Interruption 19-1-2012

I will now be posting, various Irish Alternate History stories. Alongside this blog.

Thank you

Chapter 18

Oh blessed Maria, it was awful. Oh star of the sea, make it stop

The ship never stopped, rocking. It was worse than a limping horse, or a galloping charger, after a night drinking wine

It surely had not been like this, when he had been on the ship, that brought him to Buenos Aires from Galica. Juan knew would have remembered suffering like this. In truth he did not remember that journey so well.  His strongest memory, of the time, simply was the boredom, and the hunger.  Always having to stay out of the way, of the sailors, for fear of getting his ears boxed. When he arrived at the Port, it was like Christmas after the driest summer

The  Iapaser... No the ``  The Lasper!’’  Well  even in the most pride ridden days of his youth  Juan had never said to even the most gullible of maids he was a sailor.
Or a clerk though he had his letters
To complete their torments the craft was being tracked by a devious pair of seagulls. They were occasionally sweeping down upon the deck looking for scraps of food where they would be chased off, by the sailors. The sworn men, of the O Neill were trying to look brave and resolute as they tried not to slip and vomit.  One had cried like a small girl startled by the seagull.
 Mercifully everyone  pretended  not to have noticed. Lest a fight had broken out, the Sworn men had confined there actions to scowls at a few Portuguese sailors.

This curious mix of Irlandessa  and Lisbonian was leavened one or two of the Fishermen, from the Village. These sons of st peter had  found there earthly reward paid in silver. Thus Juan’s master the Young Don, was able to keep the Sons of Lisbon honest, and the largesse of the O Neill, would be famed from the plains to the sea.

Juan was master of the Isaper, in the name of the great house, the O Neill. He would not let, these Portuguese, thieves and cutthroats, seem him in this moment of Weakness. .. Isaper.

He could wait in the Captain’s cabin, if he wished too. It disturbed Juan, a little. That room had been full of heretic books.  Juan had thrown them overboard.  Someone had complained that they were good firewood or something to wipe ones backside with.  Juan wanted rid of them. Now, they were in the deep.

There was a Portuguese. No, a French man., a Breton apparently was the Navigator. The man from Brest was messing around, with a spy glass, and talking to the Hands. Juan had decided, he would not have anything interesting to say.  The spy glass was worth having though. It was a good one, Juan would remember to ask, him about it when the journey was over. 

The Breton bowed, at Juan.  He had made an effort to be civil after all. Upon this ship, he had a greater claim to precedence, than then a Captain of the house of the O Neill.  Juan bowed slightly back,  Juan did not want to put too much strain on his stomach, he had no desire to become reacquainted with his breakfast.

``So, what do you think, of the plan? The great compact between the two Houses that the Dons have agreed to?

``The Don swore he would uphold his end of the pact. That is enough for me’’ `
`Beyond that it is not my station to talk more on the matter’’ Answered the Galician and nodded. The Sworn man of the O Neill went off to scan the skies, from the port deck. For reasons best known to himself. He refrained at least from puking up his guts. He would be back at the port soon. There would be his bed. Wine, and a world which stayed still under his boots

``Well, we shall be in Buenos Aires soon my friend. The Winds remain well’’

Juan nodded. The news sounded good, his stomach, was enduring the bombardment that Father Neptune, had unleashed and he hoped he would be relieved soon

The Navigator , made no more conversation, and the seagulls seemed sated.

Juan would have had a smoke. Though Juan had decided did not want to tempt fate. The sea looked calm. Juan’s nautical knowledge extended as far as the knowledge that the sea could turn, as quickly as the temper of a woman.  A stroll by the docks would provide ample proof of the inconsistency of the Ocean. More Contrary than an Ale house bawd.

If he lit, his pipe, he may be expected to share his tobacco. . Juan, did not wish to do that.. Thus Juan practised the better part of discretion. He offered his forbearance as a gift to the almighty. He would refrain from tobacco, for the honour of the Star of the sea, until he had stepped off the gangplank and onto dry line again. Perhaps Odysseus, and Father Aenas had moments like this on their journeys but the great epics neglected them.  Seasick, and sullen, did not songs make.

As to his thoughts on the colloqully in the surf? There was not really much Juan had to say on the matter.  If his confessor had asked him, Juan would have preferred his Captain fight there, and then on the beach. He’d had set the charges, well and would have made it back to the beach, Juan reckoned.

The Don, had promised everyone that it was a good decision, and he seemed pleased with it. . Juan had clouted one of his men, for gossiping about it. The sworn men could be worse than women.  They kept speaking about the lady, who was For the moment, events were out of their hands. They were in the hands, of the almighty and the sons of Lisbon. Should there be treachery, well Juan thought at least his suffering would end, and he hoped he would be avenged.

He began to whistle a tune, about a pair of virgins, who wandered too far from home 

Chapter 17

There were gunners in the service, of his most catholic majesty. Who had studied the works of Euclid, since they had received the host. The fathers of the Artillerymen, had learned there trade, against the moors.  They slept and ate and prayed beside their guns, and not one of these men, no matter the skill and arts of the craft of gunnery could have caused such an explosion

The secret of gunpowder may have been reduced to a science.  Yet fear, the same green and yellow fear that, had gripped the wily Ithacan, could reduce towns, without the need for a baggage train.

Eduardo, had at least the sense to draw his sword, and beckon his chief back, another one of his men, fetched a horse. The villagers, were shouting and screaming. The children were now bawling. The ragged chorus of tears, and confusion performed with all its might.

The hens could smell the fox.                            

The women folk, were gathering up blankets. As much food, as they could carry. The men, were shouting at their wives, and children. Others with more presence of mind were fetching their nets and fishing lines. One of the villagers, blasphemed, and snatched a the flask of wine.  One fool, stood as still, as statue of a saint. The Horses, some people were looking at the horses.  Desperate thoughts, having invaded their minds Horses promised escape

Hughs hand was on his hilt.

``Hold!

``It’s the Henri!’’

``Hold, it’s the Henri. Look dam your eyes. Look you villains, and scolds.’’

An older fisherman voice rasping, above the din, he pointed. It is the Henri, out of Buenos Aires.

You dogs. Look! Look!...

Another voice, confirmed the identity of the , approaching vessel  Something about the rigging of the Dom Henri revealed it nature and essence.  ``The Dom Henri ‘’was well known for its rigging. Apparently sailors, and fishermen, from Buenos Aires to Brest knew of the titled Henri because of its unique and wonderful rigging.  There motion was carried, by general acclamation.

 As did the hunchbacks of the town enjoy a similar celebrity to the ships of the Ocean

 Someone struck, a small boy, to ease their wounded pride. The babies were soothed, and people went back to their little homes. Eduardo sent the man, who faced with death had sought shelter in wine, back to his little shack after passing judgement on his character honour and parentage.

The old fisherman received the compliments of the aristocracy on his nerves, eyesight, and experience.

Wait, it was not a heretic ship, but was it friendly?  And would Juan know the difference...

It was out of his hands...He was impotent. No, worse than that he was a cuckold.

Last night he had won a ship. In fair fight too, but before the sun set on the day, he would lose his prize / His mind strode home, like a man, who had heard gossip about his household, outside the chapel or in a tavern  He would not stand for this. . .

