Chapter 3

"You complain too much Father Gerome," Pedro declared sternly to the short, stout man that stood before him dressed in the cassock of a Dominican.

Pedro and the man were standing at the aft railing on the Hawk's poop deck. The Hawk was at sea and it had been so for five days. The ship had rowed out of the grand harbour of Lisbon on the very same day that Sister Angelique had come bearing her intelligence to his uncle's villa. The ship had been crewed and provisioned with all due haste and Pedro had boarded it well before the sun had set in the west. With him he had taken a full crew of sailors plus a dozen extra who would serve him as fighting men if trouble arose on their trip southward. As well he had brought his old teacher, Ibrahim de Valencia and the man who was now standing beside him ranting once more about the indignity of travelling with a heretic.

"I do not Dom Pedro protest too much," Father Gerome replied haughtily. "This man is a denier of our lord Christ and as such we should toss him and his slave overboard."

"No Father we should not," Pedro countered with a shake of his head. "Like you, Ibrahim is upon this vessel for a purpose. The lands that we will be travelling to are ruled by the descendants of Mohammed and his followers. Some of them will welcome us as friends but many will not. To them we are the infidel and as such, it is us who should die. To smooth the way my uncle and I intend to employ Ibrahim to speak for us and to vouch safe our willingness to abide by the laws of the Quran."

"That is a falsehood Dom Pedro," Father Gerome raged back at Pedro in a vehement manner, "that I can neither support in any fashion nor can I allow it to occur. We are a Christian vessel and we are bound on God's mission. It is the Moors who must bow to God and Christ our saviour."

"Father Gerome," Pedro said forcefully, "be still and curb your ardour for God and his son and remember that you are a guest upon my vessel. This ship sails at the command of my House and me and not at the orders of the Holy Church. Ibrahim is here to serve me and I will respect the man for the duty he does my family. In truth he is a god fearing man and I know well that he prays five times a day."

"Yes," Father Gerome hissed, interrupting Pedro, "but to what god?"

"To the one and only god," Pedro stated with a sigh of exasperation.

"That is heresy Dom Pedro!" Father Gerome exclaimed going red in the face.

"No good Father it is not heresy," Pedro said in rebuke, "for there is but one god and his son Jesus is our Lord Christ. Now be silent and return to your cabin and your prayers Father so that I can return to my duties here upon this ship."

Father Gerome stomped away at Pedro's dismissal and he headed down to the main deck of the Hawk and then down into the aft castle to the cabin he shared with the ship's coxswain. As he left, Bartholomew walked over to speak with Pedro.

"So you have survived another rant from our good Father?" Bartholomew asked in a low voice. There was no humour in his words and concern marked his face as he gazed at his young master.

"Yes," Pedro sighed in reply, shaking his head in disgust as he did.

"We will have to keep a good eye on him Captain," Bartholomew stated with confidence, "both here on the Hawk and once we reach Eko. While most of our company share your views towards the Moors there are a couple who do not. The man could stir up trouble over your old teacher. It would be wise to keep him confined to the factory once we get there."

"I agree with your thinking Bartholomew," Pedro admitted with a nod and a smile, "and I will try to do my best to muzzle that priest. Unfortunately the good Father is not in my uncle's employ. He has sailed with us out of a courtesy that my uncle granted to the head of the man's order in Lisbon. In truth Father Gerome answers to the Bishop in Gwatto and not to me. While my father was on good relations with the Bishop, I do not know yet how he favours me. There could be difficulties especially since Father Gerome has come to Africa to save not only our souls but the souls of the locals. I pray to god that he learns to curb his tongue."

"I pray so myself Captain," Bartholomew grunted in agreement with a look that told Pedro that the man doubted it would happen.

For a moment or two the two men stood side by side at the aft railing staring out at their wake and the dark waters of the Atlantic. The wind that drove the Hawk southward stirred their hair and tugged on their clothing but it did not budge either man from where he was standing. Instead both stared coldly towards the distant horizon until Bartholomew broke the silence that they had shared and he asked the question that he had asked each day since they had rowed out of Lisbon and they had raised their sails.

"So Captain," Bartholomew murmured in an even lower voice, "is there any sight of our pursuers?"

"Where is he?" Captain Santiago demanded to know from his first mate. "We should have crossed him and his ship by now. Where could he be?"

It was just after dawn and Captain Santiago and his first mate were standing in the forecastle of the carrack, Virago. Their eyes were focused on the ocean before them and the distant horizon. It was now six days since they had sailed from Lisbon in pursuit of the Hawk and they had yet seen sight of it or any other craft.

The first mate said nothing in response to his captain's question for he was at a loss as well as to where the Hawk had gotten since it had slipped away from the grand harbour back in Lisbon. The Virago had sailed the morning after the Hawk had departed and once at sea the captain had ordered on every inch of sailcloth that could be carried to help speed their pursuit of the other craft. Yet even with a strong wind behind them and extra lookouts posted they had yet to see hide or hair of the Portuguese vessel. The Spaniards were now off the west coast of Africa and they were heading south with a strong wind at their backs. Dawn was still new over those lands and the lookouts reported only seeing small fishing craft bobbing about off the shore. As to the west there was only the vastness of the Atlantic. To the first mate there really wasn't anywhere that the Hawk could hide. It had to be somewhere nearby.

