Galleon Page 6

  “Forgot to put his face on,” Thomas muttered. The Governor’s expression fluttered between embarrassment, welcome and stern resolve.

  “Good evening, gentlemen, pray be seated.”

  Obviously he had carefully rehearsed the phrase because in fact no one had risen: only Heffer was standing, having turned as if to greet the Governor.

  “Ah, yes, well,” Sir Harold said, manoeuvring his sword scabbard so that he could sit down safely, “welcome, gentlemen. I am sorry I have not yet met each of you personally – with a few exceptions, of course – but I wish to send the minutes of our first executive council meeting to London in the Convertine, which is due to sail tomorrow. Now,” he said, his voice becoming brisker, “my secretary, Mr Hamilton, will give each of you a copy of the agenda for this first meeting of the council–”

  “I hope this isn’t a precedent,” Fraser said.

  “What isn’t a precedent, pray?” a puzzled Luce asked.

  “Giving us the agenda at the meeting. Doesn’t give us time to consider any of the items.”

  “No, quite,” Luce agreed warily, “but the Convertine…”

  Fraser looked at the sheet of paper which the secretary had just given him. “Aye, well, I should send down word to the captain of the Convertine that he won’t be sailing for a day or two – not judging from items three and four – aye, and seven, too. And we’d better start looking for a bigger council chamber, too. I’ve got barns better than this hutch.”

  Luce looked startled. “Well , Mr – ah…”

  “Fraser,” the man said uncompromisingly, and spelled it out for good measure.

  “Well, Mr Fraser, it all seems straightforward to me, I can’t see any reason to delay the Convertine.”

  “There’s no reason to delay the Convertine,” Fraser agreed. “You’ll need something bigger than a frigate to carry the minutes of this meeting to London after we’ve talked about the items on the agenda.”

  “To what items are you referring?” Sir Harold asked, not bothering to keep the chill out of his voice.

  “Three, four and seven, of course!”

  “Ah yes,” Luce said, as though talking to a child. “But of course item number ten is the important one.”

  Fraser’s finger ran down the list. “What, the one that says ‘To hear the new constitution’?”

  “Yes. I intend reading it to you.”

  “Why is that so important?” Thomas asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing as he realized that Fraser had not caught the significance of the triumphant tone in Luce’s voice.

  “Ah yes,” Luce said, and Thomas noted that he would hate that phrase before many more hours had passed, “the constitution gives the Governor power to dissolve the legislative council.”

  For a few moments the rest of the members did not grasp the meaning, but Ned asked at once: “What happens then?”

  “Ah yes,” Luce said innocently, “then the Governor rules the island by decree.”

  “You just give orders without being accountable to anyone, that’s what you mean?” Fraser demanded.

  “That’s a crude way of describing governing by decree, but certainly–” Luce hesitated a moment and then decided to try to placate the men staring at him, “–certainly it means governing without the help and advice of you gentlemen.”

  “Well, let’s get on with it,” Fraser growled.

  Luce nodded, and began reading from a paper in front of him: it was the King’s commission establishing him as Governor of Jamaica, and conveying the King’s greeting to the island’s people. As soon as he had finished, Luce rolled up the scroll with a flourish and gave it to his secretary, who handled it as though any sudden movement might change the wording.

  “Now,” Luce told the seated men, “your names have been suggested to me as suitable members of the legislative council. You will appreciate,” he said casually, “that few of you are known to me personally at this stage, so I might later suggest that certain of you resign to make way for – er, replacements.”

  “The naughty boys will be sent out of the room,” Thomas commented to no one in particular. “Quite right too: can’t have teacher upset, can we.”

  Luce tried to squeeze a smile to show that he could appreciate a joke, but obviously he suspected that Sir Thomas Whetstone was not joking. “Well, now you all have the agenda for this meeting. As you see, I have already dealt with the first item, reading my commission. The second item simply says, as you can see, ‘Agreement to serve’. As I have not yet received written acceptances from all you of my invitation to serve on the council, I will assume that anyone not now withdrawing from the room is in fact accepting. Yes? Good, I am sure we shall work well together.

