Disclaimer: I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots belong to me.

Chapter 23

Parley

I stared at Maroto, dumbfounded by his appearance-so obviously alive and yet so changed! I heard a quick movement from the berth and turned to find Hector on his feet, aiming his pistol at Maroto.

"Well, if it ain't the Padre!" he said, in tones he usually reserved for Jack's name. "I heard ye was dead."

I glared at Maroto. "You let me mourn your death, and all the while you were shamming! You owe me some answers."

"Forgive me," he said. "I could not do otherwise. Please believe that I come as a friend. And that…" he gestured towards Hector's weapon "…is not sufficient, in any case." He paused, then revealed the extraordinary truth. "Like my uncle Juan, I can die, but I cannot be killed."

I felt the blood leave my face as I took in the implication of his words. "You've been to the Fountain," I murmured.

"Well? What d' ye have t' say fer yerself?" Hector's voice was a dangerous growl.

Maroto spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. "The stolen years keep us alive. We have no choice. Towards the end, our strength fades and we age. But we endure. Once my body had recovered from the loss of blood, my senses returned, and I joined my uncle on the Santiago. He was already chasing the Medusa."

"So what d' ye want with us?" Hector's eyes narrowed. "If it be the map yer after, ye've come up empty. It's gone to the bottom."

"It's not that simple." Maroto took a step forward and removed his helmet. He gave me a pleading look. "I need your help to free my uncle from the Fountain's power."

Hector gave a short, contemptuous laugh. "So you an' yer uncle want t' give up eternal youth."

Maroto looked down for a moment, as if searching for the right words. When he raised his eyes, he said simply, "I have lived a quarter of a millennium, longer than any man should. I made my peace with death long ago. " He extended his hand. "Señora? Will you come with me?"

I crossed my arms. "I'm the Captain's partner and wife, Padre. It's both of us or neither one-and we'll have the truth from you first. Whatever you've kept back, now is the time to tell it."

Maroto studied our faces with his dark, sad eyes. Then his shoulders drooped and he nodded. "You are right." He approached the table with an unsteady gait, and seated himself wearily.

"You see before you the last living member of the Santiago's crew. There are no more. I sailed with my uncle in 1521, on his final voyage. I took part in everything-the theft of the chalices, the capture of the victims, the torture of the mermaids by which we acquired their tears."

Cold horror began to creep over me. It was one thing to read of these exploits in the old journal, but quite another to find myself face to face with a living participant.

"I have seen the Fountain consume its victims," he said. "And felt the rapture of new life flooding through my veins. I thought to enjoy the years I had stolen and, when they ran out, to die a contented man."

He paused and his mouth curved into a wry smile. "But we hadn't understood the Ritual. The Fountain traps all who drink from the chalices-one is destroyed, and the other becomes its servant. We thirsted endlessly for the Elixir, tormented by fears that we would lose our way back to the Fountain or find it had run dry."

I stole a look at Hector and thought it would break my heart if this proud man were to become the Fountain's minion. Did he understand what was at stake? His expression was unchanged, but he stared intently at the white-haired Padre.

"I vowed to save my uncle," Maroto went on, "I have spent more than a lifetime hunting for his journals and seeking a way to free him. If he is persuaded to give away the Sword of Triton, he will have no way to sail back to that evil place."

Hector considered this with a glint in his half-closed eyes. "The Sword o' Triton, ye say? That calls the wind an' makes lifeless matter do yer bidding?"

Our visitor nodded. "Its powers are greatest when it is on a ship." He looked meekly at Hector. "Doubt me if you wish. But you have only to board the Santiago to find the truth. Observe my uncle. You will see what he has become."

But Hector scoffed at this proposal. "And I'm supposed t' believe that Ponce de Leon will let us board his ship an' take his sword."

Maroto tightened his mouth, then sighed. "I promised you honest answers. So be it. He knows nothing of my plan to take the Sword. I must bring you to him and hope that fate gives us a chance to act. As for why he will let you board the Santiago, the reason is simple: the Fountain's effect is wearing off." He stared at us sadly. "The time for another sacrifice is near."

