Harry & the Pirate IV: The Chalice of St. Francis

[geekmama]

Chapter Nine: Lady of Spain



“That’s it? That’s the Chalice of St. Francis?”

Beside Jack, Norrington quietly cleared his throat.

Esparza, however, gave a bark of laughter. “You are surprised, Señor Byrd?”

Jack collected himself. “Ah…yes. A little. I was expecting something rather less…wooden.”

The Bishop of Santiago, who had accompanied the party, gave a little bow, acknowledging the justice of this observation. He said, “Saint Francis was a great man, but humble, and of a purity and simplicity that must inspire us all. Is it not right that his ‘chalice’ should be but a plain wooden dish, utilitarian, and carved from the unaltered materials of nature?”

Don Alejandro, lips quivering against laughter at Jack’s struggle to hide his disappointment, said, “You are very right, Your Excellency: entirely appropriate. It is only that it seems strange that, with all the talk of the cup, we heard no rumor of this being the case.” He waved bemused fingers at the objects in Don Esparza’s hands: the ancient and rather worn wooden cup in the one; in the other, the gold, jewel-encrusted container that had been fashioned to cloak and protect the cup of the saint.

Esparza grinned whitely, and shrugged. “You see that I confide in you, as equals, devout and of a superior understanding. The common herd would not be so willing to travel miles to see a little wooden dish, I think. They expect gold and jewels, so that is what we have given them, in fashioning this cunning holder. Like the saint himself, enthroned in Heaven, his chalice, such as it is, has been given a home of great beauty and honor.”

The Viceroy placed the wooden cup back in its ornate nest, before handing it off to an armed guard, one of two who had the watch during the noon hour. The pair carried the cup back to its niche near the altar where they reverently set it in place before turning and taking up their posts to either side of it, swords loose in their scabbards.

“It is heavily guarded!” Juana observed. “Have you had some trouble?”

“No, Doña,” said Esparza. “But villains wear such clever disguises. One cannot be too careful, do you not agree?”

“Oh, sí!” agreed Juana, her voice light and bland, even if her heart gave an odd lurch.

Esparza went on, “These guards are soldiers of the company at El Morro. At night the cup is placed in a locked case of gold, which is kept in the sepulcher beneath the altar, entirely safe from the elements, and from human contact, for there is no way in or out save the one entrance that you see there.” The Viceroy nodded, indicating a door set into the wall at the side of the sanctuary, very solid-looking, and adorned with iron strapping and a substantial lock.

“It appears that you take all due precautions with the treasure,” Norrington observed.

“Sí. And there is, of course, a guard that watches the cathedral at night, as has always been the case. The cup is quite safe.”

Don Alejandro said, “You are kind to have arranged for us this private viewing of the relic. I thank you, Don Esparza, and you, Bishop Vasquez, for allowing it.”

The Bishop bowed, but Esparza merely inclined his head, looking complaisant. “It has been my pleasure. But you will forgive me: duty calls, and I must away. I will leave you all to bask in the art and spiritual light of the cathedral, which is now so much enhanced by the great saint’s holiness.” The Viceroy took his leave, the Bishop and the burly minions falling into step behind as they left the building.

When they were out of earshot, Jack growled, “I find it odd that Father Taddeo said nothing about a wooden cup!”

Norrington said in an amused tone, “But why does this surprise you? Would you have come after it as readily if you had known?”

Jack considered this, growing more chagrined and annoyed by the moment. “You think he bloody tricked me? The devious old rascal!”

“But Jack!” Harry objected. “He is so saintly! And yet he did say he’d been about the world a little, before he joined the order.”

“Yes,” James smirked. “And even good men are sometimes ‘devious rascals’.”

The entire company looked at Jack, who threw up his hands. “All right, enough o’ that. Bloody-“ He broke off, restraining himself in consideration of the company and location. “Excuse me. But it’s the outside of enough, so it is.”

