'And would you leave it to my father to fight it out with my uncle?' she demanded angrily. And stand to one side, and congratulate the victor?'
'That were no less a pre-Christian solution,' Kit said. 'But gentlemen, suppose Tom Warner and Philip Warner were to shake their hands together, and attest their names to a treaty of peace between Indian and Englishman, between Dominica and the Leewards? Suppose that could be done, gentlemen. What then of the future? For be sure that we will have fight-
ing enough, against the French and the Dons, to satisfy the most bloodthirsty belly, without raising the redskins against us into the bargain.'
'Balderdash,' Harding shouted. "What treaty could a savage understand?'
'I speak of no savage,' Kit insisted. 'But of a man who can bend the savages to his will.'
'Yet it is still specious talk,' Philip Warner said. 'There is much hatred between Tom and myself. Too much to be reconciled at the snap of a finger. I know not how I should go about it. Nor do I know how I could force my nature to speak friendship with a devil from hell.'
'Then allow me, Colonel Warner,' Kit said. 'For as you once pointed out, I too am a devil from hell.'
The assembly fell silent, afraid to agree with him, unable to argue that point.
'And why should he listen to you, Captain Hilton?' Stapleton inquired.
'Because, sir, as he told me but a few days gone, my grandmother, and her lover, Edward Warner, were the only white people ever to show him kindness.'
'And you'd put your trust in that, buccaneer?' someone asked.
'They'd have you stripped and tied to a stake before you could draw your sword,' Bale remarked.
'The risk is mine, gentlemen. I will take it. I have a son and a daughter. I have no wish to see them on the ground at the feet of a red man. And be sure that that fate is one which may overtake the family of every man here if this feud is allowed to fester.'
They stared at him. Stapleton was first to speak. 'If you have sufficient faith, in yourself and in this savage, to attempt such a solution to our problem, why then, we were men of little sense, and certainly of little Christianity, did we not consider the attempt worth our while. What say you, Colonel Warner?'
Philip Warner hesitated, and then snorted. 'Let the captain pursue his aims, Sir William. But he'll go alone, by God. Bring my brother, and his fellow chieftains, down to the beach, Kit, unarmed and in a mood for talk, and by God, we shall meet them, unarmed, and in a mood for talk. But until they appear beside you, why, by God, my armament and my ships and I will stand in a posture of defence, and if need be, we shall avenge you together with all our other dead.'
'Aye,' Edward Chester said. 'Spoken like a sensible man, Philip.'
'Then it seems we have arrived at an equitable solution,' Stapleton said. 'We shall recruit our army, and send it across the sea, and pray that it shall not need its strength. Aye, there were a Christian intent.'
'And do I have no say in this matter?' Marguerite demanded. 'As it is my body you partly seek to avenge, and my husband you are so carelessly sending to his death?'
'At his request, Mrs Hilton,' Stapleton protested.
'It is the best way, Marguerite,' Kit said. 'You know of what we spoke. I cannot give you back those terrible moments on the floor. I can but erase their memory with moments as beautiful as those were horrible, time and again. I can only give you happiness where you have known misery. But we are both young. We have a great time to live, God willing, and be happy. Can we really swear to do so with the Carib menace hanging above us like a cloud for the rest of our lives, and knowing too that it will similarly overhang the lives of our children?'
Marguerite gazed at him, her lips parted as if she would have spoken again. Then her eyes flickered, across his right shoulder, and he knew she looked at her father. Still she hesitated, for several seconds. Then she muttered, 'So be it,' and turned, and left the chamber.
The sun filled the sky with all the splendid power of a Caribbean noon. But the island remained dark. A green so intense it seemed almost black, clustering over rock and valley, headland and bay, appearing to grow out of the black sand beach itself, which did no more than form a narrow bridge between the forest mass and the deep blue of the sea. Susan had never seen Dominica, but she had spoken of it, often enough, and it must have appeared no different, Kit realized, to Tony Hilton and Edward Warner when they had come here more than half a century ago.
