“Do you question my word? If so, stand up like a man, call me a liar, then make your peace with the Lord.”
“Ah, you’re the cocky one, aren’t you? Ready to fight, are you? Well, I am not. Unless cornered, that is, or there’s gold in it. I’d fight then. Once I’d have fought for a woman, but no more. They aren’t worth it.
“Fought for ’em often, I did, until oncet the two of us stood to our weapons nigh an hour with no benefit one side or the other, and when we stopped to draw breath, be damned if the woman had not gone off with a man not half of either of us. It shows a man. It shows him.”
“You have the advantage of me. There’s a woman by the fire yonder I’d fight for. Now, tomorrow, or any day.”
“Ah? That fire? That woman? Well, you’d have to fight, my friend, but you’d lose. That man yonder who stands beside that fire is a swordsman. He’s one of the best.”
“Only one of the best? Then perhaps we shall see what ‘best’ is where he comes from.”
The man slowly stood up and unlimbered himself. He was a good two inches taller than I, and perhaps twenty pounds less in weight. He had a long, haggard face and half an ear missing. His hands were extraordinarily large and his feet as well. He was clad in rags, the merest remnants of clothing.
“Who am I, you ask? Just a poor sailorman who’s been ashore these past months, dodging redskins an’ keeping a weather eye out for a ship, any kind of ship to take me back where there’s Christian folk.”
“What about those people?”
“A bad lot! A mighty bad lot, if you’ll be takin’ my word for it.”
Had he seen my boat? If he had not, I was wishful that he would not, yet such a one as this might easily stumble upon it where a larger party would have small chance of doing so.
“You’ve been down to their camp?”
“That I have not, nor shall I, for they’re a bad lot, as I’ve said. They’re folk to fight shy of.”
As briefly as possible, I explained how I came to be here, and what my intentions were—as far as I knew them. “Aye,” I said at the last. “It is a ship I want, too, and a means to get back to England. But there’s a girl yonder that worries me. I think she is in trouble.”
“Hah! It’s the youth in you speaking! In trouble, is she? I’ll warrant if she’s not she will be. Trouble goes with women, walks hand in hand with them, and he who goes among them shall expect nothing else.”
“I believe she’d like to be free of them,” I said, irritated.
“Did she tell you that? Is it her husband she’d be free of? Well, I’m not surprised. The trouble with women is they’re always looking over the fence where the grass is greener.”
“She would not be looking at me then,” I replied, “for I’ve nothing more than what you see. I’d put by a bit, and made a venture with the Good Catherine, and it is lost to me … gone.”
“Aye, y’ll see nothing more of that cargo. The good captain of the Good Catherine will add your portion to his and grow the fatter for it.”
He glanced at me shrewdly. “The girl is it? The Injun girl or that proud and devil-be-damned Spanish lass?”
“It is the Señorita Guadalupe Romana,” I said, with what I hoped was dignity. “She is a lady, and a lovely one.”
“Oh, I doubt it not! Them’s the worst kind! She’ll invite you to come forward in every way a woman has, then scream if you put a hand on her! I know the kind.”
“You do not know her,” I replied stubbornly, “but we’ll get nothing done standing here. Go you about whatever it is you do. I am going to see if that girl needs assistance.”
“Now what would I have to do in this godforsaken place besides saving my skin? What, I ask? You’ll not be rid of me so easy as that. I think you’ve a means to a ship, so I’ll stand hard by. And I’ll listen t’ your troubles, I’ll share whatever it is you eat, I’ll drink at your wake, but I’ll have nothing to do with your fancy women!”
He turned his head, looking for all the world like a big bird, and then shook his open hand at me. “Don’t get me wrong! I like a woman as well as the next man. But find them, have your hour with them, an’ leave them, that’s what I say! If they speak of love, put your hand on your poke and keep it there. If they start worrying about you catching cold or not eating right or drinking too much, catch the first vessel out of port. Believe me, when it comes to women, I know them! Oh, do I know them!”
My gesture indicated his sword. “Can you use that thing? Or is it just hung there for show?”
“Show, is it? Aye, I can use it! Well enough, I can use it! I’ve fought my battles by sea and land and used every sort of weapon, and I am alive to see this day. I’ve been a rich man twice, left for dead once, twice a slave, and many times a prisoner. I know when to fight and when to run—and run I will if the time is not right or the numbers too great.” He glanced at me. “Don’t look for me to be a hero. That I am not. I will fight as long as it looks like winning and if there’s a bit to be had, I’ll fight the harder, and longer, too!”
“Do you have a name then? I’ve told you mine.”
“Captain Tatton Chantry, he says. Now there’s a name! It has a sound to it, all right. Well, mine does too, for I’m known as Silliman Turley.”
“All right, Turley, come along with me if you wish, but if trouble comes, you stand to that sword or I’ll have no part of you.”
“Well now! Captain, he says, and captain he acts! So be it. You lead and I will follow and you’ll not find me lacking. But if you fail me, I’ll be off, and you can lay to that.”
My attention had been on the camp as we talked. We were some distance off, and had kept our voices low, but I didn’t want them to know we were about until I had some idea of what was happening.
It was clear enough what my intentions should now be: to find a ship, or some way in which to return to England and open proceedings that would establish my claim to some of the profit from the voyage of the Good Catherine.
A thought occurred to me. “Turley, how long have you been here?”
He shrugged. “Two years … I think. A man loses count of time when the days are alike and he has no need to be anywhere at a certain moment. It was a late summer when I came ashore, and there was a winter, then another winter.”
“No trouble with Indians?”
“Aye … with some of them. Mostly I keep shy of them.” He pointed. “I’ve a place in the swamp … deep inside.”
Moving with infinite care, we edged closer to the camp. Turley was like a ghost in the woods. His body seemed to glide between leaves and branches, or under them, stirring scarcely a leaf in the passing. I was more clumsy, yet watching him, I learned to do better. Soon he paused, lifting a hand.
There were voices, a faint smell of smoke. First, I saw Armand and Felipe. They stood together, off to one side.
Don Diego and Guadalupe Romana stood together; Don Manuel sat on a log not far from them. A large man was facing them, a huge, enormously fat man but one who moved with that curious ability some fat men seem to possess.
“Do not repeat to me this fiction, this romance! I do not believe in your mysterious Englishman! I think he is a lie, but no matter! Tell me this only: where is the San Juan de Dios?”
“I repeat,” Don Diego replied, with dignity, “the galleon was sinking. Don Manuel acted quickly, getting us into the boat and away. Without him we all might have been lost.”
“Ah, yes! Don Manuel! Very heroic, no doubt! But do you not ask yourselves why he hurried you? Was the vessel actually sinking? Was he saving your lives or merely getting you off the ship and away?”
“Of course, she was sinking!” Don Diego protested. “She was lying well over when we made the deck.”