Rafe Leckenbie knew of that ship, too, and would be watching for it. Nor could either of us escape from the haven we had chosen until the storm abated. To try to get out now would expose us to all the dangers of a lee shore. Outside of our cove the shore stretched away to the northwestward before curving around to the south, low, sandy shores so far as I could see or remember, and a deathtrap for any kind of sailing craft in this weather. Like it or not we were bound here together until the storm blew itself out.
Dabney came down from the deck once more as we were finishing our breakfast. He listened to my thoughts about Leckenbie and agreed. “The rain is easing off, and as soon as it does so I shall have all the guns charged and ready.”
“Leckenbie will try for surprise,” I said, “using a frontal attack only as a last resort. He’s devilish shrewd, and a daring man.”
“We will be ready,” Dabney assured me. Toward nightfall the wind began to die down, blowing in fitful gusts, but the sea remained heavy. Dabney had retired to rest, leaving his mate in command. MaeCrae was a Scot and a solid man. Now twenty-six, he had been fourteen years at sea and had sailed with Hawkins and Frobisher before coming to the Good Catherine.
He was a tall, lean, no-nonsense sort of man who kept a tight ship, liked most men, and trusted none of them too far. “We’ve a good lot aboard here,” he told me, “and they sail with us because they like it. Most of the crew have been with us three to four voyages now.
“Captain Dabney lets them carry a bit of trade on their own account, so each makes a bit on the side. Nobody does his own trading. The captain does that. But they can carry up to ten pounds each in goods aboard here. As mate and sailing master I can carry up to fifty pounds, and I do. Translated into goods, that will make a tidy profit for the voyage. So we’ve all an interest in it.”
Alone, I paced the deck, looking off toward the inlet from which the pinnace would probably come. Now I avoided Guadalupe, as I was restless and irritable, knowing attack might come at any moment. If we were caught unawares not one of us would survive. The quality of mercy could not be expected of Rafe Leckenbie.
How had Tosti ever become entangled with him? He had been a decent young man of no particular talent, much knowledge, and a desire to have something and be somebody without any clear notion of how that was to come about. He had sat waiting for the pot of gold to fall into his lap, forever talking of inheriting money, of finding treasure, of somehow coming into wealth without doing anything to bring it about. I had liked him, and he had been friendly when I had no friends, yet Leckenbie may have offered an easy road to all he wanted.
The waters of the cove darkened, the heavy seas abated somewhat, although I believed the tail of the hurricane had still to pass over us. Occasionally stars were glimpsed through the clouds, and the wind had died down although surf could still be heard booming on the Atlantic shore, beyond Cape Lookout.
A gull swung by heading in toward the shore. I went up on the poop, which offered a better vantage point for observing the cove, but all was dark and still. The few stars had disappeared under clouds.
MacCrae came to my side. “You know the man Leckenbie, Dabney says. Is he as bad as they say?”
“Worse. He will stop at nothing, has no regard for people and never did. He is a man who is totally evil because he is totally selfish. Men follow him because he leads them and because of hope of gain or fear. He will use people and discard or kill them without wasting an instant. He is also the finest swordsman I have ever met.”
“You fought him once?”
“And was nearly killed. That was long ago and I have learned a lot. I hope I have learned enough.”
Again I went below. Dabney was up, his chocolate on the table before him. Guadalupe was there also, tired but awake.
“All is well on deck?” Dabney had papers before him, and was engaged in some problem of navigation.
“So far,” I said. “He is at least making us lose sleep.”
“Which is probably a part of his plan,” Dabney commented calmly. “Being the man you say he is, he will no doubt choose a moment when we least expect an attack. I am sure he knows just what we are doing.”
“You mean he has spies here?”
“He needs no spies. He knows we expect an attack, so we must be forever on guard. On the contrary, he expects no attack and he will choose the time. His men can rest, relax, and await the proper moment. That is why I now have but three men on deck. The others are resting.”
“But if he should come upon us now?”
“We would have ample warning. How can a boat approach us without our knowing?”
Nonetheless, I was worried. Yet the hot chocolate tasted good as did the scones. “You live well, Captain,” I commented.
“Why not? My life is aboard ship. I see no reason for a Spartan existence. One needs the comforts, and I can have them nowhere else.”
Suddenly a man appeared in the door. “The pinnace, Captain. She has just come from the inlet, but is not heading toward us.”
“Thank you, Samuel. Now alert the men, but have them stay at their posts. See they are served a round of rum. I shall be on deck shortly.” He refilled our cups and his.
“You are complacent, Captain.”
“Not complacent. Confident. I trust in my ship and my men. Whatever Leckenbie is doing at this moment is not important. He is not planning a direct attack on my ship with his pinnace. His is the smaller vessel with fewer guns, and your Rafe Leckenbie is not a reckless man. He will not see his vessel destroyed until he has another.
“What he is doing now is a feint, perhaps, or he is getting in position for a later attack. For that, one man can watch him as easily as a dozen. We must simply hold ourselves ready. He has the advantage of the attack and the choice of time and place.”
He put his cup down. “You have recently been to France, Captain? Did you by any chance meet Montaigne? The man of the essays?”
“I did not. As you know, I was with the Spanish forces, who were waging war against Henry of Navarre. We were defeated and I was taken prisoner. I do know that Montaigne is no longer mayor of Bordeaux. Not since the plague. He has been, I heard, mediating between Henry of Navarre and Henry III.”
“King Henry freed you, you say? And spoke to you in person?”
“He did. I believe,” I hesitated, choosing my words with care, “that he knew something of my family.”
“Ah? Interesting! Most interesting, Captain! Did you know that you also had a mutual friend?”
My expression must have been blank, for he smiled again. “You do make the right friends, Captain Chantry. The helpful ones. I refer to Jacob Binns.”
He looked so smug that I was irritated. “I do indeed know Jacob Binns,” I replied. “He seems to have acquaintances everywhere, though when we met I thought him but a simple fisherman.”
“No doubt. He has been many things in his time, many things.” He paused, listening to some movement on deck. He was aware, I believed, of every creak of timber, every scurry of footstep, every lap of water and strain of rigging aboard his vessel. “If you do not know, Captain Chantry, I must explain. In his own way, Jacob Binns is an extremely important man. There is in the world a secret group, a society, if you will, of men of similar experience and ideas. It is old, older than any other, older than even any religion we now know. It is a society that crosses all boundaries, all lands, and all seas. Its numbers are few but they are everywhere.
“Jacob Binns is an envoy, a messenger or communicator between members. No doubt he or someone close to him knew who you were and where you were.”
I did not like the mystery of it, nor the feeling that forces might be pulling at me over which I had no control, even though they be friendly. Yet, Binns had been a good friend to me.
Suddenly a man was down from the deck. “Captain? The pinnace is heading for the entrance. I think she is going to sea.”