Buccaneer (36 page)

“We must find the governor of the castle,” he whispered. “We want him alive. Ransom,” he explained.

“What about the officers?” Lloyd asked.

There must have been a couple of corporals or sergeants among the seven whose throats had just been cut. The governor might be a major – perhaps retired from the King’s service in Spain and sent out here to end his days quietly as the garrison commander at Santiago. He might have a captain or lieutenant under him. A captain or a lieutenant, Ned realized, could provide information: the whereabouts of the key to the magazine, for instance…

Ned led the way along the corridor towards a distant door. He drew his cutlass and, motioning Day to lift the wooden latch, pushed the door open and walked into the room. A man was asleep on a considerably more comfortable bed; an officer’s uniform was draped over what seemed a model of a man made of wicker, a hat with a large plume rested on a ball-shaped stand. At that moment Ned realized there was an archway leading to another room.

“Secure him!” he whispered to Lloyd, and nodded to Day to follow. He held the lantern long enough for Lloyd to wake the man and keep him down on the bed by the simple method of holding his cutlass blade horizontally across his windpipe. Through the archway was a similar room, complete with sleeping officer, well-tended uniform and hat with plume. “Secure him and bring him into the other room,” Ned said, taking a leather belt and a wide sash from the uniform.

In a couple of minutes both officers were sitting on the bed in the first room, blinking in the lantern light and looking absurd in their nightshirts. Both began talking in Spanish until Ned threatened them. Swiftly Day tied the wrists of one man behind him, using his sash, and Lloyd secured the other.

“I’ll need the lantern. Capsize them both onto the floor, put them face to face, and then buckle the belts together and use the length to secure ’em back to back. Lloyd, you can guard ’em. You can get a grip on their hair and they’ll be too scared to try anything in the darkness. Come on, Day!”

Ned hurried along the corridor just as he realized the rest of his force was hurrying along. There was one more door, and, afraid the men would make a noise, he flipped up the latch with the hand holding his cutlass, and burst in holding the lantern to one side.

It was a large room with a bed on a raised dais. There were two people asleep on it, a bald man in late middle age, and a young woman with long black hair. She was naked, with large breasts, and the mascara had run down her cheeks and smeared to give her an absurdly debauched appearance. As she opened her eyes, wakened by the light, she gave a shriek which owed nothing to modesty and snatched the sheet from the bald man, who woke with a grunt.

She looked like a whore and obviously more accustomed to bedroom dramas than the man. She ran towards Ned and Day, expertly manipulating the sheet and obviously intending to knock the lantern from Ned’s hand.

Day appeared to do nothing, but suddenly the woman sprawled across the floor, sheet flying and once again revealing a splendid but over-ripe body. A moment later Day, who had tripped her, was sitting on top of her as she lay face downwards, and had one of her arms bent up behind so that she could not move.

“I’ll look after ’er if you’ll see to the old scoundrel, sir,” Day said, grinning. By now several of the party were crowding into the two rooms and, after exclaiming at Day’s prisoner, who was trying to turn her head round far enough to spit at him, they hurriedly obeyed Ned’s order to secure the man.

“We’ve found the magazine but it’s locked, sir,” Roberts reported. “No sentry on it. Terrible great key it needs.”

Ned bent over the man with a lantern, concerned first with confirming that he was the garrison commander, although the fact that his was the last door seemed significant. Damnation, he needed Aurelia’s Spanish. Still, many Spanish officers had served in the Netherlands and spoke French.

Ned aimed the lantern at the man, who was still waking slowly, rheumy-eyed, and even now reaching out with his left hand, as though trying to find the woman.

Did he speak French? A little. What was happening? Why did the woman scream? Where is she? The best
puta
in the town, and she screamed like a cat!

Ned waited a few more moments for the man fully to recover his senses and then with a hard bark in his voice began his questioning.

“Where is the garrison commander?”

“Commander? I am the
gobernador
of the castle, Major Luis de Torres.”

“How many officers have you in the garrison?”

“Two, a captain and a lieutenant.”

Ned snapped his fingers to attract Roberts’ attention and pointed to a huge key hanging on a nail in the wall beside the bed.

