Author's note: Thanks so much to elys and bigfan for your reviews! It's always nice to get feedback. Hope you enjoy this next chapter :)
As stated before, Salazar's story is based on the biography of Admiral Blas de Lezo

"… they sailed into the Devil's Triangle and that's the last I saw of 'em. The last anyone will ever see" – the pirate concluded his fearful and extraordinary tale.
On his knees, his hands and ankles shackled in irons, he was looking up at the Spanish officers questioning him and throwing occasional weary glances at the sailor standing in the corner, twiddling a flogger playfully in his hands.

"Devil's Triangle?!" – the younger officer, a handsome, aristocratic looking man of about twenty-five, dressed in a Spanish captain's uniform huffed scornfully – "You dare insult us with superstitious nonsense, thief?!"

"It's true, sir" – the pirate replied pleadingly as he saw the young captain give a light nod to the sailor with the flogger – "Everyone in these waters knows that whoever dares to sail into the Triangle is cursed and lost forever. No one ever came out and no one ever will…"

"There're no rocks or caves within miles of here" – the captain huffed – "Not within sight and not on any chart. So were's that cave of your then, eh?"

"The legend says that the Triangle can only be found by accident…"

"Enough!" – the young man snapped and the pirate screamed as the flogger swung down onto his raw back with a violent whiz - "You will tell us the truth even if it costs you every drop of blood you have"

"Please, sir, I…" – the pirate whimpered and screamed again when the whip licked the rawness of his bloody flesh one more time. How many times today, he didn't know. He'd lost count.
It was about to do so again, when, suddenly, to his eternal joy, the older officer, who, judging by his uniform and regalia could only be the Spanish Admiral Don Juan Tomás Enríque de Cabrera y Ponce de Leon, Naval commander of the Spanish Force in Havana and the Caribbean raised a hand, gesturing his tormentor to halt.

"What happened to the other vessel?" – the admiral asked calmly, his wise old eyes looking searchingly into the pirate's, probing them, testing his words for truth and lies. He was a smallish, taught and rather round man with a pointy white beard and mustache, whose skin was wrinkled and withered, but not too tanned. His age was hard to guess, but the pirate knew him to be well over sixty.

"They sailed away sir" – the pirate answered, sad, but hopeful the old man would believe him and let his sufferings come to a much welcome end. At least for a while.

"Why didn't they come back for you?" – Cabrera said, raising an eyebrow – "I'd wager you weren't the only survivor in the water"

"No, sir. But 'whoever falls behind is left behind'" – the pirate replied with a sigh.

"I see"

"No camaraderie among thieves and murderers, eh?" – the young captain chuckled scornfully.

"Pirate's life - pirate's code, Capitan Miralles" – Cabrera replied, the corners of his dry, thin lips twisted into a little smile – "Isn't that true, sailor?"

"Aye, sir" – the pirate answered, shrugging his shoulders. He couldn't have put it better himself.

"I suppose we should all consider ourselves lucky you didn't drown before we came like the rest of them, shouldn't we?" – Cabrera chuckled sarcastically.

"I suppose so, sir" – the pirate replied rather meekly.

"Very well, then" – said the admiral, grabbing two richly decorated gold covered canes and getting up heavily from his chair – "Lock him in the brig"

"Almirante…" – Miralles tried to protest, looking surprised and horrified.

But Don Cabrera didn't care to listen. Limping badly and leaning heavily on his canes the Admiral turned around and walked out of the cabin, nodding for Miralles to follow. Throwing the pirate a last mean and hateful look, the captain obeyed.

"So, Capitan, what do you make of all this?" – Cabrera asked Miralles as they came aloft and began to make their way onto the quarterdeck, the old admiral cursing under his breath as he battled the steep staircase.

"I believe the pirate lied to us to try and save his so – called friends, mi Almirante" – the young captain replied confidently, waiting patiently behind for the Commander to clamber up, ready to assist him if necessary – "Obviously the 'Maria Silenciosa' didn't disappear in any kind of invisible cursed cave with evil magic. She must've gone after the last surviving pirate ship. He's taking us for fools and making up ridiculous stories to try and prevent us from also giving chase"

"You think so?" – Cabrera asked with a chuckle, which quickly turned into a sigh of relief as he finally managed to conquer the damned stairs and limped out onto the quarterdeck. The sailors and officers on watch saluted him deferentially.