“But you wouldn’t have kept the cup, in any case,” Harry pointed out.

“No, but think of the tale it would’ve made! But to go through all this, just for a bit of a wooden dish same as you could buy anywhere? Makes me look a right fool!”

“No, no! Just very good-hearted, and a bit quixotic, perhaps.”

“Exactly!” Jack retorted.

Juana set her hand on his arm. “Do not repine, mi amigo. We might never have met again, if not for this ‘quixotic’ quest. Much good has already come of it, and more will proceed in due course, even if the telling is different than you had imagined.”

Jack considered this, looking about at his friends and loved ones, and finally gave a rueful laugh. “You’re right. Don’t know why it’s thrown me so. God knows I’ve been in far worse straits, and had less flattering tales told about me, too. Let’s split up and look about us for a bit, then. Perhaps Esparza’s wrong in thinking the cup’s safe from ‘villains’, eh?”

o-o-o

The company wandered about the interior of the cathedral, ostensibly absorbed in the wonders of architecture and artwork, and all the while surreptitiously examining the building’s safeguards for flaws. Juana soon drew Harry away from the others, to show her some favorite paintings and statues in the several side chapels, while Jack and James quietly questioned Don Alejandro on what he knew of the design of the sanctuary, and discussed the apparent impregnability of the door to the sepulcher.

Michael Owens and Charles drifted off, setting for themselves the task of closely examining the shadowed recesses of the north transept. This was seen to serve as a Lady Chapel: overlooking the rows of wooden pews was an enormous painting of the Virgin Mary, flanked by racks of burning candles, and fronted by a dais that was nearly covered with a welter of cut flowers, gifts both elaborate and homely from the multitude of faithful that made the pilgrimage to this oldest and most revered church of Cuba.

After pausing to look more closely at the painting and the floral tributes, Owens and Charles walked slowly down the side aisle, examining the stained glass windows that were set into the walls, each of which depicted a different scene from the life of the Virgin. The second to the last, The Annunciation, featured a startled and very beautiful young Mary kneeling in awe before a white-robed Gabriel whose features and fair hair were, amusingly, quite like Charles’s own.

“Now that’s just wrong!” Owens remarked, soft laughter underlying the jibe.

Charles grinned, and started to retort when from a nearby pew came a sound he knew all too well: a half-stifled sob of feminine distress. He turned, surprised, as did Owens, for they had thought the church deserted but for their own party and the guards. But there, in the last pew at the back of the chapel, was a figure kneeling in ardent supplication, seemingly oblivious to their presence, for her forehead rested on the backs of her hands that gripped the pew in front of her.

As they watched, the sad little figure gave another snuffle, sat up, picked up a reticule that lay beside her, and proceeded to extract a large handkerchief, with which she wiped her eyes, and blew her nose in a businesslike manner.

To Owens’s surprise, Charles moved down the aisle toward her, and then stopped in his tracks as she looked up. Owens, coming up behind his friend, saw that the lady was quite young, and very, very pretty in the manner of an aristocratic señorita-- all wide dark eyes in a pale, heart-shaped face-- and dressed entirely in black: fine lace mantilla, expensive frock, and (no doubt) dainty leather shoes. She was in mourning then.

However, the expression that lit her countenance at sight of Charles Norrington (for she had no eyes at all for Owens, himself), held only wonder, and a strange sort of joy. “¿Señor…es usted un ángel?” she breathed.

Owens was mostly able to subdue his chuff of laughter at this. An angel, indeed! He glanced at his friend, to see if he’d understood the absurd remark, and then was startled to find it just barely possible the girl would say such a thing in all seriousness. Owens had never seen quite that wondrous an expression on Charles Norrington’s handsome face before. Charles was exceptionally good looking (and knew it all too well), but never more so than when the mischievous or (lately) cynical smile left his lips to be replaced by a surprisingly mature gravity. It didn’t happen often, God knew, but it had happened now, and was besides overlaid with a very sincere admiration as Charles took in the sight of the lady before them.

