HF - 03 - The Devil's Own

by Christopher Nicole

  And maybe more.' He made one or two passes with the cutlass, and then reversed it as he held it out. 'You'll find that I understand a debt, sir. And this weapon it seems I must learn to use. They call you Kit Hilton, sir. 'Tis a name I have heard. Daniel Parke, of Virginia, at your service.'

  'And this is Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa’ Kit said.

  Parke already holding out his hand, checked and half turned. 'Indeed, we have already met, when his dexterity cost me a gold coin. He is a good servant, I have no doubt.'

  'You mistake the situation, Mr Parke,' Kit explained. 'Agrippa is my friend, not my servant.' He found the American's fingers dry and firm, despite his exertion. But Parke did not offer to shake hands with the black man.

  'Then is he a good friend also,' he said. 'I would depart this place, gentlemen. I have a ship, at anchor in the bay. Perhaps you would join me on board for a glass of wine.'

  'That would be most pleasant, sir,' Kit agreed, and accompanied him out of the tavern, Agrippa following behind. 'Did you say the ship was yours?'

  'A charter, you understand. It is my father's wish that I visit the Caribee Isles, to understand something of this sugar cane which is on everyone's lips. Perhaps it can be planted with profit in Virginia.'

  'And for that he chartered a ship?' Kit wondered. 'By God, sir, gambling for you can surely be nothing more than a pleasure. But you'll find little cane in Jamaica.'

  'So I have discovered,' Parke said. 'And to say truth, it was not my father's intention that I come here. But, visit the West Indies and not see Port Royal? I could as well sail the Atlantic and not pay my court to His Majesty. Although, had you not happened on the scene my stay here might have been a miserable one. Again, my thanks, sir. You have but to name your wish, and I shall giant it, if I can.'

  'I wish no reward, Master Parke,' Kit said.

  'To you, Kit, my name is Daniel. I'd not have you forget that.' They were at the shore now, and a boat was pulling from the schooner. Parke halted, and looked Kit up and down. 'I said I heard your name; now it comes to me. Your father was Governor of Tortuga a while back.' 'My grandfather,' Kit said.

  'No matter. You are cast in his mould. And you are a buccaneer. A compatriot of these people, I have no doubt.'

  'I was with Jackman, and Morgan, at Panama,' Kit said. 'As was Agrippa.'

  'The devil,' Parke said. 'I envy you, sir.'

  'As I envy you, Daniel, for having not yet discovered the beast in man.'

  'Ah. And so you turn against your fellows. And yet would remain here in their company? Be sure, that even with this gigantic fellow to guard your back, they will find a way to slip a knife between your ribs. At least let me offer you a passage to some more congenial clime.'

  'You are returning to Jamestown?'

  'Not for a while. I must first pursue this stalk which has become so valuable. I am bound for the Leewards. St Kitts and then Antigua. I have letters of introduction to Sir William Stapleton and Colonel Philip Warner.'

  'Warner,' Kit muttered. How painfully his heart pounded, and he had thought to forget that name, with all his other memories.

  'You know Colonel Warner? His family is the oldest and most famous in these islands, so I am told.'

  'With mine, Daniel. Together they founded these colonies.' 'Indeed? But you have not answered my question.' 'We have met, Colonel Warner and I.'

  Parke gazed at him, frowning, and then smiled that tremendous smile. 'Then meet him again, Kit. As my guest. I promise you he shall sing a different tune.'

  Kit glanced at Agrippa. 'What say you, Agrippa? 'Twas our first idea.'

  'You have but to decide, Kit.' The Negro's voice was as calm and as deep as ever.

  'Then we accept, Daniel,' Kit said. 'And here is my hand on it.'

  'And mine,' Parke cried. 'I am honoured by your company, sir. Here is my boat. Unless you have gear to gather, we can weigh anchor this evening.'

  'No gear,' Kit said. 'And to say truth, I shall not even cast a glance over my shoulder.'

  The boat was at the beach, and Parke ushered his new friends on board. He sat beside them in the stern, took the two dice from his pocket of his coat, and dropped them over the side, watched them drifting downwards through the translucent depths. ' 'Tis certain they will bring me no more fortune than they have already achieved.'