We sat in shocked silence, until Hector said, "So that's it. Two of us-one fer you, one fer him." He jerked his chin towards the door. "Outside, Padre. I'll give ye my decision after a word with me missus."

"It's too dangerous," I said after Maroto had left. "You said yourself we can't trust him. It's a trap."

Hector lounged in his chair, propping himself on one elbow. His narrowed eyes gazed at nothing while he thought, and I had the feeling he hadn't heard my warning at all. Finally he darted a sharp look my way. "Can ye get the sword?" he asked point blank.

I opened my mouth but no words came out. He was actually contemplating Maroto's proposal! I looked at the floor and tried to think. If Maroto were telling the truth-and I searched every corner of my heart to find a grain of trust in him-then Hector would see what effect the Fountain had on Ponce de Leon. It might be the only way to stop him seeking those malevolent waters. He must reckon that if eternal youth could not be his, he would make prize of the sword instead: that was the reason for his question.

My heart gave a little jump as I realised something else: for the first time, Hector was treating me as his colleague rather than his subordinate. He thought my skills were up to the task; but he also respected me enough to ask my opinion. A feeling of confidence warmed me as I met his gaze. "Yes," I told him. "Yes, love. I can do it."

He reached the door with two strides of his long legs and threw it open. "Padre!" he said, and Maroto stepped forward.

"We're agreed as t' terms," Hector informed him. We started forward, but Maroto held up his hand.

"You must leave your weapons."

Hector narrowed his eyes. "Thought ye said ye couldn't be killed?"

"It is not for me," he replied, "but for your own safety. My uncle wields a magic sword, and the years have tested his powers of reason. Your weapons may…agitate him."

"All the more reason I'll be keeping 'em on me," Hector said with a grim smile.

I gave him a sidelong look. "But they're no use to us." I laid my pistols and scimitar on the chart table. After an instant's hesitation, Hector followed suit. I stared at the pile of weapons and a nervous tremor danced across my skin at the chance I was taking.

We filed out of the cabin; Maroto first, Hector next, and myself last. As I stepped on deck, Hector stopped so abruptly that I collided with him.

"By all the powers…" he murmured, and we stared at what lay before us.

A fine ship of antique design was tied up alongside the Berwick. She was slightly larger, with lovely curved lines that dipped low amidships and then rose gracefully to the small quarterdeck. I heard the gentle flap of the long, old-fashioned pennants flying from her masthead, but when I lifted my gaze to her rigging I knew what sort of ship she was. Her main and mizzen masts carried the largest lateen sails I had ever seen, and each one bore the jagged Cruz de Borgoña, the ensign of the Spanish king who had reigned two centuries ago.

Maroto nodded towards the ship. "Let me be the first to welcome you aboard the Santiago, my friends."

….

Maroto escorted us to the Santiago's great cabin where he left us while he fetched his uncle.

Hector's eyes grew wide as he stared at the opulence that surrounded us. "Be this Ponce de Leon's quarters or Ali Baba's treasure cave?" he murmured.

Not since I had ventured to Isla de Muerta had I seen so much treasure in one place. The room twinkled and glinted as my eyes strayed across masses of gold and silver figurines, precious beads, and bowls filled with priceless gems and pearls. The soft candlelight flickered with a gentle, hypnotic pulse that made me feel drowsy and distracted.

At one end of this treasure-house stood a gilded bed with hangings and coverlet fashioned from cloth-of-gold. A human skull and two crossed bones were fixed at the top of the headboard, and I wondered why any man would deface his magnificent bed with such a grisly reminder of mortality.

Hector nudged me. "Look there," he said, in a voice reverent as a priest's.

I peered about anxiously and finally saw what had stirred such awe in him – a tall hourglass made of gold with one of its columns representing the Grim Reaper. I looked closer and saw that instead of sand, it had been filled with flakes of pure gold. The top was engraved with a Latin phrase: Nihil Permanere Sub Sole.

"Nothing under the sun endures," I translated. "Well, it seems they've put the lie to that."

Just then, Maroto opened the door. "El Marquis Don Juan Ponce de Leon," he announced.

