"You'll regret it." She dived after him like a dolphin and when she finally surfaced she was already ahead. She yelled back, "Don't think I'll let you win in the name of pride."He roared with laughter and moved alongside her. "Whose pride are we talking about, mine or yours?"And they swam. He was always half a length behind her, yelling that he would soon pass her, but when they reached the point along the shore even with their clothes, she was still ahead."Now shall I carry you ashore. Captain?" She let her feet touch the sandy bottom and turned to watch him draw next to her. "You're most likely exhausted.""Damn you." He stood up beside her, breathing heavily. "No seaman ever lets himself get caught in the water. Now I know why." He seized her hand and glanced at the sun. It was already halfway toward evening. "Come on, we're wasting time. I want to reconnoiter this damned island of yours before it's too dark."She pulled him back and kissed him one last time, the waters of the lagoon still caressing them. "Hugh, this has been the loveliest day of my life. I'll remember it always." She kissed him again, and now he yielded, enfolding her in his arms. "Can we come back? Soon?""Maybe. If you can find time amidst all your marriage negotiations." He ran his hand over her smooth buttocks, then gave her a kiss that had the firmness of finality. "But now we go to work, Katy. Come on."The horses watched them expectantly, snorting and pawing with impatience, while they dressed again. She finished drawing the laces of her bodice, then walked over and whispered to her mare."We can take the horses if you think they could use a stretch." He gazed up toward the outcrop. "I suppose they can make it.""Coral can go anywhere you can.""Then let her prove it." He reached down and untied the hobble on his gelding's forefeet. Then he grabbed the reins and vaulted into the saddle. "Let's ride."The route up the island's center spine was dense with scrub foliage, but the horses pushed their way through. The afternoon was silent save for the occasional grunts of wild hogs in the underbrush. Before long they emerged into the clear sunshine again, the horses trotting eagerly up a grassy rise, with only a few large boulders to impede their climb. When they reached the base of the rocky outcropping that marked the edge of the plateau, he slipped from the saddle and tied his mount to a small green tree. "No horse can make that." He held Coral's reins as she dismounted. "Let's walk."Behind them now the long shore of Barbados stretched into the western horizon. The south side, toward Oistins Bay, was shielded by the hill."This could be a good lookout post." He took her arm and helped her over the first jagged extrusion of rock. Now the path would be winding, but the way was clear, merely a steep route upward. "I'll wager you can see for ten leagues out to sea from up there at the top.""I've always wondered what Oistins looked like from here. I never got up this far before." She ran a hand fondly down the back of his jerkin. It was old and brown and sweat-encrusted. She knew now that he had fancy clothes secreted away, but he seemed to prefer things as worn and weathered as he could find. "The harbor must be beautiful this time of the afternoon.""If you know where to look upland, you might just see your Walrond gallant's plantation." He gestured off to the left. "Didn't you say it's over in that direction somewhere?"She nodded silently, relieved he hadn't said anything more. They were approaching the top now, a rocky plateau atop the rough outcrop in front of them."Up we go, Katy." He seized a sharp protrusion and pulled himself even. Then he reached down and took her hand. She held to his grip as he hoisted her up over the last jagged rocks."It's just like . . ." Her voice trailed off."What?" He glanced back at her."Oh God, Hugh! I don't believe it!" She was pointing toward the southeast, and the color had drained from her face.He whirled and squinted into the afternoon haze.At sea, under full sail with a heading of north by northeast, were eight English warships, tawny-brown against the blue Caribbean. Their guns were not run out. Instead their decks were crowded with steel-helmeted infantry. They were making directly for Oistins Bay."The breastwork! Why aren't they firing!" He instinctively reached for the handle of the pistol in the left-hand side of his belt. "I've not heard a shot. Where's Walrond's Windward Regiment? They're just letting them land!""Oh Hugh, how could the Windwards do this to the island? They're the staunchest royalists here. Why would they betray the rest of us?""We've got to get back to Bridgetown, as hard as we can ride. To pull all the militia together and try to get the men down from Jamestown.""But I've heard no warnings." She watched the English frigates begin to shorten sail as they entered the bay. Suddenly she glanced down at his pistols. "What's the signal for Oistins?""You're right." He slipped the flintlock from the left side of his belt and handed it to her. "It's four shots—two together, followed by two apart. Though I doubt there's anybody around close enough to hear.""Let's do it anyway. There's a plantation about half a mile west down the coast. Ralph Warner. He's in the Assembly."He pulled the other pistol from his belt. "Now, after you fire the first barrel, pull that little trigger there, below the lock, and the second one revolves into place. But first check the prime.""That's the first thing I did." She frowned in exasperation. "I'll wager I can shoot almost as well as you can. Isn't it time now you learned to trust me?""Katy, after what's just happened, you're about the only person on Barbados I trust at all. Get ready."He raised the gun above his head and there was the sharp crack of two pistol shots in rapid succession. Then she quickly squeezed off the rest of the signal. She passed back the gun, then pointed toward the settlement at Oistins. "Look, do you see them? That must be some of the Windward Regiment, down by the breastwork. That's their regimental flag. They've probably come down to welcome the fleet.""Your handsome fiance seems to have sold his soul, and his honor. The royalist bastard . . ."He paused and caught her arm. From the west came two faint cracks of musket fire, then again. The signal."Let's get back to Bridgetown as fast as these horses will take us. I'm taking command of this militia, and I'm going to have Anthony Walrond's balls for breakfast." He was almost dragging her down the incline. "Come on. It's one thing to lose a fair fight. It's something else to be cozened and betrayed. Nobody does that to me. By Christ I swear it."She looked apprehensively at his eyes and saw an anger unlike any she had ever seen before. It welled up out of his very soul.That was what really moved him. Honor. You kept your word. Finally she knew.She grasped for the saddle horn as he fairly threw her atop her horse. The mare snorted in alarm at the sudden electricity in the air. A moment later Winston was in his saddle and plunging down the brushy incline."Hugh, let's . . . ride together. Don't . . ." She ducked a swinging limb and then spurred Coral alongside. "Why would Anthony do it? And what about Jeremy? He'll be mortified.""You'd better be worrying about the Assembly. That's your father's little creation. Would they betray him?""Some of them were arguing for surrender. They're worried about their plantations being ruined if there's more fighting, more war.""Well, you can tell them this. There's going to be war, all right. If I have to fight with nobody helping me but my own lads." He spurred his horse onto the grassy slope that led down to the sand. Moments later the frightened horses were splashing through the shallows. Ahead was the green shore of Barbados. "By Christ, there'll be war like they've never seen. Mark it, by sunrise tomorrow this God damned island is going to be in flames."Chapter Fifteen"Your servant, sir." Anthony Walrond stood in the shadow of the Oistins breastwork, his hand resting lightly on his sword. Edmond Calvert was walking slowly up the beach from the longboat, flanked by James Powlett and Richard Morris. The hour was half past three in the afternoon, exactly as agreed. There had to be enough light to get the men and supplies ashore, and then the timely descent of darkness to shield them. "Your punctuality, I trust, portends your constancy in weightier concerns.""And yours, sir, I pray may do the same." Calvert slipped off his dark hat and lightly bowed a greeting. Then he turned and indicated the two men behind him. "You've met Vice Admiral Powlett. And I understand Colonel Morris is not entirely unknown to you.""We've had some acquaintance in times past." Walrond nodded coldly in the direction of Morris, but did not return the commander's perfunctory smile. The old hatred, born of years of fighting in England, flowed between them."Then shall we to affairs?" Calvert turned back and withdrew a packet from his waistcoat. "The supplies we agreed on are ready. I've had my Chief Purser draw up a list for your inspection."Walrond took the papers, then glanced out toward the ships.So it's finally come to this, he thought wistfully. But, God is my witness, we truly did all any man could ask. There's no turning back now.As he thumbed open the wax seal of the packet, he noted absently that it was dated today, Friday. Had all this really come to pass since only sundown Monday, when he had first met Powlett, received the initial set of terms from Edmond Calvert, and begun negotiations? He had tried his best to counsel reason to the Assembly, he told himself, to arrange an honorable treaty that would preserve the militia. But a handful of hotheads had clamored for hopeless defiance, and prevailed. The only way to save the island now was to force it to surrender as quickly and painlessly as possible. Victory lay in living to fight another day.He gazed back at the ships of the fleet, and thought of the road that had brought them to this: the defection of his own regiment, once the finest fighting men in England, the royalist Windwards.Monday at sundown he had commandeered the