharpe rounded on him in a fury. 'Keep a civil tongue in your head’ he snapped. 'What happens to the lady will be decided by the council, and in the meantime you have work to do. For a start you can help dispose of the dead bodies, and clean this deck.'

Then Sharpe turned to Hector, who was still holding the bundle of ship's documents, and asked, 'What did you find out?'

'The vessel was bound for Panama. This folder contains a chart for the final approach. There are also general maps for all the entire coast. Her captain was an important man, a friend of the governor there, and Dona Juana was on her way to stay with him.'

'Lucky fellow,' commented Sharpe.

'There's also a considerable quantity of cash on board, and Ringrose believes that the ship's ballast could be turned into musket bullets.' Hector would have continued but the captain was scarcely listening to him.

'We must show her that we are not barbarians,' was all Sharpe said. 'Confine the ship's officers to the forepeak, and have them give their word that they'll not make trouble, and this evening we will entertain the senora and her companion. On this ship of course. Perhaps your friend the Frenchman can prepare a special meal.'

'What about the captain's son? He's over there.' Hector nodded towards the young man still standing miserably at the stern rail.

'Put him in the forepeak with the last of them.' 'His father possessed some fine tableware; solid silver.' 'Good. We'll use that. Later we can have it broken up and divided among the men.'

'Sharpe seems utterly smitten,' Hector commented to Jacques in the galley of the Santo Rosario that evening. The wind had died away and the two ships lay becalmed on a quiet sea. The Frenchman had been rowed across to the prize, bringing his preferred cooking utensils and dried herbs and a large tuna which he had been marinading in a mixture of sugar and salt. Jacques lifted the lid of a chafing dish, dipped a tasting spoon in the sauce, and said, 'Never underestimate the power of a beautiful woman. Particularly on men who have been so long at sea. Their heads can be set spinning until they are dizzy.' Jezreel, who was listening in, was sceptical. 'I still think that there's something not quite right about this ship. Maybe her crew put up a fight because they had a brave captain and he did not want to surrender a judge's wife. But there's more to it. I watched how she twisted Sharpe around that elegant little finger of hers. Our captain rolled over on his back and wagged his tail.'

Hector had to agree with him. He was full of admiration for the resolute poise of the two women, but he sensed a hidden reason for the women's attitude, and he was puzzled what it might be. 'If I hadn't read those despatches, I'd have said that Dona Juana was deliberately delaying us because she knows that the Spaniards are assembling a squadron of warships and will soon be here to rescue her,' he said.

Jacques blew on a spoonful of broth to cool it. 'Maybe she didn't know what was in those despatches.'

'Her husband would never have allowed her to set sail if he thought that Trinity was still operating in the South Sea.'

'Then you have to ask yourself exactly what Dona Juana wants.' Jacques took a sip from the spoon, then added a pinch of pimento powder to the broth.

'To be allowed to stay on this ship.'

'Anything else?'

'That we weren't to interfere with their private possessions.' 'Then that's where you need to look.'

'But they have been promised that we would do no such thing,' Hector objected.

Jacques shrugged. 'Then make sure that neither they nor Sharpe get to know. Dinner is to be served in the open air, out on the quarterdeck. I suggest while the two ladies and our gallant captain are enjoying my cuisine, someone searches their cabin. Dan climbs like a goat. He can get in through the stern window, examine the cabin and get out again before they finish my dessert - it will be a syllabub of coconut, worth lingering over.'

'I have a better idea,' said Jezreel. 'There's a small hatch in the floor of the stern accommodation. I found it when we were checking the cargo hold. It's normally used by the ship's carpenter when he inspects the tiller trunking. Someone small - either Dan or Hector — should be able to get into the cabin that way.'

In the end it was decided that it would be quicker if both Dan and Hector carried out the search together, and they managed to squeeze their way into the cabin without much difficulty. There they found nothing suspicious except that the large clothing trunk was firmly locked.

'I can't imagine that the ladies feared the crew would steal their dresses,' said Dan. He felt in his pocket and produced the priming wire he used for cleaning the vent of his musket. Slipping the end of the wire into the lock, he gave a twist and a moment later was easing back the lid.

'Jacques would be proud of you. I doubt he was quicker in his time as a Paris burglar,' whispered Hector.

The trunk was stuffed with gowns, skirts, petticoats, mantuas, capes, chemises, gloves and stockings, all so tightly packed together that Hector wondered if it would ever be possible to shut the lid again. He plunged his arms into the mass of taffeta and silk and lace, and began to feel down through the layers. Two-thirds of the way through the excavation his fingers met a solid object. It felt like a large book. Carefully easing it out of the hiding place, he saw that it was another folder, very similar to the one in which Captain Lopez had kept his charts. Hector stepped across to the stern window where the light was better, and turned back the cover. He knew at once that he was holding in his hands the dead captain's private book of navigation. It was filled with his daily drawings and observations. There were diagrams of anchorages marked with their soundings, drafts of harbour approaches, dozens of coastal profiles, sketches of islands, observations of tides and currents. The folder contained a lifetime of Captain Lopez's experience as a navigator. Quickly Hector riffled through the pages. There must have been almost a hundred of them, covered with drawings and notes. Some were many years old. They were sea-stained and frayed, the ink fading, and probably drawn when Lopez first went to sea. Other pages were drafted by a different hand and appeared to have been copied from official books of sailing instructions. 'So it was not all in his head,' Hector muttered to himself as he replaced the folder, burying it deep within the scented garments. Then Dan relocked the trunk, and Hector followed the Miskito down through the little hatchway.

'That's why the captain risked our musket fire. He was trying to get to the cabin to reach the folder,' said Hector when he and Dan got back to the galley and found Jezreel running a large thumb round the salver on which Jacques had served the coconut syllabub. 'He must have known that his ship was likely to be captured and he was determined not to let his navigation notes fall into our hands. He would have dumped the folder into the sea the moment he decided to surrender.'

'But what about those other charts, the ones in the oilskin folder?'

'Those were much less detailed. They provide only the general outline of the coast. To use them properly, Lopez would be relying on his detailed navigation notes.'

'Ringrose is going to be happy. It's going to save him a lot of paper and ink. He's been scribbling away at that sort of stuff ever since we came into the South Sea,' commented Jezreel, licking his thumb.

'Ringrose has been mapping only a small portion of the coast,' Hector corrected him. 'I didn't have time to check just how far Captain Lopez's navigation notes extend, but he was exceptionally well travelled. He may have had precise sailing and pilotage directions all the way from California to the Cape.'

'Is that important?' asked Dan.

'I worked for a land surveyor in Port Royal for a few days, copying maps for him. One day when he was drunk he said to me that really good charts of the South Sea would be priceless. They would be the key to enormous riches. I remember him saying that the Spaniards would murder to prevent such information falling into the wrong hands.'

'Sounds as though they are as dangerous as they are valuable,' joined in Jezreel doubtfully. 'Captain Lopez's charts would be handy for us now, but we've been managing pretty well without them, thanks to you and Ringrose as our navigators. If Dona Juana and her companion are released back to their own people, what happens then? The Spaniards will know we have the folder, and they will redouble their efforts to hunt us down.'

'And anyone they caught would be tortured to learn just how much was known, who else had the same information, and then strangled to silence them.' Jacques added.

Hector thought for a moment before replying. 'Then we'll keep quiet about our discovery ... At least for now.'

'What about Sharpe? Do we tell him what we've found?' Jezreel asked.

Again, Hector paused before replying. His mistrust of Sharpe made him cautious. 'No. He'll be outraged if he learns that Dona Juana has made a fool of him. We'll do what Jacques did with those dice he retrieved from the bushes. He guessed they would come in useful at some time. These maps could be the same for us when it comes to dealing with Sharpe.'

'And how do we prevent the two women from knowing that we have the charts?'

'We copy them,' said Hector firmly. 'Dan can help me. There was a time when we both drew maps and charts for a Turkish sea captain. Dan's a quick and accurate draughtsman.'

'Even so, it will take time,' Jezreel objected.

'Captain Sharpe seems in no hurry to part company with the beautiful Juana,' said Hector. 'He will be cosying up to her for the next few days. I already have a supply of paper and ink for helping Ringrose. Every time we have the chance, we remove a few sheets from the folder, copy them, and return them. I doubt that Dona Juana or Maria do more than check that the folder is still safe in their trunk. They won't have time to count the pages.'

'How long will all this take?' asked Jezreel.

'Dan and I should be able to complete the job in less than a week. We don't have to make fair copies, only quick sketches and notes. I'll keep the results safe in that bamboo tube I've been carrying so no one will even suspect what we are doing.' He looked at his friends. 'Are we all agreed?'

Dan and Jacques nodded, and Jezreel with a glance at the Frenchman added, 'Jacques, here's your chance to shine. Let's hope you can come up with seven days of dinner dishes and never repeat the same menu.'

In the end it took a full ten days to copy the contents of the folder. Hector had failed to anticipate how often he would be needed to act as interpreter for Sharpe. In his infatuation for the delectable Dona Juana, Sharpe took every excuse to visit the Santo Rosario, and Hector had to be on hand to untangle the buccaneer's clumsy gallantry. So it was left to Dan to burgle the cabin while Hector remained outside on deck, deliberately prolonging his captain's flowery compliments to the Alcalde's wife. By the time all the pages had been copied, the crew of Trinity were at breaking point with their captain's dalliance. They demanded a general council and insisted that the two women be sent on their way. Reluctantly Sharpe agreed.

'We will sail to Paita, contact Dona Juana's family and arrange an exchange,' he told the crew assembled on Trinity's maindeck.

'What sort of an exchange?' someone had called out.

'The lady in return for a pilot who can guide us in these waters. In addition we'll demand a ransom to be paid in ship's supplies. We are running short of sail cloth and rope.'

'But we can take the sails and rigging from the Santo Rosario,' objected one of the older men.

'That is not sufficient for what I have in mind,' said Sharpe. He paused for effect, then called out, 'We need that material if Trinity is to make a long voyage. I am proposing that we return back to the Caribbean by sailing around the Cape!'

