By the time the little piragua reached the landing stage at Valdivia, the atmosphere between himself and the ensign was relaxed and friendly.
It was clear that a great deal of money had been spent on Valdivia. An imposing defensive wall had been built of massive cut stone, with bastions at each corner, a ditch, and embrasures for cannon and musketeers. Beyond the city gate, the city planners had laid out wide streets and numerous plazas. But, as Hector walked up the main avenue with Carvalho and the two soldiers, he had the impression that the town had yet to fulfil its ambitious design. The roadway itself was unpaved, many of the subdivisions were empty plots that had not yet been built upon, and several large public buildings of brick and stucco had been left half-finished. There were surprisingly few people to be seen. Those he did encounter were going about the everyday business of any small town: mothers with their children picking over the local produce at food stalls or sorting through barrows heaped with second-hand clothes, idlers gossiping on street corners, a few tradesmen carrying their tools on their way to work. He supposed the occasional passer-by with lank black hair, a broad high-cheeked face and wearing a long fringed cloak of animal skin was from the local Indian tribe. He saw no evidence of any unusual prosperity and wondered if Captain Swan would be disappointed in his hope of lucrative commerce. As far as Hector could tell, the bulk of the goods being offered for sale were farm tools and cords of firewood.
They reached the main plaza and arrived before a tall double-fronted building. Set over the main doorway was a stone slab carved with Spain’s royal coat of arms. They entered, and Carvalho asked Hector to wait while he went ahead to find his uncle the Governor and inform him of their arrival.
Hector had expected some delay before he was granted an interview. But in less than five minutes Carvalho was ushering him through the building and out into a pleasantly shaded walled courtyard at the rear. It was a very informal scene. Trellised across the far wall was a luxuriant climbing plant with deep-green leaves and star-shaped blossoms of a delicate purple. Rose bushes grew out of half a dozen large earthenware pots arranged on the flagstones. From one corner came the sound of trickling water where a stone spout dribbled into a small pond covered with water lilies. Seated beside a low table was a small, grey-haired man neatly dressed in an old-fashioned dark-velvet doublet and knee breeches. He was peeling an apple. To add a further touch of domesticity two large, hairy dogs lay dozing at their master’s feet.
‘This is Señor Hector Lynch. He brings the letter from the foreign ship,’ explained the ensign. Turning to Hector, he said, ‘May I introduce my uncle, Don Alonso, the Governor of Valdivia.’
Without rising from his chair and still holding the apple, the small man looked up at Hector with bright interest. Hector was reminded of the sharp scrutiny of a blackbird disturbed while foraging.
‘Tell me about your vessel,’ said the Governor affably. He made no effort at formality.
‘The vessel is the Cygnet from Bristol. Her captain, Charles Swan, wishes to trade.’
‘Bristol is in England, is it not?’ The Governor dropped a curl of apple peel on a blue and white plate on the table beside him, and carefully began to cut himself a slice from the fruit.
‘Yes, in England.’
‘Your captain knows that we are forbidden to trade with foreigners?’
‘He was on his way to the East Indies …’
The Governor interrupted with a wave of his paring knife. ‘Please, Señor Lynch, my nephew has already told me of this fable. We can dispense with it, as no one believes it.’
Hector coughed and began again. ‘Captain Swan is genuine in his desire for peaceful trade. He has written you this letter, which explains everything.’ He held out the sealed despatch from Swan. The Governor took it, prised open the seal with his fruit knife and unfolded the parchment. Belatedly Hector realized that Swan would have written it in English. It was unlikely Don Alonso would be able to read the contents.
The Governor barely flicked his eyes over the writing before returning the parchment to Hector.
‘My nephew tells me that you have excellent Castilian. Please be good enough to read out what is said.’
Hector began to translate. ‘To His Excellency the Governor of Valdivia, greetings …’
‘Yes, yes,’ interrupted Don Alonso with a sigh. ‘Leave out the compliments. Just give me the gist of the contents.’
Hector quickly ran his eyes down the page. He decided it was best to proceed straight to Swan’s request that the ship be allowed to enter harbour, and then read out the list of goods he had for sale.
When he had finished detailing the last of the inventory – apparently the Cygnet’s cargo included a stock of black-velvet caps, serge, silk, ribbons and knives – Hector paused. The Governor instantly picked up on the hesitation.
‘What else has your captain to say to me?’ he asked.
Hector cleared his throat. He was shocked by what Swan had written in the final paragraph of his letter. Reluctantly he continued, ‘Captain Swan wishes to inform His Excellency that an English pirate ship is cruising in this area,’ he said. He was stunned by Swan’s perfidy.
The Governor settled himself more comfortably on his chair. ‘Please read out to me your captain’s exact words.’
Hector had to concentrate as he delivered an accurate translation of Swan’s treachery. ‘The captain writes: “I feel it is my duty to report that two weeks ago in latitude fifty I encountered a vessel, the Bachelor’s Delight. The vessel is armed with thirty-two guns and sails under a false flag. Her captain, one John Cook, is English. I suspect him of being a bloody and known pirate. He claimed to be en route for the island of Juan Fernandez, but is clearly seeking plunder.” ’
Hector stopped reading and raised his eyes from the despatch. The Governor regarded him thoughtfully.
‘I see from your expression you find it shameful that your Captain Swan is so eager to open trade that he informs against his own countrymen,’ observed the Governor quietly.
There was a short silence. Then Don Alonso spoke as if Swan’s disloyalty was of no importance. ‘Señor Lynch, some of those trade goods on board the Cygnet could be of interest to our merchants. We have not received a supply ship for several months.’ The Governor turned to his nephew. ‘You say that the ship has anchored in the mouth of the gulf?’
‘Off the Niebla battery,’ answered the young man.
‘Then send word to the fort that she may remain there. I will consult the merchants of the Consulado and discuss which goods we might buy and what we may offer in exchange.’ Addressing Hector, he added in a friendly tone, ‘Perhaps you will be kind enough to pen a note to Captain Swan to advise him that we are prepared to consider his proposal. My nephew can carry the message back to the ship tomorrow morning.’
Hector allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief. Everything had gone more smoothly than he had dared to hope. Now was the moment to find out about Maria.
‘I will be happy to write such a letter. Meanwhile …’ he deliberately left the sentence unfinished.
‘Yes? Is there anything I can do?’ asked the Governor. His tone was solicitous.
Hector took a deep breath. ‘Would you be able to tell me where I might find His Excellency Don Fernando de Costana? He was formerly the Alcalde of the Real Sala del Crimen of Paita, but I believe he has been advanced to a higher office.’