Ten years had gone by since he had left England and become Don Pedro. Lord Howell, secure in his new identity, felt it would be safe to venture back for a brief visit. Of course, the Aurora was by now too well known as a pirate ship for him to risk taking her into English harbors, but Ireland was different. He knew that they would be perfectly welcome on the west coast of the Emerald Isle, where English dominion had never been absolute to begin with. They made for Newport, hoping to reach land within two weeks, if the winds continued to be as favorable as they were when they set sail.
It turned out that they were, and the Aurora made excellent time. By now the men had more or less forgotten about the Indian Chief, and even Tom seemed his old, friendly self again. Don Pedro had drawn an exact map of the area where they had deposited the chest with the treasure, and given a copy of it to Tom for safe-keeping. Perhaps this gesture, more than anything Don Pedro could say, calmed Tom’s suspicions and the old bond between them seemed fully restored.
At Newport, they were welcomed by a small landing party of traders from town. Of course, the Aurora had by now changed the black skull and crossbones for the Spanish flag which Don Pedro felt he had at least a moral right to display. The tradesmen who came to seek their goods knew of course what the Aurora’s real purpose was, but they never said anything about it. The people of Newport had long since learned that it was best to be tactful with the crew of ships like the Aurora: it was safer—and far more profitable.
But trade was not the only reason Don Pedro had decided to head for port in Ireland. As soon as the formalities of the business at hand had been attended to, he turned command of the ship over to Tom, and purchased a horse. He would be gone for several days, but he was quite sure that his mate could handle matters in his absence.
There was some personal business he had to look after, Don Pedro told Tom, without going into details; but Tom knew perfectly well what the business was, though he did not let on. His captain’s personal life was an area he wanted to stay away from, but in his heart he hoped that Don Pedro would find pleasant news of his wife, Merryn.
Despite the years of separation, Lord Howell had never ceased to love her, and now he hoped he would find her, at the very least, happy with the man with whom she had gone to live in this isle.
The ride down the coast was difficult and slow, due to the absence of good roads; but Don Pedro drew on his past horsemanship to manage it as well as he could. Leaving rocky County Mayo behind him, he entered the boundaries of Galway, heading straight for Galway city where he had been told that Merryn had gone to live. Here in Galway, the rebellious spirit was particularly strong, and he took great pains not to be recognized as an English aristocrat, lest he be murdered by these people. Pretending to be a Spanish sea captain, and laying on a slight accent, he managed to get by, and by nightfall of the second day he had reached the city limits.
The city was teeming with people; there were strangers amongst the crowds, easily recognizable by their attire. This did not surprise Don Pedro. He knew that Galway city was a place where people and sailors from all countries would congregate to exchange wares and other goods, such as information and even thoughts of rebellion against the British Crown. He knew, of course, that the government in London was well aware of such activities but could do little about them short of sending in an expeditionary force to the eternally rebellious Ireland; that would be a costly and long-drawn-out affair which the government was not likely to engage in, unless driven to it by open revolt. At the moment, however, there was no sign of any such activity. The Irish seemed peaceful enough, at least on the surface.
As he entered the city, Don Pedro looked for a likely inn to bed down for the night, for he was extremely tired and had no intention of continuing his search for Merryn until the following day. As if fate was guiding him, his eyes fell upon a sign extending into a street, reading, “Ye Old Four Leaf Clover Inn.” Truly, he thought that would be the best place to spend the night, for he could use all the luck available, both the luck of the Irish and his own, to find Merryn in this teeming city.
As luck would have it, the inn had a spare room. Don Pedro consumed a hearty meal, served in the rough Irish manner and followed by a tankard of beer, or rather stout, as it was hereabouts called. Within an hour of his arrival, he fell into a heavy sleep from which he did not awake until well into the following morning.
As the sun stole into the window of his room on the second floor of the inn, he was confused as to where he was; realizing that he had arrived in Galway city, he dressed quickly and demanded his breakfast. He then summoned the innkeeper and asked for directions to St. Patrick’s Lane, the street where he had last known Merryn to live. Shortly afterwards, he paid his bill and called for his horse. He made his way slowly and carefully through the throng. St. Patrick’s Lane, he had been told, was situated at the very outskirts of the city, and the ride gave him plenty of time to worry about what he would find when he reached his destination.
