De Ersola's eyes were always on her. De Ersola—he was virtually the Spanish commander; Flores left everything to him. Flores stayed aboard the Santa Anna, shut in his cabin. Cavendish had heard that he spent his days in prayer.
De Ersola had made friends with Brule. Cavendish had watched the friendship progress. Brule was a simple seaman, and a good seaman; he thought de Ersola the most proper gentleman he had ever met. And Cavendish knew that de Ersola was clever and wan . De Ersola probably was after the Content. Could he possibly have sensed the discontent aboard her? De Ersola was an opponent worthy of the name, and Cavendish respected him; he would bear watching, always.
His pipe was almost out. He drew on the stem until a cloud of smoke rewarded him. Near, some men from the Desire were fishing; it was almost noon, and they were hauling up their anchor; they were coming back aboard for dinner. They had a good catch; fish after silver fish had been swung into the boat.
Suddenly Cavendish spoke to Cosmos, who was still standing near.
"Tell Tyler to hoist out my boat," he said.
"Aye, sir," said Cosmos.
"I'm going fishing," he said. "I want lines and tackle and bait. And a bottle of wine."
"Aye, sir," said Cosmos, and he darted away. His Captain was in a hurry, Cosmos knew.
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Cavendish waited only a few minutes. His own longboat was hoisted out; he left his own deck and settled himself in the stern sheets while Pitt hoisted the sail. Then Pitt climbed aboard the Desire again. On a larboard tack, the longboat slowly sailed to the river, with Cavendish's figure alone in the stern.
The wind was offshore. Suddenly he veered his tack; he could sail close along the shore, along the deserted beach; the women were in their tents for their siestas. The tide was coming in; he scanned the beach.
He saw her come out of her daughter's tent. He lowered the sail, letting the current take the boat into the beach.
"Ahoy, señora," he called, across the narrowing strip of water.
She stopped. She looked out to him. "Ahoy," she said.
The longboat ran aground. "Will you come for a sail?" he asked.
Her hair was shining in the sun. She was tanned, her cheeks were bright. He waited for her answer, but she would not come, he was sure of it. Therefore it was with real surprise that he heard her say, "I would love to sail, Captain."
The boat, bow in sand, rocked in the little waves. She didn't wait for him; she waded out, picking up her skirts, climbing into the bow and seizing a long oar.
"I'll push off," she said.
He laughed. "You cannot," he said, reaching for an oar himself.
"I'll help, then," she said, her back to him. "See?"
The longboat, freed, danced a little. Cavendish hoisted the sail quickly. "Come nearer, wench," he said gaily.
She boated the oar and scrambled over the thwarts, coming to sit beside him. She dropped her hand over the side, but she could not reach the water; she leaned back.
They had been eying each other covertly. Then their eyes met.
"Buenos dias, señora," Cavendish said. "I wanted to be away for a while."
"You should not leave?" she asked, seriously.
"No," he said, declining to say more, but she seemed to understand, for she smiled at him in such a way that he felt she must.
"You have the most beautiful smile," he said.
"Thank you, Captain," she said.
"We're going up river," he said quickly. "I was going to fish."
"Could I? Too?"
He grinned. "Certainly."
"We're sailing so slowly," she said. "Could I fish now?"
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"I'll bait you some hooks, and you can."
"I'll take the tiller," she said, and he raised his eyebrows in amazement.
"A friend taught me," she said.
"Go ahead," he said, laughing. He watched her for a minute, then he set to work to bait two hooks; he let the line gently over the side.
"Trail them," he said, as Catherine released the tiller reluctantly. "I'll let you sail back before the wind," he promised.
"That would be wonderful," she said, curling up on the seat beside him, watching the trailing line. She was silent for a minute, her fingers on the line, firmly but lightly, letting it slip out gently. "I've something," she cried, and she jerked the line and felt it tremble. She started to haul it in hand over hand, swinging a silver fish into the boat with enthusiasm.
"Lord," said Cavendish, who ducked his head. He put his boot on the wriggling fish. "He's off the hook already, mistress. Next time you must do better than that."
"I'll take the tiller again," Catherine said.
He burst out laughing. "You can bait your own hooks," he teased her, but he let her sail the boat while he snapped the fish at the gills and put it into the basket. By the time he had baited the hooks again, and unsnarled the line, he said, "I think we'll anchor here."
She looked disappointed, and he smiled. "I can't be away too far, you see," he explained.
Catherine nodded. She watched him heave out the anchor, pay out the rope and fasten it around the cleat. He took off his doublet; then he fixed a line for himself. He was sitting opposite her. He tossed his own line overboard.
"Would you care for wine?" he asked.
"No, thank you," she said. There was silence between them. For the first time in five days they were alone. Catherine looked over the water toward the shore; then her eyes came back to him.
"Would you want wine, Captain?"
"Aye," he said. "Thank you, señora. It is—"
"I see it," she said.
While she poured the wine he could look at her and her bent head and her slim hands. He took the cup from her.
"Thank you," he said again. He drank the wine off. She put out her hand for the cup.
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He gave it to her, leaning forward. Under his eyes, she put it back in the basket. She looked up at him.
"When did you get gray?" she asked.
"On my first long voyage," he said.
"Oh," said Catherine. "Was it bad?"
He said, "Very bad." His profile was turned to her as he said the words. "One of your officers, the Portugal Roderigo, reminds me of a very good friend I made on that first voyage."
"Roderigo?" she asked.
He felt the words coming to his lips, in short sentences. "My friend was Portuguese too. He taught me much. We landed in America, and he had been there many times before. He loved America.
"You see, Grenville left me aboard. They—Grenville and the Portugal—went ashore, and my friend borrowed a horse. He was such a small man. I never saw him again. He was thrown, badly. And he asked Grenville to bury him there, in America. I never saw him again."
He raised his eyes from the hook he had been baiting, to look at her. She was silent, but he realized that he had never told this to anyone before, not even to Havers.
He felt no need to say anything further. He flung his line over again. He felt the warm sun on his head and through the thinness of his lawn shirt. The boat rocked gently; he stretched his legs out comfortably, his eyes half closed against the glare of sun and water.
"When did you first go to sea?" she asked softly.
He said, "When I was fourteen. We lived near Ipswich. I used to spend my time at the docks. I stowed away and sailed to Holland."
Again he noticed the beauty of her smile; it was warm as the California sun.
"You want to sail around the world?"
"Aye," he said. "Why did you come to New Spain, señora? Because of your husband?"
She used the same short sentences he did. She used them honestly, as he did. "My husband and I came together. I was strictly reared. My parents regretted my marriage. So we came to New Spain. But—" She paused.