Chapter EighteenAbove the wide hilltop the mid-morning rain had lightened momentarily to fine mist, a golden awning shading the horizon. A lone figure, hatless and wearing a muddy leather jerkin, moved slowly up the rutted path toward the brick compound reserved for the governor of Barbados. Behind him lay the green-mantled rolling hills of the island; beyond, shrouded in drizzle and fog, churned the once-placid Caribbean.The roadway was strewn with palm fronds blown into haphazard patterns by the night's storm, and as he walked, a new gust of wind sang through the trees, trumpeting a mournful lament. Then a stripe of white cut across the new thunderheads in the west, and the sky started to darken once again. More rain would be coming soon, he told himself, yet more storm that would stretch into the night and mantle the island and sea.He studied the sky, wistfully thinking over what had passed. Would that the squalls could wash all of it clean, the way a downpour purged the foul straw and offal from a cobblestone London street. But there was no making it right anymore. Now the only thing left was to try and start anew. In a place far away.Would she understand that?The gate of the compound was secured and locked, as though to shut out the world beyond. He pulled the clapper on the heavy brass bell and in its ring heard a foreboding finality."Sir?" The voice from inside the gate was nervous, fearful. He knew it was James, the Irish servant who had been with Katherine and the governor for a decade."Miss Bedford.""By the saints, Captain Winston, is that you, sir? The mistress said you’d gone back over to Oistins.""I just came from there.""How's the fighting?" The voice revealed itself as belonging to a short, thin-haired man with watery eyes. "We've not heard from His Excellency since he sent that messenger down last night. Then after that Mistress . . .""Just take me to Miss Bedford." He quickly cut off what he realized could grow into an accounting of the entire household for the past fortnight.How do I go about telling her, he asked himself. That it's the end of everything she had, everything she hoped for. That there's no future left here."Is she expecting you, Captain?" James' eyes narrowed as he pushed wide the heavy wooden door leading into the hallway. "I pray nothing's happened to . . .""She's not expecting me. Just tell her I've come.""Aye, Your Worship, as you please." He indicated a chair in the reception room, then turned to head off in the direction of the staircase.Katherine was already advancing down the wide mahogany steps. She was dressed in a calico bodice and full skirt, her hair bunched into moist ringlets of its own making. Her bloodshot eyes told Winston she had not slept."Hugh, what is it? Why have you come back?" She searched his face in puzzlement. Then her eyes grew wild. "Oh God, what's happened?" She stumbled down the rest of the steps. "Tell me.""Katy, there was some shooting . . ."And he told her, first that Dalby Bedford was dead, then how it happened. Next he explained that, since the island no longer had a seated governor, the Assembly had elected to accept in full the terms set forth by the admiral of the fleet. He told it as rapidly as he could, hoping somehow to lessen the pain. She listened calmly, her face betraying no emotion. Finally she dropped into a tall, bulky chair, and gazed around for a moment, as though bidding farewell to the room."Maybe it's better this way after all." She looked down. "Without the humiliation of the Tower and a public trial by Cromwell."Winston watched her, marveling. There still was no hint of a tear. Nothing save her sad eyes bespoke her pain as she continued, "It's ironic, isn't it. Both of them. My mother, years ago, and now . . . Killed by a gun, when all they ever wanted for the world was peace." She tried to smile. "These are dangerous times to be about in the Americas, Captain. You're right to always keep those flintlocks in your belt." She turned away, and he knew she was crying. The servants had gathered, James and the two women, huddled by the staircase, unable to speak."Katy, I came as soon as I could to tell you. God only knows what's to happen now, but you can't stay here. They'll figure out in no time you've had a big hand in this. You'll likely be arrested.""I'm not afraid of them, or Cromwell himself." She was still gazing at the wooden planks of the floor."Well, you ought to be." He walked over and knelt down next to her chair. "It's over. These planters we were fighting for gave the island away, so I say damned to them. There's more to the Americas than Barbados." He paused, and finally she turned to gaze at him. There were wet streaks down her cheeks. "Maybe now you'll come with me. We'll make a place somewhere else."She looked into his eyes and silently bit her lip. It was almost as though he had never truly seen her till this moment. His heart went out to her as he continued, "I want you with me. There's another island, Katy, if you're willing to try and help me take it.""I don't . . ." She seemed unsure what she wanted to say. She looked at him a moment longer, then around at the room, the servants. Finally she gazed down again, still silent."Katy, I can't make you come. Nor can I promise it'll be easy. But you've got to decide now. There's no time to wait for . . . anything. We've both got to get out of here. I'm going to collect as many of my indentures as possible, then try and run the blockade tonight—rain, storm, no matter. Who knows if I'll make it, but it's my only hope." He rose to his feet. His muddy boots had left dark traces on the rug. "It's yours too, if you want it. Surely you know that."Her voice came like a whisper as she looked up. "We tried, didn't we? Truly we did.""You can't give liberty to the Americas if these Puritans only want it for themselves. It's got to be for everybody. . . . Remember what I said? They could have freed the Africans, in return for help, and they might have won. If I ever doubted that, God knows I don't anymore, not after what I saw last night. But they wanted slaves, and there's no mobilizing an island that's only half free. So they got what they deserve." He walked to the sideboard. A flask of brandy was there, with glasses; he lifted the bottle and wearily poured himself a shot. Then he turned and hoisted the glass. "We gave it our best, but we couldn't do it alone. Not here." He drank off the liquor and poured in more."Give me some of that." She motioned toward the bottle. He quickly filled another glass and placed it in her hands. The servants watched, astonished, as she downed it in one gulp, then turned back to Winston."How can I go just yet? There're his papers here, everything. What he did mustn't just be forgotten. He created a democratic nation, an Assembly, all of it, here in the Americas. Someday . . .""Nobody gives a damn about that anymore." He strode over with the flask and refilled her glass. "You've got to get out of here. This is the first place they're apt to look for you. You can stay at Joan's place till we're ready to go.""Joan?" She stared at him, disbelieving. "You mean Joan Fuller?""She's the only person left here I trust.""She despises me. She always has.""No more than you've despised her. So make an end on it.""I . . .""Katy, there's no time to argue now. The damned Roundheads are going to be in Bridgetown by dark. I've got to go down to the ship, before the rain starts in again, and sort things out. We've got to finish lading and get ready to weigh anchor before it's too late."He watched as she drank silently from the glass, her eyes faraway. Finally he continued, "If you want, I'll send Joan to help you pack up." He emptied the second glass of brandy, then set it back on the sideboard. When he turned back to her, he was half smiling. "I suppose I've been assuming you're going with me, just because I want you to so badly. Well?"She looked again at the servants, then around the room. At last she turned to Winston. "Hold me."He walked slowly to the chair and lifted her into his arms. He ran his hands through her wet hair, then brought up her lips. At last he spoke. "Does that mean yes?"She nodded silently."Then I've got to go. Just pack what you think you'll want, but not too many silk skirts and bodices. You won't be needing them where we're going. Try and bring some of those riding breeches of yours."She hugged him tighter. "I was just thinking of our 'little island.' When was that?""Yesterday. Just yesterday. But there're lots of islands in the Caribbean.""Yesterday." She drew back and looked at him. "And tomorrow?""This time tomorrow we'll be at sea, or we'll be at the bottom of the bay out there." He kissed her one last time. "I'll send Joan quick as I can. So please hurry."Before she could say more, he stalked out into the rain and was gone.The sand along the shore of the bay was firm, beaten solid by the squall. The heavy thunderheads that threatened earlier had now blanked the sun, bringing new rain that swept along the darkened shore in hard strokes. Ahead through the gloom he could make out the outlines of his seamen, kegs of water balanced precariously on their shoulders, in an extended line from the thatched-roof warehouse by the careenage at the river mouth down to a longboat bobbing in the surf. After the raid on the Oistins breastwork, he had ordered them directly back to Bridgetown to finish lading. A streak of white cut across the sky, and in its shimmering light he could just make out theDefiance, safely anchored in the shallows, canvas furled, nodding with the swell.Joan. She had said nothing when he asked her to go up and help Katherine. She'd merely glared her disapproval, while ordering the girls to bring her cloak. Joan was saving her thoughts for later, he knew. There'd be more on the subject of Katherine.The only sounds now were the pounding of rain along the shore and the occasional distant rumble of thunder. He was so busy watching the men he failed to notice the figure in white emerge from the darkness and move toward his path.When the form reached out for him, he whirled and dropped his hand to a pistol."Senhor, desculpe. "The rain-mantled shadow curtsied, Portuguese style.He realized it was a woman. Briggs' mulata. The one Joan seemed so fond of. Before he could reply, she seized his arm."Faga o favor, senhor, will you help us? I beg you." There was an icy urgency in her touch."What are you doing here?" He studied her, still startled. Her long black hair was coiled across her face in tangled strands, and there were dark new splotches down the front of her white shift."I'm afraid he'll die, senhor. And if he's captured . . .""Who?" Winston tried unsuccessfully to extract his arm from her grasp."I know he wanted to take the guns you have, but they were for us to fight for our freedom. He wished you no harm."Good God, so she had been part of it too! He almost laughed aloud, thinking how Benjamin Briggs had been cozened by all his slaves, even his half-African mistress. "You mean that Yoruba, Atiba? Tell him he can go straight to hell. Do you have any idea what he had his men do last night?"She looked up, puzzled, her eyes still pleading through the rain."No, I don't suppose you could." He shrugged. "It scarcely matters now. But his parting words were an offer to kill me, no more than a few hours ago. So I say damned to him.""He is a man. No more than you, but no less. He was bom free; yet now he is a slave. His people are slaves." She paused, and when she did, a distant roll of thunder melted into the rain. "He did what he had to do. For his people, for me.""All he and his 'people' managed was to help the Commonwealth bring this island to its knees.""How? Because he led the Yoruba in a revolt against slavery?" She gripped his arm even tighter. "If he helped defeat the planters, then I am glad. Perhaps it will be the end of slavery after all."Winston smiled sadly. "It's only the beginning of that accursed trade. He might have stopped it—who knows?