Samuel Newman, merchant, stood on the quay and looked worriedly down the red dirt road that led away to the town. Where in hades was that bloody fat Spaniard? he wondered. Nearby, ropes as thick as a man's arm tied his three-masted, lateen-rigged caravel tightly to the pilings of the quay. More than sixty years old, the ship's rigging was frayed and its triangular, age-browned sheets worn and full of patches.

Thirty-five years old, Samuel wore a padded blue doublet, black breeches and brown boots. He wore a mustache and beard like most Englishmen his age, and his were trimmed close. Unlike most Englishmen, however, his teeth were still white, perhaps because of his dislike for sugar and sweets. His thick, curly brown hair hung down over his collar.

Again he looked down the road. Where was their buyer?

A sudden surge in the calm sea leaned the ship over noisily. Named the Contempt, it had been seized from the Spaniards in the channel by English privateers. It was then quickly sailed into Bristol. The Spanish crew, after being stripped of their belongings, were rudely run off and told to make their way home any way they could -- begging passage on one of the many freight-carrying ships calling in Bristol, perhaps, or swimming. The hold of the ship was then emptied and the goods sold. Finally the ship itself was sold to Samuel Newman.

Samuel glanced down the road and then turned to William. In addition to being a smith, the old Englishman was also their pilot, having learned about the coasts of the New Lands from a Portuguese named Mendes. "How seaworthy is the Contempt now, William? She's leaking an awful lot."

William, his silky white hair and beard contrasting with the ragged brown of his leather jerkin, turned an iron rod in a small, charcoal-fired forge that sat upon a stack of quay stones. A ship's boy of fourteen or fifteen worked the bellows beside him. William glanced surreptitiously to both sides. "She'll get us home, all right, m'lord," he said finally, "but we'll have to have her careened when we get there. The teredo worms are finding her old beams a tasty meal."

Samuel nodded. "Yes," he said absently, "when we get back." Over the steady hiss of the bellows, an angry shouting erupted. Samuel and William turned to watch some crewmen wrestle one of the heavy bales of cloth into position on the other side of the quay. As tall as a man, the bales now stood in orderly rows, thirty-eight in all, linen cloth from Munster and dyed woolens from London. Only two more remained in the hold of the ship. But where was their damn buyer?

Fenwick, a short, thick-necked, red-faced tailor, came up beside the small iron forge. Smiling at the boy, he put his finger in his mouth and removed a gob of spit. He deftly pressed it against the side of the forge, where it popped and hissed, eliciting a smile from the boy.

Samuel turned away and looked up to the half deck of the Contempt. The rest of the crew busily sewed canvas, spliced ropes and readied the hold and deck to receive its new cargo. Periodically they, too, looked down the road upon which the buyer should have arrived at sunup.

"Where do you suppose he is?" said Fenwick to Samuel.

"I left my crystal ball on the ship, Fenwick," said Samuel impatiently. "I cannot give you an answer."

Fenwick smiled sadly but said nothing in return.

The men remained silent. Not far away Samuel's brother John argued loudly with the only Spaniard member of the trading expedition, Señor Gredilla. John was thinner than Samuel, but stood a full head taller. He wore a red-banded felt hat, and beneath it, his hawklike nose gave him a predatory look. Gredilla, a thin, compact, leathery-skinned man from San Lucar, backed away involuntarily. Although Samuel and John had put up all the money for the venture, they had made the Spaniard Gredilla a full partner because his name and nationality made the venture possible. It had been the coin with which they had purchased their license from the Casa de Contracion. They had even temporarily put ownership of the Contempt in Gredilla's name. All this was necessitated by the fact that Spain limited trade with her New World colonies to Spanish merchants operating out of Seville. But Spanish merchants alone could not supply the growing demand of her colonies for finished goods, and so more than two thirds of the goods arriving in the New World came from merchants in London, Flanders, Paris and Venice. Off-loaded in Seville, they made the trip across the Sea of Columbus on Spanish ships.

