The Dying Trade by David Donachie, page 32
"A moment ago, you didn't even know the poor bastard's name."
Sutton leant forward, fear in his eyes. You couldn't avoid his name. He was the talk of the port."
Instinct made Harry change the subject, the feeling that Sutton needed time to gnaw on the accusation of murder. Lubeck did say something that made me curious.
"Don't know how, since he can't speak the tongue! "
"It was to the effect that King George would provide food for the hands."
"News to me, said Sutton.
"I just wondered if Broadbridge had arranged to hand all the deserters back to the Navy, as a way of saving himself from the need to feed them."
"He'd never have done that, snapped Sutton. An if he'd even hinted at it, you'd have found him swinging from a hoist instead of Howlett."
It was said with such conviction that Harry believed him. Sutton would know that a man set on betraying the crew of the Dido would not stop to save one sailor. He adopted a knowing air. It would explain why Captain Broadbridge went to see Howlett."
Sutton shook his head, missing the trap. He didn't go to see Howlett."
Harry leant forward quickly. Then who did he go to see, and why?"
Sutton realized his error. But he had dealt with the law all his life, and he was still alive. How should I know?"
"Because you went with him, Sutton. Hard to believe that you had no idea who you were going to see.
"Happen the Captain didn't see fit to inform me.
"I don't think he'd have had to. You're the sort who would know without being told."
"Well I didn't, so that's that, Sutton snapped.
"The Genoese reckon that Howlett was killed by English deserters. How would it be if I handed them you, with the information that you were ashore that night?"
"So were a lot of folk."
"I dare say those folk would be happy to say what they were about. Just as I imagine that the Genoese have some novel methods of extracting the same information from you. Sutton blanched, afraid to ask the obvious question. And I shall hand you over to them, just as soon as we return.
Sutton was scared now. A flogging round the fleet was preferable to the methods ofltalian interrogation. What's Howlett's death to you?"
"I'm curious, Sutton. And it's to my advantage to disprove the theory that he was murdered by Englishmen. Pity that you will have to suffer to establish that I'm correct."
"I had nothing to do with it."
"I believe that you're telling the truth. Something our Genoese friends may, or may not, find out eventually. But if you will not tell me what you were really about, I'll be left to conclude that you're lying."
"If I tell you?"
"Then you have nothing to fear."
He paused for several seconds, weighing up the odds. Sutton shook his head slowly when he finally spoke, acknowledging that he was taking the lesser of two distinct evils. We went ashore to see a fellow called Gallagher."
Harry frowned, for he'd heard the name, but he couldn't place it.
"He was the Crown victualling agent in Genoa."
"That fellow."
"He and Broadbridge had done some business before. The Captain had arranged to meet him to get some more money."
"More money?"
"You asked me what I was about, Captain Ludlow, an I've told you. I'll say nowt else. Gallagher didn't show. We went round to his place, but it was all locked and barred, so we went back to Ma Thomas's place. The Captain sat there pouring rum down his throat, getting angrier by the minute. All he afforded me was a tankard of ale, and I had no mind to sit there and watch him getting drunk while I had an empty cup so I came back aboard the Dido. What Broadbridge did after that was none of my affair."
"One more question, Sutton. Could Broadbridge have murdered Captain Howlett?"
For the first time since he'd entered the cabin, Sutton laughed. Broadbridge! By the time I left him he could barely stand."
"Everyone said he was a frightened man when he came back aboard. And he hid in his cabin for two days. Could he perhaps have seen something?"
Sutton shrugged. He might, I suppose. Don't see that it makes much odds now.
"Oh, it does, Sutton. Remember, Captain Broadbridge was murdered too.
Sutton's face suddenly went blank and the eyes that he aimed at Harry were deliberately out of focus.
"Land ho! The voice from the masthead was faint in the cabin, but Harry was on his feet immediately, making his way out of the cabin. Go back to your duties, Sutton. Perhaps we will talk further."
