By the time David caught up with him, Cavendish was in his cabin. David heard him pacing inside the small space. He wondered why, for now everything was all right again. He knocked. When he came in, Cavendish was in the act of drinking a cup of wine; he set down the empty cup.
"What is it?" he asked.
David said, "Is there something the matter, sir?"
Cavendish said, "No."
David said, "I didn't know, you see. I didn't understand."
"A long voyage is hard," Cavendish said. "They quarrel over nothing, because—" He made a gesture.
"I wasn't thinking of that," David said. "I was thinking about what you said. I wasn't here when it happened; I was on the beach; I saw your boat."
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"Oh," said Cavendish. He looked at David searchingly. "Did you see Señora de Montoro?"
"Aye," said David.
Cavendish had stepped to the door to open it, and Cosmos entered with a tray of food. David hesitated. He asked, "Aren't you going to join the Spanish in the fish dinner ashore?"
"No," said Cavendish.
"Shall Havers or I take your regrets to de Ersola, then?"
"The Señora Catherine—was she—"
David said, "Why, she was as usual, Tom. Excited about the shots. As beautiful as ever."
Cavendish said suddenly, "I may go. Aye, perhaps I shall. I'll join you."
"It's time, then," said David, a bit uncertainly.
"I'm coming." Cavendish picked a brush and brushed the thick short hair vigorously. He settled his cap on the side of his head.
"Where's my gold-studded belt, Cosmos?" he asked. He buckled the belt.
"I'm ready," he said.
Chapter XIII
De Ersola met Cavendish on the beach, the tide was coming in; it would be full within an hour. Cavendish sank into the soft sand where the boats were beached. To his right, opposite the small cove, was the completed bark. She would be launched at flood tide.
De Ersola walked with Cavendish toward the long tables set in the sand, under the trees.
"A rude way of entertaining, Captain," he said. "But this is the best we can do, to celebrate the launching of the bark."
"It'll be almost dark by then," Cavendish said. He smelled frying fish; there was an enormous amount of chatter around them. He was conscious of the easy gaiety; he was also conscious of ravenous hunger. He had missed his midday dinner.
"It will be a lovely sight, at evening," said de Ersola, looking at the steady procession of white breakers; they were even and strong against the offshore wind, and the bay was smooth and unruffled past them, dyed with the silken colors of sunset.
"We've abandoned formality," de Ersola went on, showing Cavendish to a place at his right. "Our ladies are helping to manage."
Down the table, Moon and the Portugal Roderigo were already throwing dice, as they waited for their food. The wine cups were filled. And Cavendish kept looking for Catherine.
He saw her down by the nearest fire, with other women and men, and then she came walking toward them, carrying two plates piled high with fried fish.
"I hear you had an untoward incident today," de Ersola said, his brown eyes speculative.
Cavendish did not answer for a minute. He was watching Catherine come closer. "So we did," he said, finally.
Catherine put a wooden plate in front of him.
"Good evening, Captain," she said. She put the other plate down before de Ersola.
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"Lord," de Ersola said. "Are you helping too, Catherine? You shouldn't."
"Everyone is," she answered. "Everyone!" She smiled.
"Thank you, señora," Cavendish said. "Would you—"
"I cannot stay to talk, sirs, I'm working."
"Please begin, Captain," de Ersola said.
"I shall," Cavendish said, angrily.
He ate quickly. He finished the last morsel of fish while he watched for her, moving around the fire. When she finally came back to the table where he ate, he indicated his empty plate.
"Would you fill it for me?" he asked.
She stood at his side. "You want more?" she asked, remembering how much she had given him—the best pieces, browned right, and thick. She picked up the plate. "Do you want more, Tomas?" she asked de Ersola.
"Even with you to wait on me, señora," he said, "I could eat nothing more."
She looked down at Cavendish. "As much again?" she asked.
"As much," he said. "I'm very healthy, señora."
She met his eyes. "I'm healthy, too," she said. "And I have not eaten yet." She walked away, with the full intention of letting someone else bring his plate back. But she didn't. She selected the fish for him carefully, and brought it back to him. Then she left him again.
The cove where the little bark had been built was full now. It was almost dusk, and the bay was shimmering gray with the faintest tint of pink left in it from the dying sun. The men had gone down to the cove; they were finished with their food, and the plates had been stacked in wooden tubs full of sea water. From the table, de Ersola and Cavendish watched.
The men strained and shoved to move the bark on her rude wheels and carriage over the soft sand. They had laid planks down to ease their task. English and Spanish worked together; the women crowded around.
The first waves slapped her bow. The men pushed her farther into the water; they were standing waist deep in it now; the breakers rolled in, lifting her.
"Here she goes!" came the cry.
She was afloat. She rode daintily. Men had followed her into the sea; they pulled themselves aboard, dripping, and everybody cheered and crowded close to the water's edge to watch. Her carriage came
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to the surface and floated in the surf; then her sails were hoisted and for a few minutes there was silence while she made her short maiden voyage. Her anchor splashed overboard less than a half cable's length from shore.
De Ersola raised his cup. "We'll drink to her," he said.
Cavendish said, "Aye." He downed his wine. De Ersola said nothing else, and after a minute Cavendish forgot him, and the bark. The men who had sailed her were already stepping from their boat onto the beach, and the fires, with fresh logs, burned brightly.
Both men and women had gathered in a big circle on the sand. The officers and gentlemen and ladies grouped a little apart from the rest of the company. Near them were the musicians, and the first strains of a Spanish dance came to Cavendish's ears. He rose.
"Shall we go down and watch?" he said to de Ersola.
The Spaniard got to his feet with his easy grace. Side by side they walked down; the firelight lit the scene. Catherine was sitting on the sand between David and Havers; Cavendish came to stand behind them. Lola was dancing.
She was in the center of the circle, barefooted, her long hair falling down her back. She moved slowly as yet, savoring the music. The click of her castanets sounded. Cavendish looked down at Catherine's head; he leaned down and put his hand on her shoulder.
"Señora," he said, low.
She turned her head. Havers turned, too, and then looked back to Lola.
"Señora," Cavendish repeated. He held out his hands to her.
She did not take his hands. "I told you before, Captain," she said, "I want to watch the dancing."
Cavendish straightened up. He kept his eyes on Lola as long as he could. He looked over at the ring of people opposite him; they had begun to clap their hands in time to the music, and one man jumped up and tried to partner Lola. The two of them went through a pantomime until he left her alone again.