Sea Robber (30 page)

‘Jacques and the others are waiting outside,’ he began, but Maria merely laid a finger on his lips to silence him, kissed him quickly on the cheek and was already on her way towards the open window.

In a daze, Hector followed her as she climbed over the windowsill and, without a moment’s hesitation, began to descend the ladder to where Dan was waiting.

Hector’s feet had scarcely touched the ground when Dan was already leading the way back to the outer wall, moving at a quick walk, the ladder balanced over one shoulder. With every step Hector expected to hear a shout behind him or the sound of a musket shot. But the entire Presidio was still quietly asleep. Everything was happening so fast that his mind could only concentrate on what was immediately in front of him. All that mattered now was to stay as close as possible to Maria, not to let her out of his sight. He took a deep breath and caught a faint waft of her perfume. He felt weak at the knees.

They reached the outer wall and turned to the right. Another couple of minutes of rapid walking and Hector saw ahead of him the unmistakable bulk of Jezreel lurking in the shadow of the walkway. Beside him were three more men. At the last moment Hector realized he hadn’t warned Maria about Ma’pang. It would be a shock for her to come face to face in the darkness with a huge, naked islander with sharpened teeth.

He needn’t have worried. As they joined the waiting men, the young woman nodded politely to the nude savage, then gave Jacques a quick embrace.

‘Good to see you again, Maria,’ whispered the Frenchman.

‘Hello, Jezreel,’ she said softly, laying a hand on the big man’s arm. ‘I’m glad to see you’re here as well.’

Something was wrong, Hector realized belatedly. There should have been at least three or four escaped hostages waiting to escape up the ladder. But there was only one additional figure. In the darkness it was difficult to make out his features, but he appeared to be an older man, small for a Chamorro and dressed in a smock. ‘Where are the others?’ he asked Ma’pang quietly.

‘We couldn’t find any others,’ the Chamorro replied. ‘Maybe the Spaniards took them north. Only Kepuha here.’

Hector felt a twinge of disappointment. He had found Maria, but the mission was only partly successful.

‘Did you search elsewhere?’ he asked.

Ma’pang shook his head. ‘Already we have stayed long enough. We must leave now.’

‘There is no one else held in that building,’ Jacques added from the shadows. ‘The other rooms are used as the armoury. That is why the windows are barred.’

‘Did you get inside?’ Dan enquired.

‘Of course,’ Jacques gave a quick grin. ‘I thought it might be the strongroom where the pay chest is kept. Tant pis, no such luck.’

‘Hector,’ said Dan, ‘I need another few minutes. You and Maria get out now. Ma’pang and his friend can go with you. I will need Jacques and Jezreel to stay behind with me. There is still something useful we can do.’

With Maria beside him, Hector did not feel like arguing. What mattered most to him at that moment was to make sure the woman he loved was clear of the fort. ‘Don’t be too long, Dan. Our luck can’t hold forever.’

He held the ladder steady with Jezreel, as Maria followed Ma’pang and the Chamorro hostage up its stubby rungs. Behind him he heard Dan say, ‘Jacques, show me the way to that armoury.’ When Hector next looked round, the two men had melted away into the darkness.

T
HE FIRST GLOW
of dawn was seeping into the sky, turning the shadows from black to grey, as the raiders scrambled up the slope and regained the comparative safety of the hill above Aganah. They had succeeded in making their way back through the town undetected and were moving at a brisk pace, walking and jogging by intervals. Ma’pang was in the lead, with Kepuha, the rescued hostage, close behind him. As they reached the first bushes the old man paused long enough to strip off his smock of plaited palm leaf and hide it in the undergrowth. Now he was as naked as his fellow clansman. Hector, looking past Maria who was directly in front of him, could see Kepuha’s thin shanks and buttocks and bony shoulders moving steadily as he kept up the stride, his head of white hair bobbing at each step. Farther back in their little column Dan and Jacques each carried two Spanish muskets they had taken from the armoury, and Jezreel was draped with half a dozen bandoliers. The sack over the big man’s shoulder contained bullet moulds, half a pig of lead and several large cartridges of gunpowder, which had been intended for the fort’s cannon.

To Hector, Maria looked more graceful and shapely with each passing minute. She was wearing a maid’s working skirt, and she had pulled up her petticoat and tucked it into a sash to allow her legs free movement. On her feet were plain flat shoes, and her dark-brown bodice with its long sleeves matched the skirt. Hector wondered if she’d selected the colours to be less conspicuous. They hadn’t exchanged a single word during the quick dash over the wall and the furtive scurry through the native township. Now, as the little party paused for breath, he just had time to say, ‘So you did recognize Jacques when he came to the Governor’s house.’

