Jesamiah laughed, “That’s because a more notorious pirate than I controls the guardship, this entire river and the North Carolina coastline. Without Teach’s say-so Eden does not even fart. And anyway, I think you’ll find the guardship has a ruddy great hole in her keel. Eden has never bothered to ensure she was kept in good shape, but he would never let on to someone like Lofts that she’s not seaworthy.”
Shaking his head in dismissal, Jesamiah prised the cork from the bottle and drank deeply. “It’s a simple misunderstanding. I’ll sort it out when I reach Virginia.” He grinned lasciviously. “When I’ve sorted out this other little matter of a misunderstanding?”
He put the bottle down, removed his hat, coat, cutlass, pistol and belts. Began to unbutton his waistcoat, untie the lacing of his shirt.
“I have a penance t’do I b’lieve.”
Leaning against the wall, Tiola folded her arms. “And what makes you so sure I do not wish you to clean out pig pens or dance naked along Bath Town’s main street as punishment?”
He grinned, moved towards her and pressing her body against the wall, encircled one arm around her waist and with the other began undoing the lacing of her bodice. “Because,” he said as he kissed her, “I have a hard feeling you want me as much as I want you.”
It was impossible for Tiola to stay angry with Jesamiah for she did so dearly love him. She threaded her arms around his neck, her slender body moulding into his strength, eager to kiss him back. Wanting him.
“Ma’am? Ma’am. Mrs Page wishes to ask you something. Will you come?” The knocking on the door was hesitant, but grew bolder. “Ma’am?”
“Don’t answer,” Jesamiah whispered into Tiola’s ear. Gathering her tighter, more possessive, he brushed her cheek with his lips and nibbled at her neck below the curve of her jaw. ”Pretend you are asleep.”
She sighed, shook her head and pushed him away. “I cannot.”
She re-laced her bodice, fetched up a wrap, called, “One moment! I am coming.”
Disappointment flooded Jesamiah’s face. He felt his erection subside, the twist of pain at her dismissal. “You always go to them,” he said, dejected “You always put them before me.”
At the door, her hand on the latch, Tiola paused to look at him. “Would you remain with me if you knew the Sea Witch was foundering or struggling to survive a gale? Would you not leave me in our bed and run to the helm to do what you could? And when the danger was passed, would you not return, knowing I would be there, waiting?”
He closed his eyes, defeated. Nodded.
Quickly she ran across the room and kissed his lips, a lingering, loving kiss. “Then wait in our bed, for I will not be long. The lady I have come to tend is not ready to birth her babe yet, this is a mere worry on her part. It is nothing. I promise you, I will not be long.”
She whisked away, was gone.
When she returned twenty minutes later she found him sprawled naked across the bed, face down, asleep. He had such a beautiful body. His buttocks and thighs white against the brown skin of his torso, his arms and neck tanned a darker shade. His hair flopped forward to cover his face, one arm cuddling a pillow as if it were his lover.
Only his back marred the beauty, for it was crossed with the stripes of barely-healed scars. A flogging he had taken to protect her. One, near his shoulder, still had the faint yellow hue of bruising.
There was other bruising too, black and angry along his ribs. He was a rough man living a rough life. She wished he did not, but then, if he was different he would not be Jesamiah.
She removed her clothes, leaving them rumpled on the floor where they fell, and straddled his legs, her hands sliding gently up his spine and over his shoulders.
He murmured, made to move, then lay still. “Do that again, that was nice.”
She complied, pressing harder with her fingers, moving down his back, over his buttocks, across his thighs.
“You going to stay here long enough for me to make love to you?” he said, into the pillow.
“I am.”
Silence as she eased her fingers to the inside of his thighs and worked upwards.
“Good. I’d have to go find a serving maid to accommodate me if not.”
“I be all the maid thee need, zur.”
Jesamiah laughed, rolled over onto his back and caught Tiola in his arms, wrapped his legs around her, exhilarating in the delicious feel of her cool, smooth skin pressing against his.
“Then sit yourself astride me, wench, and do what you will to pleasure me.”