Sounding a bit dazed, Charles asked Owens, “What did she say?”

“She asked if you were an angel,” Owens said, smirking just a little.

Charles gave a slight laugh. He said, haltingly, “Senorita, no... o… solamente para usted. ¿Cómo puedo… er… ayudarse?”

‘Only for you… how can I help?’ Good lord, what’re we getting into here? thought Owens, with some dismay. He started to raise an objection, but the little lady, her face alight with joy, cut him off, beginning to babble softly in Castilian. Owens had to use all his concentration to understand her and translate, for his friend could not unravel the tale-Charles spoke a little Spanish, but rarely understood much of what was said to him in that language, unless the speaker conversed very slowly and clearly.

Owens said, “She’s sorry, she thought for a moment you were an angel as you look so much like the one in the window. She did not mean to disturb our contemplation of the beauties of the church, and she knows she should not be here during the noon hour, but she had nowhere else to turn for she knows no one in the city. She would that you were the angel you look to be, for then she would know that there was a God and that her prayers had not been in vain. But she is sorry and doesn’t wish to burden you with her difficulties.”

Charles’s eyes widened at this, and he said to Owens, “Tell her it is no burden, and that I will do what I can to help her, if she will only have faith.”

“Charles!” objected Owens.

“Tell her!” Charles insisted, with a strange vehemence.

Owens laughed uncertainly. “You must be mad. You know nothing about her!”

“Mad? Perhaps so. But tell her, Michael. Please?”

Owens frowned, but turned to the señorita and gave her Charles’ message. He ended the message by saying, “My apologies, señorita. My friend has little Spanish. We are English, here for the summit at the Viceroy’s estate.”

She paled at that. “The Viceroy! Ah, he is a cruel man. You must be careful, my friends. I know him too, too well. And his son is… is my suitor.” And she put her hand to her mouth, briefly, as though the thought was too dreadful to bear.

Charles was heard to murmur, “Ah, no!” at this and, before Owens could object, slid into the pew to sit close beside the little lady. Owens, sitting down in the pew in front of them, frowned severely as Charles took up the lady’s hand in his.

Charles said, “¿Como se llama, querida?”

The lady blushed at the easy endearment, but replied steadily, “Lucia. Lucia Delma Fuensantos.”

“Light of the Sea,” translated Owens, and added, “That’s a lovely name!”

Charles smiled. “Is that what it means? Lovely indeed.”

It was obvious that Charles meant more than just Lucia’s name, and understanding his tone, rather than his words, she blushed a deeper pink, though she did not look away. She spoke again, and Owens translated: “It is the language of my people that is lovely, señor. It is a pity you are not fluent.”

“I would I had paid more heed to my tutors, if only in light of this moment. But tell us, how may we serve you?”

“Ah! If only you could.” She hesitated, and then went on, “I lived in Spain, with my parents-so good, so loving they were! - but they… they died. Not a year ago! I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle. They have been kind… to me, at least… but they brought me here, for the summit, and now have revealed that they wish to see me wed to the son of their friend, Don Esparza. But… but I cannot! He is very like to his father, who is a dreadful man. I have seen a little… and there have been rumors…”

Charles said (through Owens), “You must not marry into such a family, Señorita Fuensantos. We, too, have heard things-and more than simply rumors.”

“Have you my friend? There are dreadful tales, and not least about the Chalice that draws so many to this place. It is said that… that Don Esparza was not given the cup, as he claims, but took it when he was in Italy two years ago. And worse… he has killed for it! A priest!”

After Owens translated this last, Charles hesitated only a moment before saying, “Él no es muerto, Lucia.”

He’s not dead! “Charles!” Owens said sharply.

But Lucia frowned. “The priest? You have seen him?”

“Tell her!” Charles demanded.

