"Then I'll find Havers," de Ersola said, knowing it was no use trying to talk to Cavendish now. The Captain was intent on these waters; they were new to him. De Ersola watched Cavendish run down to the lower deck, glass in hand, and saw him start to talk to Fuller.
The island of Capul was palm-fringed and lovely to the eyes. The water was deep blue. Here was harbor. The harbor lay through a narrow passage between Capul and an unknown island. There was a ledge of rock lying off Capul, over which the tides rippled, and the great lines of breakers gleamed white in the sun. But the water between the reef and Capul was deep and running smooth.
"There'll be no danger," Cavendish said. "There's water enough a fair breadth off, and within the point, a good harbor."
"Ten fathoms," called the leads man.
Cavendish noted it down.
"Eight fathoms, eight fathoms, seven and a half, sir."
The Desire put about a little.
"Six fathoms, six fathoms. Five and a half, five, sir, five."
They were within a cable's length of shore. The beach, the palms, were very near. The anchor cables creaked, the Desire lay upon the untroubled water. She was anchored in four fathoms of water, hard aboard the shore.
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No sooner was she come to anchor, than a big canoe put out from shore. The Desire's crew hung over the rail and shouted. The canoe drew nearer; the English seamen stared at the occupants. They were tawny in color, their skin carved and cut with sundry devices. They were bringing food, for they had watched the Desire maneuver through the narrow channel between island and reef for an hour or more.
"One yard of linen for every four coconuts," Cavendish ordered, "and the same for each basket of potatoes."
Master Pretty gazed at the basket of potatoes.
Cavendish smiled a little at him. "Ah, sir, are they not excellent sweet, either roasted or boiled!"
The chief Casique climbed aboard and stood there, in his nakedness, looking around. Cavendish went down to talk to him.
The Casique thought they were Spanish.
"English," said Cavendish, "and we will pay you for food." He held up the linen. "This much for four coconuts." He demonstrated.
The Casique smiled, and nodded his head. He called instructions down to his companions in the canoe, and they began to row back to shore. In the meantime, Master Pretty took the basket of potatoes and disappeared in the direction of the galley.
"Camotas," the Casique said, pointing to the potatoes.
Cavendish said, "Potatoes. Bring more." He drew the man aside and started to talk with him further, memorizing quickly the Casique's names for the foodstuffs he had brought.
"Hogs," he said.
The Casique said, "BaJboye," and nodded, again smiling. "Hogs," he repeated after Cavendish.
The crew eavesdropped. They were going to get pig, fresh pig. Their mouths watered.
"Hens," said Cavendish. Havers brought up a bag of money, and Cavendish showed it to the native. "Eight rials for every hog, one rial for each hen or cock."
The native's eyes grew big.
"We are English," Cavendish said. "We trade, and pay you. We do not steal."
De Ersola had come up. He made a rude noise. "Are you the harbinger of a new era out here?"
Cavendish laughed.
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"For a bloody pirate, you sound remarkably peaceful today," he continued, as Cavendish and he went up to the poopdeck.
Cavendish kept on chuckling.
"Trade," said de Ersola. "Trade mixed in with a little well-applied force, when it's needed. That's right, isn't it, Captain?"
"Look at the wench," Cavendish said, leaning over the rail to suit his words.
Right beneath them was a canoe with a small boy and a young woman. Both were using the long paddles. Cavendish reached in his pocket and pulled out a nail. He tossed it down to her, and she caught it deftly, and held it up.
"I guess this means a ration of nails issued to the men," Cavendish said. "Else they'll be digging them out of my ship."
De Ersola laughed. When he leaned on the rail, the paper under his shirt crackled; he stepped back quickly. "I'd like to plant a flag on this virgin territory," he said. "May we go ashore?"
He was well aware of the quick glance bestowed on him by Cavendish, even as Cavendish smiled at his words.
"Perhaps tomorrow," he said.
The smell of roasting hens was wafting through the warm air from the galley.
"Jesu, I'm hungry," said de Ersola. He hadn't eaten yet today.
"So am I," said Cavendish.
He was a magnificent animal, de Ersola thought. Hungry, and wary, too. He measured the distance to shore.
"There are sharks," Cavendish's voice said quietly. He did not give de Ersola a chance to answer him; he did not want an answer. The ship's bells sounded. "We can eat soon," he said.
Dinner took a long time. When de Ersola came out on deck later, the swift tropic night had fallen over the islands and the blue water and the shining white of the breakers on the reef. The stars were low and golden and there was nothing to hear but the sound of the surf.
The ship was silent. The boats had been hoisted back on deck; the ladders had been pulled up. Way below, the water shimmered. De Ersola made his way across the deck to his chest.
The lookout called down to him, his voice friendly. The officer of the watch was standing fore, talking low, and de Ersola opened his chest and drew out a clean shirt for the morrow. While he knelt alongside the chest in the darkness, he took the white paper
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from under his shirt, and put it in the chest, and with his shirt in his hand, he rose and locked the chest again. He went aft.
He walked slowly. The night was calm and peaceful. The wind was soft. Capul was in thirteen degrees; it was not so hot as usual. Sleep was what he needed, he knew, for his plans were made. Only-sleep was what he needed.
The passageway was dark. He opened the door to his cabin. There was no light, but he didn't need one. He bent down to loosen his shoes, when he felt himself seized from behind.
He did not cry out; he did not fight the hands that held him. One hand was clamped over his mouth; he was lifted and carried. And still he made no move to struggle or speak, because he knew that if he did he would be killed. Quickly. And he knew who it was who must have betrayed him.
The ship was silent. There was still no sound. On deck, the officer of the watch—it was Moon—did not move; he could see the chest dimly. In the passageway, aft, Tyler ran on bare feet, soundlessly. He knocked on a cabin door, opened it, and entered.
"Sir," he said.
Cavendish looked up from the chart which lay in front of him. "Well?" he asked. Tyler was trying to control his amazement and excitement. He tried to speak calmly.
"He went to the chest, sir, as you said he might. He took out a clean shirt. Then he went back to his cabin!"
"Go on," said Cavendish, laying down his pen.
"Then—by God, sir—then someone was waiting for him and they took him to the great cabin!" Tyler would have continued, but Cavendish's voice interrupted like a whiplash.
"How many?"
"Three of them, sir! He made no move to stop them, sir!"
Cavendish rose to his feet, and Tyler looked hastily away from his Captain's face. He was supremely thankful that he was not one of the culprits.
Cavendish flung open the door; he was running down the passageway to the great cabin. He did not pause. Tyler was right behind him when he opened the door and stood framed in it, his dark head bent a little, so he could enter.
The scene flashed before Tyler's eyes. Berkeley and Mills stood at each side of de Ersola. Tyler hadn't been able to recognize them
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in the dark. They had tied de Ersola's legs to the chair, and in front of him was Roderigo. Tyler even caught the last words of the sentence which he and Cavendish had interrupted. There was a knife in Roderigo's hand.