Harry was out of the door, so he didn't hear Sutton's soft reply. Not if I can help it, we won't ..
Harry stood on the quarter-deck, his glass trained on the distant island. Half his mind was still on his recent conversation. There was much he still did not understand, but being in no position to improve his knowledge he dismissed it, concentrating instead on that before him; the island off the coast of Southern Dalmatia which had been Bartholomew's first landfall.
Not one to avoid a chance of playing a trick, Harry hoisted Genoese colours as soon as he'd raised the island. He sailed through a narrow entrance into a broad, and empty, horseshoe-shaped bay. A small walled town, seemingly deserted, sat at the centre, surrounded by steep hills rising step upon step. A difficult place to get to, and by the look of the soil and the terrain, not one to support much life.
Fairhairn, whose periods of health seemed to be more stable, was on deck with Harry. Good, plain, and plentigul food had filled him out a bit, and he'd begun to shave regularly. Not one to take the sun, his face was still red. But at least it was the red of a healthy man.
"No sign of Bartholomew? he said, shading his eyes.
"I'm not surprised. He'll be days yet, even if he's had more favourable winds than us."
"You intend to wait here for him?"
"No, said Harry, shaking his head. I intend to go ashore and see what I can find, though in truth I don't expect much. Once I've done that we'll head back out to sea."
"Am I correct in assuming that this is his destination?"
"One of them, yes. Why is a mystery. But I wouldn't want to be caught at anchor when he arrives, and with the odds the way they are, I don't want him to anchor either."
"Would he not be at your mercy if he did?"
"Quite the opposite. He could adopt a defensive position that would be near-impregnable, especially in a bay shaped like this. With the number of hands he's got, we'd be outnumbered three to one. No, I intend to stand off the island, and attack him before he ever gets near the bay. With luck, he'll never drop his anchor."
"And if you fail?"
Harry grinned. He's got to come out again sometime. I shall attack him again when he does."
"At the risk of sounding too pessimistic-' Harry interrupted him, his face set, for he knew what the surgeon was driving at. I know where he's going. I shall follow him there, fight him on the way if I can. Failing success I'll fight him all the way back to Genoa, and if needs be, I'll kick in the doors to his room and kill him there."
The surgeon had gone quite pale, for in his anger Harry had looked as if he was about to assault him in lieu. Forgive me, Captain Ludlow. Although it's not something I could undertake myself, I do understand."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The jetty seemed in good order for a harbour that had no shipping. Lubeck brought the cutter alongside, and Harry climbed out, followed by a party of armed men. The small walled town was silent, apparently without life. Harry walked towards the gateway searching the top of the walls, and the embrasures, for any sign of life. Nothing stirred. He had his men stand well back from the walls as he hammered on the gates. There was no response.
"Let's go round the walls and see if there's another entrance."
"I go one side, you go other, said Lubeck.
"Best if we stay together, Captain Ludlow, growled Pender.
Harry smiled and nodded. If you only knew how much faith I have in your instincts, Pender."
They made their way around the outer walls, stopping suddenly as they heard a cry, straining to hear it again. It was repeated, but it couldn't be called a threatening sound, more of a high-pitched squeal, followed by another. Harry signalled to his men and they made their way round to the rear wall of the town to find another gate. The sound was clearly audible now, and a very peaceful one at that, for it was the noise of children at play. Harry tried the gate and it swung open easily. He stepped through cautiously, and found himself in an alleyway with whitewashed and ochre-coloured buildings, in some disrepair, rising on each side. Pender immediately pushed the door of the first building open. The men took the hint, and started to search each doorway they passed.
Pender emerged and shook his head to indicate that his was empty. So were the others. They walked on, following the sounds of the voices, until they emerged into a decent-sized square. A whitewashed building, larger than the surrounding dwellings, stood alone in the centre. Nondescript, it looked, if anything, like a place of worship. Perhaps an Orthodox church. They made their way over to the entrance. There was a lion's head carved in stone above the doorway, with a Latin inscription underneath. It was the Lion of Saint Mark, the symbol of the power of Venice. Harry was no Latin scholar and had some trouble with the inscription. When, eventually, he made sense of it, he froze. They were in a leper colony.