back room of the Dolphin Tavern, which stood hard by the shore of Oistins Bay, and met Powlett. Through the night emissaries had shuttled terms back and forth between the tavern and the Rainbowe, berthed offshore. By the time the flagship hoisted anchor and made way for open sea at dawn, Anthony Walrond held in his hand a document signed by Edmond Calvert; it provided for the end of the blockade, the island's right to keep its arms and rule itself in local matters, and a full amnesty for all. The price, as price there must be, was an agreement to recognize the Commonwealth and the appointment of a new governor and Council by Calvert.Tuesday he had summoned a trusted coterie of his royalist officers to the Dolphin and set forth the terms. They had reviewed them one by one, debated each, then agreed by show of hands that none more favorable could reasonably be obtained. Healths were drunk to the eventual restoration of Charles II to the throne, and that night a longboat was dispatched to theRainbowe, carrying a signed copy of the agreement.Wednesday, as agreed, Edmond Calvert had ordered a duplicate copy of the terms forwarded to the Assembly, indicating it was his last offer. No mention was made of the secret negotiations that had produced the document. At that meeting of the Assembly Dalby Bedford had risen to declare he would not allow his own interests to be the cause of a single new death, that he would accept the terms and resign forthwith if such was the pleasure of the Assembly—which was, he said, a democratic body that must now make its own decision whether to continue fighting or to negotiate. He next moved that the document be put to a vote. It was narrowly approved by the Assembly; an honorable peace seemed within reach.But then the fabric so carefully sewed was ripped apart. A committee was formed to draw up the statement of the Assembly's response. In an atmosphere of hot spirits and general confusion, several of the more militant members had managed to insert a new clause into the treaty: that "the legal and rightful government of this island shall remain as it is now established, by law and our own consent."The response was then carried by voice vote and sent back to Calvert, a gauntlet flung across the admiral's face. The defiant faction in the Assembly exulted and drank toasts to the destruction of any who would have peace on the original terms.That night Calvert had delivered a new message to Anthony Walrond, inviting him to join with the forces of the Commonwealth—a move, he said, that would surely induce the Assembly to show reason. With this invitation he had inserted an additional offer: he would endeavor to persuade Oliver Cromwell to restore the sequestrated estates in England of any royalist officer who consented to assist.On Thursday, Anthony held another meeting of the officers of the Windward Regiment, and they voted enthusiastically to defect to the side of the fleet. After all, they reasoned, had not an honorable peace already been refused by the extremists in the Assembly? That night he so advised Edmond Calvert, demanding as conditions a supply of musket shot and fifty kegs of musket powder.This morning just before dawn a longboat from theRainbowehad returned Calvert's reply—a signed acceptance of the terms. With feelings mixed and rueful, he had ordered an English flag hoisted above the breastwork at Oistins, the agreed-upon signal to Calvert. Then, to ensure security, he ordered that no militiaman be allowed to leave Oistins till the ships of the fleet had put in and landed their infantry.TheRainboweled the eight warships that entered the bay at midafternoon. Anthony had seen Edmond Calvert mount the quarterdeck to watch as the guns in the breastwork were turned around and directed inland, part of his conditions. Then the admiral had ordered a longboat lowered and come ashore. . . ."These supplies all have to be delivered now, before dark." Anthony was still scrutinizing the list. "Or my men'll not be in the mood to so much as lift a half-pike."What matter, Calvert told himself. It's done. The Barbados landing is achieved. The island is ours. "You'll have the first load of powder onshore before sundown." He gestured toward the paper. "Your musket shot, and the matchcord, are on theMarsten Moor, but I think we can have the bulk off-loaded by then too.""What of the rest of the powder, sir?" Walrond squinted at the list with his good eye. "That was our main requirement. Some of these regiments had little enough to start with, and I fear we'll be needing yours if there's any fighting to be done."Good Christ. Calvert cast a dismayed look toward Morris. Had I but known how scarcely provisioned their forces were, I might well not have . . ."Well, sir. What of the powder?" Anthony's voice grew harder. "We can choose to halt this operation right now if . . .""I've ordered ten kegs sent ashore. Surely that should be adequate for the moment. You'll have the rest by morning, my word of honor." He squinted toward the horizon. "How much time do you think we've got to deploy the infantry?""Less than we'd hoped. We heard the signal for Oistins being sent up the coast about half an hour past." Walrond turned and followed Calvert's gaze. The sun was a fiery disc above the western horizon, an emblem of the miserable Caribbees ever reminding him of the England he had lost. "If their militia plans to meet us, they'll likely be assembling at Bridgetown right now. It's possible they'll be able to march some of the regiments tonight. Which means they could have men and cavalry here on our perimeter well before dawn.""Then we've got to decide now where the best place would be to make a stand." Calvert turned and motioned Morris forward. The commander had been watching apprehensively as his tattered troops disembarked from the longboats and waded in through the surf. "What say you, sir? Would you have us hold here at Oistins, or try to march along the coastal road toward Bridgetown while there's still some light?"Morris removed his helmet and slapped at the buzzing gnats now emerging in the evening air, hoping to obscure his thoughts. Did the admiral realize, he wondered, how exposed their men were at this very moment? Why should anyone trust the loyalties of Anthony Walrond and his royalists? It could all be a trap, intended to lure his men onshore. He had managed to muster almost four hundred infantrymen from the ships, but half of those were weak and vomiting from scurvy. Already, even with just the militia he could see, his own forces were outnumbered. If Walrond's regiments turned on them now, the entire Commonwealth force would be in peril. Could they even manage to make their way back to the ships?Caution, that's what the moment called for now, and that meant never letting the Windward Regiment, or any island militia, gain a position that would seal off their escape route."We'll need a garrison for these men, room for their tents." He glanced carefully at Walrond. "I'm thinking it would be bestfor now if we kept our lads under separate command. Each of us knows his own men best.""As you will, sir." Anthony glanced back, smelling Morris' caution. It's the first mark of a good commander, he told himself, but damn him all the same. He knows as well as I we've got to merge these forces. "I propose we march the men upland for tonight, to my plantation. You can billet your officers in my tobacco sheds, and encamp the men in the fields.""Will it be ground we can defend?" Morris was carefully monitoring the line of longboats bringing his men ashore. Helmets and breastplates glistened in the waning sun."You'll not have the sea at your back, the way you do now, should we find need for a tactical retreat.""Aye, but we'll have little else, either." Morris looked back at Calvert. "I'd have us off-load some of the ship ordnance as soon as possible. We're apt to need it to hold our position here, especially since I'll wager they'll have at least twice the cavalry mustered that these Windwards have got.""You'll not hold this island from the shores of Oistins Bay, sir, much as you might wish." Anthony felt his frustration rising. "We've got to move upland as soon as we can.""I'd have us camp here, for tonight." Morris tried to signal his disquiet to Calvert. "Those will be my orders.""Very well, sir," Walrond continued, squinting toward the Windward Regiment's cavalry, their horses prancing as they stood at attention. "And don't forget the other consideration in our agreement. The Assembly is to be given one more opportunity to accept the terms. You are obliged to draft one final communication for Bedford, beseeching him to show himself an Englishman and persuade the Assembly to let us reach an accord.""As you will, sir." Calvert turned away, biting his tongue before he said more.Keep an even keel, he told himself. There'll be time and plenty to reduce this island, Sir Anthony Walrond with it. The work's already half done. Now to the rest. After we’ve broughtthem to heel, we'll have time enough to show them how the Commonwealth means to rule the Americas.Time and plenty, may God help them all.