Juan, what about Juan.  If he recognised, the ship as being Portugese, he might let his guard down, or maybe he might fight. Good for him, but Gabriella, would die, not yet a widow. She would be confined to a limbo in the spheres of Women

If the Portugese had wanted a war, they would have one. The port could burn. He would not stand for the slight. He would drive them into the sea! Those whores!

Curse the sons of whores. As a crab in the cook pot, The Son of the O Neill raged, and raged, as the long boat slipped away from the Dom Henri

Eduardo, had brought a musket, to the shore.  He was lighting the match.

The field glass, fetch the eye glass, man! Demanded Hugh, he took the musket,  and delunged into the air, hopefully, Juan would hear it.

The bell! the bell! He demanded of a fisherwoman, who dragged up her skirts , and ran.  The woman, had probably not run since, whatever fool had seeded her, had been caught  by her brothers, and marched to the chapel

Damn them!

They would not rob him of his prize!

Eduardo was back, with the eye glass. Come on, he shouted, at his servant.  What are you waiting for? The eye glass, was kept in a wooden box, which was stored in a leather pouch, this was belted  on to the saddle, of        his horse. It was the last thing that was brought out, of Hughs home, when he decided to go hunting, or to visit a client or friend, on the plains. It had cost, good money, in Seville. Two men, from Innsbruck, had ground the lenses. It had been commissioned before Christmas, and received at Pentecost,

Hugh grabbed,  his expensive imported tool from his sworn man’s hands, as if was a beer from a bar strumpets tray.

Hugh‘s soul would be in mortal danger if he blasphemed again  unless he mentioned it to his confessor, however he scorned the pleas of heaven, and his eyes scanned for the craft.

There was a woman on the quarterdeck, of the Henri, a blonde, he had seen her, the night of the fire..

No, before, that Antonio, had been escorting, him, she had fired the pistol that had saved, him from that madman, after the fire, and now she was here...

What was she doing on the Portuguese ship?

She was still beautiful; her hair was so blonde, so fair. She was wearing a sea cloak, even though the day, was warm enough for a siesta. Her gown was modest, but she stood out on the deck, like the morning star.

There, was a boat being disembarked, from the Portuguese ship,

 There was shouting, on the Portuguese ship, as men and boys clambered down the ropes, to the boat. The movements of the crew were smooth and routine they struck up a song, as they moved to the shore.

Some of the fishermen began to sing the song too, they, were muttering at Hugh and his men. To the lower, orders, the deeds of mighty men must be like watching a play, or at least a troupe of street actors

A rowboat, with its own figurehead, was an extravagance, Hugh was not sure, even the pope could afford such,

The boatmen had reached the shore, their chorus, stopped and their oars rose. Hugh, and his sworn men, were at the surfs edge, there muskets, had a match, and power. 

Monsieur je suis desole, la Mer, she smiled. She could have been a coquette, asking to be excused by her father, at a wedding. She almost blushed a little

Madame, responded, Hugh, and raised his hat, and bowed. One of the Portuguese, bowed, at Hugh, and got out of the boat, slowly, he left his sword, in the boat.

Hugh, passed the musket, to one of his men...

In the surf, they spoke, The Irlandessa and the Portugese

Sleeping under the Cross. 13a

What to do with it?

He tried to say the name again I-asper? The Iasper was theirs and fairly won! A ruse that even the wily Oddysseus would have been proud of. There was that other rogue.  The one his nursemaid had told him about, oh he forgotten the man’s name now.  He had been one of the Company of Finn, but a coward and a trickster

 It was annoying him now, trying to remember that rouges name, Hugh knew he would have to ask the Midwife, when he returned to Buenos Aires. No one else would know.  His father had Irishmen, or rather the Sons of Irish men, among his retainers and sworn me. They were now the holders of great estates. Men of property, and distinction, whose grandfathers had been spearmen, hangers on, and the emptiers of piss pots

Such was the High King of Heaven’s great design for the world. It was to the more recent past that he was drawn His mind kept turning over the events of the night before, like a spinning wheel, or a water mill no matter how far the

  They had drawn the ships fighting men out. His Galician had spent the day declaiming in vernacular that he was not a housemaid whose station it was to light fires. As the night had concealed his force, they had struck the landing party as it waded ashore. There had been no quarter offered. Their foes had reddened the rushes and sand.  

Their enemies having no further use for their cloaks and hats were equally pleased to share their longboat.  Besides there acquaintance with the Gentlemen from overseas had been if not long than an enduring and defining one.

The water had been cold. It had been a quick shock. His stomach was still on the rack, and his heart drummed liked an Easter procession, but he must keep his wits, and his plan

The plan that now rested on a boy with not more than 10 years.

Juan had looked at the lad. His words became heavy with memory sighing  the Galician announced

``I was not much older’’

The Son of the Great O Neill, A knight of the realm, a man whose ancestors had knelt in front of St Patrick and his band of sworn men, placed their fates in the charge of a lad, who probably had never owned a new shirt.

 Juan had gently but demanded none the less. That the boy to recite the Salve Regina a dozen times. O prayer for each of his fingers than again for each hand, a dozen. One prayer for each of the Apostles.  Juan had made the boy repeat the instructions back to him three times.  As the Cockrell had crowed for Peter

Once his duty to the Lord done than the lad was to light the lantern on the roof of the Chapel. He was not to stop for anything or talk to anyone. He was to keep to his task.

 It was enough time to carry the unlikely Argonauts to the ship, and past her guns.

It was a risk. He must have been drinking whiskey rather than wine with his water. No matter! They had trusted in God, and kept their power dry enough by the time, they would be aboard. If not, than someone else would give the speech on his daughter’s wedding day

The Prince and the Pauper were both united in prayer, one by Land and one by sea

How often, had his men, handled a boat before the night? Juan had been born somewhere close to the sea.  Though he rarely spoke of it, he thought for a moment. He had been the only won born in this Land, except for the boy they had left behind on the beach. The others had all been brought here

It had been the Lords doing, he had guided them. The Star of the sea, had watched over her servants, and let them punish the guilty

So he was now master of the Iasper

The sun was getting higher in the sky.  The horses were sweating, some of the men, were seeking, shade.  He had sent word to the port. Though rumour would claim the wreath in that race! Juan accompanied by some of the fishermen, were aboard the ship.  The ships chest had been removed, and brought to shore. The crew were now. Well the fishing would be good for the next few days.

It was like asking a village butcher to carve a elephant for roasting. Or a portside Idler to snare  a whale with the hook he dangled off a pier, on a friday.  He could take as much as he would want, but what should he do with the rest

The Fishermen had been earning a little silver as they ferried Juan and Hugh back and forth to the Iasper.  They had been singing loudly and joyfully if not melodiously  as they worked there oars. It would be a feast day . Their families had stripped the Jasper crew, of their coin and hose. One old granny had smashed a set of gold teeth, from one dead heretic with a rock. Her granddaughter would have a fine dowry!  A flask or two of wine had been passed around. Not more that that though.  Hugh had promised at the Altar of the little rude chapel, that he would not forget the parishioners, who had helped him on this day.

Juan had one grim duty. Should an unfriendly ship, one of the Jasper confederates sail into view. Juan was to sink the Jasper. A match cast in her power magazine, and the ship would be lost.

That would at least resolve his dilemena

So, what to do?

