BEAUVALLET
By GEORGETTE HEYER
London
WILLIAM HEINEMANN LTD
_First published September 1929_
_New Impression November 1929_
_Popular (3s. 6d.) Edition 1931_
_Reprinted 1932_
_Printed in Great Britain at
The Windmill Press, Kingswood
Surrey_
TO
F. D. H.
BEAUVALLET
CHAPTER I
The deck was a shambles. Men lay dead and dying; there was split
woodwork, a welter of broken mizzen and sagging sail, dust and grime,
and the reek of powder. A ball screamed through the rigging overhead;
another tore the sea into wild foam beneath the galleon's stern.
She seemed to stagger, to reel, to list heavily to port. From his
quarterdeck Don Juan de Narvaez gave a sharp order; his lieutenant went
running down the companion into the waist of the ship.
Soldiers crowded there in steel breastplates and chased morions. They
had halberds and pikes, and some held long double-edged swords. They
looked out to sea, to where the smaller ship came steadily on, the
Red Cross of Saint George flying at her mainmast head. They were sure
now that it would end in a hand to hand fight; they were even glad of
it: they knew themselves to be the finest soldiers in Christendom.
What chance could these bold English have against them at close
quarters? The English ship had held off beyond reach of the Spanish
guns this past hour, ceaselessly bombarding the _Santa Maria_ with
her longer-reached cannons. The soldiers in the waist did not know
how serious was the damage she had wreaked, but they were fretting
and nervous from their impotence, and their forced inaction. Now the
English ship drew nearer, the wind filling her white sails, and
bearing her on like a bird through the scudding waves.
Don Juan watched her come, and saw his guns belch fire upon her.
But she was close, and there was little damage done, full half of
the Spanish guns shooting above her from the over-tall sides of the
galleon. The _Venture_--and he knew now beyond all doubt that it was
the _Venture_ herself--bore down upon them undaunted.
She came up alongside, discharging her fire into the galleon's waist,
and passed on unscathed. Drawing a little ahead of the Spaniard she
wore suddenly, came sailing across the galleon's bows, and raked her
cruelly fore and aft.
The _Santa Maria_ was riddled and groaning; there was panic aboard, and
a hopeless confusion. Don Juan knew his ship was crippled, and cursed
softly in his beard. But he had cool courage enough, and he knew how to
rally his men. The _Venture_ was coming round, and it was evident that
she meant to grapple the larger galleon now. Well, therein lay hope.
Let her come: the _Santa Maria_ was doomed, but aboard the _Venture_
was El Beauvallet--Beauvallet the mocker of Spain, the freebooter, the
madman! His capture would be worth even the loss of so noble a galleon
as the _Santa Maria_: ay, and more than that! There was not a Spanish
admiral who had not that capture for his ambition. Don Juan drew in his
breath on the thought. El Beauvallet who bit his thumb at Spain! If it
should fall to his lot to take this man of a charmed life prisoner for
King Philip he thought he would ask no more of life.
It had been with this in mind that Don Juan had challenged the ship
when she hove into sight that afternoon. He had known that El
Beauvallet was sailing in these waters; at Santiago he had seen Perinat
who had sailed forth to punish the _Venture_ not a fortnight ago.
Perinat had come back to Santiago in his own long boat, biting his
nails, a beaten man. He had talked wildly of witchcraft, of a devil
of a man who threw back his head and laughed. Don Juan had sneered at
that. The bungler Perinat!
Now it seemed that he too stood in danger of having bungled. He had
thrown down the gauntlet to Beauvallet, who never refused a challenge,
and Beauvallet had picked it up, and flirted his dainty craft forward
through the sparkling sea.
There had been some desire to show a lady what a Narvaez could
accomplish. Don Juan chewed his lip, and knew a pang of remorse. Below,
in the panelled stateroom, was no less a personage than Don Manuel de
Rada y Sylva, late Governor of Santiago, with his daughter Dominica.
Don Juan knew only too well in what peril they now stood. But when it
came to hand to hand fighting the tables might still be turned.
The soldiers were armed and ready in the waist and on the forecastle.
There were gunners, grimed and stained with sweat, standing by their
culverins; the brief panic had been swiftly quelled. Let the _Venture_
come!
She was near, standing the fire from the long basiliscos; she drew
nearer, and through the smoke one might see the men on her with
boarding axes and swords, ready for the order to board the Spaniard.
Then, suddenly, there was a crack and a roar, the bursting flame and
the black smoke of a score of swivel-guns on her decks, all trained
upon the waist of the _Santa Maria_. There was havoc wrought amongst
the Spanish soldiery; cries, groans, and oaths rent the air, and
swiftly, while havoc lasted, the _Venture_ crept up, and grappled the
tall galleon.