*"Shango, can you hear me?" She knelt beside her mat, her voice pleading. How, she wondered, did you pray to a Yoruba god? Really pray? Was it the same as the Christian God?But Shango was more.He was more than just a god. He was also part of her, she knew that now. But must he always wait to be called, evoked? Must he first seize your body for his own, before he could declare his presence, work his will?Then the hard staccato sounds came again, the drums, their Yoruba words drifting up over the rooftop from somewhere in the distance and flooding her with dread, wrenching her heart.Tonight, they proclaimed, the island will be set to the torch. And thebrancowill be consumed in the fires.The men of the Yoruba, on plantations the length of the island, were ready. This was the day consecrated to Ogun, the day the fields of cane would be turned to flame. Even now Atiba was dictating final orders, words that would be repeated again and again by the drums.After the fires began, while thebrancowere still disorganized and frightened, they would attack and burn the plantation houses. No man who owned apretoslave would be left alive. With all the powerfulbrancoslaveholders dead, the drums proclaimed, the white indentures would rise up and join with the Yoruba. Together they would seize the island.Oh Shango, please. She gripped the sides of the thin mattress. Make him understand. No white will aid them. To thebrancothe proud Yoruba warriors are merely morepreto, black and despised. Make him understand it will be the end of his dream. To rise up now will mean the slaughter of his people. And ensure slavery forever.In truth, the only one she cared about was Atiba. To knowwith perfect certainty that she would see him hanged, probably his body then quartered to frighten the others, was more than she could endure. His rebellion had no chance. What could he hope to do? Not even Ogun, the powerful god of war, could overcome thebranco'sweapons and cunning. Or his contempt for any human with a trace of African blood.Atiba had hinted that he and his men would somehow find muskets. But where?This afternoon, only hours ago, she had heard another signal cross the island, the musket shots thebrancohad devised to sound an invasion alert. Following that, many groups of cavalry had ridden past, headed south. The sight of them had made her reflect sadly that Atiba and his Yoruba warriors had no horses.Afterward she had learned from the white servants that the soldiers of the Ingles fleet had again invaded the island, this time on the southern coast. This meant that all the Barbados militiamen surely must be mobilized now. Every musket on the island would be in the hands of a white. There would be no cache of guns to steal. Moreover, after the battle—regardless of who won—the soldiers of the fleet would probably help the militiamen hunt down Atiba and his men. No branco wanted the island seized by African slaves.Shango, stop them. Ogun has made them drunk for the taste of blood. But the blood on their lips will soon be their own.Slowly, sadly, she rose. She pulled her white shift about her, then reached under the mat to retrieve the small wand she had stolen from Atiba's hut. She untied the scarf she had wrapped around it and gazed again at the freshly carved wood, the double axe. Then she held it to her breast and headed, tiptoeing, down the creaking back stair. She had no choice but to go. To the one place she knew she could find Shango."I say damn their letter." Benjamin Briggs watched as the mounted messenger from Oistins disappeared into the dark, down the road between the palms, still holding the white flag above his head. "I suppose they'd now have us fall back and negotiate? When we've got the men and horse ready to drive them into the sea.""It's addressed to me, presumably a formality. Doubtless it's meant for the entire Assembly." Bedford turned the packet in his hand and moved closer to the candles on the table. "It's from Admiral Calvert."The front room of Nicholas Whittington's plantation house was crowded with officers of the militia. There were few helmets; most of the men wore the same black hats seen in the fields. Muskets and bandoliers of powder and shot were stacked in the comer. Intermittent gusts of the night breeze washed the stifling room through the open shutters.The afternoon's mobilization had brought together less than three thousand men, half the militia's former strength. They had marched west from Bridgetown at sunset, and now they were encamped on the Whittington plantation grounds, in fields where tobacco once had grown. The plantation was a thousand acre tract lying three miles to the southwest of Anthony Walrond's lands, near the southern coast."Well, we've got a quorum of the Assembly here." Colonel George Heathcott stepped forward, rubbing at his short beard. He was still stunned by Anthony Walrond's defection to the Roundheads. "We can formally entertain any last minute proposals they'd care to make.""I trust this time the Assembly will discern treachery when they see it," Briggs interjected. "I warned you this was likely to happen. When you lose your rights, 'tis small matter whether you hand them over or give them up at the point of a musket barrel. They're gone and that's the end of it, either way.""Aye, I'll wager there's apt to be a Walrond hand in this too, regardless who authored it. Just another of his attempts to cozen the honest men of this island." Tom Lancaster spat toward the empty fireplace. He thought ruefully of the cane he had in harvest—five hundred acres, almost half his lands, had been planted—and realized that now the fate of his future profits lay with an untrustworthy militia and the Assembly, half the voting members of which were men with fewer than a dozen acres. "He's sold the future, and liberty, of this island for forty pieces of silver.""Or for the governorship," Heathcott interjected. "Mark it.""Not so long as I've got breath." Briggs' complexion was deepening in the candlelight as he began wondering what the Commonwealth's men would do with his sugar. Confiscate it and ruin him in the bargain? "I say we fight to the last man, no matter what."Dalby Bedford finished scanning the letter and looked up. "I think we should hold one last vote. There's . . .""What are the terms?" Briggs interrupted."They seem to be the same. I presume he thought we might surrender, now that they've landed." Bedford hesitated. Was independence worth the killing sure to ensue if they went to war—a war that had now become planter against planter? "But it does appear he's willing to negotiate.""Then let's hear it." Briggs glanced about the room. "Though I'd have every man here remember that we've got no guarantees other than Calvert's word, and anything he consents to will still have to be approved by Parliament.""If you'll allow me, sir." Bedford motioned for quiet, then lifted a candlestick from the table and held it over the parchment."To the right honorable etc."My Lord—I have formerly sent you many Invitations to persuade you to a fair compliance with that new Power which governs your Native Country, thereby preserving yourself and all the Gent, of this island from certain ruin, and this Island from that desolation which your, and their, obstinacy may bring upon it."Although I have now been welcomed by a considerable part of the Island, with my Commission published—that being to appoint your Governor for the State of England—yet I am still the same reasonable Man as before and hold forth the same grace and favor to you I formerly did, being resolved no change of fortune shall change my nature. Thus I invite you to accept this same Commission as the others have done—in recognition that we each now possess considerable portions of this noble Island. . . ."Briggs stepped forward. "I already see there's deceit in it. They hold Oistins, not an acre more. With the men and horse we've got . . .""Let me read the rest." Bedford interrupted. "There're only a few lines more." He lifted the candle closer and continued."Therefore I am bound in Honour as well as good nature to endeavour your preservations, to which purpose I have enclosed the Articles which the Windward Regiment have accepted. If you have any Exceptions to these Articles, let me know them by your commissioners and I shall appoint fit persons to consider them. By ratifying this Negotiation you will prevent further effusion of blood, and will preserve your Persons and Estates from ruin."If you doubt mine own power to grant these Articles, know I shall engage not only mine own but the Honour of the State of England which is as much as can be required by any rational man. And so I rest,Your Servant,Admiral Edmond Calvert"Briggs reached for the letter. "What's his prattle about honor, by God! This island's been betrayed by the very men who speak about it most." He gazed around at the members of the Assembly. "They've already heard our 'exceptions' and their reply was to invade. I propose we settle this with arms, and then talk of honor.""There's a threat in that letter, for all the soothing words."A grizzled Assembly member spoke up, fingering his bandolier. "Calvert's saying we're in a war against the might of England, with our own people divided.""Aye, but when you find out a dog you'd kick will bite back, you learn to stand clear of him." Briggs waved him down. He thought again of the years of profits that lay just ahead, if only English control could be circumvented. "We've but to teach Cromwell a sound lesson, and he'll let us be.""But does this dog you speak of have enough bite to drive back a full-scale invasion?" Heathcott peered around him at the other members. The dark-beamed room grew silent as his question seemed to hang in the air. No one knew the full strength of the invading forces, now that they had been merged with the Windwards. And, more importantly, whether the Barbados militia would have the stomach to meet them."He's here, Yor Worships." At that moment a thin, wiry servant in a brown shirt appeared at the doorway. Behind him, in the hallway, another man had just been ushered in. He was hatless and wearing a powder-smeared jerkin. His face was drawn, but his eyes were intense.Hugh Winston was now in full command of the Barbados militia, commissioned by unanimous vote of the Assembly."Your servant, Captain." Bedford nodded a greeting. "We're waiting to hear what you've managed to learn.""My lads just got back. They say the Roundheads haven't started moving upland yet. They're still encamped along the shore at Oistins, and together with the Windwards they're probably no more than a thousand strong.""By God, we can stop them after all." Briggs squinted through the candlelight. "What are they doing now? Preparing to march?"''Doesn’t appear so. At least not yet. They look to be waiting, while they off-load some of the heavy ordnance from theMarsten Moor. Their nine-pounders. The guns have already been hoisted up on deck and made ready to bring ashore.""There you have it, gentlemen," Briggs growled. "They'd try to lull us with talk of negotiation, whilst they prepare to turn their ships' guns against our citizens."Bedford's eyes narrowed and he held up the