Legends of the Vengeance : The First Adventure (9781310742866) (20 page)

“But what is wrong with Jews?”

An internal struggle showed on Jaime’s face.
After a long minute, he shrugged. “I think that Christians are
insulted that they do not accept Jesus as their Messiah.”

That answer unsettled Sebastian, but he
didn’t know why. “What is a Messiah?”

“Don’t know how to explain it. Jesus was a
Jew too. That makes it doubly confusing, doesn’t it?”

The sun slowly set, growing both dimmer and
yet now glaring directly into their eyes. Sebastian dropped to the
deck cross-legged with his elbows on his knees and rested his chin
in his hands. After a few more minutes, Jaime settled down beside
him and pulled out his latest carving and a knife, working on it in
spurts as he kept an eye on the men around them.

“So Joseph was very wise, wasn’t he? He got
his family—the whole family, too—out before the king could do that.
His family wasn’t affected by the statute.”

“Right. That’s why they left. Calais was
owned by the Dutch and they were not anti-Semitic.”

Sebastian thought for a moment and then
leaned back against the side of the ship. “Is there really more to
the story? It seems like a good ending. They reached safety in a
place where they weren’t going to be persecuted anymore.”

A signal—one that spelled disaster if
ignored—sent Jaime scrambling. “Life isn’t that simple, I’m
afraid,” Jaime said before striding toward the galley.

Whatever had Mac riled in the galley, it
couldn’t be good. There was no fresh food and little variety left.
Much of what they had hoped to enjoy had spoiled in the storm.
They’d have to hope that the Spanish ships carrying gold and silver
back to Europe also had excellent supplies.

His fingers drew the big toe of his foot,
almost unconsciously. Sebastian hadn’t had much time for drawing as
of late, but he had other things on his mind—things that unnerved
him. His old childish methods of envisioning their attack,
including all that could go right and wrong, and preparing himself
for the worst failed him. As far as he could see, their next raid
might be their last.

The more he thought about it, the more
unsettled Sebastian became. His first inclination was to take the
questions to Jaime. The younger man seemed to remember what it was
like to be young better than his father did. Then again, anytime
there was any question of the best course of action, Jaime deferred
to his father with a fierceness that garnered respect. Perhaps it
would be best to speak to his father first.

Alone in his father’s cabin, Sebastian
slowly grew nervous.
Papa will laugh,
he mused inwardly.
He’ll say I am trying to sound grown up, and he might tell some
of the others. They’ll laugh too.

That thought turned his stomach a little. It
was bad enough for your father to think you were too ridiculous,
but for the others…
Jaime wouldn’t laugh. He’d listen and then
tell me what made sense and why the stuff that doesn’t, doesn’t.
Papa just tells me I don’t know what I’m talking about.

The truth of his thoughts couldn’t be
denied. Even as he sat there, he could hear the words reverberating
through the cabin. Ten years he’d spent onboard the ship—ten. In
those years, he’d probably heard hundreds of admonitions to leave
the running of the ship to those qualified to do it. Sometimes his
father was right—he could be stubborn and arrogant. However,
sometimes he really did mean to be helpful, to see if his thoughts
made sense, and his father still scolded him for his
interference.

Papa is busy though. A son underfoot is
probably very annoying. I guess if I’ve been prideful about my
input sometimes, it might be hard to see that I’m not meaning to be
at others.

After a long time of internal struggle,
Sebastian jumped from the bed and reached for the door. He would
take his thoughts to Jaime first. Then, if Jaime thought them worth
the bother to his father, he would speak to the captain as a
captain. Perhaps respect for his father’s position rather than just
as his papa would make a difference.

His resolve came too late. Nicolo stepped
into the cabin and shook his head. “That Hector is a fool. You knew
that, but I’m telling you again because it makes me feel better to
say it. I’m acting like a woman who must talk out her dilemma
regarding yellow ribbons vs. green.”

“Do women really talk about such ridiculous
things? Who cares? Why not choose one today and the other
tomorrow?”

“That, my son, is something that I do not
think man will ever understand. Woman will never cease in making
him try, though.”

“Was my mother like that?”

