Legends of the Vengeance : The First Adventure (9781310742866) (21 page)

They reached the other ship, his men ready
with swords to fight. The moment Mac and some of the others moved
to tie the crew together, they charged with a roar. Nicolo vented
his frustration and disgust with the vehemence he used in attacking
every man within his reach.

Three shots fired from
The Vengeance
sent chills through him. “Slaughter them if you have to, but
hurry,” he screamed.

The men all knew what it meant. Three shots
said another ship approached—likely more fortified than the one
they’d captured. Time was against them. They must win.
Why did I
let the boy out?
He groaned to himself.

He had no time for regrets. The best way to
protect his son would be to subdue the
Plata.
He attacked
with renewed vigor. Blade hit blade and then flesh as he swung his
cutlass with apparent abandon, yet absolute precision.

The crew of the
Plata
slowly
surrendered. In fact, it seemed almost too easy. Nicolo glanced
around him as the others tied up their prisoners, looking for some
sign of hidden crew. Another shot from
The Vengeance
made
his stomach turn. A line of men swam their way to his ship.

“Find any guns you can and shoot the
mongrels.”

While his men tried to pick off the
swimmers, not a likely successful mission, he hurried to examine
their prize. The take was surprisingly large. There would be enough
to pay all of the men, set Hector up on Trinidad, and keep them fed
if they were forced to buy their food. However, they had to hurry.
He couldn’t ask for more—not with a straggler in a Spanish
convoy.

With that, he filled his pockets with silver
and hurried back to the deck. Quickly scanning the boats, he
beckoned five men to join him, jumped in a dory and they rowed back
to their ship. The sound of steel against steel grew ominous. He
decided to row to the opposite side of the ship. It would take
longer, but it would be a surprise attack on the men from the
Plata.

The sight before them when they climbed to
the top of the ship horrified him. Three of
The Vengeance
sailors were dead, two fought with the last strength they
had—seconds from a fatal blow—and the men from the
Plata
seemed unaffected from the battle. The men with Nicolo scrambled
over the railing and rushed to defend their brethren. Nicolo, on
the other hand, scanned the deck, dreading the moment he found what
he sought, but it never happened. Where was his son?

He called out for Sebastian but heard no
response. Frantic, he raced to the boy’s cabin, hoping against his
better judgment that his son would be safe in the little room, but
it was empty. The others didn’t have time to direct him, so he ran
for his quarters, for the galley, the listening post in the hold,
and in desperation, the head. The ledge was empty. The boy seemed
to have vanished. That thought made him want to retch.

Had he been killed already? Did he float
lifeless in the water somewhere around the boat? It was possible;
actually, it was probable and he knew it, but Nicolo didn’t want to
give into his fears. Hans ran past as he headed out to help the
others and thrust his cutlass in the air before spinning and
slicing across his pursuer’s waist. Nicolo turned, trying to
understand what Hans said and avoiding the horrifying sight of the
man’s innards spilling on to the deck. He never did understand the
Dutchman, but never had it annoyed him as much as at that
moment.

A Spaniard rushed him. His mounting grief
morphed into anger as he prepared for the fight. His hand weighted
the cutlass as the man drew nearer. Seconds of action played out
before him as though minutes passed. Nicolo was tired, exhausted
really, and angry. Fury flooded his heart as the man made a great
swinging arc, designed to remove his head from his body. For the
briefest of moment, Nicolo felt the temptation to drop his weapon
and end the ten-year battle for revenge, but death at the hands of
a Spaniard would be intolerable.

Sebastian could be alive. Giving up before
he knew his son’s fate could never be an option. Nicolo swung his
cutlass, slicing off the advancing man’s hand, and then the man
lost his head. Again, Nicolo turned, willing his stomach to contain
their contents. His success seemed to give the others a burst of
fresh energy. One by one, their opponents died or dove overboard to
avoid it.

The first boats arrived, water seeping over
the sides and bailers working every moment to remove the constant
spillage of water into it. So overladen were they, that without
their efforts, they would have sank. The men called for help to
raise them up to the deck, but it was nearly impossible; the weight
was too great. Slowly, the men walked up the side of the ship,
using ropes tied to the mast and then helped to hoist the smaller
boats out of the water.

