During the ensuing weeks Don Pedro was much too busy with his sea voyage to think about Merryn, except for an occasional furtive longing to be with her again. Now and again, the mysterious gypsy woman would come back to his mind; but, as time went on, he tended to dismiss her warning as mere superstition, ascribing her dire prediction to the prevailing tendency among the people of western Ireland to see only the worst in their future. Then, too, Don Pedro’s background did not allow him to put too much stock in predictions and other psychic phenomena. More to please Tom and the crew than because he himself believed in it, Don Pedro had gone along with the idea that the opal was indeed the cause of their troubles. There were times when he wondered about it, to be sure, but on the whole, Don Pedro was not inclined to take predictions, curses and other occult phenomena too seriously.
The Aurora was doing splendidly now. A tail wind made her race across the waves at a speed she had never attained before. If it kept up, Don Pedro reckoned they would be on the other side of the Atlantic within the next six or seven days. This time they were heading for the West Indies, a rich prize of Spain, France, and Great Britain, with the idea of intercepting a Frenchman or perhaps a Portuguese. Of course they would not interfere with British shipping in any way. That was part of his compact with Tom and the crew, that British shipping was exempt from their attempts at piracy.
The days went on, and Don Pedro’s memory of Ireland faded more and more into the background. When they arrived at Port Royal, they were flying the British flag, even though Jamaica was then in Spanish hands. But he could not risk being interrogated by the governor about his Spanish connection, knowing full well that it was only nominal. Since Spain and England were technically at peace, there was no risk involved in flying the flag of his true nationality. Besides, he had no intention of staying in Port Royal very long; it was their first port of call to get food and fresh water. From there they intended to sail out toward the Lesser Antilles, in search of prey.
They spent three days in Port Royal, overhauling the ship and taking on new provisions of water. By the time they sailed out again, Don Pedro had again taken on the personality of his adopted name: Lord Howell seemed far away, Merryn even farther, and the immediacy of adventure was at hand and occupied all his energies.
On the third day out of Port Royal the lookout saw a Frenchman approaching them. Don Pedro ordered his men to their battle stations. But what ensued was hardly a fight; the Frenchman did not offer any resistance. When the pirates boarded her, it was like taking candy from a child: the passengers and sailors handed over their possessions willingly and it was not necessary for Tom and the crew to employ any violence. Don Pedro was relieved; he had given standing orders that there was to be no violence unless they found themselves under attack. Returning heavily laden to their own ship, the crew was of course in a festive mood. The Aurora then set sail toward the Central American coast, because Don Pedro had decided that it was time to turn some of the booty into hard cash and this could only be done in a place like Panama, where he had certain connections with the governor.
Four days later they lay at anchor at Panama, once again flying the British flag. Don Pedro immediately paid a visit to his friend the governor, to inform him of his intention to sell or trade their cargo and to request him to clear the way through the red tape; Don Pedro wanted to avoid awkward questions about the provenance of the Aurora’s cargo. Since the governor had traded with Don Pedro before, this was only a matter of courtesy; both men knew very well that a percentage of the profits would land in the gubernatorial pockets. Returning from the governor’s palace to the Aurora, Don Pedro felt that his life was taking an upturn. Whatever dire predictions the gypsy woman had made, none of them had any reality in this environment at this time.
The following morning the crew of the Aurora began to transfer their rich booty to the shops lining the quays at Panama City, and the trading started in earnest. As promised, Don Pedro delivered one tenth of the profits to the governor in person and was invited to stay for a sumptuous banquet in his honor. Only Tom was asked to accompany him, as the governor did not feel the crew members of the Aurora were quite up to the standard of his guests. The crew had no objection: they were much too busy celebrating in their own fashion, in a port known for the hospitality of its citizens, especially its women, to be interested in so sophisticated an entertainment as the governor’s dinner.
This time the governor had truly outdone himself: whether it was because his percentage was unusually large, or whether it was because he was in a festive mood himself, he laid on more than just a dinner. When the brandy was being served he clapped his hands and a group of dancing girls appeared in the room, giving the party a truly outstanding performance.
“How do you like my girls?” the governor asked and smiled at his guest of honor.
“I like them all right,” Don Pedro replied, keeping a steady gaze on the lead dancer, a beautiful brunette woman who had just performed the most torrid dance Don Pedro had ever witnessed. His Anglo-Saxon blood began to boil, very much against his will, for he was still deeply in love with Merryn.
The governor leaned over to Don Pedro and whispered. “You like the lead dancer, don’t you? I can arrange it for you.”