  Kit smiled. 'You flatter us, Daniel. Now tell me straight, were they loaded?'

  Parke's laughter filled the afternoon. 'But of course. How else may a gentleman be sure of winning?'

  4

  The Lady of Green Grove

  'By God, but 'tis a thriving place.' Daniel Parke clung to the rigging as the schooner brought up into the wind and dropped her anchor. 'They tell no lies when they speak of the prosperity of Antigua.'

  Kit could not quarrel with that judgement. St John's nestled beneath the gentle hills which surrounded it, in strong contrast to the more rugged outlines of St Kitts, which they had left at dawn. And it prospered; the steeples of the churches, the fresh paint on the houses, the bustle on the waterfront and even more important, the activity in the harbour itself, where two ships were being warped away from the quayside to allow two more to take their places, were sufficient evidence of this. But for a week now he had known the nostalgia of being amongst these islands, where it had all begun, where Tony Hilton and Edward Warner, and Susan Hilton as well, had fought side by side to establish themselves, where they had slept under the sky often enough, with no change of clothing and no certainty where they would obtain their next meal. How Susan would have stared at this metropolis.

  And how inadequate did he suddenly feel. For had he a change of clothing? Daniel had done his best, and they were much of a likeness in build. But Daniel's clothes had been made by the best tailor in all Virginia; they were magnificently cut, and cut from magnificent cloth—and they had been intended to cling to Daniel's frame like a second skin. Too obviously they had not been so created for Kit Hilton. And these haughty planters would know that.

  'There's a boat waiting, Mr Parke,' said the captain of the schooner. 'I know you're in haste to be ashore. Your baggage can follow later.'

  Daniel Parke stepped down from the rigging, and preened himself. He wore a mauve velvet coat with gold buttons, and in honour of the occasion had donned a grey periwig beneath his black tricorne. His cravat was white, and edged with lace; his shoes black leather, with red heels and metal buckles; his stockings were grey. He did not deign to carry a sword at all, but preferred a gold-handled cane. 'Do you think I will stand out well amongst these islanders, Kit?'

  'You'll have them bowing,' Kit observed, and straightened his own hat, a plain brown tricorne. He wore no wig, and his coat was open over his white shirt. And he carried a cutlass, hanging from a leather baldric. He had no wish to rival his friend, even if that had been possible. But Christ that he would stop sweating from fear.

  Fear of what? Of stepping ashore amongst civilized people, knowing what he was? Or fear of seeing the Warners again, and one Warner in particular? Again, knowing what he was.

  'Let us assault this shore,' Parke decided, descending the ladder to the boat. For this, Kit was coming to realize, was how his new friend looked at life. There could be nothing ordinary, nothing dull, nothing even peaceful, around Daniel Parke. Life was a military exercise, a continual battleground, with Marshal Parke ever eager to tilt at whatever windmills he could find.

  'And Agrippa?'

  'Oh, bring the big buck, by all means,' Parke said. 'We may have need of his muscle.'

  Agrippa took his place in the bows, while Kit sat aft with Parke, and the boat pulled for the shore. It was early afternoon, and the sun was starting to drop, but it remained close and hot, although a breeze entered the harbour from the Atlantic, separated from them by the other myriad islands they had seen from the ship as they rounded the headland. But there were no other islands, once one made the acquaintance of Antigua. None which mattered, at any rate. Soon they were in the midst of the bumboats and the
jollys, which were making their way out to the new arrival, handled by sweating white men in garb hardly superior to any to be found in Port Royal, Kit discovered to his relief, but in the main cheerful, happy, and more important, healthy-looking men. For he had heard sufficient tales of the debilitating fevers which could ruin a man's health in the southerly islands, and he had seen enough of it in the march to and from Panama.

  The boat nosed its way alongside stone steps, and the oars were shipped. Agrippa took the painter ashore, and Kit and Parke followed him on to the crowded jetty where the stevedores, mostly Negroes these, stopped to stare at the new arrivals, and the few white men also gaped. 'By God,' someone said. 'A gentleman. A regular macaroni.'