"Of course, sir" – Miralles replied, sounding slightly annoyed – "If the 'Maria Silenciosa' were defeated and sunk, he'd have told us, so the battle didn't go according to the pirates' plan"

"Aye, that is evident" – Cabrera chuckled as he sank heavily into the sea - chair next to the wheel and looked ahead at Miralles' 'San Jose' floating quietly on anchor about fifty feet from his own 'Estrella Del Mar' amidst a sea of corpses, charred and broken wood, ripped sails, overturned boats, boxes and barrels and burned black and white flags, all scattered for miles around. The evidence of a fierce sea – battle, which according to the prisoner, took place several hours ago. The mortal remains of the last pirate fleet in the Caribbean played with and eventually claimed by the currents of the merciless sea. In a few days, there'll be nothing left, but stories of yet another great victory won by the legendary El Matador Del Mar, who defeated ten pirate ships with just his 'Silent Mary'. But… Whether that battle was Salazar's last triumph, Cabrera couldn't say.

"Mi Almirante, shouldn't we be questioning the pirate until he tells us…" – Miralles continued rather impertinently.

"Until he tells us what, mi Capitan?" – Cabrera replied with the gracious patience of an old sea - dog, amused by the hard and fast plan the inexperienced and impetuous young officer no doubt had – "It is ridiculous to even think of giving chase now, hours after the battle"

"Are we to do nothing, sir?" – Miralles asked, his voice polite and cordial, but with a wary undertone, which didn't escape Don Juan.

"No, Capitan, we are to make way for Havana" – the admiral answered in a calm, mentoring tone – "If you are correct and the pirate lied, Capitan Salazar is way ahead of us. We do not know his course, we cannot trust the pirate to provide us with so much as a good guess, especially after he'd spent several hours in the water and then was given a good flogging by his enemies. And even if we knew, the 'Maria Silenciosa' is faster than either the "Estrella Del Mar" or "San Jose", so we cannot make good enough time. Besides, Capitan Salazar obviously didn't need our help to defeat a fleet of ten ships, much less chase down one lonely pirate"

"What if it's a trap?" – Miralles countered – "Our spies reported that the 'Brotherhood' was planning an assault on Capitan Salazar, but there was nothing in it about Teach"

"Teach? You mean, Blackbeard?"

"He's one of the greatest pirate threats in the Caribbean and he hates us even more than he hates the British, especially Capitan Salazar. I doubt he'd want to merely sit back and watch others take action. So, what if those ten ships were just a scouting party and the 'lonely pirate ship' survived because it never engaged? What if it was meant to survive to take the 'Maria Silenciosa' to where the 'Revenge' and the rest are waiting?"

Cabrera laughed as he looked up at the stubborn and impertinent stripling of an officer, not smart enough and way too young and inexperienced for the Capitan's epaulettes he got because of noble birth and because his father in law, the Governor of Havana, didn't want to leave his only child behind in Spain with her husband when he got posted in the Caribbean.
No doubt the idiot was bored on land, dreaming of glory, desperate to finally smell some gunpowder and praying nightly not to Jesus Christ, but to Armando Salazar, as most youngsters and even older sailors did these days. 'Invincible' they called him. And invincible he was. Pride of the Spanish Royal Navy and a favorite of the king. A man hailed as a hero and a legend on both sides of the Atlantic. A captain, whose name was the synonym of victory and power. As Cabrera's had once been… before his glory was stolen from him by another stripling of a captain. No, not stolen… Won. Won fairly in a fierce battle. Earned and proven time and time again since.

"A scouting party of ten ships?" – the old admiral snorted. The officers and sailors on watch and within hearing range sniggered quietly – "These are pirates, Capitan, not the British or Ottoman navy. They are a bunch of disorderly gringos who would betray their own mothers for a cask of rum and a syphilis - infected wench. Trust me, those ten ships were the largest force they could ever muster unless they're privateers, which they weren't. And as for Teach… I'm afraid you still have a great deal to learn about pirates, my young friend"

"Sir?" – Miralles asked, with outward calm, trying his best not to blush and feeling mortified at being made the laughing stock.

"Teach may hate us, but he's way too smart and arrogant to join the 'Pirate Brethren'. If they win, none of them will be able to claim the full price or the full glory. If not, there's no reason for him to die, when there're lots of others who can do it for him. Hence, no reason for him to stick his neck out by joining them"

"I see"

"Trust me, if the 'Maira Silenciosa' is still afloat in the Caribbean after what happened, she's quite safe"

"Forgive me, Almirante, but what do you mean 'if'?" – Miralles asked suspiciously – "Surely, you don't believe in the Devil's Triangle or any other kind of old sailors' myths?"

