"It will be safer here than at Acapulco," David said. "This port is much smaller."
Sebastian did not understand.
David said, "I am going to try to get aboard her."
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David judged the distance carefully. When the bark was roughly a hundred feet abeam of the flagship, he leaned down to take off his boots. He slipped over into the water.
"Stand off a little. Keep on her quarter. The tide's ebbing," he whispered to Sebastian. "I'll be back."
"God be with you," Lola said, trying to keep her voice even.
"I'll be safer swimming, Lola," he said, his head and his shoulders visible to her and the rest of them. "They don't expect boarding," he added, remembering. "Last time I boarded a Spanish ship, I was lucky too."
His head disappeared. Lola could see him for a minute before only the faint movement of the water showed her he was swimming easily and strongly toward the bulky Maria. The bark came about; Sebastian held her into the wind. No one spoke.
The water was warm and smooth. There was almost no current, and little wind. But David approached the ship with caution, not daring to splash; he used an even under-water stroke; he swam under the stern galleries.
A pool of light fell onto the water. David swam close by the ship's side; he pulled himself aboard at the stern ladder. Like a cat he made his way along the painted bulwark and swung himself over to the lower gallery. He pressed himself flat against the side of the ship. He looked sideways into a paneled cabin.
The cabin was large and spacious. A man sat at a polished table, in a high-backed chair as elegantly carved as his own high forehead and deep-set eyes. David was sure he must be da Gossa himself; this would be the Captain's cabin, and probably Catherine was near. Even as David watched, the door opened and he saw Catherine.
Da Gossa rose, he led Catherine to a chair by the table. David pressed back against the wood and listened.
Da Gossa had resumed his place at the table. He studied his visitor; she was much as he had expected, and yet there was a fibrous strength and dignity he had not expected. Still, he couldn't conceal the pleased look in his eyes that appeared as they watched her.
"You must be weary, señora," he said, his measured tones coming clearly to David's ears. "You must be weary after such a voyage. We could not believe, when we saw you today, that the Santa Anna was once the proudest ship in the world. A little wine?"
"If you please, señor," Catherine said. "We have endured with the Santa Anna, Captain, and to us she is still proud."
He poured the wine into two silver goblets and set one before
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her. "You are very white. The wine will do you good."
"Now that our uncertainty has ended, and we are safe here, we are all too relieved to be anything but tired," Catherine said quickly.
"There's no use pretending, señora," he said, just as quickly. "You are still uncertain."
She had not touched the wine yet. Now she drank it. She set the goblet down and her fingers touched the small brass-bound sea chest on the table. "That is mine," she said.
"From the Englishman Cavendish!"
"It belongs to me," Catherine came back.
He nodded, saying nothing. Then he sighed, dismissed the brief flurry of words that came to his lips, and went to another subject. "I cannot expect you to condone my action toward Captain Flores. Believe me, señora, I understand how you feel toward him. It is a misfortune that he allowed sentiment to come between him and duty." He had been going to continue, for he had wanted to evaluate this woman before he questioned her further. Instead he said, "You have been in the New World seven years?"
"Si, Señor da Gossa," she replied.
"It breeds a certain toughness," he remarked. He smiled, and there was friendliness in his carefully hewn features. "I have been here seventeen years."
Catherine smiled back. "The dinner was wonderful tonight!"
He laughed. "White bread," he said. "Is there anything better, señora, after biscuit?" Then he said bluntly, "I know much of you. This is your chest, here on the table. These are your possessions, the jewels and the gold, are they not?"
"They are, señor."
"And they were given you by the English Cavendish?"
"They were."
"Then I want you to see something, señora." Across the table he handed her a heavy parchment. He put his finger against the sentence that began. "And if you should hear news of the ship or ships in which sails the English pirate Thomas Cavendish, you are to capture, kill, or cripple him, at any cost whatsoever to yourself."
Catherine lifted her eyes from the orders signed by Philip of Spain. The parchment lay on the table beside the brass-bound chest. Da Gossa's voice went on: "Let's not use veiled words. The English pirate was your lover. Since he is wanted for his many crimes against Spain, I must question you. Also, you have
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been the companion of his brother, David Cavendish, who is wanted by the Crown."
"Master David escaped in a small bark," Catherine said. "We, on the Santa Anna, have not seen him since San Lucas." She said it calmly, and while she said it, she wondered if it were possible that it had all been true. But San Lucas was real, and today the bay would be as blue as it had been the first time she had seen it. "Since San Lucas," she repeated.
"I know that, señora. What can you tell me of the bark's destination?"
"Nothing." Catherine looked straight at him, and she was sure he knew she was lying.
"Just so," he said dryly. "But that is of no great matter. We shall find him, eventually, certainly." He crossed his legs and regarded her. "What is of moment is what you can tell me of Captain Cavendish."
"Of Captain Cavendish?" she repeated. "What can I tell you?" she asked, low. "What do you wish to know?"
He picked up his pen. "First, a description. From you, it should be correct. Proceed, señora." He dipped his pen and his hand hovered over a blank sheet of paper.
Catherine began. "Eyes, blue," she said.
Da Gossa wrote. He listened to her voice. Her low tones were the only sound in the room, aside from his pen. He wrote, and once he raised his eyes quickly, to see her face, and he looked down at the paper again just as quickly, for it was as though he had intruded on something far too intimate. He felt a flicker of jealousy that this woman could love an Englishman so much, and he was sure that any attention he would get from her would be crumbs from another man's table. He said, "And now, señora, the Englishman's destination?"
She said, "Plymouth, England." Da Gossa frowned.
"And before that, señor, Manila, Java, Sierra Leone, and then England."
"He may be attempting to fool us, señora. Although it would be the height of folly to try to escape us in these waters much longer, with the forces we can bring to bear on him."
"Captain Cavendish wanted to round the world," Catherine said. She stood up. "Is this chest still mine, señor?"
He rose too. His lips twisted in a wry smile. "I believe so," he
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said. "It is late now. I shall talk with you further tomorrow. You are in my custody; it may be that they shall want to question you in Acapulco. I'll take you there. We sail in a week."
He had started to the door with her. She turned and held out her hand; she smiled at him, and he could not help adding, "Do not worry, señora!"
Her hand was in his. "Thank you," she whispered, as he kissed her hand.
"Your quarters suit you?"
"They are beautiful."
"Señora, I do not blame the Englishman!"
He watched the sudden sparkle come into her eyes. "Good night," she said softly, and left him standing there.