"Perhaps the whelp took his ship towards Cape Verde first," the Captain muttered aloud when his first mate failed to respond, "or perhaps he sought an anchorage along the coast. There are several places where a craft could stop to take on fresh water or provisions. Perhaps they sailed so quickly they weren't prepared for the voyage."

"Perhaps Captain," the first mate readily agreed not knowing what else to say to his captain, "but who knows for certain but God. What matters is that we sail on. Eventually we will find the Hawk or it will find us and when that happens we will strike."

"True Hector," Captain Santiago chuckled in response, appreciating his mate's confidence, "that is very true."

Silence fell over both men once more as they paused and returned to scanning the sea before them. Behind them the bugler piped the morning watch to their stations. As the watch changed Captain Santiago yawned openly, displaying his own fatigue. It reminded him that his own bed waited upon him and with a parting nod to his first mate and a word or two before he left him, Captain Santiago turned and started to head aft. It was then that the lookout sounded the alert.

"Sail-ho Captain," the man shouted down from high above in the crow's-nest, "Ship off our stern quarter and closing fast."

"What?" the first mate gasped in disbelief, glancing first upward to where the lookout had called from and then in the direction that he had reported.

"To the stern," Captain Santiago bellowed as he climbed down the stairs leading from the forecastle to the main deck and beyond. Hurriedly he rushed towards the stern of his vessel and then up the flight of stairs that took him up onto the poop deck of the Virago. Once there he came to a halt beside the officer of the watch.

"A xebec," the officer of the watch stated with confidence as Captain Santiago came to a halt beside him. As he spoke he handed his captain the spy-glass that he had been using so the man could gaze at the approaching vessel, "although it is flying the flag of Portugal."

Immediately Captain Santiago brought the spy-glass to his eye and he looked with keen interest at the approaching vessel. It was as the officer had said. The ship was a xebec and it was flying the flags of Portugal.

"The Hawk," Captain Santiago muttered softly in reply as he finally lowered the spy-glass. "How can that be?"

"Henrique," Pedro shouted across the deck of the Hawk towards his gunnery officer, "prepare for action."

"Aye Captain," the man replied coming to a pause as he did. The man was big and brawny and he had long blonde hair and blue eyes that distinguished him from the swarthy complexion of his fellow crewmates. He also spoke in heavily accented Portuguese for he was German by birth. That mattered little for he had served aboard Portuguese vessels for nearly ten years now and the man was an expert at his job.

"I want your initial fire directed at their stern," Pedro continued before the man could move off to carry out his orders. "Hit them hard in the stern and sever their steering cables if you can or at the least disable their rudder. Once that is done we'll deal with their guns in the aft castle."

"It'll be done as you command Captain," the man responded with a smile. "You can count on that."

With that done Pedro turned about and hurried to the stern of his vessel and the poop deck where his first mate stood waiting him. Pedro was dressed for battle with his studded leather vest on over his shirt of ring mail. At his hip was his sword and across his chest he wore a double harness that carried a pair of pistols each. The pistols were loaded and ready for use. His equipment and armour did not impede his movements and it took him only a second or two to cross the main deck and to scale the steps leading up the side of the aft castle to the poop deck. On arrival Bartholomew greeted him with a smile. The older man was dressed in a similar fashion.

"I guess our trick worked," Bartholomew declared as he handed a spy-glass over to Pedro so that the man could have a look at the vessel that they were bearing down upon.

"It does indeed look that way my friend," Pedro replied with a chuckle. "It is a good thing that we spotted their lights after dark last night."

"It is indeed a very good thing Captain," Bartholomew chuckled in reply as Pedro took a quick look at the ship ahead of them. "We were able to come about in the dark and let them slip by us undetected. Now we are the hawk pursuing them rather than the other way around."

"It is so my friend," Pedro answered him as he lowered the spy-glass and handed it back to his first mate, "and I prefer it to be that way. Now the Spaniards will try and come about to meet us but it will do them no good with the wind blowing from astern. We should be on them in a moment or so and if Henrique is as good as I believe him to be our guns will cripple the Virago. Once that has happened we will rake the vessel in an effort to clear her decks before trying to board her."

"Aye Captain," Bartholomew responded enthusiastically, "we'll do that and more. I will keep the Hawk on the Virago's tail until we've pulled all her feathers. Then I'll swing us about so that Henrique can bring the guns in our waist into action."

"So be it old friend," Pedro muttered in acknowledgement. "Make it so."

Just then a boom sounded from the vessel that they were closing on. Both Pedro and Bartholomew started at the sound as did many others on the deck of the Hawk. All watched as a cannonball plunged into the dark waters of the Atlantic throwing up a plume of water. It had fallen some distance short.

"Well the Spaniards have started it once again," Bartholomew muttered in all seriousness, "so that is good. I would hate to be called a pirate again."