With a sigh, Nicolo sank to the bed,
instantly weighted down by the question. Sebastian regretted it. He
knew better than to ask about his mother, but it had come out
before he realized he’d spoken it. “I’m so—”

“Yes, she was, Sebastian. She was just like
other women in that regard. She would agonize over the pattern of
lace or the style of a sleeve. I once saw her come downstairs,
imagine that she saw disapproval on someone’s face, and hurry
upstairs to rearrange her hair.”

“I never imagined my mother as being so
silly.”

Laughter reverberated around them. Between
chuckles, Nicolo shook his head. “With her, it was amusing rather
than irritating. I suppose most men eventually learn to find the
silliness endearing in some way.” Then, as if eager to change the
subject, Nicolo’s eyes bored into Sebastian’s. “But you did not
come here to tell me that you think that women like to talk things
to death. What troubles you?”

“How do you know—?”

“I’ve learned to read you—much like I do a
map. What is wrong?”

It took several attempts, but at last,
Sebastian managed to blurt out a semi-coherent explanation of his
concerns. “I know how we captured ships around Gibraltar and in the
Mediterranean. I know how it worked and why it worked that way. I
just keep trying to picture it when we reach the Americas, and it
doesn’t fit.”

“What doesn’t fit?”

That was the question he’d dreaded. His
father would either laugh or be angry after he elaborated. “Well,
when we attack, we’ll fire on ships coming from the mines and going
to Spain, right?”

“Hopefully, yes.”

“What happens when they limp home? We’ll
still be there. What will keep them from coming back after us or
sending others after us?”

Sebastian no longer needed the answer. He
saw it in his father’s eyes. He turned, eager to get away before
his father saw how much the idea upset him, but Nicolo’s voice
stopped him. “They are barbarians, Sebastian.”

His hand rested on the doorjamb, but
Sebastian did not turn around. “What makes them barbarians?”

“They kill innocent people in the name of
religion. They lie, steal, and murder. Do you not see that?”

With trembling hands, and words he expected
to regret, Sebastian asked the one question he’d never allowed
himself to speak. “And how are we who murder and steal in the name
of revenge any better?”

Before his father could respond, Sebastian
stepped through the door and closed it behind him. His feet flew
across the deck and into his cabin. On the bed, he tried to erase
the images of a burning, sinking ship with men crying out for help
from his mind.

Revenge

From the crow’s nest, Hector called out a
decidedly uninspiring, “Ship ahoy.” Nicolo frowned. Pouting didn’t
become the man—then again, did it become anyone?

Dozens of heads rose to await the
pronouncement, but Nicolo spoke before Hector. “Spanish. Ready the
canons; get the oarsmen in place. We fight before sundown. The day
is half gone, so we must be swift!”

Eduardo took his cue from Nicolo and barked
orders with apparent abandon. The men knew what to do with just a
few short instructions. Excitement sizzled, popping and snapping
like bacon in a pan. Eduardo ordered Hector down from the crow’s
nest, and he climbed up there himself.

“Jaime?”

“What?”

Sebastian knew that Jaime didn’t mean to
snap, but it stung regardless. “I just wondered why Eduardo goes up
there. He sends the others up there when they get out of line, or
like Turk—” The memory of the young man hardly older than Sebastian
himself choked him. “—because he’s—was—young. Why does he go up
then when things get exciting?”

“Because he wants to be certain that what
others say they saw is accurate. A mistake could be deadly.”

“So could falling off that mast.”

Before Jaime could respond, his father
called out from the quarterdeck. Three simple words—“To your
cabin.” The meaning clear, “Get changed into your dress.”

“A boy my age shouldn’t
have
a dress
to change into in the first place,” he muttered as he stomped
toward his cabin. Halfway there, he slowed his pace and walked
deliberately—calmly. No matter what the reason, Sebastian
considered himself above acting like, well, like Hector.

Once in his cabin, he went to work.
Sebastian pulled off his shirt and the dress dropped over his head.
He shimmied out of his breeches and stuffed them and the shirt in
their place. If taken captive, they’d go out the porthole. While he
waited for someone to lace him into the thing, he worked to get his
hair in combs and hid the hairpin.