Before Don Pedro could shake his head, the governor had waved to the dancer, who nodded briefly but continued with her dance. A few minutes later the presentation ended and the dancers took their bows. Once again the governor clapped his hands: the lights were lowered and the dancers joined the guests, all of them men, with unmistakable intentions. Suddenly Don Pedro found the attractive lead dancer clinging to him, shedding her clothes and helping him out of his. Looking around, he noticed that all the other men were doing the same. Despite a slight feeling of remorse, he nevertheless gave into the sensuality of the moment.
Don Pedro woke late the following day. The sun already stood high in the sky, and he realized that he had slept all morning. He was still in one of the rooms at the governor’s palace. Dressing quickly, he took leave of his host, thanking him for his hospitality and wishing him great good fortune, in the polite Spanish manner. Then he hurried to the shore where the Aurora was at anchor. He found his men mostly asleep on deck or in the bunks, still heavy with alcohol, and unable to move. All right, Don Pedro thought, let us celebrate for another day: it will put them in a better mood when we must leave again.
The following day he rallied the men around him and told them it was time to get out to sea again. There were murmurs of discontent when he announced this, for the men had begun to like the easy life ashore. But he reminded them that greater prizes lay in wait outside the harbor, and that even greater joys would be theirs if they were successful in capturing other ships, more booty. Ultimately, his appeal to their greed convinced the men that it was time to go back “to work,” and within a day the ship was ready to sail again.
Looking back toward the splendid port of Panama, which was receding rapidly behind them, Don Pedro turned to Tom. “I fear there is serious business ahead for us now,” he said, “but also much joy.”
Tom hadn’t seen his captain in such a somber mood for a long time.
“What sort of serious business, sir?” he enquired. “Do you see trouble for us?”
“I don’t know,” Don Pedro replied, “but I have a hunch we will encounter some difficulties somewhere.”
Tom laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve become a fortune-teller now,” he said lightly.
The careless words hit Don Pedro with a heavy blow. A fortune-teller, he thought, like the gypsy woman in Galway city. He did not reply. Instead, he slowly turned and went down to the cabin, leaving a puzzled first mate behind.
As luck would have it the winds were with them this time and it took no more than two days to reach the islands. As they were approaching the West Indies, they noticed in the far distance the sails of what appeared to be a large merchantman. Don Pedro ordered the ship to be cleared for action. As yet, he had no idea who the foreign merchantman was; but, as they drew nearer, it became clear to him by the shape of the sails that they were facing a Frenchman. The captain’s shrewd guess proved to be accurate.
Since the Aurora could outsail almost any other ship, due to her sleek construction and the additional sails she carried, it wasn’t very long before they could clearly see the Frenchman up ahead. Once the Aurora was in range, Don Pedro ordered a volley to be fired across her bow, signifying that she should turn around.
The merchantman, however, paid it no heed. Its captain was clearly unaware of the Aurora’s ability to outsail her. The Frenchman sped into the wind, all her sails flying.
This time. Don Pedro ordered one of the cannon men to hit the merchantman lightly in the area of the bow. Now the merchantman knew that the Aurora meant business and the battle was over before it had properly begun. Within a few moments the Aurora lay alongside the other ship.
As the pirates’ boarding party, led by Tom, swarmed over the merchantman, Don Pedro stood watching on the Aurora’s quarter-deck. His face was melancholy. In a way, he hated this business, having never been a pirate by nature or by conviction. On the other hand, His Majesty’s Government was not exactly on excellent terms with the French government, so in a sense he did not feel too guilty about robbing the Frenchman.
The plundering was going ahead with professional skill and dispatch. Contrary to the alleged cruelties of most pirates, Don Pedro’s men were instructed never to kill anyone, to leave the women alone, and to go about their business in a thorough but professional manner. Their aim was booty, not cruelty, and the men of the Aurora were told not to fight unless someone attacked them first. Naturally, as was likely to happen, the pirates occasionally met with resistance, and men were killed during such encounters. But Don Pedro kept a tight rein on his men and, despite their sometimes violent character, by and large his law was obeyed.
As it turned out, the Frenchman, a ship out of Marseilles named Les Beaux Champs, carried a number of useful goods, useful, that is, for the Aurora. There were manufactured goods from the French colonies in the Antilles, small arms and plenty of ammunition, and, most interesting of all, payrolls for the garrisons. All of this was immediately transferred to the Aurora.
Within a matter of hours the Aurora set sail and left the Frenchman to pursue her course. It was not Don Pedro’s habit to scuttle the ships he boarded, feeling quite rightly that he might have the opportunity to empty such ships of their cargo on another occasion. As the sun set that day, the Aurora was a lot heavier from the treasure she had taken aboard. Piracy, after all, was just like any other business: sometimes the inventory was light, sometimes full.