“And give ourselves away?” Owens retorted, soft but with an edge of anger. “How do you know she can be trusted, Charles?”

Charles only gave Owens an impatient look and turned to Lucia, taking both her hands now. He said, in his stumbling Spanish, “My friend here was in the party that rescued him, from where Don Esparza had left him. It was pure chance-or God’s grace - that led them there. The man was badly hurt, but he is mending, save for his eyes. He will not see again.”

Lucia shuddered, and gripped Charles’s hands. Owens translated her breathless reply: “It is true, then. Ah, God preserve us!” She gathered herself, straightening, though she let Charles retain hold of her hands. She looked up at him, solemnly. “But then… have you come to take vengeance for the priest?”

Charles said slowly, “We have come to take back the cup for him, señorita.”

Lucia looked at first at Charles, and then to Owens for affirmation. Owens nodded reluctantly, then said, “Lady, I beg you: do not tell a soul. Success in this depends on secrecy.”

“Oh, I will not. You may be assured of it. But señors: do you know how you will accomplish this?”

“No, lady,” admitted Owens. “It may be an impossible task to accomplish with the stealth we had hoped for.”

“I know a way!”

Charles and Owens glanced at each other, and then at Lucia again.

She went on, “There is a way into the sepulcher, difficult, but not impossible, I think. But I cannot show you now. See, the people are being allowed inside again!”

While she had spoken, the echoing sounds of the main doors opening had been heard, and quiet footsteps and a hum of hushed voices as the pilgrims began once more to enter the church.

Lucia said, “I must rejoin my aunt, soon, at the dressmakers shop. But there is a reception at the Viceroy’s estate tonight.”

“Our hosts, and some of our party are attending,” Owens said.

“And my aunt and uncle, too. But you must not,” Lucia said, decisively. “You will meet me here, but outside, at the east end of the building. There is a garden, and some trees. When the clock strikes ten, señors. Do not be late. Ah, I must go!”

Charles released her hands and stood as she did. “We will not fail, lady.”

She smiled, for the first time, a flash of pearl white in the gloom. “I know you will not. God has sent you to me!”

o-o-o

Back in the carriage, Jack was, on the whole, skeptical about the chances of the boys’ new friend knowing a secret entrance to the sepulcher. “Probably just excited about a clandestine meeting with a couple of handsome lads.”

Charles frowned, and said rather sharply, “Begging your pardon, but she is not at all like that, sir.”

Jack raised a brow. “Is she not? Well, we’ll see, won’t we? Won’t hurt to find out what she knows, in any case. If there ain’t a secret way in, it’s like to be impossible to take the cup secretly.”

James said, “I am reluctant to consider the application of force to complete the endeavor, but it may be that we will have no choice. The scheme will have to be planned with the greatest care, however, if it comes to that.”

“It will,” Jack said, tartly, “for I’m not putting Harry in harm’s way, as I told you. P’rhaps it’ll need to wait for another time. The Pearl could slip into that bit of a cove I know, a few miles down the coast, and we could get the cup and be back before dawn, if there was no worry about makin’ some noise in gettin’ it.”

James sighed. “I find that thought amazingly disturbing. Perhaps Miss Fuensantos will actually have the purported information.”

“She seemed very sure of it, sir,” said Charles.

Norrington frowned at his son. “Yes. So you have indicated. I hope your judgment of the lady’s trustworthiness was not impaired by your admiration of her visible characteristics.”

“Oh, no, sir, I assure you!”

Owens rolled his eyes and exchanged a look with Jack. Harry, sitting beside her husband, smirked.

Juana, however, said, “From what you have told us, it does not seem likely she would betray us. To be forced to marriage with such a one! For we have met Don Esparza’s son, you see, and he is quite as loathsome as you would expect.”

“The apple don’t fall far from the tree,” Jack observed.

Juana laughed. “I have never heard that saying before! It is most apt, not only to Esparza but also to you. How it amuses me that the pirate of my dreams now has a wife and a little son.”