  Parke tapped the fellow on the shoulder with his cane, and the suggestion of laughter died as he took a closer look at the American's face, and eyes. 'Aye,' Parke said. 'I am a gentleman, and you'd do well to remember that, before I have my friends here set about breaking your heads. Buccaneers, my bravos. Morgan's men.'

  The onlookers, now fast forming a crowd, gaped some more, and Kit and Agrippa exchanged glances. Parke had made them relate their adventures in Panama often enough after dinner on board ship, but that he would shout their erstwhile activities from the rooftops had not crossed their minds.

  Certainly he was pleased with the effect of his words. 'You'll not have seen their like in this backwater, I'll wager. Now, you, I have letters for the Deputy Governor. You'll direct us to his estate. Quickly.'

  'Sure, and Colonel Warner's estate is a tidy drive from town.' someone said. 'Ye'd do better to try the Ice House, your honour. 'Tis certain ye'll find him there.'

  'The Ice House?' Parke queried. 'There's a strange name. Can you tell me what they store there?'

  'Why, ice, your honour. Brought all the way from the Arctic, it is. Ye'd not have a gentleman's drink warm for lack of a drop of ice, now, would ye? 'Tis the big house on yonder corner.'

  'Ice,' Parke said. 'Brought all the way from the Arctic, by God. To cool the drinks.'

  'Does it not melt before ever it reaches this far south?' Kit asked.

  'Oh, no, sir,' explained the foreman. 'The ships are specially constructed, ye understand, the holds lined with metal covered in sawdust, to keep down the temperatures. And fast they are. 'Tis scarce a fortnight's voyage, for them.'

  'Special ships to cool a man's drink,' Parke said, in continuing wonderment. 'And all financed by sugar. By God, sirs, 'tis an economic revolution we are witnessing. I think we shall investigate this fabulous house.' He led them up the street, cane slapping against his stockinged legs as if he would encourage himself. Now they left the bustle of the docks and found themselves on a wide and pleasant road, no more than rutted dust, to be sure, but lined with enormous trees, each a mass of brilliant red flowers, and backed by shops and houses, in a profusion and state of repair Kit had seen nowhere save in Panama itself.

  'What a splendid sight,' Parke cried, pausing at the corner.

  'The trees arc called poincianas,' Kit said. 'And are named after an erstwhile governor of French St Kitts, the Sieur de Poincy, who was something of a botanist.'

  'By God, Kit, but you're a mine of information.'

  Kit flushed. 'My grandmother was acquainted with the gentleman.'

  'Was she now? But it was less the flowers I was admiring, magnificent as they are, than the evidence that even the humans in this delightful place are worthy of closer inspection.' He pointed with his cane, and the two white girls on the far side of the street giggled and darted away. Their faces were concealed by the shade of enormous straw hats, but their figures were indeed eye-catching, especially as they appeared to be wearing but a single petticoat beneath their muslin gowns. Parke glanced at his companion. 'But you, I observe, show no great interest in nubile females.'

  'Perhaps I have seen sufficient such as they are reduced to the last extremity by lustful fingers,' Kit remarked. 'Amongst them my own.'

  'By God, sir, but on occasion you are an uncommonly solemn fellow. So you once forced a Spanish hymen. You may be sure that in taking her own life, and that of her sister, she committed by far the more serious crime by the lights of her religion. This seems to be the right place.'

  They had paused before a large doorway set into the highest building on the street, which appeared like a gigantic warehouse, for it stretched back a considerable distance as well. Parke rapped on the door with the head of his cane, and after a moment it was opened by a Negro wearing white breeches and stockings beneath a blue coat, with a white wig on his head and black leather shoes on his feet. 'Your pleasure, sir?' he inquired.

  'By God,' Parke said. 'By God. You'd do well in Jamestown, by God. We seek your Governor, Colonel Philip Warner.'

  'Colonel Warner is within, sir. Will you enter?' The doorman's gaze flickered to Kit, and he hesitated, and then bowed again.

  'Thank you, fellow,' Parke said. 'Make way there. Make way.'

