Free Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon by Christine Echeverria Bender Page B

without pause or preamble. “Even when under the lash a man can admit when he has been wrong, Captain-General.”
    â€œOnly an exceedingly uncommon man could do such a thing at such a time.”
    The priest lifted his chin a degree or two. “I have been described by that word on more than one occasion, sir.”
    A smile heavy with irony now lifted the corners of Cabrillo’s mouth. “The cross and robe seem to have done little to curb either your pride or brashness.”
    â€œI admit that I am still striving to find my way to humility, sir. It escapes me often.”
    â€œAm I to believe that you hold no personal resentment toward me, then?”
    â€œI ask you to believe just that, sir.”
    â€œAre you willing to swear before God that no thought of vengeance or sabotage has brought you here?”
    â€œI swear it readily, sir. Before our Heavenly Father, I harbor no such intentions.”
    The suspicion did not leave Cabrillo’s face, but it lessened. “Doubtless, you know that we intend to depart at tomorrow’s sunrise, and that we are under orders to sail only if we have two priests with us.”
    â€œYes, sir, I am aware of those orders.”
    â€œSimply put, I am cornered.” Cabrillo suddenly slapped the nearest corral post so hard it tilted, and then he slapped it back into position with his other hand. Releasing a great huff of exasperation, Cabrillo pronounced, “There is nothing else to be done but to take you aboard.”
    â€œThank you, Captain-General. I will pray for a safe and successful voyage.”
    Giving him one more visual raking, Cabrillo said, “As will I.” He raised his voice and called out, “Mateo, come see to Father Lezcano’s horse.”
    But before the boy had emerged from the barn Father Lezcano spoke up again. “If you would not mind, Captain-General, I would like to tend to him myself. He has served me faithfully.”
    Surprised, and immediately wondering if this request was some form of posturing, Cabrillo said nevertheless, “Very well. Afterward, Mateo will present you to Father Gamboa, who can introduce you to Captain Correa, the gentleman who was with me when you arrived. When the captain has time he will show you the workings of the San Miguel . Tomorrow you will sail aboard her.” He did not need to add, which will keep you well away from me .

    Anticipation greatly lengthened a night that offered no sympathy to ease Cabrillo’s restless tossings and mutterings, leaving the fleet’s commander to waken with a start and open his eyes on the day of departure hindered by a headache and a foul mood. He had finally fallen asleep only two hours earlier, cursing his luck at being forced to endure Father Lezcano’s unreadable motives and blatant audacity during the voyage. But worse than this, he’d dreamed of Beatriz with another man, and the man had been an Aztec warrior. He now sighed as he rubbed his temples and wondered for the hundredth time, Why am I cursed with such dreams?
    He rolled over in his bunk and sat up, planting his bare feet on the deck. Momentarily remaining quite still, he listened to the rustlings, bumpings, and mutterings of the ship and her crew. Nothing sounded amiss. He said a quick prayer, asking that all would go well today, June 27, 1542. He wondered if this would be a day that men would find worthy of remembering. Fortune, fate, and the sweat of them all would decide.
    Pushing himself off his bunk, he stepped to his small desk, examined the tip of his quill, dipped it several times in his inkpot, blotted the excess lightly onto a rag, and began to write his wife a letter. While his quill danced, telling of Lezcano’s arrival, of the fleet’s final preparations, and of his devotion to her, Cabrillo heard the commotion forward and below increase as the chickens, the horses, and a cow were being boarded. All still sounded as if procedures were flowing