She shrugged a shoulder. “It was different then, but I do not know that you would have cared for it. The life had dignity, and it had a kind of splendor.”
She looked at me suddenly. “Our civilization did not begin with the Incas. It was old before they came.” She shrugged. “They had a kind of skill … like your Romans.”
“My Romans? I am Irish, señorita.”
“You are European. It is enough.”
“And you also. You are part Spanish, are you not?”
“I am. But I do not think like the Spanish. I am of Peru, Captain, and it is a little different. I am of my mother’s people.”
“And now you go to Spain?”
She turned sharply around. “It is not of my choice, Captain. Had I a way—”
“The others are coming.” My voice was low. “You spoke of a way. Perhaps we can talk later of that.”
She turned on me. Her eyes were scornful. “Do not think I am any maid whose head can be turned by words, Captain. I have my own way to go.
“They want me because they think I know where there is gold. He, that one who calls himself Don Manuel, wants me also because I am a woman, but at the last it is the gold they want.”
“They are fools,” I said.
“And you, Captain?”
“I, too, am often a fool. Were it not so, I would not be here. Were it not so, I might have become a man of means. The men of my family are romantics. We have common sense, but we have heart also, señorita, so we end up with many thanks and empty pockets.”
She laughed, and it had a lovely sound. Armand, the Basque, had come down and engaged the others in conversation, so for a moment longer we were almost alone.
“They believe I am an innocent, that I do not know why they take me to Spain. It is not only for the marriage, Captain. They believe the splendors of their court will put me in such awe of them that I will tell them what I know …”
“What do they think you know?”
She was facing me now, her eyes intently upon mine. “Whether there remain some hidden places where the old life goes on, where the old ways persist. They think I am a child who can be persuaded or frightened, but they waste their time, Captain. I shall tell them nothing.”
“Bravo,” I said softly, “I hope you do not.”
“And you, Captain? You do not wish to know?”
“Señorita, I live to know, to understand, and if possible, to see. Yet it would be enough for me to know there is such a place as you suggest … somewhere … and that the old ways persist. I would not have the old ways die, for all people in their own way find a path to wisdom. Each way can be a good way. Each has something to offer the world.”
“Then, if you could, you would help me?”
“That I will, but you must let me know what it is you wish. I must first understand. Then I can think and plan.”
“They would kill you, Captain.”
I smiled. “I cannot remember a time when someone was not trying to kill me, señorita. Perhaps I shall live long enough.”
“But you are alone!”
“There is Armand.”
“He is one of them!”
“Is he? Armand is a Basque, señorita, and the Basques have their own way of thinking. It is he I will get to help me repair the boat.”
Suddenly Don Manuel was there, his features pale with anger. “Señorita! This is no place for you! Come!”
Without a word she turned from me and walked to him, her submissiveness puzzling in a girl who seemed of such an independent mind. Yet it was not my business. True, I had offered my aid, such as it might be, but what she might have in mind, I knew not. Nor did I know the whole situation, or just what or whom I must save her from.
My concern at the moment should be with returning to England and putting in a claim for my portion of the Good Catherine’s trade—if she survived the voyage and if there were any profits.
At the moment the boat was my stock in trade. I could repair it, and I could sail her to the Savannah River settlement, or on to Saint Augustine, if that be necessary.
With Armand I walked back to the fire. He left me and went to join the others. Was I contaminated, then? Or was he merely wishing to avoid a controversy?
Don Diego called over to me. His voice was cool. “You have examined the boat?”
“I have.”
“Can it be made seaworthy? You can make it so?”
“I can … on the condition that I accompany you. I wish to return to Europe.”
“Of course. You can do the work tomorrow?”
“If I have one man.” I indicated the Basque. “We have talked about it. Together, I think it can be done.”
“Very well. In the morning, then.”
Darkness had come, and their fire burned just as bright as before. No sentries had been put out. I accepted the food Conchita, the Indian girl, brought to me, and I ate alone in silence.
It was just as well, for I had much thinking to do. They had come ashore on a galleon. That galleon was still afloat when they left her, and it might not have sunk. Such vessels often carried treasure, and certainly a marketable cargo.
It was sinking, they said. But had it actually sunk? Nobody had seen it go down, and even so, how deep would the water be?
I had seen no ship off shore, so it might be in the waters that lay behind this long island on which we were … or believed we were.
I, Tatton Chantry, a young man of family but no fortune, nor of any position now that all was lost in Ireland, I might have access to a fortune greater than any my family had known in these last hundred years or more.
Perhaps a galleon loaded with silver and gold from the mines of Peru? For long had I dreamed of such a thing, of finding my pot of gold at the foot of my own rainbow.
This could be it!
4
My knowledge was of armies and cities, although more than a few times I had sailed upon the seas. A man who has nothing must follow chance wherever it takes him. Although I loved the far places of the world, my wanderings were dictated more by the circumstances of employment than choice.
At least I knew enough to gather leaves and make a bed of sorts. I chose a place alone, well back from the fire and under the edge of brush that would serve both a windbreak and hiding place. Watching the others, it seemed the only ones who had any conception of how to prepare for a night in the wilderness were Guadalupe, Armand, the Basque, and the strange captain whose name I had not heard.
My thoughts returned to the boat, yet there was little to think of there. The splintered portion could be replaced by a slab of thick bark, easily obtainable and easily fitted.
The ship, their ship, held my thoughts. I tried to visualize how she might look and where she might have drifted, if she had not actually sunk. Above all I must give them no inkling of what I was thinking … even planning—if all proceeded as I believed it might.
Before the day broke I was up, pulling on my boots and brushing my clothing free of leaves. Then away I went to the inland shore.
Here the trees grew down almost to the water. The channel inside the islands, if such it could be called, appeared to be shallow. It was also narrow. There was no sign of a ship.
Hounding a small point by climbing over drift-logs, I startled a great flock of egrets and herons, thousands of them who flew with a great flapping of wings sounding much like applause from a vast theater. As they flew away, their wings caught the pink and rose of the rising sun. I stood a moment, in awe of their beauty against the morning sky.
Changes in the color of the water led me to believe there was a deeper passage leading westward into the land, or nearer to it.
A thought came to me that I had stupidly overlooked. What had become of the rest of the crew of the ship? Were they by chance still aboard? Had they taken another boat and gone elsewhere? Or were they still about? What had really happened aboard the ship? Had it simply started taking water? Or had there been a mutiny? The master of the vessel was not among them, so where was he?