by Ford, TA
“Dominating others. Persecuting those who are different from you. Why do you enjoy it so? ”
He shrugged. “I believe that we all have our place in the world, and women of your kind are here to serve men of mine.”
She stared at him with pity. “I feel sorry for you.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “You? You feel sorry for me? This ought to be good. Tell me, why do you feel sorry for me? ”
“Because you will never know love. You are filled with hatred, envy and greed. That’s no way to live.”
She said it softly, and then turned her attention to the view out the window, dismissing him. She felt him watching her, but pointedly ignored him. Her gaze was fixed on the blood-red sun outside of the carriage. She wanted to imprint it on her mind and always remember it. She was certain she would never see the sun set in Narbonne again.
EF
Perched atop a reddish-gold Palomino, La Roque raced down the road toward Narbonne. He wore a standard Frenchman’s suit and his topcoat and tail blew behind him as he leaned into his horse, making it quicken its pace. His hair was loose and blowing as the wind combed through it.
The hooves of his charging horse kicked up the wet marshy ground and he narrowed his blue eyes on the path, determined to get there in time to see his Zoé. She had lost her father and he knew that loss, compounded by what they had done, could destroy her. He had to keep her from slipping away as he almost had.
Barely able to make it out, he thought he saw another rider coming toward him at a rapid pace. Increasing speed, he navigated his horse to the right to allow the other to pass. When they raced past each other, Jean-Claude recognized him immediately.
“ Mon seigneur! Mon seigneur!” Jean-Claude cried out in excitement, hailing him to stop. “Are you on your way to Maison Bouchard?”
“I am.”
“Thank God,” sighed Jean-Claude. “It is I, Jean-Claude. I was sent to deliver a message to you. It’s urgent. An American has come for Mademoiselle Zoé. She’s being forced to leave with him.”
“American? ”
“Oui, a Monsieur Sheridan,” he panted, pulling his horse in closer. La Roque felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Without saying another word, he kicked his heels and raced away, with Jean-Claude close behind him.
7
The Aventine was the largest ship docked at the port. The vessel stood over one hundred feet in length and twenty-five feet in width. It loomed over the other, smaller fishing boats as if it were some large sea monster set to devour them all, glowing in the moonlight with a mystical bluish hue.
The wooden planks that framed the outer hull of the ship were a deep glossed brown with portholes every few feet across. The bow was graced with a carving of a woman clutching her breast and looking upward to the heavens. Above, sixteen large and small sails fanned out, the rigging flapping in the night breeze and connected by coiled rope that attached to the lower flanks.
Zoé had visited the port many times with her father to check on his shipments to and from Narbonne. She had seen many boats arrive off the Mediterranean Sea and had even boarded a few, so she had no fear of ships in general. However, ships such as the Aventine, headed to America and used in the slave trade, terrified her.
Captain Delaflote stepped down the wooden plank to where she and Sheridan stood on the docks. He was no more than Zoé’s height. He wore a captain’s blue topcoat trimmed in gold and yellow ties and a coiled belt, dingy and faded. Any regal presence it might once have had was lost in the shapeless way it hung from his shoulders. His sword rested on his hip, its golden handle glowing in the moonlight.
Zoé recoiled at the awful scar that ran from the left side of his forehead over his eye, which was covered by an eye patch, and down to the middle of his cheek. His working eye had a cold, serpent-red cruelty that sent shivers up Zoé’s spine. His beard, long and scruffy, was knotted at the end from his constant twirling of the wild spiral hairs. He smiled, revealing a few rotted stumps for teeth.
“Monsieur, will you be sailing with us? ” Delaflote asked. Sheridan stepped away from Zoé and handed Delaflote their papers, along with a small fortune in francs to secure plush accommodations on the ship. The captain pocketed the cash and scanned the papers.
“South Carolina, huh? ”
“Yes. How soon before we sail? ” Delaflote cast an eye at Zoé, who averted her gaze. “And is she your slave? ”
“Yes,” Sheridan smiled. “I guess you could call her that.”