Seventeen
Thursday 10th October
There was a distinct chill in the air in the quiet hour before dawn. Jesamiah stood under the trees, his hands tucked beneath his armpits, staring across the dew-wet lawn at the balcony and window from where he had just climbed, leaving Tiola asleep, her body curled, contented, hair tousled. A smile on her face. He had not woken her but had dressed quietly, placed one of the less wilted flowers in the dent of the pillow where his head had been, and left her.
“I’ll come for you when you are ready,” he had said as he had felt the shudders of ecstasy coursing through him, and had grinned as she had cheekily answered, “I am ready now, and you are about to come.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he had repeated later, after she had crept down to the kitchens and stolen him some food; after they had sat in bed, naked, together, devouring the spoils and leaving crumbs on the sheets. “When you are finished here I’ll fetch you.” And had added, suddenly doubtful; “If you want me to?”
He smiled up at the blank darkness of the glazed window. “Of course I do,” she had assured him.
“I want to know about my father,” was the other thing he had said. “I want to know why he did nothing to stop Phillipe. Why he allowed a boy – a man, he was all those years older than me – to do what he did. I thought Phillipe was my elder half-brother, and I thought he did those things because being the elder somehow gave him the right. But he had no right. He was not my brother. He was not my father’s son.”
“Leave it,” Tiola had urged him, her palm on his chest. “They are gone, it is done. Leave it.”
He puffed air through his cheeks, his breath visible in the coldness. If only he could. If only he could!
He was fiddling with his right earlobe, realised suddenly that the hoop of his gold earring was loose, that the attached acorn charm was not there. He cursed as he fastened the hoop, hoped the acorn had fallen off in Tiola’s bed. That she would find it, keep it safe.
Lost in thought, he did not hear the whispered breath at his back until it was too late.
“Move a muscle an’ thee be dead, bastard.”
Jesamiah froze, willed himself to keep still as the pistol barrel pressed into his right temple. He forgot all about his earring as he heard the double click of the hammer. Prayed that his voice would not betray the fear thudding through him as he responded as nonchalantly as he could; “Hello Teach; you really have to learn how to move quieter if you want to creep up on people.”
It was a lie, he had not heard a sound, but Edward Teach, Blackbeard, would not be knowing that.
“What be thee doin’ ‘ere, Acorne, skulkin’ aroun’? Gotten thy eye on tha Guv’nor’s silver, hast thee?”
Slowly Jesamiah lowered his hands to his waist and felt surreptitiously for the slender blade concealed inside the facing of his coat. “I would wager I’ve been doing the same as you. Taking my pleasure with one of the ladies of the house.”
“Tha Guv’nor bain’t be pleased to be hearing tha’.”
“The Governor ain’t goin’ t’be ‘earin’ of it, is ‘e?”
“No’ ‘til ‘er belly swells.”
“When that happens, Teach, I’ll be long gone. Or I could put the blame on your nocturnal activities.”
The bigger, older man snorted, pushed the pistol harder against Jesamiah’s head. “Thee tried t’kill me. Thee crippled my sloop an’ made a gurt fool out o’ me in fron’ o
f my men. Give me a reason why I shoul’nay shoot thee ‘ere an’ now. An’ make it quick, I’m in no mood fer parlour games.”
With his left hand, Jesamiah eased the weapon aside. “You fire that an’ you’ll wake the entire household. You’ll probably think of an excuse to explain why you’re standing over a dead body, but saying why you are here, in the dark, an hour before dawn will be more difficult. Add to that, you owe me. Seeing as how you reckon I owe you, that makes us quits.”
Teach snorted again, but he uncocked the pistol, lowered it. “An’ just how doos thee fathom tha’n? Thee lost me my ship. She were’n a fine vessel, tha Queen Anne’s Revenge.”
“I didn’t lose her. You were pissed out of your skull and you sailed her over a sandbar. You wrecked her, not me.”
A snarl began to pucker Teach’s lips. “An’ what of my sloop? Adventure? Thee nigh on scuppered ‘er an’ all, thee bastard.”
Slipping the knife into his sleeve, from where he could retrieve it in a hurry should he need to do so, Jesamiah tipped his hat back slightly. “Actually, for some fokken stupid reason I saved your life, mate.”