'No peace in their hearts,' Philip said at his elbow, and he turned in surprise. The Deputy Governor had avoided him during the overnight sail from Antigua, even as he had studiously avoided being alone with him during the week of frenzied preparation just past. Now he smiled, grimly. 'Aye, I can read your thoughts, Kit. They can be little different to mine.'
'You were not on that expedition.'
'No. My father wanted one of his sons, at the least, to survive. But they accomplished their objective, which was to destroy the Carib power for a generation. And to regain Edward's wife, Aline. What the devil is that leadsman doing?'
For indeed the dark mountains seemed to overhang the three ships.
'Yet have I heard that deep water extends practically up to the beaches,' Kit said.
'In places. I would not like us to go aground, just in case the savages do not respond to your peaceful notions, Kit.' Philip went to the rail. 'You'll wear ship and prepare to anchor, sir.'
Bale looked up. 'We have not that much chain, Colonel Warner.'
'The weather is settled, man. So long as the anchor but nudges the bottom to hold us from drifting, there will be no danger. We are not planning to abandon our vessels here. And break out the long-boat.' He came back to the stern. 'You'll not change your mind, Kit?'
'That would scarce be either honourable or wise, sir,' Kit said. 'And in any event, it would certainly be unnecessary. I perceived in your brother a heritage he could not throw off no matter how hard he tried. And a wisdom which was all I had expected, of a Warner. An appeal to both of those things must have results.'
'Then here is my hand.' Their fingers clasped. 'But mark me well. Stand once again on the beach by noon tomorrow, or I shall mount an assault in which quarter will be an unknown word.'
'I shall be there. And you will guarantee the safety of whomsoever I bring with me? There are some right cut-throats in this fleet.'
'Their safety will be my responsibility, Kit,' Philip said.
'Then I am content. 'Til noon tomorrow.'
He climbed down the ladder, sat in the stern of the boat as it pulled for the shore. Now they were in the shelter of the mountains the breeze had dropped, and the day was steaming hot. The sun seemed to hang over the stern of the longboat, and the men sweated as they pulled. But then, Kit realized, he also sweated. With fear? He did not think so. But memory kept crowding him, of that day off Hispaniola, when they had lain in the swell, and watched the Spanish coaster drifting. The commencement of a lifetime of violence, from which he only vainly attempted to escape. There was a specious statement. Could any man, or woman, own a plantation and turn his back on violence?
The keel grated, and the sailors backed their oars. Two men jumped over the bows to hold the boat steady, and Kit made his way forward. Now there was cause for fear; the crowding trees were certainly within bowshot, and waiting beneath them were six of the great war canoes, upturned on the black volcanic sand. Yet not a leaf moved, and there was no sound above the gentle splash of the little surf.
He jumped on to the beach, and the men immediately pushed the boat back into the swell before scrambling on board. 'God go with you, Captain Hilton,' the coxswain called.
'I thank you, friend.' Kit gazed at the ships, nodding to their anchors a hundred yards away. The ports were opened and the guns run out, and they presented a splendid sight. His last, of European humanity? But now was scarce the time for backsliding. He turned, to face the trees, and instinctively dropped his left hand to rest on the hilt of his sword, only to have it fall uselessly at his side. For
he had left his sword, as he had left his pistols, on board. Kit Hilton, alone and unarmed. And how alone he felt.
Slowly he walked up the beach towards the trees, seeking some sort of path. And there it was, a distinct thinning in the forest, immediately behind the war canoes, a roadway of earth and leaves beaten flat by the tramplings of innumerable feet. But still the canoes lay there, untended. But not unwatched. He was sure of that, and turned again, sharply, hoping to catch the forest unawares.
The green wall stared at him.
He took off his hat, and the bandanna he wore underneath, and dried the sweat from his face and neck. Then he replaced both, and stepped beneath the trees, following the uneven path up a shallow hillside. After a few minutes he paused, and looked back, and saw nothing but trees and bushes. The forest had closed around him like a living creature. Perhaps the beach was not there, nor the sea, nor the ships. Certainly that was easy to believe.