Slaves don’t sail in the staterooms. She will be housed in the gully.”
“I want her in my quarters. She is to be at my beck and call.”
Delaflote gave Zoé another look. He licked his lips and asked Sheridan, “Will she be able to service the men as well? ”
Zoé’s heart raced upon hearing those words. She was in much greater danger than she’d realized.
Sheridan glared at the captain. “Absolutely not! She’s my property. If anyone dares touch her, I shall hold you personally responsible.”
Delaflote gave a dirty laugh. “Don’t worry. We have other slave girls to entertain the men on the voyage. Now, please come aboard,” he said, stepping aside.
The night wind blew at Sheridan’s coat as he edged past Delaflote and headed up the gangway. Zoé grabbed her long skirt with both hands as the wind licked at her face and ruffled her hair. She kept her head bowed as she passed the captain. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“Très belle.”
She cringed, kept going and fought off a wave of revulsion. The deep blue ocean waves lapped at the boat and whiffs of the smelly seawater assaulted her senses as she stepped on to the ship. With everything she had been through today, the danger of this journey with these crude men turned her weariness into terror. Knowing that she would have to depend on Sheridan for protection provided no solace.
She went to Sheridan’s side. All around them, crewmen yelled out to each other as they prepared the sails. Zoé watched them carry her trunks with a sinking sense of finality. She couldn’t believe that she’d been so wrong about La Roque. She’d desperately wanted to hold on to the love she thought they shared. She wanted to believe that it was fear that kept him from her, not the circumstances of her conception. But the fact that he had given Sheridan money to take her away had shattered her faith in him. Now she knew that her submission to his desires had been for nothing, and that her father had died because of her foolish choices.
Sighing, she lowered her head and silently prayed that the ship would sink before they ever reached America. EF La Roque followed Jean-Claude, who now led the way along a dark path to the maison Bouchard. The moon shone brightly overhead, but the overhanging trees blocked most of the moon’s glow, keeping them in darkness. La Roque knew they were riding dangerously fast with such limited night vision, but he didn’t care.
He had to find her.
They turned off the path up to the maison and he felt his chest tighten. Sheridan had tricked him and used his own money to buy his beloved. The thought of her being victimized because of his callous treatment of her made him crazy. He wanted blood–Sheridan’s and Madame’s.
He jumped down from the horse and dashed up the stairs to the entrance. Jean-Claude grabbed the reins of La Roque’s horse to secure it and looked back to see the count pounding on the door.
Marguerite opened the door, holding a lit candelabrum against the dark. Before she could open it fully, La Roque pushed his way past her, storming inside. Marguerite gasped and stepped back.
“Monsieur!”
“Where is she? ” he cried, and raced toward the stairs.
She ran after him. “Are you Comte La Roque? ”
“Where is she, damn it? ” He was taking the stairs two at a time, his hair blowing light around his shoulders and his face twisted in rage.
“Attendez, mon seigneur! Attendez!”
But La Roque didn’t wait. He ran up the stairs, shouting Zoé’s name
. He threw open door after door and Marguerite struggled to catch up. Finally, he barreled into Marianne’s room. There he was confronted with the sight of the girl lying prone in bed, red-eyed and pale, with her mother sitting at her bedside.
“Where is she? ” he demanded.
Madame’s mouth dropped open in surprise but Marianne raised her head from her pillow. With a cry of both relief and misery, she jumped up and ran to him. He instinctively opened his arms to her and she clung to him, crying. Her sobs were so loud and desperate that La Roque felt a new sense of panic. What had become of his Zoé?
“What are you doing here? ” asked Madame. She looked terrified.
“Tell me where she is.”
Marianne raised her head. “He took her! He took her to America.”
La Roque gripped her by the shoulders and held her away from him. “Where did they go? When did they leave? ”
Marianne tried to answer, but she was so hysterical her blubbering made no sense.