Hans stepped up beside Nicolo and whispered
something to him. Without a moment’s hesitation, Nicolo turned and
shimmied up the main mast to the crow’s nest. His heart resumed a
normal beat, his eyes softened, and he relaxed at the sight of
Sebastian seated, hidden by the sides of the bucket, his knife
poised to throw.

“So, how did you like your first battle,
son?”

“Skirts aren’t so bad, you know. Jaime says
the priests, bishops, and cardinals wear them.”

“You are turning holy on me?”

Sebastian shook his head. “No, just coward.
I thought I was going to die, Papa,” he choked.

It seemed cruel to affirm the boy’s worst
fear, but lying was fruitless. The boy knew. “Yes, but you didn’t.
What made you come up here?”

“Hans said there wasn’t time to go to my
cabin and change, so he told me to hide.”

“And this is where you chose to hide?
Why?”

“Because I can go up quickly, and I have the
advantage if someone tries to attack. I can just push them off—or
throw my dagger.”

“You did well, Sebastian. I’m proud of
you.”

“Can I come down now?”

Nicolo glanced down at the mutilated bodies
below him. “You can, but it’s terribly gruesome down there.”

“Well, I think I’ll just stay here until
we’re on our way.”

“That’ll be sooner than you think,” Nicolo
muttered.

“I heard the shots. Has anyone looked out?”
As he spoke, Sebastian pulled out a telescope.

Several seconds later, Nicolo scrambled down
the mast and demanded they get ready to leave immediately. “We sail
in half an hour. Furthermore, when the last boat has reached our
side, send a volley into the hull of the
Plata
. They must
not be able to sail after us.”

Hector

Sebastian crawled down from the crow’s nest
as soon as he decided that the next ship had no desire to give
chase—and once the entrails of dead men had been cleared from the
deck. The rowers rested on deck, drinking wine and exhausted.
Rowing to attack might be hard work, but it was work that they were
fit for and trained to do. Rowing to outpace a galleon while
overloaded with silver and gold wasn’t quite as simple a
project.

He wanted to go into his father’s cabin.
They—Jaime, Eduardo, Giorgio, and his father—were counting the
take, deciding on how much they could give to Hector and still
provide the others with a large prize. Usually, his father got the
largest share, but he wouldn’t take much this time. Pride swelled
in Sebastian’s heart. His father was fair—just—even when he
wasn’t.

That thought made him smile. It made no
sense and yet it perfectly described his papa. He shoved away from
the mast and strolled toward the cabin, a grin on his face. Papa
would enjoy hearing his thoughts.

“Who’s there?” Nicolo barked as he knocked
on his father’s cabin door.

“Papa? Can I come in? I have—”

The door flung open, and the eager look on
his father’s face told him that the battle had taken its toll. His
father had been truly afraid for him. Sebastian spoke again. “I
wanted to tell—” He stopped abruptly. Suddenly the funny story
seemed so unimportant. “I—”

“What did you want to tell me, son?”

“It seems silly now.” He shuffled his feet,
trying not to gape at the bags of coins littering the floor, table,
bed, and every other surface of the cabin.

Jaime and Eduardo slipped out of the room,
expecting that he had something important to share—expecting that
it would make Sebastian feel more comfortable. Giorgio hesitated
and left too. They were wrong; he felt even more nervous standing
there alone with his father. “Um…”

“What is it, Sebastian. You didn’t look over
the edge of the nest, did you?”

“No! I was just curious about the money,
wanted to see it…”

“But you said you had something to tell me.”
Nicolo sounded concerned still.

“Well, I was thinking about Hector and
wondering how much he’d get and when he would be gone. Then I
thought about the other men and how they’d get more than their
usual share because you brought them out here without giving them a
choice. You usually—”

“I usually get the largest share, you’re
right. Are you worried that we won’t have enough?”