—if he'd won. But he lost. So that's the end of it. For him, for Barbados.""But you can save him." She tugged Winston back as he tried to brush past her. "I know you are leaving. Take him with you.""He belongs to Briggs." He glanced back. "Same as you do. There's nothing I can do about it. Right now, I doubt good master Briggs is of a mind to do anything but hang him.""Then if his life has no value to anyone here, take him as a free man."A web of white laced across the thunderhead. In its light he could just make out the tall masts of theDefiance, waving against the dark sky like emblems of freedom.God damn you, Benjamin Briggs. God damn your island of slaveholders."Where is he?""Derin has hidden him, not too far from here. When Atiba fainted from the loss of blood, he brought him up there." She turned and pointed toward the dark bulk of the island. "In a grove of trees where thebrancocould not find him. Then he came to me for help.""Who's this Derin?""One of the Yoruba men who was with him.""Where're the others? There must've been a dozen or so over at Oistins this morning.""Some were killed near there. The others were captured. Derin told me they were attacked by the militia. Atiba only escaped because he fainted and Derin carried him to safety. The others stayed to fight, to save him, and they were taken."Her voice cracked. "I heard Master Briggs say the ones who were captured, Obewole and the others, would be burned alive tomorrow.""Burned alive!""All the planters have agreed that is what they must do. It is to be made the punishment on Barbados for any slave who revolts, so the rest of the Africans will always fear thebranco. ""Such a thing would never be allowed on English soil.""This is not your England, senhor. This is Barbados. Where slavery has become the lifeblood of all wealth. They will do it.""Bedford would never allow . . ." He stopped, and felt his heart wrench. "Good Christ. Now there's no one to stop them. Damn these bloodthirsty Puritans." He turned to her. "Can you get him down here? Without being seen?""We will try.""If you can do it, I'll take him.""And Derin too?""In for a penny, in for a pound." His smile was bitter. "Pox on it. I'll take them both.""Senhor." She dropped to her knees. "Tell me how I can thank you.""Just be gone. Before my boys get wind of this." He pulled her to her feet and glanced toward the rain-swept line of seamen carrying water kegs. "They'll not fancy it, you can be sure. I've got worries enough as is, God knows.""Muito, muito obrigada, senhor." She stood unmoving, tears streaming down her cheeks."Just go." He stepped around her and moved on down the shore, toward the moored longboat where the men were working. Now John Mewes was standing alongside, minimally supervising the seamen as they stacked kegs. Mingled with his own men were several of the Irish indentures."Damn this squall, Cap'n. We'll not be able to get under way till she lets up. It's no weather for a Christian to be at sea, that I promise you.""I think it's apt to ease up around nightfall." He checked the clouds again. "What're we needing?""Once we get this laded, there'll be water aboard and to spare." He wiped the rain from his eyes and glanced at the sky. "God knows the whole of the island's seen enough water to float to sea.'Tis salt pork we're wanting now, and biscuit.""Can we get any cassava flour?""There's scarcely any to be had. The island's half starved, Cap'n.""Did you check all the warehouses along here?""Aye, we invited ourselves in and rifled what we could find. But there's pitiful little left, save batches of moldy tobacco waitin' to be shipped.""Damn. Then we'll just have to sail with what we've got." Winston turned and stared down the shore. There had not been any provisions off-loaded from Europe since the fleet arrived. There were no ships in the harbor now, save theDefianceand theZeelander.TheZeelander."When's the last time you saw Ruyters?""This very mornin', as't happens. He came nosing by to enquire how it was we're afloat, and I told him it must've been the tide lifted her off." Mewes turned and peered through the rain toward the Dutch frigate. "What're you thinking?""I'm thinking he still owes me a man, a Spaniard by the name of Vargas, which I've yet to collect.""That damned Butterbox'll be in no mood to accommodate you, I swear it.""All the same, we made a bargain. I want you and some of the boys to go over and settle it." He thumbed at theZeelander, lodged in the sand not two hundred yards down the beach. "In the meantime, I have to go back up to Joan's and collect . . . a few things. Why don't you try and find Ruyters? Get that Spaniard, however you have to do it, and maybe see if he'll part with any of their biscuit.""Aye, I'll tend to it." He turned to go."And John . . ." Winston waved him back."Aye.""We may be having some company before we weigh anchor. Remember that Yoruba we caught on board a few nights back?""Aye, I recollect the heathen well enough. I've not seen him since, thank God, though some of the lads claim there was one up at Oistins this mornin' who sounded a lot like him.""Same man. I've a mind to take him with us, and maybe another one. But don't say anything to the boys. Just let him on board if he shows up.""You're the captain. But I'd sooner have a viper between decks as that godless savage. They're sayin' he and a bunch of his kind gutted a good dozen Englishmen this mornin' like they was no better'n so many Spaniards.""Well, that's done and past. Just see he gets on board and the boys keep quiet about it.""They'll not be likin' it, by my life.""That's an order.""Aye." Mewes turned with a shrug, whistled for some of the seamen, then headed through the rain, down the shore toward the beached hulk of theZeelander."She's here darlin'." Joan met him at the door. "In back, with the girls.""How is she?" Winston threw off his wet cape and reached for the tankard of sack she was handing him."I think she's starting to understand he's dead now. I guess it just took a while. Now I think it's time you told me a few things yourself. Why're you taking her? Is't because you're worried the Roundheads might send her back home to be hanged?""Is that the reason you want to hear?""Damn your eyes, Hugh Winston. You're not in love with her, are you?"He smiled and took a sip from the tankard."You'd best beware of her, love." She sighed. "That one's not for you. She's too independent, and I doubt she even knows what she's doin' half the time.""And how about me? Think I know what I'm doing?" He pulled back a chair and straddled it."Doubtless not, given what you're plannin' next." She plopped into a chair. "But I've packed your things, you whoremaster. The girls're already sorry to see the lot of you leavin'. I think they've taken a fancy to a couple of your lads." She laughed. "But they'd have preferred you most of all. God knows, I've had to keep an eye on the jades day and night."He turned and stared out in the direction of the rain. "Maybe you'll decide to come over someday and open shop on Jamaica. This place has bad times coming."She leaned back and poured a tankard of sack for herself. "That's a fool's dream. But you're right about one thing. There're dark days in store here, not a doubt. Who knows how it'll settle out?"The wind seemed to play against the doors of the tavern. Then they swung open and a sudden gust coursed through the room, spraying fine mist across the tables."Winston, damn me if I didn't figure I'd find you here." Benjamin Briggs pushed into the room, shook the rain from his wide hat, and reached for a chair. "I'm told you were the last to see that Yoruba of mine. That he tried to kill you this moming, much as he aimed to murder me.""He was at Oistins, true enough." Winston glanced up."That's what I heard. They're claiming he and those savages of his brutally murdered some of Cromwell's infantry." He shook his hat one last time and tossed it onto the table. "We've got to locate him. Maybe you have some idea where he is now?""He didn't trouble advising me of his intended whereabouts.""Well, he's a true savage, by my soul. A peril to every Christian on this island." He sighed and looked at Winston. "I don't know whether you've heard, but the Roundheads have already started disarming our militia. We'll soon have no way to defend ourselves. I think I winged him last night, but that heathen is apt to come and kill us both if we don't hunt him down and finish the job while we've still got the chance." He lowered his voice. "I heard about those flintlocks of yours. I was hoping maybe you'd take some of your boys and we could go after him whilst things are still in a tangle over at Oistins."Winston sat unmoving. "Remember what I told you the other day, about freeing these Africans? Well, now I say damned to you. You can manage your slaves any way you like, but it'll be without my flintlocks.""That's scarcely an attitude that'll profit the either of us at the moment." Briggs signaled to Joan for a tankard of kill-devil. "Peculiar company you keep these days, Mistress Fuller. 