Legends of the Vengeance : The First Adventure (9781310742866) (14 page)

Sebastian didn’t respond for some time.
Jaime started to leave, prompting him to whisper, “Why will he not
take the money we steal and buy a house somewhere. He could grow
grapes for wine or raise cows to make cheese. He should have enough
to buy all we need so he doesn’t have to work. Ten years as a
pirate? Isn’t that enough time to amass a fortune?”

“Not if you don’t keep it for yourself.”

“I just don’t understand.”

Jaime nodded. “I know, but you will. Have I
ever lied to you?”

“No.”

“Then trust me now. Someday you will
understand. Every boy has to hear when he is young, ‘You will
understand when you are older.’ None of us like it. My father said
it. Your father said it to me!”

“Do you understand those things now?”

“Not as much as I should or as much as I
thought I would. I am learning that understanding is not something
that is handed to you all at once. It is more like something slowly
poured into you over your lifetime.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t even understand
that.”

Laughing, Jaime sauntered out the door. “You
will, though. You will understand that sooner than anything else, I
think.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Rations grew scarce. Very scarce. The men
became hungrier by the hour and their tempers showed it. Mornings
dawned with fresh hope for a ship to come within sighting distance,
and every night fell with the disappointment of another day wasted.
Despair—now a genuine threat and one that brought rebellion with
it.

Nicolo knew the chances of surviving much
longer without food were slim. They’d passed the point of no
return. Even if they left now for Gibraltar, they wouldn’t make it
before they were half-crazed with hunger and thirst—or dead. The
wine was almost gone. They boiled their water daily to keep them
safe from dysentery. Though they still had plenty of rum, even it
wouldn’t last long once the wine and water ran out. However, the
dismal food stores wouldn’t last them half as long as the rum and
water. Rations had become limited to a small maggot-infested
biscuit three times a day and a little gruel before bedtime. The
gruel stopped tonight. They must save the grain for when the
biscuits were gone.

Eduardo’s anger burned against Nicolo, and
the crew noticed. He had refused to give chase to a British ship
just the previous day, and three days before that, a Portuguese
ship had sailed close enough to ensure their success. Nicolo would
not give the order. It had taken all of Eduardo and Jaime’s
influence to keep the sailors from rioting—or worse.

Now that time worked against them, Nicolo
had to add options to his consideration. He could sail north and
closer to Spain. A risky move, but the chance of a ship getting
past became unlikely. He needed a
Spanish
ship. How could
Hector retrieve his fortune from the crown unless they captured a
ship out of Cadiz or Seville? He wanted nothing more than to get
that man out of their lives. As a spy, he was either brilliant or
pathetic. Nicolo truly believed that no one could pretend to be so
stupid so consistently. Actors were never so perfect.

Watching Sebastian cut the deepest. The boy
had begun to lose faith in him. He was also hungry. Despite
Nicolo’s attempts to slip extra food to his son—usually from his
portion—the lad seemed weakened by a lack of confidence, as well as
a dearth in sustenance. Even still, Nicolo kept biscuits and wine
hidden in his cabin. If the worst came, Sebastian would be the last
to die. He prayed that it would not come to that. How it galled him
to pray, but a lifetime of training seemed to push itself on him
now.

Again, he fixed his telescope on the
horizon, spinning slowly, looking for any sign of a ship. He would
have to give the order to chase and attack any ship that came now.
They’d capture a Spanish one in the Caribbean for Hector. Though
riskier, he had to do it to provide food for his crew—for his son.
If they waited too long, they’d be too weak to fight. That would be
the biggest failure of all. How humiliating to try to board a ship
and lose his head or his heart to the sword of a Spanish sea
captain. The mere idea revolted him.

Nothing. It didn’t make sense. Ships always
left for the Americas at this time of year. There should be many.
Where were they? He stared again but saw nothing. Eduardo caught
his attention across deck and shook his head. Desperation ripped at
his heart.

Nicolo returned to his cabin, put away his
telescope, and planned his next move. He had much that he should
tell Sebastian. Perhaps that was the best choice. Sebastian.

Driven with new purpose, Nicolo strode from
his cabin to Sebastian’s and knocked as he pushed open the door.
“Are you awake?”