His heart was beating faster as he approached St. Patrick’s Lane. How would it be, confronting his beloved Merryn after all those years? Would she still recognize him? Would he recognize her? Immediately he dismissed this as a silly notion, for he knew that he would recognize her a thousand years hence. But then he began to wonder: was he wise in coming here? Should he not have left well enough alone? He rejected the idea at once, knowing full well that his love was forever. By the time his thoughts had been sorted out, he arrived at St. Patrick’s Lane, a short, narrow street lined on both sides with rather small, traditional houses, which seemed to have stood there for a long time. He looked for Number 22, the house that had been indicated to him as the abode of his beloved Merryn. When he dismounted, his heart began to beat even faster: what if the man she was living with should object to his coming here? What if there was a fight? The last thing in the world Don Pedro wanted was to hurt Merryn again in any way whatsoever. But he had come a long way to seek her out, he finally reasoned, and now he had to find out how matters stood.
There was an old-fashioned brass doorbell mounted on the wooden door, which he rang. He heard the bell jangling inside the house, far away, it seemed. For a moment nothing happened. Then he heard shuffling feet coming down a flight of stairs toward the entrance door. A moment later the door was opened, and a slim blonde woman peered out at him. Immediately he recognized Merryn. She had hardly changed at all. If anything, she was more lovely than ever. She looked at him for a moment, wondering who this stranger was. Then she recognized him in turn and the door was flung wide open.
“John! John, is it really you?” she cried out. She threw her arms around him, pulling him towards her, as if he had never left. He responded in kind, allowing her to draw him inside the house. Quickly she closed the door and turned around to face him. “You’ve come back. How wonderful,” she said. “We must close the door in this city, you know. There are many who would want to listen if you are not careful.” She then motioned him to follow her up the stairs.
The second story contained a large living room with windows giving on to the city in the distance. There was a bedroom off to one side and what appeared to be a large kitchen to the other. Merryn led him to a couch in front of the window and there they sat down and looked at each for a moment in silence.
“I hope you don’t mind my coming here,” he began uncertainly, “but I would have come before if it had been possible.”
“Of course not,” she replied, “I am happy to see you. I have never forgotten you.”
Still, he thought, there is something not quite right. He looked around as if searching for another person.
She immediately understood. “Oh I see.” She laughed mischievously. “You are looking for my husband, perhaps, or my lover?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I am,” he replied seriously, looking at her with a deep frown, as if expecting the worse.
“Rest your mind at ease,” she said, “for you will not find either.”
“But what about the Irishman? Did you not go away with him?”
“Oh yes, I did,” Merryn replied. “He was a wonderful man. We lived together for over a year and then he went out to sea and never came back.”
“I am sorry,” Don Pedro said immediately. “Did you love him very much?”
“Not as much as you.” Merryn looked straight at him. “Remember, it was you who left me. Had you stayed with me, I would not be here now.”
“Yes, yes,” he replied, bending his head. “I am the guilty one and I freely admit it. As you know, the cause of the Stuarts has always been strong in my heart, and the events that drove me from London, despite my great love for you, made it impossible to see you.”
It was clear to him now that Merryn still loved him, and he rejoiced in his heart. He could not blame her for trying to build a new life with another man. After all, it was he, her husband, who had deserted her, seemingly forever. Now, he thanked God that they had a chance to start over.
There was so much to talk about, so much to catch up with. Over dinner they talked about each other’s lives, each other’s problems, and each other’s hopes for the future. When Merryn learned of his new “profession,” she was not as horrified as he had feared she might be. After all, many of the population of western Ireland were pursuing similar aims. But she was concerned for his safety and realized that, being a seafaring pirate, he was not likely to settle down on land. The crux of their conversation was simply this: would he now be willing to give up his ship and settle down with her, either in Ireland or back in England perhaps, if that were possible, or did he want to return to his ship and continue his restless ways? It was then that Don Pedro realized that he had reached a turning point in his life. He told Merryn he could stay with her another two days and that he must then return to the Aurora. During this time, a decision had to be made, that he knew.
On the third day, their last day together, John faced his Merryn, ready to discuss his future and hers. “I must go back to my ship and my men,” he said, “I cannot abandon them. But I will go out once again and try to retrieve as much of my treasure as I can, distribute it among my men, and then turn the ship over to Tom, my mate. When I have done so, I shall return to you and never leave again.”
