Chapter 6

"You are up early Father Gerome," the sentry observed politely as the priest strode slowly towards his guard post. "Are you unwell or does your holy office have you out at this hour?"

Father Gerome paused suddenly as if awakened from a dream. His eyes narrowed under his bushy eyebrows and he stared intently at the man who had spoken to him. It was still dark and the man speaking to him was partially in the shadows of the wall that enclosed Dom Pedro's residence. Still after a moment or two of hesitation recognition crossed the priest's tired face.

Father Gerome knew the man. He had seen him frequently about the confines of the factory. He had in fact taken the man's confession after mass the day before and he knew the soldier to be a faithful son of the church. To the priest that was an important thing. He also knew the man's secrets.

The soldier was middle aged at the very least and perhaps a bit older. His long, curling black hair was thinning at the crown of his head and his swarthy unshaven face bore the signs of long years of service. While he was still lean and tall where others his age would have been fat, it was clear to even Father Gerome that the man was well past his prime. The rough, wiry frame that supported the man had softened around the edges. Still the soldier wore a chest plate of steel bearing the arms of House Alvarez and he was armed with both sword and musket. More importantly, Father Gerome noted with interest, the sentry had keen eyes that suggested intelligence where none was expected.

"I am disturbed my son and I find I cannot sleep," the priest admitted freely, once he had determined that there was no one about who could see him speaking to the soldier or who was close enough to overhear what he might say to him. As an added precaution the priest spoke in Spanish to the other man. "I thought a walk would settle me before I attended the office of my morning prayers."

The guard smiled but said nothing in response. Instead he just stood his post as he had before the priest had shown himself. He did however glance cautiously to his right and then to his left checking on his surroundings. The man was standing by the back gate to the factor's residence and for all intent and purpose he was alone, not counting Father Gerome. From his position he could see the men who stood watch in the towers that stood at the four corners of the factory wall and he could see the guards who stood watch at the gate that opened onto the port, but that was it. When he was done looking about he returned his gaze towards the priest. His eyes spoke the question that his lips refused to utter.

"It is quiet here," Father Gerome muttered in a casual manner, as his mind debated what to say next to the man.

"It is indeed Father," the sentry responded in a whisper. "On a night like this, with no breeze to carry them, the words of men die within seconds of being spoken. For some that is a very good thing."

"It is my son," Father Gerome admitted readily, glancing to his left and right as he spoke. His eyes found nothing to cause him concern. Visibly relaxing he turned his gaze back to the sentry and asked him a question.

"Did you hear what the Dom commanded today?" Father Gerome asked in a lowered voice.

"The selling of the Spaniards to the heathens?" the sentry replied in a questioning manner. "Yes Father, I heard of it."

"And what do you think of this deed," Father Gerome inquired sternly, his voice rising as his emotions began to take hold of him.

"I think nothing of the deed Father," the soldier replied stone-faced, "here while I stand watch over the residence of my master, for it is not my place to speak of my lord's actions. Yet later today I may speak otherwise, particularly under the protection of the confession. Then I might have a lot to say and I will pray that god will forgive me for my words."

"You need not wait until later, my son," Father Gerome intoned as a thin smile slipped across his lips, "for I am your confessor and while with me your words will always be held safe by the sanctity of my holy office. Speak so that we might be of the same mind."

"Then Father you know exactly what I would say to you," the soldier murmured softly in reply, "in the confines of the confessional and beneath the roof of our holy church. My heart would speak of the shame that I felt today witnessing the actions of one Christian acting against others of our faith in such a blasphemous manner. To hand the children of the church off to heathens, to die in some distant place without the benefits of the sacraments is a grave insult to all of us who serve in this godforsaken land. I only pray that God forces Dom Pedro to atone for his sins."

"As do I, my son," Father Gerome acknowledged solemnly, crossing himself as he spoke the words, "but my fear is that God will not hear us here, given the wickedness of the place and the fact that we have failed to bring the heathens here into the embrace of Mother Church."

"Then perhaps we will need to show God that there are some here who still hold with the faith, good Father," the sentry responded forcefully, his voice rising slightly as he spoke. "There must be something that the church could do to bring the whelp back into the fold."

"I thought so myself," Father Gerome sighed as if frustrated by what he was about to say, "but I fear that Dom Pedro and his minions are beyond my lowly power at the moment. In truth Dom Pedro has placed a bulwark of heathens between himself and God's grace. Even now he lies in bed with that black skinned harlot fornicating with the heathen girl rather than taking a good Christian woman to his bed. It is an appalling situation."

"Then Dom Pedro is lost to the Church and God," the soldier murmured with a sense of loss in his voice. "Is there nothing you can do?"

"I intend to write the Bishop in Gwato to beseech him to act," Father Gerome stated half-heartedly, "but I fear that even if his Excellency the Bishop acted as God and I desire, his actions would be too little and too late."