Did he believe… Good question, thought Don Juan as he shifted in his sea – chair to make himself more comfortable and turned his gaze to the horizon.
As a literate, cultured and well-educated man he knew perfectly well that rocks and caves cannot appear and disappear at whim. And there was nothing within sight, but restless waves, playing with the remains of ships and men and a devious, endless, blue waste of the sea. No sign of land, no reefs and definitely no cave the pirate spoke of. Not even the slightest signal of a shoal.
Being a good catholic, the only magic he believed in was the magic of the Love of God. And that of the deceptions of Diablo. So he could not take any of the old tales of ghosts and curses seriously. But… he'd lived long enough to know when there was too much smoke not to be fire. And he'd heard way too many stories, rumors, and accounts of different origin and timing… Without a doubt, something was wrong and strange about these waters, where countless ships have sailed free for centuries, yet every once in a while a vessel vanished mysteriously, without a trace, leaving no clue of what happened to it. Was it indeed the Devil's work? Or just the fault of some strange natural phenomenon no one could yet explain? Cabrera didn't know. And neither, frankly, did it matter, because if Salazar didn't come back one way or another, the Devil and the Sea would not be the ones to get the blame…

"The sea holds many secrets, Capitan" – the old admiral replied cryptically after a rather long and heavy pause – "Things have been happening in these waters for hundreds of years. Things that no one can explain. I know what I believe. But, you might not agree…"

"Sir?" – the captain gasped, looking bewildered and even more suspicious.

Cabrera didn't answer. Instead, he shifted in his sea – chair, fished a small silver flask of wine out of his breast pocket and took a few large gulps. The rich, tart, savory liquid burned his mouth and stomach pleasantly, and would soon dull the pain in his back and legs. A pain that for almost five years has been his constant companion.
He shouldn't be out here, Cabrera told himself with a heavy sigh. He couldn't even stand up straight, much less fight and chase pirates. He was too old, too tired and too lame. The sea that had once favored him, like a fickle and faithless beauty, had long withdrawn her grace, bestowing it on another man, and hence was no place for him.
He should've gone ashore for good right after Barcelona, the admiral thought sadly, as he was staring meditatively at the perfect line of contrast between shades of blue in a faraway place where the ocean meets the sky and sensing Miralles' heavy and mistrustful gaze upon himself.
He hadn't really sailed since he came to Havana four years ago and he shouldn't have ventured out now. He only did so, because, with most of his captains out on patrol or escorting merchant ships, there was no one else to aid Salazar when the intelligence of the pirate assault came, hours after the 'Maria Silenciosa' left Havana. And there was no way in hell he could sit this one out on land, regardless of how many ships he had in harbor. Because no one, not the king, or the governor, or the navy, or the people on both sides of the Atlantic would ever believe the old admiral left Salazar to fight alone out of common sense and not the vengeful bitterness of an old enemy.
Even now, with clear evidence of Salazar's victory and no other real options, Raul Miralles obviously thought Cabrera had decided to go back to Havana instead of giving chase out of pure spite and personal vendetta. And if Salazar was indeed lost in the Devil's Triangle never to return, that's exactly what Miralles would tell his father in law, Governor Cristóbal de Palencia. What he, in turn, would imply, when writing to His Majesty King Felipe of a terrible tragedy and a dire loss to the Spanish Empire and Crown. Would the monarch ever believe the truth? Or would he think Cabrera had left Salazar to die deliberately, to get revenge for his spectacular fall from grace in Barcelona? Knowing Felipe's suspicious nature and dark and melancholy disposition, the answer would most likely be the latter… And what the king would do about it was anyone's guess…

But were they really wrong, Don Juan asked himself, searching the darkest corners of his soul that held his worst and most painful memories. Although he could honestly say that he did everything in his power, within reason, to try to help the Matador, how would he truly feel if Salazar didn't come back? Would he become a grieving comrade or a bitter old rival, secretly rejoicing his enemy's demise?
The honest answer was, he would be both. In the four years they'd served together Cabrera really grew to admire and even love the proud, glorious and arrogant daredevil, who inspired love and loyalty in men like no one else he'd ever known. However…the taste of defeat, bitter as gall and burning as the fire that consumed his ships was still as fresh as it had ever been. The memory of Barcelona was even more alive in the old man's mind than the present moment and would forever be his torment…