As Don Pedro and Tom went over the booty from the Frenchman, it became clear to them that some of the goods they had confiscated would have to be traded for hard cash at their next port of call. The Aurora accordingly continued on toward the West Indies, as she had originally planned to do. After a couple of days, she made a landfall once again at Panama City.
The familiar bargaining took place; once again the governor played host to Don Pedro, and once again a sumptuous dinner was presented to Don Pedro and his first mate after the conclusion of the business. This time, however, there were fewer guests. At the end of the meal, when everyone was smoking the peculiar tobacco grown in this country, rolled into long, thin cigars, the reason for the relative privacy of the arrangements became clear. Instead of a group of dancers, as had been the case during their last encounter, the governor this time presented to them only two women, who joined the men at the table. They were not dancers, either, but two very beautiful young women whose sole interest seemed to be Don Pedro and Tom. With a gesture from the governor, a gesture which was immediately understood by the ladies as well as by Don Pedro and Tom, the dinner ended and the guests were led to private chambers by the ever-present black servants.
The governor, with a sardonic smile on his face, wished them a good night.
As Don Pedro followed the lady who had so freely presented herself to him and who was apparently quite willing to be his for the night, he had strong misgivings. For the first time he felt that he could not freely undertake such a liaison, even though most men would have had not the slightest qualms under such conditions. As soon as he had entered the room which the woman had led him to, he tried to tell her so. But the already had her arms around him and was beginning to undress him. More unwilling than willing, and with mounting apprehension, Don Pedro allowed her to proceed and within minutes they were in bed together.
Don Pedro had always prided himself on his manhood and his way of proving it to the ladies, and he had never given a second thought to his ability to satisfy them. Here, however, for the first time he failed to do so and he realized, after all, that he was not a free man anymore.
The Aurora left Panama City again a few days later, and went about her business, lying in wait for potential victims among French or Portuguese merchantmen. Time passed rapidly, or perhaps it only seemed that way, for Don Pedro had suddenly become very introspective. Tom noticed that the conversations which the two men had often had in the captain’s cabin after dinner were now getting more and more drawn out, and more and more one-sided, as far as Tom was concerned. He questioned Don Pedro about this change of mood and got very little in reply.
But soon Tom had little time to consider the matter further. Business was booming: a couple of wealthy merchantmen came across the Aurora’s bows. After their capture came the work of disposing of their booty in ports along the coast.
For reasons of his own, Don Pedro insisted that they should not return to Panama City this time. The Aurora visited other ports, where the governors were less accommodating—and Don Pedro’s memories less vivid.
The months went by and soon it was Christmas and then New Year’s Day. Don Pedro remembered his promise to return to Ireland “a year and a day” after he had seen Merryn last. He turned the bow of the Aurora toward Europe, explaining this change in direction away from the lucrative West Indian route be saying that the ship needed to be refurbished in western European ports. As the crew had been amply rewarded thus far, no one complained.
The winds were against them this time and it took them a full month to reach Ireland during one of the stormiest voyages the Aurora had ever had. As soon as the ship had made port at Newport, Don Pedro arranged for the ship chandlers to come aboard and make the necessary repairs. Then he turned the command over to Tom and once again took off to seek Merryn.
As he travelled by the now well-known road south, he had the strangest feeling. Perhaps the horse sensed his master’s mood, for it seemed to run faster than ever. At first Don Pedro assumed it was his eagerness to see his beloved one again, but as he approached the city of Galway, his apprehension grew by leaps and bounds. Something terrible might have happened to her, he thought, or perhaps something terrible might happen to him. Immediately he rejected such a notion; after all, he, the successful pirate, was not about to give into fears for his own safety; and, as for Merryn, she was living in a safe city, surrounded by decent people. There was no reason to assume that anything unusual might have happened to her in the meantime. Last time she had been well and eager to see him, and he knew nothing to suggest that this might not be the case now. Having thus rationalized his fears, he continued his journey, but the deep-seated apprehension would not leave him.
In time he arrived at the outskirts of Galway city. There seemed something oddly different about the suburban areas he was riding through now, as he noticed people in a state of agitation when he passed them. He paid no attention to it, however, and continued his journey directly to the house where Merryn lived.
Within the hour he arrived at the house that he remembered so well from his last visit. But this time shutters covered the windows and the brass doorbell had grown dull with lack of polishing. He secured the horse and ran up the steps, pounding the door with his fists as his own heart pounded as loudly. There was no reply from inside. Once again, even more forcefully this time, he hit the door.
After a moment, a door opened in the house next to Merryn’s. Slowly the head of an elderly woman appeared in the narrow-opening, peering out as if to make sure that what was happening outside on the street was of no danger to the person inside.
