The Legend of the Phantom (11 page)

Chapter
14

…1494…

The pirate ship was broken and listing. In moments it would be underwater. The last two survivors quickened their pace as they tried to move the valuables from the sinking ship to the longboat. The choppy waves from the passing storm made the task that much more difficult.

James grunted under the weight of the third and final chest of stolen treasure that he had helped
rise from the pirate’s ship. The chest was tied round about in thick ship cord and maneuvered by the main staff to the inside of the long boat.

“Hold on one second,” called out Bartholomew. “Hold
onto that cord.”

He quickly lowered his own
cord and scooted over to where James was, with one foot on the pirate ship and the other inside the longboat.

“What the
scittan is the matter?” asked James, working to keep his balance while he tried to maintain a firm hold on the cord that supported the incredibly heavy chest.

“Let me check this. Just a second more.”

“And…? Come on… this thing is heavy. Curses, man! I’m about to lose my grip!” James started to pant, as perspiration rolled down from his brow. He tried to wrap the cord around his arm for a more secure grip.

“Ah!
That you might do. I found the problem. You can lower the chest now James. Just place it over there. And then try to remove yourself.”

“What do you mean by that!” snapped the tired and exasperated pirate. “Where do you want me to go?” James demanded, turning, panting from the weight.

“To hell, James,” Bartholomew responded coldly as he thrust his cutlass through James’ torso into his heart. “And send my regards to the rest of the crew,” he added as he withdrew the cutlass. Then while James’ eyes dimmed, even as he tottered, Bartholomew used James’ shirt to clean his cutlass before he returned it to its scabbard.

As
the cord around James’ arms loosened, his body hit the deck. Bartholomew gathered up James’ arms and dragged him to the side of the boat where he gently eased him into the English Channel. ‘No point in getting wet now,’ he thought to himself.

For two years
, Bartholomew had been cursed as a slave to these English privateers. Commissioned by the British government, the ship was responsible for looting and sinking countless Portuguese and French vessels. The brutality of his captors was unequaled.

It had taken time, but he was a patient man. Though nothing more than a slave to the vermin, he worked hard at the tasks at hand, biding his time to exact revenge. First
, there was the fight he picked with the navigator. He had won, killing the man, and nearly lost his own life in the process, but instead ‘opted’ to fill in for the man as a navigator as he was learned in that skill.

The
tactic worked and his slavery was lightened to navigation. Then, the untimely death of the boatswain left another opening to fill. By that time he had gained their respect through his large stature, quick mind, and roughness among the pirates. What they didn’t know and never suspected was that Bartholomew was only rough on roughnecks.

He hated pirates. That wasn’t to say that he hated every pirate, for wasn’t he a pirate himself?
Living among pirates and stealing from the very men that had stolen from others? Yet in his mind the distinction was very clear. For he couldn’t stand cruelty done to others just for cruelty’s sake.

Finally
, he was at the point where he needed to finish off the crew. He needed to instill fear.

So
in the dark of night he murdered the captain. The next night he continued his slaughter of the first mate and two of the guards of the first mate. No one knew whom to suspect, and Bartholomew took the opportunity to gain support for himself by declaring that he would find the culprit. Yet the murders continued. Slowly, one by one, others died.

Then
nature took over for Bartholomew. A mighty storm whipped up, which sent the men below and left the boat to be blown whither the weather decreed it.

That early morning, as the night shifted to light, the craft struck
rocks offshore, filling the hold with water, drowning all but one man below decks.

Above decks, Bartholomew
had weathered the storm in the Captain’s cabin and there he fared quite well.

As
Bartholomew Columbus awoke to the light of the morning sun, he found that only he and one other survived: James.

Now alone, and with riches beyond belief in his possession and at his disposal he decided it was time to return to home. But first he had to find out if there was any news on the venture that he had originally set out to do. Did his brother get support for the western sea crossing or not?

He quickly assessed his situation and, realizing his potential for inviting threat through the greed of wealth, he decided to hide the treasure, only keeping enough to journey comfortably wherever the news may send him.

Having hid his treasure, Bartholomew set off on foot, walking east along the northern coast of France.

Situated in north-western France, on the right bank of the mouth of the river Seine on the English Channel, Bartholomew entered a small community set between two large cliffs. There he found a chapel known as
Notre-Dame-de-Grâce
or Our Lady of Grace. The harbor people called their town after that chapel by the name of
Le Hable de Grâce
or ‘the Harbor of Grace’.

It didn’t take him long to secure new clothing and information about his brother. Christopher’s great discovery across the Atlantic was all the news, even in such a small
Gaulish place as that. Not only that, but he also learned that his brother had recently sailed on a second voyage in search of gold.

‘How ironic,’ thought Bartholomew to himself, ‘my brother is traveling so far in search of gold, when I have enough for three lifetimes hidden less than a day’s walk from here.’ Musing on the situation he made up his mind. ‘To Spain I’ll go.
Perchance
I can convince the crown to send me out to visit my brother.’ With decision made, he wasted no time, but immediately set off south for Spain.

He journeyed south and used the time
to acquire information with which to make a near complete picture of the temperament and level of frustration that he might find Queen Isabel to be in. Having arrived in Spain, Bartholomew set himself to be received at the Spanish Court.

‘Thankfully I have money,’ he thought to himself, for he knew that without money he could never
be received at court.

