“The reason we don’t escape is because we have nowhere to go. One or two people have run off in the past, hence the bar on the door, but to rescue everyone would require a place to go where we could live in peace and freedom, and that doesn’t exist on this island. There are currently less than one hundred free blacks on Barbados, and they live in perpetual fear of losing their freedom,” Xeno said with disgust. Max was sure that the day he lost his own freedom would be fresh in his mind till the day he died.
“To get off the island would invite the attention of the authorities, so we would all be recaptured and sent back to be severely punished and tormented for our crime. Some might even be killed to teach the rest a lesson. Most of us come from the same place, if not from the same village. We are family now, and we either all go together or stay together,” Xeno said forcefully. Max could see why he’d been chosen as leader. He had a certain charisma that was hard to refute.
“Now, you ask how I know of the vessel and how I could get you aboard. I will tell you. The captain of the La Belle is a smuggler and a pirate. I meet him whenever he’s in port, as do some of the slaves from neighboring plantations. We exchange certain goods which don’t concern you. It’s a mutually lucrative enterprise which will continue as long as both parties continue to prosper. If I ask the captain to hide you on board, he will do so. He will not help you once you reach France, nor will he treat you like a nobleman, but he will fulfill his end of the bargain and get you away from Barbados, if that’s what we agree to.”
“What could you possibly have to smuggle out?” Max asked, his voice full of derision. These people were as poor as church mice. What could they possibly have to trade that would be worth anything to a French privateer?
“We have something of value to the French, but that must remain a secret until you are on board the ship,” Xeno replied calmly.
“You don’t need to go through the trouble of digging me up if I agree. You can just leave me to die in the graveyard,” Max pointed out.
“I can, but I won’t. I am a black man and a slave, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have honor, Lord Everly. Honor is not something anyone can take away from me, and I pride myself on being a man of my word. I’m sure that you’ve seen the amount of graves in the cemetery. There are many. What do you think your chances of survival are? How many actually return home? I’ve been here since I was sixteen years old, and there were only two men who regained their freedom. I believe they hired themselves out as part of the crew and were able to sail back to England, to an uncertain future. Hundreds, if not thousands, have died all over Barbados from yellow fever, being worked to death, or simply because they’d given up and taken their own lives. You won’t see their graves in the cemetery, but they are all here.
This is your chance to regain your freedom and eventually return home. I cannot get you on a vessel bound for England since you will be immediately returned to Jessop Greene, but sailing to France will set you free. From there you can return to England under a false name and go about reclaiming the life you left behind. You have my word, Lord Everly, that I will keep my part of the bargain if you agree to help us.”
“And what, exactly, would you give me to make me appear dead to someone like Erik Johansson? He’s no fool and would be on to you in moments, and I would pay the price for the deception,” Max replied, curious despite his better judgment. “Have you ever done this before?”
Xeno was silent for a few moments as he considered Max’s final question. So, this was it; he had nothing, Max realized. All this was just a clever ruse to get him to agree. Xeno likely never expected Max to ask exactly what would be used, and didn’t have a ready reply. Xeno looked away from Max, his eyes searching out those of his sister who was hovering quietly behind Max, listening in on the conversation. “You better tell him, Dido,” Xeno finally said. “He has a right to know.”
“Very well.” Dido didn’t sound pleased at being ordered to divulge her methods, but she obediently sat down next to the two men and spoke in a low whisper, so as to keep the information between only the three of them. A Voodoo priestess needed to keep her secrets.
“There is one substance which can produce the result we seek; it is the poison of the puffer fish. It’s very deadly, but when administered in a tiny quantity can cause the slowing of the heart, undetectable breathing and pulse, and a paralysis of the body. The victims are totally senseless, and can remain so for several days, depending on the amount of poison used. They wake up once the poison wears off with no visible ill effects,” Dido explained, her eyes never leaving Max’s face, silently challenging him to question her knowledge.