“Oh, no! I was just thinking about how
giving the men some of your share was such a good thing to do.” He
grinned as he raised his eyes to meet his father’s. “Then I
thought, ‘Papa is fair and just—even when he isn’t.’”

Laughter filled the room. Between guffaws,
Nicolo called for Eduardo and Jaime and made Sebastian repeat it.
Reluctantly, the boy crept toward the door as the men chuckled at
his observations, but his father stopped him. “Stay, son. You can
help us count.”

“Really?”

Eagerly, Sebastian began separating large
bags into smaller ones. The men worked, sometimes without speaking
for several minutes, and then joked about their take. Hector got
one out of every ten coins. It was an enormous amount of money. To
Sebastian’s surprise, all of the money wasn’t even in the cabin. “I
have men guarding the rest in the hold,” Nicolo said, grinning.
“It’s the largest prize we’ve ever had.”

“We’ll be rich!” He frowned. “Well, they
will.”

“We will have plenty too, Sebastian. I would
not leave my son without means. We are building your future,
Sebastian.”

So many times he’d wanted to ask why it was
always about him. This time he asked. “Why not your future,
too?”

“Because that is what fathers do. My father
did it for me, and you will do it for your son.”

“I am not likely to have a son, am I? We
have no home—no family.”

The moment he spoke, Sebastian regretted it.
Had he not been gazing into his father’s eyes, he would not have
seen the pain cloud them before his father blinked it back again.
He hesitated, trying to decide what to say or do to undo some of
the damage he’d inflicted on his father’s heart—again.

Jaime interrupted before he could speak. “I
have always thought that we have a larger home than most people can
boast, and the men here are all like family. We protect and serve
each other just as you expect from your family. Men died for us
during the storm and during the fight today. If that isn’t family,
what is?”

Never had Sebastian felt more like an
ungrateful, petulant child. For as long as he could remember, he’d
felt lacking—deprived. He knew, in an abstract sort of way, that
most boys lived in houses with a father, mother, and brothers or
sisters—sometimes both! He couldn’t imagine that. There had never
been a child on deck anywhere near his age. His memories of a
mother were more imagination than memory. And, most fathers worked
to earn their living rather than working to remove the living
others earned from them. It seemed as if other boys had everything
while he had nothing.

Shame made it difficult to speak. Instead,
he nodded, trying to show his appreciation with his eyes when his
lips failed him. At last, he choked out, “Yes. This is true. I am
fortunate.”

“Blessed, Sebastian. You are blessed.”

“Oh, leave him alone,” Nicolo growled
good-naturedly. “He is not an altar boy.”

“I know your son better than you think,
Nicolo. If we lived on land, he would be.”

All the humor left Nicolo’s eyes. “You’d
kill me first—or it would.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nicolo felt the room chill at his words, but
he didn’t care. No son of his would be a servant of the church. He
would turn Huguenot, Reformer, or Jew first!

A change of subject seemed necessary to kill
the pall that had descended over the room. “Jaime, why don’t you
and Eduardo bring the next load? Sebastian and I will load these up
for you to take back.”

While the others were gone, Nicolo and
Sebastian loaded the smaller bags, one for each of the crew, and
one for the prize belonging to those who died. It would be given to
someone in need—in their honor. It was the way of the pirates of
The Vengeance.

That thought produced an unintentional sigh.
Sebastian’s head whipped up, and he asked, “What’s wrong, Papa. I
won’t be an altar boy. I didn’t like being in the church. It was
beautiful—the art—but I didn’t like the priest. He scared me.”

“No, son. I don’t like the idea of you being
involved in the church. I just hate how many men we’ve lost on this
voyage. My crew should be furious with me.”

“They understand, and when they see this
prize—”

“The men who died had no idea of the prize
they lost. They fought out of loyalty and self-preservation. I hate
that I took that choice from them.”

His son stared at him in shock. “Papa! They
would have come regardless. They knew you kept it quiet so no one
could slip and tell. With
El Cazador
chasing, it was a wise
decision; I heard many say so. Only Hector—”

As if summoned, the man burst into the room.
“A ship—” he struggled to remember direction. “—windward?”