A rather skeletal man entered with uncertain, shuffling steps, his frail shoulders stooped with age. He wore dark breeches and tall leather boots with a yellow doublet that would have been fashionable centuries ago. His flat-brimmed hat was adorned with a red, spiral-curled ostrich feather, and he carried a strangely shaped sword which I guessed was the Sword of Triton.

Hector's gaze instantly fixed on the sword.

"Permítanme presentarles Capitán Barbossa y Señora Bitter," said Maroto, pausing awkwardly for a moment before adding, "… su esposa."

We bowed graciously. "Marquis," murmured Hector, as though the very word were an incantation.

"Mucho gusto," I said.

Ponce de Leon gave us an owlish, uncertain look. He had a long face not unlike Maroto's, and its shape was emphasised by his closely-trimmed beard, which made a double point at his chin. "Encantada," he said in a dusty voice.

Time had left its cruel stamp on him. His skin was the colour and texture of melted wax, but so thin that you could make out the bones that lay beneath it. There was a slight tremor in his hand as he waved us towards two heavily carved chairs.

Not much remained of the legendary soldier and explorer. I remembered Maroto's insistence that he had been a good man-but how I was expected to claim this sword? I glanced doubtfully at Maroto.

He shook his head very slightly, then addressed his uncle. "Capitan Barbossa says that the map has fallen into the sea and cannot be recovered."

The old conquistador surveyed all three of us in silence, turning his head slowly as if he hadn't heard or understood. Again I was reminded of an owl. Something was clearly amiss with him, and I began to wonder whether his mental faculties were no more robust than his body.

"Gracias a Dios," he muttered at last. "Now it cannot be found." Then his eyes brightened as he focused on me. "But how fortunate no harm came to you, my dear, young woman," his cracked lips widened into a smile. "You have many years of life still ahead of you, no? We don't often have the pleasure of…of guests so young."

"You flatter me, sir," I said, wishing he would look elsewhere. His eyes regarded me as if I were the Christmas goose, and it was a relief when he turned and greeted Hector.

"Bienvenido, Capitan," he said. "I am delighted to offer our hospitality. We will do our best to see that you eat well, sleep well, and enjoy your time on my ship. We don't have many guests…" Then he leaned to one side and Maroto bent down to catch the whispered question. "Qué edad crees que es?"[1]

"No se," replied Maroto under his breath.

With a shock I realised how the famed explorer craved the life in both of us. I darted a glance at Hector. Had he understood what they said?

"My compliments on your good health, Capitan," said our host. "I perceive you come from strong stock, and will have a long life."

"Thank ye, sire," Hector purred as I tried not to roll my eyes. "And thank ye for takin' us from the driftin' wreck where we was stranded. Might I ask where yer bound?"

"We sail for a safe harbour, where you can repair your ship and perhaps find a crew," he replied.

"Speakin' of which," Hector went on smoothly, "where be yer crew?"

The old man's wits seemed to wander for a bit, but then he looked at us slyly as though deciding whether to share a treat. "I have a sword." He cackled as he patted its hilt. "I no longer need a crew to sail my ship."

"So ye rid yerself of 'em? How'd ye manage that?"

"I marooned them. Except for him." He blinked at Maroto, then his eyes wandered to the skull and crossbones above his bed. "And that one. Can you guess who he is?"

Hector's half-closed, lynx-like eyes made his expression unreadable. "Some foe ye conquered?"

"He is Diego Miruelo. Sent to spy on me by the son of Cristóbal Colón! But he was the first man I sacrificed at the Fountain. Now he can spy on me as I sleep." He gave a gleeful cackle.

Hector answered with a smile that seemed forced; but my eyes remained on the skull as Ponce de Leon explained how he had condemned his men to death.

"We careened the Santiago on a deserted island," he said, "and I sent them ashore to rest. Then I righted the ship by means of the sword, and left them to die. You see," he tapped his forehead and his eyes twinkled, "I am still clever! And after all, the only thing that matters is…the Fountain."

"Many a man would give his soul to find it," Hector remarked with a nod. I was mute, frozen in my chair. Was Hector speaking of himself? I held my breath.

"I would not be surprised if you were among them," Ponce de Leon laughed. "Conquistador and pirate are much the same, my friend: men of courage, ruthlessly seeking riches and glory…" his smile faded as his attention seemed to drift.