'Twould seem the Captain here cares not tuppence for his own life. Well, so be it. I'll locate that savage without him if I needs must." He took a deep breath and gazed around the empty room. "But lest my ride down here be for naught, I'd as soon take the time right now and settle that bargain we made."Joan poured the tankard and shoved it across the table to him. "You mean that woman you own?""Aye, the mulatto wench. I'm thinking I might go ahead and take your offer of a hundred pounds, and damned to her.""What I said was eighty." Joan stared at him coldly."Aye, eighty, a hundred, who can recall a shilling here or there." He took a swig. "What say we make it ninety then, and have an end to the business?"Joan eyed him. "I said eighty, though I might consider eighty-five. But not a farthing more.""You're a hard woman to trade with, on my honor." He took another draught from the tankard. "Then eighty-five it is, but only on condition we settle it here and now. In sterling. I'll not waste another day's feed on her."Winston glanced at Joan, then back at Briggs. "Do you know where she is?"The planter's eyes narrowed. "Up at my compound. Where else in God's name would she be?"Winston took a drink and looked out the doorway, into the rain. "I heard talk she was seen down around here this morning. Maybe she's run off." He turned to Joan. "I'd encourage you to pay on delivery.""Damn you, sir, our bargain's been struck." Briggs settled his tankard with a ring. "I never proposed delivering her with a coach and four horses."Joan sat silently, listening. Finally she spoke. "You'd best not be thinkin' to try and swindle me. I'll advance you five pounds now, on account, but you'll not see a penny of the rest till she's in my care.""As you will then." He turned and spat toward the corner. "She'll be here, word of honor."Joan glanced again at Winston, then rose and disappeared through the shuttered doors leading into the back room.After Briggs watched her depart, he turned toward Winston. "You, sir, have studied to plague me from the day you dropped anchor.""I usually cut the deck before I play a hand of cards.""Well, sir, I'll warrant Cromwell's got the deck now, for this hand at least. We'll see what you do about him.""Cromwell can be damned. I'll manage my own affairs.""As will we all, make no mistake." He took another drink. "Aye, we'll come out of this. We'll be selling sugar to theDutchmen again in a year's time, I swear it. They can't keep that fleet tied up here forever." He looked at Winston. "And when it's gone, you'd best be on your way too, sir. Mark it.""I'll make note."Joan moved back through the room. "Five pounds." She handed Briggs a small cloth bag. "Count it if you like. That makes her mine. You'll see the balance when she's safe in this room.""You've got a trade." He took the bag and inventoried its contents with his thick fingers. "I'll let this tankard serve as a handshake." He drained the last of the liquor as he rose. As he clapped his soaking hat back onto his head, he moved next to where Winston sat. "And you, sir, would be advised to rethink helping me whilst there's time. That savage is apt to slit your throat for you soon enough if he's not tracked down.""And then burned alive, like you're planning for the rest of them?"Briggs stopped and glared. "That's none of your affair, sir. We're going to start doing what we must. How else are we to keep these Africans docile in future? Something's got to be done about these revolts."He whirled abruptly and headed for the door. At that moment, the battered louvres swung inward and a harried figure appeared in the doorway, eyes frantic, disoriented. A few seconds passed before anyone recognized Jeremy Walrond. His silk doublet was wet and bedraggled, his cavalier's hat waterlogged and drooping over his face. Before he could move, Briggs' pistol was out and leveled at his breast."Not another step, you whoreson bastard, or I'll blow you to hell." His voice boomed above the sound of the storm. "Damn me if I shouldn't kill you on sight, except I wouldn't squander the powder and shot." He squinted through the open doorway. "Where's Anthony? I'd have him come forward and meet me like a man, the royalist miscreant."Jeremy's face flooded with fear. "He's . . .he's been taken on board theRainbowe. I swear it." His voice seemed to crack. "By Powlett.""By who?""A man named Powlett, the vice admiral. I think he's to be the new governor.""Well, damned to them both." Briggs lowered the pistol guardedly, then shoved it back into his belt. "They're doubtless conspiring this very minute how best to squeeze every farthing of profit from our sugar trade.""I . . . I don't know what's happening. They've made the Windwards as much as prisoners. Powlett's already disarmed the Regiment, and Colonel Morris is leading his infantry on the march to Bridgetown right now." He stepped gingerly in through the doorway. "I came down to try and find Miss Bedford. At the compound they said she might be . . .""I doubt Katherine has much time for you." Winston looked up from his chair. "So you'd best get on back to Oistins before I decide to start this little war all over again.""Oh, for God's sake let the lad be. He's not even wearin’ a sword," Joan interjected, then beckoned him forward. "Don't let this blusterin' lot frighten you, darlin'. Come on in and dry yourself off.""I've got to warn Katherine." He edged nervously toward Joan, as though for protection. His voice was still quavering. "We didn’t expect this. They'd agreed to terms. They said . . .""They lied." Winston drew out one of his pistols and laid it on the table before him. "And your gullible, ambitious royalist of a brother believed them. Haply, some others of us took our own precautions. Katherine's safe, so you can go on back to your Roundheads and tell them they'll never find her.""But I meant her no harm. It was to be for the best, I swear it. I want her to know that." He settled at a table and lowered his face into his hands. "I never dreamed it would come to this." He looked up. "Who could have?""'Tis no matter now." Joan moved to him, her voice kindly. "You're not to blame. 'Twas Sir Anthony that led the defection. It's always the old fools who cause the trouble. He's the one who should have known . . .""But you don't understand what really happened. I was the one who urged him to it, talked him into it. Because Admiral Calvert assured me none of this would happen.""You planned this with Calvert!" Briggs roared. "With that damned Roundhead! You let him use you to cozen Walrond and the Windwards into defecting?"Jeremy stifled a sob, then turned toward Joan, his blue eyes pleading. "Would you tell Katherine I just wanted to stop the killing. None of us ever dreamed . . .""Jeremy." Katherine was standing in the open doorway leading to the back. "Is it really true, what you just said?"He stared at her in disbelief, and his voice failed for a second. Then suddenly the words poured out. "Katherine, you've got to get away." He started to rush to her, but something in her eyes stopped him. "Please listen. I think Powlett means to arrest you. I heard him talking about it. There's nothing we can do.""You and Anthony've got the Windwards." She examined him with hard scorn. "I fancy you can do whatever you choose. Doubtless he'll have himself appointed governor now, just as he's probably been wanting all along.""No! He never . . ." Jeremy's voice seemed to crack. Finally he continued, "A man named Powlett, the vice admiral, is going to be the new governor. Morris is marching here from Oistins right now. I only slipped away to warn you.""I've been warned." She was turning back toward the doorway. "Goodbye, Jeremy. You always wanted to be somebody important here. Well, maybe you've managed it now. You've made your mark on our times. You gave the Americas back to England. Congratulations. Maybe Cromwell will declare himself king next and then grant you a knighthood.""Katherine, I don't want it." He continued miserably. "I'm so ashamed. I only came to ask you to forgive me. And to warn you that you've got to get away.""I've heard that part already." She glanced back. "Now just leave.""But what'll you do?" Again he started to move toward her, then drew back."It's none of your affair." She glared at him. "The better question is what you and Anthony'll do now? After you've betrayed us all. I thought you had more honor. I thought Anthony had more honor."He stood for a moment, as though not comprehending what she had said. Then he moved forward and confronted her. "How can you talk of honor, in the same breath with Anthony! After what you did. Made a fool of him.""Jeremy, you have known me long enough to know I do what I please. It was time Anthony learned that too.""Well, he should have broken off the engagement weeks ago, that much I'll tell you. And he would have, save he thought you'd come to your senses. And start behaving honorably." He glanced at Winston. "I see he was wrong.""I did come to my senses, Jeremy. Just in time. I'll take Hugh's honor over Anthony's any day." She turned and disappeared through the doorway.Jeremy stared after her, then faced Winston. "Damn you. You think I don't know anything. You're the . . .""I think you'd best be gone." Winston rose slowly from his chair. "Give my regards to Sir Anthony. Tell him I expect to see him in hell. He pulled a musket ball from his pocket and tossed it to Jeremy. "And give him that, as thanks from me for turning this island and my ship over to the Roundheads. The next one he gets won't be handed to him. . . ."The doors of the tavern bulged open, and standing in the rain was an officer of the Commonwealth army. Behind him were three helmeted infantrymen holding flintlock muskets."Your servant, gentlemen." The man glanced around the room and noticed Joan. "And ladies. You've doubtless heardyour militia has agreed to lay down its arms, and that includes even those who’d cravenly hide in a brothel rather than serve. For your own safety we're here to collect all weapons, till order can be restored. They'll be marked and returned to you in due time." He motioned the three infantrymen behind him to close ranks at the door. "We'll commence by taking down your names."In the silence that followed nothing could be heard but the howl of wind and rain against the shutters. Dark had begun to settle outside now, and the room itself was lighted only by a single flickering candle, in a holder on the back wall. The officer walked to where Joan was seated and doffed his hat. "My name is Colonel Morris, madam. And you, I presume, are the . . .""You betrayed