Chapter 8

"Where is he?"

Ishmael was standing in the open doorway of Dom Pedro's study. The man looked both tired and anxious. Sweat glistened on his swarthy skin and his breath was heavy from exertion. It was obvious that he had been hurrying about.

"As far as I know, Dom Pedro is somewhere about the factory," Ibrahim stated in a startled voice taken by surprise by the abruptness in Ishmael's question. As the old teacher replied, he looked up from the book he had been reading. His eyes immediately saw the concern that was on Ishmael's face. Sensing trouble, Ibrahim put aside the book and spoke again. "Is there something wrong?"

"Bartholomew and the Hawk have returned," Ishmael declared abruptly, frustration appearing on his face as he spoke to the older man. "A sentry spotted it coming about the outer islands just a few minutes ago. I've sent a pilot out to guide the vessel in and then I came looking for Dom Pedro."

It was now a week since the Hawk had sailed to Gwato under the captaincy of Bartholomew. The trip had been planned as a quick one. It was but a day's sail from Eko to Gwato and as far as anyone at the factory was concerned the whole trip should have taken only three days. When the Hawk hadn't returned on schedule Dom Pedro had become concerned. With each passing day after that his worry had grown. Now according to Ishmael the vessel had returned. That was good news and certainly reason to hurry about in search of their young master.

"Well, I haven't seen him since lunch," Ibrahim indicated in a thoughtful manner. "Have you spoken to Omar yet?"

"Yes," Ishmael responded, balling his fists as he spoke and releasing them, "and he has not seen the boy since about the same time. Dom Pedro had paused in the Factor's office shortly after lunch to inspect some ledgers with Omar and then he departed. Omar did not know where he'd gone."

"Dom Pedro must be somewhere here about," Ibrahim muttered suggestively, his voice sounding a little uncertain even to his own ears. "He couldn't have gone too far. Perhaps we should go looking for him?"

"I'll deal with it," Ishmael replied gruffly. "I will call out the guard and send them into the village in search of the boy. For all we know he could be taking coffee with some merchant."

"He could be," Ibrahim admitted in a thoughtful manner. "However I think I should go with your soldiers if you intend to kick down doors bellowing to the local merchants. I am certain that Dom Pedro would prefer that we treat them with courtesy, even when we are searching for him. It would not do us any good to upset the locals."

"Agreed," Ishmael grunted in reply, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he stood there looking at the older man. "I will go and speak to Omar first. The man can meet Bartholomew and the Hawk at the jetty. I will leave it to him to explain everything. Then I will find you a squad of soldiers to aid you in your search. While you visit the village merchants and the elders, I will take the rest of my men and scour the island for our young master. Hopefully he hasn't wandered off too far."

"Have you spoken to the girl yet?" Ibrahim asked as Ishmael turned to leave the study. "The boy could be with her."

"I went there first," Ishmael replied with a heavy sigh. "The girl was alone and she had not spoken to him since lunch. It was she who suggested looking here."

With that Ibrahim sighed as well and then nodded his head in understanding. If Dom Pedro was not with his slave girl, as was his usual habit when business and duty allowed, then he was most likely wandering aimlessly about the island. It wasn't a bad thing under normal circumstances for the young nobleman used his wanderings to meet and talk to the locals. In fact Ibrahim thought such behaviour to be very productive. At the very least the locals would grow to know and trust the boy. Unfortunately they were not living under normal circumstances at that moment and aimless wanderings, even on a small island could lead Dom Pedro into trouble.

As Ishmael left to do as he had declared Ibrahim slowly pushed his chair back and way from the desk where he had been seated. Then he stood and moved to follow the stalwart captain of the guard. As he went he whispered a half silent prayer, asking the prophet to protect his former master. It was the least he could do.

"Forgive me my lady," Sister Angelique declared quickly and in an apologetic manner as she slipped into the bedchamber of her young mistress, Dona Isabella de Cordoba, "for both my tardiness and for what I must tell you now that I have returned."

"What is it Sister Angelique," Isabella asked in a hushed, expectant voice. "What has made you so flustered?"

