Corsair by Dudley Pope Page B

of ADCs, and a secretary, and a translator. I assume there’s someone available who speaks fluent Spanish. We don’t want to rely on the Spanish trying to find someone who speaks English.”
    “There are many who speak Spanish in Port Royal: that’s no problem.”
    “Then I will tell General Heffer,” Luce said. “What ship have you chosen?”
    “Perhaps my own ship, the Griffin ,” Ned said. “Sir Thomas will be coming in the Peleus . General Heffer will go in one or the other.”
    “What sort of fee had you in mind for this – ah, this charter?”
    Ned shrugged his shoulders. “We’ve never done anything like this before, so there’ll be no charge.”
    “Tell me,” Luce said unexpectedly, “do you think General Heffer will make a good envoy?”
    “You haven’t much choice,” Ned said bluntly. “Anyway, there’s no negotiating to be done. Just a straight question to be asked. I should have thought Heffer could do that.”
    “I had in mind…” Luce hesitated, as if trying to pluck up courage. “I was thinking that if you are prepared to take your ship to Santo Domingo, perhaps you would do the negotiating.”
    “No,” Ned said firmly. “I’ll take whoever you choose as your envoy, but he does the negotiating.”
    And takes the blame, Ned thought. It would be very useful for Luce to have someone else to blame for failure – someone who was not himself or his deputy. If the former leader of the buccaneers came back to report failure (whoever came back would be coming empty-handed, there was not much doubt about that) then Luce would very soon twist the story round to imply that the failure was deliberate; intended to make sure there was no friendship with the Spanish. Ned felt quite pleased with himself: he was (thanks to watching Heffer over the past years) now able to think like a politician or a diplomat: at last he could understand duplicity, and although he was never going to practise it himself, it enabled him to spot it in others. Luce breathed duplicity as other men breathed fresh air.
    “I hope that you’ll act as an adviser, then,” Luce said lamely. “Not many people on this island have your experience in dealing with the Spanish.”
    Ned shook his head. “I’ve dealt with the Spaniards from behind a sword or musket; I’ve never negotiated with them.”
    He almost laughed at the thought of telling Luce about the recent voyage to Riohacha: supposing Luce was told that the governor of the province of Colombia, the bishop of Colombia, and the mayor of Riohacha were all within a mile of this room, on board the Argonauta , Dolphyn and Secco’s ship?
    Ned stood up. “Very well, Your Excellency; tell General Heffer and his staff to be ready to embark in three days’ time.”
     
    A week later Ned stood with Aurelia and Lobb, the mate, on the afterdeck of the Griffin as she surged to windward with Hispaniola passing close on the larboard hand and the Peleus a mile astern in her wake.
    The sun was bright; the clouds were startlingly white; the sky was so blue that many men knew they would make a fortune if they could create just the dye to produce a cloth of that colour. Blue, Ned thought; curious that it is the hardest colour to create. Good red dye came from the cochineal insects that lived on the cactus; but blue – that always created problems. Hard to dye cloth blue – and even harder to stop the blue fading in the sun.
    How was old Heffer? Was he capsized in his hammock, white and perspiring, wishing he could die instead of being seasick? Or was he on his feet, chattering away and boring Thomas and Diana, straining poor Thomas’ self-control?
    He was thankful that when they had flipped a piece of eight Thomas had lost the toss, so that he had to take Heffer and his party. Fortunately there had been no question of splitting Heffer’s party into two – Ned felt almost guilty at having pointed out that they all had to stay together in case something happened to the Griffin and