letter. "Then what shall our answer be? For my own part, I say if we want to stay our own masters, we'll have to fight."There were grave nods among the assembled men as Bedford turned to Winston. "How does it stand with the militia?""I'd say we've got just about all the infantry and horse we're likely to muster. I've gone ahead and issued what's left of the powder and shot." He was still standing by the doorway. "We've got to move on out tonight and deploy around their position with whatever men, horse, and cannon we can manage, lest the weather change by morning and end our mobility.'' He thumbed toward the east. "There're some dark clouds moving in fast, and I don't care for the looks of them. There's some wind out of the west, too, off the ocean. Though that may slow them down a bit.""What do you mean?" Briggs eyed him."It means the bay's doubtless picked up a little chop by now, so Calvert and his officers may decide to wait till dawn to offload those heavy guns. It could give us just enough time.""Then I take it you'd have us move out now, in the dark?" Heathcott nervously peered out the window, widening the half- open shutters."If we do, we've got a chance to deploy cannon on their perimeter, and then hit them at dawn while they're still unprepared. Before they have a chance to fortify their position with that ship ordnance. They'll have the bay at their back and no heavy guns to speak of, save what's in the breastwork.""Then I formally move that we draft a reply to this letter and send it over by one of our cavalry. Lest they mistake our resolve." Bedford's voice was hard. "And then we let Captain Winston move on out with the men.""Aye, I second the motion." Heathcott scrambled to his feet, his eyes ablaze. "Let's prepare a response right now and get on with it.""It's done." Whittington turned to a plump Irish serving girt, who had been standing agog in the kitchen doorway watching this meeting of the Barbados Assembly in her master's parlor, and ordered quill and paper to be brought from his study."Gentlemen." Bedford quieted the buzz in the room. "I propose we say something along the lines of the following:"I have read your letter and acquainted the Council and Assembly with it, and now return their resolution to you, in which they do continue with much wondering that what is rightfully theirs by law—being the governing of this island as it presently is—should be denied them.""Aye," Briggs inteijected. "And make mention of Anthony Walrond, if you please. Lest he think we're not sensible that he's sold the island for his personal gain.""Patience, sir." Bedford gestured for quiet. "I would also add the following:"Neither hath the Treachery of one Man so far discouraged us, nor the easiness of certain others being seduced by him so much weakened us, as that We should accept a dishonorable Peace. And for the procuring of a just Peace, none shall endeavor more than the lawful Assembly of Barbados orYour Servant,Governor Dalby Bedford""Well phrased, as I'm a Christian." Whittington gravely nodded his approval. "They can mull over it all night if they choose. But there'll be no mistaking our resolve come the morrow."Bedford called for a show of hands. Every man in the room signified approval."Done." He quickly penned the letter, signed it with a flourish, and passed it to Whittington. "Have one of your servants call in the captain of the horse. We'll send this down to Oistins right now. He can have his man take along the safe-conduct pass Calvert sent with his letter.''While Whittington rang for the servants, Bedford motioned toward Winston. "Now, Captain. You've got your approval to move the militia. I propose we all move with it." He turned once more to the room. The men were already stirring, donning bandoliers and sorting out their muskets. "This meeting of the Barbados Assembly is hereby adjourned. It may be the last we ever hold, if we don't succeed tomorrow. May God preserve democracy in the Americas. Let's all say a prayer, gentlemen, as we ride."Winston turned without a word and led the way as the group of black-hatted men moved out into the evening air. A crisp breeze had sprung up from the east, providing a cooling respite from the heat of the day. Horses neighed and pawed in the lantern light, while the night was alive with the rattle of bandoliers. He strode to a circle of men waiting by the cistern at the side of the house and called for the officers. He was passing orders to mount and ride when a buzz of confusion rose up from the direction of the Assemblymen emerging from the house. There were murmurs and pointing."God's life, it's peculiar." Heathcott was gazing toward the north, in the direction of the upland plantations. "I've never seen anything like it."Winston turned to look. Across the horizon a dull glow flickered out of the dark. Before he had time to puzzle over what it might be, he heard a chorus of shouts from the servants' quarters at the rear of the house."Master Whittington! There's a fire in the southern sixty. In the cane!""Damn me!" Whittington trotted past the side of the house to look. At the base of the hill the red tongues of flame could be seen forking upward in the dark. "I was fearful something just like this might happen, what with all these careless militiamen idling about.""The militia's not camped down there, sir." Briggs had moved alongside him to look. Suddenly his eyes went wild. "God's blood! Is that another fire we're seeing there in the north!"Whittington watched the whip of flames a moment longer, as though disbelieving, and then his body seemed to come alive. "We've got to get some of these men down there and dig a break in the cane fields. Stop it before it reaches this house.""I'm more worried about it reaching our heavy ordnance." Winston gazed down the road toward the militia's encampment. "We've got to get our men and gun carriages mobilized and out of here.""I demand that some of these layabouts stay to try and save my cane." Whittington pointed toward the crowd of militiamen at the foot of the rise. "They're doubtless the one's responsible.""That little cane fire will bum itself out soon enough." Winston raised his hand. "We've got to move these men and supplies now. We can't wait around fighting cane fires.""Damn me. God damn me." Briggs' voice was shrill as he pushed his way through the crowd toward Winston. "I'm beginning to think that glow we see in the north might well be a blaze on some ofmyacres.""Well, even if it is, there's not much we can do now.""Damned if there's not." Briggs peered again at the horizon, then back at Winston. "I've got to take my men over, as quick as we can ride. Maybe we can still save it.""You'll not have a single horse, or man." Winston raised his hand. "As soon as I brief my field commanders, we're moving on Oistins. We have to be in position, with our cannon, before dawn. If we don't attack them before they've managed to offload the ordnance, we'll forfeit what little chance we've got.""Are you mad, sir? We let these fires go unattended and we could well lose everything." Briggs gazed around at the Assemblymen. "There's the looks of a conspiracy in this. It's apt to be some sort of uprising, of the indentures or maybe even these damned Africans. Which means that we've got to protect our homes."Winston watched in dismay as the assembled men began to grumble uncertainly. Several were already calling for their horses. The night took on an air of fear."Let me tell you this, gentlemen." Winston's voice sounded above the din. "We've got but one chance to stop the invasion, and that's to move our heavy guns and militia tonight. You have to decide whether you're going to do it.""Damn me, sir, it's a matter of priorities." Briggs' voice was almost a shout. "If we're burned out, it'll take us years to rebuild. Reckoning with Parliament would be nothing compared with the effects of a fire, or a slave uprising. I'll wager there's some kind of island-wide rebellion afoot, like we had a few years back." He was untying the reins of his horse from the porch railing. "I'm riding home and taking my indentures." He glared at Winston. "The few I've got left. I've got a house and a sugar mill, and I intend to protect them.""I need that horse." Winston stood unmoving. "Tonight.""This nag belongs to me, sir." Briggs swung heavily into the saddle. "You'll get her when I'm done, not a minute before."Several of the other militiamen were nervously mounting, having realized with alarm that their own plantation houses were unprotected. Winston whirled on Bedford. "Can't we stop this? If every man here with a house to worry about abandons us, I'll have nobody save my own men. Am I expected to fight Walrond's regiment, and the Commonwealth, all by myself?""I can't stop them." Bedford shook his head. "Maybe we can reassemble in the morning, assuming this rebellion matter can be contained.""But morning's going to be too late. By then the sea may let up, and they'll have their heavy ordnance in place." Winston felt his gut tighten as he watched the cavalry and militia begin to disperse into the night. "They'll slice us to ribbons with cannon fire if we try to storm their position then.""This is not an army. It's a militia." Bedford sighed. "No man here can be ordered to fight.""Well, you've lost it. Before you even began." He gave the governor a quick salute, then seized the reins of his gelding. The horse was still lathered from the run back from Little Island to Bridgetown. "If it's going to be every man for himself, I've got my own affairs to look to. So damned to them. And to their sugar and slaves.""Where are you going?" Bedford stared at him gloomily."If this war's as good as lost—which it is—then I've got to get theDefianceafloat. As soon as I can." He vaulted into the saddle, and gave his horse the spur. "The Americas just swapped liberty for sugar. They can have it."
"You'll regret it." She dived after him like a dolphin and when she finally surfaced she was already ahead. She yelled back, "Don't think I'll let you win in the name of pride."
He roared with laughter and moved alongside her. "Whose pride are we talking about, mine or yours?"
