“The sea always wins.” The chairs within the councilroom had been cleared from the main floor and removed to the side walls to afford space for those dignitaries and their ladies who chose to dance to the strains of the Military Consort; the repertoire included a number of pavannes and ballads that tested the artistry of the musicians. Thankfully, the guests were of a forgiving nature, their charity plied with copious quantities of Madeira and several fine bottles of port. Sir Richard Purselley had invited every plantation owner, merchant, and town official from Kingston to the ball. A goodly number, despite their reticence to socialize with the Spaniards, had already made the trek up the road to the governor’s estate. However distasteful it might be to kowtow to the likes of Don Alonso del Campo, the local dignitaries were loath to insult Sir Richard, who could be counted on to hold a grudge the next time he sat in judgment over some dispute involving those same islanders. Captain Hastiler gingerly made his way through the crowd, skirting several couples who had taken to the center of the hall and were stepping off the intricate patterns of a dance to a lover’s canticle.