He could hire a crew from the docks, appoint a Master and live off the cargo’s.  It was a tempting prospect. Well he would perhaps supply Juan or Antonio the sheep rancher, with the capital. Even this far away from Madrid it was not the proper thing for a Gentleman to indulge in trade

It was several weeks sailing from Buenos Aires to the Plantations, and Sugar Islands. Would he ever see the Iasper again, the temptation for the ships company, to turn pirate would be great and he would be too far. Even horses went wild, if ones gazed slipped from them for a second.  What he knew about picking

One of the fisher folk approached and bowed.  Hugh took off his hat, to the man. There was time for a little magnanimity, the fisherman presented him, with a cup of water, it was a rude earthenware beaker. The peasants had been using them, since a little after Eden. Still the gift would be well meant and received, he drank from it.

He would at the privy till Christmas, he knew it, but such was the price of rank. He thanked the fisherman. It stood well, to be good to fisherman, one had done very well for himself after all.

The Fisher thanked him, bowed and thanked him, and then bowed, and then and asked if his Wife could clean his lordship boots.  Juan thanked him kindly. There was never such solicitude from the lower orders as when your purse was full. Indeed he thought for a moment the Fisherman had addressed him, as Your Holiness

The petitioner and his wife beckoned him over to a small, hut. Not too far.  A drift wood log outside made, well a poor man’s poor man’s bench and the shade unlike the Kingdom of Heaven made no distinction based on wealth.  Slipping off his riding boots and handing them to the mistress of the cottage Hugh inclined his head.  The nodding well received as a gesture of thanks by his host. The Cottager’s woman made a passable mimicry of a curtsey in reply

A daughter who was almost ten summers, he meant years. (The shade of his tutor should still stalk him even across the plains and waves) Smiled and she brought over another cup of water.  The strawberry arms, of the Matrona began to beat his boots against the wall. A smaller child, looked at him agape.  Than tiring of the heir of Niall of the Nine hostages, scuttled back into the cottage.  His sister sang him a lullaby, and both the pup and the Prince napped.

(Karoline was laughing)

``Don ? ‘’

The fisherman fetched one of the O Neill’s sworn men. Eduardo. Eduardo who tall, and sought to usurp Juan position in the household. The long fellow was the nickname the maids gave him.  Being the tallest of the company, the poor, children, and women imparted him with importance.

Which was perhaps a good thing, would being the Son of a Great house be compensation for having to stand on a stool, to mount his horse.

The two trades in colloquy had decided to wake the member of the first estate

His boots were clean.  The Seasiders had done a decent job his purse would be lighter but it would be worth it.  A small siesta had raised his spirits

There was a coin, in his sleeve.

`` Non!  Non monsieur,’’   the housewife yelped.  The Husband’s face flushed like a maid who has overheard her father and uncles joking over supper ...  It may have youngest child had started to cry, and his older sister tried to hush him. Her face now as white as good linen, her extra years a burden the babe had the satisfaction of bawling.  The fisherman bowed, and whispered something to Eduardo, and brought his wife indoors. Eduardo looked as if he was going to start to a fight

As with horses, a sweet word would do the work of a spur. You could never teach the Castlian’s that though

``My friend, what is the matter, a fine job you have done with my boots. Your wife is a credit to you’’

Monsieur, the fisherman, was probably Navarese, or maybe a Vascaro, like his mother.  A Catalan or Italian would have said Don. An Irishman would have called him, by his surname.  Than sworn that their grandfathers had been brothers, and indeed his great grandfather had saved his great grandmother from the lust of the Regent himself A Bohemian or a German simply bowed.

Even a day’s ride from the port, it was Babel.

The Fisherman speaking as quietly as he could bear Shared what had troubled his household so his wife, had a spinster sister. She had been one of th  wretched company that they buried, in the women’s house. They had heard that the heretics had defiled her, and killed her. They had heard, it had been the young Lord of the ...Irlandessa, who had buried her, and now you avenge her murder. We are in your debt, as our our children. We cannot take your money.

A barefoot fisherman pled, and whimpered for the privilege of turning down a scrap of silver. After cleaning the calf skin boots of a man who feasted on veal.

He had almost said Wilde Irlandessa

Pride was a terrible sin.

Quietly like a cutpurse after Mass.  The memory of that day, the stink and foulness of the place, the wretched fate of the woman crept into Hugh’s mind.

The Son of God, had instructed them, that the Poor would always be with him. So he let the matter pass.  There would be time, to feed the hungry, and clothe the naked, and scold the proud tomorrow.

Hugh forced a smile and removed his hand from his hilt. Nodding he asked the good woman for a cup of a water. A sudden thirst had come upon him.

Th  little daughter was whispering a lullaby, to the babe and the fisherman, and his wife scurried away. The wife being scolded under her husband breath, the neighbours would be gossiping about this day for years.

Eduardo pointed at the Horizon,

The Fishermen, were silent, the baby had been hushed

Sails

Sails, A ship, Another ship

Oh Jesu!

Chapter 13

Jaap Simonson closed his Bible with a touch of the dramatic. The Psalms had been sung. The Lesson read. Their duty to Heaven completed the Men could return to their Earthly tasks. The all seeing eye of the Lord of Hosts upon them all the first mate to the meanest cabin boy.

The Jasper slinked out of sight of land she would be returning north soon. The summer had been profitable. It was a goodly harvest that the summers labour had reaped The Jasper and a few other ships had made their way south to prey on the Spanish dominions in the New World. Now their Ships chests full of silver and plate. The Roman Hersey had been smote. The crew had dined on fine beef, and wheat. The Don’s had been there Quartermasters. Now the Jasper’s and her companions would be returning to their homes. To mimic the Hellenes after they had burned the topless towers of Ilium.

The words of Marlowe echoed in his head. It was a small role, Jaap the Master of the Jasper, played in the great theatre of the world. Perhaps a mere spear carrier or one of the Chorus. Yet Jaap strove to exert himself in the service of the Crown and Regent as the players of the Kings men did for their audience and Patron

Would he ever see a play again? From time to time, tumult and plague closed the theatres. Sometimes the Parliaments argued that the Theatres were ungodly. The Regent had settled the Question, with his fondness for Marlowe’s works. It had been whispered that the Regent or maybe his Father had been supplied intelligence by Marlowe before the playwright was murdered.

Jaap cast his eyes on the deeps, he was the Master, he could not indulge himself for too long As his father had, The Captain of the ``Jaspar’’ looked to the Sea to seek his fortune indeed his Grandfather had before that, and it had been a trade that the Simonsons had known before his father’s father had been born. An Uncle who was too fond of Bordeaux claret had insisted an Ancestor had been the helmsman on the White ship the legend aside It took no Thucydides to note that the family seat, in Devon, had been furnished with prize money and Romanist candle sticks. The sot of an uncle was not the only relative who committed the sin of Pride Had not his mother sworn his grandfather, had been a gunner under Drake, when lead against the Armada. When fair and Godly England herself had been but a silver streak away from the heel of the Dons.