And they swam. He was always half a length behind her, yelling that he would soon pass her, but when they reached the point along the shore even with their clothes, she was still ahead.
"Now shall I carry you ashore. Captain?" She let her feet touch the sandy bottom and turned to watch him draw next to her. "You're most likely exhausted."
"Damn you." He stood up beside her, breathing heavily. "No seaman ever lets himself get caught in the water. Now I know why." He seized her hand and glanced at the sun. It was already halfway toward evening. "Come on, we're wasting time. I want to reconnoiter this damned island of yours before it's too dark."
She pulled him back and kissed him one last time, the waters of the lagoon still caressing them. "Hugh, this has been the loveliest day of my life. I'll remember it always." She kissed him again, and now he yielded, enfolding her in his arms. "Can we come back? Soon?"
"Maybe. If you can find time amidst all your marriage negotiations." He ran his hand over her smooth buttocks, then gave her a kiss that had the firmness of finality. "But now we go to work, Katy. Come on."
The horses watched them expectantly, snorting and pawing with impatience, while they dressed again. She finished drawing the laces of her bodice, then walked over and whispered to her mare.
"We can take the horses if you think they could use a stretch." He gazed up toward the outcrop. "I suppose they can make it."
"Coral can go anywhere you can."
"Then let her prove it." He reached down and untied the hobble on his gelding's forefeet. Then he grabbed the reins and vaulted into the saddle. "Let's ride."
The route up the island's center spine was dense with scrub foliage, but the horses pushed their way through. The afternoon was silent save for the occasional grunts of wild hogs in the underbrush. Before long they emerged into the clear sunshine again, the horses trotting eagerly up a grassy rise, with only a few large boulders to impede their climb. When they reached the base of the rocky outcropping that marked the edge of the plateau, he slipped from the saddle and tied his mount to a small green tree. "No horse can make that." He held Coral's reins as she dismounted. "Let's walk."
Behind them now the long shore of Barbados stretched into the western horizon. The south side, toward Oistins Bay, was shielded by the hill.
"This could be a good lookout post." He took her arm and helped her over the first jagged extrusion of rock. Now the path would be winding, but the way was clear, merely a steep route upward. "I'll wager you can see for ten leagues out to sea from up there at the top."
"I've always wondered what Oistins looked like from here. I never got up this far before." She ran a hand fondly down the back of his jerkin. It was old and brown and sweat-encrusted. She knew now that he had fancy clothes secreted away, but he seemed to prefer things as worn and weathered as he could find. "The harbor must be beautiful this time of the afternoon."
"If you know where to look upland, you might just see your Walrond gallant's plantation." He gestured off to the left. "Didn't you say it's over in that direction somewhere?"
She nodded silently, relieved he hadn't said anything more. They were approaching the top now, a rocky plateau atop the rough outcrop in front of them.
"Up we go, Katy." He seized a sharp protrusion and pulled himself even. Then he reached down and took her hand. She held to his grip as he hoisted her up over the last jagged rocks.
"It's just like . . ." Her voice trailed off.
"What?" He glanced back at her.
"Oh God, Hugh! I don't believe it!" She was pointing toward the southeast, and the color had drained from her face.
He whirled and squinted into the afternoon haze.
At sea, under full sail with a heading of north by northeast, were eight English warships, tawny-brown against the blue Caribbean. Their guns were not run out. Instead their decks were crowded with steel-helmeted infantry. They were making directly for Oistins Bay.
"The breastwork! Why aren't they firing!" He instinctively reached for the handle of the pistol in the left-hand side of his belt. "I've not heard a shot. Where's Walrond's Windward Regiment? They're just letting them land!"
"Oh Hugh, how could the Windwards do this to the island? They're the staunchest royalists here. Why would they betray the rest of us?"
"We've got to get back to Bridgetown, as hard as we can ride. To pull all the militia together and try to get the men down from Jamestown."
"But I've heard no warnings." She watched the English frigates begin to shorten sail as they entered the bay. Suddenly she glanced down at his pistols. "What's the signal for Oistins?"
"You're right." He slipped the flintlock from the left side of his belt and handed it to her. "It's four shots—two together, followed by two apart. Though I doubt there's anybody around close enough to hear."
"Let's do it anyway. There's a plantation about half a mile west down the coast. Ralph Warner. He's in the Assembly."
He pulled the other pistol from his belt. "Now, after you fire the first barrel, pull that little trigger there, below the lock, and the second one revolves into place. But first check the prime."
"That's the first thing I did." She frowned in exasperation. "I'll wager I can shoot almost as well as you can. Isn't it time now you learned to trust me?"
"Katy, after what's just happened, you're about the only person on Barbados I trust at all. Get ready."
He raised the gun above his head and there was the sharp crack of two pistol shots in rapid succession. Then she quickly squeezed off the rest of the signal. She passed back the gun, then pointed toward the settlement at Oistins. "Look, do you see them? That must be some of the Windward Regiment, down by the breastwork. That's their regimental flag. They've probably come down to welcome the fleet."
"Your handsome fiance seems to have sold his soul, and his honor. The royalist bastard . . ."
He paused and caught her arm. From the west came two faint cracks of musket fire, then again. The signal.
"Let's get back to Bridgetown as fast as these horses will take us. I'm taking command of this militia, and I'm going to have Anthony Walrond's balls for breakfast." He was almost dragging her down the incline. "Come on. It's one thing to lose a fair fight. It's something else to be cozened and betrayed. Nobody does that to me. By Christ I swear it."
She looked apprehensively at his eyes and saw an anger unlike any she had ever seen before. It welled up out of his very soul.
That was what really moved him. Honor. You kept your word. Finally she knew.
She grasped for the saddle horn as he fairly threw her atop her horse. The mare snorted in alarm at the sudden electricity in the air. A moment later Winston was in his saddle and plunging down the brushy incline.
"Hugh, let's . . . ride together. Don't . . ." She ducked a swinging limb and then spurred Coral alongside. "Why would Anthony do it? And what about Jeremy? He'll be mortified."
"You'd better be worrying about the Assembly. That's your father's little creation. Would they betray him?"
"Some of them were arguing for surrender. They're worried about their plantations being ruined if there's more fighting, more war."
"Well, you can tell them this. There's going to be war, all right. If I have to fight with nobody helping me but my own lads." He spurred his horse onto the grassy slope that led down to the sand. Moments later the frightened horses were splashing through the shallows. Ahead was the green shore of Barbados. "By Christ, there'll be war like they've never seen. Mark it, by sunrise tomorrow this God damned island is going to be in flames."
"Your servant, sir." Anthony Walrond stood in the shadow of the Oistins breastwork, his hand resting lightly on his sword. Edmond Calvert was walking slowly up the beach from the longboat, flanked by James Powlett and Richard Morris. The hour was half past three in the afternoon, exactly as agreed. There had to be enough light to get the men and supplies ashore, and then the timely descent of darkness to shield them. "Your punctuality, I trust, portends your constancy in weightier concerns."
"And yours, sir, I pray may do the same." Calvert slipped off his dark hat and lightly bowed a greeting. Then he turned and indicated the two men behind him. "You've met Vice Admiral Powlett. And I understand Colonel Morris is not entirely unknown to you."
"We've had some acquaintance in times past." Walrond nodded coldly in the direction of Morris, but did not return the commander's perfunctory smile. The old hatred, born of years of fighting in England, flowed between them.
"Then shall we to affairs?" Calvert turned back and withdrew a packet from his waistcoat. "The supplies we agreed on are ready. I've had my Chief Purser draw up a list for your inspection."
Walrond took the papers, then glanced out toward the ships.
So it's finally come to this, he thought wistfully. But, God is my witness, we truly did all any man could ask. There's no turning back now.
As he thumbed open the wax seal of the packet, he noted absently that it was dated today, Friday. Had all this really come to pass since only sundown Monday, when he had first met Powlett, received the initial set of terms from Edmond Calvert, and begun negotiations? He had tried his best to counsel reason to the Assembly, he told himself, to arrange an honorable treaty that would preserve the militia. But a handful of hotheads had clamored for hopeless defiance, and prevailed. The only way to save the island now was to force it to surrender as quickly and painlessly as possible. Victory lay in living to fight another day.
He gazed back at the ships of the fleet, and thought of the road that had brought them to this: the defection of his own regiment, once the finest fighting men in England, the royalist Windwards.
