Mad Morgan (33 page)
Authors: Kerry Newcomb
M
organ felt a musket ball tear at the sleeve of his purple coat, another fanned his ear, just below the scarlet silk scarf keeping his long brown hair away from his face. He squeezed off a shot from the double-barreled pistol in his left hand, saw a Spanish dragoon clutch at his chest and stagger out of sight. Morgan parried a second attack with his cutlass, shoved the desperate defender aside and into the path of Kintana. The Kuna rebel wielded his ax and crushed the Spaniard's skull, leaped over the fallen man and charged off through the rubble in search of another victim. The screams of the dying and the war cries of the pirates and Indians could be heard above the din.
organ felt a musket ball tear at the sleeve of his purple coat, another fanned his ear, just below the scarlet silk scarf keeping his long brown hair away from his face. He squeezed off a shot from the double-barreled pistol in his left hand, saw a Spanish dragoon clutch at his chest and stagger out of sight. Morgan parried a second attack with his cutlass, shoved the desperate defender aside and into the path of Kintana. The Kuna rebel wielded his ax and crushed the Spaniard's skull, leaped over the fallen man and charged off through the rubble in search of another victim. The screams of the dying and the war cries of the pirates and Indians could be heard above the din.
A figure in black shoved past. Morgan turned as the Black Cleric drew abreast of him. LeBishop's scarred pale features split with a grin. He resembled a cadaver come to life, death's own angel in the garb of a minister, gold cross twinkling from his earlobe, a freshly blooded sword in the Cleric's hand.
“âO our God, wilt thou not execute judgment upon them!'” he bellowed. The brigand was jubilant. He fixed Morgan in his wild-eyed stare. “I do not think we will meet again,
Tigre del Caribe
. I suspect it is your last day upon this earth.” He laughed, flung himself into the melee and led his men off toward another section of the city.
Tigre del Caribe
. I suspect it is your last day upon this earth.” He laughed, flung himself into the melee and led his men off toward another section of the city.
Morgan ignored LeBishop's admonition and pressed on through the smoke and the fire, kicked aside the splintered timbers and smoldering
ruins that blocked his path, while all around him a battle raged, fighting and dying overwhelming the senses. Morgan was in no hurry. Men rushed past him, men he knew and recognized: Hastiler and his marines, more of the Kuna rebels, then another company of buccaneers, Calico Jack and Anne Bonney, Israel Goodenough, Pierre Voisin, eager for plunder; Rafiki Kogi, an ebony flash of movement and destruction with his dagger and pike.
ruins that blocked his path, while all around him a battle raged, fighting and dying overwhelming the senses. Morgan was in no hurry. Men rushed past him, men he knew and recognized: Hastiler and his marines, more of the Kuna rebels, then another company of buccaneers, Calico Jack and Anne Bonney, Israel Goodenough, Pierre Voisin, eager for plunder; Rafiki Kogi, an ebony flash of movement and destruction with his dagger and pike.
Morgan loosed his own war whoop, the violence of the moment fueling him. Once he had been paraded through these gates, a prize captive pelted with stones and refuse by the populace, strung up and hanged for their amusement. Where were they now? Was there no one to greet him?
Suddenly Morgan heard his name called out.
Nell's voice!
He whirled about, sensing danger, fearing she was in trouble, only to find himself the target of an assassin's blade. He felt a dagger sting his side, heard a pistol roar close behind him. Morgan grimaced with the pain and retreated, a trace of blood seeping from a superficial gash a few inches above his hip. Peter Tregoning, LeBishop's man, his ugly pockmarked face contorted in pain, staggered forward. The Cornishman brandished a jeweled dagger in his hand, the very weapon LeBishop had taken from Elena in Maracaibo, a lifetime ago.
The dagger slipped from Tregoning's grasp and he sank to the ground, a look of surprise upon his face. LeBishop's henchman had not expected to die. Few men do. Nell stood behind Tregoning; smoke curled from the pistol in her left hand. As quickly as she had acted the first time, her right hand raised up and she snapped off a second shot. A Spaniard emptied his musket into the air instead of Morgan's back, and fell dead.
“Am I going to have to save your life all day?” she shouted angrily, reloading her guns. “âMorgan's luck,' indeed.”
“You are my luck, Toto,” he grinned, and turned back to the city. Then his gaze hardened, stung by the swirling smoke and dust. He stood for a moment as if in rapture, while his army poured through the streets. The unnerved populace near the front gate abandoned their homes and shops, their cries swelled like a tide of terror to engulf the city of gold.
There was terror in his name: “Morgan! Mad Morgan!” The outnumbered remnants of the dragoons broke and fled before the onslaught of the buccaneers, who surged through the shattered entrance like blood spurting from an open wound.
“Let them remember this day.”