Madame stood and faced him. “Are you considering her as a bride? She is already promised to him. I accepted his proposal. I had no idea—”
“I ought to snap your neck,” La Roque said. He pushed Marianne into Marguerite’s caring arms and advanced on Madame. “You wretched woman. Your husband isn’t even cold in the ground, and already you defy his wishes.”
Madame tried to stand her ground. “You know nothing of my husband’s wishes.”
“I know that he loved Zoé, that he wanted her married. This is all your doing!” He grabbed her roughly by one arm and jerked her toward him. “You tell me where she is now or I’ll make sure that you’re reduced to cleaning fish at the port by sunrise. I’ll turn this little palace of yours into your mausoleum and bury you in it!”
Madame’s eyes widened and her mouth went slack, but at first all she could do was stammer.
“I–I had no idea. I didn’t know. I thought you only took her for your amusement, mon seigneur. I had no idea you felt this way. I—”
“You’re wasting time,” he said through clenched teeth. “Tell me, or—”
“She’s at the port and sailing on the Aventine.”
La Roque threw her to the side. Her boot heel caught on the long hem of her skirt and sent her falling to the ground. He barely noticed. Marianne let go of Marguerite and raced to La Roque as he turned to leave.
“Please! Oh, please bring her back! Your friend monsieur will do despicable things to her and she has no will to fight!”
He was worried, but tried to be reassuring. “I won’t let that happen. I’ll kill him if he lays one finger on her. I promise,” he said, touching her shoulder gently.
Then he was gone.
EF Zoé followed Sheridan into their quarters, ignoring the comments she heard in her wake. The men took extra pleasure in whispering vile things to her in French as she passed them. Sheridan turned on them, frowning. Zoé blushed deeply, and the fear in her eyes only fueled their meanness. Sheridan grabbed her arm and pulled her closer as they walked through. She was grateful for at least that much.
Once inside the cabin, she was relieved to be locked away with one monster rather than trapped with the twenty others that roamed the ship. Looking around, she saw the dark oak walls. The room held what looked to be a full-sized bed planked out of the left wall and a table with chairs for meals. Their luggage had been piled in and the quarters were modest but cramped. She saw Sheridan grimace. He’d paid top money for this? The captain had sold a complete falsehood when he advertised this ship as luxurious.
Zoé went to the far right side of the cabin and stood there waiting for what was to come. She noticed that Sheridan looked somewhat pasty. He’d been wiping at his sweat for a while. It was as if he were coming down with a cold.
He took off his jacket and draped it over a chair. “It’s so incredibly hot in here. Open that window.”
She went to the round porthole and twisted the bolt, then popped it open. A gust of salty sea air came through. She looked back in time to see him unbutton his ruffled collar and pull off his shirt. Reddish splotches covered his neck and chest. He didn’t seem to be aware of them. He swallowed with a grimace and rubbed his throat.
“Monsieur?” she said, going up to him.
“What is it? ” Seeing her expression, he followed her gaze, looked down at his chest and saw the wound he’d tried to attend to in Toulouse. The color had changed drastically, and it oozed. “It’s nothing,” he added quickly, trying to conceal it.
“It looks to be infected.” She put the back of her hand to his head and felt for a temperature. “How did you get it? ”
“Your lover was overly rough the first time he caught us, or have you forgotten? ”
Zoé grabbed his wrist and forced him to sit on the bed. “It’s infected and you were foolish not to tend to it. I might be able to save you some pain. Maybe your life.”
“What nonsense!”
“Monsieur, an infection like this with weeks on this voyage can lead to blood poisoning. It can kill you!”
“What do you know of it? ” he scoffed.
“I am not some backwards animal; I’ve tended to sailors with the assistance of the other ladies in our village. What I know, monsieur, may very well save your life.” She turned to leave.
“Where are you going? ” he asked, panic in his voice.
“To the galley. You need treatment.”
Sheridan stared at her. “Those men out there… it may be dangerous for you. I’ll go.” He stood up, but immediately sank back down again, gripping his temple.