“But you are leaving now,” Merryn replied, unable to hide her disappointment. “How do we know when the winds of fortune will bring you back to me again? We are living in perilous times, and one never knows what fate has in store.”
“I swear,” he replied, becoming extremely emotional as he did so, “that I will return to you in a year and a day, never to leave again.”
When she saw that she could not sway him to stay with her now, she gave him a tearful farewell. Don Pedro, with turmoil in his heart, mounted his horse again and rode from Galway city. He resisted the temptation to turn around and take a last look at Merryn, standing in her doorway, her long, blonde hair fluttering in the wind, tears streaming down her face. Had he done so and seen her, he might never have returned to the Aurora.
When he arrived at Newport at the end of the following day, it was already late evening. Rather than make his way to the Aurora, he decided to stay in town for the rest of the night. Also, he needed some time to himself before facing his men again. So he bedded down in the best inn in Newport, which was called the Thistle.
But sleep eluded him. He tossed and turned, his mind going over his life and his future and his plans again and again.
Eventually he acknowledged defeat. Although it was late at night, he went downstairs again, where a few people were still in the inn, taking a late drink. As he walked by them, he noticed a strange-looking gypsy woman, seated by herself in the corner at one of the tables, with a crystal ball in front of her. Something stronger than himself made him saunter over to her and greet her. As if she had expected him, she bade him to sit down at her table.
“You want to know, don’t you?” she said with a heavy brogue. “Well now, cross my palm with silver, and I shall tell you.”
Almost mechanically he reached down into his pocket and handed her a shilling. She first bit into it to make sure it was good metal, then rapidly made it disappear among the folds of her ample skirt, smiled at him and began.
“You are a seafaring man, that much I can see,” she said, not impressing him very much. Anyone could see that he was a sailor. “You are about to go out to sea again, and you are going a long way off. You are leaving a blonde lady behind. She loves you very much, but you will never see her again.”
“Not so,” Don Pedro protested vehemently, perhaps too vehemently.
“Are you listening?” the gypsy woman replied, looking sternly in his direction. “Now then,” she continued, looking in her crystal ball at the same time, “I see you going a long way. You are going to be very lucky at sea, and someday you’re going to build a great house. It’s going to be far away from here, but you are going to live in it a long time.”
“A great house? Far from here? Impossible.”
“Don’t argue with me, sir,” the gypsy woman replied unpleasantly, “just listen.”
He nodded and fell silent.
“You are going to be a rich man, that’s for sure. But you are going to be unhappy nonetheless.”
“Why will I be unhappy?” Don Pedro demanded to know.
“Because there is a curse on you,” the gypsy woman said. “It’s an unlucky stone that casts its curse on you.”
“But I’ve buried it,” Don Pedro said, defending himself.
“Nevertheless,” the gypsy woman said and shook her head, “the curse is upon you. Them as have touched it, they cannot escape. Mark my words, sir, ‘tis a bad kind of lot. You’re going to be rich, but you’re not going to be happy.”
“But what about—the woman? What about her?”
“Ah, the woman, the blonde woman you mean,” the gypsy said. “It’s as I told you, sir. You’re not going to lay eyes on her again.”
“But how, but why? Tell me, tell me!” Don Pedro was almost shouting, and people started to turn in his direction. The gypsy woman put her hand on his arm to calm him.
“’Tis fate, son,” she said, almost like a mother. “You cannot do a thing about it.”
And with that she rose swiftly and walked away from him, leaving a very perturbed and stunned Don Pedro behind. Quickly ordering a stiff drink, he downed it and stumbled to his quarters, hoping that sleep would eliminate the bad taste of the gypsy woman’s predictions.
The following morning, bright and early, he rose, feeling much better and only faintly remembering the gypsy woman’s predictions. As he entered into the activities of the day, he grew less inclined to believe the woman, drawing upon his own background as a British aristocrat, where curses and gypsy women played a very small part. He returned to the Aurora, where he was given a hero’s welcome. Tom hugged him and accompanied him back to the Captain’s cabin, where a meal had already been prepared for him. That very night, the Aurora set sail and headed out west, toward the American coast.