Under Samuel Newman's direction, they had carefully navigated the shifting winds and jagged shoals of commerce, and yesterday their efforts had seemed ready to bear fruit. The quay had swarmed with local merchants and landowners, and the bidding for their cloth had been intense. Señor Fernandez, a wealthy merchant from the town, had made the best offer and they had struck a deal. Did his absence mean he was now backing out of the contract?

Señor Gredilla came over as if to escape from John, but the thin Englishman followed him. John looked at Samuel. "I told you at the beginning of this that they were not to be trusted!" He looked angrily at Gredilla. "I cannot stand the smell of them!"

Gredilla flinched visibly and turned away. They stood in angry silence. "Ah," Gredilla exclaimed suddenly as he looked toward the town. He tapped young Samuel Newman on the back. Samuel turned and fixed his sharp brown eyes on the smaller man. "Señor?"

Gredilla indicated the road leading back to the town.

At last, thought Samuel, as he recognized Fernandez's black two-horse carriage leading a caravan of twelve flatbed wagons.

Samuel's smile constricted into a frown as the wagons drew closer -- they were all empty! The old Spaniard was to bring his payment of hides and sugar today. What had changed?

"He comes," said Gredilla, stating the obvious in broken English, "but he brings nothing in his wagons."

"Then he will take nothing away," said Samuel. Samuel looked up at the ship. She was small, a hundred feet in length. A half dozen men were wrestling a bale of cloth toward the rail. He called up to them. "Leave it for now. I'll tell you when to bring it down."

Samuel's brother John started over. John, five years older than Samuel, pushed Fenwick and Gredilla out of the way. He watched the approaching wagons for a few moments then turned suspiciously to Gredilla. "What is Fernandez up to, anyway?"

Gredilla blanched at the look. "Señor, how would I know?"

Samuel shook his head. There wasn't an Englishman alive who hated Spaniards more than his brother. He almost regretted having brought him along on this venture. But, soon they should be finished here. Then everything would slowly return to normal.

Although a head shorter than his older brother, Samuel was broader in the chest and stronger. He had a quiet, confident, commanding nature and none of the men ever doubted who was in charge when both brothers were present. He started walking toward the upright bales. "Let us go see."

Samuel walked to where the street met the quay. John, Gredilla and Fenwick followed him. Up on the half deck of the ship, the men had stopped their work and crowded around the rails to watch. Others were coming up from the hold.

Fernandez's wagon came to a stop. Holding tightly to the side of the wagon, he carefully lowered his great belly down the steps to the road. A tall, emaciated Indian jumped from the rear of the wagon and ran around to Fernandez, opening a parasol to shade the rotund grandee from the sun.

Samuel nodded a greeting to Fernandez as John, Gredilla and Fenwick came up behind them.

"Buenos dias, señor," said Samuel pleasantly. Samuel had learned a conversational Spanish while a boy at the knee of a Spanish Jew, a refugee of the Inquisition.

The Spaniard nodded. "Buenos dias, señors." Despite the circle of shade his attendant's parasol provided, Fernandez perspired profusely. He glanced worriedly behind him at the road that led to the town, then turned round. Recognizing Gredilla from the day before, he spoke rapidly in Spanish. Fernandez then turned and waved commandingly at his men. They jumped down from the flat wagons and started toward the bales of cloth.

"What did he say?" said Samuel to Gredilla. "He speaks too fast for me to follow."

"He has told his men to start loading the bales," said Gredilla.

"What?" said John angrily, his hand going to his sword.

"Calm yourself," said Samuel.

John frowned, but seemed to relax some. Samuel turned and shouted over at the approaching men. "¡Espere!" The men stopped and stood where they were as they waited for Fernandez to countermand the Englishman's order.

Gredilla spoke rapidly in Spanish to Fernandez.

"Ask him where our hides and sugar are," said Samuel.

Gredilla's brow furrowed into a dozen lines as he translated Samuel's words for the old Spaniard.