“The key to the magazine – where is it?”

“I shall not tell you,” the old man said defiantly, although he could not resist a glance sideways.

Ned told Roberts: “Try that key in the magazine lock. If it fits secure the lock again and bring the key back to me.”

He turned back to the major. “How many men do you have?”

“Eight non-commissioned officers and men and two officers. The rest of my men are in the Catalina battery.”

“How many?”

“Why should I tell you all this? Who are you? Go away and leave me in peace!”

“
Boucaniers
,” Ned said crisply. “English buccaneers. If we go away, we leave you dead – unless you answer our questions.”

The man now was very wide awake and suddenly aware that he was naked and that outside the ring of lantern light was not just one man but a dozen or more.

“How many at Catalina?”

“An ensign, sergeant, corporal and six men.”

“How many guns are there?”

“Three.”

“You are lying about the men. Nine, including an officer, for three guns? Rubbish. How many really, eh?”

“Twelve men. But it is true for the rest.”

“Why do you have such a small garrison up here in the castle?”

“Last year we had the
vomito negro
. Twenty-one soldiers died. I ask Spain for more, but none come.”

“Why do you not ask for some from Cartagena or Vera Cruz?”

“My requests have to go to Spain,” the major said stiffly. “I am not under the Viceroy’s jurisdiction.”

“Are there troops here in Santiago?”

“No, of course not. They are here in the castle and at Catalina. Why should my troops be in town?”

Ned looked at the seamen round him. “Burne, help the major put on breeches, coats and boots, and then tie his hands behind his back.”

Then he remembered the woman who, from Day’s curses, was now trying to bite him.

“Major, tell your woman that unless she is quiet we will cut her throat. She has to put on her shift and then we will tie her hands. But if she continues…”

“You – you wouldn’t dare! You –”

“Major, the only men you have left alive in the castle are yourself, the captain and the lieutenant. Now, time is short!”

Five minutes later the buccaneers had the major, captain, lieutenant and the whore standing against the great door of the castle. In front of them the ground fell away steeply to Santiago nestling in the valley. Ned fingered one of his pistols. One pistol shot – that was the agreed signal. Then the 250 buccaneers would be breaking down doors, trying to explain to the sleepy burghers of Santiago that the buccaneers had arrived for their gold and silver.

There was a better way of waking and warning them.

“How many cannon have you here?” he asked the major.

“Only three.”

“Bronze or iron?”

“Iron. The rest – nine – are down at the jetty over there,” he pointed across the channel. “We are going to build a new battery to support the Catalina. This castle is not well placed – enemy ships can creep along too close to the coast for us to depress our guns.”

Three iron guns: they were of no consequence. He called for Roberts, gave him instructions, making sure all the buccaneers heard, and then followed him through the door back into the castle, warning Day and Lloyd to keep a tight hold of the prisoners, using as many buccaneers as they needed.

Roberts led the way to the magazine and when Ned gave him the key, unlocked the door. The dim light of the lantern showed steps going down and as Ned hesitated, Roberts said:

“If you just want to
see
how big the magazine is, sir, I’ll stand up here and shine the light down the steps so we keep the flame away from the powder. I went down in the dark and felt my way round. S’enormous, sir, there’s enough powder in there to blow up all o’ Cuba!”

Ned went down the steps. It was like descending into a crypt, except the air seemed unnaturally dry, and instead of coffins on shelves there were hundreds of bags of powder. Then, in neat rows, were barrels of powder, each as high as his thigh and about three feet in diameter in the middle. Enough powder to blow up Cuba – well, Roberts was hardly exaggerating.

He walked back to the foot of the stairs. “Very well, Roberts, I’m going to start now.”

“Good luck, sir,” the man said, and Ned was glad to see he came down another step and held the lantern to throw more light.

The fuse was not very long: about eight feet, and no one was too sure how reliable it was. It has been made on board the
Griffin
on the voyage from Jamaica, according to a method that Burton had once heard about. The fuse was made of the bark of the mangroves growing at the water’s edge and the men had sliced off as much bark as they could reach. For the next four days, while they were at sea, the reddish strips had been kept in the sun, drying. As soon as Burton – and everyone else on board it seemed, who now took a sudden interest in the experiment – reckoned it was dry enough it was hammered and hammered until the fibrous strips could be cut as narrow as line, and then plaited into a long fuse. Burton tried a foot length as an experiment and it sputtered and crackled, but it burned steadily from one end to another, taking eight minutes. No one but a foolish optimist would rely on that rate, though.