There was a widespread murmur of approval. Many of the crew were heartily tired of the South Sea. Sharpe looked towards where Hector was standing with his friends.

'I am appointing Lynch as our go-between. Off Paita we will intercept a local fishing boat, and put Lynch aboard so that he can go ashore. He will conduct negotiations on our behalf.'

'What am I to say?' asked Hector. Sharpe was manipulating the situation, and might even be seeking to get rid of him.

'Tell the Spaniards that once we have the pilot safely aboard and received the supplies, we will hand back the Santo Rosario and the lady, unharmed. We'll leave the vessel at a suitable rendezvous which we decide.'

Hector voiced his misgivings. 'Why should the Spaniards believe me? They might just execute me out of hand.'

Sharpe smiled cynically. 'The Spaniards will do anything to speed us on our way, and we still have Dona Juana.'

'And how can they be sure that Dona Juana has not been harmed?'

'Because you will go to Paita with her companion Maria. She will tell them that Dona Juana has been very well treated. Maria will serve as your security.'

Again there was a murmur of approval from the crew clustered around Hector, and before he could raise another objection, Sharpe treated him to one of his sly looks and added in a voice loud enough for all to hear, 'I was very impressed with how you dealt with the Spaniards at La Serena. I'm sure you will do just as well on this occasion.'

_SIXTEEN

_A week later, Hector was uncomfortably aware of how thoroughly he had been out-manoeuvred. Sharpe had disembarked him and Maria, Dona Juana's companion, onto a small fishing smack out of Paita, and already Trinity had dwindled to a tiny dark shape on the horizon. The galleon, which had been his home for the last fifteen months, would soon be lost from view in the gathering darkness, and Maria was taking pleasure in baiting him.

'Your new shipmates don't seem to like you,' she said mockingly. She was seated facing him on the centre thwart and had noted the surly looks of the smack's crew. They were understandably sullen. Trinity had robbed them of their catch of mackerel and anchovies and, to make matters worse, the wind had turned foul. It was going to be a long hard slog for them to sail back into Paita.

'One word from me when we land in Paita and the governor could have you garotted,' Maria added maliciously.

Hector said nothing. A burst of spray struck the back of his neck and he pulled his cloak around him.

'It's no more than you and your companions deserve. They are nothing but arrogant brigands of the sea. Blood-soaked murderers.'

The young woman had a low, musical voice, and the harsh words sounded strange coming from her.

'If the Santo Rosario had not opened fire on us, we would not have been obliged to take the vessel by force,' Hector replied.

Maria wrinkled her nose in disbelief. 'You would have pillaged the ship, and not touched us?'

'You call us brigands. So think of us as highwaymen who stop and rob travellers on the road. If the travellers are sensible they offer no resistance and are merely relieved of their valuables and allowed to go on their way. But if there is opposition, and someone fires a pistol, there is bloodshed. The travellers seldom come out best.'

'And why do you choose to make your living by such theft and piracy rather than by honest toil? You don't look or talk like a cut-throat.' Her tone was a little softer, and there was a hint of curiosity in her voice.

'There were special circumstances . . .' Hector began, and was about to explain how he came to be in the South Sea when he thought better of it and instead looked out towards the horizon. Trinity was no longer visible. The daylight was almost gone, and the first stars were appearing through rents in the rapidly moving clouds. It was threatening to be a wild night. The little boat was beginning to pitch and lurch on the blackness of the waves. The swirl of bilgewater beneath his feet released the smell of rotten fish. He wondered about Dan and the others.

Maria seemed to read his thoughts for suddenly she asked, 'What about your friends? There's one very big man, I think his name is Jezreel. I saw you often talking with him, and there was the Frenchman who was our cook, and a man who looked like an Indian.'

'They are my comrades, and we have come through many difficult times together.'

'Then why aren't they here with you now?'

Hector decided that the astute young woman deserved an honest answer. 'All three of them offered to accompany me. But I told them that their presence would only increase the danger. In Paita your people might decide to hold back one or more of them as hostages until your mistress is released, and even then there was no guarantee of their safety.'

'And what about you? Aren't you afraid of being held?'

Hector shook his head. 'No, if your people want the safe return of Dona Juana, they will have to let me go. I am the only one who can arrange her exchange.'

'And what if "my people", as you describe them, decide that it would be easier to torture you?'

Hector tried to meet her eyes, but it was now too dark to see her expression. 'That is a risk I am prepared to take. If you help me and the mission goes well, it means that my friends will be able to return to their homes.'

Maria paused before answering, and Hector detected that her antipathy was waning.

'And what about you? Do you have a family who are expecting you to return?'

'No, my father died some years ago, and I have lost touch with my mother. She is the one from whom I learned to speak Spanish.'

'From Galicia, to judge by your accent. It is surprising that you do not speak Galego.'

'My mother insisted that we learn Castilian. She said it would be of more use.'

'We?'

'My sister and I. But I will never see my sister again.'

He had expected Maria to question him further, but she fell silent, doubtless understanding that he did not wish to talk about his loss.

When she did speak again, it was in a much more friendly tone, almost confiding. 'I understand your feeling of being alone. But not because I have lost my parents. They are still alive as far as I know, small farmers in Andalucia. Life is hard in that part of Spain, and they were enthusiastic when the opportunity came for me to go abroad as Dona Juana's companion. So I was happy to accede to their wishes.' 'And you like the post?'

There was a short pause before Maria replied. 'Yes. I am fortunate. Dona Juana is a kind employer. She treats me as a friend, not as a servant which is what I could be.'

'But you still miss your family?'

'Spain seems so far away. Sometimes I think I will never see my homeland again.'

For a long time they both sat quietly, hearing the run of water along the sides of the little fishing boat as it grew more urgent, and the rising note of the wind in the rigging.

'Tell me about Dona Juana's husband, the Alcalde,' Hector said.

'He's older than her. Perhaps by twenty years, and he has the reputation of being a harsh man. He believes in the stern application of the law.'

'Would he put the law ahead of the well-being of his wife?'

Maria thought for a moment before replying. 'I believe so, but it is always hard to tell with him. He is a man of very strict principle.'

The moan of the wind and the noise of the waves were making their conversation difficult. Occasionally the little boat thrust her bow into the waves, and water came sluicing onboard. Hector had noticed a small cuddy under the foredeck where the fishermen stowed their nets, and he suggested to Maria that she might take shelter there. She stood up from the thwart, reached out to steady herself as the boat lurched, and placed her hand on his shoulder. He was aware of her grip, light but firm, a woman's touch. Then she was clambering past him, her hip brushed his shoulder, and all of a sudden he was swept by the knowledge that she was very attractive. He found himself wishing that she had stayed much closer to him, where he could relish her nearness and learn more about her.

Next morning the last of the gale was still whipping up a lively sea, the waves sending tremors through the hull planking of the little boat as she battled her way towards the watch-tower at the entrance to Paita's harbour. Hector sat on a pile of damp sacking and rope, his back pressed against the mast step. He was bleary-eyed, for he had slept only fitfully, his mind returning again and again to thoughts of the young woman curled up in the dark cave of the cuddy. He rehearsed every word of their conversation, still wondering how Maria had seemed to be able to read his thoughts. From time to time he glanced towards the place where she lay asleep, and waited for her to awake. When Maria did emerge half an hour later and crawled out from the cuddy, Hector had a glimpse of a neat ankle and a small bare foot. Sensibly she had removed her shoes before going to sleep. Maria stood up and turned her face into the wind and her long, loose hair streamed out behind her. In that moment Hector was confronted by a young woman very different from the person he had known aboard the Santo Rosario. In the shadow of her mistress Maria had been quietly dutiful and unassuming, easily overlooked, and probably this had been her intention. Now he saw that Maria had the gift of a natural, healthy beauty. As she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, relishing the fresh morning breeze after the stuffy confines of the cuddy, Hector noted the small heart-shaped face with a short straight nose, a soft mouth perhaps a trifle too wide for the delicacy of her features, a skin lightly freckled. Everything about Maria was neat and pleasing in a way that was simple and tempting. Then she turned and looked at him and the dark brown eyes under the perfectly arched eyebrows held an almost conspiratorial expression.

'Did you manage to get any rest?' he asked, aware that he felt light-headed, off balance.

She nodded, and all of a sudden Hector was overwhelmed by her presence. She was wearing the fine cloak which he had seen hanging in her cabin, but now it was bedraggled and crumpled, the hem sodden with bilgewater. Awkwardly he started to get to his feet, hoping to find an excuse to extend a hand, to touch her again and help her to climb over the thwart, when, without warning, he was rudely elbowed aside. One of the fishermen pushed passed him. The man was holding a chunk of dry bread and an earthenware flagon of water which he held out to Maria. He offered nothing to Hector. Instead he turned to face towards the land, placed two fingers into his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. In response a watchman appeared on the top of the watchtower. The fisherman waved, making what must have been an agreed code of signals, for the watchman disappeared, and soon a squad of soldiers was running to take position by a gun platform, and a horseman was galloping inland clearly carrying a message to the town.

'What was all that about?' Hector enquired.

The fisherman gave him a black look. 'Ever since you and your rabble attacked Arica we've been asked to keep a special lookout. Told to report any sightings of unknown vessels and report back immediately. Never thought I would be bringing in one of the scum who was responsible. I'll enjoy watching your punishment. I lost a younger brother at Arica.'

The motion of the boat eased as the fishing smack passed into the shelter of the headland protecting Paita's anchorage, and soon the fishermen were changing course to lay their vessel alongside the jetty where a file of Spanish soldiers already stood waiting. Their grey-haired sergeant wore on his tunic the faded red saltire which marked him as a veteran of the European wars.

'Here's one of the pirates! And you're welcome to him,' called out the fisherman. The boat bumped against the landing place, Hector lost his balance, and he was pushed hard in the back so that he sprawled forward ignominiously onto the weed-covered stone steps. A hand seized him by the collar of his cloak, and he was hauled upright roughly.

'Treat him gently. He's an envoy, not a prisoner!' Maria said sharply. She was being helped out of the boat by one of the fishermen and was glaring angrily at the sergeant. He looked back at her in disbelief. 'He's come here to speak with the Alcalde,' she snapped. 'Escort us to his office at once.'