“Fuckin’ tripe, thee bilge rat!” Raising the pistol Teach reversed it suddenly and brought the butt down hard into the curve where Jesamiah’s neck met his right shoulder. Jesamiah cried out and slumped to his knees. Willpower and gritted teeth made him ignore the agony shooting down his arm and stabbing up into his brain. He held his breath to ride it out.
A couple of deeper breaths and he forced himself to his feet. Halfway up he moved quickly. Stepping forward he thrust the blade up and under Teach’s waistcoat, pushed it against the lower ribs.
“You even think of blinking and it’ll be in to the hilt.”
“Thee casn’t kill me Acorne, nay un can. I ‘as made a pact with tha Devil.”
“I’m willin’ t’put that claim to the test.” Jesamiah was very close to Teach, his face almost in his; the smell of bad breath and body odour was nauseating, even with the general stench of uncleanliness a familiarity. Through the concealing bush of his beard ulcerous sores were spotted around Teach’s mouth and nose, a few blackened teeth were loose in his gums.
“I could kill you,” Jesamiah said, taking half a step backwards, but not removing the dagger. “Send you to the Devil to find out if he lied. Or are you goin’ t’throw the pistol into that flower bed over there and talk to me like a civilised gentleman?”
“Thee bain’t got tha guts t’kill me, worm.”
“Ah, but I have. Only, the price on your ‘ead ain’t ‘igh enough yet. Give it another month an’ you’ll be worth killin’. Now, do you want to know why I stopped you attacking the Fortune of Virginia or not?”
Teach growled, tossed the pistol away.
Jesamiah removed the dagger, but kept it in plain sight. “She sailed from Nassau, where she had been commissioned by Woodes Rogers who, as you know, is a bosom pal of Virginia’s Governor. The pair of ‘em ‘ave got bees buzzing in their bonnets about pirates who ain’t sworn an oath of amnesty. Are you listenin’ to me, Teach? They’ve got it into their ‘eads t’be rid of scummers like you.”
“I be list’nin’.”
“You were going to attack the Fortune of Virginia – you see, Blackbeard me old mate, you’re too fokken greedy. What had you assumed? That she was laden with rum; molasses; passengers? Slaves maybe?” Jesamiah shook his head, tried to ignore the throbbing ache in his shoulder. “You’d got it wrong. She was packed to the gunnels with armed militia. Her orders were t’draw you in, wait fer you to board. Then finish you off. Savvy?”
“An’ thee,” Teach sneered, “out o’ tha goodness of thy putrid heart decided t’save me? Pull tha other leg, it has a bell tied to it!”
“I decided to warn you ‘cause I figured if I did you a favour you’d stop sendin’ your bloody men to spoil me pleasant evenings with a bottle and a blonde.” Jesamiah slipped the dagger into his pocket, spread his hands. “I ain’t got no quarrel with you, Teach, and I don’t p’ticlarly like the way these bastard governors are tryin’ to run us out of the Caribbean. This is our patch. Let ‘em bugger off if they don’t like the way we do things.” He folded his arms. “I came here specifically to warn you, but if you don’t want to listen, I’ll not waste m’breath.”
Blackbeard grunted, nodded, fell for it. Every untruthful word. He put his arm around Jesamiah’s shoulder and steered him away from the house, heading through the boundary trees to walk up-creek along a gravel path of crushed ballast that crunched beneath their feet. Began boasting how he had made the girl he’d been poking scream with delirious pleasure. “Left she crumpled in a heap sobbin’ an’ wantin’ more. She’m nait been drubbed like that afore. Takes a man to show as how it be done prop’ly.”
“Indeed it does,” Jesamiah responded, wondering who the unfortunate victim was, then wondering if it was true. He could not see any woman willingly bedding with this odious man. And Teach could not have been ashore long. They must have taken a good while to limp home, and there was fresh tar on Teach’s hand, Jesamiah noticed, while his boots were mud-caked. Come to see Governor Eden perhaps? To arrange the secret offloading of cargo?
Stopping at the bank beside a wooden jetty, Teach indicated a bumboat, four men were huddled together in the stern, snoring.