"An' masters of their own fate, answerin' t' no one," Hector added. He smiled and inclined his chin, but I now feared this meeting was a terrible mistake. What if pirate and explorer truly were alike? What if Hector was inspired rather than discouraged by the conquistador's exploits?

"Master of your own fate." Maroto's uncle seemed wistful. "As you are, so I was…once… But what could I do?" he muttered, as if to himself. "It demands to be served. All else is a shadow." He looked at us nervously and tapped his index finger on the table for emphasis. "One must always be thinking ahead, you see. Planning. La oportunidad te llega[2], and you must be ready. One prepares, and beseeches heaven that the water is still flowing."

Then he looked about him at the cabin, bursting with treasure of every kind. "But the world fades. Time passes."

His shoulders slumped. "In a sense, I am marooned also."

Only give me the sword and let me free you, I thought, but could not bring myself to ask for fear of him refusing. Everyone kept silent, and my unspoken question hung over me like another famous sword-the Sword of Damocles.

I began to stammer something, but he interrupted. "Forgive me, mi vida. I am weary. You will be my guests at dinner tonight."

And on that abrupt note, he ended our conversation.

…

We followed Maroto to a smaller cabin which was filled with nearly as much treasure as the captain's quarters. Here we were invited to relax and refresh ourselves until dinner.

Once out of Ponce de Leon's presence, exhaustion swept over me. I craved sleep, and yet I could do no more than stare at the welcoming bed, unable to summon the will to lie down.

Hector had been moving about the cabin inspecting the piles of gold, silks, beads and other trinkets, but after a few moments, he came up behind me and slid his arms about my ribs. He held me close, rocking my slightly, then he cleared his throat and put his lips close to my ear. "I may have spoke a bit rough t' ye," he conceded, his breath stirring my hair.

He rested his chin on the crown of my head for a moment and sighed. "If truth be told, I find meself less inclined t' the Fountain now. 'Tis no different than Cortes' gold. Fer ten long years my fate was not in me own hands. But by the powers, I be of sound mind and me own master now, and damned if I'll be cheated of that. Ye needn't fret anymore about the Fountain."

At this, I swallowed and closed my eyes to hide tears of relief. I leaned back against him, feeling lighter than air and resting my arms upon his.

"You spoke in the heat of the moment," I said, rubbing the back of his hand. He was not perfect, nor would ever be. But my heart and soul belonged to him, and I found I could forgive a great deal. "I know what prizes mean to pirates, and this one is unique." I shrugged. "Why wouldn't you want to live forever?"

He turned me to face him and peered into my eyes. "Ye think 'twas naught but a prize I wanted?" He tipped my chin up with his fingers, and gave me a long, gentle kiss. I quickly wiped the outer corner of my eye, lest he think he had made me cry.

"Come here," he said. He draped a protective arm about my shoulders and drew me onto the bed. We lay on our sides, facing each other. "Me race be all but run, sweetheart. What's wrong with a gentleman fancyin' a bit more time with his lady?"

"Nothing, my heart," I said, a lump in my throat. "But not like this. It's better to make the most of each day we have. And I would be your constant companion, only I fear you'd grow bored of me."

He chuckled and scooped me closer to him. "If only ye knew how unlikely that be…"

His nearness and warmth began to awaken my desire for him, and I sighed deeply as he kissed me. The soft weight of his lips pressing against mine made me long for more intimate pleasures, which my fingers begged from him by many little strokes and encouragements delivered first to his thighs and eventually to that firm and upright part of him that was the source of my greatest joys. His clothes were off in an instant, and my pulse quickened as he helped me out of mine.

He rolled me onto my back, propped himself on one elbow, then let his eyes wander over me as he caressed me slowly with his other hand. A delicious languor stole over me, and at the same time his touch brought me glowingly alive each time he brushed his rough palms gently across my skin. As these precious preliminaries continued, I groaned and marvelled at how he could tease out my passions so adeptly, making me utterly forgetful of my weary state. At last our desires reached such a pitch that we could delay the ultimate act of enjoyment no longer. He mounted my willing body, bringing all his animal passion to bear on our ardent coupling. For the first time since the night we had found the tablet, we were together again, our hearts beating as one, our bodies united in the ecstasy of perfect fulfilment.