No
common ruffian was allowed to the court. It took a combination of wealth or the appearance of wealth, a worthy cause or reason, and an invitation. The exception to the rule was for crimes against the state, in which the invitation to court would be the last visit ever made.

So
, having made purchases to show off his wealth, he made it known to the courtiers that he was in town and desired to see the Queen.

A few days later, Bartholomew wa
s cordially invited and received at the Spanish Court.

A short time after that
, he found himself outfitting three store-ships for the colony in Hispaniola, named Santo Domingo, sent by the hand of Queen Isabel.

Having outfitted his lot
, he prepared to sail, all the while musing over the message the Queen gave him to give to Christopher: “Make certain he brings back gold this time. Remind him that by doing so he will be greatly rewarded…” Failing the task was left unvoiced, and unnecessary to explain.

So
, with a great show of the proceedings his fleet took off, he headed west until land was just out of view of the horizon. Then swinging north, the trio of ships made their first stop near the north-western edge of France, where two of the ships stopped to await Bartholomew and the lead ship’s return.

T
aking his ship alone into the channel, he docked near Le Hable de Grâce. Explaining that the queen had asked him to pick up additional supplies, he enlisted a number of his men to help him haul the chests aboard.

The weight made the men suspicious
and more than one crewman jokingly asked the captain if the chests were filled with pirate treasure to which he laughingly replied an enthusiastic, “Yes!”… But none took him seriously as the thought of chests full of treasure was but a fanciful idea. Still it left much speculation for a day or two as to the contents of the chests; until other maritime matters required their attention.

So it was
that Bartholomew made the journey without much incident and not too many months later found himself enthusiastically greeting his brother Christopher, the Governor of La Isabela.

After greeting, the two retired to a small private room to discuss the affairs of their lives.

“The Queen sends her regards,” said Bartholomew, as he
took another sip from his mango drink.

“I bet she has. And what threat did she send my way?” queried his brother.

“No open threat. Just that she expects you to return with gold. Really… such a little thing,” Bartholomew replied, watching his brother’s reaction with a small twinkle in his eye.

“A little thing! If I were a man prone to using the Lord’s name in vain, I might well do so. There is no gold here, brother. None. I have searched these islands inside and out. They have fruit, cotton, some spices, and plenty of volcanic rock, but there is no gold.”

“Then maybe the search needs to be broadened?”

“I have tried that. Every trip out requires that I appease new native populations, all bent on destroying us. I am tempted not to return, but I am in need of supplies. If only there
was some way to make gold…”

“Yes,” replied Bartholomew. “We could do that…”

“So you have moved on from navigation to alchemy?”

“Something of that sort.  Let me tell you the story of my last few years…. It started out on that trip to London-towne to seek the aid of good Ol’ Henry…”

Some time later Christopher jumped to his feet. “I don’t believe it!”

“Every word is true.
Come; let me show you my ship. I think I may have exactly what is needed.”

As the two of them left, Christopher called over his man-o-arms. “I will be doing an inspection of the supplies of the ships that my brother Bartholomew sent over. I do not want to be disturbed. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly sir,” the man snapped back.

“Then shall we proceed
?”

Bartholomew led the Admiral to the captain’s chamber where the three chests
were. 

Behind locked
door, with curtains drawn, they examined the contents of the first.

A low whistle escaped Christopher’s lips. His eyes lit up and a broad smile crossed his face.
All of his worries drifted away.

“Brother, this is exactly what
I need. However, we’ll need to melt this down. You can’t give the crown their own coin back. It just wouldn’t look right.”

“Agreed. I’ll get the men to set up a smelting operation. Do you have anyone here you trust?”

Christopher saw the value in that. “Just two. But that should suffice.” Christopher thought pensively for a second and then smiled broadly once again. “I suspect that this calls for a celebration. But we can’t just celebrate this, as we want to keep it a secret. So let’s celebrate your promotion instead.”

“My promotion,” said Bartholomew.

“Yes, Lieutenant Governor of the Indies. What do you think?”

I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted to be a ‘lieutenant governor of the Indies’ but it does have a nice feel to it, and it gives us a reason to celebrate. I say, Yes!”

“So be it!” and Christopher clapped him on the shoulders. “Now what are in the other two…”

The other two chests were replicas of the first. Various ornaments and trinkets of gold, mixed with large amounts of coinage that was once meant as wages or bribes, with occasional strings of pearls, some loose or otherwise, mingled with precious stones, silver and other items of worth.

The last chest also held a small box that was obviously Portuguese royalty in origin.

“Have you looked inside this?” asked Christopher.

“I have,” replied Bartholomew. “In fact I nearly took it with me when I went to visit Queen Isabel as I am certain that it must hold some sentimental value to her.”

“Well, open it brother, let me see what’s inside.”

What lay inside was a large brooch with a
vieira
or scallop shell design. The shell portion sat in the middle of two crosses; with the first ornate cross above, and the other below the shell.

“I am certain this is the brooch cross of
Isabel of Portugal, mother of our current Queen!” exclaimed Christopher.

Bartholomew chuckled his deep chuckle. “I agree. It was for that reason I held onto it. You never
know when you need the winning hand.”

“Then we will save it. I
t will stay with me, and when it is necessary, this will be our pardon papers.”