Hornblower was still thinking hurriedly. A little more opposition would cause this madman to order him out for execution, and if her captain were killed the Lydia would certainly not fight for el Supremo. There would indeed be a complicated situation in the Pacific, and the Lydia, with friends neither among the rebels nor among the government, would probably never reach home again — especially with the unimaginative Bush in command. England would lose a fine frigate and a fine opportunity. He must sacrifice his prize money, the thousand pounds or so with which he had wanted to dazzle Maria’s eyes. But at all costs he must keep his prisoners alive.
“I am sure it is my foreign breeding which is to blame, Supremo,” he said. “It is difficult for me to express in a foreign tongue all the delicate shades of meaning which it is necessary to convey. How could it possibly be imagined that I could be lacking in respect to el Supremo?”
El Supremo nodded. It was satisfactory to see that a madman who attributed almightiness to himself was naturally inclined to accept the grossest flattery at its face value.
“The ship is yours, Supremo,” went on Hornblower, “she has been yours since my men first set foot on her deck last night. And when in the future a vast Armada sails the Pacific under el Supremo’s direction I only wish it to be remembered that the first ship of that fleet was taken from the Spaniards by Captain Hornblower at el Supremo’s orders.”
El Supremo nodded again, and then turned to Hernandez.
“General,” he said, “make arrangements for five hundred men to go on board the ships at noon. I will sail with them and so will you.”
Hernandez bowed and departed; it was easy to see that there was no chance of el Supremo doubting his own divinity as a result of disrespect or hesitation on the part of his subordinates. His lightest order, whether it dealt with a thousand pigs or five hundred men, was obeyed instantly. Hornblower made his next move at once.
“Is the Lydia,” he asked, “to have the honour of carrying el Supremo to La Libertad? My crew would greatly appreciate die distinction.”
“I am sure they would,” said el Supremo.
“I hardly venture to ask it,” said Hornblower, “but could my officers and I aspire to the honour of your dining with us before our departure?”
El Supremo considered for a moment.
“Yes,” he said, and Hornblower had to suppress the sigh of relief he was on the point of drawing. Once el Supremo was on board the Lydia it might be possible to deal with him with less difficulty.
El Supremo clapped his hands, and instantly, as though by clockwork, a knocking at the brass-studded door heralded the arrival of the swarthy major-domo. He received in a single sentence orders for the transfer of el Supremo’s household to the Lydia.
“Perhaps,” said Hornblower, “you will permit me to return to my ship now to make arrangements for your reception, Supremo.”
He received another nod in reply.
“At what time shall I be at the beach to receive you?”
“At eleven.”
Hornblower, as he came out into the patio, thought with sympathy of the oriental vizier who never came out of the royal presence without feeling to see if his head were still on his shoulders. And on the Lydia’s deck, the moment the twittering of the pipes had died away, Hornblower was giving his orders.
“Have those men taken below at once,” he said to Bush, pointing to the Spanish prisoners. “Put them in the cable tier under guard. Call the armourer and have them put in irons.”
Bush made no attempt to conceal his surprise, but Hornblower wasted no time on explanations to him.
“Señores,” he said, as the officers came by him. “You are going to be harshly treated. But believe me, if you are as much as seen during the next few days you will be killed. I am saving your lives for you.”
Next Hornblower turned back to his first lieutenant.
“Call all hands, Mr Bush.”
The ship was filled with the sound of horny feet pattering over pine boards.