"That is true Father," the sentry said in agreement. "The Bishop in Gwato is a good man, but his duties lie at the court of the King of Benin and that is some days away from here. As well, I know for a fact that he is on good terms with the Count de Alvarez and I image that he would loath chastising the boy even for the most grievous of sins. Thus I fear you are on your own in this matter."

"Not entirely I hope?" Father Gerome muttered suggestively to the soldier.

"No Father," the soldier admitted in a low voice, "you are not entirely alone for I am certain that God will empower the faithful to aid you in your troubles. For now however, you will need to be patient for I sense that the time is not right to chastise the whelp as you would wish it. Still with silent prayer and careful watching I am certain that the Lord will provide an opportunity for you to act. Dom Pedro is an arrogant boy who is careless in his actions. Often he is amongst the heathen, unprotected except for his own charm and who knows what might happen to him, so far from the protection of this factory and God's favour."

"That is true, my son," Father Gerome acknowledged with a nod of his head. As he did he looked towards the east and he spotted the beginnings of the new day. Soon he would have to return to his church and his morning prayers. Sighing he spoke one last thing to the sentry before turning and leaving him.

"You are a good man Estefan," Father Gerome stated firmly, addressing the man by his given name for the first time that night. "I will remember you in my prayers today. I will also remember you in my next missive to my bishop in Lisbon. He will be pleased to know that such a man serves God here in this forsaken stretch of land as will your masters in Lisbon be pleased when my bishop speaks to them. Hopefully, with God's blessing and the aid of these men, your faithful services will be repaid in full."

"Thank you Father," the soldier murmured humbly in reply. "As always, I am here to serve. Remember that."

"What do you have to say to me today, Diego?" Don Hugo asked as his man made his presence known.

Don Hugo was on the balcony that over looked the inner courtyard of his official residence. Below him men-at-arms were drilling with sword and pike under the tutelage of Alfonso de Seville. The sound of metal striking metal rang out across the yard as did the grunts of men straining muscles in an effort to impress their master.

"I bear grievous news Excellency," Don Diego stated with a bow of his head and a sweep of his arm. "I have the dubious duty of informing your Excellency that your noble guest, Don Sebastian de Sousa has departed his mortal form and he has transcended to the bosom of our beloved father, God."

"This is truly grievous news Diego," Don Hugo muttered softly without taking his eyes off the men exercising below in the yard. For a moment that was all he said or did and Don Diego was forced to wait patiently for his master to react. Eventually Don Hugo spoke aloud again and when he did the Count de Cordoba asked his servant a question.

"And how my faithful friend did our honoured guest depart on his final journey?" Don Hugo inquired in a thoughtful manner, his eyes still on the men below him. "Should I or the King and Queen of Spain be concerned with Don Sebastian's parting?"

"No your Excellency," Don Diego replied without hesitation. "As you say, neither you nor their Majesties should be concerned about the manner of Don Sebastian's death. I am told by the servants that discovered him that he was found curled up in bed with a spilt flagon of your best red. All knew that Don Sebastian like his drink. Unfortunately for him, his drink did not like him. However it may look to others, all swear that Don Sebastian body bore no sign of ill treatment and as for the wine, I ordered a servant to drink some once I was called to Don Sebastian's chambers. The servant did not die, so no blame can be laid there."

"That is very good Diego," Don Hugo responded, sighing heavily as he did. Below him he watched Alfonso shouting orders to the men. Alfonso was a very good soldier and an excellent swordsman. His skill was something worth watching at the best of times, however now was not that time. For now other matters needed to be attended to by the Condor. Grimly Don Hugo gazed over at Don Diego and continued to address him.

"We do not need rumours spreading," Don Hugo stated sternly, "or idle gossip being passed amongst the servants. If any should talk of this matter let them say what they have seen; an old man who died in his bed having overindulged in his wine."

"As you say, Excellency," Don Diego muttered in agreement.

"So who is with the body now?" Don Hugo inquired.

"Your chaplain, Excellency," Don Diego replied without hesitation, speaking up as he did. "Once I had been called for and I had seen the body, I summon Father Juan. The priest is attending Don Sebastian's body as we speak, preparing it for the afterlife. I have instructed him to call the undertaker immediately. I have also sent word to the harbour to summon Captain Escobar of the Royal galley, Aragon."

"Very good, Diego," Don Hugo murmured in acknowledgement, "I will need to speak to him as quickly as possible and I think he should also look upon Don Sebastian's body before the priest and the undertaker is done with it. The good Captain will speak for us in court upon his return to Spain and I will wish that he speaks favourably about this matter and about us."

"I'm certain that he will Excellency," Don Diego responded with confidence. "I will bring Captain Escobar to you when he arrives."

"Good," Don Hugo murmured absentmindedly, turning his attention back to the men in the yard again. "You can find me in my study when he gets here. Until then I am not to be disturbed by anyone except Alfonso. I will want to speak to him when he is free."

