Sea Robber

FIVE

AFTER THREE WEEKS in Swan’s company Hector had grown accustomed to seeing two smoky dark lenses fastened to his captain’s face whenever the sunshine was bright. Now Swan was squinting through them into the early-morning glare as he looked forward over the Cygnet’s bow. It was a clear, bright day and they had arrived on the coast of Chile with the first hint of an onshore breeze filling the ship’s sails as she glided gently into the entrance of a deep gulf. The low headlands on either side were shrouded with a dark mantle of scrub and native forest, and the hills behind them appeared wild and desolate. If the chart had not shown that the town and port of Valdivia lay within the gulf, Hector would have thought the land was uninhabited.

‘Unless I’m mistaken, there’s some sort of building by that white mark where the trees have been cut back,’ said Swan.

The identity of the building became obvious some minutes later when a cloud of grey smoke burst from it, quickly followed by the sound of a cannon shot.

‘Surely they can see our flag?’ exclaimed Swan, disappointment in his voice. Hoisted at the Cygnet’s main topmast was an enormous white sheet, which the captain had hoped would be accepted as a token that his ship came in peace.

Without waiting for an order, the steersman put the helm hard over and the vessel sheered away from the gunfire. Even as he did so, there was another cannon shot, this time from a concealed battery on the opposite shore. The splashes from the cannonball were clearly seen as it skipped across the surface of the sea a hundred paces ahead of the ship.

‘We must make our intentions even plainer,’ said Swan. ‘Let fly the fore-topsail as a signal that we wish to parley. Then brail up the courses.’

The Cygnet crept along, barely a ripple under her forefoot, while her crew watched and waited. After a while a guard boat could be seen putting out from the beach in front of the nearest fort and heading towards the waiting ship.

‘Lynch, this is when your knowledge of Spanish can be put to good use,’ said Swan. ‘I will write a letter for you to carry to the Governor of Valdivia explaining that we come to trade, and providing a list of our merchandise. If he lacks a competent translator, you can make our intentions plain.’

‘Should I mention that you have a licence from the Duke of Grafton?’

Swan shook his head. ‘No. The Governor may never have heard of the Duke. Say instead that we intended to make for the East Indies by way of the Cape of Good Hope, but met with such heavy weather that we were obliged to turn around and go westabout. Our stopover here is a chance matter.’

Hector thought such a far-fetched tale was unlikely to be believed, but he made no comment. All that mattered to him was to get ashore and begin in earnest his search for Maria. The smuggled note she’d written to him on the day she’d saved his life told him of her expected return to Peru and her employment with Doña Juana, whose husband Don Fernando de Costana had been promoted to the Audiencia, the ruling council. The Governor of Valdivia should surely know the whereabouts of such a prominent colonial official.

Within moments of Swan disappearing into his cabin to write his letter, word of his plan had spread throughout the ship, and a worried-looking Jacques emerged from his galley and came to speak with Hector. ‘Mon ami, you should not go on your own,’ said the Frenchman.

‘I’ll be all right. You stay behind with Dan and Jezreel,’ Hector assured him. Day by day Dan’s damaged eyesight had improved, though the Miskito still found it difficult to see clearly objects at a distance.

‘Jezreel can look after Dan,’ said Jacques stubbornly. He wiped his hands on a rag to get rid of a smear of soot.

‘Lynch will manage very well on his own,’ insisted Swan, overhearing their conversation. He had reappeared with a folded and sealed paper in his hand.

By now the guard boat was within hailing distance. Hector climbed up on the rail and waved the note in the air. ‘A letter for the Governor,’ he called in Spanish. The guard boat was a small piragua rowed by what looked like half a dozen fishermen. In the stern sat two uniformed soldiers and a young man of about Hector’s own age, wearing an officer’s red and white sash, who appeared to be in charge.

‘I wish to speak with the Governor of Valdivia. I have a letter to him from our captain,’ repeated Hector, shouting at the top of his lungs.