us!" Jeremy was almost shouting. "You said we could keep our muskets. That we could . . .""Master Walrond, is that you?" Morris turned and peered through the gloom. "Good Christ, lad. What are you doing here? You're not supposed to leave Oistins." He paused and inspected Jeremy. "I see you've not got a weapon, so I'll I forget I came across you. But you've got to get on back over to Oistins and stay with the Windwards, or I'll not be responsible." He turned to Briggs. "And who might you be, sir?""My name, sir, is Benjamin Briggs. I am head of the Council of Barbados, and I promise you I will protest formally to Parliament over this incident. You've no right to barge in here and . . .""Just pass me that pistol and there'll be no trouble. It's hotheads like you that make this necessary." Morris reached into Briggs' belt and deftly extracted the long flintlock, its gilded stock glistening in the candlelight. He shook the powder out of the priming pan and handed it to one of the infantrymen. "The name with this one is to be . . ." He glanced back. "Briggs, sir, I believe you said?""Damn you. This treatment will not be countenanced. I need that pistol." Briggs started to move forward, then glanced warily at the infantrymen holding flintlock muskets."We all regret it's necessary, just as much as you." Morris signaled to the three infantrymen standing behind him, their helmets reflecting the dull orange of the candles. "While I finish here, search the back room. And take care. There's apt to be a musket hiding behind a calico petticoat in a place like this."Winston settled back onto his chair. "I wouldn't trouble with that if I were you. There're no other guns here. Except for mine."Morris glanced at him, startled. Then he saw Winston's flintlock lying on the table. "You're not giving the orders here, whoever you are. And I'll kindly take that pistol.""I'd prefer to keep it. So it'd be well if you'd just leave now, before there's trouble.""That insubordinate remark, sir, has just gotten you put under arrest." Morris moved toward the table.Winston was on his feet. The chair he had been sitting on tumbled across the floor. "I said you'd best be gone."Before Morris could respond, a woman appeared at the rear doorway. "I'll save you all a search. I'm not afraid of Cromwell, and I'm surely not frightened of you.""Katherine, no!" Jeremy's voice was pleading."And who might you be, madam?" Morris stared in surprise."My name is Katherine Bedford, sir. Which means, I suppose, that you'll want to arrest me too.""Are you the daughter of Dalby Bedford?""He was my father. And the last lawfully selected governor this island is likely to know.""Then I regret to say I do have orders to detain you. There are certain charges, madam, of aiding him in the instigation of this rebellion, that may need to be answered in London.""Katherine!" Jeremy looked despairingly at her. "I warned you . . .""Is that why you're here, Master Walrond? To forewarn an accused criminal?" Morris turned to him. "Then I fear there may be charges against you too." He glanced at Briggs. "You can go, sir. But I'm afraid we'll have to hold your pistol for now, and take these others into custody.""You're not taking Miss Bedford, or anybody, into custody." Winston pulled back his water-soaked jerkin to expose the pistol in his belt.Morris stared at him. "And who, sir, are you?""Check your list of criminals for the name Winston." He stood unmoving. "I'm likely there too.""Is that Hugh Winston, sir?" Morris' eyes narrowed, and he glanced nervously at the three men behind him holding muskets. Then he looked back. "We most certainly have orders for your arrest. You've been identified as the gunnery commander for the rebels here, to say nothing of charges lodged against you in England. My first priority is Miss Bedford, but I'll be pleased to do double duty and arrest you as well.""Fine. Now, see that pistol?" Winston thumbed toward the table. "Look it over carefully. There're two barrels, both primed. It's part of a pair. The other one is in my belt. That's four pistol balls. The man who moves to arrest Miss Bedford gets the first. But if you make me start shooting, I'm apt to forget myself and not stop till I've killed you all. So why don't you leave now, Colonel Morris, and forget everything you saw here." He glanced back at Katherine. "I'm sure Miss Bedford is willing to forget she saw you. She's had a trying day.""Damn your impudence, sir." Morris turned and gestured at the men behind him. "Go ahead and arrest her."One of the helmeted infantrymen raised his flintlock and waved Katherine forward."No!" Jeremy shouted and lunged toward the soldier. "You can't! I never meant . . ."The shot sounded like a crack of thunder in the close room.Black smoke poured from the barrel of the musket, and Jeremy froze where he stood, a quizzical expression on his face. He turned to look back at Katherine, his eyes penitent, then wilted toward the floor, a patch of red spreading across his chest.Almost simultaneous with the musket's discharge, the pistol in Winston's belt was already drawn and cocked. It spoke once, and the infantryman who had fired dropped, a trickle of red down his forehead. As the soldier behind him started to raise his own musket, the pistol gave a small click, rotating the barrel, and flared again. The second man staggered back against the wall, while his flintlock clattered unused to the floor.Now the rickety table in front of Winston was sailing toward the door, and the pistol that had been lying on it was in his hand. The table caught the third infantryman in the groin as he attempted to raise his weapon and sent him sprawling backward. His musket rattled against the shutters, then dropped.Morris looked back to see the muzzle of Winston's second flintlock leveled at his temple."Katy, let's go." Winston motioned her forward. "We'll probably have more company any minute now.""You're no better than a murderer, sir." Morris finally recovered his voice."I didn't fire the first shot. But by God I'll be the one who fires the last, that I promise you." He glanced back. "Katy, I said let's go. Take whatever you want, but hurry.""Hugh, they've killed Jeremy!" She stood unmoving, shock in her face."He wouldn't let me handle this my way." Winston kept his eyes on Morris. "But it's too late now.""He tried to stop them. He did it for me." She was shaking. "Oh, Jeremy, why in God's name?""Katy, come on." Winston looked back. "Joan, get her things. We've got to move out of here, now."Joan turned and pushed her way through the cluster of Irish girls standing fearfully in the rear doorway."You'll hang for this, sir." Morris eyed the pistol. The remaining infantryman still sat against the wall, his unfired musket on the floor beside him."The way you'd planned to hang Miss Bedford, no doubt." He motioned toward Briggs. "Care to collect those muskets for me?""I'll have no hand in this, sir." The planter did not move. "You've earned a noose for sure.""I'll do it." Katherine stepped across Jeremy's body and assembled the three muskets of the infantrymen. She carried them back, then confronted Morris."You, sir, have helped steal the freedom of this island, of the Americas. It's impossible to tell you how much I despise you and all you stand for. I'd kill you myself if God had given me the courage. Maybe Hugh will do it for me.""I'll see the both of you hanged, madam, or I'm not a Christian.""I hope you try."Joan emerged through the crowd, toting a large bundle. She laid it on a table by the door, then turned to Winston. "Here's what we got up at the compound this afternoon." She surveyed the three bodies sadly. "Master Jeremy was a fine lad. Maybe he's finally managed to make his brother proud of him; I'll wager it's all he ever really wanted." She straightened. "Good Christ, I hope they don't try and shut me down because of this.""It wasn't your doing." Winston lifted the bundle with his free hand. "Katy, can you manage those muskets?""I'd carry them through hell.""Then let's be gone." He waved the pistol at the infantryman sitting against the wall. "Get up. You and the colonel here are going to keep us company.""Where do you think you can go?" Briggs still had not moved. "They'll comb the island for you.""They'll look a long time before they find us on Barbados." He shoved the pistol against Morris' ribs. "Let's be off. Colonel.""There'll be my men all about." Morris glared. "You'll not get far.""We'll get far enough." He shifted the bundle under his arm."Darlin', Godspeed. I swear I'll miss you." Joan kissed him on the cheek, then turned to Katherine. "And mind you watch over him in that place he's headed for.""Jamaica?""No. He knows where I mean." She looked again at Winston. "There's no worse spot in the Caribbean.""Don't worry. You'll hear from me." Winston kissed her back, then urged Morris forward."See that you stay alive." She followed them to the door. "And don't try anything too foolish.""I always take care." He turned and bussed her on the cheek one last time. Then they were gone.Chapter NineteenAs Winston and Katherine led their prisoners slowly down the shore, theDefiancestood out against the dark sky, illuminated by flashes of lightning as it tugged at its anchor cables. The sea was up now, and Winston watched as her prow dipped into the trough of each swell, as though offering a curtsy. They had almost reached the water when he spotted John Mewes, waiting by the longboat."Ahoy, Cap'n," he sang out through the gusts of rain. "What're you doin'? Impressing Roundheads to sail with us now? We've already got near to fifty of your damn'd indentures.""Are they on board?""Aye, them and all the rest. You're the last." He studied Katherine and Morris in confusion. "Though I'd not expected you'd be in such fine company.""Then we weigh anchor.""In this squall?" Mewes' voice was incredulous. "We can't put on any canvas now. It'd be ripped off the yards.""We've got to. The Roundheads are already moving on Bridgetown. We'll try and use those new short sails." Winston urged Morris forward with his pistol, then turned back to Mewes. "Any sign of that African we talked about?"
Above the wide hilltop the mid-morning rain had lightened momentarily to fine mist, a golden awning shading the horizon. A lone figure, hatless and wearing a muddy leather jerkin, moved slowly up the rutted path toward the brick compound reserved for the governor of Barbados. Behind him lay the green-mantled rolling hills of the island; beyond, shrouded in drizzle and fog, churned the once-placid Caribbean.