“I be goin’ home to me bade, Acorne. I live’n o’er to there,” he pointed in a vague direction across the creek, “at Plum Point. I be wantin’ thee to row back tha way thee came, an return to thy little ship an’ get off m’river. If ’n I catch thee here again I’ll string thee up from thy own yardarm by thy balls. Be thee understan’in’ me?”
Jesamiah touched his hat, turned on his heel. “Aye Cap’n.” He walked away, heard the sound of a hand slapping against faces to wake up sleeping men. Heard grunts and grumbles and then the splash of oars.
Sweat trickled down his spine. That had been close. Thank God for his ability to think quickly and lie convincingly!
Peering over his shoulder, Jesamiah saw Teach’s men rowing across the creek, Teach standing in the stern, one arm outstretched. Saw a flash, heard a loud bang and remembered belatedly that Teach always carried more than one pistol.
Felt the impact of a lead ball slam into his right shoulder. As he crumpled to the ground, heard a man laugh, then shout. “Nay’un tries t’better me Acorne! Nay’un!”
Eighteen
When had it all gone bad? The apple turned sour, the meat rancid? Charles St Croix, sitting beside the River of Eternity with only the stars to hear his troubled thoughts, set his chin on his indrawn knees.
War was always a bloody and brutal business, but there was profit in it, the gain of a prize and its reward for a privateer – piracy made legal. But they had not been privateers, nor pirates. They had become legal merchantmen, he and Carlos Mereno. Well, legal in part. They purchased goods at a low rate and then smuggled their cargo into those places where to declare it would accrue taxes in excess of any profit.
The tobacco and cotton they took to England, the brandy, lace, tea, went back to the Colonies. English, French, Dutch or Spanish, it made no difference which. The rate of pay was the deciding factor.
Until Carlos fell in love.
St Croix tossed a round, smooth white pebble into the blackness of the water, watched as it plopped from sight and the ripples spread slowly, so very slowly, outward.
The danger that went with the Chase had always kept the blood-rush heated to a fever pitch of excitement, and smuggling had proven to be as adventurous. They were rich, all of them, for as a privateer St Croix had been lucky; he had a nose for the scent of gold, and as a smuggler his luck had not left him. Smuggling had brought more wealth, its own dangers, and her: a Spanish beauty.
They had all loved her…No, that was not the truth. This was a place where the concealed truth was weighed against the told lies and deceits. In truth, they had lusted for her. Only Carlos had loved her. And she had loved only him.
St Croix covered his fac
e with his hands and in despair wept bitter tears of grief.
When Carlos Mereno had fallen in love with the twin sister of a Spanish Don, jealousy had wormed its way into their minds, and their breeches.
*
The shot alerted him. Its sound distant, far, far away in another place, another world. Nothing to do with him.
But then, through the breach between the two worlds, came the laugh. That cold, familiar laugh that had nothing of amusement or gaiety to it. St Croix stood, walked to the edge of the black waters of the River. He peered at his pale image and at the pinprick reflections of light that were the many, many stars. He could not see into the water for it was so black. As black as the night. As black as that accursed soul’s heart.
He knelt, leaned out as far as he could and slowly immersed his arm into the ice-black water.
“When you are ready,” the Witch Woman, Tiola, had said. “When you are ready you will be able to reach from this place into that. And the wrong will, perhaps, begin to be put aright. I will come to help you when I can, but recognising the truth may give you some of the strength you need to help yourself.”
A star fell. A single bright star that streaked down through the black skies, its tail ablaze. It fell into the River, shattering the still surface, and carried onward, down and down to tear, with its passing, a rift through the boundary of Eternity.
And eager, his spirit went with it.
Nineteen
Jesamiah lay on his back in the long grass, staring up at the starlit sky. Blood was pooling beneath him. He knew he ought to get up, seek assistance, but the stars were so bright against the blackness. He saw one fall, a streaked trail of gleaming silver.
Wish upon a star, he thought, then, has it fallen to mark a birth or a death? He laughed; coughed. My death? Has it come to keep me company while I die, or come to fetch me because I am already dead?
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