It was wily old Elizabeth who had seen the Dons and Parma driven off as beggars would be from the Kitchen of an honest Housewife,. The Queen placed her faith in God, and in her ships. Elizabeth, whom Marlowe had called Queen and served with Wit. The She Prince whom with the last of her strength had given the sceptre to the Regent. Elizabeth was the Midwife at the birth of the English Empire. The division of power between the regent, appointed by the commons and lords, from the best of their number and the King, prevented tyranny and shared the burdens of leadership. Like the twin kings of Old Sparta, with an heir and Regent always ready the King was free to reign and to reign well. Royal Tyranny was held in check. England had blossomed free from the slavery of Rome, free from the strife of intrigue and courtly politics. The world knew a new rule of the Good Emperors the ancients had cherished. The English Imperium had stood up, to challenge the Don’s, The House of Valois and the Pope and his Wilde Irish dogs

Thus the lands, of the Friesians and Hollanders had been liberated, brothers of the English from the Romish terror. Then the Kings of Denmark, and German princes brought into a great confederation. The Hugonauts, when their cause seemed lost, had been renewed

``parcere subiectis et debellare superbos’’

Jaap smiled he had received instruction in the liberal arts. He had been a good student, devouring Greek and Latin like sailor would biscuit. First Caesar, and then Virgil and Homer, and after his lessons, he would study by the fire. His nurse attending her needle work, a mariner might call on the Simonson’s looking to speak to his father. Or even with news a victory off the coast of France. A battle beyond the Rhine

Sometimes, an old salt stopped by with a bottle of claret to speak with his grandfather. Then the elder Simonson would sit and whittle away at wood. While him and his guest, told tales

Jaap had enjoyed the stories of Drake most. Though his nurse from behind her aprons, disapproved of Drake for some reason. Looking back now, he thought it was because his nurse believed there was something disreputable about Drake relationship with well, his mistress. She had been fair of face, and gentle of spirit. Of course modest in spirit Jaap now in command of his faculties saw the truth in his memories view that his childish eye had overlooked Jaap knew she had suspected something amiss. Something unbecoming

A fondness for maudlin, and common ballads, had been where his Nurse had been dipped in the Styx

Her charge, years and miles away smiled, and looked out to sea. He had been a little indulgent...

The sky was as clear as the conscience of the justified man.

A thought crossed his mind. It would be some change for some fortnight’s sail to the North. To the Ports, they had recently won in arms. From there, they were able to strike at the traffic moving between the Spanish ports and the New World. There pieces had won, the centre of board, and now could pick of their opponents. In the great contention that raged for the soul of the world. The Godly had won a real prize.

In the distance a whale, raised it tail in salute of the enterprise. Jaap wondered if he should choose Jonah as the lesson next time. No, no. That was superstition. The path was seductive enough. The crew would see the whales, and been inspired. He would follow the correct services, and lesson. The Jasper would maintain. As the tide and the winds maintained everything to its season, has the philosopher had noted, thousands of years ago. ``A time to reap A time to sow’’ The wisdom of the first ages, held true into the last days of mankind

The whale raised another salute. The crew of the Jasper shunned such pleasantries. They served their rigging and sails. Sunburned, and seasoned. They would have coin in their pockets, when they returned to Port. One or two of the ships officers had discussed investing their stakes in the sugar Islands. A man could make a fortune his grandchildren would not be able to spend. Jaap had given the idea more than a little consideration. On one hand, he was a creature of tradition, true and honest tradition. Not the novelties the Papist’s had endeavoured to enshrine. To leave his family home grieved him in his heart. Did not the Regent bring change? That said he did not fear change. A Good Captain knew that a squall may blow in, on the calmest sea. Or that the winds would drop and the Jasper and all her company would be becalmed for days on end. With only the crews character and the powder barrel, to prevent his throat being cut. Oh, he had worked hard to avoid hiring cut throats and malcontents A few days drinking brackish water and dining with weevils, would break even a Saved man too. The country minister, a day’s ride away from the sea did not truly know the trial that Jonah had suffered at the hands of the Lord. The Latin poet had said it best reflected that the worst things happen at Sea

Would one last foray be worth it? Mused the master of the Jasper as she sailed north. The release it would give the men, would probably keep the Jasper’s crew sated until they docked in their new home. There the godly would give praise, and the dammed, would drink and fornicate until their coin ran out. The Admirals men, with their carbines and cutlasses would be there to help keep order.

He would consult the charts.

His cabin like his ship, a little maid but one who’s curves drew the eye. As a good sailor and a loyal subject Jaap’s Gods demanded order the door opened and the Captains refuge was illuminated. As befitted one of the saved, it was modest. There was a course a bible in the corner, and a cutlass on the wall. There were some smaller books, of moral and spiritual worth. A few rough cut newspapers, news of Europe was necessary for Jaap’s trade. Should the alliances change, a battle lost, or a bad winter or a second Nicas bring about a Truce. The crew of the Jaspar could be unwelcome in a port, or hung as pirates.

Even the Captain had to sleep in a hammock, however he did have a table, it had to be fixed to the deck, but it was good enough to keep his charts level, whilst he made his study.

He would have found his chart in pitch black. Indeed he had done before and would need to do again and seventy times after that. Weathered hands spread the paper out. The keen Mariner’s eyes followed the outline of the Silver coast. The Dons and there heretical kinsfolk had been pushing out from Buenos Aires for at least a generation. Now the stream of settlers was becoming a flood. Convoys of ships brought people from across the Papist realms. It was a tragedy to leave behind the superstition of the Old world only to plant it in the New

Before he was master on the Jasper. Jaap had been an officer on the Swift. As fine a ship that Portsmouth did see. One day the Swift had ran down a merchantman out from Lisbon. After the fighting, with the Portuguese vessel safely boarded and bested The Captain of the Swift ordered the vanquished up on to the deck. Where in full view of heaven offered the surviving crew and the passengers a chance at earthly as well heavenly salvation. The ship would be escorted to the English colonies in the Northern part of the Americas. There they would have the chance, to live out their lives free of Popery

Jaap remembered the Captains words. His blood had been hot, his shirt and hose wet with blood, but he had been astonished by the Captain’s mercy. He gave thanks and praise to God, when he heard it. The slaves were offered a chance to be lead out of Egypt.

A wife, a striking woman, perhaps the fairest Jaap had ever seen, clutched her child, to her breast and flung herself of the deck.

She was not the last

It still angered him. The waste, the waste was so senseless Could they not see how easy it was, how simple, and how liberating. A mere reading of the Bible and following its words were enough to be saved from damnation `Faith alone’’. A simple motto, it could be a rhyme taught to an lad apprenticing his trade to recollect how a knot was tied.`` Faith alone Fidel sola ‘’. What more did a man need? What else did Christ have in the Wilderness whence confronted with Satan himself?

Such pride and ignorance needed to be corrected.

The rage was a distraction. He had his duty to God, and his crew. He consulted his chart. As they sailed south, they had sent parties to scout the coast, and note the signs of settlement. The steeples could not be concealed, but a stone chapel could be defended. There would be a watch and a muster. There were fishing villages, along the coast. The trade of the Navarese, and the Sicilians, intelligences and informers said the two feuded in mimicry perhaps of the Irish and Portuguese gentry who dominated the port and the hinterland.

There was an old woman, in the Village Jaap had grown up in. They say her husband had been killed by an Irishe Kerne, in the last days of Elizabeth’s reign. Jaap remembered her sitting in church, she lived in a cottage, that a labourer might have scorned, but had the coin for the rent of one the better pews. The Regent, never forgot

There it was. There was a stream marked on the chart. If nothing else, they could fill some of the empty barrels with water. They had to be their own quartermasters. A nights fishing, and scavenging, would spare the biscuit

If they could strike a blow, against their foes than they should too

He took, a bearing, and said it again, and again. As he rolled up the chart, bound it with its leather strap, and restored it to its rightful station in life

Shutting the door, quietly, he relayed the Course to the helmsman. The sails would need a slight correction. The Men bounded up the rigging.