The roadway was strewn with palm fronds blown into haphazard patterns by the night's storm, and as he walked, a new gust of wind sang through the trees, trumpeting a mournful lament. Then a stripe of white cut across the new thunderheads in the west, and the sky started to darken once again. More rain would be coming soon, he told himself, yet more storm that would stretch into the night and mantle the island and sea.
He studied the sky, wistfully thinking over what had passed. Would that the squalls could wash all of it clean, the way a downpour purged the foul straw and offal from a cobblestone London street. But there was no making it right anymore. Now the only thing left was to try and start anew. In a place far away.
Would she understand that?
The gate of the compound was secured and locked, as though to shut out the world beyond. He pulled the clapper on the heavy brass bell and in its ring heard a foreboding finality.
"Sir?" The voice from inside the gate was nervous, fearful. He knew it was James, the Irish servant who had been with Katherine and the governor for a decade.
"Miss Bedford."
"By the saints, Captain Winston, is that you, sir? The mistress said you’d gone back over to Oistins."
"I just came from there."
"How's the fighting?" The voice revealed itself as belonging to a short, thin-haired man with watery eyes. "We've not heard from His Excellency since he sent that messenger down last night. Then after that Mistress . . ."
"Just take me to Miss Bedford." He quickly cut off what he realized could grow into an accounting of the entire household for the past fortnight.
How do I go about telling her, he asked himself. That it's the end of everything she had, everything she hoped for. That there's no future left here.
"Is she expecting you, Captain?" James' eyes narrowed as he pushed wide the heavy wooden door leading into the hallway. "I pray nothing's happened to . . ."
"She's not expecting me. Just tell her I've come."
"Aye, Your Worship, as you please." He indicated a chair in the reception room, then turned to head off in the direction of the staircase.
Katherine was already advancing down the wide mahogany steps. She was dressed in a calico bodice and full skirt, her hair bunched into moist ringlets of its own making. Her bloodshot eyes told Winston she had not slept.
"Hugh, what is it? Why have you come back?" She searched his face in puzzlement. Then her eyes grew wild. "Oh God, what's happened?" She stumbled down the rest of the steps. "Tell me."
"Katy, there was some shooting . . ."
And he told her, first that Dalby Bedford was dead, then how it happened. Next he explained that, since the island no longer had a seated governor, the Assembly had elected to accept in full the terms set forth by the admiral of the fleet. He told it as rapidly as he could, hoping somehow to lessen the pain. She listened calmly, her face betraying no emotion. Finally she dropped into a tall, bulky chair, and gazed around for a moment, as though bidding farewell to the room.
"Maybe it's better this way after all." She looked down. "Without the humiliation of the Tower and a public trial by Cromwell."
Winston watched her, marveling. There still was no hint of a tear. Nothing save her sad eyes bespoke her pain as she continued, "It's ironic, isn't it. Both of them. My mother, years ago, and now . . . Killed by a gun, when all they ever wanted for the world was peace." She tried to smile. "These are dangerous times to be about in the Americas, Captain. You're right to always keep those flintlocks in your belt." She turned away, and he knew she was crying. The servants had gathered, James and the two women, huddled by the staircase, unable to speak.
"Katy, I came as soon as I could to tell you. God only knows what's to happen now, but you can't stay here. They'll figure out in no time you've had a big hand in this. You'll likely be arrested."
"I'm not afraid of them, or Cromwell himself." She was still gazing at the wooden planks of the floor.
"Well, you ought to be." He walked over and knelt down next to her chair. "It's over. These planters we were fighting for gave the island away, so I say damned to them. There's more to the Americas than Barbados." He paused, and finally she turned to gaze at him. There were wet streaks down her cheeks. "Maybe now you'll come with me. We'll make a place somewhere else."
She looked into his eyes and silently bit her lip. It was almost as though he had never truly seen her till this moment. His heart went out to her as he continued, "I want you with me. There's another island, Katy, if you're willing to try and help me take it."
"I don't . . ." She seemed unsure what she wanted to say. She looked at him a moment longer, then around at the room, the servants. Finally she gazed down again, still silent.
"Katy, I can't make you come. Nor can I promise it'll be easy. But you've got to decide now. There's no time to wait for . . . anything. We've both got to get out of here. I'm going to collect as many of my indentures as possible, then try and run the blockade tonight—rain, storm, no matter. Who knows if I'll make it, but it's my only hope." He rose to his feet. His muddy boots had left dark traces on the rug. "It's yours too, if you want it. Surely you know that."
Her voice came like a whisper as she looked up. "We tried, didn't we? Truly we did."
"You can't give liberty to the Americas if these Puritans only want it for themselves. It's got to be for everybody. . . . Remember what I said? They could have freed the Africans, in return for help, and they might have won. If I ever doubted that, God knows I don't anymore, not after what I saw last night. But they wanted slaves, and there's no mobilizing an island that's only half free. So they got what they deserve." He walked to the sideboard. A flask of brandy was there, with glasses; he lifted the bottle and wearily poured himself a shot. Then he turned and hoisted the glass. "We gave it our best, but we couldn't do it alone. Not here." He drank off the liquor and poured in more.
"Give me some of that." She motioned toward the bottle. He quickly filled another glass and placed it in her hands. The servants watched, astonished, as she downed it in one gulp, then turned back to Winston.
"How can I go just yet? There're his papers here, everything. What he did mustn't just be forgotten. He created a democratic nation, an Assembly, all of it, here in the Americas. Someday . . ."
"Nobody gives a damn about that anymore." He strode over with the flask and refilled her glass. "You've got to get out of here. This is the first place they're apt to look for you. You can stay at Joan's place till we're ready to go."
"Joan?" She stared at him, disbelieving. "You mean Joan Fuller?"
"She's the only person left here I trust."
"She despises me. She always has."
"No more than you've despised her. So make an end on it."
"I . . ."
"Katy, there's no time to argue now. The damned Roundheads are going to be in Bridgetown by dark. I've got to go down to the ship, before the rain starts in again, and sort things out. We've got to finish lading and get ready to weigh anchor before it's too late."
He watched as she drank silently from the glass, her eyes faraway. Finally he continued, "If you want, I'll send Joan to help you pack up." He emptied the second glass of brandy, then set it back on the sideboard. When he turned back to her, he was half smiling. "I suppose I've been assuming you're going with me, just because I want you to so badly. Well?"
She looked again at the servants, then around the room. At last she turned to Winston. "Hold me."
He walked slowly to the chair and lifted her into his arms. He ran his hands through her wet hair, then brought up her lips. At last he spoke. "Does that mean yes?"
She nodded silently.
"Then I've got to go. Just pack what you think you'll want, but not too many silk skirts and bodices. You won't be needing them where we're going. Try and bring some of those riding breeches of yours."
She hugged him tighter. "I was just thinking of our 'little island.' When was that?"
"Yesterday. Just yesterday. But there're lots of islands in the Caribbean."
"Yesterday." She drew back and looked at him. "And tomorrow?"
"This time tomorrow we'll be at sea, or we'll be at the bottom of the bay out there." He kissed her one last time. "I'll send Joan quick as I can. So please hurry."
Before she could say more, he stalked out into the rain and was gone.
The sand along the shore of the bay was firm, beaten solid by the squall. The heavy thunderheads that threatened earlier had now blanked the sun, bringing new rain that swept along the darkened shore in hard strokes. Ahead through the gloom he could make out the outlines of his seamen, kegs of water balanced precariously on their shoulders, in an extended line from the thatched-roof warehouse by the careenage at the river mouth down to a longboat bobbing in the surf. After the raid on the Oistins breastwork, he had ordered them directly back to Bridgetown to finish lading. A streak of white cut across the sky, and in its shimmering light he could just make out theDefiance, safely anchored in the shallows, canvas furled, nodding with the swell.
Joan. She had said nothing when he asked her to go up and help Katherine. She'd merely glared her disapproval, while ordering the girls to bring her cloak. Joan was saving her thoughts for later, he knew. There'd be more on the subject of Katherine.
The only sounds now were the pounding of rain along the shore and the occasional distant rumble of thunder. He was so busy watching the men he failed to notice the figure in white emerge from the darkness and move toward his path.
When the form reached out for him, he whirled and dropped his hand to a pistol.
"Senhor, desculpe. "
The rain-mantled shadow curtsied, Portuguese style.
He realized it was a woman. Briggs' mulata. The one Joan seemed so fond of. Before he could reply, she seized his arm.
"Faga o favor, senhor, will you help us? I beg you." There was an icy urgency in her touch.
"What are you doing here?" He studied her, still startled. Her long black hair was coiled across her face in tangled strands, and there were dark new splotches down the front of her white shift.
"I'm afraid he'll die, senhor. And if he's captured . . ."
"Who?" Winston tried unsuccessfully to extract his arm from her grasp.
"I know he wanted to take the guns you have, but they were for us to fight for our freedom. He wished you no harm."
Good God, so she had been part of it too! He almost laughed aloud, thinking how Benjamin Briggs had been cozened by all his slaves, even his half-African mistress. "You mean that Yoruba, Atiba? Tell him he can go straight to hell. Do you have any idea what he had his men do last night?"