Don Pedro noticed the movement and immediately called out to the woman. “I say there, Madam,” he said, turning toward her, “can you tell me where the lady in this house has gone to? There seems to be no one inside.”
The neighbor woman ventured outside now. She turned out to be a stooping woman of small stature, gray-haired, with a wrinkled face and a charming smile: her dancing eyes belied her age. However, there was an expression of fear running across her face, and her voice was kept low, so low in fact that Don Pedro had difficulty understanding her at first.
“What is it, woman, what is it?” he said impatiently.
She stepped closer to him, again peering around to see whether they were being watched by anyone. Having reassured herself that no one was listening to their conversation, she finally opened up.
“Yes,” she said and nodded. “The lady is gone indeed. ‘Tis a terrible thing that has happened to us here, sir, a terrible thing.”
Frantic now, Don Pedro took the woman by the shoulders, as if to shake an answer out of her faster. “What is it, what is it?” he said.
“Now wait a moment, sir,” she replied, shaking herself loose from his grip. “I will tell you. Do not become upset. The lady is gone.”
“Gone? Why? Where to?”
The old woman shook her head. “I don’t know, sir. All I know is that she is gone. It happened three months ago, and I know you were here to see her before. I remember your face, for I was looking out me window when you came last time. It happened three months ago.”
“What happened? What happened three months ago?” Don Pedro said, unnecessarily loud. Immediately the old lady put her fingers to her lips, warning him not to raise his voice.
“Don’t you know?” she said, lowering her own voice still further. “’Tis the English who have come. ’Twas the King’s men who came and broke into her house. That’s what happened.”
“Tell me all about it.” Don Pedro commanded, forcing himself to be calmer.
“Well, sir,” she began, “I happened to notice a commotion outside that evening, and next thing, a group of English soldiers arrived. They were pounding on the door, just as you were a moment ago. Only when they came, the lady opened wide and let them in. I reckon she wasn’t expecting them. I heard a lot of goings on inside the house, voices and some commotion, but I honestly do not know what was said. All I know is that awhile afterwards the soldiers left again, and the lady, she was with them.”
Don Pedro covered his face with his hands, trying hard not to let his emotions overcome him. “But why? Who?”
“I don’t know, sir,” the old woman said, trying to sound as soothing as possible. “I suppose they wanted to ask her some questions.”
“About what? About me?”
The old woman shook her head. “No,” she said, “I do not think so. Tis about this other man, I reckon, the Irishman, the lady used to know some time ago. I reckon they were looking for him. But of course I don’t know. I just assumed that was what went on.”
“Where did they take her? Where is she now?”
The woman shook her head and Don Pedro realized that he had gotten all the information there was to be had. He thanked her, tried once again in vain to enter the house, but finding the door shut and the shutters impenetrable, soon gave up. While he was doing this the old lady stood there watching him.
“Who closed the house down? Did Merryn come back to do it?”
The old woman shook her head. “No, sir,” she said. “Two or three days after the lady had gone with the soldiers, a couple of soldiers came back and did it and that is the last time anyone has been to this house, as far as I know.”
Don Pedro thanked her and left.
He decided to make some enquiries in town. Perhaps someone had seen Merryn or knew where she had been taken. Of course, that was not an easy task, for he could not be sure that his true identity wasn’t known. As it happened, no one challenged him, and he was able to piece together what had transpired at the house three months before his return. It seemed that a party of English soldiers had arrived in town rather suddenly, looking for the Irishman who had once been Merryn’s friend. He was wanted by the Crown, for rebellious activities, not an unusual situation in those days in Western Ireland, which had never been fully subjugated by the English. Don Pedro learned at the inn he was staying at for the night that the party of English soldiers had left soon after they had arrested Merryn, and gone east; where to, no one knew.
What was he to do? He realized that without any leads to go on, there was little he could do. Going to the authorities and asking about her would only implicate himself and might eventually lead to the revelation that he was making his living as a pirate. While he could not be sure that the Crown would object to his activities in that respect, they might also try to implicate him with Merryn and her former friend. None of this suited Don Pedro. Worst of all, he knew that the authorities still considered him as a wanted man—as Lord Howell, rather than as Don Pedro. If Merryn let slip that she had once been Lady Howell, his position would be all the graver. Sadly, then, he decided there was too much danger in any kind of enquiry, and nothing else for him to do but return to the ship.
The following morning he returned to Newport, hoping that in time there would be some news of his beloved Merryn. He had left word of his visit with the neighbor woman, and he recalled that Merryn knew the name of the ship’s chandlers which the Aurora used in Newport, and that he and his crew would from time to time come back to refurbish their ship. Thus, if Merryn were to return, or want to contact him, she could do so. That was the best he could hope for at that moment, and it saddened him that there was nothing more he could do.