Men swarmed up the sides, using their boarding axes to form scaling
ladders. From the spritsail yard they sprang down upon the deck of the
_Santa Maria_, daggers between their teeth, and long swords in hand. No
might of Spanish soldiery, maimed as it was by the wicked fire, could
stop them. They came on, and the fight was desperate over the slippery
decks: sword to sword, slash and cut, and the quick stab of daggers.
Don Juan stood at the head of the companion, sword in hand, a tall
figure in breastplate and tassets of fluted steel. He sought in the
press for a leader amongst the boarders, but could see none in that
hurly-burly.
It was hard fighting, frenzied fighting, over wounded and dead, with
ever and again the crack of a dag fired at close range. The pandemonium
was intense; no single voice could be distinguished amongst the hubbub
of groans, shouted orders, sharp cries, and clash of arms. One could
not tell for a while who had the advantage: the fight swayed and
eddied, and the _Santa Maria_ lay helpless under all.
A man seemed to spring up out of the mob below, and gained the
companion. A moment he stood with his foot upon the first step, looking
up at Don Juan, a red sword in his hand, a cloak twisted about his
left arm, and a black pointed beard upthrust. A chased morion shaded
the upper part of his face, but Don Juan saw white teeth agleam, and
crouched for the stroke that should send this stranger to perdition.
"Down, _perro_!" he snarled.
The stranger laughed, and answered him in pure Castilian. "Nay, señor,
the dog comes up."
Don Juan peered to see more closely into the upturned face. "Come up
and die, dog," he said softly, "for I think you are he whom I seek."
"All Spain seems to seek me, señor," answered the stranger merrily.
"But who shall slay Nick Beauvallet? Will you try?"
He came up the first steps in a bound, and his sword took Don Juan's in
a strong parry that beat it aside for a moment. He brought his cloak
swirling into swift play, and entangled Don Juan's sword in it. He was
up on the quarterdeck in a flash, even as Don Juan, livid, shook his
sword free of the cloak. The two blades rang together, but Don Juan
knew that he had met his master. He was forced back and back across the
deck to the bulwarks, fighting grimly every inch of the way.
Cruzada, his lieutenant, came running from the poop-deck. Beauvallet
saw, and made a quick end. His great sword whirled aloft, cleaved
downwards, hissing through the air, and shattered the pauldron over
Don Juan's shoulder. Don Juan sank, half-stunned, to his knees, and
his sword clattered to the deck. Beauvallet turned, panting, to meet
Cruzada.
But there were Englishmen on the quarterdeck now, hard upon the heels
of their leader, and from all sides came cries from the Spaniards for
quarter. Beauvallet's sword held Cruzada in check. "Yield, señor,
yield," he said. "I hold your general prisoner."
"But yet I may slay you, pirate!" gasped Cruzada.
"Curb ambition, child," Beauvallet said. "Here Daw, Russet, Curlew!
Overpower me this springald. Softly, lads, softly!"
Cruzada found himself surrounded, and cried out in fury. Rough hands
seized him from behind, and dragged him back; he saw Beauvallet leaning
on his sword, and cursed him wildly for a coward and a poltroon.
Beauvallet chuckled at that. "Grow a beard, child, and meet me when
it's grown. Mr. Dangerfield!" His lieutenant was at hand. "Have a
guard about the worthy señor," said Beauvallet, and indicated Don Juan
by a brief nod. He bent, picked up Don Juan's sword, and was off,
light-footed, down the companion into the waist of the ship.
Don Juan recovered his senses to find himself unarmed, and El
Beauvallet gone. He came staggering to his feet, an English hand at
his elbow, and was aware of a fair boy confronting him. "You are my
prisoner, señor," said Richard Dangerfield, in halting Spanish. "The
day is lost."
The sweat was in Don Juan's eyes; he brushed it away, and could see
the truth of this statement. All over the galleon his men were laying
down their arms. The rage and the anguish that convulsed him were wiped
suddenly from his face. By a supreme effort he recovered his _sosiego_,
and stood straight and looked impassively as should befit his breeding.
He achieved a bow. "I am in your hands, señor."