  “Now we come to the third item, ‘Paying off and disbanding the Army’. Yes, Mr Fraser,” he said holding up a hand, “I know you want to speak on the subject, but first please allow me to describe my instructions from the King–”

  “From the Secretary for Trade and Foreign Plantations, more likely,” Thomas growled.

  “Ah yes,” Luce said. “The Secretary was speaking in the King’s name, of course.”

  “Of course,” Thomas agreed. “Please go on…”

  Hurriedly, fearing more interruptions, Luce repeated what he had already told Ned and Thomas: he had brought out £12,247 to share among the 2,073 soldiers, representing their overdue pay and a gratuity.

  “A total of less than six pounds a man,” Fraser commented.

  “That’s the pay due to them, and a gratuity – what more can they expect?”

  “Mr Fraser wasn’t thinking of that,” Thomas said, “he was thinking that £12,000 is a small price to pay for the defence of the island.”

  “Ah yes,” Luce exclaimed brightly, “but four hundred infantry and one hundred and fifty cavalry will be kept as long as I think necessary.”

  “Five hundred and fifty men and a few score spavined nags?” Ned asked. “That works out at one man for every three miles of coast – providing that none is sick, and no horse has gone lame.”

  Luce shrugged his shoulders elaborately and held up his hands. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, I’m afraid all this is out of my hands. This was decided in London and these are my instructions.”

  Fraser sniffed contemptuously. “Just means that we still have to rely on the buccaneers to protect us.”

  “Oh no, it doesn’t,” Ned said quietly. “Read the next item on the agenda.”

  Fraser read aloud: “Item four ‘Commissions and letters of marque’.” He stared at the Governor. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “Wait until we come to it, Mr Fraser,” Luce said impatiently. “We must approach these matters in the correct order.”

  Thomas began laughing, a deep laugh which started in his belly and erupted like spasmodic explosions. “The correct order! Your Excellency has a splendid sense of humour.”

  “I fail to see any joke,” Luce said stiffly.

  “No, I suppose not,” Thomas said sadly. “But these gentlemen will think you are teasing them. First you tell them they no longer have an Army – which, with respect to General Heffer, was a polite name for a rabble. Then, in the next item on the agenda, you are going to tell them you’re sending away the very men who in the past have brought them guns, food, gold and silver. I can’t speak for the rest of the council, but as far as I can see you’ll have ruined the island long before you hand it over to Spain!”

  At once several of the men jumped up, yelling at Luce, asking if Jamaica really had been promised to Spain.

  White-faced, Luce stood up, forgetting the gavel lying on the table, and started to shout back, more from fright than because he had any answers. Thomas glanced at Ned and winked, and then saw Heffer watching and obviously struggling hard to keep the s
atisfaction showing in his face.

  Finally the shouting men sat down, out of breath, but Luce remained standing, apparently dazed by his councillors’ violent reaction and uncertain what to do. The skin covering his narrow face was even more shrunken and his yellowed teeth were bared, as though he knew he was cornered. His eyes flickered from left to right, as if he was looking for a bolt hole.

  Finally Heffer came to his rescue, picking up the gavel and tapping the table. “Gentlemen, we are still discussing item number three, the disbanding of the Army and the formation of a militia…”

  Luce, like a man suddenly coming from darkness into a well-lit room, sat down and numbly took the gavel proffered by Heffer. “Ah yes, number three. That does not call for any decision by the council, since I have my instructions: I was merely reporting to the council. The same goes for number four, so we move on to–”

  “Surely Your Excellency is going to report to the council your instructions concerning item number four?” Ned asked quietly.

  “You’d better,” Fraser told the Governor harshly. “If the damned Dons had captured this island, I reckon they’d be singing the same song as you!”