Maria turned towards him. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ‘How could I forget a man with a convict’s brand on his cheek?’ Hector hardly heard her words. It was the first time he’d seen her face properly in nearly three years, and he was drinking in the sight. Here was the image he’d tried so hard to retain in his memory. Now, in the strengthening light, he saw that she had indeed changed. There was a maturity that hadn’t been there before. It enabled him to see more clearly the harmony of her features, the wide-set brown eyes, the neat, straight nose and the generous, soft mouth. Her eyebrows were thicker and more pronounced, accentuating her level, confident gaze. Her complexion seemed to be slightly darker than he remembered. She had obviously been much exposed to the tropical sun, but she’d also lost the fresh bloom of earlier years. Now her skin had taken on the colour of newly peeled hazelnuts. There was still the scattering of light freckles. He wanted to reach out and stroke her cheek.

‘Here, let me carry that,’ he said, and took the small bundle she had brought from her room. It was very light in his grasp. He guessed it contained just a few clothes.

She glanced at him gratefully, when Dan called out that they should move on. He worried that a party from the fort was in pursuit.

They marched on at the same blistering pace. The day soon turned very warm, but Ma’pang was unrelenting. No one spoke, preferring to save their breath for the effort of travel over the broken ground. Occasionally they had to force their way through the undergrowth, and there were places where the path dipped down into awkward gullies or traversed patches of bare hillside and the footing became treacherous with loose soil and gravel. As the hours passed, Hector worried that Maria might not be able to continue. Great sweat stains began to soak her bodice, and there were moments when she stumbled and nearly fell. Yet she made no complaint, and from the determined set of her shoulders Hector knew she would reject any offer of help. Grimly he pushed himself forward, turning over in his mind what he would say to her when, at last, they had a chance to be on their own. He was overawed that she’d been ready to run away with him with no need of persuasion.

The sun was well past its zenith by the time they finally reached the spur of high land that overlooked the bay where the galaide layak would come to collect them. Here at last they stopped. Dan returned along their path to watch for any signs of pursuit, and the others made a small clearing in the long grass and went to ground. Silently Hector took Maria by the hand. ‘Let’s sit by ourselves,’ he suggested. The two of them quietly made their way to a patch of shade by a large boulder.

Maria sat down, her back to the rock, pulled off the headscarf and shook out her hair. Then she leaned her head forward to rest on her knees. Clearly she was exhausted.

Hector sat down beside her, and for several minutes there was a silence. Finally he asked softly, ‘Maria, how did you know it was me?’

She didn’t raise her head. ‘Because I’d waited,’ she replied. Her voice was muffled and Hector had to strain to hear. He heard a hint of sadness in her tone and was overwhelmed with confusion. He didn’t know what to say.

The silence between them lengthened and Hector began to sense that something between them was slipping away. He felt wretched, fearful of saying the wrong thing. Finally he said, ‘Do you remember the letter you wrote me after the trial in London?’

‘Every word . . .’ Again the muffled response.

‘I read it every day.’ The words sounded lame and pointless even as he spoke them.

This time there was no reply.

His bewilderment growing, Hector tried again. ‘You haven’t asked where we are going.’

Again the flat reply, the curtain of hair hiding her face. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

There was a finality in her voice that shook Hector. He looked down at an ant crawling slowly between the crushed stalks of grass, as it clutched a green leaf. The leaf was several times larger than the ant, and the insect faltered under the strain. He and Maria had each been carrying their own burden, he thought, a burden of hope. For a grim moment he wondered if he’d been deluding himself, if he was about to lose Maria.

As he watched the ant struggle onwards, a small dark spot suddenly appeared on the dry earth. Then, as it faded, another appeared close beside it. With a lurch, he knew they were tear drops. Maria was crying silently.

Bereft, he reached out and took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. To his utter relief he felt her squeeze back, certainly and strongly. He allowed himself to feel reassured, to think all would be well. But he knew, in that same instant, it would be better to wait. The two of them could talk later about all that had happened while they had been apart, and what each hoped of the other.

T
HE GALAIDE LAYAK
slipped into the cove soon after dark to collect the little group, and next morning delivered them safely back to Rota. Ma’pang’s villagers were far from disappointed that only a single hostage had been rescued, and came splashing out into the shallows with whoops of welcome. Their women gazed with open fascination at Maria, the first guirrago female they had ever seen, then whisked her away to the village. Hector and his companions followed, escorted by a chattering crowd and heralded by four Chamorro warriors jubilantly waving the muskets that had been stolen from the fort. The group had hardly arrived at the bachelor house before a celebration feast was under way. Hector, Jacques and the others were assigned places of honour, seated on the ground before a cooking trench filled with glowing coals. Heaps of fish and plantains were grilled and handed around, and several large jars of palm wine were set out, with coconut shells as cups. Trying to locate Maria, Hector spotted her standing beside Ma’pang’s wife on the fringes of the watching crowd.

‘They do love the sound of their own voices. He has been shouting for a good half-hour,’ Jacques said, as he turned to watch a Chamorro warrior striding up and down, haranguing the assembled villagers in a lather of enthusiasm.

‘What’s he saying, Ma’pang?’ Hector asked. He couldn’t understand a word, but clearly the orator was repeating himself.

‘That Kepuha is a great makhana. Now he is back among us, he will intercede with the spirits of the otherworld, and they will rise up and protect the village from the guirragos.’

‘What’s a makhana?’

‘The missionaries have a word for such people – a shaman.’