Jack shrugged, and said airily, “These things happen, even to the best of us,” and then grinned at the sharp jab of Harry’s elbow.

“Malvado!” Juana chided.

“Malvado, indeed,” agreed Harry.

Don Alejandro said, diplomatically, “Our friend enjoys a jest, but one is aware of his great regard for his wife and son. But Juana, concerning the cup: if I am not mistaken, we have several similar vessels in our kitchen.”

“Sí, we do! I will bring one to our young conspirators here. Ah, if only Señorita Fuensantos may not fail us! If she has spoken the truth, all should be quite simply accomplished.”

“That would be a glad relief,” said James.

“Aye, and damned unusual, too,” said Jack, adding with patently false penitence, “if you’ll excuse me French.”

o-o-o

After a light luncheon and cool drinks, all parties repaired to their respective chambers to partake of a siesta in the heat of the long afternoon.

Jack skillfully regained the ground he had lost with Harry at the (perhaps) ill-judged remark he’d made on the carriage ride, and, once negotiations were concluded to their mutual satisfaction, settled down for a peaceful nap with her, her head a pleasant weight against his shoulder, the warmth of her, where she curled against him, skin on skin, comforting in spite of the heat.

However, when the afternoon was fading to early evening, a knock was heard on the door, and they woke sluggishly, Jack to a dead arm, and both of them sticky with sweat. Harry groaned, and Jack made a feeble grab for the sheet, pulling it over the two of them, but it was only Alphonse, and Amelie, looking quite crisp, cool, and annoyingly awake. Fortunately, the valet and dresser had come with good tidings.

As Amelie went to draw back the drapes, Alphonse said, brightly, “Mon Capitaine! Such luxury: there is a bath set up in a tiled room down the hall, which looks onto a private garden! The tub is large enough for the two of you, if you are not averse to bathing together.”

“Averse,” murmured Jack, and turned his head on the pillow to look at his wife. “Would you say we were averse, darlin’?”

Harry, too sleepy for subtlety, chuckled.

o-o-o

By dinnertime, the heat of the day had dissipated to a great extent, bathing and primping had been completed, and everyone was feeling much fresher and ready to meet whatever challenges the evening might hold.

“The reception will be quite informal,” said Juana. “Only half the delegates to the summit are arrived as yet. But there will be dancing, and a supper served at midnight. Esparza employs two chefs, one of them just to make pastries, breads, and desserts. That is the reason for the light repast you see before you.”

Harry laughed. “But no, this is wonderful!” she said, indicating the array of mostly cold dishes that has been assembled for their delectation. “And it is too warm, as yet, to eat much, anyway. The supper later will be pleasant, but I am more excited about the dancing! It is an activity I love, and Jack is very good at it, though he prefers the cardroom to the ballroom.”

“It’s not as though my absence deprives you of partners, love,” Jack said, helping himself to some fresh bread and butter.

“No, but I prefer to dance with you, given a choice in the matter,” Harry replied, selecting several slices of fruit from a platter of etched silver.

Jack smiled. “Well, in consideration of peaceful relations, I’ll oblige you tonight. I’m feelin’ decidedly lightfooted.” He lowered his voice, and added, “Must’ve been that lovely bath. All that splashin’ about-- good thing the floors were tiled, eh?”

Harry blushed, grinning, and Juana, who had overheard the remark, chuckled delightedly.

o-o-o

It was fully dark by the time James, ‘Lord and Lady Byrd’, and the Corozóns were ready to depart for the reception. The warm, tropical night was lit with stars and the sweet scents of night-blooming flowers. The carriage, a smaller but very well-sprung affair, pulled up to the door.

“Take care with that little wench of yours,” said Jack to Charles. “It’s easy to be taken in by a pair of pretty brown eyes and seemingly innocent ways. After all, look at me!”