Over the quarterdeck towards the poop men were hurrying already in
search of plunder. Some three or four stout fellows went clattering
down the companion that led to the staterooms. They came upon a sight
to astonish them. Backed against the wall, with hands laid along the
panelling to either side of her stood a lady, a lady all cream and
rose and ebony. Cream her skin, and rose her lips, ebony the lustrous
hair confined under a net of gold. Her eyes were dark and large under
languorous lids, the brows delicately marked, the nose short and proud,
the full lips curved and ripe. She wore a gown of purple camlet, worked
cunningly with a pattern of gold thread, with a kirtle of armazine to
fall from the veriest hint of a farthingale. Behind her head reared up
a high ruff of lace sewn with crystals. It framed a face piquant and
lovely. The square of her bodice was cut low across her breast; a jewel
lay upon the white skin, rising and falling with her quickened breath.
The foremost of the invaders stood in an amazed stare, but recovered
before those behind him might push forward. "A wench!" he cried on a
coarse laugh. "A rare wench, as I live!"
His fellows came crowding to get a sight of this miracle. There were
sparks of anger in the lady's eyes, and, at the back of them, fear.
A man rose from a high-backed chair by the table, a man of middle age,
enfeebled by the West Indian climate. Latent fever had him in its grip;
it might be seen in his overbright eyes, and in the intermittent ague
that shook him. He wore a long furred gown, and a close cap, and he
leaned heavily upon a stick. There was a priest of the Franciscan order
beside him, cowled darkly, but the holy man paid no heed to anything
but his beads, over which he muttered ceaselessly. The other man went
with an infirm step to stand before his daughter, shielding her from
curious eyes. "I demand to be taken before your commander!" he said in
the Spanish tongue. "I am Don Manuel de Rada y Sylva, late Governor of
the island of Santiago."
It is doubtful whether much of this was intelligible to the English
seamen. A couple advanced into the stateroom and put Don Manuel aside.
"Hold off, old greybeard!" William Hick advised him, and put a dirty
hand under the lady's chin. "The pretty chuck! Buss me, sweeting!"
There came instead the sound of a ringing slap. William Hick started
back with a rueful hand clapped to his cheek. "Oh, a shrew!"
John Daw caught the lady about her trim waist, clipping one of her arms
to her side. The other fighting hand was imprisoned in his huge paw.
"Softly, my cosset, softly!" he chuckled, and gave her a hearty kiss.
"That's the way to use, lads!"
Don Manuel, held between two men, cried out. "Unhand her, fellow! Your
commander! I demand to see your commander!"
They caught at the last word, and it sobered them a little. "Ay, hail
'em before the General. It's safer." John Daw pushed Hick aside, who
was fingering the jewel about the girl's neck. "Let be! Do you want Mad
Nick after you? Come lass, on deck with you!"
The lady was forced, resisting to the door. She did not know what they
were going to do with her, and struggled wildly, throwing herself back
against their pulling hands. It did not serve. "The curst wench!"
growled Hick, still smarting from the blow she had dealt him. He
snatched her up into his arms and bore her up the companion to the
poop-deck.
There were others gathered there, others who greeted the appearance
of this frightened, wrathful lady with amazement and some ribaldry.
She was set on her feet, and straightway fell upon Hick like a young
wild-cat. She ignored a warning cry from her father, brought under ward
on to the deck, and hit out at Hick, stamped with her heel on a large
foot, scratched at a bearded face. She was seized and held fast, each
wrist in custody of a grinning sailor. One of them chucked her under
the chin, and laughed hugely to see her throw up her head. "Little
turtle-dove, pretty love-bird!" said John Daw, essaying satire.
There were men crowded all about her, wondering, jesting, feasting
their eyes. A lip was smacked; there was a knowing wink and a bawdy
joke. The lady shrank.
Then, all at once, a ringing voice spoke authoritatively from beyond
the group that encircled her. "God's death! What's this? Give way
there!"
Two men went staggering aside, spun apart by an iron hand on the
shoulder of each. The lady looked fearfully into the face of El
Beauvallet.
He had cast aside his morion, and his close black hair showed, curling
neatly over his head. Under straight brows she saw fine eyes, the
blue of the sea with the sunlight on the water. They were bright eyes
and keen, vivid under the black lashes; laughing eyes, watchful yet
careless.
The laugh was stayed in them now as he checked in his impatient stride.
He stood staring; a mobile eyebrow flew up comically; Sir Nicholas
Beauvallet appeared incredulous, and blinked at this unexpected vision.
His glance, quick moving, took in next the lady's captors, and the
stilled laughter went right out of his eyes. He was swift in action,
too swift for Hick, still stupidly grasping one of the lady's wrists. A
clenched fist shot out and took Master Hick neatly on the point of the
jaw. Master Hick fell a-sprawl on the deck. "Cullions! Dawcocks!" said
Beauvallet terribly, and swung round to deal in kind with John Daw.