After a short hesitation the boat crew bent to their oars, and Hector was climbing down into the piragua, which shoved off as quickly as if the Cygnet’s hull was hot to the touch.

‘My captain wishes to open commerce. We were on our way to the East Indies by way of the Cape of Good Hope, but bad weather forced us to turn back and take the westward route,’ said Hector after he’d introduced himself. The explanation sounded even lamer than before.

‘I am Ensign Luis Carvalho,’ said the young man. His mournful dark eyes set in a long, narrow face regarded Hector with open disbelief. ‘My uncle—’ He corrected himself, ‘the Governor wishes to know by what authority you bring your vessel to Valdivia.’

‘If you will take me to the Governor, this letter will explain everything,’ Hector answered.

The ensign glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Your ship may anchor where she is. There is good holding ground. Valdivia is some distance from here and it will be at least two hours before we get there, even with the flood tide under us.’

For the first part of the journey Carvalho sat stiff and silent, leaving Hector to watch the passing scenery. His initial impression of a land barely touched by humans was confirmed. Beyond a shoreline of granite rocks began virgin forest, and after so many weeks at sea he could smell the resin of pine trees. The nearer hillsides were the first in a series of dark, sombre ridges, which extended to a far cordillera, its crest marked by a thin band of snow. Everything was on a vast scale, empty and brooding.

Closer to hand, the waters of the gulf teemed with wildlife. A flock of squabbling seabirds chased a shoal of anchovies directly into the path of the piragua. The gulls dived repeatedly as fish rose to the surface, and once or twice Hector had a quick sighting of a sleek, black fin when a dolphin came up from below, feeding on the same shoal, driving them back towards the birds’ greedy beaks.

After about a mile, where the channel skirted around a low green island, he noted a third defensive fort being built on a bluff. There was a web of scaffolding and the ant-like figures of workmen toiling on the battlements, which were already formidable. Hector wondered if this was something it was intended that he should see.

Ensign Carvalho leaned forward. ‘The Viceroy sends us the best military engineers, who have had their training in Spain. He is determined Valdivia is secure from attack, whether by land or from the sea. His Majesty in Madrid takes a close interest. He has declared that he intends to protect the southern flank of his possessions here in Chile, as he has done in Barbary.’

The mention of Barbary gave Hector the opening he needed. ‘I spent some time at the court of the Moroccan Emperor.’

Carvalho’s eyes lit up with interest. ‘Is it true that he employs Spanish officers?’

‘I made several good friends among his Spanish cavalrymen. Thanks to one of them, I managed to escape from the imperial household.’

‘It’s strange that some of my countrymen are willing to serve a foreign potentate, a man whom my King regards with such suspicion that he builds castles to protect his realm from him.’

‘Sometimes it is wiser to adapt to changing circumstances,’ said Hector, hoping the ensign would pick up the hint.

Fortunately the Spanish ensign had a thirst for tales of exotic adventure, and for the rest of the journey he plied his visitor with questions. Hector found himself describing his days in the service of a Turkish corsair operating out of Algiers and how he had been taken prisoner by the French, working first in the royal galley yard in Marseille and later chained to the oar bench until he was shipwrecked on the coast of Morocco. Discreetly he said nothing of the time he had then spent as a buccaneer in the Pacific, and he made no mention of his search for Maria. He judged it was a topic that would require careful introduction.

By the time the little piragua reached the landing stage at Valdivia, the atmosphere between himself and the ensign was relaxed and friendly.