The sergeant's expression of disgust made his feelings clear as he ordered his men to form up on either side of Hector and march with him into the town. Maria kept pace, walking beside the little group as it made its way past the customs house and harbour offices and the warehouses where the merchants of Paita stored their goods. Looking about him, Hector saw that the town exceeded Arica for prosperity. Besides the usual piles of fishing gear, there were stacks of timber for boatbuilding, ranks of wine barrels awaiting shipment, huge jars which he guessed contained olives for export, and in open-sided sheds he glimpsed wooden crates and bales painted with strange markings. Maria noted his interest and remarked, 'Those have come from China. They arrive in Acapulco with the Manila galleon, and are on their way farther south to customers in Peru. The consulado of Paita arranges the distribution.' She saw his puzzlement and explained, 'The consulado is the guild of merchants. They have the money and the influence if a ransom is demanded for Dona Juana.' But Hector was not thinking of a ransom. Maria's comment had reminded him of the maps and sailing directions he had been copying from Captain Lopez's navigation notes. If the captain had been trading as far north as Mexico to meet the incoming Manila galleon, his knowledge of the northern shores was likely to be very accurate.

By now word had spread that the fishermen were bringing in a pirate. As the little group walked farther into Paita, more and more people appeared on the streets, and they were in an ugly mood. Women as well as men began to shout insults and make threatening gestures. There were cries of 'Hang him but disembowel him first!', 'Hand him over to us. Let us deal with him', and soon the onlookers were throwing lumps of dung and dirt and the occasional stone. Their aim was poor and, as often as not, the missiles hit the escorting soldiers. But occasionally Hector had to duck. He was shocked by the hostility of the crowd. Their hatred was like a physical force.

To her credit, Maria did not falter. She walked beside him, level with the crowd, and did not flinch when she too was hit by misthrown projectiles.

Eventually they arrived at the Plaza Mayor. Here a number of sentries were guarding the municipal buildings which stood across from the church, and they joined the escort guards in holding back the angry crowd. Hector, Maria and the sergeant hurried up a flight of steps and into the town hall, the angry jeers of the mob following them. After the gauntlet of their arrival it was a relief to be away from the hysteria of the crowd, waiting in an antechamber while a minor official went to find Dona Juana's husband. He returned to say that the judge was at a meeting with the cabildo, the city council, and could not be disturbed. But the Alcalde was expected to preside over a session of the Criminal Court later that day, and it might be possible for him to interview Hector while the Court was in recess. In the meantime, the official suggested, Maria should go to her lodgings at the Alcalde's house where she might like to rest. The official himself would take responsibility for looking after Hector until the judge was free to speak with him.

The moment that Maria was gone, the sergeant seized Hector roughly by the shoulder and bundled him along a corridor and down a short flight of steps. The official, who had been scurrying along behind making approving noises, produced a key to a heavy iron-bound door, unlocked it, and Hector was flung inside. He found himself in a small stone cell furnished with nothing but mouldy straw and a bench. The only light came through a small window, little more than a slit, high in the opposite wall. Behind him the door slammed shut, and he was left in half-darkness.

He made his way to the bench and sat down, gagging at the stench of urine from the damp straw. Evidently he had been confined in the holding cell for the Criminal Court, and he doubted that anyone would take the trouble to bring him anything to eat or drink. The malice and loathing shown towards him was so intense and venomous that he wondered if Bartholomew Sharpe had made a miscalculation. There would be no exchange of Dona Juana and the Santo Rosario because the Alcalde would never negotiate. Instead Hector would be taken out of the cell, tried and executed for piracy. If the mob did not get to him first.

His interview with Dona Juana's husband in mid afternoon got off to a disastrous start. He was led to what appeared to be a private chamber behind the courtroom. There the Alcalde sat waiting behind a massive desk. Clearly he had interrupted his court session for he was wearing his red and gold sash of office over a doublet of charcoal velvet. Hector, dishevelled and unwashed, was made to stand before him while the sergeant who had brought him up from the cell stood so close behind his right shoulder that Hector could hear his breathing. For several moments the Alcalde sat scowling at his visitor and not saying a word. Dona Juana's husband was a hulking, heavy-set man who affected an old-fashioned appearance. His beard was carefully shaped to join thick dark mustaches extending across his cheeks in a downsweep that accentuated the fleshy, peevish mouth and bushy, scowling eyebrows. Hector wondered if such an intimidating appearance was genuine or merely an artificial pose to frighten those who appeared in court before him. But the Alcalde's opening remark left little doubt that his bad temper was real.

'Who do you represent?' he asked rudely. 'Your last captain's head was paraded around Arica on a pole.' Hector supposed that he was referring to Watling whose body they'd had to leave behind.

'I am here on behalf of Captain Bartholomew Sharpe and his company,' Hector began. 'I have been sent to arrange terms for the release of the Santo Rosario and Dona Juana who is, I believe, your wife.'

Immediately the Alcalde bridled. 'The identity of the passengers is of no immediate concern. What is evident is that you are guilty of piracy in seizing the vessel.'

'With respect, your excellency. I have come here in good faith to arrange the return of the vessel, her passengers and crew, unharmed.'

'Unharmed!' The Alcalde thrust his head forward angrily. 'I am told that Captain Lopez was shot down, killed in cold blood.'

'He mistook our vessel's approach as aggressive,' said Hector. Maria must have already been interviewed.

'He was callously murdered, and the crime will be punished,' the Alcalde retorted.

'If it pleases your honour,' Hector said carefully, 'I should like to state the message that I was charged to deliver.'

'Then do so!' The Alcalde leaned back in his chair and began to drum thick stubby fingers on the desk.

'Captain Sharpe is willing to deliver up the Santo Rosario, her illustrious passenger and crew in exchange for the services of a pilot competent to navigate his vessel southward, and a store of seagoing supplies.'

Hector paused, allowing the Alcalde a moment in which to appreciate that he was being offered a way of ridding himself of the pirate menace.

'If His Excellency agrees to these terms, I have been instructed to guide the pilot to the place where the exchange will take place. Captain Sharpe gives his word that the lady, Dona Juana, will be released unharmed. Afterwards he and his vessel will depart the South Sea.'

The Alcalde looked at Hector with pure scorn. 'What happens to your bandit comrades is not for me to decide. Were that so, I would see to it that Captain Sharpe and all his crew hang from the mastheads of our Armada del Sur. Unfortunately there has to be a due process.' He looked towards the sergeant. 'Take him away, and keep him locked up until further notice.'

The sergeant grasped Hector by the arm and was about to wheel him about. There was just enough time for the young man to add, 'With respect, Your Excellency. Captain Sharpe instructed me to say that if I do not return within a week, he will steer south, without a pilot, and take Senora Juana with him.'

The Alcalde slammed his hand down on the desk. 'Not another word!' he barked.

Back in his cell, Hector watched the daylight fade through the small window in the wall, and thought of how much he depended on Maria. Only her evidence would persuade the Alcalde and his fellow officials that Dona Juana had not been harmed. Also, they were sure to question her about everything she had seen while a prisoner. They would want to know about Trinity, her condition and armament, the morale and number of her crew, and whether Bartholomew Sharpe was capable of carrying out his threat and sailing off if his seven-day deadline was not met, and if he could be trusted to honour an exchange. For a second time in twenty-four hours Hector found himself reassessing Maria's qualities. On the fishing boat she had shown herself to be thoughtful and level-headed, and in the presence of the angry crowd she had kept cool. He told himself that she would not allow herself to be browbeaten by the Alcalde into giving false evidence or understating her case. And knowing her affection for Dona Juana, he was sure that Maria would do everything in her power to convince the Alcalde that he should agree to an exchange.

With that reassuring thought Hector stretched himself out on the narrow bench and closed his eyes. The image that once again floated into his mind just before he fell asleep was of Maria on the fishing boat earlier that morning as she stood up and faced into the wind. She had looked so composed and at ease. He allowed himself a moment's optimism which had nothing to do with his mission to the Alcalde: he speculated that perhaps Maria had been pleased to be starting the day in his company.

A voice speaking English woke him. For a moment he thought he was back on Trinity. Then the rancid smell of mouldering straw rather than Stockholm tar reminded him that he was in a cell. 'Well, Lynch, haven't seen you since Arica,' said the voice again. Hector swung his legs off the bench and sat up, conscious that he was very hungry, also that he was sore and stiff from sleeping on the hard surface of the bench.

The door to the cell stood open. Leaning against the jamb was a figure that stirred a hazy, vaguely disagreeable memory. Even seen against the light it was evident that the man in the doorway was well turned out. He was dressed in knee breeches and good stockings and a well-tailored dark blue vest with gilt buttons over a fresh white shirt. He wore expensive-looking buckled shoes and had tied his hair back in a neat queue. Everything about him spoke of prosperity and the contentment of a man of means. It took Hector, still slightly groggy, a moment to identify his visitor. He was one of Trinity's surgeons whom he had last seen blind drunk in the squalor of the desecrated church in Arica. Then the man had scarcely been able to stand, his speech slurred with alcohol, and he had been wearing soiled and sea-stained rags. Now it was as if he had just emerged freshly washed and shaved from a barber shop, ready to take a stroll through a fashionable part of town.

The surgeon's name, Hector now remembered, was James Fawcett.

'I hear that conniving swindler Sharpe is back in command, and that he intends to run for home with his tail between his legs. But I doubt he'll make it with his skin intact,' Fawcett observed. His tone was casual, almost smug.

Hector's mind was in a whirl. He looked searchingly at his visitor. Fawcett was in his late thirties, a lantern-jawed raw-boned man whom Hector remembered from as far back as Golden Island when Fawcett had gone ashore with Cook's company. On the march through the jungle Fawcett had struck up a friendship with Hector's own mentor, Basil Smeeton. The two had often compared medical notes and talked together of the new techniques in surgery. When Smeeton turned back after the disappointment of Santa Maria and its phantom gold mine, Fawcett had borrowed some scalpels from Smeeton and had continued on with the expedition. Later Hector had seen him firing a musket against the Spanish flotilla in the sea battle before Panama. So it was all the more extraordinary that Fawcett should now be loafing about a Spanish courthouse looking like a respectable member of Paita's professional community. It would have been more understandable if he had been half-naked, shackled in chains and awaiting the garotte.

