Chapter Two.
It is Saturday afternoon. His grace and his cronies are in a private room at “Ye Olde Salisbury Inn” in an exclusive part of London. The company includes: the colonel of the army, the admiral of the navy, two wealthy owners of exclusive stores in London and their counterparts in Paris, Duke Michel Duc d’ Elchingen and Marquis Jules de Massenet. When their table has been furnished with drinks and appetizers, it’s down to business. His grace opens the discussion with a salvo on the bounty’s worth. “So, what’s this shipment’s worth?”
Duc d’ Elchingen wipes his mouth with his silk serviette. “It’s all jewellery taken from a Spanish galleon mid Atlantic ocean. Its value is somewhere in the 100,000 pounds, a real cache. We want to dispose of it as soon as possible.”
“How soon can I expect to take delivery of it,” beams his grace.
“Well, it leaves Calais next Friday late afternoon, so expect it at your cavern sometime Friday evening after dark; the weather should be conducive to the crossing,” says the marquis.
His grace turns to the army and the naval officers, “You must ensure there is no military or naval presence in the area at the time. We cannot be caught with this bounty - it will be the end of us all, and the political fallout could be terrible.”
The admiral nods. “Arthur and I will be on hand to ensure its safe passage.”
“The payout from this delivery will be colossal,” smiles Duc d’ Elchingen.
“We have buyers already lined up for all of it. It won’t lie around for long, I can assure you,” says one of the dealers.
“We’ll meet back here next Saturday. By then, we’ll have some idea of our success,” says the duke, raising his glass.
It’s the following week. The shipment arrives, is delivered, and then dispersed among the nobility of England and France at a fraction of what they would otherwise have paid for it.
Chapter Three.
Months have passed and his grace and family find themselves in Paris in the palatial home of their Royal Highnesses Duke and Duchess of Normandy. The intelligentsia of Paris are present. After dinner, which is an elaborate affair, everyone retires to the music lounge. The host ushers his grace, Michel Duc d’ Elchingen and Jules Messenet into an adjoining room. After everyone is settled with a drink, the duke speaks. “Well, gentlemen,” he says, “our last shipment was very lucrative for everyone. Another Spanish galleon has been commandeered in the Atlantic. It was bringing gold bullion from the Carolinas to Spain, but it was also escorting the Countess Lady Isabel de Valois and her daughter Lady Magdalena. The bloody fools took their ladyships captive, and now the Spanish government is crying foul and threatening war. It’s so bad that their king has got involved. I’m glad to say, as we speak, that the two ladies are en route back to Spain. What a bloody mess. From now on, all ships carrying a booty will be heavily escorted, which puts a fine wrench in our plans. I’ve buyers for some of it here in Paris, but we must get it to London first. Pomeroy, you line up your buyers, and we’ll buy the rest,” says the Duc d’ Elchington.
“So when can I expect to take delivery?” asked his grace.