She looked up, puzzled, her eyes still pleading through the rain.
"No, I don't suppose you could." He shrugged. "It scarcely matters now. But his parting words were an offer to kill me, no more than a few hours ago. So I say damned to him."
"He is a man. No more than you, but no less. He was bom free; yet now he is a slave. His people are slaves." She paused, and when she did, a distant roll of thunder melted into the rain. "He did what he had to do. For his people, for me."
"All he and his 'people' managed was to help the Commonwealth bring this island to its knees."
"How? Because he led the Yoruba in a revolt against slavery?" She gripped his arm even tighter. "If he helped defeat the planters, then I am glad. Perhaps it will be the end of slavery after all."
Winston smiled sadly. "It's only the beginning of that accursed trade. He might have stopped it—who knows?—if he'd won. But he lost. So that's the end of it. For him, for Barbados."
"But you can save him." She tugged Winston back as he tried to brush past her. "I know you are leaving. Take him with you."
"He belongs to Briggs." He glanced back. "Same as you do. There's nothing I can do about it. Right now, I doubt good master Briggs is of a mind to do anything but hang him."
"Then if his life has no value to anyone here, take him as a free man."
A web of white laced across the thunderhead. In its light he could just make out the tall masts of theDefiance, waving against the dark sky like emblems of freedom.
God damn you, Benjamin Briggs. God damn your island of slaveholders.
"Where is he?"
"Derin has hidden him, not too far from here. When Atiba fainted from the loss of blood, he brought him up there." She turned and pointed toward the dark bulk of the island. "In a grove of trees where thebrancocould not find him. Then he came to me for help."
"Who's this Derin?"
"One of the Yoruba men who was with him."
"Where're the others? There must've been a dozen or so over at Oistins this morning."
"Some were killed near there. The others were captured. Derin told me they were attacked by the militia. Atiba only escaped because he fainted and Derin carried him to safety. The others stayed to fight, to save him, and they were taken."
Her voice cracked. "I heard Master Briggs say the ones who were captured, Obewole and the others, would be burned alive tomorrow."
"Burned alive!"
"All the planters have agreed that is what they must do. It is to be made the punishment on Barbados for any slave who revolts, so the rest of the Africans will always fear thebranco. "
"Such a thing would never be allowed on English soil."
"This is not your England, senhor. This is Barbados. Where slavery has become the lifeblood of all wealth. They will do it."
"Bedford would never allow . . ." He stopped, and felt his heart wrench. "Good Christ. Now there's no one to stop them. Damn these bloodthirsty Puritans." He turned to her. "Can you get him down here? Without being seen?"
"We will try."
"If you can do it, I'll take him."
"And Derin too?"
"In for a penny, in for a pound." His smile was bitter. "Pox on it. I'll take them both."
"Senhor." She dropped to her knees. "Tell me how I can thank you."
"Just be gone. Before my boys get wind of this." He pulled her to her feet and glanced toward the rain-swept line of seamen carrying water kegs. "They'll not fancy it, you can be sure. I've got worries enough as is, God knows."
"Muito, muito obrigada, senhor." She stood unmoving, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Just go." He stepped around her and moved on down the shore, toward the moored longboat where the men were working. Now John Mewes was standing alongside, minimally supervising the seamen as they stacked kegs. Mingled with his own men were several of the Irish indentures.
"Damn this squall, Cap'n. We'll not be able to get under way till she lets up. It's no weather for a Christian to be at sea, that I promise you."
"I think it's apt to ease up around nightfall." He checked the clouds again. "What're we needing?"
"Once we get this laded, there'll be water aboard and to spare." He wiped the rain from his eyes and glanced at the sky. "God knows the whole of the island's seen enough water to float to sea.'Tis salt pork we're wanting now, and biscuit."
"Can we get any cassava flour?"
"There's scarcely any to be had. The island's half starved, Cap'n."
"Did you check all the warehouses along here?"
"Aye, we invited ourselves in and rifled what we could find. But there's pitiful little left, save batches of moldy tobacco waitin' to be shipped."
"Damn. Then we'll just have to sail with what we've got." Winston turned and stared down the shore. There had not been any provisions off-loaded from Europe since the fleet arrived. There were no ships in the harbor now, save theDefianceand theZeelander.
TheZeelander.
"When's the last time you saw Ruyters?"
"This very mornin', as't happens. He came nosing by to enquire how it was we're afloat, and I told him it must've been the tide lifted her off." Mewes turned and peered through the rain toward the Dutch frigate. "What're you thinking?"
"I'm thinking he still owes me a man, a Spaniard by the name of Vargas, which I've yet to collect."
"That damned Butterbox'll be in no mood to accommodate you, I swear it."
"All the same, we made a bargain. I want you and some of the boys to go over and settle it." He thumbed at theZeelander, lodged in the sand not two hundred yards down the beach. "In the meantime, I have to go back up to Joan's and collect . . . a few things. Why don't you try and find Ruyters? Get that Spaniard, however you have to do it, and maybe see if he'll part with any of their biscuit."
"Aye, I'll tend to it." He turned to go.
"And John . . ." Winston waved him back.
"Aye."
"We may be having some company before we weigh anchor. Remember that Yoruba we caught on board a few nights back?"
"Aye, I recollect the heathen well enough. I've not seen him since, thank God, though some of the lads claim there was one up at Oistins this mornin' who sounded a lot like him."
"Same man. I've a mind to take him with us, and maybe another one. But don't say anything to the boys. Just let him on board if he shows up."
"You're the captain. But I'd sooner have a viper between decks as that godless savage. They're sayin' he and a bunch of his kind gutted a good dozen Englishmen this mornin' like they was no better'n so many Spaniards."
"Well, that's done and past. Just see he gets on board and the boys keep quiet about it."
"They'll not be likin' it, by my life."
"That's an order."
"Aye." Mewes turned with a shrug, whistled for some of the seamen, then headed through the rain, down the shore toward the beached hulk of theZeelander.
"She's here darlin'." Joan met him at the door. "In back, with the girls."
"How is she?" Winston threw off his wet cape and reached for the tankard of sack she was handing him.
"I think she's starting to understand he's dead now. I guess it just took a while. Now I think it's time you told me a few things yourself. Why're you taking her? Is't because you're worried the Roundheads might send her back home to be hanged?"
"Is that the reason you want to hear?"
"Damn your eyes, Hugh Winston. You're not in love with her, are you?"
He smiled and took a sip from the tankard.
"You'd best beware of her, love." She sighed. "That one's not for you. She's too independent, and I doubt she even knows what she's doin' half the time."
"And how about me? Think I know what I'm doing?" He pulled back a chair and straddled it.
"Doubtless not, given what you're plannin' next." She plopped into a chair. "But I've packed your things, you whoremaster. The girls're already sorry to see the lot of you leavin'. I think they've taken a fancy to a couple of your lads." She laughed. "But they'd have preferred you most of all. God knows, I've had to keep an eye on the jades day and night."
He turned and stared out in the direction of the rain. "Maybe you'll decide to come over someday and open shop on Jamaica. This place has bad times coming."
She leaned back and poured a tankard of sack for herself. "That's a fool's dream. But you're right about one thing. There're dark days in store here, not a doubt. Who knows how it'll settle out?"
The wind seemed to play against the doors of the tavern. Then they swung open and a sudden gust coursed through the room, spraying fine mist across the tables.
"Winston, damn me if I didn't figure I'd find you here." Benjamin Briggs pushed into the room, shook the rain from his wide hat, and reached for a chair. "I'm told you were the last to see that Yoruba of mine. That he tried to kill you this moming, much as he aimed to murder me."
"He was at Oistins, true enough." Winston glanced up.
"That's what I heard. They're claiming he and those savages of his brutally murdered some of Cromwell's infantry." He shook his hat one last time and tossed it onto the table. "We've got to locate him. Maybe you have some idea where he is now?"
"He didn't trouble advising me of his intended whereabouts."
"Well, he's a true savage, by my soul. A peril to every Christian on this island." He sighed and looked at Winston. "I don't know whether you've heard, but the Roundheads have already started disarming our militia. We'll soon have no way to defend ourselves. I think I winged him last night, but that heathen is apt to come and kill us both if we don't hunt him down and finish the job while we've still got the chance." He lowered his voice. "I heard about those flintlocks of yours. I was hoping maybe you'd take some of your boys and we could go after him whilst things are still in a tangle over at Oistins."
Winston sat unmoving. "Remember what I told you the other day, about freeing these Africans? Well, now I say damned to you. You can manage your slaves any way you like, but it'll be without my flintlocks."
"That's scarcely an attitude that'll profit the either of us at the moment." Briggs signaled to Joan for a tankard of kill-devil. "Peculiar company you keep these days, Mistress Fuller. 'Twould seem the Captain here cares not tuppence for his own life. Well, so be it. I'll locate that savage without him if I needs must." He took a deep breath and gazed around the empty room. "But lest my ride down here be for naught, I'd as soon take the time right now and settle that bargain we made."