'Don't look so surprised, Lynch. The last time we met I seem to remember telling you that people like ourselves are too valuable to be slaughtered uselessly.'

Hector swallowed. His throat was dry. 'Could you ask someone to bring me some water to drink, and perhaps a little food. I haven't eaten for the past thirty-six hours,' he said.

'Of course.' Fawcett spoke over his shoulder to someone in the corridor behind him. His Spanish was slow but accurate. Then he turned back to face the young man.

'There's no need for you to continue to be cooped up in this disgusting hole. The Alcalde can arrange for you to be transferred to more comfortable accommodation. I've persuaded him that you are halfway to having a full medical qualification. Smeeton always said that you showed great promise, and there's such a shortage of surgeons here that you'll be able to set up your own practice almost anywhere in Peru even without formal credentials.'

Hector was scarcely listening, his attention distracted by his recollection of what had happened in the church at Arica, the charnel house of the makeshift hospital, the wounded men lying groaning on the flagstones of the church floor.

'What about the other surgeon? The other man who was meant to be taking care of the wounded? What's happened to him?'

Fawcett gave a wolfish smile. 'Same as me. He's got a very lucrative medical practice. Not here in Paita but farther along the coast in Callao. Doing very well I'm told. Even found himself a wife, the handsome widow of a peninsular as they call those who were born in Spain. I doubt that he'll ever go back to life at sea.'

'What about the others? The wounded men in the church in Arica? What happened to them?'

Fawcett gave a casual shrug. 'The Spaniards knocked them all on the head. Saved a lot of trouble. Not many of them would have survived their wounds, and those who did would have been tried and executed.'

Hector felt sick to the stomach. Fawcett appeared utterly indifferent to the massacre of the wounded.

'The Alcalde said something about Watling's head being carried around the town on a pole.'

'The worthy citizens of Arica made a real fiesta of the affair. Dancing in the streets, bonfires, self-congratulatory letters to the Viceroy and the Court in Madrid saying how they had vanquished the pirates. Of course they exaggerated the number of the attacking force. Said it was four times more numerous than it really was.'

The mention of bonfires had jogged Hector's memory. 'After we evacuated Arica, the Spaniards sent up two columns of white smoke, the agreed signal to our boats. We thought someone, maybe the quartermaster Duill, was tortured to reveal the signal. It nearly brought our boats into harbour and they would have been annihilated. What really happened?'

There was a slight hesitation before Fawcett replied, and Hector noted that the surgeon did not look at him directly as he gave his answer. 'I don't know how the Spaniards obtained the signal. I have no idea of Duill's fate. I didn't even see his corpse. He simply disappeared.'

At that moment a court usher appeared, carrying a large pitcher of water and some bread, dried fish and olives. Hector gratefully drank, then leaned forward and poured the rest of the flagon over his head, neck and shoulders. He felt better, though he wished he could find a water trough and wash himself properly. He sat up, stared at Fawcett and waited for him to broach the subject which, Hector had already guessed, was the real reason for his visit.

'Lynch, don't be in a hurry to judge me harshly. I came to the South Sea to get rich, to have my share of the wealth of this land. I have not altered that ambition. Instead I've decided to earn it honestly rather than take it at pistol point. I'm using my skills as a healer. I look after people who are ill with fever or have sickly children or need assistance in childbirth. Surely that's something to approve of?'

'So you are proposing that I do the same?'

'Why not? You could settle down here and have a very pleasant life. You speak the language fluently, and in a year or so you too could find a wife and maybe go on to raise a family in ease and comfort.'

For a moment the thought of Maria flashed into Hector's mind, but he put it to one side. 'And to do this I have to betray Sharpe and the company?' He did not add that he thought this was what Fawcett had done at Arica.

'You owe Sharpe nothing. He would do the same in your position. He always looks after himself, first and last.'

'And the rest of the men on Trinity, what about them?'

'I realise you have friends on board. The striker Dan, and Jacques the Frenchman and big Jezreel. It's quite possible that Don Fernando, the Alcalde, will agree to their freedom in exchange for your cooperation.'

'My cooperation in what. . .' Hector prompted him.

'. . . in arranging some sort of ambush where Trinity might be lured into a trap and overwhelmed by Spanish cruisers.'

Hector stared down at the floor. Already he had made up his mind. It was the mention of Jezreel which had decided the matter for him. He recalled the day that Sharpe had tricked Jezreel into pistolling the innocent Spanish priest. Spanish prisoners had been exchanged or released from Trinity since then, and they would have carried the story of the atrocity back to the authorities. If Jezreel ever appeared before a Spanish tribunal, he would certainly be condemned to a painful death, even if Hector had pleaded on his behalf.

The young man raised his head and looked back at Fawcett still standing in the doorway. 'I prefer to carry out my mission,' he said quietly.

Fawcett looked unsurprised. 'I thought you would say that,' he said. 'I once said to Smeeton that you had the manner of someone who always took his own line even if it meant being out of step with everyone else. I'll tell Don Fernando of your decision. It's up to him and the council to decide what is to be done with you. And I'll ask the guards here to let you have a proper wash. You're beginning to get that prison stink.'

The veteran sergeant and two soldiers came to fetch Hector in mid afternoon. Fawcett had kept his word for they took Hector out to a pump at the rear of the courthouse and stood by while he washed himself. Feeling cleaner but still very dishevelled, he was then brought into the same interview room as before. This time the Alcalde, Don Fernando, was not alone. An extra table had been set at right angles to his desk. Seated behind it was a thin-faced man with heavily lidded eyes and an austerely intellectual appearance emphasised by his high forehead and receding hairline. He wore a lawyer's black robes. A few sheets of blank paper and a pen lay on the table before him. Hector, looking around, saw no sign of any secretary or official clerk and this gave him a moment's hope. Whatever was going to be decided at this meeting was to be known to only a few. Even the sergeant and his escort had been told to leave the room.

One other man was present, someone whose weatherbeaten features Hector recognised at once. Seated beside the lawyer was Captain Francisco de Peralta whom he had last seen on the beach at La Serena.

'I believe you already know the Capitan del Navio. He is attending in an expert capacity,' began the Alcalde. His eyes flicked towards the black-robed lawyer. 'Don Ramiro is His Majesty's fiscal. As an attorney, he is here to represent the audiencia, the council.'

The man in the lawyer's robes acknowledged his introduction with the briefest of nods.

Already Hector had detected a subtle change in the Alcalde's manner. Don Fernando was not as openly aggressive as before. His hostility was still there, seething below the surface, but it was being kept in check.

The Alcalde addressed his opening remarks to the fiscal. 'This young man has brought a proposal from the leader of a pirate band operating in this area. You will already be familiar with some of the atrocities they have committed. Recently they captured the merchant ship Santo Rosario. The leader of the pirates offers to return the vessel, her passengers and surviving crew in exchange for naval stores and the services of a pilot who can assist the pirates in leaving our waters.'

The Alcalde lifted a sheet of parchment from the desk in front of him. 'This is a deposition made by a passenger on the Santo Rosario. It describes an unprovoked attack on the vessel, the butchery of her captain, and the capture and pillaging of the ship. It also states that the survivors of the assault are unhurt.'

'Can we be sure of the accuracy of the deposition?' asked the fiscal.

'I have arranged for the deponent to be available for questioning.' Raising his voice, the Alcalde called, 'Send in Dona Juana's companion.'

The door opened, and Maria stepped into the room. In that moment Hector's eager anticipation of seeing her again turned to disappointment. Maria had reverted to the person he remembered from the Santo Rosario. She was wearing a long, plain brown skirt with a matching bodice, and her hair was covered with a simple cotton kerchief. She was deferential and subdued, and she did not even look in his direction. Her face showed no expression as she walked forward and stopped a few paces in front of the Alcalde. The anticlimax was so great that Hector felt as if a chasm had suddenly opened beneath his feet and he had dropped into it.

'Senorita Maria,' the Alcalde began, 'Don Ramiro is an attorney for the audiencia. He wishes to question you about your statement concerning the seizure of the Santo Rosario..' He handed the sheet of paper across to the lawyer who took it and began to read aloud. Occasionally he looked up at Maria to make sure that she was paying attention.

Maria listened with her eyes fixed on the floor and her hands demurely clasped in front of her. Hector recalled that this was exactly how she had stood and looked when he saw her on the day he had gone onto the Santo Rosario with the boarding party. He even recollected how he had noticed on that day how small and neat her hands were. With a pang, he also remembered exactly how it had felt when she placed her hand on his shoulder and steadied herself as she climbed across the thwart of the little fishing boat.

The attorney continued with his dry, punctilious reading, pausing between the sentences. Despite his inner turmoil, Hector had to admire Maria's memory for detail and the accuracy of her testimony. She described Trinity's slow, innocent-seeming approach in the wake of Santo Rosario, and the moment that Captain Lopez had become suspicious. She made no mention of the death of Lopez because, by the time he was shot, she and her mistress had been sent away to the safety of the locked cabin. Her description resumed at the point that she had heard the boarding party attempting to open the door of the cabin and she and Dona Juana had stepped out to confront Hector, Ringrose and the others.

The fiscal reached the end of his narration and looked up at Maria. 'You provided this deposition?' he asked.

'I did,' Maria answered. Her voice so low as to be barely audible.

'Is it accurate?'

'Yes.'

'And no violence was shown to your mistress or yourself, then or at any other time?' 'No.'

'Nothing was stolen or pillaged from you?'

'Dona Juana handed her jewellery and other valuables to the pirates before they made any demands. She wished to forestall any excuse for violence.'

'And that was all that was taken from you and your mistress during this piracy?'

'That is correct.'

The attorney placed the deposition on the table, picked up his pen, and made a note at the foot of the page.

'Senorita,' he said. 'You have heard your statement read out to this gathering and agreed to its authenticity. I would be grateful if you would sign it.'