It was clear that a great deal of money had been spent on Valdivia. An imposing defensive wall had been built of massive cut stone, with bastions at each corner, a ditch, and embrasures for cannon and musketeers. Beyond the city gate, the city planners had laid out wide streets and numerous plazas. But, as Hector walked up the main avenue with Carvalho and the two soldiers, he had the impression that the town had yet to fulfil its ambitious design. The roadway itself was unpaved, many of the subdivisions were empty plots that had not yet been built upon, and several large public buildings of brick and stucco had been left half-finished. There were surprisingly few people to be seen. Those he did encounter were going about the everyday business of any small town: mothers with their children picking over the local produce at food stalls or sorting through barrows heaped with second-hand clothes, idlers gossiping on street corners, a few tradesmen carrying their tools on their way to work. He supposed the occasional passer-by with lank black hair, a broad high-cheeked face and wearing a long fringed cloak of animal skin was from the local Indian tribe. He saw no evidence of any unusual prosperity and wondered if Captain Swan would be disappointed in his hope of lucrative commerce. As far as Hector could tell, the bulk of the goods being offered for sale were farm tools and cords of firewood.

They reached the main plaza and arrived before a tall double-fronted building. Set over the main doorway was a stone slab carved with Spain’s royal coat of arms. They entered, and Carvalho asked Hector to wait while he went ahead to find his uncle the Governor and inform him of their arrival.

Hector had expected some delay before he was granted an interview. But in less than five minutes Carvalho was ushering him through the building and out into a pleasantly shaded walled courtyard at the rear. It was a very informal scene. Trellised across the far wall was a luxuriant climbing plant with deep-green leaves and star-shaped blossoms of a delicate purple. Rose bushes grew out of half a dozen large earthenware pots arranged on the flagstones. From one corner came the sound of trickling water where a stone spout dribbled into a small pond covered with water lilies. Seated beside a low table was a small, grey-haired man neatly dressed in an old-fashioned dark-velvet doublet and knee breeches. He was peeling an apple. To add a further touch of domesticity two large, hairy dogs lay dozing at their master’s feet.

‘This is Señor Hector Lynch. He brings the letter from the foreign ship,’ explained the ensign. Turning to Hector, he said, ‘May I introduce my uncle, Don Alonso, the Governor of Valdivia.’

Without rising from his chair and still holding the apple, the small man looked up at Hector with bright interest. Hector was reminded of the sharp scrutiny of a blackbird disturbed while foraging.

‘Tell me about your vessel,’ said the Governor affably. He made no effort at formality.

‘The vessel is the Cygnet from Bristol. Her captain, Charles Swan, wishes to trade.’

‘Bristol is in England, is it not?’ The Governor dropped a curl of apple peel on a blue and white plate on the table beside him, and carefully began to cut himself a slice from the fruit.

‘Yes, in England.’

‘Your captain knows that we are forbidden to trade with foreigners?’

‘He was on his way to the East Indies …’

The Governor interrupted with a wave of his paring knife. ‘Please, Señor Lynch, my nephew has already told me of this fable. We can dispense with it, as no one believes it.’

Hector coughed and began again. ‘Captain Swan is genuine in his desire for peaceful trade. He has written you this letter, which explains everything.’ He held out the sealed despatch from Swan. The Governor took it, prised open the seal with his fruit knife and unfolded the parchment. Belatedly Hector realized that Swan would have written it in English. It was unlikely Don Alonso would be able to read the contents.

The Governor barely flicked his eyes over the writing before returning the parchment to Hector.

‘My nephew tells me that you have excellent Castilian. Please be good enough to read out what is said.’

Hector began to translate. ‘To His Excellency the Governor of Valdivia, greetings …’

‘Yes, yes,’ interrupted Don Alonso with a sigh. ‘Leave out the compliments. Just give me the gist of the contents.’

Hector quickly ran his eyes down the page. He decided it was best to proceed straight to Swan’s request that the ship be allowed to enter harbour, and then read out the list of goods he had for sale.

When he had finished detailing the last of the inventory – apparently the Cygnet’s cargo included a stock of black-velvet caps, serge, silk, ribbons and knives – Hector paused. The Governor instantly picked up on the hesitation.

‘What else has your captain to say to me?’ he asked.

