Authors: Kerry Newcomb
Mad Morgan (3 page)
“I know an empty purse and a disgruntled crew when I see one. And not your own. You'll have to reckon with the Black Cleric if you fail.”
“I can handle Thomas LeBishop,” Morgan replied confidently, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the
Jericho,
the sloop that had sailed with him from Jamaica. Was that a hint of doubt in his voice? Perhaps. LeBishop was as dangerous as a white squall, a cunning, quick-tempered, and ruthless rival, but just the sort of partner to bring into this Spanish stronghold. After all, they hadn't come to Maracaibo for a church social.
Jericho,
the sloop that had sailed with him from Jamaica. Was that a hint of doubt in his voice? Perhaps. LeBishop was as dangerous as a white squall, a cunning, quick-tempered, and ruthless rival, but just the sort of partner to bring into this Spanish stronghold. After all, they hadn't come to Maracaibo for a church social.
“The plantations inland will have brought their produce down from the hills,” Morgan continued. “If not, we will harvest them ourselves. I warrant we shall find all manner of tobaccos, cocoa, sugarloaves, cattle, and swine waiting for Spanish cargo fleets. We'll ransom Maracaibo for its heirlooms, family jewels, and pieces of eight. Prize money, indeedâthey'll pay or burn. Fret not, little sister. Don't knot your bonnet with such concerns.”
“Henry Morgan, we may have lived beneath the same roof when my father brought you home to Port Royal. But I am not your
sister
. And as for bonnets, you'll find no foofaraw here!” She patted the pistols thrust in her belt. A blunderbuss dangled from a sling draped over her right shoulder. A third pistol was tucked neatly away in one of the pockets of her blue frock coat. With her auburn locks hidden beneath her yellow scarf, Jolly's daughter looked like an innocent young lad cast among miscreants. She buttoned the coatflaps across the baggy linen shirt concealing her pert bosom. Brown canvas breeches and buckled shoes completed her disguise.
sister
. And as for bonnets, you'll find no foofaraw here!” She patted the pistols thrust in her belt. A blunderbuss dangled from a sling draped over her right shoulder. A third pistol was tucked neatly away in one of the pockets of her blue frock coat. With her auburn locks hidden beneath her yellow scarf, Jolly's daughter looked like an innocent young lad cast among miscreants. She buttoned the coatflaps across the baggy linen shirt concealing her pert bosom. Brown canvas breeches and buckled shoes completed her disguise.
Nell Jolly asked no favors, but carried her weight as did every man of Morgan's crew. No man had ever complained about her presence aboard ship. Indeed, there were times at sea when her gently lilting voice, raised in song, stilled tempers and soothed this savage lot.
Morgan chucked her beneath the chin and then sauntered back to the stern where Pierre Voisin stood at the ship's wheel and piloted the sloop through the shallows, back into deeper waters and across the bay.
“Steady as she goes,” Morgan said, drawing abreast of the Frenchman.
“Aye, Captain,” Voisin replied. “Though I swear, any closer to that damn castle and we would have wound up in some Spaniard's lap.”
“Or his mistress's. Fortune may yet smile on you, old goat,” Morgan chuckled.
“From your lips to God's ears,
mon capitaine.”
mon capitaine.”
Men near the sloop's bow gauged the depth with a drag line and quietly relayed the information back to the stern. “Just over ten feet,” said Sir William Jolly, joining Morgan at the helm. The physician settled his tricorn upon his wide, solid brow. Hours earlier, alone in Morgan's cabin, the physician had made an entry in the ship's log. Struggling by dimmed lantern light, the learned physician had recorded their daring entry into Maracaibo Bay, then, setting his pen aside, hurried up to see how they would fare.
Once they had made it past the guns of Pigeon Isle with its fortress guarding the bay, Jolly breathed a sigh of relief. He glared at the twin islands blocking access to the sea. To his wary eyes they seemed but the jaws of a trap closing on the pirates. How the devil did Morgan plan to run that terrible gauntlet of Spanish artillery once the alarm was given? They'd take heavy casualties among the crew.