  “There’s nothing to get excited about,” Luce muttered, obviously fighting hard to keep the despair from his voice. “You gentlemen must understand that we are no longer at war with Spain. The two nations must live together peacefully–”

  “Aye, try telling that to the Dons,” growled a man sitting next to Fraser. “‘No peace beyond the Line’ they say. They drew the damn’ Line and we’re the wrong side of it. Tell the Pope to scribble it out. Until he does, we need an Army and we need a Navy – or the buccaneers.”

  “Tell them,” Thomas prompted Luce. “Tell ’em what the Committee for Trade and Foreign Plantations have decided about the buccaneers. The fourth item on your agenda.”

  “Sir Thomas,” Luce said severely, “unless you stop addressing your Governor in that insulting tone of voice, I shall adjourn this council meeting.”

  “Have you ever seen a flustered cook throwing water over a pan of blazing fat?” Thomas asked conversationally. “In a few seconds she has the whole kitchen blazing. You’ve taken away their Army and now you’re taking away what passes for their Navy. And,” he added heavily, “those gentlemen in London are taking away their island. No–” he shook his head sadly, “–no one is going to invite you in for a rum punch.”

  As Luce sat open-mouthed, Ned stood up and slapped Thomas on the back. “Well, m’lord bishop, we can’t waste the evening gossiping, so let’s not take up any more of His Excellency’s time.”

  With that he led the way to the door, hearing several voices agreeing with him and chairs scraping as they were pushed back.

  “Yes,” Diana said, “you were both very witty at poor Sir Harold Loosely’s expense, but he won the battle.”

  “What do you mean?” Thomas said irritably, reaching across the table for the onion-shaped bottle of rum. “We told him exactly what we thought of him!”

  “But the Army is still going to be disbanded and paid off, and all your commissions are cancelled,” Aurelia pointed out. “You didn’t make him change his mind.”

  “We couldn’t,” Ned said, “because it’s not up to him. He’d been ordered to pay off the Army and cancel our commissions before leaving London. He can’t change anything.”

  “Do you think he would – or at least try to persuade the ministers in London?”

  “Sir Harold wears a wig,” Ned said unexpectedly. “He’s not used to wearing a wig. And his head itches. What does that tell us? Why, that his hair is still growing out. He was a Roundhead! Until the Restoration, he had his hair cropped in the fashionable Cromwell style. As soon as Albemarle put the King on the throne, Loosely (and many like him) put wigs on their heads to hide their revealing and now unfashionable ‘Roundhead’ hairstyle. Hair takes a long time to grow and itches in the process. Wigs are particularly uncomfortable in the Tropics. Now, what was I saying? Ah yes, Sir Harold is concerned only with the survival and glorification – and enrichment – of Sir Harold Luce. Like all governors sent out to the Plantations, he sees the job as an opportunity to fill his purse and start an apprenticeship which will eventually let him get his foot on the lowest rung of the peerage with a barony…it’s the only way such people can make ‘ladies’ of their wives, you know.”

  “All of which,” Diana said, “means he’s no help to the people of Jamaica or the buccaneers.”

  “Bravo,” Thomas said, “you’ve arrived at last. Old Loosely has probably taken off his wig and is dictating a despatch this very moment to tell his Council in London that he’s had to dissolve the executive council after a few hours because everyone was nasty to him and that in future he will govern the island by decree.”

  “Until the Spanish arrive to take possession,” Ned added.

  “Exactly. ‘Ah yes’ Loosely realizes now that he’s just the caretaker before the handing over.”

  “Caretaker in a haunted house,” Aurelia said unexpectedly.

  “Indeed, but the people haunting him at today’s meeting were real enough.”

  Thomas refilled his glass, setting down the bottle with a bang. “Still, apart from those two would-be slave traders, most of the merchants were on our side.”

  “That hardly surprises me,” Ned said. “The buccaneers are their best customers, whether simply at anchor here or buying supplies to smuggle to the Main. That chap Fraser, for example: he knows that thanks to the buccaneers half the cloth he sells here is eventually resold by Spaniards on the Main.”