Hector cleared his throat. He was shocked by what Swan had written in the final paragraph of his letter. Reluctantly he continued, ‘Captain Swan wishes to inform His Excellency that an English pirate ship is cruising in this area,’ he said. He was stunned by Swan’s perfidy.

The Governor settled himself more comfortably on his chair. ‘Please read out to me your captain’s exact words.’

Hector had to concentrate as he delivered an accurate translation of Swan’s treachery. ‘The captain writes: “I feel it is my duty to report that two weeks ago in latitude fifty I encountered a vessel, the Bachelor’s Delight. The vessel is armed with thirty-two guns and sails under a false flag. Her captain, one John Cook, is English. I suspect him of being a bloody and known pirate. He claimed to be en route for the island of Juan Fernandez, but is clearly seeking plunder.” ’

Hector stopped reading and raised his eyes from the despatch. The Governor regarded him thoughtfully.

‘I see from your expression you find it shameful that your Captain Swan is so eager to open trade that he informs against his own countrymen,’ observed the Governor quietly.

There was a short silence. Then Don Alonso spoke as if Swan’s disloyalty was of no importance. ‘Señor Lynch, some of those trade goods on board the Cygnet could be of interest to our merchants. We have not received a supply ship for several months.’ The Governor turned to his nephew. ‘You say that the ship has anchored in the mouth of the gulf?’

‘Off the Niebla battery,’ answered the young man.

‘Then send word to the fort that she may remain there. I will consult the merchants of the Consulado and discuss which goods we might buy and what we may offer in exchange.’ Addressing Hector, he added in a friendly tone, ‘Perhaps you will be kind enough to pen a note to Captain Swan to advise him that we are prepared to consider his proposal. My nephew can carry the message back to the ship tomorrow morning.’

Hector allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief. Everything had gone more smoothly than he had dared to hope. Now was the moment to find out about Maria.

‘I will be happy to write such a letter. Meanwhile …’ he deliberately left the sentence unfinished.

‘Yes? Is there anything I can do?’ asked the Governor. His tone was solicitous.

Hector took a deep breath. ‘Would you be able to tell me where I might find His Excellency Don Fernando de Costana? He was formerly the Alcalde of the Real Sala del Crimen of Paita, but I believe he has been advanced to a higher office.’

As the words left his mouth, Hector felt a twinge of anxiety. He sensed a very brief, subtle change in the Governor’s manner. It lasted only a heartbeat, but a shadow flickered across the little man’s features.

‘You know Don Fernando?’ enquired the Governor.

Hector was ready with his reply. ‘A member of his household is a distant relation on my mother’s side.’ It was a lie, but a plausible one.

The Governor appeared to be distracted by the blade of his paring knife. He was turning it this way and that, as if to catch the glint from the sun.

‘Of course I am familiar with the name and reputation of the Alcalde. But I have never met him. I will be glad to make enquiries and try to learn his whereabouts.’

He put down the knife and smiled. ‘Señor Lynch, it is too late for you to return to your ship. I will arrange for a room to be prepared so that you can stay overnight. And if you would be my guest at dinner this evening, I would be honoured. Meanwhile I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Ensign Carvalho.’

The little man rose to his feet and murmured to the two dogs. They rose, stretched and followed their master into the main building, leaving Hector with the uneasy feeling there was something he’d failed to notice.

‘I’m glad my uncle has taken a liking to you, Hector,’ said Carvalho, leading the way indoors. ‘You’ll find he is kind-hearted and sincere. He’s been a parent figure to me ever since my own father died two years ago.’

He brought Hector to a room that was evidently a clerk’s office. There was a desk and writing materials, and Hector spent a few moments writing a report to Captain Swan explaining the satisfactory outcome of his visit. Then, after handing the note to Carvalho, he followed the ensign upstairs to find a bedroom ready for him. Already laid out were fresh clothes, and a tub of hot water stood in the adjoining bathroom. After Carvalho had taken his leave, Hector stripped off and lay soaking in the tub, wondering how long it would be before the Governor would have news of Maria’s whereabouts. At length, grateful to be getting rid of nearly three months’ accumulation of grime and sea salt, he heard a knock on the door and a servant summoning him to dine with the Governor.

