excerpt
“Last night we entered it. You’ll be fine. I’ll send for a hen
everyday and have the cook make you broth,” I said, standing up.
He grabbed me by the arm.
“We have to get out of the ship fast. Someone could have
recognized the ship from land and sent word. Gather the crew on
deck. Make them swear on their mother’s head that no word will be
said about the plague. They’ll burn the ship if they know. Promise
me. No, swear it, on my head.”
I remembered what he had told me about the scarred man who
had friends in high places. I was already planning how to get us out
of Seville as soon as possible. But Bartolomé was so sick I wasn’t sure
he would survive much longer without proper care.
The river was busy with ships and boats of all sizes. The shores
were alive with people and beasts loading and unloading ships. It
took us several days to get to the appropriate place and, after
dropping anchor close to shore, Bartolomé’s page, the Canary, rushed
into the cabin and spoke in my ear. It was the worst news possible.
“What are you saying, boy?” I grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Who told you that?”
“The new bosun, Father. He says there is a party of guards, and
they have come to arrest the captain.”
“Arrest him?”
He shrugged.
“Tell the bosun to come.”
The Canary left, his whistling unnatural and tense.
The bosun arrived and confirmed it. The captain was to be
arrested. I didn’t have time to learn why. I looked at his greyish
countenance, hollow cheeks, cracked lips, eyes sunken in dark
circles. Bartolomé would never survive the Inquisition, much less a
civil jail.
Manolis Aligizakis 