Free Sea Robber by Tim Severin Page A

intended to make for the East Indies by way of the Cape of Good Hope, but met with such heavy weather that we were obliged to turn around and go westabout. Our stopover here is a chance matter.’
    Hector thought such a far-fetched tale was unlikely to be believed, but he made no comment. All that mattered to him was to get ashore and begin in earnest his search for Maria. The smuggled note she’d written to him on the day she’d saved his life told him of her expected return to Peru and her employment with Doña Juana, whose husband Don Fernando de Costana had been promoted to the Audiencia, the ruling council. The Governor of Valdivia should surely know the whereabouts of such a prominent colonial official.
    Within moments of Swan disappearing into his cabin to write his letter, word of his plan had spread throughout the ship, and a worried-looking Jacques emerged from his galley and came to speak with Hector. ‘Mon ami, you should not go on your own,’ said the Frenchman.
    ‘I’ll be all right. You stay behind with Dan and Jezreel,’ Hector assured him. Day by day Dan’s damaged eyesight had improved, though the Miskito still found it difficult to see clearly objects at a distance.
    ‘Jezreel can look after Dan,’ said Jacques stubbornly. He wiped his hands on a rag to get rid of a smear of soot.
    ‘Lynch will manage very well on his own,’ insisted Swan, overhearing their conversation. He had reappeared with a folded and sealed paper in his hand.
    By now the guard boat was within hailing distance. Hector climbed up on the rail and waved the note in the air. ‘A letter for the Governor,’ he called in Spanish. The guard boat was a small piragua rowed by what looked like half a dozen fishermen. In the stern sat two uniformed soldiers and a young man of about Hector’s own age, wearing an officer’s red and white sash, who appeared to be in charge.
    ‘I wish to speak with the Governor of Valdivia. I have a letter to him from our captain,’ repeated Hector, shouting at the top of his lungs.
    After a short hesitation the boat crew bent to their oars, and Hector was climbing down into the piragua, which shoved off as quickly as if the Cygnet ’s hull was hot to the touch.
    ‘My captain wishes to open commerce. We were on our way to the East Indies by way of the Cape of Good Hope, but bad weather forced us to turn back and take the westward route,’ said Hector after he’d introduced himself. The explanation sounded even lamer than before.
    ‘I am Ensign Luis Carvalho,’ said the young man. His mournful dark eyes set in a long, narrow face regarded Hector with open disbelief. ‘My uncle—’ He corrected himself, ‘the Governor wishes to know by what authority you bring your vessel to Valdivia.’
    ‘If you will take me to the Governor, this letter will explain everything,’ Hector answered.
    The ensign glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Your ship may anchor where she is. There is good holding ground. Valdivia is some distance from here and it will be at least two hours before we get there, even with the flood tide under us.’
    For the first part of the journey Carvalho sat stiff and silent, leaving Hector to watch the passing scenery. His initial impression of a land barely touched by humans was confirmed. Beyond a shoreline of granite rocks began virgin forest, and after so many weeks at sea he could smell the resin of pine trees. The nearer hillsides were the first in a series of dark, sombre ridges, which extended to a far cordillera, its crest marked by a thin band of snow. Everything was on a vast scale, empty and brooding.
    Closer to hand, the waters of the gulf teemed with wildlife. A flock of squabbling seabirds chased a shoal of anchovies directly into the path of the piragua. The gulls dived repeatedly as fish rose to the surface, and once or twice Hector had a quick sighting of a sleek, black fin when a dolphin came up from below, feeding on the same shoal, driving them back towards the