He descended the staircase to find Don Alonso waiting in a small side room, where a table had been laid for two people. ‘Ensign Carvalho has already gone to contact the members of the Consulado,’ said the Governor genially. ‘So this evening the two of us will be dining alone. I don’t often have visitors, and never before someone who has sailed around the Cape.’

The meal was excellent, a dish of small, succulent oysters followed by delicious beef, and the easy-going, convivial Governor did most of the talking: Valdivia suffered from being very distant from the seat of government in Lima; there had been difficulties with the local Indian tribe, the Mapuche; early hopes of finding silver and gold had been dashed, but there was ample lumber and a potential trade in cattle; it was his intention to make sure the city flourished . .. and so on.

As the evening progressed, Hector found that he grew more and more drowsy. Partly it was the reassuring sensation of being back on dry land after so many weeks at sea. Partly it was the effect of the local wine. It had a slightly resinous flavour, which the Governor assured him was an acquired taste, even as he refilled their glasses yet again. By the time the dessert was served – a concoction of apricots, quince and whipped cream of which Jacques would have been proud – Hector could barely keep his eyes open. The Governor, noting that his guest was growing sleepy, summoned a house servant to escort the young man safely to his room. Hector climbed the stairs, undressed and fell gratefully into bed.

HE AWOKE with a start. His head was aching from the wine, and his eyelids were gummed together. From the angle of sunlight flooding in through the narrow window, he judged it was nearly midday. He rose and found his borrowed clothes where he had dropped them. His own shirt and breeches were missing, and he supposed that they had been taken away for washing. A tray of food had been placed on a table near the door, and he gratefully ate the bread and fresh fruit. A pleasant surprise was the small jug of chocolate. The fact that the drink was barely warm told him how badly he had overslept. He washed and dressed and went to the door.

He was surprised to find it locked. Crossing the room, he leaned out of the window. Below was the courtyard where the Governor had interviewed him the previous afternoon. But there was no one about. Puzzled, he went back to the door and tried it again. It did not budge. Thinking that whoever had brought the tray of food had locked it by mistake on leaving, he banged on the door with his fist and called out, hoping to attract someone’s attention. There was no response. He returned to the window and tried shouting out of it. The only result was that one of the Governor’s large, rangy dogs loped around a corner and gazed up at his window. Then the creature turned and padded away, ignoring him. Hector sat down on the bed to decide on his course of action.

The door was solidly constructed from a dark, heavy timber. The hinges were of forged iron and opened inwards. He couldn’t see how he’d be able either to force the door open or smash through the panels. He checked the window. It was possible to squeeze through, but then he’d be faced with a thirty-foot drop to the flagstones of the yard. There was no handhold, or even a bush to break his fall. He was still sufficiently uncertain of his situation not to want to be found lying in the courtyard with a twisted ankle.

The wisest course was simply to wait and see what happened. He stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

After a while he thought he heard movement. Someone came quietly to the door and stood outside. He lay still and quiet. A moment or two later he heard the person tiptoe away, then the creak of the stairs. The silence returned.

It was well into the afternoon when he finally heard firm steps approaching the door. There was the rattle of a key in the lock and, when the door swung open, Hector was on his feet, ready to face whoever was there. In the doorway were the same two uniformed soldiers who had escorted him the previous day.

‘What’s happening?’ he asked, both puzzled and angry.

‘Come with us,’ was the flat answer.

Flanked by the two guards, he was taken down the stairs to the entrance hall and along a passageway to large double doors, which opened into what was clearly a council chamber. At its centre stood a long, well-polished table flanked by a score of chairs with ornately carved backs. The whitewashed walls were hung with formal portraits, including one of the Spanish king. In one corner of the room was an altar surmounted by a large crucifix.