Morgan turned, thought he glimpsed his father's silhouette shrouded in the settling dust. “I swear it,” Morgan called out. The specter dissolved into the haze of burning timbers, perhaps it never was. Reassured by the sound of his own voice amid the gunfire and the shouting and the crackle of spreading flames, Morgan paused to inspect the gash along his side, a flesh wound, then knelt down and retrieved the jeweled dagger. This was the Black Cleric's doing. There were two enemies within these walls, the Dons and the Black Cleric. So that was the game. Morgan frowned. So be it. Morgan would play. But by his own rules.
Morgan turned, thought he glimpsed his father's silhouette shrouded in the settling dust. “I swear it,” Morgan called out. The specter dissolved into the haze of burning timbers, perhaps it never was. Reassured by the sound of his own voice amid the gunfire and the shouting and the crackle of spreading flames, Morgan paused to inspect the gash along his side, a flesh wound, then knelt down and retrieved the jeweled dagger. This was the Black Cleric's doing. There were two enemies within these walls, the Dons and the Black Cleric. So that was the game. Morgan frowned. So be it. Morgan would play. But by his own rules.
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From her balcony, Elena Maria de Saucedo del Campo watched Panama City convulse like a wounded beast. The city seemed to writhe and shudder as flames spread along one perimeter, a series of explosions rocked another district, as panic ensued and rumors quick as wildfire swept through the ranks of the defenders. She had heard the terrified populace choking the streets as they sought to escape the invaders. An army of bloodthirsty freebooters had stormed the gates accompanied by hordes of howling savages. Where were the troops? Where was the new governor?
Elena clutched her dressing gown about her shoulders as she listened to the church bells peal their warnings then fall silent one after the other as cathedral doors were battered down and the sanctuaries looted. Homes and shops were abandoned as the frightened inhabitants trampled one another in a frenzied attempt to reach the waterfront and escape along the coast.
She reentered her room and crossed to another window that offered her a glimpse of the distant waterfront. Townspeople crammed themselves into fishing boats and set out for the relative safety of the forts in the bay, whose garrisons could do nothing to stem the assault. The forts had been built to defend against an approach from the sea. There weren't enough longboats to ferry reinforcements to shore. The soldiers out in the bay were prisoners behind their own walls and could do nothing but wait and watchâand ask themselves the same question as the citizenry: Where was the governor?
Elena could tell them. With Consuelo's assistance, she quickly dressed in a simple gown of heavy cotton, a cloak, and buttoned boots. Consuelo's fingers fumbled with the fastenings. She was understandably unnerved by the sounds of explosions and gunfire
that drifted through the open window. When her curiosity got the better of her, Elena returned to the balcony. She gasped at the black pall that hung like some mantle of despair over the north end of the city. Several houses, stables, and shops were ablaze. Skirmishes seemed to be occurring throughout the streets. Behind her, Consuelo began to chant in her native tongue. Elena turned to scold her but her admonition died at the look on the half-breed's face. Consuelo's mouth was a straight slash, her dark gaze guarded, blind eye a bleak milky-white orb. Her movements were jerky and tense.
that drifted through the open window. When her curiosity got the better of her, Elena returned to the balcony. She gasped at the black pall that hung like some mantle of despair over the north end of the city. Several houses, stables, and shops were ablaze. Skirmishes seemed to be occurring throughout the streets. Behind her, Consuelo began to chant in her native tongue. Elena turned to scold her but her admonition died at the look on the half-breed's face. Consuelo's mouth was a straight slash, her dark gaze guarded, blind eye a bleak milky-white orb. Her movements were jerky and tense.
“What is it?!” Elena asked.
Consuelo fled from the balcony and sought the safety of the room. She shook her head and began to chant beneath her breath. Elena shivered and caught her by the shoulders.
“Old nurse, what is it? What do you see?”
“Nothing. Only darkness.” Consuelo, locked in her own gloomy thoughts, shook her head then continued to chant in a monotone her unsettling prayer-song. Even after all these years and the efforts of the padres, the old ways were still alive within her. The blood of the Kuna that coursed through her veins called out to her, beyond the din of destruction, beyond the fire and death. In her mind she saw the great swamp, the hidden bayous, the secluded villages of the people her own mother had been taken from. The Dons and their gold were none of the half-breed's business. Besides, Elena Maria had changed since her father's death. The girl Consuelo had nurtured had vanished long ago down a dark path the old nurse no longer wished to follow.
Elena Maria sighed in exasperation at Consuelo and left the nurse alone in the room. Proceeding down the hall, she paused at the open door to the bedroom Don Alonso had taken to using when he chose to spend the night within the house of Saucedo. She heard the sound of a heated conversation drift up from the lower reaches of the hall. She hurried downstairs and followed the voices to their source, her father's library, where Don Alonso was busy issuing orders to a number of subordinates, a trio of handsome young lieutenants with sun-bronzed features dark as coffee. They doffed their tricorn hats and bowed as Elena entered. The officers barely took time to speak before they scurried from the room and departed through the front door.