“My daughter is too damn anxious to test her mettle,” Sir William observed gruffly. His red hair was streaked with silver and thinning
rapidly. He was beginning to look like a monk. In another few years, Sir William figured he would be as bald as the Black Cleric.
rapidly. He was beginning to look like a monk. In another few years, Sir William figured he would be as bald as the Black Cleric.
Morgan nodded, somewhat amused.
“I hear your thoughts,” Jolly continued. “I know, a pirate ship is an odd place to behave like an overprotective father. That should have happened back in Port Royal.”
“Fear not, sawbones. I shall steer her from distress.”
“Nell is a simple, honest lass,” her father ruminated. “Plainspoken. Artifice is not in her nature. But she can shoot the eye out of an iguana at ten paces. And I'd hate to cross swords with her. I warrant she can take care of herself.”
Sir William watched his daughter move among the crew, walking the length of the sloop, leaning over the rail and then, with too many bodies blocking her line of sight, she vaulted into the shrouds to better study the harbor. The physician had not argued against his daughter coming aboard. At least he could keep an eye on her. Not like in Port Royal with its easy virtue and wicked ways. Better aboard the
Glenmorran
where no man would impugn his daughter's honor for fear of facing the wrath of Morgan himself.
Glenmorran
where no man would impugn his daughter's honor for fear of facing the wrath of Morgan himself.
“The
Jericho
's trying to pull ahead,” Voisin reported.
Jericho
's trying to pull ahead,” Voisin reported.
Morgan glanced across the black water. Both sloops were built of Jamaican cedar; their sleek reddish hulls measured seventy feet from bow to stern and were seventeen feet in width. Like the
Glenmorran
, LeBishop's sloop was armed with fourteen eight-pounder cannons. Morgan grinned and climbed the steps to the poop deck and walked to the starboard rail. He produced his spyglass from his coat and focused on the
Jericho
. Overhead the opalescent moon poked through a stream of clouds, a single perfect pearl adrift in the slipstream night. The dappled surface of the bay looked as if it were festooned with shiny pieces of eight. Silvery light outlined the ships and etched in gold the stone and wood houses and the military barracks of Maracaibo.
Glenmorran
, LeBishop's sloop was armed with fourteen eight-pounder cannons. Morgan grinned and climbed the steps to the poop deck and walked to the starboard rail. He produced his spyglass from his coat and focused on the
Jericho
. Overhead the opalescent moon poked through a stream of clouds, a single perfect pearl adrift in the slipstream night. The dappled surface of the bay looked as if it were festooned with shiny pieces of eight. Silvery light outlined the ships and etched in gold the stone and wood houses and the military barracks of Maracaibo.
Morgan adjusted the glass, then steadied his hand until a familiar figure materialized in the eyepiece. “Ahoy, you old pulpit-pounder,” he chuckled. Thomas LeBishop's hollow-cheeked features were partly masked by a spyglass of his own as he studied the
Glenmorran.
Glenmorran.
LeBishop was older by a decade and, until Morgan's arrival in Jamaica, had lorded over the denizens of Port Royal with a singular presence born of his well-earned reputation as a merciless plunderer. The Black Cleric had been a thorn in Spain's side for many a year. He reveled in his reputation as a brutal and bloodthirsty rogue. Before
first setting foot in Jamaica, Morgan remembered how he had been cautioned to cut a wide berth round the Black Cleric and give the man his due.
I didn't then, and I'm not about to start today
, he muttered to himself.
We'll see who's first in Maracaibo.
first setting foot in Jamaica, Morgan remembered how he had been cautioned to cut a wide berth round the Black Cleric and give the man his due.
I didn't then, and I'm not about to start today
, he muttered to himself.
We'll see who's first in Maracaibo.
Morgan barked out a set of orders for the men aloft to keep the topsails full then snapped instructions to the helmsman.
“Keep a sharp eye, Pierre. Go before the wind.”
“Before the wind,” Voisin repeated.
A few moments later, the
Glenmorran
slowly, inexorably, began to edge past the
Jericho
and regain the lead. Morgan grinned and hurried back to the rail, where he executed a grandiose bow, sweeping his hat across his chest. He knew goading LeBishop was akin to poking a hungry shark with a bloody stick but that didn't make it any less fun.