But the sight that held his immediate attention was the figure of Jezreel. His friend stood next to one of the tall windows, the light falling full on him. His wrists were bound in front of him, his shirt was ripped so that it hung off his back and there was a blood-stained bandage around his neck. The enormous ex-prizefighter regarded Hector with an expression of both relief and exasperation.

‘Jezreel!’ Hector burst out.

‘Ambushed,’ grunted Jezreel. He had a badly swollen right eye, and his lip was cut.

‘Your friend is extremely difficult to subdue,’ murmured Don Alonso. Hector swung round to find the Governor standing quietly to one side of the room. ‘The intention was to capture your ship, Señor Lynch. But we failed.’

The Governor’s manner was as friendly and gracious as he’d been at dinner the previous evening. By contrast his nephew, standing beside him, looked less at ease.

‘You said you were willing to trade,’ said Hector heatedly.

The Governor allowed himself an apologetic smile. ‘Impossible, I’m afraid. The Viceroy’s edict is quite clear on that subject.’

‘Then why ask me to write to Captain Swan?’

Don Alonso made a slight dismissive gesture. ‘The note proved to be unnecessary. In the event, Luis here was able to attract a boat ashore from Captain Swan’s ship by wearing your clothes and standing where he could be seen.’

‘It fooled me,’ growled Jezreel. ‘I thought it was you and volunteered for the launch to get you. They jumped us the moment we set foot on the beach.’

‘But for the bravery of your friend here, the ambush would have succeeded,’ confessed the Governor. ‘He held us off long enough for the rest of his party to get away in their boat. My men claim they shot and wounded several of the pirates as they fled.’

Hector’s thoughts were in turmoil. ‘But the Cygnet is a genuine merchant ship. You could have refused to trade and merely turned her away. There was no need to attack.’

The Governor shook his head sadly. ‘Señor Lynch, I was dealing with pirates.’

‘You have no proof of that.’ Hector was despondent.

‘I had all the proof I needed from the moment you asked for the Alcalde.’

Hector didn’t understand. ‘Don Fernando de Costana?’

‘Señor Lynch, you underrate the machinery and intelligence of our government. In Valdivia we may be at the farthest end of the viceroyalty, but everyone knows of the Alcalde and how his wife was kidnapped at sea. We have been told to be on our guard, to keep watch for the culprits. Little is known of them, but for the man who acted as their interpreter when negotiating the ransom. He is described as being about twenty years old, with dark hair, eyes possibly hazel or light brown, courteous and well educated, and speaking excellent Castilian with a slight trace of a Galician accent. You should be flattered.’

Hector felt light-headed and foolish. He was dismayed that his past had been uncovered with such apparent ease.

‘What’s happened to the Cygnet?’ he asked.

‘She put out to sea the moment the launch returned to her. Unfortunately she was out of range of the batteries.’ The Governor sighed. ‘Now I have to deal with two pirate vessels in the area, maybe more. I have no ships capable of tackling them. That is why I’d hoped to capture the Cygnet and turn her against the other.’

Hector tried to gather his thoughts. The Cygnet was gone, taking Dan and Jacques with her. He and Jezreel were in the hands of the Spanish authorities, and his identity was known. His situation could hardly have been bleaker.

‘What will you do with Jezreel and me?’ he asked.

The Governor spread his hands in a gesture of sympathy. ‘Officially I can have you tried as pirates now, and executed if found guilty. Yet last night, over dinner, I found it difficult to believe that you are such an incorrigible criminal. I prefer to delay matters by sending a report to the Audiencia in Lima and keep you in custody while awaiting instructions.’

Beside him, his nephew shifted uncomfortably. ‘Perhaps Senor Lynch will give his parole.’