Ambrose Botranger coughed,

Jap answered his indirect inquiry. We will see if there is someplace open, for a drop of porter if nothing else. Have the boats made ready by the next watch.

The Master of the Japser related the plan Dusk fell, they would slip in, and make their way to shore, if they found one of the many fishing villages, than they would as night fell, slip in, cut throats and set fires

Anything they could carry, they would take with them. A goat, a few geese, and slip off. They had done the same thing, from Cadiz to Manila. They were beggars of the sea, they moved from house to house, and if the housewife, left the lamb unwatched, they would make off with it

They served one who separated the Sheep from the goats

The tides and wind’s, brought their servants the crew of the Jaspar closer to the shore. The day had risen, thanked it hosts and bid them a good night, it was about to turn and leave the drawing room

As a seducer would with a chambermaid skirts, they searched for the right spot to place themselves

With their anchorage secure, they could now exert themselves, indeed as a seducer would

As was his prerogative Jaap had chosen the Men himself a mixture of honest men, and veteran’s Indeed some honest veterans, and at least one ``old soldier’’ One Miles Glorious, that Terrence and Shakespeare would have recognised. At their Masters behest the landing party had their sea pikes ready, A few pistols to add to the pot and a musketeer should guard the boat. With Jaap the master it came to 12 men. That would be enough, enough for the Good lord, enough for a honest jury.

It was a goodly part of the crew. The Jaspar’s lot was but two score. It was only a village, and they had surprise on their side, and another score of men, and cannon, to call upon, should they be surprised

The padded oars, made their way to the shore. They could see the fires at least half a dozen. They could hear a bell, a tin or brass bell, and then singing. Latin it was. Popery Jaap muttered to himself, and his maker.

The locals had gathered for some festival, some act of Idolatry. The Lord had delivered them to be punished.

They were close to the shore now, two of the men got out, and ran the boat onto the sand. They slipped out one by one, waiting for the noise of the tide to conceal them

There were rushes, between them and the fires. Jaap whispered to one of his men, to stand sentinel over their boat. Allen Bontranger cousin to Ambrose, made ready with the Musket

Jaap loaded his pistol, now they were out of the spray like his maps; he knew where it lay even on the blackest night. The pistol was faithful companion to him, a most loyal servant. It had repaid him tenfold, from the two Guilders he had purchased it from in Amsterdam

The reeds were course, there was movement

``Hold

A of pain, and, he had fallen, he could not speak...There was blood, and hunting boots

Shots and screams...than.

Sleeping under the cross, 2.13

The virtue of Piety had found a good home in the heart of the Governor He was loyal to the Church of his father and his father, and to the Holy Father in far away Rome He asked his wife, if this was not the case. She with her little hand on her heart looked him in the eye, and told him he was.

Tempering his piety was Loyalty, for he had served the King with all his heart, wit and strength. He had served a King he would never meet, or even share the same continent as for all his life. From the exactitude of tax returns, and harbour dues to the terrible haste of keeping the peace between, the Portuguese and the Irlandessa the Governor as a servant of Catholic Majesty would die to uphold his Sovereign laws in Buenos Aires and enforce against the Indio’s against the heretic,

He remembered a grey day. It had been after he was sworn in, as the Kings first servant in the town. There had been a feast, and some dancing.

If one day, he was to ride out, to the plains, or take his place at a barricade by the docks, and never return. His son would do the same if it was called upon. As his son would, and his son. Until the dawning of the day of the last judgement. Dutiful as servant and husband as had told her early in their marriage and she had wept and bawled as women were wont. His mother scolded him for saying such. The serving girl and the neighbours had made a great fuss, of his wife too that day. Scolding him, and talking low just in earshot. His fair Cecile tears having carried from the plaza to the docks, and some way out to sea he would wager. Yet he had persisted, despite her tears, despite her curses, her feints and her wiles in time his wife accepted it as part of her duties. Bearing it with not a little grace and courage

He loathed heresy. As all true men, did. He feared it he feared the horrors it wrought in this world. Yet it was nothing to the eternity of agony that would be the finish of Heresy. Better never to have been born, than to suffer the justice of the almighty. Yet while the fate of heresy was certain, it still existed and he would give up his life to prevent it, and punish it.

For a heartbeat the Governor felt kinship with the Men across from him. There were many times when he would have hanged them all. Buenos Aires often reminded him of a chessboard The Portuguese were the whites. Carved from pine and brushed with varnish The Irlandessa were of course, as black hearted as any of the opposing pawn. Yet today all pieces were united. The petty game put aside.

They did not need the Inquisition, The Irlandessa once again reminded him, that they had killed the heretic king. In case the event had slipped his mind, in the long period between drawing breaths

The Portuguese spoke of their ancient rights. They did not play the one tune, as the Irlandessa did, but knew their chorus well enough. One of their Kings, before the union of crowns had dispensed with the services of the holy office. The sons of Lisbon had claimed the right throughout the Empire. Depending on their circumstance luck and persistence sometimes they had kept it

This had been the way in Buenos Aires on the silver coast. Perhaps it had been an accident. The Church had overlooked them, as a small chapel in the plains which may go a season without seeing a Priest Perhaps it had been the trade and taxes the fruits of the ports harvest

A harvest sweetened with the hides and swordsmen that were the bounty of the plains. Was it that these things were sent north? Thus the Bishops and lawyers at the Escadorial willing to oblige their southern subjects

There was the danger of heresy among their homes and heath The Spanish Netherlands, had been lost to the faith. Not only the Netherlands. Once all Europe from the frozen north, to the Islands where crafty Odysseus had ploughed his furrow had been true to the Mother Church Now her children had turned against her. The house was divided whilst the strangers plotted The Sultan’s legions pressed and forayed from the south. Hungary had been lost. The gates of Vienna were spared the ram, only by the King of Poland

Now they had a case of heresy. A public display of contempt for the Host. Oh such things happened now and then. Last summer they had flogged a vile youth who with the devil in his heart had started to shout and curse during the homily at our Lady of Victories. There were the thieves who would try to make off with plate and the blackguards who loathed the laws of man and God.

Then there were the bands of renegade Indio’s. They always struck at chapels. They hanged for it. Screaming out the names, of the demons they had made sacrifice and paid honour before the coming of the Christians but now it was coloured by their brute view of the Church

He had heard that the same was true of slaves, in the great plantations of the Sugar islands

This was more this was an act of propaganda. It was a strike in the very breast of Buenos Aires. Indeed like a thorn or a splinter it would become putrid, and the smell and foulness would kill the body. The body politic of Buenos Aires would not only die but it would be dammed. Better to be cast into the lake

Who could look into the heart of every man? A man could say he was from this town or that village, or that he had been persecuted for his faith by the heretics, and when he was alone in his room, could be reading the bible in French, or singing Psalms in Navarese. Some would in their cups deny the Holy Trinity. Others would curse the Holy Father in Rome, call him a whoremonger and an Antichrist

The Indio’s were better. They at least had the excuse of ignorance. A rabid dog, was just a dog after all, its malady was to be pitied, even though it was to be destroyed

The whip would remind them of their place and their duty. The whip was a kinder master than hunger, or the horses and dogs of the Irlandessa. Those huge dogs half wolf that followed the horses of the Irlandessa they could easily tear apart a man. Once the Governor, heard the Irlandessa boast that they threw the body of the heretic King they slew, to their dogs. The Irlandessa had not repeated the boast, but said it, quietly in their cups, one day during a Christmas feast. So there was perhaps a ring of truth in the boast

An Indio, would get the consolation of the church, and fed. His barracks would have a fire. It was better than living as a fox on the plains, or begging at the port. Before the constable caught him, and made an example

One thing was as sure as winter following the harvest, there was heresy amongst them.