“Has this ever been done before?” Max asked suspiciously. He’d heard of fatal cases of blowfish poisoning, which he supposed was in the same family as puffer fish, and those had been mostly in Japan, but had never read anything about puffer fish causing a death-like state from which a person could wake up without suffering brain damage.
“Puffer fish poison is often used in Voodoo to make zombies,” Dido replied defensively.
“Zombies?” Max almost choked on the word. He thought that zombies were an invention of the twentieth-century entertainment industry, so the term sounded surreal coming from someone like Dido.
“I know you are not familiar with the term,” Dido said patiently, “but zombification has been around for some time, particularly in Haiti. It’s a punishment for severe crimes,” she stated and grew quiet.
“And how exactly does this punishment work?” Max asked, still amazed that he was discussing zombies with an African slave in the seventeenth-century.
“The victim is given enough puffer fish poison to appear dead and is buried alive,” Dido replied, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. “He comes back to life after several days and is dug up, but the punishment is not over. Another potion is given to him, which induces a permanent state of delirium and confusion. When in this state, the person can be commanded to do anything, and they will. Their mental faculties are too impaired to think clearly. Eventually, this condition wears off, and the person returns to normal.” Dido’s eyes slid away from Max’s in embarrassment. She didn’t approve of this, he could tell, but she was ready to give him poison to make him appear dead.
“Have you ever zombified anyone?” Max asked, refusing to let Dido off the hook. He wanted to know the truth.
“I have never done that to anyone, nor would I, regardless of the crime they’d committed,” Dido said hotly, “but I have experimented with puffer fish poison and am familiar with its effects. I know exactly how much to administer to get the desired result.”
“So, how do you know about zombies then?” Max asked, still curious.
“There was a bokur from Haiti on the ship which took us from our home. A bokur is a Vodun sorcerer who practices black magic,” she added seeing Max’s look of incomprehension. “He was very knowledgeable, and we talked during the voyage. He taught me many things, some of which I still practice. I do not use my skills to punish or cause suffering, only to help the people I serve,” Dido stated, head held high and eyes blazing.
Max remained silent for a long while after Dido finished speaking, considering what he’d just learned. She got up and left him alone with Xeno, who sat silently on the floor, legs crossed, and eyes partially closed. If someone told Max an hour ago that he would be considering temporary death and discussing zombies, he’d think them crazy, but nothing that had happened to him in the past six months had been even remotely sane, he mused bitterly. Time travel was the stuff of science fiction movies, yet here he was, trapped and without hope of escape.
“You are asking me for complete trust, Xeno,” Max said at last, watching the man for any hint of falseness or cunning.
“I am, but I’m offering you something just as precious in return. I don’t expect you to give me an answer now, but please think about it. The La Belle will dock in a few days, and won’t be ready to sail back to France for at least ten days. You have until th
en.”
“I don’t need until then. The answer is no.”
Max rose to his feet, gave Xeno a mock bow, and disappeared into the tunnel. Having turned his back, he didn’t see the look that passed between Xeno and his sister, but had he seen it, he would have been surprised.
It had grown dark while he was talking to Xeno, but the rain had stopped and the air was fresh and cool. Max gazed up at the heavens, surprised to see a sky full of stars; the heavens like black velvet strewn with diamonds, breathtaking as only a Caribbean sky could be. The air smelled of wet earth, tropical flowers, and a whiff of something spicy coming from the kitchen. No doubt Johansson and his men dined on different dishes than the workers. Max returned to his hut, but didn’t go in. He sat on the stoop until his clothes fully dried and the gong sounded for supper. He rose to his feet and followed the rest of the men to the open tent with trestle tables and benches where the meals were served, but his mind was a thousand miles away.