Fernandez looked at Samuel furtively before replying. He spoke slower, and Samuel understood the old Spaniard's words.

"Late, eh?" said Samuel to Gredilla. "Should we believe him?"

Gredilla nodded. "The wagons may even be loaded by now. He said they will be here soon."

Fernandez turned away and shouted to a mestizo wearing a wide-brimmed hat, "Miguel," he said, pointing. The man walked toward the bales.

"Where in blazes is he going?" said John. He started over and Samuel took his arm, stopping him.

"Wait," Samuel called up to the men on the ship. "Collins, Butler, bring the others." He turned back to Gredilla. "Tell him nothing will be loaded until we have our hides and sugar."

Gredilla blinked nervously. "But, señor, he has already explained. The men were late in rising. They will be here at any moment."

"Tell him!" demanded John angrily.

Gredilla looked at Samuel.

"We will wait for the hides and sugar," said Samuel calmly. "Tell him."

Gredilla relayed the Englishman's words and Señor Fernandez replied rapidly and angrily in Spanish.

"What was that?" said John suspiciously

Samuel smiled at Fenwick. "Maybe we don't want to know."

Gredilla looked chagrined. "He did not add anything else, señors. He simply repeated what he has already said."

No one spoke as the men stood about waiting for orders. Samuel watched his brother carefully. John's hand was again on the hilt of his sword, his face reddening. Samuel knew he should not have brought him along, that he was a liability, but he had felt sorry for him. John's fortunes had fallen of late and he needed money badly. Samuel felt guilty too. When they were boys, their father had favored Samuel over his older brother, apprenticing Samuel to a kindly wool broker, while turning John over to the strict charge of Mathew of Rose Lane, a fishmonger. Samuel had worked hard and learned much, and now had a thriving wool business. John, on the other hand, had thought the work beneath him. There were many beatings and John had left Mathew when he was of age and done a tour of soldiering in the Irish campaign in Munster. It had been a very brutal, bloody experience and John had never been the same since. Each brother had inherited one of their father's houses at his death. John lived the life of an idle lord, although he really couldn't afford it. From time to time he was forced to work for his brother in order to pay his debts. This was one of those times.

But, Samuel comforted himself. They were almost finished with their business here. He felt confident he could control the situation now. "John, give me your sword."

"What?" John laughed.

Samuel faced him. "Give it to me. I'll not have you threatening these people and ruining the business."

John looked at him wryly. He pulled his sword and handed it to Samuel. Samuel tucked it into his belt.

The tropical sun burned down and for a while the only sound was the gentle slapping of the waves against the stones of the quay.

Señor Fernandez walked over to a stone block sitting by the road and sat tiredly upon it. Señor Gredilla walked over and stood beside him. They talked softly in Spanish, occasionally looking over at the Englishmen.

"They get along rather well," said Fenwick.

Samuel frowned. "Yes, and the friendship of the old señor will be all Gredilla brings back if Fernandez does not bring his hides and sugar."

"Enough of this," said John angrily. He walked over to the two men and rudely pushed Gredilla aside. He glared down at Señor Fernandez.

Samuel walked quickly over to them, Fenwick following. "Calm yourself, John," said Samuel. "We will give him a little more time. We've waited this long already."

John's face was fierce with anger as he turned to his brother. "Why? I have invested heavily in this venture too. I only want to question him, brother. He is up to something."

As John stood over Señor Fernandez, the Spaniard cast his big, moist eyes plaintively toward Samuel and then looked down at his feet. John continued to stare down at him and then turned angrily to Gredilla. "Tell him that if his bloody hides don't get here soon I will take him over there and throw him into the sea."

Samuel moved closer.

Gredilla looked at him. "Señor," he said, "surely you don't want me to say such a thing?"

Samuel would not let John hurt the old man, but there was no harm in putting a scare into him. Samuel nodded to Gredilla. "Say it."

Gredilla translated.

Fernandez looked down at his boots as he answered.

