The Collected Works of Rafael Sabatini. Rafael Sabatini

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and was not Don Esteban there to confirm him? He swept on to afford further confirmation before the Admiral could say another word.

      “And we have in the boat below two chests containing fifty thousand pieces of eight, which we are to deliver to your excellency.”

      His excellency jumped; there was a sudden stir among his officers.

      “They are the ransom extracted by Don Diego from the Governor of....”

      “Not another word, in the name of Heaven!” cried the Admiral in alarm. “My brother wishes me to assume charge of this money, to carry it to Spain for him? Well, that is a family matter between my brother and myself. So, it can be done. But I must not know....” He broke off. “Hum! A glass of Malaga in my cabin, if you please,” he invited them, “whilst the chests are being hauled aboard.”

      He gave his orders touching the embarkation of these chests, then led the way to his regally appointed cabin, his four officers and the friar following by particular invitation.

      Seated at table there, with the tawny wine before them, and the servant who had poured it withdrawn, Don Miguel laughed and stroked his pointed, grizzled beard.

      “Virgen santisima! That brother of mine has a mind that thinks of everything. Left to myself, I might have committed a fine indiscretion by venturing aboard his ship at such a moment. I might have seen things which as Admiral of Spain it would be difficult for me to ignore.”

      Both Esteban and Blood made haste to agree with him, and then Blood raised his glass, and drank to the glory of Spain and the damnation of the besotted James who occupied the throne of England. The latter part of his toast was at least sincere.

      The Admiral laughed.

      “Sir, sir, you need my brother here to curb your imprudences. You should remember that His Catholic Majesty and the King of England are very good friends. That is not a toast to propose in this cabin. But since it has been proposed, and by one who has such particular personal cause to hate these English hounds, why, we will honour it—but unofficially.”

      They laughed, and drank the damnation of King James—quite unofficially, but the more fervently on that account. Then Don Esteban, uneasy on the score of his father, and remembering that the agony of Don Diego was being protracted with every moment that they left him in his dreadful position, rose and announced that they must be returning.

      “My father,” he explained, “is in haste to reach San Domingo. He desired me to stay no longer than necessary to embrace you. If you will give us leave, then, sir uncle.”

      In the circumstances “sir uncle” did not insist.

      As they returned to the ship’s side, Blood’s eyes anxiously scanned the line of seamen leaning over the bulwarks in idle talk with the Spaniards in the cock-boat that waited at the ladder’s foot. But their manner showed him that there was no ground for his anxiety. The boat’s crew had been wisely reticent.

      The Admiral took leave of them—of Esteban affectionately, of Blood ceremoniously.

      “I regret to lose you so soon, Don Pedro. I wish that you could have made a longer visit to the Encarnacion.”

      “I am indeed unfortunate,” said Captain Blood politely.

      “But I hope that we may meet again.”

      “That is to flatter me beyond all that I deserve.”

      They reached the boat; and she cast off from the great ship. As they were pulling away, the Admiral waving to them from the taffrail, they heard the shrill whistle of the bo’sun piping the hands to their stations, and before they had reached the Cinco Llagas, they beheld the Encarnacion go about under sail. She dipped her flag to them, and from her poop a gun fired a salute.

      Aboard the Cinco Llagas some one—it proved afterwards to be Hagthorpe—had the wit to reply in the same fashion. The comedy was ended. Yet there was something else to follow as an epilogue, a thing that added a grim ironic flavour to the whole.

      As they stepped into the waist of the Cinco Llagas, Hagthorpe advanced to receive them. Blood observed the set, almost scared expression on his face.

      “I see that you’ve found it,” he said quietly.

      Hagthorpe’s eyes looked a question. But his mind dismissed whatever thought it held.

      “Don Diego...” he was beginning, and then stopped, and looked curiously at Blood.

      Noting the pause and the look, Esteban bounded forward, his face livid.

      “Have you broken faith, you curs? Has he come to harm?” he cried—and the six Spaniards behind him grew clamorous with furious questionings.

      “We do not break faith,” said Hagthorpe firmly, so firmly that he quieted them. “And in this case there was not the need. Don Diego died in his bonds before ever you reached the Encarnacion.”

      Peter Blood said nothing.

      “Died?” screamed Esteban. “You killed him, you mean. Of what did he die?”

      Hagthorpe looked at the boy. “If I am a judge,” he said, “Don Diego died of fear.”

      Don Esteban struck Hagthorpe across the face at that, and Hagthorpe would have struck back, but that Blood got between, whilst his followers seized the lad.

      “Let be,” said Blood. “You provoked the boy by your insult to his father.”

      “I was not concerned to insult,” said Hagthorpe, nursing his cheek. “It is what has happened. Come and look.”

      “I have seen,” said Blood. “He died before I left the Cinco Llagas. He was hanging dead in his bonds when I spoke to him before leaving.”

      “What are you saying?” cried Esteban.

      Blood looked at him gravely. Yet for all his gravity he seemed almost to smile, though without mirth.

      “If you had known that, eh?” he asked at last. For a moment Don Esteban stared at him wide-eyed, incredulous. “I don’t believe you,” he said at last.

      “Yet you may. I am a doctor, and I know death when I see it.”

      Again there came a pause, whilst conviction sank into the lad’s mind.

      “If I had known that,” he said at last in a thick voice, “you would be hanging from the yardarm of the Encarnacion at this moment.”

      “I know,” said Blood. “I am considering it—the profit that a man may find in the ignorance of others.”

      “But you’ll hang there yet,” the boy raved.

      Captain Blood shrugged, and turned on his heel. But he did not on that account disregard the words, nor did Hagthorpe, nor yet the others who overheard them, as they showed at a council held that night in the cabin.

      This council was met to determine what should be done with the Spanish prisoners. Considering that Curacao now lay beyond their reach, as they were running short of water and provisions, and also that Pitt was hardly yet СКАЧАТЬ