Admiral (25 page)

Would it all work? Ned looked at Diana’s drawing yet again, admiring her skill and picturing the approach to the bay, which was about twenty-five miles west of Portobelo. The plan for the attack was simple, and simplicity was the most important part of any enterprise involving a large number of men. Of course, simplicity alone could not guarantee success, but it was a
good
plan; Thomas admitted that, even though he did not like it. He could not explain why, and Ned began to suspect that Thomas was simply uncomfortable with such a large force. It was not large in the number of men (on the contrary, considering what they had to do) but it was in terms of ships.

Twenty-eight ships sounded a large fleet, and looking astern at the number of sails following the
Griffin
it looked it, until one realized that they were all small vessels, most of them carrying four or six guns, and some eight. Only a few had more than a hundred men on board.

Thomas, whose opinion he had to consider since it was the only one he heard, was particularly concerned that they might be seen by a
guardacosta
or, anchored in the Bahia las Minas, by fishermen. When Ned pointed out that fishermen and fishing boats could be captured, and certainly no one could get overland in time to warn Portobelo, Thomas had grunted his agreement; not entirely convinced, but not so uncertain that he wanted to make an issue of it.

It was the nearest to an argument they had reached so far in their relationship. Not disagreeing, though, because each trusted the other’s judgement well enough to listen, to accept a criticism in the spirit in which it was meant, and modify ideas when necessary.

Diana (she and Aurelia knew the details; it was impossible to keep it from them and Ned never intended to) liked the plan and thought it stood a good chance of succeeding, but (like Aurelia) understood Thomas’ reservations. Like Aurelia, she had said flatly to Thomas: “We have to use Ned’s plan unless you can think of something better.”

Lobb came up, his hair soaking and clothes sodden from perspiration. “They’ve got the hang of loading and aiming the carriage guns,” he reported. “They prefer ’em to ship guns – barrel at a more comfortable height for ramming, so they say.”

“Aye, and they’re that much more exposed to enemy fire,” Thomas commented. “Tell ’em that. Better an aching back with a ship gun than getting your head knocked off because a land gun has big wheels!”

Diana had walked up in time to hear Thomas and said impatiently: “Cheer up, Thomas; you are going round like a black cloud.”

“Sir,” Lobb said, “I was wondering if we could unlash the wheels of one of the falcons so the men could get used to moving it about and taking the carriage to pieces. Apart from running the falcons down the hill from the Santa Catalina bridge, the only ones they’ve ever moved are ship guns using train tackles.”

Ned glanced round the horizon as he felt the slight roll of the ship beneath his feet. The sky was almost cloudless and an unbelievable blue; the sky had the deep purple tinge of the ocean. A few terns jinked and wheeled in the
Griffin
’s wake and the big black frigate birds soared as effortlessly as children’s kites and dived after the flying fish. What the men would learn while hauling and pushing a falcon round the
Griffin
’s deck that would help them later he did not know, but taking the carriages apart would be useful, and it showed that at least they were keen. “All right,” he said, “but secure it the moment we start rolling.”

Diana stayed with them and Ned beckoned to Aurelia. This sort of gunnery exercise, he decided was not for women: the gun running away with the men could cause a great deal of damage with those iron-hooped wheels, even with guys secured to the eyebolts at each end of the axle to restrain them.

Early on Sunday morning, with a good northerly breeze driving the squadron towards the Isthmus, a look-out in the
Griffin
sighted the three peaks forming a triangle behind the Pan de Azúcar and two hours later the perspective glass revealed the lower mountains nearer the coast, including the Pan de Azúcar itself. Soon they were close enough to distinguish the land sloping downwards to the west like a wedge until it reached Cerro Merced, which it seemed to be trying to drive under and lift.

The sun still hung low, and the mountains were a dull grey, with one side in shadow and the peaks seeming to hang above the horizon, not connected to the land, looking like thunderclouds forming in the distance. As the sun rose and lit their lower slopes they grew down to the land, and then slowly the peaks turned a bluish grey and formed more regular shapes as the sun lifted away the shadows on the western slopes.