Glenmorran
slowly, inexorably, began to edge past the
Jericho
and regain the lead. Morgan grinned and hurried back to the rail, where he executed a grandiose bow, sweeping his hat across his chest. He knew goading LeBishop was akin to poking a hungry shark with a bloody stick but that didn't make it any less fun.
Â
Â
Aboard the
Jericho,
the Black Cleric scowled and tossed his spyglass to his quartermaster, the pockmarked Cornishman named Peter Tregoning, a distinctly unpleasant seaman with a fine tenor voice, gnarled features, and a backbone hard as steel. LeBishop issued orders; Tregoning made certain they were carried out. He could read the stars and read men, and had never run from a fight in his life. But even a dangerous freebooter like Tregoning stood aside when the Black Cleric stalked past.
Jericho,
the Black Cleric scowled and tossed his spyglass to his quartermaster, the pockmarked Cornishman named Peter Tregoning, a distinctly unpleasant seaman with a fine tenor voice, gnarled features, and a backbone hard as steel. LeBishop issued orders; Tregoning made certain they were carried out. He could read the stars and read men, and had never run from a fight in his life. But even a dangerous freebooter like Tregoning stood aside when the Black Cleric stalked past.
“Beware, you popinjay,” the cleric muttered, as if the
Glenmorran
's colorful captain were standing at his side instead of pulling into the lead. Morgan would precede him into port by a length, though the proud fool might crash his sloop into the docks in the process. “âPride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall.'”
Glenmorran
's colorful captain were standing at his side instead of pulling into the lead. Morgan would precede him into port by a length, though the proud fool might crash his sloop into the docks in the process. “âPride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall.'”
Taking orders from the likes of Henry Morgan did not sit well with LeBishop. But the offer of a combined raid on Maracaibo had been too tempting to resist. The Black Cleric removed his hat and mopped the perspiration from his bald pate. He had a bald, bony skull and pale pasty flesh that defied the efforts of the sun to burn him dark as the rest of the Brethren. A cross of gold dangled from a ring in his left earlobe.
Though a man of the cloth might have seemed out-of-place in such company, Thomas LeBishop looked every bit the minister in his somber black frock coat, breeches, buckled shoes, and round, broad-brimmed hat; even the wide white collar reflected the service that had been his former calling. It was rumored the slaughter of his unfaithful wife and the murder of her paramour had placed him beyond the
company of saints. If such were the case, it wasn't long before he found the devil to his liking. Old Scratch paid well in the coin of the world, gold, silver, whisky, carnal delights, every manner of vice.
company of saints. If such were the case, it wasn't long before he found the devil to his liking. Old Scratch paid well in the coin of the world, gold, silver, whisky, carnal delights, every manner of vice.
The rolling deck of a pirate ship was his pulpit now.
LeBishop gazed down upon his “flock.” These battle-hardened cutthroats needed little prompting. They knew what was expected of them and went about their tasks, preparing themselves for battle as the
Jericho
eased itself close to the pier.
Jericho
eased itself close to the pier.
One of the buccaneers glanced up at his captain and knuckled his forehead in salute. LeBishop nodded, acknowledging the deference, then, with a hint of brimstone in his bleak blue eyes he addressed his crew.
“For the weapons of our warfare are not worldly, but have divine power to destroy strongholds.” A murmer of approval swept through each savage breast. The buccaneers liked the sound of his message. It mattered not whether it came from the pulpit or the ship of the damned.
Â
Â
Morgan turned his back on the
Jericho
and studied the waterfront as the
Glenmorran
eased toward shore. A couple of squat-looking Dutch flutes, square-rigged cargo vessels built for transport, rode easy in their berths. A fore-and-aft-rigged schooner, the sort of vessel favored by those in the slave trade, nestled against the pier a grenade's-throw from the
Santa Rosa
, a three-masted brigantine, almost half again as long as the sloops, and wider amidships.
Jericho
and studied the waterfront as the
Glenmorran
eased toward shore. A couple of squat-looking Dutch flutes, square-rigged cargo vessels built for transport, rode easy in their berths. A fore-and-aft-rigged schooner, the sort of vessel favored by those in the slave trade, nestled against the pier a grenade's-throw from the
Santa Rosa
, a three-masted brigantine, almost half again as long as the sloops, and wider amidships.