Maria crossed to the table and, taking the pen held out to her by the fiscal, she signed the deposition. The lawyer set the document neatly on top of the other sheets of paper before him, squaring up the pile with his fingertips. There was something about that little gesture, its air of finality, that alerted Hector. It appeared that the attorney had made up his mind about something significant.

'I have no further questions,' said the lawyer.

'Maria, you may now leave,' said the Alcalde, his voice formal.

Hector watched the young woman walk to the door, and he tried to memorise the moment for he had a premonition that he might never see Maria again. Until she passed from view, he still hoped that Maria might perhaps glance in his direction. But she left the room without a backward glance.

'Capitan, do you have any observations to make?' The Alcalde's truculent voice broke into Hector's thoughts. The judge was looking towards Peralta.

The Spanish captain leaned back in his chair and surveyed Hector for several seconds before he spoke.

'Young man, when we met on the beach at La Serena I gave you a warning. I said that you and your piratical band would not be so lucky next time they came ashore. The events at Arica proved me correct. Only one thing drives your people — insatiable greed. Can you give me any reason why they can be trusted to honour any agreement we might make?'

'Captain Peralta,' Hector answered, standing a little straighter. 'I can give no guarantee. The decisions of our company are made by general vote. But I can say this — and with your seagoing experience you will know that I speak the truth — we have been in the South Sea now for well over a year. Many of the men are looking forward to returning to their homes. I believe that they are in a majority.'

'And what about Dona Juana? We have been told that she is unharmed and that she cooperated in the matter of handing over her valuables. If we agree to the exchange, we expect her to continue to be treated with the respect due to a lady of her quality.'

'Captain Sharpe has already made her welfare a priority,' Hector assured him.

Peralta looked towards the Alcalde, and Hector had the feeling that an unspoken message had passed between them when Peralta continued.

'Your Excellency, I recommend that we agree to an exchange but make sure of Dona Juana's well-being.'

'How can that be done?'

'Send this young man back to his ship. Let him take the pilot with him. That will be the first part of our bargain. The second part will be honoured only after the pirates have brought the Santo Rosario within range of our shore cannon. We will send out an inspection party and if they find the lady onboard and unharmed, we will despatch a supply boat with the stores they require.'

'Isn't that taking a risk? Surely the pirates will sail away the moment they have a pilot, and not wait for the stores.'

'Speaking as a seaman, I would say that the intruders' vessel needs a thorough refit. The ship has been operating in hostile waters for so long that her rig will be worn out. There will be an acute shortage of rope and canvas. If her crew are contemplating a voyage out of the South Sea, those stores could mean the difference between foundering and survival.'

'Thank you for your contribution, Capitan,' said the Alcalde, and once again Hector had the feeling that something was left unsaid. 'I would be obliged if you could select a suitable pilot and also draw up a list of appropriate ship's stores. Enough to encourage the pirates to leave our waters, but no more. If the fiscal has no objection, I will make an order for the material to be released from the royal dockyard without delay. I wish to be rid of these bandits, and I am sure that Dona Juana does not want to spend a moment longer in their company.'

The pilot provided by Captain Peralta turned out to be a small, wiry man whose expression of distaste on meeting Hector made his feelings obvious.

'I hope your ship handles well in bad weather?' he grumbled as he stepped aboard the fishing boat waiting at the quay. It was the same vessel that had brought Hector and Maria ashore.

'Trinity's crew know their business,' Hector replied. He had been half-hoping that Maria would be sent to rejoin her mistress. But the pilot had arrived alone.

'They'll need to,' retorted the little man waspishly. "Where we're going the weather turns nasty very quickly.'

'You must be very familiar with that part of the coast,' said Hector, anxious to please.

'Enough to know that I wouldn't chose to go there if I had a choice in the matter.'

'I imagine the Alcalde can be persuasive.'

'Someone tipped him off that my last ship had a slimy waterline when we came into harbour.'

'What's a slimy waterline got to do with it?'

'It meant that she was riding higher than when we left our last official port of call. I was accused of stopping on the way to Paita and offloading cargo without paying import duty.'

'And had you?'

The pilot shot Hector a venomous glance. 'What do you think? The captain and the owner were both peninsulares, good Spaniards, so no one is ever going to charge them with smuggling, nor accuse the local consulado who sell on the contraband. On the other hand I am a foreigner. So I am disposable.'

'I thought 1 detected a foreign accent,' said Hector.

'I'm originally from Greece. In the merchant service hereabouts you'll find Portuguese, Corsicans, Genoese, Venetians, men from all over. Local-born lads prefer to stay ashore and run plantations with Indian labourers. It's an easier life than tramping up and down the coast in merchant tubs.'

'But at least everyone respects a pilot.'

The Greek gave a cynical laugh. 'I'm only half a pilot. The Alcalde and his sort fear that we'll gang up and run for home and take our knowledge with us. So the rules say that I can never serve aboard a ship whose captain is also a foreigner.'

'But now you'll be aboard Trinity and that's a foreign ship.'

'Even then my knowledge won't be of much use. I only know the coast south of here, and most of that is a barren, godforsaken land. That's about as much as this addled head can hold at any one time.' The Greek smiled sourly and tapped his brow.

'So you don't have any charts?'

The Greek bared his teeth at Hector in astonishment. 'Charts! If the Alcalde got to learn that I was making charts, or even possessed one, I would prefer to take my punishment as a smuggler. No one except a handful of the most trusted captains are allowed to keep a derotero and they must be Spaniards, like Captain Lopez of the Santo Rosario, God rest his soul.'

His remark reminded Hector of the glance that had passed between the Alcalde and Captain Peralta. It dawned on him now that the real reason why they had agreed to an exchange was the need to recover Captain Lopez's folder of navigation notes and sketches. All their talk about Dona Juana's well-being had been a sham. They had insisted that she was treated with respect because then no one would search her belongings and find the derotero.

Hector groaned inwardly. If he had not been so distracted by Maria, he would have worked this out for himself. Then an even more dispiriting thought occurred: the only person who could have told the Alcalde about the hidden derotero was Maria.

Looking back towards Paita's church tower, Hector cursed himself for being a fool. He had allowed himself to be misled. But what made his chagrin even more painful was that he still could not stop thinking about Maria.

_SEVENTEEN

'You weren't exactly honest with her either,' Dan bluntly pointed out when Hector told him of Maria's deception. 'Neither she nor Dona Juana know that we've made a copy of the derotero. That was done behind their backs.'

It was a breezy afternoon with a scattering of high cloud and Trinity was beating out to sea under plain sail. Hector had come back aboard three days earlier and, as arranged with the Alcalde, Dona Juana and the Santo Rosario had been left behind at Paita in exchange for the stores from Paita's royal dockyard. The supply of rope, canvas, tallow and tar meant that Trinity could be made fit for a long voyage, and as none of the crew relished the prospect of sailing back to Panama and returning through the jungle to the Caribbean, it had been decided to leave the Pacific by sailing south, all the way around the tip of South America.

'Do you think our pilot knows what he's doing? He seems more interested in gambling than in making sure we are heading the right way,' asked Dan dubiously. He was watching the Greek, whose name was Sidias. After telling the helmsman his course, he had produced a tavil board and started a game of backgammon against the quartermaster. Now they were quarrelling as to how the game should be played. Sidias was insisting that they follow the Greek rules, as they were more ancient.

'No harm in following his advice, at least for now,' Hector assured the Miskito. 'He says there's a strong adverse current along the coast and we need to be at least a hundred miles offshore before we turn south. Sidias claims that, by staying well out to sea, we'll trim weeks off our passage.'

'Is he proposing to take us through the Passage or around the Cape?'

'He hasn't said,' Hector answered.

'Not much use as a pilot then,' sniffed Jacques who had walked over to join them. He lowered his voice. 'Will those navigation notes you copied be of any use when we are trying to find the Passage?'

'I can't be sure. We've never put any of them to the test.'

'If Captain Lopez's navigation notes were so precious, I don't understand why Dona Juana did not simply get rid of them overboard. She could have dropped the folder out of the stern window at any time,' said Dan.

'You don't know how those aristocratic women think,' Jacques told him. 'Dona Juana might have known the value of the folder and wanted to make sure it got back into Spanish hands. But more likely she took a delight in believing that she was making fools of a group of slow-witted mariners. It was a game for her, to demonstrate her superiority.'

He fell silent as someone behind them coughed. It was Basil Ringrose who had just appeared on deck, carrying a back-staff and notebook. He looked ill, his skin waxy and pale, eyes bloodshot, and he had difficulty in breathing. Many of the crew believed that he was still suffering from taking shelter under a manzanilla tree on a night he had spent ashore. There had been a shower of rain in the night and he had woken up with his skin covered in red spots from the poisonous drips which had sprinkled on him while he slept. The spots and their burning sensation had long since faded, but Ringrose remained sickly. He suffered from frequent headaches and bouts of near-blindness.

Ringrose reached out and grasped a weather shroud for support as another fit of violent coughing racked him.

Dan spoke up. 'I was just asking Hector if we would be better going around the Cape or through the Passage.'

'The Passage would be my choice,' Ringrose answered huskily. 'Provided we can find the entrance. The coast is likely to be scattered with islands and reefs. We could finish up smashed to pieces.'

'Then why not try for the Cape?'

'Because no English vessel has ever gone that way. That's something our captain failed to mention when he suggested we should sail our way out of the South Sea. The Spaniards and the Dutch have gone round the Cape, but no other nation as far as is known. Even Drake himself preferred the Passage. There are ice islands down there.' He hawked, turned his head and spat a gob of phlegm over the rail. 'Anyway, that's a much longer way. I doubt we'd be back in home waters before Christmas. And who knows what sort of reception we will receive.'

'Couldn't be worse than what the Spaniards will do to us if we stay around here,' said Jacques.

Ringrose treated him to a sardonic smile. 'You forget that we are the rump of an irregular expedition. Captain Sharpe and his friends left Jamaica without so much as by-your-leave to the governor. Not one of our leaders carried a commission to go raiding the Main. That makes us all pirates, if the authorities choose to think so.'