He was just about to order them to get out of the place when a young boy, blond haired and very healthy, ran into the square. He stopped when he saw the party of armed men. Other children, boys and girls squealing with pleasure, rushed into the square in pursuit. They too were all fair haired and pale skinned. What's more their complexions were unblemished. Not inmates of a leper colony, more the pupils of some privileged school.
Seeing the new arrivals they stood for a second, gazing fearfully, before racing off. The boy who'd come into the square first didn't stay to ask questions either, but headed after his companions down the side of the building. One or two of Harry's men looked set to pursue them, but he called them back. There was no need for heavily armed men to go in pursuit of children. He was debating what to do next when an extremely fat fellow, wearing a Turkoman's headdress and a long loose garment, came waddling into the square. He stopped when he saw them, hesitated for a moment while he worked up his courage, and then addressed them in a high-pitched voice.
Harry didn't understand a word of what he said. He looked around to see if anyone else had, but his companions were equally mystified. Harry motioned for his men to stay still, so as not to alarm the fellow, and walked over to him, addressing him in French.
"You must have seen our ship come into the harbour?"
The man just shook his head, uncomprehendingly.
Harry decided on a lie, and this time he spoke in English. We're with Bartholomew."
The man beamed and threw up his hands, repeating Bartholomew's name, though the consonants where all ahoo. Harry tried to ask him another question, but it was plain that the only thing he'd understood was the name Bartholomew. He gabbled away in his high-pitched voice, in the same incomprehensible tongue that he'd used originally. Harry stood there trying to make sense of what was going on. By his voice and figure he suspected that the man was a eunuch. But how that, and the sign for a leper colony, fitted in to this place being Bartholomew's landfall escaped him completely. He turned his thoughts to the other one in Asia Minor, then he thought about the fair-haired children who'd run into the square.
With a sudden gesture he signalled to his men to follow, and overriding the objections of the fat man they made their way down the side of the main building. No sounds of laughter now, but by an open doorway at the rear, Harry heard the sound of gentle sobbing. The fat man tried to bar his way, but Harry pushed him aside. He went into the room, which was like some kind of dormitory in a parish workhouse, only twice as wide and five times as long.
Narrow cots lined the walls. Another two men, bald headed and similar in shape to the one Harry had already met, stood before a crowd of children. There were hundreds of them, all shapes and sizes. The girls seemed generally taller than the boys, and some of them looked mighty close to maturity. But they all had one thing in common. They were fair skinned and glowing with health. Pender, Lubeck and the rest of Harry's men had crowded in behind him, and were mouthing astonishment at what they saw.
"Beggin your pardon, your honour, said his servant, what the devil is goin on here?"
Harry didn't answer the question, and his voice was full of anger as he spoke. Pender, back to the ship and fetch Mr. Fairhairn. The rest of you outside."
Pender knew Harry's moods. That tone brooked no delay. He dashed out of the door. The men were slow to react. Harry snapped at them and hustled them out into the sunlit square. He posted them round the building, with instructions to stop anyone from getting away.
"And for the Lord's sake, if it's one of the children, be gentle."
"What if it's one of em fat blokes?"
Harry snarled. You treat them to a powerful kick up the arse."
He paced up and down outside the door until Pender returned with Fairhairn. Then, after a few quiet words, they went inside. The children were still crowded up one end of the room. The three fat men were now sitting down, looking disconsolate. Indeed one was crying copiously, using his sleeve to wipe his eyes. Harry ignored them, and tried to address the children direct. They looked at him with deep suspicion, and refused to come when he beckoned. He walked towards them. They shrunk away. But being hemmed in by the wall there was a limit to how far they could go. Harry pushed his way amongst them, patting them in a friendly manner and looking them in the eye. Some of their fear evaporated, and as Harry took one of the boys gently by the arm, he allowed himself to be led over to Fairhairn.