Finally they could see, well over on the larboard side, the high land that surrounded Portobelo and made the port little more than an alley cut into the mountains. According to Thomas and Secco, Portobelo was nearly always airless – the high hills, mountains really, cut of the winds, and the inner part of the harbour ended in a swamp right beside what passed for a town. Four forts, four hundred people living in the town and normally a garrison of a thousand… Secco said that yellow fever was as common as ague in England and killed as many in Portobelo each year as were born, so that year after year the population remained the same.

Ned looked astern at his little fleet and once again was reminded of ducklings following their mother across a pond. Not that the
Griffin
was so much bigger, but the ships were spread out in a wide vee, as though they were the
Griffin’s
wake. Each ship, it seemed, wanted to be a little more to one side or the other than her next ahead, presumably to have a good view.

Saxby in the
Phoenix
stayed precisely on the
Griffin
’s larboard quarter, with Thomas in the
Peleus
on the starboard quarter, so that with the
Griffin
ahead the three of them led the rest like a wedge. Ned was pleased to see that the buccaneers were making an effort to keep in some sort of station; if one of them began to forge ahead, she reduced sail or eased a sheet to slow down. Thomas had previously warned that most buccaneer voyages comprised a farewell wave at the beginning and then a ragged rendezvous at the town to be attacked, and this had been the reason for many failures, because the irregular arrivals gave the Spaniards time to escape to safety with their valuables or prepare a defence.

Ned had been emphatic when he talked to the buccaneer captains. They could surprise the enemy by arriving off a Spanish town all together and deliver a real punch; arriving singly over two or three days meant they were merely giving the sort of gentle slaps that would startle but not kill a mosquito.

Aurelia came up on deck and stood with Ned. The sun had bleached her hair even more. In Barbados it had been the colour of an ash branch stripped of its bark; now it was silvery-blonde, emphasizing the deep golden tan of her face, shoulders and arms. Ned, excited at the enemy coast ahead and his ships astern, thought he had never seen such an attractive woman: she stirred him so that with his ships astern he felt he could conquer the world, but for the moment would be contented with taking her down to the cabin.

“That’s the Pan de Azúcar?” she asked, pointing over the larboard bow.

“Yes. Portobelo is just to the left of it. That line of lower hills form the western side.”

“Don’t you feel nervous? You slept well enough!”

“Excited, but not really nervous. Anyway, we won’t be attacking it for another two or three days.”

“I know, but I’m excited. Not over the prospect of fighting,” she said frankly, “but the idea of all that silver… Ned, supposing they’ve taken it all back to Panama?”

“Don’t,” he pleaded in mock dismay. “I’ve been trying to avoid thinking of that possibility since I first heard about it!”

“Is that armour as hot as it looks?” she said, pointing to some men on the foredeck who were wearing it and fencing with wooden swords, obviously trying to accustom themselves to the change of balance with so much extra weight above their waists and the movement of their heads and necks restricted by the helmets.

“I haven’t tried it, but I presume so,” Ned said. “The sun is so hot that touching a metal fitting on deck almost scorches you. It’s the helmet I’d hate.”

“Spanish armour has such a distinctive shape – like the Romans wore. I’ve seen them on coins, I think. Or paintings.”

“The distinctive shape is what gave me the idea,” Ned said.

Aurelia watched for several minutes. “You know,
chéri,
those men move as easily as if they had been wearing armour for years.”

“I hope Thomas and Secco have been training their men as well as Lobb has.”

“Do you trust this man Secco?” she asked suddenly.

“Yes, completely.”

“Why?”

Ned gave a dry laugh. “It’s quite simple. He has been a buccaneer for some years; he has raided many towns on the Main – I checked that.”

“But what makes you trust him?”

“Because if the Spanish ever caught him they would – if he was lucky – garrotte him slowly as a traitor. If he was unlucky they might make it last a month. Any man who takes such risks obviously has an enormous hatred of his own country. He’s not going to betray us to them. The Brethren can make him rich; the Spanish can only kill him.”

Aurelia nodded her head. “Yes, of course, you are right. Of all the captains, we can trust Secco. What about the others – the French and the Dutch, and the English, too, I suppose?”