Gredilla looked ashen as he translated. "He said he is very sorry, señors. He said that he wanted to do business with us, but that the Hidalgo of the town has instructed him to confiscate your goods and put them in his warehouse."

"What?" said Samuel incredulously.

"I told you we couldn't trust any of them," said John.

Samuel held up his hand. He looked at Gredilla. "The ship is in your name," he said, striving for calm, "we have our license, everything is legal. What has changed?"

"The corsair who is called Drake," said Gredilla somberly.

"Francis Drake?" said Samuel.

Gredilla nodded. "He has been ravaging the ships and towns along the Main. Everyone knows it now. Señor Fernandez says that word has come that any English who dock in these ports will be detained and their cargo impounded until there is a hearing."

John pushed closer. "Like hell they will!"

"Here come more wagons," said Fenwick.

Samuel turned with the others to look. A distant smudge of dust hung in the air. He squinted his eyes in the bright light but could not see the wagons yet. "Ask him what he thinks the outcome of the hearing will be," said Samuel.

Gredilla put the question to Fernandez and listened to his reply. "He says he thinks it will come out in your favor. He knows several lawyers in the town who he is sure we can bribe to ensure that."

Samuel looked down at the Spanish grandee in disdain and then turned back to look at the approaching wagons. Shading his eyes with his hand, he saw that the approaching column of dust was thrown skyward not by wagons but by a column of Spanish cavalry. He could now make out the distinctive Spaniard comb helmets glinting in the sun. He turned angrily to Fernandez.

"Soldiers! What is the meaning of this?"

At the sight of the approaching column of soldiers, Fernandez's nervousness changed into fear. He got to his feet and began speaking rapidly.

"What is he saying?" said Samuel to Gredilla.

"He said that he is very sorry for you, that it is not his fault, that the Hidalgo ordered this."

Samuel was about to reply when John suddenly pushed past him. "Bloody papist!" he screamed. "There will be no hearing!"

Samuel grabbed for his brother, but John's dagger was already out and glinting in the sun. It flashed down and into the fat Spaniard's chest. Fernandez's eyes closed as he grabbed John's doublet reflexively and held on to him. Fernandez's eyes issued tears through their tightly clenched lids as much blood soaked through his white silk shirtfront.

John pulled his dagger out and pushed Fernandez away. He fell to the ground and his Indian men looked about, unsure of what to do.

Samuel turned to his brother. "For the love of God, man, have you lost your mind?"

John's face was a mask of rage and he appeared not to have heard his brother.

Samuel turned to Fenwick. "Get his knife."

Fenwick approached and John turned to him wildly. Fenwick backed off, looking at Samuel.

"John," shouted Samuel, "you have killed him! Now we shall all hang!"

John seemed to come out of his fog. He sheathed his dagger. "He betrayed us!" he shouted, his voice thick with anger.

Samuel turned away in anger and disgust. He watched the approaching column of soldiers. They would arrive in another few minutes. A wagon brought up the rear. Samuel frowned as he made out the long, black cylinder of a gun taking up the length of the wagon. They would have to flee, he decided; John's bloody rashness had seen to that. Immediately, all Samuel's sailor's senses came to life, measuring the slight breeze coming off the land, which moved the hairs of his beard; it was weak, tepid. Samuel scanned the harbor, judging the maneuvering room he would need in which to turn the Contempt; there didn't appear to be enough. They would move like a slug, a perfect target for the Spanish on this sunbright perfect day.

Samuel watched William the Smith hurriedly throwing his tools into a leather sack beside his forge. What was he doing? he thought. They were not going anywhere. They would hang in this balmy, mosquito-infested place. In a black mood, Samuel watched the heated air ripple off the small forge. The distortion tickled his eyes, then his brains, and an idea came to him that might save them. If it didn't, he reasoned, it was better to die a quick death fighting, perhaps a musket ball between the eyes, than slowly swinging and strangling with a Spanish rope around one's neck.

