He was floating, enfolded in Margarita's soft bosom, while the world turned gradually sideways. Then he felt a pain in his knee as it struck against the stone—oddly, that was his first sensation, and he wondered fleetingly if it would still be stiff when he mounted his mare in the morning. Next he noticed a dull ache in the side of his neck, not sharp but warm from the blood. He felt the knife slip away, clattering onto the stone paving beyond his reach, and then he saw the moon, clear and crisp, suspended above him in the open sky. Next to it hovered Hipolito, his frightened eyes gazing down from the head of the stair. The eyes held dark brown for a second, then turned red, then black.
"Meu Deus, you have killed him!" A woman's voice pierced the dark. She was speaking in Portuguese as she moved through the door behind the tall negro.
Hipolito watched in terrified silence, too afraid even to breathe. Behind the negro and the woman were four other men, whispering in Ingles, muskets poised. He realized both the guns were still down below, and besides, how could . . .
"The whoreson tried to murder me with his damnable knife." The man drew up the cutlass and wiped its blood against the leather coat of Juan Jose, sprawled at his feet.
"We were not to kill unless necessary. Those were your orders."
The negro motioned for quiet and casually stepped over the body, headed for the stairs.
Mother of God, no! Hipolito drew back, wanting to cry out, to flee. But then he realized he was cornered, like an animal.
Now the negro was mounting the stairs, still holding the sword, the woman directly behind him.
Why, he wondered, had a woman come with them. These could not be ordinary thieves; they must be corsario luterano, heretic Protestant flibustero of the sea. Why hadn't he seen their ship? They must have put in at Esquebel, the little bay down the western shore, then come up by the trail. It was five miles, a quick climb if you knew the way.
But how could they have known the road leading up to the vigia? And if these were here, how many more were now readying to attack the fort at Caguaya, just to the north? The bells . . . !