The Men of Buenos Aires had been in council for a long time. A boy had come into the chamber to start a fire. In the street the lanterns were being lit. The governor was about to ask if he should have bread and meat brought in, or would his compatriots prefer to recess until tomorrow Yet the day had gone well. No threats no curses, just talk. There was word of petitioning the King and the Viceroy. There would be a fast. The Great houses of the town and all honest men would make efforts to stamp out heresy. They would send honest men, to stand watch over the churches. They would listen for hints of heresy in their households. The Governor and all of the leading men of Buenos Aires would invite the fraternity of Jesu to establish a house here. They were ferocious in the struggle against heresy. They had been the shield that saved Poland

They also agreed to draw the funds, from the public purse for a carpenter who would get a commission to build a pair stout gallows. A gallows for the plaza of St James the very centre of Buenos Aires, and one at the docks.

Heresy would be seen to be opposed in the heart and face of Buenos Aires

The fire was lit, the flames, drew the governors eyes. Those would be the ultimate and eternal reward after the hangman, had been paid.

It was the Old O’Neill, who coughed politely. His people called him, Mor. They said it meant great but a few scholars insisted it really meant big. The younger son had a strange title. Oh si the Taniste. The O’Neill Mor was the Dragon, whose teeth had been reaped, and they had caused season, after season of grief. All of this from a grey man with hands as large as a blacksmith or indeed the senior magistrate of Buenos Aires. Such mischief inspired from such a melancholy man somewhere, outside Bilbao there was a village missing a widower. Had he seen him, leaving Mass on a Sunday, than the Governor would have nodded and made his way home without a second thought.

The Old Irlandessa begged leave of them all, as he was an old man, and needed to make his way home before darkness and cold, took their toll on him.

The Portuguese rose as one, and bade him a polite and for well meant farewell. The Irlandessa bowed, to their for once colleagues. Made their leave, and departed

The Governor was sated if not satisfied it was not a happy task, that they had gathered to share but they would prove themselves equal to the demands of God and the King

He told the boy, to fetch, the head servant. They would begin the Rosary.

The day’s work would belong to God. As the Grave diggers or the coffin makers did.

The cockerel stood sentinel and victor over the lighting of the fires. Telling all of his triumph as the town of Buenos Aires roused itself. The day’s work would begin.

Sister had risen, with her sisters, to join the second service of the day. She had woken for Matins and prime then she had broken her fast with her sisters. After the farewells and being given leave to venture outside the convent Eloise and her companion inside the gates, for there guides.

She smiled at the Irony and whispered it to sister Innes. They would guide the young lady’s soul from the dangers of ignorance and heresy. Whilst the kinsmen and clients of the lady would protect their bodies from insult and injury the Sun and the moon worked in harmony

Oh the faces were friendly and welcome. It was the pious husband and wife, who had provided her escort, to Buenos Aires. They were being escorted by a pair of rider, were waiting to take her to the caravan. A nephew, apprenticed to the Uncle. The Irlandessa had a word for it, which Eloise spent a few seconds torment trying to remember and his servant. A few years older than his young master! Walking quietly behind someone who walked quietly behind

The nephew was slightly less talkative than the mare he rode, but seemed twice as strong. He doffed his cap, and bowed. His eyes did not trace the Sisters form. If he had the laconic manner but their virtue of readiness. On his introduction, he let his hand move away from his hilt, noticeably but returned her swiftly. The nephew who barely spoke was the talkative one of the pair. His servant, would made a fine statue, had that been a trade.

They had brought her and her sister a pair of honest mules. A lad earned an honest wage in there service. it would be him, who drove the mule which the Brides of Christ rode A stout stick would determine the mules place in the great chain of being, after his service the lad would dine on beef today. Eloise gave thanks the Youth could not conceal the fact that he missed more than one meal of late

Eloise took a moment to point out the convents kitchen she was a slave to charity. The sisters were well known to the poor. Yet a good teacher always repeated the lesson when she could

They set off, the boy walking a little in front of the procession. It was not the swiftest route to the house of the young O Neill, but it was the safest and most decorous and therefore the conveyance that they would take.

The caravan set off. They reached the house of the young O Neill, with neither insult nor injury suffered. The Nephew, bid them wait, for a moment, while his servant announced them

The steward of the house, came and made them welcome, offering water and wine. The boy was directed to the Kitchen the rest of the party were brought in off the courtyard to a room. There was a man, coming back from the stables, talking with a very pretty housemaid. She curtseyed and hurried away to her duty. Her suitor, by his colouring was Galician. Hawk like he surveyed the men in their party. Finding them agreeable he turned and went towards the servant’s quarters, his apparel dusty his musket, spotless. A guard dog,

The O’Neill’s aunt would receive them. It should have been, Karoline, alas now she was in a greater house. The steward at the gate of that house, was of much more renown too

The younger O Neill entered the room. He bowed to his guests and introduced himself

Alas again Eloise would have to remember the momentary failing of her sex, to her confessor. Their thanked them, for coming, begged forgiveness for the rudeness of his house, and his manners.

The Aunt, than asked that the womenfolk, to retire with her, to another room. The Men were to discuss some of the pressing matters of the days. The Indio’s had been restless. Like youths they were trying to intimidate a few ranchers and villages a mornings ride away from the town.

The Younger O Neill had been riding out amongst them. Showing the savages the teeth of his dogs and the power of the muskets of his sworn men. Cold steel and Christian discipline brought the savage to bear

Eloise nodded and rose. She was offered refreshment but declined. The Aunt, and the Matron, spoke of their families, inquiring after sons, and nephews, daughters and nieces, and their issue.

Eloise offered polite acknowledgement a nod or when that was too much a slight tilt of the head, and a quiet prayer for those resting in purgatory whilst she waited to be addressed, in conversation.

The young lady she has tutored was mentioned, and the aunt inclined towards her. The child needed to continue with her, studies. Eloise, would be soon to join her former charge and her guide her through her letters

Then a revelation, the Aunt, would be sharing their journey, to the house of the O Neill. She would be guardian, of her niece, the daughter of the younger O Neill. The one the Irlandessa called the Tánaiste Eloise would assist in the upbringing of the child at a remove from Buenos Aires and its dangers moral and physical.