'But Sir Henry Morgan never obtained prior permission when he attacked Panama, and he finished up with a knighthood,' Hector objected.

'He brought back so much plunder that he was too wealthy to be prosecuted. By contrast, what have we got to show for our efforts? A few hundred pieces of eight for every man? That's not enough to buy our way out of trouble. Besides, we don't have Morgan's connections with the rich and powerful.'

There was a short silence, then Ringrose was speaking again. 'In the time we've been gone from Jamaica, anything can have happened. A new king on the throne, a different governor, wars declared and peace treaties signed. We've no idea of what might have changed, and how that will affect our return. We'll not find out until we get there.' He glanced up at the sky. 'Sun's close to its zenith, Hector.'

Hector walked aft with him to where Sidias was sitting cross-legged on the deck, still absorbed in his game of backgammon. He did not even glance up as their shadows passed over him. Ringrose took the noon sight and wrote down the reading. Hector noticed that his hand was shaking.

'How long do you think it is before we reach the mouth of the Passage?' Ringrose said, speaking loudly so that Sidias could no longer ignore him.

The Greek looked up grudgingly. He wrinkled his brow as if in deep thought before announcing, 'Five or six weeks.' Then he turned his attention back to the tavil board and ostentatiously moved one of the counters, making it clear that he had no interest in further conversation.

Six weeks out from Paita, Sidias declared it was time to steer back towards the land and Sharpe followed his advice. As if to endorse the decision, the wind shifted into the ideal quarter, south-west, and with a fresh gale on the beam Trinity fairly tore along. The mood on the ship quickly became light-hearted and expectant. For some time past there had been a drop in the temperature of the air, and the men guessed that they were now far enough south to be in the region of the Passage. They acted with a careless exuberance as if to celebrate the final leg of their voyage. Hidden stocks of brandy and rum were broached, and several of the crew were fuddled, staggering and tripping as they made their way about the deck. Hector, however, was increasingly uneasy. He and Ringrose had been using dead reckoning to fix the ship's position. From time to time the two of them had disagreed on progress, the number of miles sailed, and whether or not there had been an ocean current taking them off track. On each occasion Hector had deferred to the more experienced man, partly because Ringrose's illness had made him argumentative and tetchy. Only the readings from the backstaff could be relied on, and they placed the vessel at 50 degrees south. But that was no indication of how close they were to land, and Hector had long ago decided that Sidias was worse than useless. The Greek was a gambler by nature, and would trust to luck that they would make a safe arrival on the coast. Whenever asked how soon they would raise the land, Sidias was evasive. His job, he always answered, was to identify the landfall, then indicate which way the ship should go. The Greek was so aloof that Hector felt obliged to seek him out that evening and ask if he was not concerned about how he would get back to Paita. In reply the Greek gave a dismissive shrug. 'What makes you think I want to leave this ship? There's no reason for me to return to Paita.'

'But you told me that the Alcalde forced you to become our pilot.'

'And he will make my life miserable once again if ever I return there. So I prefer to stay with this company.'

Taken aback by the Greek's self-regard, Hector went to join his friends. It was too chilly at night to sleep on deck, and they had slung hammocks in the aft end of the hold. Groping his way through the semi-darkness, he found Jezreel and Jacques already sound asleep. Only Dan was awake and when Hector told him of his concerns about Sidias' competence, Dan advised him not to fret. Perhaps in the morning they would have a chance to look through the notes copied from Lopez's derotero and see if they would be useful when they eventually made a landfall. In the meantime there was nothing to be done, and Hector should get some rest. But Hector was unable to sleep. He lay in his hammock, listening to the swirl of water along the hull and the creaking and working of the ship as Trinity forced her way through the sea.

Hector must have dozed off, for he came sharply awake to the sound of roars of panic. They came from directly above him, from the quarterdeck, and were loud enough to be heard above the sound of the waves crashing against the wooden hull. Trinity was heaving and pitching awkwardly, and water was surging back and forth across the bilge. The wind had increased in strength. In the pitch dark Hector rolled out of his hammock and felt for his sea coat. All around him were the noises of men scrambling out of their hammocks, asking questions, wondering what was happening. The shouts came again, more urgent now. He heard the words 'Cliffs! Land ahead!'

Clambering up the companion ladder and onto the quarterdeck, he came upon a scene of confusion. A sliver of moon rode a sky streaked with skeins of high, thin cloud. There was just enough light to show men frantically hauling on ropes, scrambling to reduce sail, and when he looked aft, the figure of Bartholomew Sharpe beside the helm.

'White water close on the port bow!' came a terror-stricken shout from the bows.

'Get the topsails off! Quick now!' bellowed Sharpe. He was half-dressed and must have run out from his cabin. A high-pitched squealing, frenzied and unearthly, set Hector's teeth on edge. For a moment he froze. Then he remembered that among the stores loaded at Paita had been a half-grown sow. The animal was being kept as a Christmas feast. She had sensed the mood of terror on board and was squealing in fright.

Sharpe caught sight of Hector and beckoned him over with furious gestures. 'That cursed numbskull of a pilot!' he shouted above the roar of the wind. 'We're entangled among rocks!'

Looking forward over the bowsprit, Hector caught a glimpse of something which showed white for a brief moment. Perhaps a hundred paces ahead, it was low down and above it loomed what seemed to be a darker shape though he could not be sure. Even with his limited experience he half-recognised waves beating against the foot of a cliff. Trinity answered the helm and began to turn away from the danger directly ahead, but almost immediately there was another cry of alarm, this time from his right. A sailor was pointing out into the darkness and there, not more than fifty yards away, was another eruption of white foam. This time he was sure. It was water breaking over a reef.

Sharpe was shouting again, even more angry. 'We've been driven into a skerry. I need sober lookouts, not tosspots. Lynch! Get up there into the foretop and sing out if you see a danger. Take your friend, the striker, with you. He sees things when others can't.'

Hector ran to find Dan and together they scrambled up the shrouds and onto the small platform of the foretop. The wind was strengthening still further, and on their exposed perch they peered forward, trying to see into the darkness. Below their legs the forecourse still bellied out, providing steerage way for the helmsmen. From farther aft came the shouts of men taking in the mainsail, urgently reducing the speed of the ship.

'How much longer until first light?' Hector yelled, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice. He could see almost nothing in the murk, only vague and indistinct shapes, some darker than others. It was impossible to judge how far away they were.

'Maybe an hour,' Dan answered. 'There! A reef or a small island. We're coming too close.'

Hector turned and shouted out the information. Someone down on deck must have heard him for he saw the foreshortened figure of a man running to the helm and relaying the message, then a group of men hastily sheeting in the triangular mizzen sail to assist the action of the rudder in turning the ship. Trinity changed direction, clawing up into the wind.

'More rocks, by that patch of foam,' announced Dan. This time he was pointing to starboard.

Hector cried out another warning and, standing up on the platform, wrapped one arm around the foretopmast. With the other arm he pointed which way Trinity should go. At that instant a cloud passed across the moon, and there was complete darkness. All of a sudden he was completely disoriented, the ship swayed beneath his feet, the motion magnified by his height above the deck, and he felt dizzy. For one heart-stopping moment his grip on the mast slipped, and he tottered, feeling that he was about to fall. He had a sudden, awful vision of smashing clown onto the deck or, worse, landing in the sea unnoticed and being left behind in the wake of the vessel. Hurriedly he clamped his other arm around the mast, clutching it to his chest in a fierce grip, and slithered down to a sitting position. Within a minute the cloud had passed, and there was enough moonlight to see his surroundings. Dan seemed not to have noticed his brief horror, but Hector could feel his clothes clammy with cold sweat.

For an hour or more the two of them conned the ship from the foremast as Trinity swerved and sidled her way past one danger and then the next. Gradually the sky began to lighten and, very slowly, the extent of their predicament became clear.

Ahead stretched an iron-bound coast, a vista of grey and black cliffs and headlands which extended in both directions far into the distance. Behind the cliffs rose ridges of bare rock which became the slopes and screes of a coastal mountain range whose jagged crest was lightly dusted with snow. Nowhere was there anything to relieve the impression of monotonous desolation except an occasional clump of dark trees growing in sheltered folds of the austere landscape. Closer to hand were the small offshore islands and reefs which had so nearly destroyed the ship in the darkness and still menaced her. Here the surface of the sea sporadically exploded in warning spouts of spray or heaved and sank in sudden upwellings which warned of submerged rocks and shoals. Even the channels between the islands were forbidding. In them the water moved strangely, sometimes streaked with foam, at other times with the deep, blue-black slickness of a powerful current.

'Hang on!' said Dan. He had seen the telltale white flurry of a squall which had suddenly ripped up the surface of the sea and was now racing towards them. Hector braced himself. Trinity abruptly heeled under the force of the wind. From below them came the creaking sound of the foresail spar as it took the strain and then the sudden crack of something breaking. The squall was strong enough to lift a vaporous whirl of fine spray and send it over the ship, darkening her timbers and leaving a slick on the deck. Hector felt the moisture settle on his face and trickle down inside his collar.

A hail from the deck made him look down. Sharpe was beckoning to him, ordering him to return to near the helm. He made his way carefully down the shrouds, gripping tightly in case another squall struck, and reached the poop deck. Sharpe was no longer in a towering rage but seething with subdued anger. Beside him Sidias looked shamefaced, clearly ill at ease.

'Lynch, this idiot seems to have lost his command of English,' snarled Sharpe. 'Tell him that I want some sensible advice, not pretence and falsehood. Ask him in a language he understands what he recommends, which way we go.'

Speaking in Spanish, Hector repeated the question. But he knew already that the pilot had been feigning incomprehension.

'I don't know,' the Greek confessed, avoiding Hector's gaze. 'I have no knowledge of this part of the coast. It is strange to me. I have never been here before.'

'Is there nothing you recognise?'

'Nothing,' Sidias shook his head.

'What about the tides?'

Sidias nodded towards a nearby island. 'Judge for yourself. That line of the weeds indicates a rise and fall of at least ten or twelve feet and that would be normal for the parts of the coast I am familiar with.'