“Yes.”

The boy had been terse for days, but Nicolo
chose to overlook it. He stared at the floor. “If I had known that
drawing would have you scrubbing your floor so consistently, I
would have given you charred sticks years ago.”

The joke fell flat. Sebastian didn’t even
respond. He must do something—show some kind of feeling while he
could. It might be all he had left. His mother…

“Sometimes I look at you and wonder how
anyone could look so much like someone else.”

“My mother.”

Nicolo nodded. It had worked. It always
worked. Sebastian seemed incapable of sulking through a
conversation that included his mother. “Your hair, your skin, your
eyes, even your nose…”

“But my mouth is not hers,” he added as he
always did.

“No, that you get from me.”

“I cannot see it—not with your beard. I try,
but it is hard.”

“Perhaps someday you’ll have a beard and we
shall see then.”

“Jaime says,” Sebastian began. He clamped
his mouth shut.

“He says what?”

“He says that he thinks my chin and my mouth
are from someone else—another family member. He thinks we all think
they are yours because they are not my mother’s.”

“Oh he does?” Nicolo tried to keep his voice
light, but the desire to strangle Jaime presented itself and almost
steered him to the door. Thoughts like that would only drive a
wedge between him and his son. Sebastian was
his
son
regardless of how much or little resemblance they shared. More than
anyone, Jaime should understand that.

“Yes. We were talking about it a few months
ago—when we were in Algiers. I said that I thought your mouth was
larger and your chin more pointed than mine. Jaime said that he
agreed. That’s when he suggested we just assumed because it was
logical.”

That made sense. It made a lot of sense,
actually. Once more, the young man proved his loyalty even though
it seemed he didn’t. He started to agree when a shout sent him
running from the room.

Sail ho!

He stood at the bottom of the mast, waiting
for Eduardo to reach the crow’s nest and see for himself. Seconds
ticked past as his faithful quartermaster climbed the mast, crawled
into the crow’s nest, and took the telescope. After what seemed an
age, the man’s arm pointed to the northeast. Nicolo ran for his
telescope.

There it was. Relief washed over them. They
would eat—possibly within hours. He sent word for Sebastian to
dress. The men readied themselves at the oars. Sailors prepared to
adjust the sails, and Eduardo finally reached the bottom with
Filipe right behind him. Nicolo took over the wheel.

He must give chase. To buoy the men’s
spirits, he called for wine, passing the bottles amongst the men.
“Don’t be greedy with it, in case we fail to capture, but have a
little for strength!” he called.

Eduardo called for him, pointing to where
the ship would appear. Nicolo hurried to take the telescope and see
for himself. “I can’t make out the flag,” Eduardo said.

He couldn’t see it either. However, as
directly south as the ship was sailing, he knew instinctively that
it must be Portuguese or at the least, Dutch. “It’s not Spanish—not
unless it is already being chased.”

“Nicolo, we have to—”

“I know!” He lowered his voice as the eyes
of the crew turned toward them. “I don’t have to like it,” he
growled. “We’ll sail northeast for a few leagues—just until we see
them better. Then we’ll turn and give chase. Tell the men.”

Eduardo turned and gave orders, rallying the
men while Nicolo watched further. The new direction and their speed
gave them a better vantage point. He smiled. The Spanish flag flew
above the ship after all.

Busyness became the order of the day. Nicolo
rushed to tie Sebastian into his dress and lock him into the room.
He left a biscuit on the bed and tried not to choke as he hugged
the boy before leaving. It was always such a risk; always, the
likelihood that something might go wrong hovered in his mind.

On deck, the men scrambled, while below, the
oarsmen rallied, pulling with the extra force needed on the open
ocean. He rushed back to the quarterdeck and took over the
wheel—almost time to turn. The unmarked ship seemed unconcerned
with the sight of a flagless ship sailing toward it. It did not
alter course at all. Once more, Nicolo smiled.

The Chase

From his cabin, it seemed to Sebastian as if
they were running from the ship, but standing there in an
embroidered velvet gown—a
padded
velvet gown—with jeweled
combs in his hair, he knew this was not the case. At any moment
they would turn. Once the call to helms-a-lee came, he knew the
chase had begun.