March 1686
Paris, France
Chapter 18
It turned out that my worries about being churched had been unfounded. I suppose the term itself is what set my teeth on edge. It made me think of something associated with the Inquisition, but in reality, the vicar said a prayer in the church porch, blessed both myself and Valentine, and proclaimed me ready to attend services. I breathed a sigh of relief as the ritual ended and we were free to return home. Frances suggested to Archie that they take advantage of the fair weather and walk home, but he politely declined, which was thoroughly out of character since Archie usually enjoyed walking. It took Jem to change his mind. The boy begged and pleaded, eager to spend time outdoors. I felt sorry for Jem since he had no friends his age to play with, and except for his lessons with Hugo spent most of his time hanging around Archie and driving him to distraction.
Archie was always patient and kind, allowing Jem to help him with the horses or letting him polish the scabbard while he cleaned his sword, but the boy needed something to keep him busy, as did Frances. She seemed listless and irritable, often sitting down only to jump up a moment later, wander toward the window, and then come right back to sit for only a moment before taking off again. As much as I secretly disapproved of the idea of her marriage, I had to admit that Frances was no longer a child and needed the pursuits of a woman to keep her occupied. She could no more go back to the schoolroom than I could return to being the woman I was before I recklessly plunged into the passage in the crypt. We were both irrevocably changed by our experiences, and needed to look to the future. It pained Frances to be around Valentine, and the only cure was a family of her own, and a baby to dim the pain of losing Gabriel.
I was feeling terribly thirsty, and more than a little hungry by the time we finally arrived at home. I was grateful for Valentine’s hearty appetite, but she seemed to be draining me, and leaving my body depleted of both hydration and nutrients. I’d lost the baby weight very rapidly and was actually thinner than I had been before getting pregnant, a fact that Hugo remarked on only the day before. He was worried about me, but I felt physically well especially when I made sure to include some protein with every meal, otherwise I became a bit shaky by midmorning, as I was now. I stopped by the kitchen to have a cup of ale and whatever cook might offer me by way of a snack, while Hugo took the baby upstairs to be changed by Elodie before her feeding. I came upstairs to find Hugo seated in his favorite armchair by the hearth, staring at Valentine in a way that nearly made my heart stop. I thought I was familiar with all of Hugo’s facial expressions, but this was one I hadn’t seen before. It was a mixture of love, sorrow, regret, and something else I couldn’t name.
“Hugo, is she all right?” I cried as I stumbled toward them, suddenly scared.
“Yes, of course,” Hugo replied, looking up at me, his eyes full of confusion. “Why would you think otherwise?”
I took the baby and sat down across from Hugo ready to nurse. Valentine appeared to be asleep, but latched on right away, never one to pass up on a meal. She was pleasantly plump, a solid little weight in my arms which I always found reassuring. I breathed a sigh of relief as she began to suck, and discreetly checked her for any signs of a temperature. The baby seemed fine; it was Hugo who needed checking. He still looked as if he’d seen a ghost; his eyes fixed on Valentine as if he expected her to disappear at any moment.
“Hugo, what’s wrong?” I asked carefully. He wasn’t the type of man to wear his emotions on his sleeve, so the look of bereavement I had seen a few moments ago had to have been brought on by some strong emotion. I had simply caught him in an unguarded moment.
“I’ve been thinking,” he replied as his fingers drummed on the armrest of the chair. Hugo often did that when he was agitated, as he clearly was now.
“Always a dangerous pastime where you are concerned,” I quipped in the hope of making him smile, but my joke didn’t go down as I’d intended, making him wince instead.
“Not in this case.” He took a deep breath and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, his face in his hands. “Sometimes I wish you’d never shown me the future,” he began. “Ignorance truly is bliss.”
“Why, do you miss television, cars, and chips?” I knew that wasn’t what he was referring to, but I still hoped that an attempt at humor would help him put his feelings into words.
“I do, actually, but that’s not what I meant. Before I knew the future of my country, I had a reason to follow my conscience and do what I thought was right, but now, regardless of what I think or do, the outcome is already known to me, and it’s shaping my actions.”