Monday at sundown he had commandeered the back room of the Dolphin Tavern, which stood hard by the shore of Oistins Bay, and met Powlett. Through the night emissaries had shuttled terms back and forth between the tavern and the Rainbowe, berthed offshore. By the time the flagship hoisted anchor and made way for open sea at dawn, Anthony Walrond held in his hand a document signed by Edmond Calvert; it provided for the end of the blockade, the island's right to keep its arms and rule itself in local matters, and a full amnesty for all. The price, as price there must be, was an agreement to recognize the Commonwealth and the appointment of a new governor and Council by Calvert.
Tuesday he had summoned a trusted coterie of his royalist officers to the Dolphin and set forth the terms. They had reviewed them one by one, debated each, then agreed by show of hands that none more favorable could reasonably be obtained. Healths were drunk to the eventual restoration of Charles II to the throne, and that night a longboat was dispatched to theRainbowe, carrying a signed copy of the agreement.
Wednesday, as agreed, Edmond Calvert had ordered a duplicate copy of the terms forwarded to the Assembly, indicating it was his last offer. No mention was made of the secret negotiations that had produced the document. At that meeting of the Assembly Dalby Bedford had risen to declare he would not allow his own interests to be the cause of a single new death, that he would accept the terms and resign forthwith if such was the pleasure of the Assembly—which was, he said, a democratic body that must now make its own decision whether to continue fighting or to negotiate. He next moved that the document be put to a vote. It was narrowly approved by the Assembly; an honorable peace seemed within reach.
But then the fabric so carefully sewed was ripped apart. A committee was formed to draw up the statement of the Assembly's response. In an atmosphere of hot spirits and general confusion, several of the more militant members had managed to insert a new clause into the treaty: that "the legal and rightful government of this island shall remain as it is now established, by law and our own consent."
The response was then carried by voice vote and sent back to Calvert, a gauntlet flung across the admiral's face. The defiant faction in the Assembly exulted and drank toasts to the destruction of any who would have peace on the original terms.
That night Calvert had delivered a new message to Anthony Walrond, inviting him to join with the forces of the Commonwealth—a move, he said, that would surely induce the Assembly to show reason. With this invitation he had inserted an additional offer: he would endeavor to persuade Oliver Cromwell to restore the sequestrated estates in England of any royalist officer who consented to assist.
On Thursday, Anthony held another meeting of the officers of the Windward Regiment, and they voted enthusiastically to defect to the side of the fleet. After all, they reasoned, had not an honorable peace already been refused by the extremists in the Assembly? That night he so advised Edmond Calvert, demanding as conditions a supply of musket shot and fifty kegs of musket powder.
This morning just before dawn a longboat from theRainbowehad returned Calvert's reply—a signed acceptance of the terms. With feelings mixed and rueful, he had ordered an English flag hoisted above the breastwork at Oistins, the agreed-upon signal to Calvert. Then, to ensure security, he ordered that no militiaman be allowed to leave Oistins till the ships of the fleet had put in and landed their infantry.
TheRainboweled the eight warships that entered the bay at midafternoon. Anthony had seen Edmond Calvert mount the quarterdeck to watch as the guns in the breastwork were turned around and directed inland, part of his conditions. Then the admiral had ordered a longboat lowered and come ashore. . . .
"These supplies all have to be delivered now, before dark." Anthony was still scrutinizing the list. "Or my men'll not be in the mood to so much as lift a half-pike."
What matter, Calvert told himself. It's done. The Barbados landing is achieved. The island is ours. "You'll have the first load of powder onshore before sundown." He gestured toward the paper. "Your musket shot, and the matchcord, are on theMarsten Moor, but I think we can have the bulk off-loaded by then too."
"What of the rest of the powder, sir?" Walrond squinted at the list with his good eye. "That was our main requirement. Some of these regiments had little enough to start with, and I fear we'll be needing yours if there's any fighting to be done."
Good Christ. Calvert cast a dismayed look toward Morris. Had I but known how scarcely provisioned their forces were, I might well not have . . .
"Well, sir. What of the powder?" Anthony's voice grew harder. "We can choose to halt this operation right now if . . ."
"I've ordered ten kegs sent ashore. Surely that should be adequate for the moment. You'll have the rest by morning, my word of honor." He squinted toward the horizon. "How much time do you think we've got to deploy the infantry?"
"Less than we'd hoped. We heard the signal for Oistins being sent up the coast about half an hour past." Walrond turned and followed Calvert's gaze. The sun was a fiery disc above the western horizon, an emblem of the miserable Caribbees ever reminding him of the England he had lost. "If their militia plans to meet us, they'll likely be assembling at Bridgetown right now. It's possible they'll be able to march some of the regiments tonight. Which means they could have men and cavalry here on our perimeter well before dawn."
"Then we've got to decide now where the best place would be to make a stand." Calvert turned and motioned Morris forward. The commander had been watching apprehensively as his tattered troops disembarked from the longboats and waded in through the surf. "What say you, sir? Would you have us hold here at Oistins, or try to march along the coastal road toward Bridgetown while there's still some light?"
Morris removed his helmet and slapped at the buzzing gnats now emerging in the evening air, hoping to obscure his thoughts. Did the admiral realize, he wondered, how exposed their men were at this very moment? Why should anyone trust the loyalties of Anthony Walrond and his royalists? It could all be a trap, intended to lure his men onshore. He had managed to muster almost four hundred infantrymen from the ships, but half of those were weak and vomiting from scurvy. Already, even with just the militia he could see, his own forces were outnumbered. If Walrond's regiments turned on them now, the entire Commonwealth force would be in peril. Could they even manage to make their way back to the ships?
Caution, that's what the moment called for now, and that meant never letting the Windward Regiment, or any island militia, gain a position that would seal off their escape route.
"We'll need a garrison for these men, room for their tents." He glanced carefully at Walrond. "I'm thinking it would be best
for now if we kept our lads under separate command. Each of us knows his own men best."
"As you will, sir." Anthony glanced back, smelling Morris' caution. It's the first mark of a good commander, he told himself, but damn him all the same. He knows as well as I we've got to merge these forces. "I propose we march the men upland for tonight, to my plantation. You can billet your officers in my tobacco sheds, and encamp the men in the fields."
"Will it be ground we can defend?" Morris was carefully monitoring the line of longboats bringing his men ashore. Helmets and breastplates glistened in the waning sun.
"You'll not have the sea at your back, the way you do now, should we find need for a tactical retreat."
"Aye, but we'll have little else, either." Morris looked back at Calvert. "I'd have us off-load some of the ship ordnance as soon as possible. We're apt to need it to hold our position here, especially since I'll wager they'll have at least twice the cavalry mustered that these Windwards have got."
"You'll not hold this island from the shores of Oistins Bay, sir, much as you might wish." Anthony felt his frustration rising. "We've got to move upland as soon as we can."
"I'd have us camp here, for tonight." Morris tried to signal his disquiet to Calvert. "Those will be my orders."
"Very well, sir," Walrond continued, squinting toward the Windward Regiment's cavalry, their horses prancing as they stood at attention. "And don't forget the other consideration in our agreement. The Assembly is to be given one more opportunity to accept the terms. You are obliged to draft one final communication for Bedford, beseeching him to show himself an Englishman and persuade the Assembly to let us reach an accord."
"As you will, sir." Calvert turned away, biting his tongue before he said more.
Keep an even keel, he told himself. There'll be time and plenty to reduce this island, Sir Anthony Walrond with it. The work's already half done. Now to the rest. After we’ve brought
them to heel, we'll have time enough to show them how the Commonwealth means to rule the Americas.
Time and plenty, may God help them all.
*
"Shango, can you hear me?" She knelt beside her mat, her voice pleading. How, she wondered, did you pray to a Yoruba god? Really pray? Was it the same as the Christian God?
But Shango was more.
He was more than just a god. He was also part of her, she knew that now. But must he always wait to be called, evoked? Must he first seize your body for his own, before he could declare his presence, work his will?
Then the hard staccato sounds came again, the drums, their Yoruba words drifting up over the rooftop from somewhere in the distance and flooding her with dread, wrenching her heart.
Tonight, they proclaimed, the island will be set to the torch. And thebrancowill be consumed in the fires.
The men of the Yoruba, on plantations the length of the island, were ready. This was the day consecrated to Ogun, the day the fields of cane would be turned to flame. Even now Atiba was dictating final orders, words that would be repeated again and again by the drums.
