Moon ordered two men to fetch de Ersola's sea chest. He never took his eyes off de Ersola. But Flores could not contain himself. "Yesterday," he said, "we learned that you beat your brother with your fists because he rebelled at your inhuman actions. Now I see why."
Cavendish reached out a leisurely hand and slapped Flores across the mouth. "I dislike you Spanish," he said.
Flores drew up. He licked the trickle of blood off his lips. "May God curse you," he said evenly.
"And may He help you," Cavendish said. "And as far as my brother is concerned, I am abandoning him, here. You may do as you wish with him."
"So that is it!" de Ersola cried. "Captain Flores—"
"If you speak, I'll have you shot dead," Cavendish said. "Tyler!" He went on, "I am weary of this. Take him, Moon."
De Ersola was seized by the arms. His hands were bound quickly. He was hoisted over the side, and all but tossed into the waiting boat. Moon scrambled down after him. He sighed a little. His job was almost done. He took a loaded musket from one seaman and held it until de Ersola was safely aboard the Desire. He carried it until the irons were locked around his arms and legs. Then he went back on deck and watched the Santa Anna.
The figures Moon saw on the Santa Anna's decks were now only the figures of the English. Flores and his officers had left. The sound of axes came across the strip of water. Moon saw Cavendish himself walking across the poop deck. It was but a few minutes later that the first wisp of smoke curled upward from her main deck.
The men moved automatically about their task. They had done this many times before. The stiff wind from the northwest would aid them, fan the flames they were kindling; the fires crackled. Not yet could they be heard on the beaches, but soon.
Fires had been set fore and aft. Amidships, another fire was blazing already; it was this smoke Moon saw from the deck of the Desire.
Cavendish stood on the highest deck of the Santa Anna. Below
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him, in her poop, another fire already burned. He looked down at his men, and the fires.
"Abandon ship!" he shouted, and he ran down the narrow stairs to the lower deck. Havers came walking up to him.
"The fires below are well started, sir," he said as he and Cavendish crossed the deck together.
"Good," said Cavendish, absently. He swung down into his waiting boat, with Havers after him. "We'll stand off a little and wait until we're sure she's gone."
The wind blew strong. Aboard the Desire the men were already aloft; Master Fuller's voice echoed over the decks. The Desire's foresail filled; she came about a little, and put a safe distance between herself and the luckless Santa Anna. Astern, the Content did the same.
"Jesu, Brule has a voice," Cavendish said to Havers, for they plainly could hear Brule's commands.
"That's good seamanship," Havers said, watching the Content.
It had been only twenty minutes since they had left the Santa Anna.
"Look!" said Cavendish. Flame spiraled up from the Santa Anna's decks. Fire suddenly shot from the port holes astern and the wind blew a sheet of flames across her main deck.
"Her mainmast will topple soon," Cavendish said. "But that teakwood is tough."
"Any wood will burn," Havers said. "I don't see Captain Flores on the beach."
But at this distance it was hard to make out the figures on the beach. Cavendish turned away from the sight of the beaches, and watched the Santa Anna. The ship's bells rang out. It was time for mess. The men disappeared below. Cavendish saw Tyler cross the deck, pulling out his pocket knife, and wiping it off against his leg as he walked. The blade shone in the sun; Cavendish knew Tyler kept each edge razor sharp.
The knife. It was just such a small and deadly weapon that David carried beneath his shirt, or under his sleeve, or wherever he had hidden it. The knife Catherine had given him.
Cavendish swore under his breath.
"There goes the mainmast," Havers said, soberly. The crash of it echoed over the water, sparks flew high into the air. He, too, was leaving Catherine here.
"Christ, she's really aflame now," Cavendish said. She was a mass
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of fire; smoke rose in billowing clouds, but no longer could the smoke hide the flames.
"The funeral pyres of old do not match this." Havers' tone was low; he glanced at Cavendish.
Cavendish was silent. Should he relieve David of that knife? Where had David hidden it? Valuable as it would be to him, its possession was dangerous. Should he be tempted into using it as defense, the Spanish would kill him outright.
"I would like to see David," he said truthfully to Havers.
Havers said abruptly, "Leave him alone, now, sir! For God's sake, leave him alone!"
Cavendish looked out at the Santa Anna. She was wreathed in flames, her mizzen was gone, her upper decks were burning brightly; the smoke from her cast a pall over the water and way up into the sky. The fires licked upward, and played in and out of the smoke.
Cavendish said, "Another hour should see her burning to the water line."
"Aye," said Havers. It was almost done, now.
Another hour, and then David would face the Spanish sailors alone. They would set him on the beach, and then they would sail away.
"I don't want food," Havers said, lighting his pipe, tamping down the tobacco with his forefinger.
"I'm not hungry myself," Cavendish said. "I ordered a hearty meal for David."
"Thank God for that," Havers said. It was the only time he had allowed himself to reproach Cavendish. In a few moments, in the silence that followed his remark, he added, "Sometimes even I find it difficult to understand you, Tom."
Dense smoke billowed upward from the burning Santa Anna. The flames licked upward through it; now all her upper decks were gone. She looked like a floating walnut shell.
Fuller came striding across the main deck of the Desire. Moon was on the gundeck, and his orders were plain as six of the heaviest guns were run out. Cavendish wiped the sweat off his palms; he rubbed his hands on his breeches, and Havers stood silent, watching
They were bringing David out. He walked along between two men, blinking his eyes a little in the sunlight; he looked over toward the quarterdeck, and saw his brother and Havers. He raised his hand a little, he smiled at Havers; and Havers knew it was the last time he would ever see him. Havers' eyes stung. He tried to smile
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back. Even at the distance, he thought David understood, because David slid easily down into the waiting boat and settled himself jauntily in the stern, as though there was nothing for Havers to worry about at all.
Havers watched the boat. He was not conscious of Cavendish beside him. It was a short row. The boat beached. And at the same moment Master Fuller told Pretty that they would weigh anchor now. David jumped out of the boat just as Pretty's voice rang out.
"Heave 'round!"
The men at the capstan bar went around once. The anchor was free.
"Heave her up!"
The cables creaked. David stood alone on the beach. The boat was pulling away. The topmen were aloft. Cavendish struck his hand on the rail.
"Jesu!" he said. "Why doesn't he make for the forests?"
Havers said, "Would you, Tom?"
Cavendish turned to look at him. "No," he said, quietly.
Havers smiled.
The boat was back at the Desire's side. Quickly it was hoisted on deck.
The guns spoke.
The salute to San Lucas rang out. Men clung in the shrouds, in the rigging. The tops filled, the mainsail squared, the flags flew bravely in the northwest wind. The sun shone fitfully on the Desire s blue and gold paint. The new sails glistened.
"South southeast," shouted Fuller, and below decks the helmsman swung the whipstaff hard to starboard.