The brig appeared to be under repair. One mainsail had yet to be hung, and half a dozen lethal-looking twelve-pounders were arranged in an ordered row upon the docks, waiting to be loaded aboard the warship's gundeck. The royal colors of Spain fluttered from the mainmast.
The sloop lost speed as the sails were trimmed and, catching just enough of the sea breeze on the mizzen course and spritsail, crawled the few remaining yards and settled alongside the pier a good fifty yards down the waterfront from the
Santa Rosa
and the Dutch ships. The men aloft finished securing the topsails and then scampered down the shrouds to join their comrades on the deck. A few minutes later the
Jericho
arrived and prepared to discharge its band of raiders.
Santa Rosa
and the Dutch ships. The men aloft finished securing the topsails and then scampered down the shrouds to join their comrades on the deck. A few minutes later the
Jericho
arrived and prepared to discharge its band of raiders.
“Well done, Monsieur Voisin,” Morgan said.
“Aye, Captain,” the Frenchman called back.
Morgan lost no time in ordering out the gangplank. Goodenough repeated the captain's orders and the freebooters hurried to obey. The walkway was drawn out and allowed to drop with a clatter onto the pier.
For a moment, the buccaneers hesitated, guts tightening, half expecting a first flash of gunfire and the cry of alarm. The silence that greeted them was almost as bad. Beyond the confines of the ship waited the dark unknown. Outnumbered and outgunned, surprise was their only ally.
Triumph or die ⦠.
Then, with a wave of his hand and a “devil take the hindmost” grin, Henry Morgan swaggered across the gangplank and led the way into Maracaibo.
“E
l commandante ha robado a su mujer,”
Julio Hernandez taunted.”Now that General Vega has brought Cecilia to his apartment at the Inn of the Palms, what will you do? Perhaps you could be posted there as one of his personal guards. That is the only way you will see her.”
l commandante ha robado a su mujer,”
Julio Hernandez taunted.”Now that General Vega has brought Cecilia to his apartment at the Inn of the Palms, what will you do? Perhaps you could be posted there as one of his personal guards. That is the only way you will see her.”
“Enough,” Pablo Morales growled.
“But I think your troubles have only begun. General Vega entertains the new governor of Panama and his bride-to-be. As much as Cecilia fancies el commandante, no doubt Don Alonso del Campo has piqued her interest. Though why any man would favor a
puta
when he will soon be married to such a beautiful woman as Señorita Elena Maria de Saucedo is beyond my understanding. But who can ever fathom the destinies of kings and whores?”
puta
when he will soon be married to such a beautiful woman as Señorita Elena Maria de Saucedo is beyond my understanding. But who can ever fathom the destinies of kings and whores?”
The soldier's voice echoed along the section of waterfront he and his compadre had been ordered to patrol.
“SÃ.
First, General Vega, and maybe even the new governor if the repairs on the
Santa Rosa
are delayed and Cecilia can catch him apart from the señorita. I warned youâforget her; now she belongs to General Vega. His treasures are beyond your reach, my friend.”
“SÃ.
First, General Vega, and maybe even the new governor if the repairs on the
Santa Rosa
are delayed and Cecilia can catch him apart from the señorita. I warned youâforget her; now she belongs to General Vega. His treasures are beyond your reach, my friend.”
Pablo Morales, a handsome young corporal, took another drink of rum and managed to slosh a few droplets onto his disheveled white breeches and pea-green coat. He adjusted the musket strap slung over his shoulder. He stared down at the bottle of rum dangling from his
right hand as if expecting emotional support, then glowered at his friend. “Cecilia loves me alone. One day I will take her for my wife.”
right hand as if expecting emotional support, then glowered at his friend. “Cecilia loves me alone. One day I will take her for my wife.”
“Unless Don Alonso del Campo fancies her enough to steal her from Vega and bring her with him to Panama,” Julio replied. He shook his head and sighed. “But if I had a woman like Señorita Elena Maria to marry, I would never lie with a whore again. A woman with wealth and beauty, mmm ⦠.”