At last, Sebastian’s father stepped in the
door, a piece of cloth and rope in his hand. One look at him and
Nicolo grimaced. “You truly hate that thing, don’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.” The answer was swift. “You’ll hate
the
rest as well.”

“What rest?”

His father’s hands see-sawed in the air. “I
need to tie you up this time.”

“What! Why? I don’t—”

“Because we’re so far from home. It’ll be
even more believable.” The look that Sebastian tried to repress—and
failed—prompted Nicolo to continue rapidly. “I’m sorry, but if we
were near Spain or Italy, we’d have people who would come to your
rescue. From here, they won’t risk it unless
they’re sure you are worth it. So listen to me. Speak only in
Spanish. I mean it. Tell them you are related to
don
Carlo of Madrid. He
will redeem you. Try to keep your voice a bit of a frightened
whisper. Don’t let yourself retaliate if they are unkind. Indignant
is fine, but show a lot of fear.”

The intensity in his father’s voice
concerned him. Sebastian found it difficult not to ask the burning
question in his heart.
You don’t think you will succeed, do
you?

Mac’s large frame filled the small doorway.
“I brought the laddie food like ye said.”

“Good. Get to your station. We’ll fire
within the half hour.”

It sounded risky to him, but Sebastian, now
panicking, found it impossible to speak. He tried to be nonchalant
as he hugged his father, wished him a successful capture, and
curled up on the bed while they locked him in the cabin. Battle
would commence shortly.

When the first cannon ball roared across the
water, Sebastian squeezed his eyes tight and covered his ears. At
the following volley of cannon fire, he curled up in a ball,
pressing himself against the corner of the cabin and he prayed.
They were about to die. He just wanted to be sure that he went with
them.

Sebastian never talked about prayer—not even
to Jaime. His father was at odds with the church. Jaime was at odds
with his faith when you considered his profession. Sebastian didn’t
even know if he believed that God would hear the prayer of the son
of a pirate, but when life terrified him or something exceptionally
wonderful happened, he prayed. Just in case. God might ignore
him—probably did—but in case prayers from boys like him actually
reached God’s ears, he wanted to be on good terms with that
God.

Once more, the ship rocked, this time from
the impact of a cannon ball. Tears sprang to his eyes—fearful
ones—but he blinked them back. He wouldn’t be a coward. The shouts
of his father and Eduardo became impossible to hear, but he knew
what they said. Turn to starboard, helms-to-lee, man the guns… the
orders would be endless—relentless.

Though the words were indiscernible, the
shout of victory that came hours later was not. They’d won!
Sebastian jumped from his bunk, eager to see. From the porthole, he
craned his neck to see the damage done, but only smoke told the
story. They’d used hot shots. Eduardo must be desperate to rid them
of Hector.

~~~~~~~~~~

Nicolo drew his gun and shot the captain of
La Reina la Plata
. It brought him no great sorrow. The
moment the man’s hand twitched, it had been a fair shot in his
mind.
You risk my life or the life of my men, you die.
Simple
. A second man, probably the quartermaster, raised his
cutlass, but Eduardo’s shot propelled him into the water.

The other men threw their hands in the air,
begging for mercy as Mac raised his gun. Nicolo grinned inwardly.
After all, if Mac fired, he was as likely to hit himself as he was
anyone else. Mac handed the gun to Nicolo, climbed in the other
boat, and reached for it once more.

“Don’t kill anyone, Mac. They surrendered.”
His wink must have confused the others, but he didn’t care. It
never hurt to remind Mac of his limitations.

“Will do, cap’ain.” Mac grinned. “Hurry up
with those boats. I don’t want to mind these brats any longer than
necessary.”

For a moment, he felt the unfamiliar
temptation to release Sebastian. Perhaps the boy would enjoy the
change of scene. He might like having the chance to help unload the
prize, and it must become tedious being locked in the cabin so
often. He turned to climb aboard one of the longboats and
stopped.

“Filipe,” he called, “let Sebastian out. He
can help sort in the hold.”

The shock on Filipe’s face almost made him
take it back. Forcing himself to turn and go, Nicolo reminded
himself of all the times that Jaime insisted that Sebastian was old
enough to be out of the cabin after a successful capture. “Just do
it!”