The Governor brightened. Addressing Hector, he said, ‘If you promise that neither you nor your colleague will try to escape, there will be no need to lock you up.’

Hector looked across at Jezreel, still standing by the window. ‘The Governor asks for our parole,’ he said.

‘It makes sense,’ said the ex-prizefighter with a shrug.

Don Alonso beamed. ‘It is decided then. You will remain here as my guests while we wait to hear back from the Audiencia.’

His nephew seemed relieved. ‘Hector, you’ve made the right choice. Escape from Valdivia is impossible. By sea you’d need to get a boat and get past the batteries. An attempt by land would be suicidal. The Mapuche would take you and kill you.’

But Hector had no thought of escape. His ill-judged plan to locate Maria was now in ruins. He had been naive and foolish.

HIS DISMAY deepened some days later. In the main plaza he encountered Don Alonso surrounded by several of his great hairy hounds. The dogs were milling about, clearly excited.

‘I’m on my way to inspect the silver mine. Would you care to join me?’ asked the Governor cheerfully. ‘The workings were abandoned several years ago as unprofitable, but it is my duty to carry out an occasional check to make sure there is no illegal activity.’ He bent down and fondled the ears of one of the hounds. ‘We’ll go on horseback. My dogs will relish the exercise.’

One of the hounds stretched up its muzzle and licked his master affectionately. Something stirred in Hector’s memory.

‘Are your dogs a special Peruvian breed?’

Don Alonso smiled indulgently. ‘My family came to the Americas with the first conquistadors and they brought the ancestors of these dogs with them. Trained to attack, they terrified the Indians.’ He leaned across to pat another of the hounds. ‘Mind you, this fellow’s too fat and lazy to terrify anyone.’

‘I’ve seen a dog very like him, though a different colour, a brindle.’

‘Where was that?’ Don Alonso asked. He was making polite conversation.

‘On a ship, though the unfortunate creature was dead, perfectly preserved.’

The Governor looked up sharply. Hector had his full attention now. ‘On a ship, you say?’

‘Yes. The vessel was stranded in the ice, off the Cape.’

All of a sudden Don Alonso had gone very still. His eyes were fixed on Hector’s face.

‘Tell me about it,’ he said very softly.

‘It was on the way around the Cape, after we’d been driven far to the south. We came across a vessel abandoned on an ice island. She was badly damaged.’

‘You know the name of the vessel?’

‘No. I went aboard with Jezreel to investigate. I found the man who I suppose was her captain. He was lying dead in his bunk. A dog like this was on the floor close to him.’

The Governor stood stock-still, scarcely breathing. It was the first time Hector had seen him look so serious and solemn.

‘What did you do?’

‘Our ship couldn’t delay. I only had time to cover the captain’s face with a blanket. He wore a medallion on a gold chain around his neck. One side of the medallion was worn smooth, the other had a crest on it, the figure of a bird. It was too dark to see clearly.’

‘Did you keep the medallion?’ The Governor’s voice was very low, almost menacing.

Hector shook his head. ‘I felt it would be robbing the dead.’

The Governor let out a slow breath. ‘Our visit to the silver mine can wait for another day. I want you to come inside and repeat your story to Luis.’

‘Why?’

‘That poor man was his father and my brother. He always wore that medallion as a keepsake. It belonged to his wife’s family. She died giving birth to Luis.’

Don Alonso led Hector back indoors and, as they waited for the ensign, the Governor told Hector more. ‘Two years ago Luis’ father set out from Valdivia on a small vessel. He was attempting a passage around the Cape, hoping to open a supply route. He took his dog with him. But nothing more was ever heard from him or the crew.’

‘Did no one report back? It appeared that the rest of the crew had taken the boats and abandoned the ship.’

The Governor shook his head. ‘We heard not a single word. We accepted he had died. But for these past two years Luis and I have long wondered whether he was drowned or killed by the Indians, or dead of fever.’

