“Which is?”
“Which is a letter of marque.”
Despite his attempt at bored nonchalance, this so took Barto by surprise that he sat up. “A letter of marque, signed by—?”
“No less a personage than the captain-general of Santo Domingo, Don Bitrian de Viamonte.”
Barto sneered. “Viamonte the Invalid? Really? He spent his years as governor of Cuba limping through the underbrush, building towers and forts to fend off, er, ‘fortune-seekers’ like myself. And now he is interested in hiring the very same free-spirited adventurers whom he meant to kill?” Barto snorted as he laughed into the dregs of his drink. “Perhaps de Viamonte’s disabilities are not merely physical, hey?”
He had meant that insult to test de Covilla’s mettle, to see if the young Spaniard had enough temper in him to burst through his almost effete courtly exterior. Barto was not disappointed. The well-groomed hidalgo rose slowly, hand on his rapier. “You will mind your tongue, Se&nTilde;or. The captain-general may suffer from infirmities that the Lord Himself saw fit to inflict upon his body, but perhaps that was to better stimulate the growth of his keen mind and indomitable will. He determined to reduce Cuba’s vulnerability to pirates. He achieved that, and evidently you are not so bold as to have personally tested the walls and militias he raised for that purpose. Now he is set upon hiring men for a special mission. He directed me to seek appropriate persons among the self-styled ‘brethren of the coast.’ I started with you. However, I am under no compulsion to confer the contract upon you, specifically, and so, if you continue your insolence, I will take my reales elsewhere. And depending upon the severity of your further slurs, I may ask for the satisfaction of honor that must be demanded in response to your impugning the character and person of the captain-general. Am I clear?”
Barto smiled and lifted his cup. “Bravo. And I actually think you’d be foolish enough to play at swords with me, which you must know to be unwise. So you’ve a ready heart under that fine silken vest, I’ll give you that. And so, to business.”
Whatever de Covilla had been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “Do you—do you mock me, Se&nTilde;or?” His hand turned slowly on the pommel of his rapier.
Barto made his best sour face. “Mock you? I am simply speaking to you plainly and man-to-man, not like some lace-loaded grandee at court. Let me make my words plainer. You’d be a fool to fight me, but you know it, and are still quite ready to cross swords on a matter of honor. You’ve got cojones, and that’s what counts. Experience and age will furnish all the other necessary skills in good time. If you live that long. But that’s not what we’re here to talk about. So, I say again, to business.”
De Covilla frowned, fiddled with his sword’s hilt uncertainly, and then sat. “Very well, to business. I have offered silver and a letter of marque. Co-signed by the new governor of Cuba, no less: the field-marshal Don Francisco Ria&nTilde;o y Gamboa de Burgos. Whose name and martial reputation is known to you, I imagine.”
In fact, Ria&nTilde;o y Gamboa’s name was barely known to Barto, who had no idea what military glories might lurk hidden behind it. But de Covilla uttered it with the utterly reliable conviction of youthful loyalty, and so there might be enough truth in it to warrant credence.
But it wasn’t the reputation of the governor or the money or the marque that commanded Barto’s attention. Rather, it was the attractiveness of the offer. Or rather, the excessive attractiveness of the offer, and the fact that the particulars were not presented up front.
Accordingly, the primary instinct of all successful pirates—wariness—arose in Barto, who frowned his mightiest frown. “Well, this is certainly a most intriguing offer. So far. But I have yet to learn what it is I must do for this handsome—eh, ‘reward.’”
De Covilla sipped daintily at his glass of rioja. “It has come to our attention that a ship just recently arrived in the Caribbean will soon make landfall at Trinidad with the intent of taking, and holding, the land around Pitch Lake.”
“What the hell for?”
“Does it matter? This banditry is an affront to Philip of Spain’s exclusive dominion over the New World as per the Church’s own inter caetera, and so, it must be prevented.”
Barto rubbed his chin. “Very well, but if you know where this ship is bound, and you have Philip’s express orders to destroy it, then why not deal with it yourself?”
De Covilla pushed at his goat stew with his fork. “I did not say the orders came from Philip himself, nor that the intelligence came from Europe. Not directly.”