“Julio ⦠. we grew up together. As children we ran wild through the streets of Aguilas, played in the shadow of the walls of San Juan Castle. We ate our fill of lobsters and prawns we stole from the nets of fishermen. The warm sea eased our hurts, the warm sands were our bed. We shared the same willing girls, drank kisses and sweet wine, and when we became men, together you and I entered the service of King Carlos and came to the Americas.” Pablo frowned, having lost his train of thought for a moment, then nodded and continued. “If anyone else had talked about Cecilia Tulero as you have done, I would have slit his throat from ear to ear.”
The corporal ran a thumb across his throat for emphasis. Even with his good friend, young Pablo was hard-pressed to control his temper. But then he was a poor man in love, a mere corporal. And what chance did he have compared to men like General Vega, the military commandante of Maracaibo, or, worse, the newly appointed governor of Panama?
“Don Alonso shall take the señorita Elena to wife when they reach Panama.” Morales cursed the trade winds that had brought the newly appointed governor to Maracaibo. “Why should he need to amuse himself with Cecilia?” Pablo grumbled, bemoaning his fate.
“Because the governor is a man like General Vega and Cecilia has breasts like ripe round melons,” said Juan Hernandez. “But don't worry, my friend. The
Santa Rosa
will soon be repaired and Don Alonso will continue on his way to Panama, leaving your woman here for el commandante, and none the worse for wear, except perhaps for her tired back.”
Santa Rosa
will soon be repaired and Don Alonso will continue on his way to Panama, leaving your woman here for el commandante, and none the worse for wear, except perhaps for her tired back.”
Pablo cursed and made an awkward, halfhearted grab for his comrade, who escaped his grasp. The two soldiers were flush in their youthâdark-skinned, immortal, handsome; both were fancied by the tavern wenches whenever there was time and a few extra
escudos
to spend. But Cecilia Tulero was no common prostitute. She serviced only the upper class, the landed gentry and men of quality who patronized the Inn of the Palms, kept apartments there, and made its owner, Miguel Gonzales, a wealthy man, but still a pig. Of course,
what Cecilia did in el commandante's bedroom was work and, in her mind, wholly separate from the secluded trysts she enjoyed with the handsome corporal. Perhaps she even loved Pablo. But love would never be enough.
escudos
to spend. But Cecilia Tulero was no common prostitute. She serviced only the upper class, the landed gentry and men of quality who patronized the Inn of the Palms, kept apartments there, and made its owner, Miguel Gonzales, a wealthy man, but still a pig. Of course,
what Cecilia did in el commandante's bedroom was work and, in her mind, wholly separate from the secluded trysts she enjoyed with the handsome corporal. Perhaps she even loved Pablo. But love would never be enough.
The two soldiers continued to struggle, neither opponent able to best the other and both of them feeling the effects of the “jack iron” they had swilled. The dark, potent Jamaican rum had claimed better men than these. Then Pablo lost his grip on the bottle. It fell, glanced off his shin, and shattered in the street, staining the bricks underfoot. Their altercation set off a round of barking; packs of wild mongrels bestirred themselves in the alleys behind the warehouses and began to bay and howl.
The docks were crowded with trade goods not yet loaded aboard the Dutch flutes. Mounds of tanned hides, sacks of cocoa piled high as a man could reach, and stacks of fresh-cut lumber blocked the occasional breeze. The air was heavy with a salt sea-smell. Pablo paused to catch his breath and stare glumly at the shattered bottle. “Idiot. See what you have made me do. Now what will we drink?”
“Perhaps the bitter brew of surrender, señor.” The reply drifted out of the darkness just ahead.
Pablo Morales raised his lantern. “
Quien va alli?
Who goes there?”
Quien va alli?
Who goes there?”
“I am Morgan,” said the buccaneer, stepping out from behind the cocoa and into the pool of yellow light.
“
El Tigre del Caribe!”
Morales gasped. The two Spaniards struggled to bring their muskets to bear on the pirate. Before they could open fire, Morgan raised his hands as if summoning the angels. In this case, there appeared an armed host, without a single celestial spirit among them. More than two hundred freebooters emerged from the shadows. The Brethren were armed to the teeth with pistols and musketoons, axes and cutlasses; a crowd fierce enough to turn any man's backbone to jelly.