Pedro did not respond to his first mate's quip about the Spaniards. Instead he stepped away from the man and the helmsman and he walked towards the railing that separated the front of the poop deck from the open space of the main deck below. Glancing about he started to give orders once more.

"Coxswain," Pedro shouted sternly, "get these men to their stations and get snipers up on the poop deck. I don't want the Spaniards getting a lucky shot at us."

"Aye Captain," the coxswain shouted back before he turned his attention to his duty and the men that were standing about the main deck of the Hawk. With a growl he nipped at their heels and he got them back to work.

At that point another cannon barked from the Spanish vessel. Again the ball plunged into the sea well short of the Hawk. This time the bow-chasers aboard the Hawk spoke in reply. One shot fell short by only a few feet while the second slammed into the lower hull of the vessel.

"Correct your fire Henrique," Pedro shouted out to his gunnery officer, "and give them another salvo."

"Aye-aye Captain," Henrique roared back across the deck of the Hawk as he turned his hand to directing his gunners. In seconds both guns were reloaded and wheeled back into their stations. Then with an adjustment or two under the watchful eye of the German, the gun crews touched off the guns in quick succession. This time both balls slammed into the aft of the vessel before them. In response the Spaniards fired a salvo but once again their effort was in vain. Their cannonballs plummeted into the sea once more although their mark was closer to the Hawk this time.

"Once more Henrique," Pedro shouted into the wind, "and then we'll come about and rake them with our port guns."

"Aye Captain," Henrique shouted back in acknowledgement before getting back to his job.

Even as the guns barked again and a cry of 'hurrah' rose up from the gunners to tell Pedro that Henrique's men had found their mark again, Pedro was already moving back towards Bartholomew and his helmsman.

"Bring our portside about," Pedro ordered the helmsman, "and let's give these bastards a taste of our heavier guns."

"Aye Captain," the helmsman responded with a broad grin upon his face. Quickly he carried out Pedro's order and a moment later the Hawk began turning away from the Spanish vessel. In the process he brought the portside of the Hawk perpendicular to the Spanish ship so that the guns below could engage the enemy vessel.

At that moment Pedro and Bartholomew were joined on the poop deck by Ibrahim and his manservant. The old scholar came rushing up the stairway from the main deck in a flap of robes looking as energetic as boy of sixteen. Behind him the big black man who served him was carrying something that looked like an oversized crossbow.

"What do you have there?" Pedro asked his old teacher as the man came over to join him.

"An ancient weapon that I have modified to use on this venture Pedro," Ibrahim responded enthusiastically. "I found it a couple of years ago in a book that dates back to the Romans. It was used by them in naval warfare and I thought that it might serve us now."

"Really," Pedro exclaimed as he watched the big black man move towards the port railing of the ship so that he could brace himself to use the weapon. Even as he did, the port cannons of the Hawk woke up and spoke for the first time in the engagement. The cannonballs of the guns slammed heavily into the stern of the Virago. Again the stern cannon of the enemy vessel replied. This time a shot flew over the deck of the Hawk to land in the water beyond it. The second struck the sailcloth of the mizzen sail but beyond that it did no damage. In response a party of four musketeers fired from the port railing of the poop deck at the Virago spitting ball into the aft castle of the Spanish ship.

"Hurry Salem," Ibrahim spat towards his manservant, moving away from Pedro as he spoke. As he moved he reached into a satchel that he was carrying draped across his chest and he pulled from it a small metal orb. This he quickly hand to Salem who promptly placed it where one would place a bolt on a traditional crossbow. As the big man positioned the orb, Ibrahim brought forth a burning wick from a container that hung on the other side of his body. This he touched to a fuse that dangled from the orb. As the fuse began to fizzle, Salem brought the weapon to his shoulder and with careful aim fired at the open ports of the Spanish vessel.

To Pedro's amazement he watched as the orb flew up and out over the waters that separated the two ships and he gasped when the orb struck the upper lintel of closest gun port to the Hawk before dropping in through the opening. A second later he gasped again as an explosion rocked the aft of the enemy's craft.

"What was that?" Pedro demanded to know from his former teacher.

"The weapon was called a scorpion by the ancients," Ibrahim replied enthusiastically, the pleasure of the moment clearly in his voice. "It was meant to throw darts like a crossbow at enemy ships but I have adapted it to throw bronze balls filled with gunpowder and bits of iron pellets. As you can see it is very effective."

There was no denying it. The Hawk was now turning back upon its original course and all upon the poop deck not involved in the navigation of the vessel were standing idly about starring at the vessel that they had just assaulted. As they stood and stared the stern chasers on the deck below them spat out loudly. The fire of the guns proved to be a fitting if unnecessary parting shot. Smoke was billowing out of the aft castle of the Virago and from the way the carrack was moving in the dark waters their attack had been successful. Seeing that, Pedro turned to Bartholomew and his helmsman and he started barking orders again.

"Bartholomew, bring us about again," Pedro shouted, "and take us pass the portside of the Virago. I want to clear the deck of the enemy so that we can board her."