Hector relayed the information to Sharpe who glowered at the pilot. 'What about an anchorage or a harbour? Ask him that.'

Again the pilot could only speculate. He supposed there would be bays or inlets where a ship might find shelter, but anchoring was sure to be difficult. The drop-off from the land was usually so abrupt that an anchor seldom reached to the seabed before its cable ran out.

'We follow along the coast until we find shelter,' Sharpe decided. He had to raise his voice above the moan of the wind. 'God grant that we can scrape through.'

It was a wild, intimidating ride. Every member of Trinity s crew was now up on deck, either spread along the rails or in the shrouds. Even the drunkards had sobered up. They knew the danger, the strain showing on their faces as they watched the reefs slide by. Sometimes their vessel came so close to disaster that her hull brushed fronds of seaweed writhing in the backwash of the swells. Only the skill of the helmsmen, responding to every shift of the current or change in the strength and direction of the wind, kept their ship from being driven into the turmoil of waves which broke and thundered against the cliffs. Finally, after nearly an hour of this unnerving progress, they came level with an entrance to a narrow bay. 'Turn in! And stand by to lower the pinnace,' Sharpe ordered. He had noted the area of calm water behind a low promontory. Here a skilfully handled ship might find shelter and lie at rest. More crucially, a great solitary tree stood on the point of land, only a few paces from the water's edge. Trinity sidled in and the crew began to clew up the foresail. As the vessel slowed, the pinnace splashed down in the water, and a dozen men rowed furiously for the land, towing the main cable behind their boat. They scrambled up the beach, made fast the cable around the tree, and Trinity gathered sternway. She fell back until the heavy rope came taut, and the ship slowed to a halt, tethered to the land and safe.

A sense of relief spread throughout the ship. Men thumped one another on the back in celebration. Some climbed into the rigging and out along the foremast yard and began to furl the sails. Sharpe was halfway back to his cabin when a last great gust of wind came raging over the promontory and struck the ship. Under the impact Trinity reared back like a startled mare against her bridle. The main cable sprang from the surface, water spraying from the strands of rope as they took the strain, and when the full force of the wind drove upon her, there was a loud, rending crack. The great tree holding the ship came toppling down, the ancient roots giving up their hold. Trinity, her sails furled, was helpless. The gust drove her backwards across the small bay and, with an impact that shuddered the length of her keel, she struck stern first upon the shingle beach. Above the shriek of the wind, every man aboard heard the sound as her rudder sheered. The vessel was crippled.

For three weeks the wounded Trinity lay in the bay. A web of ropes fastened to boulders and posts driven into the shingle held her steady against the rise and fall of the tides while the carpenters worked to fashion and fit a new rudder. The great gust had been the gale's final stroke, and the wind was never again so fierce. Instead the weather was continually cold, damp and oppressive. Thick cloud clamped down, obscuring the mountains, so that the leaden sky blended with the slate-grey landscape. Those men who were not working on the repairs reverted to their endless games of cards and dice or prowled the beach and prised mussels off the rocks. They shot penguins to boil and roast. The flesh was quite palatable, being as dark as venison though oily. Dan volunteered to explore inland and came back to report no sign whatever of human life. The interior was too harsh and craggy to support settlement. He claimed to have come across unknown wild plants which might prove useful additions to the near-empty medicine chest, but this was only an excuse so that he and Hector could go ashore. They took with them the bamboo tube containing their copies of Captain Lopez's navigation notes.

Safely out of sight of the ship, they tried to make some sense of their notes, smoothing out the pages and putting them in order.

'I think this sheet shows the coast and the approaches to the Passage,' said Hector. He placed a page on the flat surface of a boulder and weighed the corners down with pebbles. 'But it has very little detail. The mountain range is shown as extending all along the coast, and there are at least two dozen islands marked. But they all look much the same. We could be anywhere.'

Dan ran his finger down the page. 'See here, the entrance to the Passage is clearly shown.'

Hector brightened. 'If our notes are accurate — and Captain Lopez's original is right - I'm confident that I could find the Passage. All we need to know is our latitude.'

Dan rubbed his chin. 'What if there's an overcast sky like these past few days and you cannot take a backstaff reading? I doubt very much that the crew will want to risk this coast again. They've had a bad fright already.'

Hector was about to reassure his friend that even a glimpse of the sun would be enough, when Dan added, 'And if we suddenly announce to the crew that we have these navigation notes, we'll bring further trouble on ourselves. They will want to know why we did not say so before.'

'Then we go around the Cape and not through the Passage, and say not a word to anyone about Captain Lopez's notes,' Hector answered. 'Those more general maps we took out of the Santo Rosario are good enough to get us around the Cape if we go to fifty-eight degrees and then turn east. After that, we should come into the Atlantic'

He rolled up the papers and slid them back into the tube.

'Come on, Dan. No one wants to stay a moment longer in this dreary place.'

So it turned out. Trinity, with her rudder repaired and rerigged with the cordage from Paita, took advantage of an offshore breeze and threaded her way through the skerries until she reached the open ocean. Shortly after, she turned south and sailed into waters known to her crew only from hearsay. There they came upon sights that confirmed the stories they had heard - immense blocks of blue-white ice, the size of small islands and drifting on the current, whales of monstrous size, and birds who followed the ship day after day, gliding on wings whose span exceeded the width of even Jezreel's outstretched arms. All this time the weather remained kind, and Trinity entered the Atlantic without enduring a single storm. Northwards next, the sea miles rolling by, the sun higher each day, and the temperature increasing. With no sight of land or other ship, Trinity might have been the only vessel on the ocean. To pass the time, the men reverted yet again to their favourite pastime

—gambling. It was as if nothing had changed since the South Sea. Those who gambled lost most of their plunder to Captain Sharpe who, fearful of their resentment, took to sleeping with a loaded pistol beside him. Only Sidias was his rival for winnings. The Greek's cunning at backgammon meant he swept up most of what the captain missed.

Christmas came and Paita's sow was slaughtered and eaten under a clear blue sky while waiting for the fickle doldrum winds. By that time the men were so anxious for the voyage to end that they clustered around Hector and Ringrose as they took each midday sight, demanding to know how much progress had been made. Ringrose's health had improved with the warmer weather, and he had regained his usual cheerful manner. It was he who finally declared that they must make their landfall very soon. The following dawn a low, green island on the horizon was recognisable as Barbados, though the unwelcome sight of an English man-of-war in the offing led to a hastily called general council. It was decided to find a more discreet place in which to dispose their booty, and on the last day of January Trinity dropped anchor in a deep and deserted inlet on the rocky coast of Antigua. They had completed eighty days at sea.

'No one is to go ashore until I've had a chance to learn our situation,' warned Sharpe for perhaps the twentieth time. The crew were gazing impatiently at a small stone jetty and a handful of whitewashed houses nestled in the farthest curve of the bay. 'If the governor receives us, there'll be time enough for every man to enjoy his rewards. If he's hostile, then we go elsewhere.' He turned towards Hector. 'Lynch, you come with me. You look more presentable than most.'

Together the two men clambered down into the cockboat and were rowed towards the jetty. Seated beside Sharpe on the after thwart, Hector found himself recalling the last time he had gone ashore with a buccaneer captain so warily. That had been with Captain Coxon more than two years earlier and so much had happened since then: his own flight from Port Royal, the hurricane among the logwood cutters of Campeachy, the steamy march across the isthmus and the near-fatal charge on the stockade at Santa Maria, then the long plundering South Sea cruise that followed. He wondered what had happened to Coxon, whom he had last seen after the frustrated attack on Panama. Perhaps the buccaneer captain had given up seafaring and retired with whatever plunder he had amassed. But Hector rather doubted it. Coxon was the sort of person who would always be seeking to make one last lucrative coup.

The cockboat scraped against the rough stones of the jetty and Hector followed Sharpe up the steps. No one greeted them or paid the least attention. Indeed the few people on hand, a couple of fishermen mending nets and a man who might have been a minor government official, deliberately looked the other way.

'That's encouraging,' grunted Sharpe. 'It seems we don't exist. So no questions asked.'

Without even a nod to the onlookers, he began walking up the unpaved road that led past the little houses and over the brow of a low hill. At the point where the road began to descend they had a fine view over a larger, busier anchorage than the one they had just left. Sharpe paused for a moment to check what vessels lay at anchor.

'No sign of a king's ship,' he observed. Spreading across the slope below them was a modest-sized town of stone-built houses. A single, rather ugly church tower rose above their roofs. To Hector's eye the place looked haphazard and chaotic compared to the orderly Spanish towns he had become used to.

'Are we going to meet someone you know?' he asked.

Sharpe shot him a sideways look, full of cunning. 'Depends who is in charge. Antigua's not as prosperous as Jamaica, or even Barbados for that matter. Only a few plantations as yet, though doubtless they will come. The place is happy to make a bit of money with whoever comes to trade, if the price is right.'

He started down the hill and evidently knew his way for he went briskly along the main street and halted before the front door of a two-storey building more substantial than the others. A black servant answered his knock and when Sharpe asked if Lieutenant Governor Vaughan was at home, the black man at first looked puzzled, then beckoned them inside before retreating down a hallway. A few moments later a loud voice called, 'Who's looking for James Vaughan?' and a stout, red-faced man appeared. He was in undress, had removed his wig to reveal a scalp covered with a crop of short, sparse bristles. Draped around him was a loose dressing gown of patterned calico, and he was sweating heavily.

'My name is Captain Bartholomew Sharpe,' the buccaneer captain said. 'I'm looking for Lieutenant Governor Vaughan.'

The red-faced man took out a large handkerchief and wiped his forehead. 'Jim Vaughan is no longer the lieutenant governor,' he said. 'He's retired to his estate. Cane is the thing now.'

'Then perhaps I can speak with the governor, Sir William Stapleton,' Sharpe suggested.

'Sir William is not on the island. He's visiting Nevis in the course of his official duties.'

All this time the man's shrewd eyes had been sizing up his visitor.

'Captain, I did not see your vessel enter harbour. What did you say is the name of your ship?' he asked.

