Buccaneer

Hector stared down towards the galleon's rudder. There were black scorch marks on the timber and the rudder's fastenings, traces of a fire.

'Someone tried to burn away our steering,' he said.

'If they had succeeded, this ship would have been crippled. Luckily we spotted the fire before it had spread and managed to put it out. Someone came quietly out from shore in the darkness, stuffed pitch and rags between the rudder and the stern, and set it alight.'

Hector thought back to how Dan had disabled the Spanish patrol ship off the Campeachy coast.

'It was a brave thing to do.'

'We found the float the arsonist must have used, an inflated horse hide lying on the beach.'

Sharpe wheeled to face Hector and said fiercely, 'Make no mistake about it. The Spaniards are willing to fight for what is theirs, and fight hard. I want you to return to La Serena. If Watling won't listen to you, persuade the others. Tell them to abandon the place and get back here as fast as possible.'

Hector shook his head. 'Half the men are drunk. They won't leave the town until they've looted it to their satisfaction, probably by mid afternoon. Then they'll stumble back in no fit condition to fight their way through.'

Sharpe regarded the young man with interest. There was something about his quiet manner which suggested that he had a plan in mind.

'Now is the time to use our prisoners,' said Hector. 'Put them ashore where they will be visible to the Spanish, but keep them under guard. I will go to the Spaniards and tell them that we will release the prisoners unharmed if they allow our men to return safely to the ship.'

Sharpe gave Hector a long, calculating look. 'You're learning this trade,' he said softly. 'One day you could be elected general yourself.'

'I've no wish for that,' said Hector. 'Just let me talk to Captain Peralta and his comrades.'

Sharpe gave a grunt. 'This scheme is your responsibility. If something goes wrong, and I have to leave you on shore, I will do so.'

Hector was about to answer that he expected nothing less, but instead began arrangements with Jacques and the crew of the canoe to ferry Peralta and the prisoners ashore.

'Sharpe is not to be trusted,' was Peralta's immediate response when he and Hector had landed on the beach and the young man told him what was intended. 'The moment your captain sees that his men are safe, he'll decide to take his prisoners back on board and sail away.'

'That is why you — not I — will be the one who goes to find the commander of the Spanish forces and arrange the safe conduct.'

Peralta pursed his lips and looked doubtful. 'Are you telling me that you will stay with the prisoners and personally see that they are released unharmed?'

'Yes.'

'All right then. I am known in these parts and my word will carry weight.' The Spaniard's voice grew very serious. 'But if the sack of La Serena has been barbarous, then I cannot guarantee to hold back its citizens from seeking revenge. My countrymen think of your people as bloodthirsty vermin to be exterminated.'

'I intend to place half a dozen of the prisoners on the top of the watchtower. They'll be standing on the parapet, with a rope around each man's neck. Tell whoever is in charge of the ambush that if there is any treachery, the captives will be hanged in public view.'

Peralta raised his eyebrows. 'You are beginning to think like a pirate.'

'Captain Sharpe said something very similar to me earlier today.'

The Spaniard gave a slow, reluctant nod. 'Let us both hope that your plan works. If there is falsehood on either side, each of us will live in shame for the rest of our lives.' He turned on his heel and began to walk up towards the road leading inland.

The watchtower was some forty feet high and a series of ladders led to its flat roof, passing through small square openings in the building's three floors. With Jacques's help, Hector bound the hands of six of the prisoners, placed nooses around their necks, and ordered them to climb the ladders. They made awkward progress, fumbling their way up the rungs, hampered by their bonds. Hector followed and when he reached the top of the first ladder, he pulled it up after him, and laid it on the floor. The remaining prisoners would be locked into the ground floor of the tower. He did not want them climbing up and interfering. Arriving on the flat roof of the tower, Hector fastened the free ends of the nooses to the base of the flagpole. 'Up on the parapet and face inland,' he told his prisoners. Then he sat down to wait.

Hector waited for half a day. Peralta was nowhere to be seen and there was nothing to do but be patient. The wind gradually eased until it was no more than the slightest whisper of a breeze, and from a cloudless sky the sun beat down on the flat roof of the tower. There was no shade, either for Hector or his prisoners, and after a while he allowed them to be seated. They took it in turns one man at a time to stand on the parapet with a rope around his neck. Hector thought the threat was sufficient.

Twice Jacques sent up one of his captives with a flask of water. No one spoke as the drink was handed round, and then the waiting continued. The parched countryside lay silent and still. There was no sign of any activity apart from a bird of prey riding the air currents and circling over the bush. The only sound was the low incessant rumble of the surf on the beach. Half a mile away Trinity rode at anchor on a sparkling sea.

Finally, far into the afternoon, there was movement along the road, tiny figures in the distance, putting up a small cloud of dust. Slowly they came nearer and resolved themselves in an untidy straggle of men. They were Watling's company. Someone had found half a dozen mules and these were laden high with untidy loads of boxes and sacks. But most of the men were their own porters. They were trudging along, hung about with bundles, satchels and bags. One or two had rigged up wicker baskets on their backs to serve as panniers, while a group of four men were pushing a handcart piled with various items they must have looted. Oddest of all was a man with a wheelbarrow. He was wheeling along a companion, who must have been so drunk that he was incapable of walking. At the rear was the unmistakable figure of Jezreel. He and half a dozen other men had muskets on their shoulders and formed a semblance of a rearguard.

Anxiously Hector checked the countryside. Still there was no hint of movement among the scrubland and trees on each side of the road. He could see nothing but tangles of grey-brown bushes, stunted trees, and the open patches where wild grass and reeds grew waist high. Then, suddenly, he saw a glint of light reflected from metal. He concentrated his gaze on the spot, and gradually he was able to make out the figures of soldiers, half a company at least, crouching motionless in one of the washed-out gullies which bordered the road. They were visible from his vantage point high on the tower, but from the road they would have been hidden. Concealed in the broken ground must be the remainder of the Spanish force.

'On your feet! All of you!' he snapped at his prisoners. 'Move to the parapet and show yourselves!'

The Spaniards shuffled forward and stood in line. Several were trembling with fear. One man had wet himself and the flies were settling on the damp patch on his breeches. Another cast a nervous glance behind him, and Hector snarled at him to face the front. He felt demeaned by the whole charade. Hector knew that he lacked the nerve to push any man to his death dangling at the end of a rope, but the barbarity had to continue. Without it, Jezreel and the other raiders would have no chance of reaching the beach alive.