“We have to trust them all,” he said, turning to glare at the two men at the tiller as the
Griffin
luffed up slightly because of their inattention. “When you think about it, every one of the Brethren is hand-picked. The captains have nothing to gain by treachery, nor the men. Imagine a buccaneer who went to the Spaniards. Unless he spoke Spanish they’d garrotte him before he could tell them his news. But even if he managed to tell them, I’m sure most buccaneers would know what would happen once they’d sung their song. Instead of applause and a fat reward, they’d still be killed: the Dons feel very strongly about buccaneers and buccaneering, and the idea of getting information from a traitorous one and then executing him by way of reward would appeal to them.”

Aurelia shivered, despite the sun’s heat. “The cruelty of it all,” she said.

Ned turned on her. “Cruelty, yes. But remember there’d be practically none if the Spanish let people trade freely with the Main. They stick to ‘The Line’. Why the devil should they draw a line – or get a Pope to draw it for them – north and south just three hundred miles west of the Azores, and say only Spanish ships can cross it? And warn that any foreigner crossing it faces execution? ‘No peace beyond the Line’ – well, it hasn’t stopped foreign trade with the Main, because the Dons living there need goods and have to allow smugglers, as you know well enough.”

“I know, I know, I’m not making excuses for the Spaniards. It is just that my Huguenot blood makes me angry when I see religion mixed up with trade.”

“It’s a priest-ridden country,” Ned said, “though until a few weeks ago England, at the other extreme, was as bad.”

“Oh, Ned,” she protested. “Cromwell was never as bad as that!”

“No laughing on Sunday, no ornaments in churches, wrecking the inside of Ely cathedral, for example, no Catholic daring to raise his voice and most forced to flee along with Royalists… Whether Protestant or Catholic, the extremes always anger me. Why are most of us buccaneers? Because we wanted to be left in peace, but Cromwell’s Puritans and the Spanish king’s Catholics would interfere.”

“Think of the poor Spaniards,” Aurelia said. “Their king and government interfere with them out here, from what I hear.”

“Oh, yes. By law they have to live in communities; a man can’t just build himself a house in the hills. They can only buy goods from Spain – and the problem is that Spain can’t supply, so they have to go without. And one Spanish colony cannot trade with another: it has to go through Spain, which means crossing the Atlantic twice. And even if goods do arrive from Spain, they pay taxes on the value in the colony – which can be very high if no ships have come in for a year or so. That’s why most Spaniards welcome smugglers!”

“Amen,” Aurelia said. “Let’s change the subject. We both agree we don’t want to be subjects of His Most Catholic Majesty.”

“I love you,” he said.

Eight hours later the
Griffin
, led by a boat from the
Peleus
carrying Thomas as pilot, sailed into the lee of the island called Largo Remo, with Samba Bonita on her quarter and Galeta Island astern, and dropped an anchor in three fathoms of murky water.

Ned was not sure if it was the mangroves lining the bay and putting a fringe round each of the islands and cays, but compared with the clear water of Old Providence, Jamaica and Tortuga, the Bahia las Minas, big as it was, had the greenish brown of a village pond in England on a winter’s day.

Ned walked over to Lobb, who was standing on the foredeck, satisfied that the anchor was holding. “Very well,” he said, “now we must start getting the boats and canoes loaded.”

As soon as it was dark Lobb supervised the lighting of a carefully trimmed lantern and then hung it out on an oar over the
Griffin
’s transom, where it made a small pond of weak light.

Ned and Aurelia stood by the taffrail, and Aurelia held a large pin and a sheet of paper on which was written a list. Fish attracted by light came to the surface, jinking like silver swallows and never stopping for a moment, occasionally leaping clear of the water as a large predator attacked from below a prey outlined against the light above. A school of mullet cruised near the top of the water large-eyed, keeping formation like well trained cavalry executing a caracole. Tiny silversides, the minnows of the ocean, jumped like spray blown by a sharp gust, desperately trying to avoid capture. While mosquitoes whined in the inevitable descant of the Tropics, tree frogs kept up a monotonous metallic scraping from the island. An occasional swooping white object showed a seabird, roused by the lantern, which could see all the fish swimming in its light but was too confused by the shadows to risk a dive.