“Ah!” said Hornblower. “It is Don Julian that I want to see.”
Hernandez was clearly annoyed by this casual mention of Don Julian.
“El Supremo,” he said, laying grave accent on the name, “has sent me to bring you into his presence.”
“And where is he?”
“He is in his house.”
“And which is his house?”
“Surely it is enough, Captain, that you should know that el Supremo requires your attendance.”
“Do you think so? I would have you know, señor, that a captain of one of His Britannic Majesty’s ships is not accustomed to being at anyone’s beck and call. You can go, if you like, and tell Don Julian so.”
Hornblower’s attitude indicated that the interview was at an end. Hernandez went through an internal struggle, but the prospect of returning to face el Supremo without bringing the captain with him was not alluring.
“The house is there,” he said sullenly, at last, pointing across the bay. “On the side of the mountain. We must go through the town which is hidden behind the point to get there.”
“Then I shall come. Pardon me for a moment, General.”
Hornblower turned to Bush, who was standing by with the half puzzled, half admiring expression on his face so frequently to be seen when a man is listening to a fellow countryman talking fluency in an unknown language.
“Mr Bush,” he said, “I am going ashore, and I hope I shall return soon. If I do not, if I am not back nor have written to you by midnight, you must take steps to ensure the safety of the ship. Here is the key of my desk. You have my orders that at midnight you are to read the government’s secret orders to me, and to act on them as you think proper.”
“Aye aye, sir,” said Bush. There was anxiety in his face, and Hornblower realised with a thrill of pleasure that Bush was actually worried about his captain’s well being. “Do you think — is it safe for you on shore alone, sir?”
“I don’t know,” said Hornblower, with honest indifference. “I must go, that is all.”
“We’ll bring you off, sir, safe and sound, if there is any hanky-panky.”
“You’ll see after the safety of the ship first,” snapped Hornblower, visualizing a mental picture of Bush with a valuable landing party blundering about in the fever‑haunted jungles of Central America. Then he turned to Hernandez. “I am at your service, señor.”
Chapter IV
The boat ran softly aground on a beach of golden sand round the point, and her swarthy crew sprang out and hauled the boat up so that Hornblower and Hernandez could step ashore dry shod. Hornblower looked keenly about him. The town came down to the edge of the sand; it was a collection of a few hundred houses of palmetto leaves, only a few of them roofed with tiles. Hernandez led the way up towards it.
“Agua, agua,” croaked a voice as they approached. “Water, for the love of God, water.”
A man was bound upright to a six foot stake beside the path; his hands were free and his arms thrashed about frantically. His eyes were protruding from his head and it seemed as if his tongue were too big for his mouth, like an idiot’s. A circle of vultures crouched and fluttered round him.
“Who is that?” asked Hornblower, shocked.
“A man whom el Supremo has ordered to die for want of water,” said Hernandez. “He is one of the unenlightened.”
“He is being tortured to death?”
“This is his second day. He will die when the noontide sun shines on him tomorrow,” said Hernandez casually. “They always do.”
“But what is his crime?”
“He is one of the unenlightened, as I said, Captain.”
Hornblower resisted the temptation to ask what constituted enlightenment; from the fact that Alvarado had adopted the name of el Supremo he could fairly well guess. And he was weak enough to allow Hernandez to guide him past the unhappy wretch without a protest — he surmised that no expostulation on his part would override the orders given by el Supremo, and an unavailing protest would only be bad for his prestige. He would postpone action until he was face to face with the leader.