  For the majordomo had straightened and was blocking Agrippa's way. 'No slaves are permitted, unless they are employed by the House.'

  'Slaves?' Parke said. 'Who spoke of slaves? This man is my friend.'

  'I should have said, sir, no man with a black skin is allowed within, unless he is employed by the House.'

  'I'll have you whipped, you insolent dog,' Parke shouted. 'By God. Kit, cut me this fellow's ears.'

  'In truth, Mr Parke, I'll not be the cause of a riot,' Agrippa said. 'I'd as soon explore this pretty little town.'

  'By God,' Parke said. 'You'll go where I go, by God, if I so choose. Stand aside, fellow.'

  Suddenly the street was crowded, with white people and black, issuing from stores and behind trees from whence they had been surreptitiously watching the strangers. It occurred to Kit that they might well have a riot after all. For the major-domo was showing no signs of yielding.

  And Daniel Parke was going red in the face. 'By God,' he shouted. 'Kit, draw your sword. Draw it, by God, and clear me a path.'

  Kit chewed his lip, uncertain what would be best, when a voice inquired, quietly enough, 'What seems to be the trouble, John?'

  The majordomo sighed with relief. 'These gentlemen, Colonel Warner, sir, wish to bring a black man into the Ice House.'

  As if Kit could ever really have forgotten that voice, that strut. And yet, to his surprise, Philip Warner this afternoon wore none of the finery he had sported in Tortuga, but preferred a plain coat and an unruffled shirt, with loose trousers rather than breeches, hanging over riding boots. He did not carry a sword, and did not wear a wig, but instead a black tricorne. Nor were any of the men crowding behind him better dressed.

  'Strangers,’ he observed, gazing at Parke with a frown. 'And you would begin by changing our laws? I'll have your name, sir.' But before Parke could reply, his gaze had flickered across to Kit. 'By God,' he said. ' 'Tis the buccaneer himself.'

  'I sailed with Morgan, Colonel Warner, certainly,' Kit confessed. 'But that was in my heritage, would you not agree? Now I have given up the life in a search for something better.'

  'Morgan? Morgan, did you say?' The other planters pushed forward. 'Were you at Panama?'

  'I had that misfortune, sir,' Kit replied to the man who had asked the question.

  'Fear not, gentlemen,' Colonel Warner said. 'The lad is an old acquaintance of mine. Kit Hilton. You'll have heard the name. His people were in the employ of my family when first we came to these islands.'

  'Why, sir, I ...' Kit bit off the words. He had no wish to brawl with the Deputy Governor, at this moment.

  Warner smiled at him. 'And faith, lad, you look the part. What of your friend?'

  'By God, sir,' Parke declared. 'I had supposed you had forgotten my existence. Daniel Parke, of Virginia, at your service.'

  'Parke?' Warner extended his hand. 'Why, sir, a thousand apologies. I received a letter but a fortnight gone, from your father, informing me of your impending visit. Why, sir, I but wish you had established yourself sooner. Now my manners stand shot to
pieces, with only patchwork left to be accomplished. But I had not expected to find you in such company.'

  'Kit is my good friend, Colonel Warner.'

  Warner continued to smile. 'And mine. Why, when last was it we had the pleasure of meeting, Kit? Two, three years?'

  'More than four, Colonel,' Kit said.

  'And since then much has happened. Yes, indeed. You'll take a drink of rum punch with me, gentlemen. Not your servant, Kit. Our laws are meant to be obeyed.'

  'My ...'

  But Agrippa interrupted him. 'I will look at the town, sir,' he said, gravely.

  'A likely fellow,' Warner said. 'You must tell me how you came by him. But first of all, the punch. Back, gentlemen, let us show our visitors true Antiguan hospitality."

  'Punch?' Parke demanded, as he was escorted from the lobby into a large room, distinctly cool as opposed to the heat of the street, but remarkably lacking in furniture; the bare wooden floor was scattered with sawdust, and there were only some tables against the far wall, behind which Negro servants, as liveried as the doorman, were handling mugs while others came through from the back door with enormous blocks of ice set in wooden tubs, which they proceeded to assault with hammer and spike rather in the fashion of marauding artillerymen.