'We arrived only this morning, and are anchored in the next inlet.' It was clear that Sharpe did not wish to give further details. 'I had hoped to engage in a little discreet commerce during the visit.'

The man in the calico gown needed no further prompting. 'If you would step this way into my study, we can discuss matters in private,' he said.

He led them into a side room which had the bare look and slightly musty smell of a little used administrative office. On the shelves were several ledgers and minute books whose spines were mottled with mildew. The furniture was a plain wooden table and a cupboard, several chairs, and two large chests, one of which was securely padlocked and marked with a government crest.

'My name is Valentine Russell,' said their host, closing the door firmly behind them. 'I have replaced James Vaughan as lieutenant governor.' He crossed to the cupboard and took out three glasses and a squat dark green bottle. 'Perhaps I can offer you some refreshment. My rumbullion is prepared with a dash of lime, some tea and red wine. I find that it relieves the heat.'

The two men both accepted a glass of the liquid which Hector discovered left a metallic aftertaste in his throat. Valentine Russell drank off the contents of his glass in a single gulp and then poured himself a second helping from the bottle.

Sharpe came straight to the point. 'I have some merchandise aboard whose sale could be of mutual benefit.'

'What sort of goods?' enquired the lieutenant governor.

'Some silks, a quantity of plate, curiosities, lace . . .'

Russell held up his hand to stop him. 'Can you supply documents to say where the goods originate?'

'No, I'm afraid not.'

The lieutenant governor took another sip of his drink, his small, covetous eyes watching Sharpe over the rim of his glass. Hector thought that the lieutenant governor had a slight resemblance to Trinity's Christmas pig. Then Russell set down his glass with a rueful sigh.

'I'm afraid, Captain Sharpe, things have changed entirely since the time of my predecessor. More rules, more questions. The authorities in London are very keen to encourage trade with our neighbours, especially those in the Spanish possessions. There have been a number of complaints from Madrid. They refer to hostile acts by foreign ships and their commanders. Much of it is nonsense, of course.'

Sharpe said nothing, but stood gently twirling the stem of his glass between finger and thumb, waiting for the lieutenant governor to continue.

'His majesty's representatives throughout the colonies have been instructed to put a stop to these alleged unfriendly deeds,' said Russell.

'Very laudable,' commented Sharpe dryly.

Russell treated him to a conspiratorial smile which, however, contained an undercurrent of warning. 'The commanders of the king's ships, both here in the Windward Caribees and in Jamaica, have lists of those who are suspected of harrying our new Spanish friends. I myself have not seen such a list, but I understand that they are remarkably accurate. The same commanders have instructions to seize any vessels which may have been implicated in lawless activities, arrest their crews, and hand them over for justice. All goods found on board are to be confiscated.'

'And you say that these strictures apply throughout his majesty's possessions?' 'Indeed.'

'Even in Jamaica?'

As Sharpe put the question, Hector wondered if the buccaneer captain was implying that he would dispose of his plunder in Jamaica if Russell was uncooperative. If so, Russell's response must have come as a shock.

'Above all in Jamaica,' said the lieutenant governor firmly. 'Sir Henry applies the law most strictly. Last month he presided at the trial of two most notorious villains found guilty of taking part in the late raid into Darien. One of the accused saved his life by turning state's evidence. The other, a most bloody and obdurate rogue, was found guilty. Sir Henry ordered that he be hanged from the masthead of a ship in harbour. Later his corpse was transferred to the public gibbet in Port Royal. It dangles there still, so I'm told.'

Hector had rarely seen Sharpe taken aback. But the mention that Morgan was executing his former accomplices made the wily buccaneer pause, though only for a moment. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a double-stranded bracelet of pearls, holding it up just long enough for Russell to appreciate the lustre of the pearls.

'Please give my compliments to James Vaughan when you next meet him,' he said. 'I brought with me this little trinket as a gift for Mrs Vaughan, but as I shall not have the opportunity of seeing them on this visit, perhaps you would be kind enough to hand it on with my respect and compliments.'

He passed the necklace over to the lieutenant governor who admired it for a moment before slipping it into the pocket of his dressing gown. Watching the charade, Hector was sure that the necklace would never reach Mrs Vaughan. Russell gave a small bow and said, 'Captain Sharpe, your generosity is to be commended. I feel that I should await further instructions from my superior before deciding whether or not you may do business on this island. Governor Stapleton is not expected to return to Antigua for another ten days. Should you wish to remain at anchor during that interval, you would be most welcome.'

'You are very kind,' replied Sharpe, 'and as there is much to be done aboard my ship, I wish you good day.' As Hector followed his captain out of the room, the young man was still puzzling where Sharpe had obtained the pearl bracelet which he had used as his bribe. Then he remembered the velvet purse of jewels which Donna Juana had handed over after the capture of the Santo Rosario. The jewels were general plunder and should have been distributed equally among the crew. But it seemed that Sharpe had helped himself.

'The Adventure is over and finished!' announced Sharpe on Trinity's main deck in the cool of the same evening. His audience was the general council of the crew, and a long silence greeted his declaration. Looking around, Hector counted less than sixty men. They were all that were left of more than three hundred raiders who had marched inland from Golden Island with such jaunty hopes of winning riches. The survivors were gaunt and shabby, their clothes a mass of patches and mends. Their vessel was equally care-worn, ropes knotted and frayed, sails threadbare, woodwork bleached to a dingy grey by months of sun and scouring spray.

'The lieutenant governor has granted us leave to stay at anchor here for ten days, no more. After that we must depart or face the consequences.'

'Where will we go?' demanded an elderly sailor. Hector remembered him, a cooper by trade. He had made the barrels that had held their water supply for the long voyage around the Cape, a vital role. Now he was at a loss what to do. For him, like many of his shipmates, Trinity had become home.

'It must be each man for himself,' announced Sharpe. 'We go our separate ways. The authorities have lists of some of those who went to the South Seas. Any person on those lists is a wanted man.'

'Who made those lists and who is on them?' The question came from Gifford, the quartermaster. His bald scalp had turned the colour of mahogany, and his skin hung loose on his frame. He looked to have aged by at least ten years in the last few months.

Sharpe shrugged. 'I was not told. But some have already danced the Tyburn jig. Henry Morgan strung up one of our comrades recently.'

Gifford turned to address the entire crew. 'Does anyone wish to elect a new captain and continue with the cruise?'

His question was met with a silence. There was resignation in the expressions of the men. They were weary of voyaging. Those who had kept their plunder were eager to spend it.

'Very well,' announced Gifford. 'As quartermaster my duty is to supervise the final distribution of our prize. As soon as that is done, the company is dissolved.'

There followed an extraordinary ransacking of the ship. Men brought up on deck, piece by piece, all the items that Trinity had captured during her cruise and had not as yet been turned into cash — bolts of cloth for sail repairs, kegs of dried fruit, a firkin of wine, some painted church statues looted in La Serena, a spare ship's compass robbed from the Santo Rosario, even the lump of lead from her bilge which they had thought to melt down for musket balls. Everything was carried to the capstan and stacked in an untidy heap.

Abruptly, Sidias spoke up. Until now, the Greek had been standing to one side. He was not a member of the company and had no vote in the council. Nor was he entitled to a share in plunder though he had amassed considerable winnings from backgammon.

He walked over and stood by the pile of ship's goods. 'My name does not appear on any of the lists. Therefore I propose that I go ashore and find a broker to purchase these items.'

'How do we know you will not cheat us?' The question came from one of the men who had lost heavily to Sidias.

The Greek threw out his hands in a gesture of resignation. 'I will put down a deposit of fifty pounds in coin for this material. If I sell the stock for more, then I get to keep the profit as reward for my troubles. If I cannot find a buyer, then I would accept the loss. Surely that is fair.'

There was some murmuring among the men, and it was clear that Sidias was not entirely trusted. But when Gifford put the matter to the vote, it was agreed that £50 would cover the value and that the ship's launch would ferry Sidias and his goods to the jetty. After that, he was on his own.

The quartermaster moved on to other matters. 'It will be too dangerous to land as a single group. To do so would draw the attention of the authorities. Instead we go ashore in small groups, over the next few days, no more than ten or twelve at a time and disperse.'

'How do we do that?' asked the cooper.

Sharpe intervened. 'Buy passage on local ships and quietly leave. Your silver will open many doors.'

'And what about those who have no silver?' Hector searched the faces of the crowd, to see who had asked the question. The tone had been bitter. He saw it was one of a dozen or so men who were inveterate gamblers. During the return voyage they had wagered away all their plunder, mostly to Sharpe himself.

There was an awkward silence and for a moment Hector thought that there might be violence. He sensed a wave of sympathy wash through the assembled crew. A couple of the malcontents were armed. They could set upon Sharpe and give him a beating.

Sharpe must have spotted the danger for he turned to Gifford. 'Quartermaster, I propose that Trinity is given to all those who have no money. They can use the vessel in whatever manner they wish, though I suggest they sail her to a port where she will not be recognised as a Spanish built. Thus they get away from Antigua and may have a chance to earn some capital.'

There was a murmur of approval from the crew, and the moment of tension passed.

'Neatly done,' murmured Jacques beside Hector. 'Our captain is as slippery as ever. He's got rid of Trinity and saved his own skin.'

Gifford was already drawing lots to decide the order of disembarkation. Hector and his friends were among the earliest to be set ashore, and they had barely time to collect their share of plunder which amounted to some three thousand pieces of eight each, mostly in coin but also in broken pieces of plate before they were on their way to the jetty.

As they climbed up the steps they found Sidias already there, seated on a roll of sailcloth and looking very satisfied with himself.

'How will you get all this stuff to the town for sale?' asked Hector.

'I won't bother,' the Greek replied. 'It can stay here and rot.'

'But you just paid fifty English pounds for it,' Hector said.

'And I'll pay your giant friend another five shillings if he carries this into town.' With his foot Sidias nudged the heavy ingot brought up from Santo Rosario's bilge.

'Lead's not that valuable,' said Hector.

'It's not lead,' answered the Greek with a crafty grin. 'Those nincompoops wouldn't recognise raw silver if they shat it out