But in here it was no longer silent. He was surrounded by the rustle of flowing water, to suggest a stream nearby. And the air was cooler too, as the glare was diminished. Not even the Caribbean sun could fully penetrate these leafy rooftops.
He climbed, and lost track of time as rapidly as he had lost track of his whereabouts. Often the path became too steep for walking, and he had to use his hands as well as his toes to pull himself upwards, while the sweat drained from his hair and shoulders and soaked his clothes. It was while climbing thus that he suddenly faced naked feet, and reared back so violently he all but fell. His head jerked, and he stared at a savage standing above him, bow already bent and arrow fitted, scarce seeming to breathe, perhaps a statue, but for the venom in his eyes.
Kit balanced himself as best he could, and raised both his arms high into the air. 'Don't shoot,' he shouted. 'I am unarmed. I come in peace. I seek your cacique. I seek the Governor.'
'Why, Captain Hilton?' asked Indian Warner, and Kit dropped his hands to grasp the rock as he turned his head. Tom Warner stood behind and below him, with a dozen of his braves. And now he realized there were others on either side of him. They had been there, no doubt, since he had started his climb.
'Why?' Tom Warner asked again. 'You come as the representative of a fleet of white men. Do you know what happened when last the white men landed in Dominica, Captain Hilton? They fought a battle, and won, by their superior arms, and then they burned and pillaged. They seized the wounded braves, and any women they could find, and they hanged them, Captain Hilton. Why should I not have my men strip the flesh from your bones, now?'
Kit got his breathing under control. 'Because I hope to convince you that it would be to your interest to listen to me, and even to agree with me. If my people have wronged you, Mr Warner, be sure that you have wronged me. Thus we can meet on equal ground, at least this once.'
Tom Warner hesitated. And then smiled. 'You speak the truth, Captain Hilton. By your lights, at the least. Come, we will talk with my people. And with my mother.'
'Your mother still lives?' Kit asked in amazement.
'Should she not, Captain Hilton? And she will be glad to talk with Tony Hilton's grandson. Now come.'
He climbed up to Kit and past him, and Kit hastily scrambled behind him. The Indian with the bow loosened his string and put away his arrow, and the other Caribs followed. Some of them. More melted away into the forest, to watch the white man's fleet. They suspected treachery. That must be his principal concern, Kit realized, to overcome the suspicion which afflicted both, but which had been started by the massacre of the Indian tribe in St Kitts by this very man's father.
They climbed for more than two hours, and then they must have been high above the sea, Kit thought, perhaps a thousand feet and more. Yet the trees never thinned, and it was not possible to see the ocean, and the peaks covered in trees went on soaring on either side. Then they at last descended, and soon enough his nostrils were afflicted by the ghastly taint of sulphur. But Susan had warned him of this also, and he was prepared for the sudden cessation of the forest, which ended with an abruptness as if some deity had drawn a line, as perhaps He had, to allow below them only a valley of empty rock, dotted with pools and crossed by a stream, all of which seethed and bubbled and emitted clouds of noxious vapour. The Valley of Desolation.
Here Tom Warner stopped for a moment, and glanced at his companion. 'This was the site of the battle, between Edward Warner and Tony Hilton, and the Carib Wapisiane,' he said. 'A good place for men to die, would you not say, Captain Hilton? We must cross it. But beware. Do not allow your feet to slip into any of that water, or you will be stripped to die bone with a speed far greater than my men could accomplish. Follow me, closely.'
He scrambled down the side of the hill, and Kit followed. The Caribs fell into single file behind him, and they made their way across the valley. Here the heat really was intense; not even the boiling house at the height of grinding quite equalled it, and instead of the sickly smell of evaporating sugar juice there was the lung-blocking stench of sulphur, which rose around them and blotted out the sun; the clouds themselves were a sickly yellow.
And now there came a roar from somewhere to his left, and the earth shook. He checked, and Tom Warner turned with a smile. 'That is the volcano. My people call it the Boiling Lake, because it bubbles without ceasing. But it has not actually exploded within the memory of any man of my tribe; I think it is because the excess of steam is carried off by these pools and this stream. We shall soon be across.'