Samuel shouted to his men. "Back to the ship! Cast off the ropes! Quickly now."

Fenwick looked at Samuel as if he were crazy. "Samuel, have you lost your mind? They have a gun! They'll blow us to matchwood."

"Yes. If they can see us."

Fenwick sputtered and looked around to see if any of the others had heard Samuel's crazy utterances. "See us? For the love of God! They are not blind!"

Samuel shoved him. "Shut up! Get on the ship... unless you want to hang." Samuel grabbed Fenwick's hat off his head and ran back toward William's forge. The old man had already gone back to the ship. Using Fenwick's hat to insulate his hands from the red-hot iron, Samuel picked up the forge and ran to the bales. He lifted the forge high, dumping some of the coals onto a bale; he then ran to the next and did the same thing.

John ran over to him. "Our goods," he said in a shocked voice, "you're burning our goods." John attempted to scrape the coals away with his dagger.

Samuel ignored him and hurried on to the next bale. Soon ten of the bails were smoldering and emitting smoke from their tops like the chimneys of miniature cottages.

Samuel gave John his sword and started back to the ship. "Come on," he called to John, Fenwick and Gredilla, who were still standing around. Fenwick and Gredilla followed him grudgingly as John tried futilely to stop the spreading fires.

Fenwick stopped and looked back. "Half of everything I own was invested in those bales," he said sadly. "I'll be wiped out."

Gredilla nodded. "My commission... up in flames!"

Samuel ignored them and called over to his brother, his voice sharp with anger. "Give up, John. That is all our monies burning up! All because of your rashness!"

John looked at him angrily then turned to look back at the approaching soldiers. "I will stay and fight. I'll not run away."

Samuel stopped and Fenwick and Gredilla waited for him. Samuel called to his brother. "Come to your senses, John. Our only chance is to take to the water. Otherwise we will all hang."

John said nothing as he watched the soldiers. They rode at an unhurried pace, not yet having noticed the head-high tendrils of smoke that were now moving toward the Contempt.

Samuel shook his head angrily. "As pigheaded as you are, I'll be damned if I'll let you hang!" He turned to Fenwick and Gredilla. "Help me with him."

Samuel threw his arms around John, pinning John's arms to his chest, while Gredilla and Fenwick each grabbed a leg. John struggled furiously as they carried him back to the ship.

John's hat fell off as they dropped him roughly onto some coiled ropes. For a moment he seemed dumbfounded, as if coming out of a faint. Then he retrieved his hat.

"Get the ropes aft!" Samuel shouted at him. John frowned painfully and ran to the rear of the ship.

Samuel went to the bow, where another set of ropes tethered the Contempt tightly to the quay. Gredilla stood passively, watching the soldiers' advance. Fenwick stood next to him, looking down at his boots and rubbing his hands together nervously. "I'm going to hang!" He looked at Samuel. "Why did I come here? I'm just a tailor!"

Samuel began pulling the ropes away. "You're a greedy little tailor and you thought there was a lot of money to be made, that's why you came here. Now, both of you help me get these ropes off or, so help me, God, you will hang!"

Fenwick and Gredilla knelt and frantically pulled at the ropes. The ropes fell away and they could then hear the clatter of the horse's hooves on the paving stones. The bales were putting out a thick smoke now, but no flames were visible.

Samuel looked aft. John and the teenaged, seaman Peter Butler struggled with the ropes there, but they still held. Another man who had been helping them had panicked and was now clambering aboard. The weak, smoky wind had moved the ship only a few inches from the pilings.

Samuel looked back at the column of soldiers. They were at the end of the quay now, putting the ship well within the range of the Spanish muskets. Fernandez's Indians watched the drama complacently, seeming not to care about the outcome.

Samuel turned round to the ship. Fifteen or so of the twenty-man crew were hauling on the ropes, raising sail. Fenwick started climbing quickly up to the rail. Gredilla stood still, watching the approaching soldiers worriedly.