El Tigre del Caribe!”
Morales gasped. The two Spaniards struggled to bring their muskets to bear on the pirate. Before they could open fire, Morgan raised his hands as if summoning the angels. In this case, there appeared an armed host, without a single celestial spirit among them. More than two hundred freebooters emerged from the shadows. The Brethren were armed to the teeth with pistols and musketoons, axes and cutlasses; a crowd fierce enough to turn any man's backbone to jelly.
The two soldiers spun on their heels and attempted to make a run for it. The dark and terrible silhouette of the Black Cleric rose up before them. His cutlass flashed in the moonlight. LeBishop slashed Hernandez from shoulder to navel. The Spaniard staggered back, his musket clattering to the cobblestone street.
“Well done, señor,” Hernandez gasped. He held up his hands in an attitude of surrender.
Morgan hurried forward, recognizing the wounded man's peril. “LeBishop, we want them alive!” He hoped the soldiers might be able to provide some useful information.
“I can do better,” LeBishop replied, closing in on the mortally wounded Spaniard. The Black Cleric grinned mirthlessly.
“No!” Morgan hoarsely called out. Too late. LeBishop skewered the man with his cutlass, yanked the blade free, and started after Pablo who retreated in horror from the cutthroat.
“But you are a man of God,” Morales exclaimed, as the Black Cleric closed in for the kill.
Julio Hernandez groaned as he sagged to his knees, his features bunched with fear and pain. He reached out to Pablo, called his childhood friend by name, the words garbled by the blood and bile welling up into his throat; and in his final moments, while he was still unable to comprehend that his life was ending ⦠the breath caught in his chest and he slumped forward.
“Now then, let the fear of the Lord be upon you,” LeBishop intoned, quoting from Chronicles as he continued to advance on Morales. Moonlight glinted off the gold cross dangling from his ear. Pablo tore his gaze from Julio's corpse and backed away from the Black Cleric. LeBishop's cutlass sawed the air between them, his naked blade slick with the blood of this night's first victim.
Morales shrank back toward Morgan. The Spaniard tossed aside his musket and fell to his knees before the notorious buccaneer. “Spare my life, señor!”
LeBishop moved in to finish the task at hand but Morgan placed himself at sword's-point. For a brief moment it appeared to the raiding party that LeBishop was going to run Morgan through.
Tension swept through the ranks of the Brethren. They hadn't come all this way to kill one another off. Nell, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the men, held her breath, fearing the worst. At her side, Sir William cocked the pistol in his hand. He was prepared to interfere in case LeBishop failed to listen to reason.
“No,” Morgan calmly ordered, his angry gray eyes searching LeBishop's features. “He is of no use to us dead.”
The Black Cleric considered his options and, after what seemed an eternity, shrugged and stepped back from the cringing soldier and lowered his sword. He knew Morgan had a plan in mind to get their ships safely past the fort out on Pigeon Island. They'd not be able to sneak past them again. Escape seemed impossible. But Morgan always had a trick up his sleeve. No, it wouldn't do to jeopardize the raid. “And
you
are of no use to
me
dead,” said the Black Cleric.
you
are of no use to
me
dead,” said the Black Cleric.
“Naturally,” Morgan said with a chuckle. “It is the basis for our friendship.” He glanced over his shoulder at the physician. “Sir
William ⦠take a dozen men and secure the governor's brig. Take Nell with you.”
William ⦠take a dozen men and secure the governor's brig. Take Nell with you.”
The young woman started to offer a protest but her father shooed her away. They chose their men and headed down along the dock toward the Spanish ship.
“Gracias,”
said Pablo, warily watching LeBishop.
said Pablo, warily watching LeBishop.
“SÃ,”
Morgan nodded. “You have heard of me?”
Morgan nodded. “You have heard of me?”
“
SÃ.
Everyone knows of
el Tigre del Caribe.”
SÃ.
Everyone knows of
el Tigre del Caribe.”
“Then you know my word is good. If I say you live, you will live. And if I say you die ⦔ Morgan ran his hand across his throat. “Whose brig is being repaired?”