But Master Daw had hurriedly released the wrist he held, and was making
off as quickly as he could. He was sped on his way by a shrewd kick
to the rearward. Beauvallet turned to the lady. "A million pardons,
señora!" he said, as though here were no great matter.
The lady was forced to admit him to be a personable fellow, and she
found his smile irresistible. She bit back an answering gleam: one
would not smile friendly upon an English freebooter. "Unhand my father,
señor!" she commanded, mighty haughty.
The tone seemed to amuse Beauvallet; his shoulders shook
appreciatively. He looked round for sign of my lady's parent, and saw
him standing between guards who straightway let him go, and stepped
back in something of a hurry.
Don Manuel was shaken, and ashen pale. He spoke breathlessly. "I demand
instantly to see the commander!"
"A million more pardons!" Beauvallet responded. "Behold the commander,
Nicholas Beauvallet, at your service!"
The lady exclaimed at that. "I knew it! You are El Beauvallet!"
Beauvallet turned to her, the eyebrow was raised again, and the eyes
themselves were twinkling. "Himself, señora. Wholly at your feet."
"I," said Don Manuel stiffly, "am Don Manuel de Rada y Sylva. You
address my daughter, Doña Dominica. I demand to know the meaning of
this outrage."
"Outrage?" said Beauvallet, honestly puzzled. "What outrage, señor?"
Don Manuel flushed, and pointed a shaking finger to the shambles
forward. "You need ask, señor?"
"The fight! Why, to say truth, noble señor, I had thought that this
ship opened fire upon me," said Beauvallet pleasantly. "And I was never
one to refuse a challenge."
"Where," demanded Doña Dominica, "is Don Juan de Narvaez?"
"Under guard, señora, until he goes aboard his own long boat."
"You beat him! You, with that little ship!"
Beauvallet laughed out at that. "I, with that little ship," he bowed.
"What of us?" Don Manuel interrupted.
Sir Nicholas looked rueful, ran a hand through his crisp hair. "You
have me there, señor," he confessed. "What a-plague are you doing
aboard this vessel?"
"I conceive that to be none of your business, señor. If you must know I
am on my way home from Santiago to Spain."
"Why, an evil chance," said Beauvallet sympathetically. "What folly
possessed that numskull of a commander of yours to open fire on me?"
"Don Juan did his duty, señor," said Don Manuel haughtily.
"Alack then, that virtue has not been better rewarded," said Sir
Nicholas lightly. "And what am I to do with you?" He bit his finger,
pondering the question. "There is of course the long boat. She puts off
as soon as may be for the island of Dominica. It lies some three miles
to the north of us. Do you choose to go aboard her?"
Doña Dominica took a quick step forward. Since her fears were lulled
her temper rose. This careless manner was not to be borne. She broke
into impassioned speech, shooting her words at Beauvallet. "Is that all
you can say? Sea-robber! Hateful pirate! Is it nothing to you that we
must put back to the Indies and wait perhaps months for another ship?
Oh nothing, nothing! You see where my father stands, a sick man, and
you care nothing that you expose him to such rough usage. Base, wicked
robber! What do you care! Nothing! I could spit on you for a vile
English freebooter!" She ended on a sob of rage, and stamped her foot
at him.
"Good lack!" said Beauvallet, staring down into that exquisite face of
fury. A smile of amusement and of admiration crept into his eyes. It
caused Doña Dominica to lose the last shreds of her temper. What would
you? She was a maid all fire and spirit. She struck at him, and he
caught her hand and held it, pulled her closer, and looked down into
her face with eyes a-twinkle. "I cry pardon, señora. We will amend
all." He turned his head and sent a shout ringing for his lieutenant.
"Loose me!" Dominica said, and tried to pull her hand away. "Loose me!"
"Why, you would scratch me if I did," Beauvallet said, teasing.
It was not to be borne. The lady's eyes fell, and encountered the hilt
of a dagger in Beauvallet's belt. She raised them again, held his in a
defiant stare, and stole her hand to the dagger's hilt.
Sir Nicholas looked quickly down, saw what she would be at, and
laughed. "Brave lass!" He let her go, let her draw out his dagger, and
flung wide his arms. "Come then! Have at me!"
She stepped back, uncertain and bewildered, wondering what manner of
man was this who could mock at death itself. "If you touch me I will
kill you," she said through her teeth.
Still he came on, twinkling, daring her. She drew back until the
bulwarks stayed her.
"Now strike!" invited Beauvallet. "I'll swear you have the stomach for
it!"
"My daughter!" Don Manuel was aghast. "Give back that knife! I command
you! Señor, be good enough to stand back."
