Hunter peered at the building, still dark in the early-morning light. The docks were not a profitable place to beg. “You know him?”
“No, Captain.”
Hunter frowned. Under other circumstances, he could send the man to the governor and request that the beggar be clapped in Marshallsea jail for a few weeks. But the hour was late; the governor was still sleeping and would not be pleased at a disturbance. “Bassa.”
The huge form of the Moor materialized at his side.
“You see the beggar with the wooden leg?”
Bassa nodded.
“Kill him.”
Bassa walked away. Hunter turned to Enders, who sighed. “It’s best, I think, Captain.” He repeated the old proverb. “Better a voyage begin in blood than end in blood.”
“I fear we may have plenty of both,” Hunter said, and turned back to his work.
When the Cassandra set sail a half hour later, with Lazue forward to watch for the shoals of Pelican Point in the dim morning light, Hunter looked back once at the docks and the port. The town slept peacefully. The lamplighters were extinguishing the torches at the dock. A few well-wishers were turning away, having said their good-byes.
Then, floating facedown in the water, he saw the body of the one-legged beggar. In the tide, the body rocked back and forth, the wooden leg knocking softly against a piling.
It was, he thought, either a good omen or a bad one. He could not be certain which.
Chapter 13
CONSORTS WITH ALL manner of rogue and villain,’ ” sputtered Sir James. “ ‘Encourages . . . the continuance of dastardly and bloody raids on Spanish lands’ — good God, ‘dastardly and bloody,’ the man is mad — ‘permits use of Port Royal as a common meeting place for these cutthroats and knaves . . . unsuited to high capacity . . . abides all manner of corruption . . .’ Damn the man.”
Sir James Almont, still in his dressing gown, waved the letter in his hand. “Damn the rogue and villain,” he said. “When did he give you this?”
“Yesterday, Your Excellency,” Anne Sharpe said. “I thought you would want it, Your Excellency.”
“Indeed I do,” Almont said, giving her a coin for her trouble. “And if there is more of the same, you shall be further rewarded, Anne.” He thought to himself that she was proving an exceedingly clever child. “Has he made advances?”
“No, Your Excellency.”
“As I thought,” Almont said. “Well, we shall devise a way to settle Mr. Hacklett’s games of intrigue, once and finally.”
He walked to the window of his bedchamber and looked out. In the early dawn light, the Cassandra, now rounding the point of Lime Cay, raised her mainsail and headed east, gaining speed.
. . .
THE CASSANDRA, LIKE all privateering vessels, made first for Bull Bay, a little inlet a few miles east of Port Royal. There, Mr. Enders put the ship into irons, and with sails luffing and fluttering in the light breeze, Captain Hunter made his speech.
These formalities were known to everyone aboard. First, Hunter called for a vote on himself as captain of the vessel; a chorus of ayes greeted him. Then he stated the rules of the voyage — no drink, nor fornication, and no looting without his order; a penalty of death for breaking the rules. These were the usual rules, and the aye vote was perfunctory.
Next, he explained the division of the booty. Hunter, as captain, would take thirteen shares. Sanson would have seven — there was some grumbling at this figure — and Mr. Enders would have one and a half shares. Lazue would take one and a quarter. Black Eye would take one and a quarter. The rest would be equally distributed among the crew.
One crewmember stood. “Captain, are you taking us to Matanceros? It is dangerous.”
“Indeed it is,” Hunter said, “but the booty is great. There will be plenty for every man. Any man who sees the danger as over-much will be put ashore here, in this bay, and none the worse in my estimation. But he must go before I tell you the treasure that is there.”
He waited. No one moved or spoke.
“All right,” Hunter said. “Matanceros harbor holds a Donnish treasure nao. We are going to take her.” At this there was an enormous uproar among the crew. It was several minutes before Hunter could get them silent again. And when they looked back at him, he saw the glint in their eyes, fed by visions of gold. “Are you with me?” Hunter shouted. They responded with a shout.
“Then, on to Matanceros.”
Part II
The Black Ship
Chapter 14
SEEN FROM A distance, the Cassandra presented a pretty spectacle. Her sails were taut in the morning breeze; she was heeled over a few degrees, and cut a swift, hissing path through the clear blue water.
On board the ship, however, it was cramped and uncomfortable. Sixty fighting men, grizzled and smelly, jostled for space to sit, game, or sleep in the sun. They relieved themselves over the side, without ceremony, and their captain was often presented with the spectacle of a half-dozen bare buttocks leaning over the leeward gunwale.
No food was parceled out, and no water. None was given for the first day at all, and the crew, expecting this, had eaten and drunk their fill on their last night in the port.
Nor did Hunter anchor that evening. It was customary for the privateers to put into some protected cove, to allow the crew to sleep ashore. But Hunter sailed straight through the first night. He had two reasons for haste. First, he feared spies who might make for Matanceros to warn the garrison there. And second, he did not wish to allow extra time, since the treasure nao might depart the harbor of Matanceros at any time.
At the end of the second day, they were beating northeast, through the dangerous passage between Hispañola and Cuba. His crew knew this region well, for they were within a day’s sail of Tortuga, long a pirate stronghold.
He continued into the third day, and then landed for the night, to rest his weary crew. The following day, he knew, would begin the long ocean run past Inagua, and then to Matanceros itself. There would be no safe landing in the future. Once they crossed Latitude 20, they were in dangerous Spanish waters.
His crew was in good spirits, laughing and joking around the campfires. During the past three days, only one man had been seized by visions of the crawling devils, which sometimes accompanied the absence of rum; that man was now calmer, no longer trembling and shaking.
Satisfied, Hunter stared into the fire before him. Sanson came over, and sat next to him.
“What are your thoughts?”
“None special.”
“Do you brood on Cazalla?”
“No.” Hunter shook his head.
“I know that he killed your brother,” Sanson said.
“He caused him to be killed, yes.”
“And this does not anger you?”
Hunter sighed. “Not anymore.”
Sanson stared at him in the flickering firelight. “What was the manner of his dying?”
“It is not important,” Hunter said evenly.
Sanson sat quietly for some moments. “I have heard,” he said, “that your brother was captured on a merchant ship by Cazalla. I have heard that Cazalla strung him up by his arms, cut off his testicles and stuffed them into his mouth until he choked and died.”
Hunter did not answer for some time. “That is the story,” he said finally.