After the fires began, while thebrancowere still disorganized and frightened, they would attack and burn the plantation houses. No man who owned apretoslave would be left alive. With all the powerfulbrancoslaveholders dead, the drums proclaimed, the white indentures would rise up and join with the Yoruba. Together they would seize the island.
Oh Shango, please. She gripped the sides of the thin mattress. Make him understand. No white will aid them. To thebrancothe proud Yoruba warriors are merely morepreto, black and despised. Make him understand it will be the end of his dream. To rise up now will mean the slaughter of his people. And ensure slavery forever.
In truth, the only one she cared about was Atiba. To know
with perfect certainty that she would see him hanged, probably his body then quartered to frighten the others, was more than she could endure. His rebellion had no chance. What could he hope to do? Not even Ogun, the powerful god of war, could overcome thebranco'sweapons and cunning. Or his contempt for any human with a trace of African blood.
Atiba had hinted that he and his men would somehow find muskets. But where?
This afternoon, only hours ago, she had heard another signal cross the island, the musket shots thebrancohad devised to sound an invasion alert. Following that, many groups of cavalry had ridden past, headed south. The sight of them had made her reflect sadly that Atiba and his Yoruba warriors had no horses.
Afterward she had learned from the white servants that the soldiers of the Ingles fleet had again invaded the island, this time on the southern coast. This meant that all the Barbados militiamen surely must be mobilized now. Every musket on the island would be in the hands of a white. There would be no cache of guns to steal. Moreover, after the battle—regardless of who won—the soldiers of the fleet would probably help the militiamen hunt down Atiba and his men. No branco wanted the island seized by African slaves.
Shango, stop them. Ogun has made them drunk for the taste of blood. But the blood on their lips will soon be their own.
Slowly, sadly, she rose. She pulled her white shift about her, then reached under the mat to retrieve the small wand she had stolen from Atiba's hut. She untied the scarf she had wrapped around it and gazed again at the freshly carved wood, the double axe. Then she held it to her breast and headed, tiptoeing, down the creaking back stair. She had no choice but to go. To the one place she knew she could find Shango.
"I say damn their letter." Benjamin Briggs watched as the mounted messenger from Oistins disappeared into the dark, down the road between the palms, still holding the white flag above his head. "I suppose they'd now have us fall back and negotiate? When we've got the men and horse ready to drive them into the sea."
"It's addressed to me, presumably a formality. Doubtless it's meant for the entire Assembly." Bedford turned the packet in his hand and moved closer to the candles on the table. "It's from Admiral Calvert."
The front room of Nicholas Whittington's plantation house was crowded with officers of the militia. There were few helmets; most of the men wore the same black hats seen in the fields. Muskets and bandoliers of powder and shot were stacked in the comer. Intermittent gusts of the night breeze washed the stifling room through the open shutters.
The afternoon's mobilization had brought together less than three thousand men, half the militia's former strength. They had marched west from Bridgetown at sunset, and now they were encamped on the Whittington plantation grounds, in fields where tobacco once had grown. The plantation was a thousand acre tract lying three miles to the southwest of Anthony Walrond's lands, near the southern coast.
"Well, we've got a quorum of the Assembly here." Colonel George Heathcott stepped forward, rubbing at his short beard. He was still stunned by Anthony Walrond's defection to the Roundheads. "We can formally entertain any last minute proposals they'd care to make."
"I trust this time the Assembly will discern treachery when they see it," Briggs interjected. "I warned you this was likely to happen. When you lose your rights, 'tis small matter whether you hand them over or give them up at the point of a musket barrel. They're gone and that's the end of it, either way."
"Aye, I'll wager there's apt to be a Walrond hand in this too, regardless who authored it. Just another of his attempts to cozen the honest men of this island." Tom Lancaster spat toward the empty fireplace. He thought ruefully of the cane he had in harvest—five hundred acres, almost half his lands, had been planted—and realized that now the fate of his future profits lay with an untrustworthy militia and the Assembly, half the voting members of which were men with fewer than a dozen acres. "He's sold the future, and liberty, of this island for forty pieces of silver."
"Or for the governorship," Heathcott interjected. "Mark it."
"Not so long as I've got breath." Briggs' complexion was deepening in the candlelight as he began wondering what the Commonwealth's men would do with his sugar. Confiscate it and ruin him in the bargain? "I say we fight to the last man, no matter what."
Dalby Bedford finished scanning the letter and looked up. "I think we should hold one last vote. There's . . ."
"What are the terms?" Briggs interrupted.
"They seem to be the same. I presume he thought we might surrender, now that they've landed." Bedford hesitated. Was independence worth the killing sure to ensue if they went to war—a war that had now become planter against planter? "But it does appear he's willing to negotiate."
"Then let's hear it." Briggs glanced about the room. "Though I'd have every man here remember that we've got no guarantees other than Calvert's word, and anything he consents to will still have to be approved by Parliament."
"If you'll allow me, sir." Bedford motioned for quiet, then lifted a candlestick from the table and held it over the parchment.
"To the right honorable etc.
"My Lord—I have formerly sent you many Invitations to persuade you to a fair compliance with that new Power which governs your Native Country, thereby preserving yourself and all the Gent, of this island from certain ruin, and this Island from that desolation which your, and their, obstinacy may bring upon it.
"Although I have now been welcomed by a considerable part of the Island, with my Commission published—that being to appoint your Governor for the State of England—yet I am still the same reasonable Man as before and hold forth the same grace and favor to you I formerly did, being resolved no change of fortune shall change my nature. Thus I invite you to accept this same Commission as the others have done—in recognition that we each now possess considerable portions of this noble Island. . . ."
Briggs stepped forward. "I already see there's deceit in it. They hold Oistins, not an acre more. With the men and horse we've got . . ."
"Let me read the rest." Bedford interrupted. "There're only a few lines more." He lifted the candle closer and continued.
"Therefore I am bound in Honour as well as good nature to endeavour your preservations, to which purpose I have enclosed the Articles which the Windward Regiment have accepted. If you have any Exceptions to these Articles, let me know them by your commissioners and I shall appoint fit persons to consider them. By ratifying this Negotiation you will prevent further effusion of blood, and will preserve your Persons and Estates from ruin.
"If you doubt mine own power to grant these Articles, know I shall engage not only mine own but the Honour of the State of England which is as much as can be required by any rational man. And so I rest,
Your Servant,
Admiral Edmond Calvert"
Briggs reached for the letter. "What's his prattle about honor, by God! This island's been betrayed by the very men who speak about it most." He gazed around at the members of the Assembly. "They've already heard our 'exceptions' and their reply was to invade. I propose we settle this with arms, and then talk of honor."
"There's a threat in that letter, for all the soothing words."
A grizzled Assembly member spoke up, fingering his bandolier. "Calvert's saying we're in a war against the might of England, with our own people divided."
"Aye, but when you find out a dog you'd kick will bite back, you learn to stand clear of him." Briggs waved him down. He thought again of the years of profits that lay just ahead, if only English control could be circumvented. "We've but to teach Cromwell a sound lesson, and he'll let us be."
"But does this dog you speak of have enough bite to drive back a full-scale invasion?" Heathcott peered around him at the other members. The dark-beamed room grew silent as his question seemed to hang in the air. No one knew the full strength of the invading forces, now that they had been merged with the Windwards. And, more importantly, whether the Barbados militia would have the stomach to meet them.
"He's here, Yor Worships." At that moment a thin, wiry servant in a brown shirt appeared at the doorway. Behind him, in the hallway, another man had just been ushered in. He was hatless and wearing a powder-smeared jerkin. His face was drawn, but his eyes were intense.
Hugh Winston was now in full command of the Barbados militia, commissioned by unanimous vote of the Assembly.
"Your servant, Captain." Bedford nodded a greeting. "We're waiting to hear what you've managed to learn."
"My lads just got back. They say the Roundheads haven't started moving upland yet. They're still encamped along the shore at Oistins, and together with the Windwards they're probably no more than a thousand strong."
"By God, we can stop them after all." Briggs squinted through the candlelight. "What are they doing now? Preparing to march?"
''Doesn’t appear so. At least not yet. They look to be waiting, while they off-load some of the heavy ordnance from theMarsten Moor. Their nine-pounders. The guns have already been hoisted up on deck and made ready to bring ashore."
"There you have it, gentlemen," Briggs growled. "They'd try to lull us with talk of negotiation, whilst they prepare to turn their ships' guns against our citizens."
