Ringrose was speaking once more, a frown replacing his normally cheerful expression. 'I say that it was Duill who betrayed our signals to the Spanish. They must have taken him prisoner and tortured him.'
Sharpe shrugged. 'There's no way of knowing. What happened at Arica is in the past. Under my command we'll make no more shore landings against well-defended targets. We stick to what we do best - taking prizes at sea, and we cruise wherever there's the best chance to do so.'
Hector found himself wondering if he and his three friends had been wise to vote for Sharpe. Life aboard Trinity had quickly reverted to its former easy-going ways. Dice and cards had reappeared, shipboard discipline had grown slack, the men were irritable and slovenly. Only their care for their ship and their weapons was irreproachable. The men's clothing was falling into rags and they were often short of food, but they kept the tools of their trade — their muskets and blunderbusses — clean and smeared with seal fat against the salt air. Their cutlasses, swords and daggers were regularly sharpened and oiled. Their diligence for the ship was no less impressive. They experimented endlessly with improvements to their galleon's performance by adjusting the rake of the masts or the angle of the spars, and crewmen spent hour after hour seated on deck with needles and thread, working to shape new sails under the direction of the ship's sailmaker, or using marlin spikes and fids to mend and splice and tune the rigging.
Hector felt the deck tilt slightly beneath his bare feet. The warm breeze was strengthening. Beneath an overcast sky Trinity was running on a course parallel to the Peruvian coast, which was no more than a faint line on the horizon. As her captain had implied, her hunting ground was the broad strip of sea along which the coasting vessels travelled back and forth between the Peruvian ports. Here, only a week ago, the buccaneers had already taken one ship with 37,000 pieces of eight in chests and bags. Equally encouraging they had captured a government advice boat on its way to Panama with despatches. Hector had translated the official letters and it appeared that the Spanish authorities believed that all the buccaneers had left the South Sea. It meant that the coastal shipping might again be venturing out from their well-defended ports.
He sauntered forward to the bows where Jacques was taking his turn as lookout.
'Has the chase made any move to get away from us?' he asked. Since first light Trinity had been tracking a distant sail, and the gap between the two vessels had narrowed to less than a mile. The Spaniard had proved to be a merchant vessel of medium size and, judging from her smart paintwork, a ship that was making money for her owners.
'She's still plodding along. I doubt she suspects anything yet,' replied the Frenchman. He gave one of his sardonic grins. 'Bartholomew Sharpe is a past master in fakery. If we set too much canvas, they would be suspicious.'
Hector glanced up at the spars. Trinity was proceeding under plain sail as if she was an ordinary merchant ship going about her business, not a predator closing in on her victim.
'How long before they realise their mistake?'
'Perhaps another hour. Trinity has the lines of a locally built ship. That must reassure them more than our Spanish colours.'
'You're beginning to sound like a right sailor.'
'I've grown to appreciate this roving life,' Jacques answered, rubbing his cheek where his ex-galerien brand was now barely visible beneath his deep tan. 'It's better than scrabbling for an existence in the Paris stews.'
'Then it's lucky that our dice fell that way.'
Before the vote in the general council, the four friends had been undecided whether or not to support Bartholomew Sharpe. Jacques had suggested that they leave it to chance by throwing dice. If the number was high, they would vote in Sharpe's favour, a low number and they would side with Dampier and the other malcontents. The dice had shown a six and a four.
'That wasn't luck, as Jezreel and Dan already know,' Jacques confessed.
'What are you trying to say?'
'I didn't waste my time when I was nearly left behind on shore on Juan Fernandez. Do you remember those two dice that Watling flung into the bushes, the ones he took from Sharpe?'
'Were they the dice you used?'
'Yes, I searched for them because I thought they might come in handy one day. I knew they were loaded.'
'I don't remember you gambling against Sharpe.'
Jacques treated Hector to a look which told him that in many ways he was still very naive. 'I didn't. But I watched the pattern of his play. Did you ever wonder why the game the crew is so fond of is called Passage?'
'I think you're going to tell me.'
Jacques allowed himself a crafty smile. 'That's how the English pronounce - passe dix - "more than ten", its French name. The game was invented in France and there's little that I don't know about how to cheat at it.'
'So our captain is not the only one who knows all about fakery and deception,' Hector rejoined.
A movement aboard the Spanish vessel caught his eye. The crew were reducing sail in response to the strengthening of the wind. From the quarterdeck behind him came a low command. Sharpe was issuing orders.
'Do as they do, but take your time about it! The slower you are, the more ground we will gain,' he called.
No more than a dozen of Trinity's crew went to obey him. The rest of the buccaneers were hidden, either crouching behind the bulwarks or waiting below deck. A glimpse of so many men would instantly warn their prey that Trinity was not an innocent merchant vessel.
'Lynch! Come back here to the quarterdeck,' called Sharpe. 'I'll want you to address the Spaniards when we are within speaking distance.
Hector made his way back to the helm but his assistance was not needed. Half an hour later when the gap between the two ships was less than three hundred paces, the Spanish ship suddenly veered aside, there was the sound of a cannon shot, and a neat round hole was punched in Trinity's forecourse.
'All hands now!' shouted Sharpe. There was a surge of activity as the full complement of sail handlers sprang into action. Extra sails blossomed along the yards and Trinity accelerated forward, showing her true pace. Within moments she was ranging up to windward, rapidly overhauling her prey. Her best marksmen took their positions, some in the rigging, the others along the rail, and they moved unhurriedly, confident in their skill. By contrast there was a panicked flurry of action on the deck of the Spanish vessel. Men were hastily clearing away loose deck clutter and erecting makeshift firing positions. It was evident that Trinity's victim was utterly unused to violent confrontation.
Another bang from the chase's cannon, and again the shot was wasted. It threw up a spout of water as it plunged into the sea well short of its mark. The wind had raised a short rolling sea, making it difficult for the Spanish gun crew to aim their weapon accurately.
'Seems they have only a single cannon aboard,' commented Sharpe calmly, 'and their gunners need some practice.'
Trinity's musketeers had not yet fired a single shot, but were waiting patiently for their target to come within easy range. Samuel Gifford, the quartermaster, had warned them that they were not to waste ammunition. The ship's supply of lead for making bullets had been badly depleted by the raid on Arica.