Beauvallet turned away from the lady. It seemed he gave no second
thought to the dangerous weapon she held. He waited for Dangerfield to
come up, standing with his hands tucked negligently into his belt.
"Sir, you called me?"
Beauvallet indicated Don Manuel and his daughter with a comprehensive
sweep of his hand. "Convey Don Manuel de Rada y Sylva and his daughter
aboard the _Venture_," he said, in Spanish.
Don Manuel started; Dominica gave a gasp. "Is it a jest, señor?" Don
Manuel demanded.
"I' God's Name, why should I jest?"
"You make us prisoners?"
"Nay, I bid you be my guests, señor. I said I would amend all."
The lady broke out again. "You mock us! You shall not take us aboard
your ship. We will not go!"
Beauvallet set his hands on his hips. The mobile eyebrow went up again.
"How now? First you will and then you will not. You tell me I am a dog
to hinder your return to Spain, and curse me roundly for a rogue. Well,
I have said I will amend the fault: I will convey you to Spain with all
speed. What ails you then?"
"Take us to Spain?" said Don Manuel uncomprehendingly.
"You cannot!" cried Dominica, incredulous. "You dare not!"
"Dare not? God's Son, I am Nick Beauvallet!" said Sir Nicholas, amazed.
"Dared I sail into Vigo a year back, and lay all waste? What should
stop me?"
She flung up her hands, and the dagger flashed in the sunlight. "Oh,
now I know that they named you well who named you Mad Beauvallet!"
"You have it wrong," Beauvallet said, jesting. "Mad Nicholas is the
name they call me. I make you free of it, señora."
Don Manuel interposed. "Señor, I do not understand you. I cannot
believe you speak in good faith."
"The best in the world, señor. Is an Englishman's word good enough?"
Don Manuel knew not how to answer. It was left for his daughter to say
No, very hotly. All she got by that was a quick look, and a slight
laugh.
Across the deck came Don Juan de Narvaez, stately even in defeat. He
bowed low to Don Manuel, lower still to Doña Dominica, and ignored
Beauvallet. "Señor, the boat waits. Permit me to escort you."
"Get you aboard, Señor Punctilio," said Sir Nicholas. "Don Manuel sails
with me."
"No!" said Dominica. But it is very certain that she meant yes.
"I have no desire to jest with you, señor," Don Juan said coldly. "Don
Manuel de Rada naturally sails with me."
A long finger beckoned to Don Juan's guard. "Escort Don Juan to the
long boat," said Sir Nicholas.
"I do not stir from here without Don Manuel and his daughter," said
Narvaez, and struck an attitude.
"Take him away," said Sir Nicholas, bored. "God speed you, señor."
Narvaez was led away, protesting. "Señora, be pleased to go aboard the
_Venture_. Diccon, have their traps conveyed at once."
Dominica braved him, to see what might come of it. "I will not go!" She
clenched the dagger. "Constrain me at your peril!"
"A challenge?" inquired Beauvallet. "Oh, rash! I told you that I never
refused a challenge." He bore down upon her, and dodged, laughing,
the dagger's point. He caught her wrist, and had his other arm firmly
clipped about her waist. "Cry peace, sweetheart," he said, and took the
dagger from her, and restored it to its sheath. "Come!" he said, tossed
her up in his arms, and strode off with her to the quarterdeck.
Dominica forbore resistance. It would be useless, she knew, and her
dignity would suffer. She permitted herself to be carried off, and
liked the manner of it. They did not use such ready methods in Spain.
There was great strength in the arm that upheld her, and the very
carelessness of the man intrigued one. A strange, mad fellow, with an
odd directness. One would know more of him.
She was carried down the companion into the waist, where the men were
busy with the treasure--China silks, and linen-cloths, ingots of gold,
bars of silver, and spices from the islands. "Robber!" said Dominica
softly.
He chuckled. It was annoying. To the bulwarks he went, and she wondered
how he would manage now. But he did it easily enough, with a hand on
the shrouds, and a leap up. He stood poised a moment. "Welcome aboard
the _Venture_, sweetheart!" he said audaciously, and climbed down with
her safe tucked in his arm to his own poop-deck below.
She was set on her feet, ruffled and speechless, and saw her father
being helped carefully down the side of the tall galleon. Don Manuel
appeared to be both bewildered and amused.
"See them well bestowed, Diccon," Beauvallet bade the fair youth, and
went back the way he had come.
"Will it please you to come below, señora?" Dangerfield said shyly, and
bowed to them both. "Your chests will be here anon."
Don Manuel smiled a little wryly. "I think the man is either mad--or
else--an odd, whimsical fellow, my daughter," he remarked. "We shall
doubtless learn which in time."