It was a week after the death of Don Sebastian and it was late in the day. Dona Isabella was sitting upon a seat by the window, reading her bible in the fading light of the day. The return of her faithful companion filled her with both relief and dread. The relief was because she had spent much of her day alone, worrying about the safety of her friend and the dread was from the fear that both women had shared since they had become spies for the Count de Alvarez. In truth there were times that Isabella wished that she had never thought of speaking out against her uncle's plots. It hadn't done her much good and it certainly hadn't provided her with any solace, neither spiritually nor in her private life. Still the memory of the dashing Dom Pedro de la Vega usually stiffened her resolve. It was her hope that he would soon return to defeat her uncle and to take her as his wife. It was a foolish dream for she knew that Dom Pedro was far away and he might never return, but the young woman hoped. Now at the sound of her companion's anxious manner she began to fear again.

"The Count de Alvarez has become impatient with us, my lady," Sister Angelique reported in a low voice to her young mistress. "In my meeting with him today, Dom Roberto's courtesy slipped and in its place he displayed his displeasure at the fact that we cannot provide him more intelligence. Without it, Dom Roberto refuses to approach King Manuel with any accusations, whether in regards to the death of Don Sebastian or the other schemes we have told Dom Roberto about. While our words have aided Dom Roberto and his house, and in particular the young nobleman, Dom Pedro, without evidence any accusation will become a matter of Dom Roberto's honour against that of your uncle's and with Spain's influence dominating matters in the royal court, Dom Roberto's word will not carry much weight."

"What does the man expect?" Isabella growled in reply, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "I cannot simply walk up to my uncle and interrogate him."

"I realize that my lady," Sister Angelique admitted promptly, "and I told Dom Roberto the very same thing when we spoke this morning. Regrettably Dom Roberto fears that your uncle, Don Hugo is preparing to strike and that his blade is not only pointed at Dom Roberto but at the crown of Portugal. Dom Roberto's fear is that he does not know who in the king's court is loyal to King Manuel and who is in the pay of your uncle. He begs us to find that out for him."

"But how can we do that," Isabella demanded to know. "We listen to everything my uncle says whenever he is in his study and we report it faithfully to Dom Roberto. We also watch when possible who comes and goes here at my uncle's residence. What more can we do? I cannot follow my uncle into the stables and listen in on him there or sneak after him when he leaves the residence to travel to the king's court. My uncle has made certain that I am all but a prisoner here in this great house. I cannot wander beyond my chambers without being attended by one of his staff and I cannot leave the residence unless I am protected by one of his guards. Dom Roberto expects too much."

"I agree my lady," Sister Angelique acknowledged with a heavy sigh, "and again I have tried to explain this to the man. Unfortunately, Dom Roberto has become restless with the death of Don Sebastian. He sees in that murder more danger than one would expect. Dom Roberto feels that if your uncle can strike down a royal envoy within his own official residence, and he gets away with it, then Dom Roberto believes that your uncle, Don Hugo will stop at nothing. He is even now talking about sending his daughters away to safety, until this matter has been resolved."

"I think Dom Roberto would be wise in doing that," Isabella murmured thoughtfully in reply. "While I still do not know how to aid the Count de Alvarez without endangering ourselves in the process, I do think that the risk is great as Dom Roberto has implied and that the man should see to the safety of his daughters. As for learning what Dom Roberto needs to know, we will have to think on that. For now all we can do is pray that my uncle stays his hand for a little longer."

Pedro stood at the northern tip of the island alone. He was dressed like a local, wearing an ankle length white linen robe that included a hood. At the moment the hood was down. Over it he wore a rough, homespun cloak that was almost tan in colour. He wore it primarily to conceal the sword that he was carrying at his hip. With the cloak drawn about him no one would realize that he was armed.

It was late in the day but Pedro didn't care. The sun was still up but it was now well past it's zenith. In fact, evening prayers had been called a while ago which meant people would be looking for him. Still Pedro stayed where he was standing and he stared out at the dark waters that lay between the island and the mainland, his mind elsewhere and on other matters.

The day hadn't been the best for Pedro. The Hawk was still missing and he was worried. The vessel with Bartholomew had sailed to Gwato almost a week ago. The trip should have only taken three days at the very most. The fact that it had not returned caused Pedro concern. That concern had made him irritable at the best and impatient at the worst.