"Señor Gredilla," shouted Samuel, "go help John with the ropes."

Gredilla nodded, but didn't move. He looked over at John and took off running toward the soldiers. "The English are escaping!" he shouted at them. "Hurry!"

Samuel ran back to John. He pulled his sword and began hacking at the remaining ropes. A partly severed rope snapped like a whipcrack and the ship immediately lurched outward from the quay. Samuel and John leapt for the ropes and began climbing. John tumbled over the rail. Samuel clung to the ropes, looking back. Peter Butler stood unmoving, looking at him openmouthed.

"Jump," shouted Samuel as the ship slowly moved away, "save yourself!" He clung tightly to the ropes, holding out his hand.

Peter Butler's eyes were wide with fear and indecision.

"Come on, boy," shouted Samuel.

The ship slid out of reach, Butler remaining frozen, unable even to lift his hand.

As the weak, smoky wind pushed the ship away, Samuel watched a dozen soldiers run up to the quay. Two of them grabbed Butler, throwing him to the ground, while the others quickly set their muskets into their shooting stands. The soldiers in the gun wagon wheeled it around, almost turning it over.

Samuel climbed over the rail and ducked down on the deck as the first volley from the muskets slammed splinteringly into the ship. He got to his feet. There would be a few minutes before the Spanish reloaded their muskets. Flames now sprouted from half of the smoking bales and the smoke was growing thicker, partially obscuring the ship. Samuel crouched down and a moment later another volley from the muskets cracked into the Contempt as it drove sluggishly forward toward the breakwater. Before they got there, Samuel would turn her and attempt to head her out to sea. Until then they would be broadside and vulnerable to the Spaniards. Samuel got to his feet. His men seemed okay. He looked to port, searching through the thickening smoke for the Spanish cannon. He prayed the smoke would continue to thicken; he prayed that the gunners were hungover and bleary eyed from drinking too much wine the night before, and he prayed for a miracle. How else could the Spaniards miss at this range?

Samuel hurried forward to check the depths. His men were busy readying the saker, a bronze, muzzle-loaded cannon of eight feet in length that fired three-inch-caliber shot. Mounted in the stern, it would be useless until he brought the ship about. Samuel shouted back to them, "Get that damn gun loaded. Quickly!"

"Almost ready," came a shout. Samuel peered down at the bottom through the clear water. Without the cargo they were not drawing much water and had plenty of draft.

Somewhere above Samuel a musket hall punched a hole through the sheets with a slap. He looked back at the quay through the patches of thick smoke. Gredilla was gesticulating wildly to a mounted soldier as the bales burned wildly. Black smoke obscured the quay now, and Samuel saw several Spanish soldiers attempting to wrestle one of the bales over to the edge of the quay and dump it in the sea. Other soldiers carefully aimed their long muskets at the ship. Then, through the tendrils of black smoke, Samuel finally saw what he feared most -- a large flash of orange fire from the Spanish gun. He prayed that their aim was poor. It wasn't. A crash came from aft and a cloud of dust and debris blew seaward. One of his men screamed. He lay on the deck, his hands covering his eyes as blood ran between his fingers. His mates ran to him and carried him below. Samuel saw that the shot had stove a hole in the superstructure of the stern. It wouldn't sink them; he'd have William begin the repairs when next they anchored.

Samuel signaled the helmsman and turned the Contempt. Then his men fired the saker. Samuel watched in appreciation as the shot struck one of the burning bales, knocking it over like a ten pin. The Spanish musketeers broke ranks in a panic and ran for the protection of a low wall not far from the quay. The Contempt moved faster now, showing only the slim silhouette of her stern. Samuel saw the Spanish gun flash fire again. He waited a few moments and breathed in relief as a geyser of seawater erupted off their starboard. The water rained down on him and his men and a cheer went up. They would be well out of range before the Spaniards could reload. Samuel could hardly see the soldiers moving about on the quay now as a stronger wind spirited them out to sea. Thanking God, he went back to look at the damage.