And indeed already the air was clearing, and the ground beginning to rise, and there were other sounds to be heard above the hissing of the steam. Soon Kit saw green leaves again, and a puff of wind dispelled the worst of the vapour, and now he saw the palm-thatched roofs of the Carib benabs. A few moments later he was surrounded by women and children, all entirely naked, leaping and shouting, reaching out to touch his clothes, to squeeze his arms and belly, to fumble at his thighs.
'They suppose you are for the stake,' Tom Warner said.
'I hope you will be able to persuade them otherwise,' Kit remarked.
Once again Tom Warner smiled, and stopped and clapped his hands. The Indians fell silent, to listen to their Governor. His voice echoed across the clearing, while Kit seized the opportunity to look around him. The breeze still blew, but he was not at all sure that the scents which now afflicted his nostrils were preferable to that of the sulphur. Apart from the expected odours of a savage village there was another, more intense tang in the air, the stench of putrefying flesh, and now he saw, to his horror, three stakes erected in the centre of the rough circle formed by the houses. To each of the stakes there clung a skeleton, suspended by throat and waist as he had been strapped to his own banisters, tatters of rotting flesh dripping from shoulder and thigh, faces the more horrible because the heads had been untouched, and were mouldering on the bones as they grinned at him, expressions still caricatures of ghastly fear and pain.
Tom Warner ceased speaking, and the crowd melted away, casting glances over their shoulders at the white man they would not possess. 'They will not harm you,' Tom said.
'As they did those poor devils?' Kit demanded. 'Tell me, Governor, did you partake in that feast?'
'I thought you came here to talk peace, Kit,' Tom remarked. 'Indeed, I have eaten human flesh. Those were brave men, before they were tied to the stakes. They died screaming, yet there was sufficient courage left in them to impart some to those who tasted their flesh. Come.'
He walked across the clearing, and Kit followed, acutely aware that he was being watched by every man, woman and child in the tribe, and there seemed to be a great number of them, more than he had expected, crouching in shaded doorways and standing in clusters beneath the overhanging branches of trees. And suddenly his courage and the confidence of his demeanour was assailed by a new threat.
'Captain Hilton,' a woman screamed. 'Captain Hilton.'
He checked, and saw a white body, naked and stained with dirt and filth, tumbling from a doorway to his right, to be
seized by the ankle and dragged back into the shade.
'Captain Hilton.' The sound wailed on the wind.
'Bv Christ,' Kit said, once again feeling for his absent sword hilt.
'She is one of our captives,' Tom Warner said. 'There are eleven of them, and some slaves. Fear not, Kit. We do not eat either blacks or women. As for their misuse, I have been told that you sailed with Morgan, and were at Panama. Women, like gold, are the spoils of war, are they not?'
'Yet must they form part of any negotiation between us,' Kit said.
Tom nodded. 'If your people would have it so.' He stooped, to enter a house somewhat different to the others, in that the palm fronds which composed the roof had been thickened and allowed to droop closer to the ground, to provide more shade and more privacy to those within. Kit had to bend almost double to gain the interior, but here he could straighten without difficulty, and blink into the gloom. Tom stood beside a gently swaying hammock, perhaps six feet away from him. 'I would have you meet my mother,' he said. 'Yarico.'
For the first time in too many years Kit was embarrassed, unable to move, uncertain what words to use, or even if to use any. But the woman in the hammock knew no such restrictions. 'Kit Hilton,' she said, in amazingly good English. 'Come closer, Kit.'
He crossed the beaten earth floor, frowning into the shade, and stood beside the hammock. His impression was first of all of white hair, descending to the shoulders, and this struck him as odd, because in all the village there had not been a single white-haired Indian, of either sex. Then there was brown flesh, surprisingly firm. She did not bother with the apron of the other married women, nor was her body, which could hardly be younger than seventy years old, he realized, less attractive than those outside, and her grasp, which now fastened on his hand, was as strong as a man's.
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