The first day hadn't been too bad. The Hawk hadn't returned but his friends and the people in the household that he trusted reassured him that all would be well. He had believed them, in a manner of speaking, and he had gone back to his duties and responsibilities. Regrettably it got worse with each passing day.

Today he had argued with everyone. He had even snapped at Asmara. His pretty slave girl had been his principal comfort these last few days and he had wanted to dally with her that morning rather than getting up and facing the day. The girl had resisted him when the village crier began his wail, calling the faithful to prayer. It had annoyed him that his slave as he had called her to her face would prefer to leave her master's company in preference to praying to Allah. Pedro had almost forced himself upon the girl, until he had seen the fear in her eyes.

Asmara had been only the first of many that Pedro had come into conflict with. He had argued with Omar when the old man had wanted to discuss the factory's books and he had barked at Ishmael over his coddling of Pedro. Pedro had wanted to take the Virago out in search of the Hawk, but Ishmael had refused to allow the ship to be made ready. He had instead told Pedro to be patient and to trust that the Hawk would return. Pedro had not been patient. He had instead been impatient.

That impatience had led to Pedro fleeing the factory. For all intents and purposes, Ishmael and Ibrahim had made Pedro a prisoner in his own home. They did so out of concern and love for him, but it was still the same thing as being held against one's own will. That is why Pedro was dressed like a local. He had needed a disguise to slip away undetected.

Pedro had fled through the Port gate, with his hood up and his sword concealed while the guards stationed there were busy dealing with a cartload of goods being hauled in from the jetty. With their attention elsewhere they had ignored him taking him as just another local. The guards in the towers had done the same.

The disguise had given him freedom for most of the afternoon. It had allowed him to roam about undisturbed by both the locals and by anyone from the factory that he might have run into during his wanderings. Pedro had roamed from one end of the island to the other and from side to side without being stopped. He had bought fresh food from a vender in the market and he had taken water from a farmer's well. Now he was standing where he was, thinking about what he wasn't getting done. It only made him frustrated.

Pedro was frustrated because he had to wait. Ishmael had declared that they could not go after the pirates until Bartholomew had returned upon the Hawk. Pedro had agreed to that at the time knowing that he would need the craft to carry out his plan of attack. The fact that the Hawk had not returned had been a severe blow to Pedro's patience. Yes he feared for his friend and the men of the Hawk but he was also annoyed. Impatience and annoyance were a terrible combination. It led to recklessness.

That had been a point in Pedro's argument with Ishmael that day. Pedro had brought up searching for the Hawk in the Virago again and when Ishmael had said no, Pedro had suggested taking canoes southeast to attack the pirate village instead without waiting for the Hawk. Ishmael had again said no and in saying no, Ishmael had accused Pedro of being reckless.

It wasn't the first time that Ishmael had said those words to him. He had mentioned his taking risks all the time, particularly whenever Pedro wandered the village by himself. That day Ishmael's words had stung and Pedro had bristled at them. That was one of the reasons that he was where he was now. It had been an act of rebellion to prove the old soldier wrong.

The sound stirred Pedro from his reflections. It was a distinctive sound that Pedro had heard often in his young life. On hearing it, Pedro spun about to seek its source. As he did, he automatically brushed his cloak away from his sword and he dropped his hand to the hilt of his long blade. That was when Pedro spotted the soldier strolling through the nearby trees.

The man was familiar to him. He was dressed in the livery of the factory and he was armed with a long blade that he held drawn, though it rested upon the man's left shoulder as if were a pike. The man smiled upon meeting Pedro's eyes.

"Good evening my lord," the soldier said to Pedro in a low voice. "I hope you are well?"

"Well enough Esteban," Pedro muttered in reply, his voice edged with annoyance. "What brings you here?"

"People are looking for you my lord," Esteban said in reply. "The Captain has turned out the whole garrison in order to find you."

"Well," Pedro snapped peevishly in reply, eyeing the man before him with disdain, "I do not want to be found."

"I understand that my lord," Esteban stated in a matter of fact manner, coming to a halt half a dozen feet from where Pedro stood, "but I have my orders."