Harry objected, saying, “I never made a pretense of innocence with you!”

“Didn’t have to, as it happens, did you?” Jack retorted with a grin. He said to Charles, conspiratorially, “Thinks she’s quite up to snuff, and I don’t like to disillusion her, in the interest of marital bliss an’ all.”

Harry scowled, and Charles, seeing it, laughed. “I’ll be careful, sir.”

Owens said, pointedly, “We’ll both be careful.”

“See that you are,” Jack said. “It’d be most inconvenient if you was to be clapped up in El Morro.”

o-o-o

The moon had not yet risen at ten o’clock, when ‘Miguel’ and ‘Carlos’ walked into the garden at the east side of the cathedral. The garden, nearly as old as the building itself, was full of large trees and overgrown shrubbery, and it was a simple matter for one small Spanish maiden to keep hidden until her co-conspirators made their appearance. For a few moments she had some difficulty identifying them, for they had donned dark, rather worn-looking clothing, in an effort to deflect unwanted attention, and ‘Carlos’ had covered his bright hair with a scarf. But when she had ascertained their identities, she stepped boldly from the shadows, dressed now in peasant’s garb, and carrying a serviceable bag, her heart pounding uncomfortably.

“There you are!” Carlos whispered, recognizing her immediately. He came toward her with an open smile, and put out his hands, saying in his awkward Spanish, “I knew you would not fail us!”

She dropped the bag to the grass and thrilled at the touch of his big hands on her small ones. “No, indeed, señor. But… but perhaps you will fail me, I think. I have a great favor I must ask of you.”

Miguel translated, and added, “Is this to do with the bag you have there, señorita?”

Lucia looked up at him, and then at her Carlos. “Sí. It is. I… I beg you to give me sanctuary, señors. I will not marry the son of Esparza, and my aunt… “ Lucia broke off as tears came to her eyes at the recollection, but then gathered her courage. “My aunt has said I will not return to San Cristobal with her and my uncle. She means to force me to marriage!”

“My God!” exclaimed Miguel, with far more vehemence than either Lucia or Carlos thought appropriate, for they both turned to him in surprise. He seemed barely able to speak for a moment, but then blurted, “Fuensantos! My God! Who are your aunt and uncle, señorita? Tell me they are not…” But he did not utter any name.

Lucia frowned, wondering if Miguel were perhaps a little mad. “My uncle is the mayor of Santo Cristobal on the island of Hispañola. His name also is Carlos-Don Carlos Nuñez y Silva.”

Carlos’s hands squeezed hers tightly of a sudden, but he looked now to his friend, who had turned a little pale under his deep tan. “Michael. Is it them? Her? Your señora?”

“What is it, Señor Miguel?” Lucia asked, suddenly afraid.

Miguel looked at her, his eyes haunted, but he straightened and said evenly. “We will help you Lucia, for I know your aunt and uncle. My parents died, too, nine years ago, and for a while after that I was a servant to your aunt.”

Lucia understood, now. “Ah, Miguel. I… I am sorry. I have seen how she deals with her servants, and especially the young ones. It grieves me to know you were once of their number. But you escaped!”

“I begged Captain Sparrow to take me with him, on the Black Pearl. I have been with him since that day!”

“Do you mean the pirate who…” Lucia saw that it was so, even before she completed the sentence. “My aunt has spoken of this to me. She said you were kidnapped!”

“No, Lucia,” said Miguel. “But… you said your aunt and uncle went to that reception tonight?”

“Did Captain Sparrow go, too?” Lucia exclaimed.

Miguel nodded slowly, looking quite horrified.

There was silence for a long moment. Then Carlos cleared his throat. “Perhaps she won’t recognize him. It’s a good disguise, and it’s been eight years.”

But Miguel’s eyes told the tale, even before he said, “It’d been twenty or more with the Corozóns, Charles. And they knew him right off.”

o-o-o

On to Chapter Ten