  “Well then,” Aurelia said, looking across at Diana for support, “leave the merchants to fight the Governor. They have a lot more to lose than we have. After all, the buccaneers only have to sail to another island. Once away from Jamaica they don’t need commissions or letters of marque to smuggle to the Main or capture Spanish ships and towns…”

  Diana nodded agreement but said: “For all that, in spite of any secret treaty the King might have been advised to sign or any idiocy the government might perpetrate in London, the fact is we all feel a loyalty to Jamaica.”

  “Yes, that’s the damnable thing,” Ned admitted. “We know England should keep Jamaica and we know any peace treaty with Spain will be brief and torn up the moment Spain thinks it to her advantage but …well, I suppose we’re not the first Englishmen to realize that our country is our own worst enemy.”

  “That’s pitching it a bit strong, Ned,” Thomas protested.

  “Is it?” Ned asked quietly. “Could Spain have made Jamaica’s Army disappear by throwing £12,000 at the soldiers? Could Spain have driven more than a score of buccaneer ships away from Jamaica using a few written words? Could Spain without doing anything have ruined all Jamaica’s merchants – because that is inevitable – as a free bonus?”

  “He’s right, Thomas,” Diana said, cupping her generous breasts as though weighing them. “God knows, Thomas, you of all people should beware of trusting kings and courtiers and politicians. You’re reasonably safe with pimps, prostitutes and panders, but guard yourself against the rest.”

  “What have we decided about us, then?” Aurelia was puzzled.

  “I’m anxious to see our houses completed,” Diana said firmly.

  “You just want to sleep in a big bed again,” Thomas growled. “As soon as you set foot on land you start eyeing me with a speculative look.”

  “There’s no harm in that,” Ned said. “I’m all for completing the houses – it’ll give us something to do. We can always burn ’em down if the Dons come, and anyway we have our ships at anchor waiting for us. The buccaneers will go off to Tortuga, and they’ll be quite happy without their Admiral for a few weeks.”

  He looked across at Aurelia, who was clearly picturing the completed house in her imagination. Or was sh
e thinking of her last home, a lifetime ago in Barbados? She could only remember that place with a shudder, and the husband (since dead, admittedly) who had made her life a hell.

  Looking back on it, Ned realized just how much he (and Aurelia) had matured since then. When he ran the family’s Kingsnorth estate, and his neighbour had been the drunken sot Wilson, who bullied his French wife and treated her with contempt, Ned had fallen in love with her, but she had insisted on keeping her wedding vows.

  Until…yes, Ned admitted that in a curious way Cromwell had done him a good turn because the Roundheads’ planned seizure had stirred Wilson into such a frenzy that Aurelia had come with Ned when he fled in the Griffin with most of his staff. Since then…well, first Wilson had managed to get hold of Kingsnorth, and later Aurelia heard that he had died, so she inherited both the original estate and also Kingsnorth.

  And now – for months, in fact since Wilson’s death – they had been free to marry, but the only Protestant church in Port Royal was little more than a shack, and both of them wanted to pay for the construction of a new stone church. So Aurelia, for the time being, continued as Mr Yorke’s mistress, not his wife; but no one paid any attention – they accepted the situation, in the same way they accepted that Thomas’ hateful wife in England prevented him marrying Diana.

  Would the Dons come before the church was built?

  Chapter Four

  While Ned rode off on his horse to talk to the carpenters, masons and labourers (now starting to dig trenches for the foundations), and inspect the temporary kitchen (with its oven made out of rocks and which provided daily meals for everyone on the site), Aurelia sat alone in the shade at the edge of the cliff.

  The tamarind tree, shaped like a giant mushroom and with foliage so thick the shimmering noon sun could not penetrate, survived the perpetual buffeting of the Trade wind because it grew on the lee side of a range of hills running northwards to the sea. The hills ended abruptly at the coast in steep cliffs forming the western end of a bay and against which the northerly swells thundered even on almost windless days, sending fine spray drifting upwards in a salty mist.