"I don't care about your orders," Pedro growled with growing anger. "You may return to the Captain and you can tell him that I do not wish to be found and he is to leave me be until I'm good and ready to return to the residence. Do you understand those orders?"

"I wish I could my lord," Esteban sighed in reply, "but I have my orders."

"And I have given you new orders, soldier!" Pedro shouted back at the other man, drawing his blade and pointing it at him to emphasize his point.

Esteban didn't flinch in response to the obvious threat implied by Pedro's actions. He did shake his head from side to side and tsk-tsk in a dismissive manner. More importantly, Esteban shifted his own blade off his shoulder, to hold it at guard before him, just in case Pedro's implied threat came true.

Pedro eyed the soldier coldly. He took in the man's stance and the manner in which he held his blade. Esteban may look old but he was not without experience and skill. His manner told Pedro immediately that he was a professional and that Pedro would be pressed if he pushed the point any further. That realization brought a change to Pedro's mood.

"Enough," Pedro declared, shifting out of the attack that he had moved into and sheathing his blade at the same time. "I don't wish to fight you soldier. As you say, you have your orders and you are simply obeying them. I can accept that. Go tell Ishmael that you have found me and that I am returning on my own. I will not take too long."

"Again my lord, I wish I could, but I can't," Esteban said with a heavy sigh. "My orders do not come from Ishmael."

"Then who do they come from man?" Pedro demanded to know, his eyes narrowing as he starred at Esteban. "Do they come from Ibrahim? If so, then they are one and the same as if coming from Ishmael."

"They do not come from the heathen," Esteban muttered in reply, swiping the air between Pedro and himself, causing Pedro to jump backwards. "They in fact come from someone else."

"Who orders you Esteban?" Pedro demanded to know, dropping his hand to the hilt of his sword once more as he spoke.

"He obeys the orders of God," a voice growled from behind Pedro in response to the question.

Pedro spun at the sound of the voice and moved at the same moment knowing that to stay in one place was a foolish thing to do when an attack might be unfolding about him. As he moved he drew his blade again and he brought it up to guard him from what might be coming at him. It was good luck that Pedro was young and swift and he knew what he was doing. It allowed him to parry the attack.

The attacker was Father Gerome. The short, stocky priest had come at him from behind, striking at him with a cudgel. The weapon was nothing against Pedro's blade. Pedro blocked the man's attack and then parried the weapon to the side. Once knocked back and away from Pedro, a swift slash nipped at the priest hand cutting deep into it. Instinctively the priest dropped the cudgel and he instead clasped at his wound to stem the flow of blood and to sooth the pain. A second slash, instinctively delivered on the backstroke nicked at the priest's face drawing more blood. With a cry of surprise the priest stumbled backwards.

"What is this?" Pedro demanded to know, shouting the words loudly as the priest tried to get away from the long sharp blade that Pedro held before him.

"God will punish you!" the priest squealed in reply, with fear in his eyes and his face pale. "He will strike you down for your sins."

That was the last thing Pedro heard, except for the squeak of leather behind him. Pedro instinctively turned at that sound. In his surprise he had forgotten the soldier who had been standing behind him. It was too late by then. Esteban met Pedro's steel with his own. The soldier knocked Pedro's blade aside and then in an unexpected move, stepped in and he slammed the guard of his blade into Pedro's face. That blow stunned Pedro for a second and it was enough for Esteban to strike at him again. The second strike rendered him unconscious.

"So Dom Roberto is growing impatient, is he?" Don Hugo muttered maliciously in a low voice. "That is good to know."

"It is indeed, your Excellency," Alfonso enthusiastically agreed.

"And it is also good to learn that Dom Roberto is not as well informed as we thought," Dom Hugo added with a sharp look at his minion.

"Most certainly Excellency," Alfonso acknowledged bowing his head as he replied.

The two men were wandering about the yard that stood behind the official residence of Don Hugo. It was late in the day and they were pacing back and forth between the stables where, as of late, the Count and his henchman had been meeting and the back door to the residence. A guard stood there at attention, paying no mind to either man. They had been pacing there for only a minute or two. Don Hugo had chosen the spot for at that very moment his livery master and his grooms were preparing his carriage of state and he did not wish to delay their work. He had an appointment at the palace and it would not do to keep the King of Portugal waiting.