The year was 1714 and the bloody Civil War of the Succession that had gone on for fourteen years and claimed hundreds of thousands of good people all across Spain and Europe was near its conclusion. The Archduke Charles of Austria had lost a good part of the country to his rival Felipe de Bourbon. Beautiful Barcelona, which had surrendered to the Archduke in 1705, had now become his last outpost and, after the treaty of Utrecht, his last hope for the Spanish throne. Luckily for Charles, the General Estates of Catalonia, who'd decided to continue to be loyal to the Archduke's cause in order to defend the Catalan constitutions, were prepared to fight to the death. So that was what they did. For over a year, since July 1713 Barcelona had been surrounded by Bourbon forces under the command of Restaino Cantelmo-Stuart, Duke of Popoli, but all their countless attacks upon the city had been fruitless. Because the key to the ancient fortress was the sea, so as long as the Archduke's navy held, Barcelona would not fall. And he, Juan Tomás Enríquez de Cabrera y Ponce de Leon, 11th and last hereditary Admiral of Castile, Governor of the Duchy of Milan, Viceroy of Catalonia, member of the State Council, ambassador in Rome and France, Caballerizo mayor to the King, Field Marshal of the Holy Roman Empire and now Chief Commander of the Archduke's navy was not going to surrender. He'd been the anchor of the Habsburg naval force for many years, a legendary admiral who'd never been defeated by anyone in the Mediterranean, including his Spanish Bourbon loyalist counterpart Admiral Andrés de Pez y Malzarraga. They'd met in battle many times over fourteen years, especially during the yearly siege of Barcelona, but always with the same result. No matter how strong or cunning his enemy was, Don Juan de Cabrera remained victorious. Until the last days of August 1714.
The Bourbons, running out of men and supplies and plagued by disease, were becoming more and more desperate for a quick victory, since a defeat in Barcelona could turn the tide of a long, hard, ruinous and wasting war they'd almost won. For two months their navy had been constantly in action, attacking Cabrera's ships with small scouting forces and conducting daring, almost suicidal amphibious assaults on land, never engaging properly, yet doing substantial damage both to the fleet and to the city. Finally, the Admiral's patience had grown thin and he decided to annihilate the Bourbon fleet once and for all. A potentially risky venture, since the sea was Barcelona's main line of defense, but a necessary one. And a sure victory, Don Juan had told the Archduke, since Admiral De Pez, who'd fallen ill and was in no condition to lead his forces, had foolishly entrusted the command to some nobody. A youngster of obscure birth, made captain no more than six months prior. The son of some merchant sailor, a man of twenty – five, who earned his epaulets and made a name for himself by leading men on suicidal missions, including an unheard - of capturing of a British ship of the line with a frigate he didn't even command. A name Cabrera as a hereditary admiral and an aristocrat didn't know or even care to know since there was no doubt it would disappear as suddenly as it came to be.
And so, on August 30th, the two fleets met just off the coast of Barcelona. Don Juan traveled through his fleet in a swift vessel, urging his officers and men to do their utmost in this final battle, which he promised, they would win and, thus, free the city from the enemy. They greeted him with cheers, none of them doubting him. After that, the sacrament was administered and lines of battle were formed.
Cabrera chuckled bitterly as he remembered how he laughed at his enemy, who'd apparently made a foolish, ignorant mistake, by positioning all his ships in a single line, instead of placing the heavier ships in front of the lighter ones as Cabrera himself did. A placement which would allow the fleet to reach the enemy ships simultaneously and form a single line of combat.
This was going to be even easier than he thought, Don Juan told himself triumphantly as he watched the Bourbon fleet approach, carried by the wind, with brigs sailing way ahead of the frigates, which, in turn, were ahead of the ships of the line. Scattered and all but asking to be encircled and destroyed.
But all his joyous anticipation of an easy victory turned into terror and panic the moment his ships opened fire at close quarters at the fast approaching brigs. Chock full of powder, well placed and steered carefully into his formation by heroic helmsmen, who jumped ship right before first impact, the fireships slashed into the perfectly formed line like a legion of fire – demons or like the flaming swords of cherubs, sent down by God to punish the old admiral for his arrogance. Blowing up almost simultaneously in gigantic fire – balls that seemed to spread across the sky and drown the whole world in fire, they torched Cabrera's entire navy into eleven parts and sent his scattered, burning ships straight into the arms of the main enemy force of frigates and line ships. Completely intact, in perfect formation to encircle and annihilate their dying enemy, the Bourbon fleet sailed eagerly to meet the Habsburgs, their banners flying high and proud, the morale of their sailors skyrocketing.
True to their vows and their admiral, Cabrera's men fought valiantly, when they were breached and hand to hand combat ensued, but it was clear to everyone, the battle was already lost, along with Barcelona and the Archduke's crown.
After nearly two hours of fierce melee, all of the Habsburg ships were either sunk or captured. Don Juan himself was wounded, his spine broken at its base from a bad fall from the quarterdeck. His flagship was captured and his standard taken down by Vinçente Puertos, an old comrade turned enemy. A captain he'd known for many years in Milan, but never bothered to acknowledge or befriend as he was way below Don Juan in rank and family. And now, when Puertos came to arrest him for high treason in name of His Majesty King Felipe, Don Juan refused to bow down to a former subordinate and demanded that, since he couldn't walk, the leader of the Bourbons, whatever his name was, should come to him to accept his surrender. Puertos, who was a self – made man of humble birth, took great offense to that. He cursed the former admiral for his hauteur and laughed at him.