Bedford's eyes narrowed and he held up the letter. "Then what shall our answer be? For my own part, I say if we want to stay our own masters, we'll have to fight."
There were grave nods among the assembled men as Bedford turned to Winston. "How does it stand with the militia?"
"I'd say we've got just about all the infantry and horse we're likely to muster. I've gone ahead and issued what's left of the powder and shot." He was still standing by the doorway. "We've got to move on out tonight and deploy around their position with whatever men, horse, and cannon we can manage, lest the weather change by morning and end our mobility.'' He thumbed toward the east. "There're some dark clouds moving in fast, and I don't care for the looks of them. There's some wind out of the west, too, off the ocean. Though that may slow them down a bit."
"What do you mean?" Briggs eyed him.
"It means the bay's doubtless picked up a little chop by now, so Calvert and his officers may decide to wait till dawn to offload those heavy guns. It could give us just enough time."
"Then I take it you'd have us move out now, in the dark?" Heathcott nervously peered out the window, widening the half- open shutters.
"If we do, we've got a chance to deploy cannon on their perimeter, and then hit them at dawn while they're still unprepared. Before they have a chance to fortify their position with that ship ordnance. They'll have the bay at their back and no heavy guns to speak of, save what's in the breastwork."
"Then I formally move that we draft a reply to this letter and send it over by one of our cavalry. Lest they mistake our resolve." Bedford's voice was hard. "And then we let Captain Winston move on out with the men."
"Aye, I second the motion." Heathcott scrambled to his feet, his eyes ablaze. "Let's prepare a response right now and get on with it."
"It's done." Whittington turned to a plump Irish serving girt, who had been standing agog in the kitchen doorway watching this meeting of the Barbados Assembly in her master's parlor, and ordered quill and paper to be brought from his study.
"Gentlemen." Bedford quieted the buzz in the room. "I propose we say something along the lines of the following:
"I have read your letter and acquainted the Council and Assembly with it, and now return their resolution to you, in which they do continue with much wondering that what is rightfully theirs by law—being the governing of this island as it presently is—should be denied them."
"Aye," Briggs inteijected. "And make mention of Anthony Walrond, if you please. Lest he think we're not sensible that he's sold the island for his personal gain."
"Patience, sir." Bedford gestured for quiet. "I would also add the following:
"Neither hath the Treachery of one Man so far discouraged us, nor the easiness of certain others being seduced by him so much weakened us, as that We should accept a dishonorable Peace. And for the procuring of a just Peace, none shall endeavor more than the lawful Assembly of Barbados or
Your Servant,
Governor Dalby Bedford"
"Well phrased, as I'm a Christian." Whittington gravely nodded his approval. "They can mull over it all night if they choose. But there'll be no mistaking our resolve come the morrow."
Bedford called for a show of hands. Every man in the room signified approval.
"Done." He quickly penned the letter, signed it with a flourish, and passed it to Whittington. "Have one of your servants call in the captain of the horse. We'll send this down to Oistins right now. He can have his man take along the safe-conduct pass Calvert sent with his letter.''
While Whittington rang for the servants, Bedford motioned toward Winston. "Now, Captain. You've got your approval to move the militia. I propose we all move with it." He turned once more to the room. The men were already stirring, donning bandoliers and sorting out their muskets. "This meeting of the Barbados Assembly is hereby adjourned. It may be the last we ever hold, if we don't succeed tomorrow. May God preserve democracy in the Americas. Let's all say a prayer, gentlemen, as we ride."
Winston turned without a word and led the way as the group of black-hatted men moved out into the evening air. A crisp breeze had sprung up from the east, providing a cooling respite from the heat of the day. Horses neighed and pawed in the lantern light, while the night was alive with the rattle of bandoliers. He strode to a circle of men waiting by the cistern at the side of the house and called for the officers. He was passing orders to mount and ride when a buzz of confusion rose up from the direction of the Assemblymen emerging from the house. There were murmurs and pointing.
"God's life, it's peculiar." Heathcott was gazing toward the north, in the direction of the upland plantations. "I've never seen anything like it."
Winston turned to look. Across the horizon a dull glow flickered out of the dark. Before he had time to puzzle over what it might be, he heard a chorus of shouts from the servants' quarters at the rear of the house.
"Master Whittington! There's a fire in the southern sixty. In the cane!"
"Damn me!" Whittington trotted past the side of the house to look. At the base of the hill the red tongues of flame could be seen forking upward in the dark. "I was fearful something just like this might happen, what with all these careless militiamen idling about."
"The militia's not camped down there, sir." Briggs had moved alongside him to look. Suddenly his eyes went wild. "God's blood! Is that another fire we're seeing there in the north!"
Whittington watched the whip of flames a moment longer, as though disbelieving, and then his body seemed to come alive. "We've got to get some of these men down there and dig a break in the cane fields. Stop it before it reaches this house."
"I'm more worried about it reaching our heavy ordnance." Winston gazed down the road toward the militia's encampment. "We've got to get our men and gun carriages mobilized and out of here."
"I demand that some of these layabouts stay to try and save my cane." Whittington pointed toward the crowd of militiamen at the foot of the rise. "They're doubtless the one's responsible."
"That little cane fire will bum itself out soon enough." Winston raised his hand. "We've got to move these men and supplies now. We can't wait around fighting cane fires."
"Damn me. God damn me." Briggs' voice was shrill as he pushed his way through the crowd toward Winston. "I'm beginning to think that glow we see in the north might well be a blaze on some ofmyacres."
"Well, even if it is, there's not much we can do now."
"Damned if there's not." Briggs peered again at the horizon, then back at Winston. "I've got to take my men over, as quick as we can ride. Maybe we can still save it."
"You'll not have a single horse, or man." Winston raised his hand. "As soon as I brief my field commanders, we're moving on Oistins. We have to be in position, with our cannon, before dawn. If we don't attack them before they've managed to offload the ordnance, we'll forfeit what little chance we've got."
"Are you mad, sir? We let these fires go unattended and we could well lose everything." Briggs gazed around at the Assemblymen. "There's the looks of a conspiracy in this. It's apt to be some sort of uprising, of the indentures or maybe even these damned Africans. Which means that we've got to protect our homes."
Winston watched in dismay as the assembled men began to grumble uncertainly. Several were already calling for their horses. The night took on an air of fear.
"Let me tell you this, gentlemen." Winston's voice sounded above the din. "We've got but one chance to stop the invasion, and that's to move our heavy guns and militia tonight. You have to decide whether you're going to do it."
"Damn me, sir, it's a matter of priorities." Briggs' voice was almost a shout. "If we're burned out, it'll take us years to rebuild. Reckoning with Parliament would be nothing compared with the effects of a fire, or a slave uprising. I'll wager there's some kind of island-wide rebellion afoot, like we had a few years back." He was untying the reins of his horse from the porch railing. "I'm riding home and taking my indentures." He glared at Winston. "The few I've got left. I've got a house and a sugar mill, and I intend to protect them."
"I need that horse." Winston stood unmoving. "Tonight."
"This nag belongs to me, sir." Briggs swung heavily into the saddle. "You'll get her when I'm done, not a minute before."
Several of the other militiamen were nervously mounting, having realized with alarm that their own plantation houses were unprotected. Winston whirled on Bedford. "Can't we stop this? If every man here with a house to worry about abandons us, I'll have nobody save my own men. Am I expected to fight Walrond's regiment, and the Commonwealth, all by myself?"
"I can't stop them." Bedford shook his head. "Maybe we can reassemble in the morning, assuming this rebellion matter can be contained."
"But morning's going to be too late. By then the sea may let up, and they'll have their heavy ordnance in place." Winston felt his gut tighten as he watched the cavalry and militia begin to disperse into the night. "They'll slice us to ribbons with cannon fire if we try to storm their position then."
"This is not an army. It's a militia." Bedford sighed. "No man here can be ordered to fight."
"Well, you've lost it. Before you even began." He gave the governor a quick salute, then seized the reins of his gelding. The horse was still lathered from the run back from Little Island to Bridgetown. "If it's going to be every man for himself, I've got my own affairs to look to. So damned to them. And to their sugar and slaves."
"Where are you going?" Bedford stared at him gloomily.
"If this war's as good as lost—which it is—then I've got to get theDefianceafloat. As soon as I can." He vaulted into the saddle, and gave his horse the spur. "The Americas just swapped liberty for sugar. They can have it."