Ned pulled over a bag of powder and rested it against the bottom step. He made a small slit in the top, pushed a few inches of fuse into it, and then put a second bag on the step above, overhanging it sufficiently that when he made a slit the powder poured on to the lower bag, partly burying the end of the fuse. Carefully he walked up the steps, paying out fuse as he ascended. He ran out of fuse four steps from the top. He looked up to see perspiration pouring from Roberts’ face. The man was shaking and embarrassed.

“Don’t worry,” Ned said, “being so close to so much powder and holding a lantern is enough to turn your hair white.”

“Oh, it ain’t for me,” Roberts said apologetically, “I was all right when I was feeling around in the dark!”

“What’s the matter now, then?”

“Well, sir, I got to thinking what’d happen if you fell and broke a leg or something, and there’s no one to hold the lantern while I get you out.”

Ned laughed and thanked him. “We can start now. Go and tell the party to start making their way down to the town and give a whistle when they’ve started. You follow them and I’ll be along soon.”

“Right ho, sir. You want to step up here for the time being with the lantern?”

“No, give it to me here: I’m afraid of pulling the fuse out of the bags.”

Roberts disappeared into the darkness. Ned shone the lantern at the stonework. The magazine was a good twelve feet down, made of thick stone blocks which fitted perfectly. How many tons of powder? Roberts had counted the bags and barrels, so they would be able to make a guess afterwards.

Supposing an hour goes by and there is no explosion?

Should he come back? This mangrove fuse – it could take an hour to burn, or fifteen minutes. Or it could go out. He pictured himself coming back through the castle door after an hour and heading for the magazine to find out what happened to the fuse, and suddenly seeing a flash. That would be the last thing he would ever see. Where the devil was Roberts’ whistle?

At that moment a hoarse voice said: “Sir – everyone’s on their way down the hill. That whore’s making a fuss.”

“Roberts!” Ned said crossly. “You’re supposed to have gone with them!”

“Yes, sir, but I got frightened when I thought of you holding the fuse in one hand and the lantern in the other. You need a third hand to open the lantern door and with me here we’ve got a hand to spare.”

Ned grinned at him and passed up the lantern, holding the fuse which looked like a thin, reddish snake.

“Now, set the lantern down on the ground where I can reach the candle with the fuse. I want to keep the fuse flat on the step, so there’s no strain on it.”

Roberts put the lantern down, moving it until it was level with the fuse.

“I hope there’s no loose powder on these steps,” Ned said.

“Wait, sir,” Roberts said urgently. He went up to the magazine entrance, put the lantern down on the ground outside, then came back down the stairs and, crouching down, blew vigorously where he had been standing. “Now, sir, if you’ll just give me a bit of room.” He then blew vigorously until he was sure there were no loose grains on the four steps over which the fuse passed. After that he went up and brought the lantern back, positioning it carefully.

“Open the lantern door, then,” Ned said.

It swung open easily, showing it was in regular use, and Ned held the end of the fuse over the candle flame. For a minute or more nothing happened; then the plaited mangrove began to splutter and glow.

“It’s like a bad-tempered snake,” Roberts said, shutting the lantern as soon as Ned took out the fuse and put it down gently on the step. Both men watched the fuse like rabbits caught by a stoat.

“It’s burning evenly. But faster than I expected. Come on Roberts!”

At the top of the steps Ned carefully shut the magazine door and locked it. He was far from sure why he did that but said casually to Roberts: “There might be a draught.”

“Yes, sir,” Roberts said politely, “I was thinking the same thing.”

The two men then marched to the main door and set off down the hill after the rest of the party. Although neither of them realized it, they slowed down gradually as they left the castle behind them, but they were almost at the bottom of the valley, close to Santiago itself, before they caught up with the party, all of whom were sitting beside the path.