Harry then stood back while the surgeon examined him. It was a slow process, for the boy was not co-operative. The others watched silently. Fairhairn led the boy back to join the crowd and selected another. Feeling safer, this one was more willing. The surgeon then selected one of the girls. All the time he tried to talk to them, using English and French. Nothing, just silent stares.
Fairhairn walked over to Harry. They seem well enough. In fact, they're full of health. Do you want me to examine them all?"
"I doubt it's necessary. They will have been well cared for."
"What is it all about?"
"Can't you guess, Mr. Fairhairn? Girls and boys, all young, all healthy and all of fair countenence. If you were to examine the girls you would find that they are virgins.
Fairhairn was surprised at that. Virgins! "
"Oh yes. Innocent girls and boys, taken from their homes. Brought here in dribs and drabs until there are enough to warrant a trip to their final destination."
"And where would that be?"
Harry turned away, but Fairhairn saw the look of disgust, and heard the cold anger in his voice. Asia Minor was Bartholomew s next destination, Fairhairn. Can you imagine how much these children would fetch in an Ottoman slave market?"
"Slaves?"
"Yes. The brothel keepers would be lining up to buy them, boys and girls."
"African slaves to the Americas, yes, said Fairhairn. But here in the Mediterranean! I was not aware that it still went on.
They were out in the sunlight. Harry stood looking around him, a worried frown on his face. It's proscribed, of course. Every Catholic country has banned the trade, and the Genoese and Venetians put a stop to the pirates from the Barbary Coast, who made a mint out of Christian slaves. Not that slaving doesn't still go on. The brothels of Spain depend on the North African coast, and they lay claim to being the most pious nation in Europe. I suppose they justify their activities on the grounds that their captures are not Christians, just like the African slavers. But this is anathema, especially to the Roman Church. Anyone caught in this trade, operating from a papist country, would face the gallows or the garrotte."
"I cannot believe that Bartholomew is involved in this."
Harry rounded on him. There is nothing too base for that bastard. The profits are enormous, Fairhairn, and that's all he cares about."
"I didn't mean that I don't believe, only that it is hard. I rather saw him as a dashing figure at one time."
"Don't be fooled by the way he dresses. All those plumes in his hat count for nothing."
"I'm not one to be fooled by plumes, snapped Fairhairn, in a rare display of strength. I had time to observe him long before the events of that night in the warehouse. And trust me when I say that I could not believe him to be so cruel."
His shoulders seemed to sag, as though the effort had been too much. He had, on occasion, shown me some kindness."
"By financing your habit? The look in the surgeon's eye confirmed that Harry had guessed correctly. I wonder that you call that kindness.
"Many times I've refused a beggar a coin, for fear that he would waste it on drink. I doubt I'd do that now. I cannot believe that Bartholomew's generosity was prompted by malice."
Harry put his hand on Fairhairn's shoulder to reassure him, for he knew he was still in the grip of his addiction. All I've witnessed is the malice."
"He was not the same man, Ludlow. I have never seen him like that. Reserved, yes. Cold even, for he seemed to exist without friendship. But not evil."
Harry waved at the building, his voice angry again. Yet he's involved in this. If this does not qualify to be termed evil, what does? Please do not plead Bartholomew's virtue to me.
"Perhaps I was questioning my gullibility. Fairhairn shook himself, as if trying to rid himself of a bad dream. What do you intend to do?"
"God alone knows. But I can't leave these children here."
"You mean to take them home?"
Harry laughed. Would that I knew where home was, Fairhairn."
"That's the first thing to find out, your honour, said Pender, who was leaning against a wall, in the shade, close enough to overhear their conversation.
Harry turned and looked at him. If you've any ideas on how that can be achieved, I appreciate hearing them."
Pender put his head down and sucked on his teeth. How much time have we got?"