Eloise and Ines would recite the matins as the sun rose over the plains

chapter 12

It would soon be midday the church bells, would ring and betray the hour as had the cockerel the guilt of Peter. Juan made his way to the coffee house by the strawberry market. Juan was wearing a leather cloak which made him sweat, and he was wearing the hood high on his head despite the sunshine so he may move with more discretion amongst the ports folk.  The Galician also changed his gait, he set himself the strides of a nervous man, a servant or a day labourer, one with little position in society, one whose bread was earned at others pleasure. To this end, he had borrowed a servents tunic too. The gold he carried, however, would win the affection of the King and the Pope. The Gold would open doors, and hold or loosen tongues

The errand boy had reached the stables, Just as the bells pealed for midday, people would be taking their lunch now, the Portugese and others would be sleeping The place was at least respectable, at least at this hour. No wenches or cut throats were being served. There were some men, sitting at the far end, talking about the trade winds. They were Navarese men by their accent and dress.

The Coffee house keeper nodded to him, as Juan slipped in quietly and a serving girl, offered him, a bowl of coffee.

Juan waved away the beverage. He had never seen the point of it, let alone the taste. Why would anyone work all day, and then force themselves to drink something hot and bitter? Only a madman would to Juan’s mind, but if a madman claimed they did it in Madrid and claimed to have a title. Then the whole world would try to bark at the moon.

The Young Lord served coffee to some of his guests from time to time. His late wife, the mistress of the house, had a taste for it. The Portugese shipped it south from their countrymen’s Plantations to the North in Brasil. Caroline’s dowry had been grown there, with the sweat of slaves, and the trade winds as the principal investors.

Coffee was what the Portugese and the rest of the port set, The lawyers and the well to do and the odd traveller from Europe drank. If he ever made a honest women, of Gabriella, she would be forcing him to drink the swill in company. As well as moaning if he cleaned a musket by his fireside, such was the way of women Coffee apparently made one alert, why should that endear it, it to people. Did it make the heart gladder? No. No more than bowl of hot soup when it was cold. Did Coffee, win the hearts of the maids? Did a penitent abstaining from Ash Wednesday till Easter call for Coffee? Neither did a squadron of troopers who had chased the Indio’s into the plains for a fortnight. Coffee was an affection, not unlike a red ribbon Or a youth trying to make the feeble spray of hairs on his cheek appear a beard. It was a pointless one It was like most pointless things an annoyance

Come to think of it, the Governor had been brewing coffee, that day when the Master and his father had gone to see him. Before the heretics had burned the port, the Governor had been brewing coffee for his more respectable guests. The vile drink was unlucky. The Heretics had smelled it, and believed they were welcome

The serving girl could bring him some water and a little wine. He was still a Galician... for a moment his thoughts stumbled. He paused. The thought had vexed him. Once the priest had forgotten his place in the service, and the whole chapel felt a chill. He, Juan was still a proud Galego, but here he was sitting in a coffee shop, waiting for intelligence, on a woman, from God knows where. In the service of a great house, who had the origins in an Island, across the sea from the realm of the King. An Island, at the edge of Europe merely an brief memory

For a moment, he stumbled again, like a sailor on the quarter deck, in the swells, or a drunkard coming out of a tavern at the dawn. Another strange thought troubled him. Juan found himself in consideration of the Irlandessa. They looked a bit like Basques. They could be fair and ruddy. Strangely enough they blended best with the Basques. The two nations spoke gibberish The Irlandessa spoke Spanish, but they still fetched nursemaids, and though not the Master but the lesser branches of the family had sent for an occasional bride, from their ancestral Island. They were good Catholics even the ones who had just stepped of a gangplank, and were crossing themselves in thanks Men and Women who often spoke better English, than Spanish. They didn’t speak the tongue of the Irish at all.

It was than Juan remembered Maeve and not kindly, that nursemaid, of the Masters sometimes troubled him. She was too strident, and at least half a witch. The master and even his father seemed to tolerate her. She would give them advice, speak out of turn, and even rebuke them! The leaders of Irlandessa, with sworn men, with guns and horses, veterans of battles in Europe and the new world would smile weakly

It was a plain truth that the Irlandessa where more tolerant of their women, than Castilians. Even the Portugese, Irlandessa woman, did not hide from society. Juan had heard some idle gossip directed at his master's womenfolk and kin and normally replied by kicking the cur in the crotch and producing his pistol. Their woman had braved the winds and storms, of the sea crossing.

They were the first of many Buenos Aires, mixed blood, at first, but the Irlanda had been the first drops of rain that heralded a deluge from all over faithful Europe. Not just landless sons, and treasure seekers as in Peru, or Nueva Espanaga, not monks and mercenaries but here maids, and their families. Women with babes at their breast could be seen, walking gingerly down the gangplank, from the dock.....Followed by tradesmen.. A world on the move. 

Where was the wine and water?

The Irlandessa were something new, something different, perhaps they were never supposed to be here? Perhaps if the Irlandessa had pressed onto Londres, Juan might be riding there, stealing kisses from pious English Maids and riding by the Thames, rather than the by the Plata

It was God’s plan after all, and they were his masters, they had prospered, as did he

The serving girl smiled and brought his wine and water, she bowed and produced a newssheet

It was the rough local version, of the Gazetta. Juan had picked up his letters something that surprised even the master sometimes. He had made a point of reading everything he could get his hands on. Or at least attempting to read everything, the master paid people good silver, to write in tongue of his ancestors. He had to make an effort to keep his hand of his hilt, when the master spoke to that nurse in that unholy cant

Besides, there were only so many times you can sharpen a sword. He could not play dice all day. Indeed he had to set an example. The stable hands, and the kitchen boys and the servants all looked to him. 

Juan’s eyes, followed the words across the paper, as a ploughboy followed his beast The news spoke of The King in Madrid, sitting in the Escadorial. Praying and dispensing Justice. The Moors were causing trouble, as were the Heretics. The twin plagues on the faithful There had been a battle near Biarritz. The heretics raiding and then returning to their ships

This was all for the good, Juan mused. Yet they were here, so far away from Spain. The Heretics had attacked them, and they had burned the town. The Master and the Portugese had attended to it. They might as well, as asked the Emperor of Cathay for help, fighting the flames.

There was news of the burning of the port. This was news to whom?

Perhaps more wine? he looked at the serving girl. Not a bad looking lass it must be said. No he would have to wait for his intelligencer, and that meant keeping his wit.

 In this fallen World, Juan would have at least the consolation of tobacco.

Smiling as he inhaled, as the blend they sold at the coffee house was rich. Probably smuggled from the Ingles plantations which were somewhere between Spain and the Port. No matter what the ills, a smoke and  the World seemed a much better place. The rhetorical musings that had troubled him evaporated, and he smiled his face, sunburnt his teeth yellow, but he smiled

The man he was waiting for arrived. Like all good intelligencers anonymous.taciturn and discreet  The Spy would have made a good monk. A better matchmaker and a fine chaperone. Even the man’s mother would have had trouble remembering his face.

Juan watched as his guest walked over to the bar, and ordered a drink, rather than waiting for the serving girl to pass. But on his way to the bar, the informer walked up the Galego whence he stopped and spoke quietly

``The woman you speak of arrived last month on Le Luna, she found respectable lodgings, accompanied by her widowed mother. There is a crazy rumour she killed a man, who tried to kill the young O Neill.

She has money, from somewhere. I would wager she is the paramour or the illegitimate daughter of some blue blood across the sea. The story about her shooting the man is false though. That’s what everyone is saying.