" 'Whatever his name is', as you call him, is Capitan Armando Salazar. Salazar" – Puertos told Cabrera proudly – "You would do well to remember it and address him by name and rank, as befits a victorious admiral"

"He is no admiral and he never will be" – Don Juan retorted spitefully – "But rest assured, Capitan, I won't forget his name"

And he did not. Neither did the whole of Europe or the Spanish Empire. Armando Salazar's star was lighted beneath the walls of Barcelona and ever since was burning high and brilliant like Sirius, brightest star in the northern hemisphere.

After the Habsburg navy was destroyed, the Bourbon land forces under the command of the Duke of Berwick, breached Barcelona's walls and entered the city.
Felipe de Bourbon finally triumphed on the 11th of September 1714. Cabrera was arrested and taken to the Castle of Pamplona, where he was imprisoned for almost a year. In time, the wounds in his flesh and spine had healed but left him lame for whatever life the sixty-year-old man still had. The wounds in his soul, however, were beyond any healer's skills.
To his surprise, by spring of 1715, Don Juan was released and pardoned by King Felipe, who was not a vindictive fool and quite prepared to overlook the noble and talented old sailor's past offenses in return for faithful service to the Crown. So, by royal decree, Cabrera was to be stripped of half his titles and exiled to Havana. To lead the fleet, patrolling the Spanish Main and hunt the pirates plaguing those waters and inflicting considerable damage on the Empire's treasury. Reluctantly, Cabrera had accepted the exceptionally generous offer and the post many men would gladly die for.
But there was no end to the Don Juan's astonishment when he found out that Capitan Armando Salazar, the glorious hero hailed across the empire for his fearlessness, boarding insanity, the brilliance of his mind and his exceptional navigational skills, a favorite of King Felipe who was granted the incredible honor of personally commanding the ship that brought the king's new bride, the Princess of Parma to her new homeland, had refused a prestigious position in the Spanish admiralty in Cadiz and was begging his royal patron for a post in Havana, sailing under the command of a man he'd defeated. Promising the king that within five years he'd singlehandedly rid the Caribbean of the pirate plague. After a struggle, the king finally granted his favorite captain's wish. And thus, the hunt began.

A hunt that now, possibly, has finally come to an end, the old admiral thought with a heavy sigh, his whole being suddenly becoming sad for the proud and courageous captain and his loyal men.
Could Salazar have really been that stupidly arrogant or that insanely reckless as to follow the pirates into a cave he didn't know and had never seen before? Unfortunately, Cabrera knew the answer to that only too well. However… If it were any other captain in the Devil's Triangle, Don Juan would be sure his cause was hopeless. But this was Salazar. A man whose life was made through defying common sense, defeating known truths and…

"Sails ho!" - the lookout's sudden cry pulled Cabrera out of his meditation.

Immediately, Miralles pulled out his spyglass and looked in the direction the bow lookout was pointing.

"Well?" – Cabrera asked impatiently – "Who is it? Pirates? English?"

"It's the 'Maria Silenciosa'" - the young captain replied with a happy smile.

"What?" - Cabrera gasped, snatching the spyglass from Miralles and looking at the small square dot on the horizon.

"She's flying our colors, mi Almirante"

Taking no notice of the young officer, who was obviously oblivious to the possibility of false colors, which, by the way, was the oldest sailors' trick in the world, Don Juan stared intently at the lone vessel, brought closer by an ingenious system of lenses developed by the Dutch just over a century ago. The ship was indeed flying the banner of the Spanish Royal Navy. Even from this distance, she looked rather worn and battered. Her foremast was gone and half her sails rolled up. But, still, there could be no mistake. It was indeed the "Silent Mary". Well and afloat and out of any danger from men or supernatural forces.