“In what way?”
“With James II on the throne, I believed that there was a chance for a Catholic monarchy in England, and that gave me some modicum of hope, but now I know that there will never be another Catholic king, or queen, on the throne of England. That knowledge should have no bearing on my personal life, but it does; it changes everything.”
“Hugo, what are you talking about?” I asked gently, seeing his obvious distress. He was skirting around something important, something he wasn’t ready to say out loud, but needed to get off his chest; something that might have been brought on by the service we’d just attended since he seemed to be in much better spirits before we left for the church. I couldn’t imagine what could have upset him, but he’d been nearly silent since leaving the church, a fact that I’d only just realized.
“I’m talking about Valentine, and our future son, should we have one. Knowing what I know, I find myself wondering if I might be doing my children a disservice by insisting on raising them in the Catholic Church.” Hugo seemed to almost deflate as he uttered the words, his pallor worsening in the soft light of the room.
“But your faith means everything to you,” I exclaimed. Hugo’s faith was his moral compass; his anchor in a roiling sea of European politics, and his source of solace. For him to even bring this up was paramount to emotional suicide, and the fact that he had finally shown me just how deeply he’d been affected by learning what was to come.
“My faith will not change, but I want what’s best for my children, and what’s best for them, politically speaking, is to be Protestant. I don’t want them to be a minority in their own country, viewed with suspicion and mistrust, and discriminated against because of how they choose to worship. I want them to be free to love, and not feel that they can’t marry the person of their choice because they are of the wrong religion. I want them to belong,” he finished hotly.
“Is that how you feel, that you don’t belong?”
“I’ve been taught by my father from a young age to keep my faith a secret. I’ve masqueraded as a faithful Protestant at Court and at home. Revealing my true religion would have marked me as someone who was different and whose judgment was in question. Not all Catholics believe in thumb screws and burning heretics at the stake, but that’s how the English people view us. I’ve benefited from my deception, but I’ve also suffered for it, so why put my children in t
he same situation?”
“Hugo, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I couldn’t believe that we were actually having this conversation, but I knew where Hugo was going with this.
“I would like to baptize Valentine in the Protestant Church, if that’s all right with you,” he said quietly.
“Oh, sweetheart, are you sure?” I asked, my heart going out to him. This was a huge sacrifice on his part, and there’d be no going back once the deed was done.
“Yes, I believe I am. We should do it as soon as possible. Now that you’ve been churched, we can make arrangements for the baptism. However, I’d like to do it privately -– no guests.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons,” Hugo replied cryptically and rose to his feet. “I need some air,” he said and strode from the room, leaving me shaken and confused. He seemed sure of his decision, but the request for a private baptism left me with a sinking feeling. Hugo had tried to shelter me as much as he could during my confinement and after the birth, but I wasn’t an ignorant girl who knew nothing of the undercurrents rippling beneath the surface of history. We were in a Catholic country, ruled by a Catholic king, and if Hugo meant to make a place for himself at the Court of Louis XIV, he needed to wear his Catholicism like a badge as the price of admission. Baptizing our baby into the Protestant Church would spoil Hugo’s plans, and if I knew my husband, his plans were not as straightforward as he’d have me believe.
Chapter 19
By the time the church clock struck two a.m., Hugo had given up all pretense of sleep. He’d helped himself to several cups of brandy before retiring, but the alcohol had all the effect of water, leaving him wide-awake and unbearably agitated. Telling Neve of his decision had been but a small part of what had been on his mind over the past few weeks, and although he was glad to have finally spoken the words out loud, he still felt as if he’d lost a part of himself this day. It was all for the best, he knew that, but his faith was such an important part of him that he felt like Judas Iscariot. Not having Valentine baptized into the Catholic Church was a sin he’d have to live with for the rest of his life, but he’d already married a Protestant, and this was the next step on his path away from the Church.
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