Gracias’’

Swiftly Juan, exchanged some gold pieces, with his source. The intelligencer offered brief and noisy thanks, for remembering his Father, and continued on to the bar. Where he enjoyed a coffee. Truly a professional, noted his paymaster. Whom had to go and speak with the young lord. Sighing and reaching for his purse gave the serving girl, a bit of silver, and fetched up his cloak. Something was afoot.

The coffee house was situated at the corner of the Church of St Colon. The Master called it by another name. Shaded by some pines the square in front of it was where the Strawberry vendors earned their  daily bread. It being summer the fruit was in season. The square was host to a herd of carts. The maids, giggling and modestly smiling at the youths The barrow boys calling out, who would buy their wares? There were womens buying the leaves for washes, the old wives told that strawberry leaves made maiden’s fair. Even if it didn’t umblemish the blemish, and pretty the plain the smell of a strawberry wash was sweet 

Here and there a parent treated their children  and a suitor bought a sweetheart a gift from the heart

The merchants smiled and doffed their hats. The strawberry sellers and growers were Irlandessa men. Juan had never understood why this was. Goodness know the Irlandessa knew nothing about Wine, so why did the grow strawberries, he had heard that Ireland was too cold for a good vintage. Yet the master, sent strawberry jam and hides to Madrid, every year, to the King and Cardinal's pantry

The Galego hastened on through the streets. Leaving his thought at the square. If his master had wanted a philosopher, he could have had a Jesu chaplain.

Irlandessa!!!

Juan turned his hand on his hilt, his other reaching for the dagger he kept concealed on his person. As a greyhound darted after a hare, the Galician sprang,

It was a man, an old man, a priest, who had called him. The man was in his cassock and hat, Juan stepped back.

 Buenos Aires could be a vipers nest, but the Portugese, would not stoop so low, as to murder him, dressed as a priest. A trick even the Moors would distdain

Surely, if this was the case, then it was time to send as many of them to hell, as possible.

The man, pleaded with him. Begged him for help, he was on his knees. He was hysterical, Juan moved back, from the padre, but didn’t loosen his grip. Something terrible had happened, he had been recognised as the sworn man of a great house. That may save him, or may damn him

A crowd gathered. Juan turned ajar slightly to face them. His eyes travelled along the faces of the strawberry sellers, meeting the eyes of many as he could Looking into their eyes squarely and honestly As a storyteller would to his audience in a Taverna. Juan hoped to move the passions of the theatre of the street, and to send the spectators home before the last act. The families among the throng were dragging their wayward sons, home, and hurrying their daughters along home. Some of the smaller children were crying. The older men were limping away,

God would have to protect, Juan and the small children from the drunks and fools

Then there were the usual idlers. The thieves and troublemakers were always present for a lynching but rarely got the rope they deserved

The Portugese were not the only people who could kill him. Neither were the heretics the only men with such capacity. A street rat or an Indio, could do the job, with a well aimed stone or a lucky blow.

One of the wives, ran to the priest carrying her skirt, she sprinted with a haste that Juan would envy in 20 summers time, she was a relative of the priest. His niece Juan guessed, she pointed them towards the Chapel. As a skilled fisherman she had baited the crowd’s curiosity.

For a moment, the crowd did not trouble Juan, as much as the thought that

The cold touch of horror traced its fingers down his back. Like the venom of a spider could not allow himself to feel it

He hoped there would be men, who feared God. Whom would hear his word’s To be the first to die in a riot, was not an honour Juan craved. If it was just thieves they could hang them and be done

``I am a sworn man of the O Neill. You know his name. He has been as a friend and a kinsman, to you. You know my master fears, God. As I do. I call upon the honest men, and their sons. I call upon the God fearing men, and their sons to rally to listen to me.

Something terrible may have happened! Look to your families’’

The crowd began to thin. Yet how did it thin? Juan did not want to see maids violated, and houses burned. The nieces, brothers and kinsmen, were approaching’’

``Listen to me, my friends. Listen to me, honest men, and my compatriots. The Fathers family are here My friends, look the Father’s kin are here. To not disturb them, in this time of grief for them, give them peace and respect you would wish. Will you stand around here, as gossiping women would? ‘’

The people dispersed. Some of the strawberry sellers began to persuade the onlookers and idlers to move along. To go to their homes, they were free to go elsewhere to Cathay or Rome if they must, but not to stay here. Others began to call out the virtues of their wares. One of the priests' kinsmen, stood glaring at the crowd.

Father, what is wrong..?. The Father’s niece read aloud the the words written across Juan’s face and mind. The Priests nerves were spent and he had to make a real effort to keep his wits He was old enough if not to have remembered the flood, to have gone to Mass with those who did.

A man who shepherded the flocks of Buenos Aires, did not blush like a maiden or a nun. He would have given penance to whores, to footpads, and wild shoeless Indios, and yet the priest was shaken

The chapel,

They would find something foul there. An affront to God,

He could not enter a chapel with a drawn blade. It would be wrong.

He closed his eyes, and prayed. With his eyes closed, he remembered the first time, he had fought. The heretics, had raided his village. The Ingles or perhaps the Netherlanders, it might have even been French heretics. There were rumours later it was Navarese men. Who had supported the heresy in their heart’s but feared the King and the Inquisition too much

They had ran, and ran, he had ended up hiding, in the inn. He had never been there before. His mother had always boxed his ears, when they walked passed there. Now he was upstairs, cowering in a small room An old man had passed him an even older musket, and sternly told him to point it outside a hole in the roof. he remembered the noise the shock of its report. The flash when he fired the musket, his aim wild and blind. He remembered the people praying. There were people running mad, and some struck dumb. They were throwing stones at the heretics, at the end. Then the storm passed by, the church candlesticks gone the chapel and barns burned, a virgin or two raped.

Juan had walked home, from the inn. The next day the Priest came and read the funeral rites for his parents. Juan walked two days to join the Army. There was nowhere else to go. 

A change of the winds the heretics would have hit another village or town and he would have been a farmer like Papa. Attending to vines and praying for sunshine and rain, rather than attending to muskets and intelligences

There was no fragrance. When he entered a chapel, which may just be the largest shack in a fishing village, or in the grandest of the churches of Buenos aires, the fragrance, of incense, and a feint residue of soap and perfume. It was not a modest building. The strawberry sellers were pleased to worship with good wax candles. There was a statue of St Anthony , in an alcove. Expertly formed in wood, shipped from the great forests to the North. Juan smiled. The Portugese had brought the wood, which the strawberry merchants had commissioned from the mighty Northern forests. The sight of the state stirred Juan's heart and heart alone to smile , St Anthony was as strong as St Jorge, or the Columba, that the Don remembered every summer in this Church. 

This may not have been the heart of the Buenos Aires, but a blow was stuck here, it could kill the man still

Juan was uneasy. His sword was a comfort, but would he draw it in the house of God, would he act like a heretic? He had heard it said, even the Moors might respect a chapel.

``Sacred Mother, the star of the sea...

The tabernacle, had been broken into, the host, cast on the floor. Someone had scrawled on the altar

``Scriptura sola, La papa est Antichristo, Iesus sola est ri’’

It almost unmanned him, trying not to vomit

 Later her remembered speaking with the Master, the master excused him from his duties. Several priests asked him, again and what happened. The Governor and the younger Don exchanged words, quietly and hushed like parents talking of illness in front of their children.

Garbiella asked after him, when he came home, he nodded, and went to his bed, and the next morning to confession