Joan poured the tankard and shoved it across the table to him. "You mean that woman you own?"
"Aye, the mulatto wench. I'm thinking I might go ahead and take your offer of a hundred pounds, and damned to her."
"What I said was eighty." Joan stared at him coldly.
"Aye, eighty, a hundred, who can recall a shilling here or there." He took a swig. "What say we make it ninety then, and have an end to the business?"
Joan eyed him. "I said eighty, though I might consider eighty-five. But not a farthing more."
"You're a hard woman to trade with, on my honor." He took another draught from the tankard. "Then eighty-five it is, but only on condition we settle it here and now. In sterling. I'll not waste another day's feed on her."
Winston glanced at Joan, then back at Briggs. "Do you know where she is?"
The planter's eyes narrowed. "Up at my compound. Where else in God's name would she be?"
Winston took a drink and looked out the doorway, into the rain. "I heard talk she was seen down around here this morning. Maybe she's run off." He turned to Joan. "I'd encourage you to pay on delivery."
"Damn you, sir, our bargain's been struck." Briggs settled his tankard with a ring. "I never proposed delivering her with a coach and four horses."
Joan sat silently, listening. Finally she spoke. "You'd best not be thinkin' to try and swindle me. I'll advance you five pounds now, on account, but you'll not see a penny of the rest till she's in my care."
"As you will then." He turned and spat toward the corner. "She'll be here, word of honor."
Joan glanced again at Winston, then rose and disappeared through the shuttered doors leading into the back room.
After Briggs watched her depart, he turned toward Winston. "You, sir, have studied to plague me from the day you dropped anchor."
"I usually cut the deck before I play a hand of cards."
"Well, sir, I'll warrant Cromwell's got the deck now, for this hand at least. We'll see what you do about him."
"Cromwell can be damned. I'll manage my own affairs."
"As will we all, make no mistake." He took another drink. "Aye, we'll come out of this. We'll be selling sugar to the
Dutchmen again in a year's time, I swear it. They can't keep that fleet tied up here forever." He looked at Winston. "And when it's gone, you'd best be on your way too, sir. Mark it."
"I'll make note."
Joan moved back through the room. "Five pounds." She handed Briggs a small cloth bag. "Count it if you like. That makes her mine. You'll see the balance when she's safe in this room."
"You've got a trade." He took the bag and inventoried its contents with his thick fingers. "I'll let this tankard serve as a handshake." He drained the last of the liquor as he rose. As he clapped his soaking hat back onto his head, he moved next to where Winston sat. "And you, sir, would be advised to rethink helping me whilst there's time. That savage is apt to slit your throat for you soon enough if he's not tracked down."
"And then burned alive, like you're planning for the rest of them?"
Briggs stopped and glared. "That's none of your affair, sir. We're going to start doing what we must. How else are we to keep these Africans docile in future? Something's got to be done about these revolts."
He whirled abruptly and headed for the door. At that moment, the battered louvres swung inward and a harried figure appeared in the doorway, eyes frantic, disoriented. A few seconds passed before anyone recognized Jeremy Walrond. His silk doublet was wet and bedraggled, his cavalier's hat waterlogged and drooping over his face. Before he could move, Briggs' pistol was out and leveled at his breast.
"Not another step, you whoreson bastard, or I'll blow you to hell." His voice boomed above the sound of the storm. "Damn me if I shouldn't kill you on sight, except I wouldn't squander the powder and shot." He squinted through the open doorway. "Where's Anthony? I'd have him come forward and meet me like a man, the royalist miscreant."
Jeremy's face flooded with fear. "He's . . .he's been taken on board theRainbowe. I swear it." His voice seemed to crack. "By Powlett."
"By who?"
"A man named Powlett, the vice admiral. I think he's to be the new governor."
"Well, damned to them both." Briggs lowered the pistol guardedly, then shoved it back into his belt. "They're doubtless conspiring this very minute how best to squeeze every farthing of profit from our sugar trade."
"I . . . I don't know what's happening. They've made the Windwards as much as prisoners. Powlett's already disarmed the Regiment, and Colonel Morris is leading his infantry on the march to Bridgetown right now." He stepped gingerly in through the doorway. "I came down to try and find Miss Bedford. At the compound they said she might be . . ."
"I doubt Katherine has much time for you." Winston looked up from his chair. "So you'd best get on back to Oistins before I decide to start this little war all over again."
"Oh, for God's sake let the lad be. He's not even wearin’ a sword," Joan interjected, then beckoned him forward. "Don't let this blusterin' lot frighten you, darlin'. Come on in and dry yourself off."
"I've got to warn Katherine." He edged nervously toward Joan, as though for protection. His voice was still quavering. "We didn’t expect this. They'd agreed to terms. They said . . ."
"They lied." Winston drew out one of his pistols and laid it on the table before him. "And your gullible, ambitious royalist of a brother believed them. Haply, some others of us took our own precautions. Katherine's safe, so you can go on back to your Roundheads and tell them they'll never find her."
"But I meant her no harm. It was to be for the best, I swear it. I want her to know that." He settled at a table and lowered his face into his hands. "I never dreamed it would come to this." He looked up. "Who could have?"
"'Tis no matter now." Joan moved to him, her voice kindly. "You're not to blame. 'Twas Sir Anthony that led the defection. It's always the old fools who cause the trouble. He's the one who should have known . . ."
"But you don't understand what really happened. I was the one who urged him to it, talked him into it. Because Admiral Calvert assured me none of this would happen."
"You planned this with Calvert!" Briggs roared. "With that damned Roundhead! You let him use you to cozen Walrond and the Windwards into defecting?"
Jeremy stifled a sob, then turned toward Joan, his blue eyes pleading. "Would you tell Katherine I just wanted to stop the killing. None of us ever dreamed . . ."
"Jeremy." Katherine was standing in the open doorway leading to the back. "Is it really true, what you just said?"
He stared at her in disbelief, and his voice failed for a second. Then suddenly the words poured out. "Katherine, you've got to get away." He started to rush to her, but something in her eyes stopped him. "Please listen. I think Powlett means to arrest you. I heard him talking about it. There's nothing we can do."
"You and Anthony've got the Windwards." She examined him with hard scorn. "I fancy you can do whatever you choose. Doubtless he'll have himself appointed governor now, just as he's probably been wanting all along."
"No! He never . . ." Jeremy's voice seemed to crack. Finally he continued, "A man named Powlett, the vice admiral, is going to be the new governor. Morris is marching here from Oistins right now. I only slipped away to warn you."
"I've been warned." She was turning back toward the doorway. "Goodbye, Jeremy. You always wanted to be somebody important here. Well, maybe you've managed it now. You've made your mark on our times. You gave the Americas back to England. Congratulations. Maybe Cromwell will declare himself king next and then grant you a knighthood."
"Katherine, I don't want it." He continued miserably. "I'm so ashamed. I only came to ask you to forgive me. And to warn you that you've got to get away."
"I've heard that part already." She glanced back. "Now just leave."
"But what'll you do?" Again he started to move toward her, then drew back.
"It's none of your affair." She glared at him. "The better question is what you and Anthony'll do now? After you've betrayed us all. I thought you had more honor. I thought Anthony had more honor."
He stood for a moment, as though not comprehending what she had said. Then he moved forward and confronted her. "How can you talk of honor, in the same breath with Anthony! After what you did. Made a fool of him."
"Jeremy, you have known me long enough to know I do what I please. It was time Anthony learned that too."
"Well, he should have broken off the engagement weeks ago, that much I'll tell you. And he would have, save he thought you'd come to your senses. And start behaving honorably." He glanced at Winston. "I see he was wrong."
"I did come to my senses, Jeremy. Just in time. I'll take Hugh's honor over Anthony's any day." She turned and disappeared through the doorway.
Jeremy stared after her, then faced Winston. "Damn you. You think I don't know anything. You're the . . ."
"I think you'd best be gone." Winston rose slowly from his chair. "Give my regards to Sir Anthony. Tell him I expect to see him in hell. He pulled a musket ball from his pocket and tossed it to Jeremy. "And give him that, as thanks from me for turning this island and my ship over to the Roundheads. The next one he gets won't be handed to him. . . ."
The doors of the tavern bulged open, and standing in the rain was an officer of the Commonwealth army. Behind him were three helmeted infantrymen holding flintlock muskets.
"Your servant, gentlemen." The man glanced around the room and noticed Joan. "And ladies. You've doubtless heard
your militia has agreed to lay down its arms, and that includes even those who’d cravenly hide in a brothel rather than serve. For your own safety we're here to collect all weapons, till order can be restored. They'll be marked and returned to you in due time." He motioned the three infantrymen behind him to close ranks at the door. "We'll commence by taking down your names."
In the silence that followed nothing could be heard but the howl of wind and rain against the shutters. Dark had begun to settle outside now, and the room itself was lighted only by a single flickering candle, in a holder on the back wall. The officer walked to where Joan was seated and doffed his hat. "My name is Colonel Morris, madam. And you, I presume, are the . . ."
"You betrayed us!" Jeremy was almost shouting. "You said we could keep our muskets. That we could . . ."