“It belongs to Don Alonso del Campo, the new governor of Panama.”
“And what is he doing here in Maracaibo?” There were no secrets in such a port.
“He is returning to Panama from Spain in the company of his intended bride, the señorita Elena Maria de Saucedo. Her father, Don Bernardo Saucedo, sent her to Madrid, to be educated at the court of the King. Now, upon his death, she returns to Panama to claim her inheritanceâa fine house, the family plantation, even gold mines, I am told. Not hers for long, though. Such a dowry would make any woman a suitable bride, even a
criollos
like Elena Maria. So Don Alonso is only too happy to take her to wife.” Pablo made the sign of the cross and searched the stony faces of the men gathered around him. He hoped such gossip would win him his life. “The
Santa Rosa
was damaged by fire and put into port for repairs. Don Alonso and the señorita are the guests of General Vega. They have taken an apartment here in town.”
criollos
like Elena Maria. So Don Alonso is only too happy to take her to wife.” Pablo made the sign of the cross and searched the stony faces of the men gathered around him. He hoped such gossip would win him his life. “The
Santa Rosa
was damaged by fire and put into port for repairs. Don Alonso and the señorita are the guests of General Vega. They have taken an apartment here in town.”
“And the soldiers like yourself?” asked Morgan, intrigued.
“Most are stationed on the island. There are troops in town, but asleep in the barracks at the base of the hills. A few of us patrol the streets.”
“We'll need the commandante,” Israel Goodenough suggested, towering over Morgan and his prisoner.
LeBishop had grown weary of so much talk. He was a man of action, and began to pace among the trade goods, impatient to be off through the town. If the Black Cleric had his way, the streets would run red with blood by morning. But Morgan knew of another way. He hoped to avoid a pitched battle with the populace and the militia, unless all else failed.
“General Vega is quartered at the Inn of the Palms on the Calle de
Hermanos. The apartments there are only for the
peninsulares.”
It was only yesterday that Pablo had observed the general in the company of the beautiful Cecilia on the balcony of his apartment overlooking the palm-lined courtyard. It was an unpleasant image, one Pablo could not forget: the way Cecilia laughed and flirted and pretended not to notice the lovesick corporal standing in the dust of the streetâhelpâless, bitter, his heart aching, his sad features framed by the wrought-iron gate. Why should he protect the likes of General Juan Paolo Vega? Why should he care about any of the rich and the powerful?
Hermanos. The apartments there are only for the
peninsulares.”
It was only yesterday that Pablo had observed the general in the company of the beautiful Cecilia on the balcony of his apartment overlooking the palm-lined courtyard. It was an unpleasant image, one Pablo could not forget: the way Cecilia laughed and flirted and pretended not to notice the lovesick corporal standing in the dust of the streetâhelpâless, bitter, his heart aching, his sad features framed by the wrought-iron gate. Why should he protect the likes of General Juan Paolo Vega? Why should he care about any of the rich and the powerful?
Morgan dragged the Spaniard to his feet. “The Inn of The Palms? Then you will lead the way. Betray me and I will hand you over to the Black Cleric.”
“I should like to meet this señorita,” said Thomas LeBishop. “I might turn Elena Maria from her papist ways, if not with my sword, then my rod.” His suggestion was greeted with coarse laughter among the cutthroats who followed his flag. A few of them grudgingly stepped aside, allowing Pierre Voisin to join Israel Goodenough and Morgan at the head of the column. The little thief leaned in toward his captain.
“You should quit making a target of yourself,” the Frenchman suggested. “A wise man would do well not to tempt the Black Cleric. The milk o' human kindness curdled in him a long time ago.”
“Listen to him, Captain,” Goodenough concurred, but kept his voice low. The gunner had no wish to make an enemy of LeBishop.
Morgan ignored their warning. “Did you hear, lads? Maracaibo has already given up two of its treasures. I warrant Spain would pay a pretty ransom for the likes of the governor and his bride-to-be.” He waved his men forward, a self-satisfied smile splitting his clean-shaven features. Despite the Black Cleric's reluctance to curb his ruthless tendencies, this raid might still prove to be a success.
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