Page 142 of A Column of Fire
Alfonso ignored him. ‘So that means you owe me two hundred and forty escudos already. You can settle the account here and now.’
Bacon frowned. ‘It’s a bit difficult—’
Alfonso interrupted him before Barney had time to translate. ‘You got four thousand escudos for the slaves.’
Barney was surprised: he had not known that Bacon had made so much. The captain was secretive about money.
Alfonso went on: ‘You can afford to pay me two hundred and forty right now.’
He was right. Bacon got out a heavy purse and laboriously counted out the money, mostly in the larger coins called doubloons, each containing a quarter of an ounce of gold and therefore worth two escudos. His face was twisted in a grimace of discomfort, as if he had a stomach-ache. It hurt him to pay such a large bribe.
Ignacio checked the amount and nodded to Alfonso.
Bacon stood up to leave.
Alfonso said: ‘Let me have your threatening letter before you sell any more slaves.’
Bacon shrugged.
Barney winced. Rough manners irritated the Spanish, who valued formalities. He did not want Bacon to spoil everything by offending Alfonso’s sensibilities just before leaving. They were still under Spanish jurisdiction. He said politely: ‘Thank you, Don Alfonso, for your kindness in receiving us. We are honoured by your courtesy.’
Alfonso made a grandly dismissive gesture, and Ignacio led them out.
Barney felt better, though he was not sure that they were completely in the clear. However, he wanted to see Bella again. He wondered whether she was married, or courting. He guessed she was about twenty – she might have been less, but dark skin always looked younger. He was eager to know more about her.
Outside in the square, he said to Bacon: ‘We need rum on board – we’re almost out. Should I buy a barrel from that woman, his niece, Bella?’
The captain was not fooled. ‘Go on, then, you randy young bastard.’
Bacon headed back towards theHawk, and Barney went to the doorway from which he had seen Bella emerge earlier. The house was of wood, but otherwise built on the same pattern as Carlos Cruz’s home in Seville, with a central arch leading through to a courtyard workshop – a typical craftsman’s dwelling.
Barney smelled the earthy odour of molasses, the bitter black treacle that was produced by the second boiling of sugar cane and was mainly used to make rum. He guessed the smell came from the huge barrels lined up along one side of the yard. On the other side were smaller barrels and stacked bottles, presumably for rum. The yard ended in a little orchard of lime trees.
In the middle of the space were two large tanks. One was a waist-high square of caulked planks, full of a sticky mixture that was being stirred by an African with a large wooden paddle. The brew gave off the bready smell of yeast, and Barney assumed this was a fermentation tank. Alongside it was an iron cauldron perched over a fire. The cauldron had a conical lid with a long spout, and a dark liquid dripped from the spout into a bucket. Barney guessed that in this cauldron the fermented mash was distilled to produce the liquor.
Bella stood over the bucket, sniffing. Barney watched her, admiring her concentration. She was slim but sturdy, with strong legs and arms, no doubt from manhandling barrels. Something about her high forehead reminded him of Ebrima, and on impulse he spoke to her in Manding. He said: ‘I be nyaadi?’ which meantHow are you?
She jumped with shock and turned around. Recovering, she spoke a stream of Manding.
Barney replied in Spanish. ‘I don’t really speak the language, I’m sorry. I learned a few words from a friend in Seville.’
‘My mother spoke Manding,’ Bella said in Spanish. ‘She’s dead. You spooked me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She looked thoughtfully at him. ‘Not many Europeans bother to pick up even a few words of any African languages.’
‘My father taught us to learn as much as possible of any tongue we came across. He says it’s better than money in the bank.’
‘Are you Spanish? You don’t look it, with that ginger beard.’
‘English.’
‘I never met an English person before.’ She picked up the bucket at her feet, sniffed it, and threw its contents on the ground.
Barney said: ‘Something wrong with the rum?’
‘You always have to discard the first fractions of the distillate. They’re poisonous. You can save the stuff and use it for cleaning boots but, if you do, sooner or later some idiot will try drinking it and kill himself. So I throw it away.’ She touched the tip of a slender finger to the spout and sniffed it. ‘That’s better.’ She rolled an empty barrel under the spout, then turned her attention back to Barney. ‘Do you want to buy some rum?’