Hector was about to say how sorry he was to bring such sad news when the Governor gave him a long, sober look and said in a contrite voice, ‘Señor Lynch, you cannot imagine how great a service you have done me and my nephew. Now, at least, we know the truth. It makes me ashamed that I have withheld from you what I know of the whereabouts of the Alcalde, Don Fernando.’

For the first time since arriving in Valdivia, Hector felt a brief surge of hope, though it was mingled with a sense of foreboding. The Governor was already speaking again. ‘But I think it would be better if you began by telling me exactly why you are seeking the Alcalde.’

Somehow Hector was sure the Governor was a person in whom he could confide.

‘Don Alonso, the Alcalde’s wife has a companion, a young woman by the name of Maria. The sole reason I returned to Peru is to try to find Maria again. That is why I need to find the Alcalde.’

The Governor nodded a little sadly. ‘I didn’t think you were a gold-hungry pirate. I feared you bore a grudge against the Alcalde, and were seeking to hunt him down. I thought it better you shouldn’t know where to reach him.’ He paused to consider for a brief moment, then added, ‘What I have to tell you is not what you want to hear.’

‘I need to know, in any case.’

The Governor gazed up at one of the portraits on the wall. Clearly he was searching for the right words. ‘The affair of the kidnap of the Alcalde’s wife by pirates, the flight of the culprits, all that is common knowledge. So too is the outcome of the case brought by the Spanish Crown against the villains in their own jurisdiction, in London.’

Hector’s mood darkened. ‘Maria was the witness against me at the trial, but she refused to testify. Afterwards she wrote to tell me she was returning to Peru, and that the Alcalde was being promoted to the Audiencia.’

The Governor sighed heavily. ‘There was no promotion. When the result of the case was heard – it collapsed and the culprits went free – the Viceroy felt humiliated. There had been great expense and much effort invested in the prosecution. Don Fernando de Costana became a figure of embarrassment. He was sent away, given a new post, as far out of sight as possible.’

Hector felt a chill in his belly. ‘Where was he sent?’

‘To the Ladrone Islands, as acting Governor.’

For a moment Hector was at a loss. He tried to think where the Ladrone Islands were. Then he recalled seeing them marked on a chart of the Pacific. ‘But they are thousands of miles away, closer to China than to Peru.’

The Governor nodded. ‘Yet they are administered by the viceroyalty of New Spain.’

Hector was too stunned to say anything. The Governor was still speaking, his voice sorrowful.

‘Fully a year ago Don Fernando left Peru to take up his post in the Ladrones. His wife accompanied him. Doubtless your friend Maria went also. I’m sorry.’

As the Governor’s words sank in, Hector felt numb. Despite his present status as a prisoner in Chile, he had still cherished a faint hope that there would be a happy outcome to his quest for Maria. He had even allowed himself to speculate that she might hear of him in gaol, if he was sent to Lima for trial. She might come to find him, and though he did not expect her to save him a second time, she might persuade the judges to spare him from the garrotte and give him a prison sentence instead. The news that Maria was on the far side of the world shattered that fantasy. She would never be aware he’d come to Chile to find her, nor would she ever know what happened to him. For a black moment he despaired as he pictured the vast distance that lay between them.

Then, from somewhere within him, came an obstinate and defiant response: he would not be deterred. He would not waste the long, harsh weeks at sea, or the cruel passage around the Horn. They had brought him a good part of the way to her and if, by some miracle, he was ever free to do so, he would continue his journey to reach her. Unbidden, an image of Maria appeared as he had last seen her at his trial. He remembered how self-assured and beautiful she had been, answering the prosecution’s questions with outright lies. He could hear her low, firm voice and picture the set of her jaw and the way she looked straight at him as if he was a stranger and swore that she’d never seen him before. Now he would show similar courage and determination, whatever the consequences. He would not abandon hope of reaching her, though his detention in Valdivia would be harder to bear now that he knew Maria was still so far away.