Zoé shook her head. The thought occurred to her to let him die, but she could never stand by and let someone suffer, not even someone like him. Furthermore, if he were incapacitated, he could not protect her from the hateful attentions of Delaflote and his men.
She went to the door. “I will be careful,” she said and ventured out.
Finally, a young fisherman in his twenties said, “If you want to go after the Aventine you will need a pirated ship to do so.”
EF
La Roque and Jean-Claude arrived at the port, riding their horses up the flank of the pier, searching for the ship. Seeing a shipper taking down his net, La Roque approached him.
“Where is the Aventine?” The fisherman looked up at La Roque and frowned. “Set sail over an hour ago.”
La Roque’s expression tightened. “I need a boat.”
“For what? ”
“To catch the Aventine.”
The fisherman laughed. “That’s Captain Delaflote’s boat. Good luck finding someone to chase him and those demons he leads.”
La Roque turned his horse and raced down the dock to another fisherman’s boat. He got the same response. His temper boiling and time escaping, he went from one to the other. Desperate, he offered money and they laughed or shrugged or waved him away.
“A pirated ship? ”
“For the right amount of money, Captain Ferdinand will do it.”
He pointed to a medium-sized ship with a yellow, black and green flag at the far end of the dock. La Roque thanked the fisherman and tossed him some coins, which the young man caught and pocketed with one graceful move.
La Roque clicked his heels and trotted down to the ship. As he approached, he saw the ship’s name, Veuve Noire, scrawled across the belly. Several black men were lounging and drinking on the deck. One of them sat up and looked at La Roque with a scowl. He shouted at him to state his business. The tone was aggressive and no-nonsense. Everything about the man, from the fierceness of his glare to the tension in his pose, announced that he was battle-ready.
La Roque smiled. This was exactly what he was looking for.
EF Zoé held onto the wall as she made her way down the corridor toward the back of the cabins. She hoped the galley was nearby. Coming to the end of the corridor, she heard voices and stopped. Two men spoke of how they hated the Captain and wished that the others would consider a mutiny. She stepped back, afraid to go forward. The
men laughed and their voices carried off into the distance. Moving forward again, she looked around the corner and saw them going up the stairs to the upper deck.
Finally she found the stairwell below and rushed toward it, holding onto her black skirt. After descending the stairs, she was relieved indeed to be in the galley. A short, portly white man in a grease-stained apron, with large sweat stains on his collar and underarms, looked up from cutting potatoes, saw her and gave a curious smile, revealing the fact that he was missing several teeth.
“Aye,” he said with a Scottish burr. “Whom do we have here? ”
Zoé saw that he was harmless. Curtseying, she introduced herself.
“Zoé Bouchard, eh? That wouldn’t be any relation to Bertrand Bouchard, would it? ”
“Oui, monsieur. Je suis sa fille.” Her voice saddened as she confirmed that she was Bouchard’s daughter. She might’ve realized that the cook would have heard of her father. Any seaman experienced in those ports would have known of Bouchard’s kind reputation.
“He died, recently, didn’t he? ”
She nodded. “His funeral was today.”
“And now, you’re here, on board this ship? ” he scowled.
“Please, no more questions. Just help me. I need your help with a poultice.”
“Infection, possible fever? ”
“How did you know? ”
He let out a hearty laugh that was so much like her father’s that it warmed her to hear it. “It’s the kiss of death on a voyage such as this. You look well? ”
“No. My… my… Monsieur Sheridan has a wound that hasn’t healed properly. It’s infected and he suffers from fever.”
The cook’s puzzled frown returned. Then his eyes narrowed with sudden dark understanding. “Well then,” he said, in a matter-of-fact voice. “I can make up a cabbage poultice, certain to fix what ails him.”
He put down his large knife, went to a shelf and removed a crate of vegetables he’d provisioned when they’d docked. Taking out a head of cabbage, he ran a sharp blade down its center. Turning, he snatched up a rag and dipped it into the boiling water. He used a long fork to bring it back out and dropped it into a tin bowl.