"I will inform him of your desire, Excellency, when he is finished in the yard," Don Diego stated in acknowledgement of his master's wishes.

"Excellent," Don Hugo said with a thin smile forming on his lips. "I will have much to talk to him when he gets there. Oh, and my niece and her companion, can you tell me where they are at this moment, Diego?"

"The Dona Isabella and her companion are both in your chapel at this moment, Excellency," Don Diego reported. "They have been there ever since word of Don Sebastian's death reached their ears. Dona Isabella was greatly moved by the news and she has taken to prayer for the Don's departed soul."

"That is also good Diego," Don Hugo murmured in a thoughtful manner. "It is good that my house mourns the death of the king's envoy. Still, if possible, I do not wish Dona Isabella speaking to Captain Escobar. It would not be right."

"I will make certain that their paths do not cross Excellency," Don Diego declared firmly, coming to attention as he spoke. "A guard will be put upon her while Captain Escobar is here to ensure that she remains in her chambers."

"Perfect Don Diego," Don Hugo chuckled in response, the thin smile on his lips growing broader. "That will suit me well. Now go and see to the business immediately. I will not tolerate failure."

With that Don Diego bowed courteously and then retired from the company of Don Hugo. Don Hugo stood there for a moment or two longer, eyeing Alfonso intently as the man drilled the soldiers in their mastery of arms. Silently Don Hugo noted that he would owe Alfonso a fine reward for what he had done the night before, particularly if the mercenary had been as successful with his other tasks as he had been in eliminating Don Sebastian. As for that, Don Hugo reminded himself that he would know soon enough if he had. With a smile filled with satisfaction, Don Hugo left the balcony and he headed towards his study. There was work to be done.

"Nock ... draw ... and loose," Ishmael shouted out loudly in the yard being used to drill the men with the bows.

With that the air was filled once more with the twang of bowstrings and the thunk of arrows striking their targets. The men had been at it most of the morning. The hunter had shown up with bows and quivers of arrows and he had instructed everyone who had been selected by Dom Pedro for the venture in the use of the weapon. For the most part the training had been very rudimentary. The men had been shown how to first string their bows without damaging the weapon or the string. Then the hunter had shown them how to nock an arrow properly and then how to draw the bowstring back under constant tension. When they had learned that skill they were then shown how to aim at the targets that had been set up for them to fire at. Only then were the men allowed to loose their arrows. Not every arrow struck its target.

"Again," Rashid bin Abdullah cried out in Arabic to Ishmael. "Have them do it again."

With that Ishmael nodded his acknowledgement and then he ordered everyone to prepare to fire again. They men quickly went through their drill again.

Of the party gathered there to train, the best archer had proved to be Dom Pedro. The young nobleman had a keen eye and a steady hand and the strength needed to fire the arrow in a way that guaranteed a kill every time. Of the others, Ishmael was the best and he knew that with time and practice that he would match or best his young master. The others were not as good and they would need to train constantly in order to improve. Fortunately the bow they were using was simple in design and construction and the range of the weapon was much shorter than that of a longbow. As such the arrows fired by the bow had a flatter arc of flight. It allowed the novice archers to hit their targets more easily given their lack of experience and that boosted their confidence. With a week of training most of the men would do well with the weapon.

"So my friend," Pedro asked Ishmael in passing an hour later when training for the day had been brought to an end, "what do you think of our recruits."

Both men were walking side by side towards Pedro's official residence. They had just parted company with Rashid. The hunter and his slave had left for the day to attend their midday prayers. Rashid had left in a good mood and he had promised to return again in the morning. With the man gone and the men who had been training sent off to get out of the hot sun of the day, the two men were alone and free to speak without others listening in.

"Henrique is doing well," Ishmael murmured thoughtfully, "as is the new man, Dieter. As for the rest, with the exception of Estefan, they will all need more training."

"Agreed," Pedro acknowledged with a nod of his head and a smile. "It is good then that Rashid has agreed to come with us. Between the training here in Eko and that aboard the Hawk, the men should do fine."

"If god wills it," Ishmael noted aloud, his voice very serious, "it will be so."

"Well, I for one believe it so," Pedro chuckled in reply, smiling warmly at his companion as he spoke. "Now let us go and wash the sweat of our labours off of us before we sit and eat. Then when we are done, we will talk about matters that need addressing."

With that Pedro led Ishmael into the residence where they were met by servants carrying basins of cool water and fresh towels. Without hesitating Pedro stripped off his sweat laden shirt and he tossed it on to a nearby chair. Then he splashed the scented water on to his body and washed himself clean. Ishmael waited for his master to finish and then he washed as well. Unlike his master he did not strip to the waist. By the time he was done, Pedro had donned a long, light weight robe much like the locals wore about in the heat of the day. The robe covered him from the neck to his ankles and it flowed freely when he moved. To Ishmael's discerning eye it made the boy look more the local than the European lord, a fact that Ishmael approved of.