The rowing chant of the oarsmen created the
cadence of the death march for the Galleon they pursued. A cannon
roared in the distance—a warning shot that announced their prey
would not yield without a fight.
The Vengeance
fired a
volley of shots, none of which could possibly reach the target.

They had the advantage. Being smaller and
lighter, with oars to help them turn quickly, they usually made
quick work of capturing a ship because their opponents could not
keep
The Vengeance
in the line of fire long enough to cause
damage. Hand to hand combat provided the enemy with a fair chance
to win, but often ships surrendered in order to save
lives—particularly if they recognized the name of
The
Vengeance
or Nicolo Soranzo.

The ship zigzagged through the water chasing
its prey. Alas, even with its swifter speed, the waves seemed to
drag it down. Bouncing atop the enormous waves, the crew of
The
Vengeance
worked non-stop to keep her afloat. Waves battered
the ship, making their efforts to pursue the Galleon futile. Water
rolled over the deck as the sea grew wilder with each passing
minute. Nicolo turned into the wind, allowing the sails to speed
them southeast and away from their prey as it turned to fire upon
them.

Sebastian’s heart sank, and the bitter taste
of hypocrisy filled his mouth. He talked about how much he wished
for a different life, but when hunger came into play, he suddenly
wished for them to capture a ship—one with meat, fruit, and maybe
even vegetables.

Fights broke out on deck and below deck. It
seemed as if the entire crew would turn on Eduardo, Jaime, and his
father. Mutiny—the one thing captains truly dreaded. Now Sebastian
shivered in fear for more than himself.

It took hours for someone to come help him.
Jaime finally unlocked his door just before sundown. “Sorry it took
so long. The men were disappointed—turned on each other, everyone
blaming everyone else.”

“But not Papa?”

“Not this time. We nearly had to pull
weapons on them.” Jaime unlaced him and then pulled a jeweled
hairpin from his pocket.

“Oh, Jaime. No! I have these. They’re
enough.”

“Keep this in your hair every time you’re
dressed like that.”

“Aren’t the combs embarrassing enough?”

His friend nodded. “Enough to make you look
like a girl, yes. They won’t help you get out though.”

“Get out?”

“Your father isn’t going to like it when I
tell him I did this, but I’m doing it.” He turned to the door,
opened it, glanced out to ensure no one was coming, and then locked
it with the door wide open.

“Wha—”

Without a word, Jaime took the hairpin, put
it in the lock, twisted for a few seconds, and to Sebastian’s
astonishment, the latch pulled back into the door as it was
supposed to. “You need to learn to do this. Practice. Those ends
must be pushed in to
help move that piece.
You have to turn it to open.”

Sebastian tried. Over and over, he fought to
turn the little piece inside the latch, but he failed. “I can’t do
this.”

Patiently, Jaime showed him once more, but
the sounds of someone coming sent the boatswain out the door.
Sebastian protested, but Jaime’s sharp retort silenced him. “If you
want to be able to get out of your room when that door is locked,
you will figure out how to do it.”

Sebastian heard Giorgio urge Jaime to
hurry—some trouble in the galley. His lip quivered as he realized
it must be regarding food. Desperation drove the men to do
things—behave in ways they usually would not. How long would it be
before he too fought and wailed for something to eat?

~~~~~~~~~~

After three days, and no other ships in
sight, rations dwindled to one bowl of gruel per day. The men’s
lips cracked and bled from the lack of water and wine. The little
food they had left wouldn’t last but another few days. After that,
they would be forced to use the reserves Nicolo had stored for when
they attempted to capture a ship. Once that happened—once they had
no food left to strengthen them—they had no hope of success.

The men, weakened by lack
of food and discouragement, had no will left to fight amongst
themselves—something even Sebastian had noticed.
“If they don’t quarrel, doesn’t that mean they’ve
given up?”
His son’s words haunted him as
Nicolo stood at the quarterdeck and listened to the lapping of the
waves against the side of the boat. Unlike in the Mediterranean, no
seagulls flew close, trying to steal scraps of food. The vast
emptiness of the ocean left the men’s spirits
empty—bored.