Once Doña Cleotilde had withdrawn, the admiral stationed himself a prudent distance away.
"You may speak to me if you wish," said the marchioness through her mourning veil. "No vengeful specter will come for you just for speaking to a widow."
The admiral smiled.
"I admired your eloquence in your exchange with the countess."
"About what?... Ah, the part about stirring unwholesome desires. She ought to be flattered. Most old noblewomen like her, back at court in La Granja, already have to pay the stable boys to give them a pinch. She'd get it for free from these poor men deprived of women for months... How obvious—they'd whistle at anything, even a musty old sack like her."
"You speak from experience," said the officer. "I can step away for a moment if you'd like to cool off."
"Don't be ridiculous. You may remain at my side," replied the marchioness.
Then the young woman lifted her veil, which fluttered in the sea breeze, revealing her beautiful youthful face. The marchioness was a striking woman, fair-skinned, with large brown eyes and reddish-blonde hair, which caused several sailors to stumble. The admiral immediately ordered the men to focus on their tasks.
"The journey has felt long, Admiral," said the young lady.
"It has been a smooth voyage, Your Excellency," the admiral replied. "I daresay the spirit of your late husband has blessed us with a crossing free of hardship or storms."
The young woman gave him an ironic look and sighed in exasperation.
"Sure, he's likely in a hurry to see me shut up in a convent, never to see the light of day again," said the marchioness. She looked out to sea and sighed. "But it truly has been a calm and boring journey, despite the warnings and rumors from other ships we passed... about pirate attacks."
"There is nothing to fear. The Santa Carmen is a galleon with over seventy cannons; no pirate would dare challenge her."
"It would be interesting to encounter pirates," the young woman said.
"Why would that be, Your Excellency?"
"I would love to witness a naval battle, perhaps even put my sword skills to use... which I learned in Versailles against my father's wishes," she said, gazing at the blue horizon where the sun made the waves sparkle like a thousand shattered mirrors.
"I confess, Admiral," the marchioness went on, smiling as she held the veil threatening to fall across her face, "I have always dreamed of witnessing a naval battle. To feel the cannon's vibration, to watch the cannonballs fly over the waves..." She paused, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "The closest I ever came was a few years ago, while sailing near Sicily. We started hearing a series of distant booms; at first we thought it was Mount Etna erupting, or thunder from a storm. But soon we saw a huge cloud of smoke on the horizon. Then we realized it was the sound of a naval battle between Genoese and Venetians. I was nothing but a helpless onlooker from the deck, but I will never forget the roar of the cannons or the trembling of the sea beneath my feet."
The admiral laughed softly, with that blend of respect and amusement he reserved for nobles unaware of the brutalities of war.
"My lady, I pray that if you ever find yourself in the midst of naval conflict, it will be under my protection," he said with a slight bow. "But I assure you that war at sea is far less glorious and far more dreadful than those vulgar pirate novels suggest... like the ones written by that author named..." He paused, frowning and looking to his aide.
"Balin Van Buuren, sir," the assistant replied.
"Ah, that one! I've read them all," exclaimed the marchioness, her eyes shining. "They're fascinating, though a bit repetitive—read one and you know the plot of the rest. Although in the latest one he tried to break the mold... total disappointment. Have you read them, Admiral?"
"I'm not much of a reader, Your Excellency," said the admiral. "But I find your interest in fencing and combat intriguing, especially for a young noblewoman. I'm impressed by your adventurous spirit. If you'd like to practice swordplay, my aide Luis Carlos could be at your service."
The marchioness turned to the aide standing respectfully nearby.
"Too tall, handsome, and refined. He looks more like a minuet dancer than a swordsman," said the marchioness. "I want a rugged, savage opponent like a pirate. I want a real challenge."
The admiral nodded, smiling at the noblewoman's remark. At that moment, Doña Cleotilde came rushing over.
"Please, help the poor chaplain! He looks like he's dying."
The admiral nodded solemnly.
"Do not worry, I will summon the surgeon to prepare a remedy for him."
"Your Excellency, cover your face!" Doña Cleotilde cried in horror. "May God forgive such a sacrilege and lack of decency!" she exclaimed, hurrying to pull the black veil over her mistress's face.
At that moment, the crow's nest bell began to ring, followed by the lookout's cry:
"Ship to starboard!"
The admiral looked to the horizon, as did several officers and crew members.
"What is Don Leonardo's opinion?" he asked the captain of the galleon.
The captain, a seasoned navigator of these waters, peered through his spyglass.
"They're still far, but we'll maintain vigilance."
"Could they be pirates?" the marchioness asked.
"We won't know until they draw closer. In the meantime, there's no cause for alarm."
The marchioness requested the spyglass and looked out to sea.
"I pray to God they are pirates... that way, this journey will have been worthwhile," she said.
"God and Holy Mary deliver us from wishing such a thing!" exclaimed the countess, crossing herself, and took the young lady by the arm to lead her back to the cabin.
"Remain calm," added the admiral. "This ship is a fortress no pirate would dare to assail."
The admiral and his assistant bowed as the marchioness and countess departed, leaving the crew to their duties and on alert for the unidentified silhouette on the horizon.
Margarita entered the cabin followed by the countess. The young woman lay down on the bed, made as comfortably as possible with large cushions offering some relief from the sweltering heat.
"It would be best for you to lie down. Tropical heat can be harmful... Good heavens, why did God create such infernos?" muttered Doña Cleotilde.
"I find them rather exciting, don't you? Pirates, adventurers... far better company than a seasick priest and a vulture-eyed notary," replied the marchioness with sarcasm.
While tidying the cabin, the countess came across a book on the desk. She picked it up and read the title aloud from the spine:
"The Legend of the Uncharted Island..."
The marchioness immediately sat up and rushed to snatch it from her hands.
"Heavens! How did you get this?" asked the countess, scandalized.
"I have my ways."
"Those books are forbidden! Written by heretics. Let us hope the Inquisition never finds out," said the noblewoman, crossing herself in alarm.
"Of course they won't. What officer of the Holy Office would dare inspect the king's galleon?" Margarita replied ironically.
The countess frowned.
"Still, I insist you toss that book overboard and focus on readings that nourish your soul. Read Saint Teresa of Avila!"
"Oh, come now, Countess, it's just an innocent story of adventure and pirates. It harms no one."
"Pirates? Now I understand where all these fantasies come from. Well... you are an adult, and I suppose you know what you're doing. I just hope you confess it to Father Diego."
"If he doesn't die first," muttered the marchioness mockingly.
The countess crossed herself, scandalized by the comment. With a disapproving gesture, she departed. Margarita, wearing a mischievous smile, settled back into bed and opened the book with delight.
The young marchioness had been forced to marry by her father, the Viceroy of New Spain, to a wealthy nobleman twice—or perhaps three times—her age, owner of several mines in Potosi. Upon his death, she thought she could finally begin a new life: see the world, return to the court of Versailles, and perhaps find true love among adventurers like the heroes in her novels.
But reality was different. By order of her father, she had been urgently summoned to Mexico City, and her return had been imposed with no room for objection. Since then, a dark premonition had been haunting her. Something didn't feel right.
The notary, ever secretive, revealed nothing. But Margarita was convinced that among the documents he carried so discreetly, a sentence awaited. The only question was: what kind?