"Certainly, señora," he said, "you know much more than you have told us."
"I do not, señores," Catherine said levelly.
The Alcalde studied her openly. "Señora, Spain and England are at war. You are a Spanish subject, and in consorting with the English captain you are guilty of treason, I believe," he added, looking at da Gossa.
Da Gossa frowned.
"Thus," pursued the Alcalde, "it would better your position if you would reveal the secrets which you are withholding from us."
Catherine again kept her voice level. "I know nothing more," she said.
The Alcalde said to the others, "Of course, a man like that Englishman probably reveals little to his mistresses." There was a certain detached envy in the Alcalde's voice. "All of what he has told her may be lies, gentlemen."
Catherine said, lifting her hand to study the enormous emerald on the third finger, "Captain Cavendish does not lie, señor. To me, or to anyone." She raised here eyes from the emerald and looked at Da Gossa. He smiled.
"A little wine, señores?" he asked. He began to pour some wine; he rose and brought a goblet to Catherine.
The Alcalde had accepted wine too.
"Possibly it might be best to send the señora to Lima," he suggested, over the rim of his goblet, "and wash our hands of the matter."
Catherine wanted to protest, but it was not time. They were talking among themselves, and she hardly heard them. The very word Lima was a threat. She looked up at the great map that stretched across an entire side of the paneled cabin. Her eyes found Lima. It was so far away—halfway down the Pacific coast. Acapulco was a red dot on the map; south of it the continent of America narrowed, and there was only a thin strip of land dividing the two great oceans. Across that thin strip of land was the Atlantic Ocean. Another red dot marked the port of Vera Cruz—and that was where she must go.
She didn't hear the voices around her. She heard David's voice, as it had been almost a month ago when she had come into her
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cabin and found him there. Da Gossa had almost caught him, but David had escaped. And David had had time to whisper, "Get to Vera Cruz! You must! I shall be there. From there we can take ship across the Atlantic!"
She stared at Vera Cruz on the map. It was near, compared to the distances of this land. And some leagues south of here, she saw on the map the thin line that drew in the Verde River. It was on this river that David intended to make his way inland, and to cross from the Pacific to the Atlantic. The Verde River. There it was on the map. Was David there now?
"In Lima," the Alcalde was pursuing his point, "the Viceroy will know what to do to please the Crown. And then we shall not be responsible for the señora, and it will no longer be our business."
Da Gossa said, "The Viceroy? But I am thinking it might be wisest to send the señora to Vera Cruz. If she is guilty of treason, it might be best to send her on to Spain."
Catherine fastened her eyes on his face. "Spain?" she said. "Vera Cruz?"
Da Gossa nodded. "That is what our orders are concerning the brother, David Cavendish. Although I imagine he is dead."
"Probably," said the Alcalde. "Drowned, or captured by the Indians. It would be easier on us if we could catch him. But, anyway, da Gossa, David Cavendish is the brother, and thus a prisoner of war." The Alcalde was loath to give up his plan. "I think the Viceroy should decide."
Da Gossa sighed. He thought privately that Lima might be safer for Catherine de Montoro. "Perhaps you are right," he conceded. "I sail for Lima in two weeks." He had risen suddenly and was looking through the open port. "The Eugenia is putting in," he said. "She's towing a disabled bark!"
There was a brief silence. But Catherine had hardly heard da Gossa. She said, slowly, "Spain and England are at war?"
"I told you that before, señora," the Alcalde said sharply.
"Yes, but I did not realize," she said. She stood up, and set down the wine glass.
"I told you, too," the Alcaide added, "that you were guilty of treason. Did you not understand me, señora?"
"No," said Catherine. She faced all of them. "I am not guilty of treason!"
The Alcalde said sharply, "You are! We shall send you to Lima!
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Do you know, señora, that Captain Flores was sentenced to death this morning?"
Catherine's eyes blazed. "You little fat coward," she said, contemptuously. "And you shall not send me to Lima, to stand trial for treason. Not I, sir! For I am not a Spanish subject!"
The Alcalde was red in the face, especially since da Gossa looked as though he fully agreed with Catherine. The Alcalde sputtered, and da Gossa interrupted casually.
"If you are not Spanish, what then are you, señora?" And as he said it, Catherine was sure he knew what her answer would be. He was leaning back in his chair, waiting.
"What am I?" she asked. She stood very straight. "I am English, sir. You shall send me to Vera Cruz, and on to Spain by your orders. I am an English subject. I am not the mistress of the English Captain. I am his wife!"
Chapter XXXII
The sun rose blood-red. it splashed against the waters of the bay, and by eight o'clock it was burning down on the deck of the Desire.
All the company were on deck. They talked in low voices, and watched the shore. They could see it plainly now, in the white hot heat of the blazing sunny morning. And they saw no signs of human life. It was there, but they could not see it.
Cavendish came out on the poopdeck, and the men turned to see their Captain. The three little Filipino boys, the de Dasis, whispered and nudged each other, and the big Negro whom Cavendish had taken from the Santa Anna—he stared toward shore too. He heard Cavendish call out his name; immediately he made answer, and everyone watched as he made his way to Cavendish's deck.
The Captain was dressed in a white shirt and canvas trousers. He waved one white-clad arm to shore.
"Can you speak their tongue?" he asked.
The Negro nodded. "They will understand the Morisco tongue, sir," he said.
Again Cavendish pointed toward shore. "I see large canoes hitched to poles. They are fisher canoes. Yet this morning they are hitched up and unused."
"They are afraid," the Negro said.
"We'll go ashore and see," Cavendish said. "You shall come."
"Oh, no!" the Negro cried.
Cavendish said, "There will be no danger."
The Negro nodded excitedly. "They will die, if their King so orders it," he cried. "They are savage! Last night they beat the drums!"
"We'll go ashore," Cavendish repeated.
Cavendish's boat was put over the side. Pretty wanted to come, and then ten men joined them; the Negro crouched fearfully be-
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tween the thwarts. The boat pulled ashore. When they were near, Cavendish told the Negro to call out in his own tongue.
The wall of green jungle did not answer.
"Call out again," Cavendish ordered, as the boat was beached. Cavendish jumped out onto the sand, and the men pulled the boat up on the beach.
The Negro stepped out too. He raised his voice; it echoed and trembled a bit, and suddenly, at the call, a figure appeared. A man stood, uncertain, at the edge of the trees, and slowly he made his way toward the white men.
"Ask him where we can find fresh water," Cavendish ordered.
The two Negroes talked rapidly. There were tentative smiles between them. The native pointed.
"He says, water there."
"Good," said Cavendish. "Now tell him to carry a message to his King. Tell him that we are English, white men, and that we come to trade for victuals and diamonds and pearls and any other jewels he may have, and that we will pay for all we get in either gold or merchandise."