Elena entered the study as Don Alonso, behind her father's desk, finished loading a brace of pistols and shoved them in his belt. He brushed a hand through his sliver hair. His brown eyes darted to the desk and the ledgers he had been putting together in a stack before she came in. Elena recognized the transcripts of her father's holdings,
the entries from mines and plantations and the shipping manifests that listed the contents of her father's warehouse. She frowned and started to speak, then noticed a familiar figure with powder-burned features slumped against the wall behind her.
the entries from mines and plantations and the shipping manifests that listed the contents of her father's warehouse. She frowned and started to speak, then noticed a familiar figure with powder-burned features slumped against the wall behind her.
“Gilberto ⦔
Major Gilberto Barba waved weakly. His tunic was torn, his trousers spattered with dirt and bloodstained from a slit above his thigh. She had hardly recognized him at first. He smiled wanly; seeing the daughter of the house of Saucedo helped to restore his strength. The brandy she quickly poured for him was of immeasurable help.
“The major brings disturbing news,” Don Alonso said, trying to sound calm. But his voice carried a brittle edge.
“It's Morgan,” Barba rasped. He drained the contents of his glass, wiped the droplets from his thick moustache on the sleeve of his rumpled green coat. The brandy burned going down but the warmth that spread through his limbs was a blessing. “Morgan and an army of brigands and savages,” he added, already sounding stronger. “They've breached the walls of the city.”
Elena Maria hid her reaction, her surprise betrayed by the merest flutter at the corner of her mouth and the subtle widening of her eyes. Morgan ⦠here? Back from the dead? An incredible feat ⦠She glanced at her husband, the governor, and immediately began planning how she might exploit this situation to her own advantage. There was a good chance Don Alonso might fall in battle. She longed to be a grieving widow and in charge of her fortune once again.
“We are ready for this cutthroat. I will have him on the scaffold yet, and this time”âhis gaze hardened, he was looking right at Elena Mariaâ“he shall hang, once and for all.” Don Alonso slid a rapier into its scabbard and draped the baldric over his shoulder.
“No one is ready for the likes of Morgan,” Barba said. “The brigands came at us through the dust and the rubble, like some kind of great and terrible storm. My men could not stand against him. I barely escaped with my life. It wasn't easy getting here. I was nearly captured several times. Just a couple of streets over I narrowly avoided a band of butchering cutthroats.
Madre de Dios
. The rogues are close at hand.”
Madre de Dios
. The rogues are close at hand.”
“Major Barba has behaved like a coward and we shall not forget his example,” said Don Alonso. “I have dispatched troops thoughout the city. Should Morgan fight his way past them, he will find me waiting with over five hundred men in the Plaza de las Armas. Let him break his attack against us. These pirates are an untrained rabble and no
match for regular troops. We will stop him in the plaza and drive the remnants back into the swamp.” He lifted his attention back to Elena. “As for Major Barba's warning, if indeed the pirates are close, I suggest you come with me. For I have no men to leave here with you, Señora. And this coward will be of little use.”
match for regular troops. We will stop him in the plaza and drive the remnants back into the swamp.” He lifted his attention back to Elena. “As for Major Barba's warning, if indeed the pirates are close, I suggest you come with me. For I have no men to leave here with you, Señora. And this coward will be of little use.”
“I will take my chances,” Elena replied.
Don Alonso frowned. Disobedience did not sit well with him.
“I have my own defenses against a man like Henry Morgan.” Elena Maria did not enumerate the other weapons she could bring to bear. Her considerable charms, sultry beauty, and feminine wiles had worked in the past on
el Tigre del Caribe
. She saw no reason they wouldn't succeed again, if need be.
el Tigre del Caribe
. She saw no reason they wouldn't succeed again, if need be.
“Suit yourself,” Don Alonso replied. “But these accounts will go with me. I shall place them in the armory by the Plaza de las Armas.”
“They are my father's, you have no right to them.”
Don Alonso stacked them and placed them under his arm. “They will be safe with me.”
“Nothing of my father's is safe with you, Señor.”
Don Alonso ignored the verbal dagger. He glanced at the wounded officer. “Major Barba, I suggest you see to your injuries and then make your way to the stockade. I expect you to keep an iron hand on the slaves. No telling what mischief they may attempt this day.”
“As you wish, Señor.”
Don Alonso tucked the ledgers under his arm and started toward the door. Elena Maria moved to block his departure. Their eyes met, the governor and his bride locked in a silent struggle of wills while all around them their world was coming to an end: fire-gutted buildings came crashing down and others burst into flames, while the streets ran red with blood.
“Señora, you plucked a pretty tune when first we met,” Don Alonso said bluntly, “but the music soured once you had my good name.” He forced his way past her and was gone through the front door before she had a chance to reply. The governor walked briskly into the broad, tree-lined avenue where a column of dragoons, astride their nervous mounts, waited to escort him to the Plaza de las Armas.
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