"Master Walrond, is that you?" Morris turned and peered through the gloom. "Good Christ, lad. What are you doing here? You're not supposed to leave Oistins." He paused and inspected Jeremy. "I see you've not got a weapon, so I'll I forget I came across you. But you've got to get on back over to Oistins and stay with the Windwards, or I'll not be responsible." He turned to Briggs. "And who might you be, sir?"
"My name, sir, is Benjamin Briggs. I am head of the Council of Barbados, and I promise you I will protest formally to Parliament over this incident. You've no right to barge in here and . . ."
"Just pass me that pistol and there'll be no trouble. It's hotheads like you that make this necessary." Morris reached into Briggs' belt and deftly extracted the long flintlock, its gilded stock glistening in the candlelight. He shook the powder out of the priming pan and handed it to one of the infantrymen. "The name with this one is to be . . ." He glanced back. "Briggs, sir, I believe you said?"
"Damn you. This treatment will not be countenanced. I need that pistol." Briggs started to move forward, then glanced warily at the infantrymen holding flintlock muskets.
"We all regret it's necessary, just as much as you." Morris signaled to the three infantrymen standing behind him, their helmets reflecting the dull orange of the candles. "While I finish here, search the back room. And take care. There's apt to be a musket hiding behind a calico petticoat in a place like this."
Winston settled back onto his chair. "I wouldn't trouble with that if I were you. There're no other guns here. Except for mine."
Morris glanced at him, startled. Then he saw Winston's flintlock lying on the table. "You're not giving the orders here, whoever you are. And I'll kindly take that pistol."
"I'd prefer to keep it. So it'd be well if you'd just leave now, before there's trouble."
"That insubordinate remark, sir, has just gotten you put under arrest." Morris moved toward the table.
Winston was on his feet. The chair he had been sitting on tumbled across the floor. "I said you'd best be gone."
Before Morris could respond, a woman appeared at the rear doorway. "I'll save you all a search. I'm not afraid of Cromwell, and I'm surely not frightened of you."
"Katherine, no!" Jeremy's voice was pleading.
"And who might you be, madam?" Morris stared in surprise.
"My name is Katherine Bedford, sir. Which means, I suppose, that you'll want to arrest me too."
"Are you the daughter of Dalby Bedford?"
"He was my father. And the last lawfully selected governor this island is likely to know."
"Then I regret to say I do have orders to detain you. There are certain charges, madam, of aiding him in the instigation of this rebellion, that may need to be answered in London."
"Katherine!" Jeremy looked despairingly at her. "I warned you . . ."
"Is that why you're here, Master Walrond? To forewarn an accused criminal?" Morris turned to him. "Then I fear there may be charges against you too." He glanced at Briggs. "You can go, sir. But I'm afraid we'll have to hold your pistol for now, and take these others into custody."
"You're not taking Miss Bedford, or anybody, into custody." Winston pulled back his water-soaked jerkin to expose the pistol in his belt.
Morris stared at him. "And who, sir, are you?"
"Check your list of criminals for the name Winston." He stood unmoving. "I'm likely there too."
"Is that Hugh Winston, sir?" Morris' eyes narrowed, and he glanced nervously at the three men behind him holding muskets. Then he looked back. "We most certainly have orders for your arrest. You've been identified as the gunnery commander for the rebels here, to say nothing of charges lodged against you in England. My first priority is Miss Bedford, but I'll be pleased to do double duty and arrest you as well."
"Fine. Now, see that pistol?" Winston thumbed toward the table. "Look it over carefully. There're two barrels, both primed. It's part of a pair. The other one is in my belt. That's four pistol balls. The man who moves to arrest Miss Bedford gets the first. But if you make me start shooting, I'm apt to forget myself and not stop till I've killed you all. So why don't you leave now, Colonel Morris, and forget everything you saw here." He glanced back at Katherine. "I'm sure Miss Bedford is willing to forget she saw you. She's had a trying day."
"Damn your impudence, sir." Morris turned and gestured at the men behind him. "Go ahead and arrest her."
One of the helmeted infantrymen raised his flintlock and waved Katherine forward.
"No!" Jeremy shouted and lunged toward the soldier. "You can't! I never meant . . ."
The shot sounded like a crack of thunder in the close room.
Black smoke poured from the barrel of the musket, and Jeremy froze where he stood, a quizzical expression on his face. He turned to look back at Katherine, his eyes penitent, then wilted toward the floor, a patch of red spreading across his chest.
Almost simultaneous with the musket's discharge, the pistol in Winston's belt was already drawn and cocked. It spoke once, and the infantryman who had fired dropped, a trickle of red down his forehead. As the soldier behind him started to raise his own musket, the pistol gave a small click, rotating the barrel, and flared again. The second man staggered back against the wall, while his flintlock clattered unused to the floor.
Now the rickety table in front of Winston was sailing toward the door, and the pistol that had been lying on it was in his hand. The table caught the third infantryman in the groin as he attempted to raise his weapon and sent him sprawling backward. His musket rattled against the shutters, then dropped.
Morris looked back to see the muzzle of Winston's second flintlock leveled at his temple.
"Katy, let's go." Winston motioned her forward. "We'll probably have more company any minute now."
"You're no better than a murderer, sir." Morris finally recovered his voice.
"I didn't fire the first shot. But by God I'll be the one who fires the last, that I promise you." He glanced back. "Katy, I said let's go. Take whatever you want, but hurry."
"Hugh, they've killed Jeremy!" She stood unmoving, shock in her face.
"He wouldn't let me handle this my way." Winston kept his eyes on Morris. "But it's too late now."
"He tried to stop them. He did it for me." She was shaking. "Oh, Jeremy, why in God's name?"
"Katy, come on." Winston looked back. "Joan, get her things. We've got to move out of here, now."
Joan turned and pushed her way through the cluster of Irish girls standing fearfully in the rear doorway.
"You'll hang for this, sir." Morris eyed the pistol. The remaining infantryman still sat against the wall, his unfired musket on the floor beside him.
"The way you'd planned to hang Miss Bedford, no doubt." He motioned toward Briggs. "Care to collect those muskets for me?"
"I'll have no hand in this, sir." The planter did not move. "You've earned a noose for sure."
"I'll do it." Katherine stepped across Jeremy's body and assembled the three muskets of the infantrymen. She carried them back, then confronted Morris.
"You, sir, have helped steal the freedom of this island, of the Americas. It's impossible to tell you how much I despise you and all you stand for. I'd kill you myself if God had given me the courage. Maybe Hugh will do it for me."
"I'll see the both of you hanged, madam, or I'm not a Christian."
"I hope you try."
Joan emerged through the crowd, toting a large bundle. She laid it on a table by the door, then turned to Winston. "Here's what we got up at the compound this afternoon." She surveyed the three bodies sadly. "Master Jeremy was a fine lad. Maybe he's finally managed to make his brother proud of him; I'll wager it's all he ever really wanted." She straightened. "Good Christ, I hope they don't try and shut me down because of this."
"It wasn't your doing." Winston lifted the bundle with his free hand. "Katy, can you manage those muskets?"
"I'd carry them through hell."
"Then let's be gone." He waved the pistol at the infantryman sitting against the wall. "Get up. You and the colonel here are going to keep us company."
"Where do you think you can go?" Briggs still had not moved. "They'll comb the island for you."
"They'll look a long time before they find us on Barbados." He shoved the pistol against Morris' ribs. "Let's be off. Colonel."
"There'll be my men all about." Morris glared. "You'll not get far."
"We'll get far enough." He shifted the bundle under his arm.
"Darlin', Godspeed. I swear I'll miss you." Joan kissed him on the cheek, then turned to Katherine. "And mind you watch over him in that place he's headed for."
"Jamaica?"
"No. He knows where I mean." She looked again at Winston. "There's no worse spot in the Caribbean."
"Don't worry. You'll hear from me." Winston kissed her back, then urged Morris forward.
"See that you stay alive." She followed them to the door. "And don't try anything too foolish."
"I always take care." He turned and bussed her on the cheek one last time. Then they were gone.
Chapter Nineteen
As Winston and Katherine led their prisoners slowly down the shore, theDefiancestood out against the dark sky, illuminated by flashes of lightning as it tugged at its anchor cables. The sea was up now, and Winston watched as her prow dipped into the trough of each swell, as though offering a curtsy. They had almost reached the water when he spotted John Mewes, waiting by the longboat.
"Ahoy, Cap'n," he sang out through the gusts of rain. "What're you doin'? Impressing Roundheads to sail with us now? We've already got near to fifty of your damn'd indentures."
"Are they on board?"
"Aye, them and all the rest. You're the last." He studied Katherine and Morris in confusion. "Though I'd not expected you'd be in such fine company."
"Then we weigh anchor."
"In this squall?" Mewes' voice was incredulous. "We can't put on any canvas now. It'd be ripped off the yards."
"We've got to. The Roundheads are already moving on Bridgetown. We'll try and use those new short sails." Winston urged Morris forward with his pistol, then turned back to Mewes. "Any sign of that African we talked about?"