After we had exhausted our conjugal delights, he tucked me close to his side and I laid my hand upon his chest. "Rest yer head, little bird," he said. "Ye'll want yer wits about ye tonight so's ye can talk him out o' that sword."

Just before I settled into sleep, he voiced a question. "Be there anything ye ain't tellin' me?" he asked as he stroked my hair.

"No, love, of course not," I lied, guiltily and unforgivably. Then I dozed off, promising myself that I would tell him of his impending fatherhood as soon as we had the Sword of Triton in our possession. Perhaps then he could forgive all my lies, but somehow I doubted it.

…

When we entered the captain's quarters that evening, I was enchanted to hear soft, elegant music that made me think of a stately procession. The sounds came from several instruments in a shadowy corner which seemed to play without human agency.

Ponce de Leon was pleased by my reaction. "All I must do is touch the Sword of Triton and conjure it to do my will. Tonight I wish us to enjoy a fine dinner, and hear the music of my youth." He smiled graciously, adding, "We shall pretend, if you will indulge me. Tonight, all shall be as it was in my time."

As we ate, he spoke enthusiastically of the past-the year 1521, to be exact. "When I first drank the elixir of life, your king was named Henry, and he was married to the fair Katarina. Our countries were allies!"

Hector smiled rather sourly, but managed to join in a toast to this happy state of affairs.

"And how did you learn of the Ritual?" I asked.

"A sorceress told me," he said. "I found her in an eastern province of Cuba." I nearly choked, and quickly put down my fork to avoid dropping it, but Ponce de Leon was too wrapped up in his tale to notice.

"By the time I stood at the foot of the mythical Fountain," he said, "the king who had sent me was dead. But I had my warrant, my ships, and everything required for the Ritual." Turning to Maroto he added, "Bring the chest to me. I want to show them."

Maroto produced a small wooden chest with silver mounts. Its lid was almost completely obscured by a large plaque depicting two chalices. Ponce de Leon opened it and set the two chalices on the table. They were identical in all respects save the words engraved on them. One was inscribed with the word Aqua, the other bore the words De Vida. "Which do you like best?" he asked me playfully. "Which would you choose to drink from?"

"They look Roman," I exclaimed to distract him. "How did they come to be inscribed in Spanish?"

"That was my doing," he said, adding with a chuckle, "You should drink from this one"-he held up the chalice marked De Vida-"because I call you 'mi vida'!" His joke turned my face scarlet, which amused him all the more. Hector watched as keenly as a hawk, but said nothing.

"But before I went to the Fountain, I visited Whitecap Bay and obtained the tears of a mermaid. One tear for each sacrifice." His tone was neutral, reasonable. A scientist reciting a formula.

Maroto had kept very silent, and I began to wonder whether he was still our ally. Could he resist the Fountain when his uncle could not? Two of us, two of them… I shivered and kept my eyes down.

"Ye need more than the mermaid's tear, do ye not?" Hector asked. "What about victims?"

"I have my victims," he replied.

Before we could react, he put his hand on the sword's hilt, and several things happened at once. There was a series of noises outside the cabin, and Hector leapt to his feet, furious. "Ye've cast off the Berwick!"

Maroto began to stand, but Ponce de Leon stopped him. "You will not interfere, sobrino."

Then the aged conquistador turned to us. "I am dying," he said. "Only the Elixir will keep me alive and restore my happiness. But I have no wish to harm you. You will remain my guests until we reach the Fountain."

Hector took an angry step, but I caught his eye with a barely perceptible shake of my head. A fight would only result in Ponce de Leon chaining us in the brig. There would be more chances to get the sword if we appeared to acquiesce. "You are most gracious to your captives, señor," I murmured.

Ponce de Leon sighed, but whatever shame he felt did not change his mind. "Lo siento, señora," he said. "It is what it is."

….

Next: Chapter 24 – Bandari – Nina makes a proposal.

[1] "How old do you think he is?"

"I don't know."

[2] Opportunity comes to you