“What do you mean I am enamored with her charms?” Lothar asked, pointing at the woman who slept beside him.
Black Tom chuckled again. “Well, let’s say you made some rather extraordinary pledges of fidelity to her last night. But that is neither here nor there; time to earn your keep.”
Black Tom turned on his heels and trotted down the stairs.
Lothar slid out of bed. He felt his world sway beneath his feet as he followed Black Tom.
Lothar had sailed on enough trips to have a relatively competent understanding of sail rigging and knot tying. However, the Black Angel had a few extra hatches and some rather unique accessories that tested his tenuous sailing skills. The cannons on the Black Angel were held in hatches below the deck that were operated by a complex block and pulley system that made his head hurt just looking at it.
He was sent to pack the gunpowder and muskets balls and load the cannon balls and carry crates of salted meat into the galley and a dozen other tasks that had him cursing ale and rum all morning.
At noon, Sister Abigail made her way down to the docks. Lothar watched her approach as he leaned against the deck railing taking a much needed break. She was no less gorgeous this morning than she had been last night. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.
“She is beautiful, but so is a hawk,” a deep voice said behind him. “Both would tear your eyes out, I suspect.”
Lothar whirled and their stood the Bandit King. He was shirtless and his braids were twisted into one large plait. Lothar noticed the markings on his chest were the crude outlines of a lion’s head. In addition, a multitude of scars that ran up and down his massive arms. Two of them, one on each forearm, were curious symbols that looked like a horseshoe – a bit more round on the top, with a wider base on each leg.
“Sorry, Mr. Bandit King, sir,” Lothar mumbled.
The Bandit King laughed.
Lothar noticed he laughed a lot.
“For what?” The Bandit King asked. “If we had to apologize every time we noticed a beautiful woman, a man’s day would be filled with begging for forgiveness.”
He clapped Lothar on the back.
Lothar coughed. He looked down to make sure his heart had not burst from his chest.
Sister Abigail sauntered over to where they were standing.
“Captain Masterless, I have a favor to ask of you,” she said.
The Bandit King crossed his arms. “You are paying for the outfitting of our ship. “I think that earns you at least two commands and one favor. So what is it my lady?”
“I will require lodging for our trip to the Isle of Lamina,” Sister Abigail said. “I wish to stay in a cabin alone.”
The Bandit King scratched his chin. “You wouldn’t be afraid of me and my men would you, me lady?”
Sister Abigail looked up into his eyes. “I will not trust the sanctity of my virtue to the moral fortitude of you or your men.”
The Bandit King smiled. “Well, ma’am, far be it for me to spoil your virtue. I think we can accommodate you.”
Sister Abigail pursed her lips then walked away.
A warm sense of melancholy filled Lothar’s heart.
“She thinks we are awful men, doesn’t she?” Lothar asked.
The Bandit King put his hand on Lothar’s shoulder and looked the younger man in the eye. “We are awful men, little brother. We are corsairs and brigands but we are also free. Make no mistake, we exist in a world that would deny us everything, including freedom. I, for one, will embrace the life we live as I embrace the sea and then I will fill my cup with rum and drink to a good death, for when I die, it will be on my feet, not genuflecting and begging to be spared. I am the Bandit King. Never a bondsman will I be!”
His eyes blazed with a fire that made Lothar tremble. And then, like a summer squall, it was gone.
“Go and prepare a place to sleep,” the Bandit King said. “We leave at a quarter past the hour. Do you have any experience with a flintlock?”
“I was trained in fencing by my former master,” Lothar replied. “I have no experience with guns.”
The Bandit King grabbed him by his collar and effortlessly lifted him off his feet. “You are a man. No other man is, or can be, your master, only your oppressor. I’ll see that Black Tom gets you a cutlass. But first, answer me this? Why would an oppressor teach you to fence?”
Lothar smiled. “Well, it was with a wooden sword. He thought it was good sport. But one day I knocked his sword out of his hand. I was given ten lashes, but I enjoyed seeing the look on his face as his stick hit the ground.”
The Bandit King returned his smile and lowered him to the deck.
“Lothar you might be a good fit for our motley crew after all,” he said.
He turned and headed for the bow where Black Tom was going over the coordinates for their voyage as given to him by Sister Abigail. Lothar smoothed his shirt and let out a deep breath.
Three days passed before they caught sight of the island. Lothar was in the crow’s nest when he spotted it – a large, rocky mass with a verdant peak that stretched toward the sky.
“Land Ho!” Lothar yelled down to the deck.
The Bandit King came out of his cabin. Black Tom approached him.
“What’s the play here?” Black Tom asked, stroking the butt of his flintlock. “Go in with guns blazing?”
The Bandit King shook his head. “No, we entreat the lord of this island to let us partake of his particular brand of entertainment. Once we get a lay of the land, we make our move. I’ll go ashore with Lothar and Horus and a few others. You stay on the ship with the rest of the boys. Once we know what forces oppose us, we will take the girl and the bounty. Never go in with guns blazing until you know how many guns are pointed at ya.”
Sister Abigail emerged from below deck and stretched her arms.
Black Tom peered at her then looked at the Bandit King.
“Well, time to talk to the good sister,” the Bandit King said. “Hopefully her lips are looser than her morals.”
####
“The merchant who delivered my sister’s message told me Verpa keeps his spoils in a guarded basement under the main…” she hesitated.
“Brothel my lady,” The Bandit King said. “It’s called a brothel.”
“Yes, a brothel,” Sister Abigail sighed. “I just cannot believe she is here.”
“The spoils?” Black Tom asked.
“Yes the spoils,” Sister Abigail said. “They are guarded by his misbegotten offspring. The room is said to be filled to bursting with goods – gold, spices, silver, whatever men deem worthy enough to part with to sully their flesh.”
“How will we know your sister?” the Bandit King asked.
Sister Abigail smiled. “She looks just like me, except her hair is red; blood red and longer than mine. How do you propose to spirit her away?”
“Don’t you worry about that my dear,” the Bandit King said. “Just point her out and we will do the rest.”
Sister Abigail leaned across the table and grasped the Bandit King’s hand.
Black Tom raised his eyebrow.
“I have seen visions from my God,” she said. “You are the one.”
She stared into his eyes and he stared back at her. For a moment neither would drop their gaze. Then, Sister Abigail blinked and turned her head away. She stood and nodded. She hurried from the room without saying another word.
“What is her malady?” Black Tom said.
The Bandit King put his feet up on the table and pulled a jug of rum from under it. “I suspect she is second guessing her vows.”
Horus chortled.
“Well, I for one want to have some fun before we take this Verpa off the board,” Horus said. “Do you know how long it’s been since I have lain with a woman?”
“Since you gave up your mother’s milk?” Black Tom said with a smile.
Horus bit his thumb at him.
The Bandit King handed him the jug.
“Come now
, fellows let us be jolly,” the Bandit King said. “We are going to rescue a harlot at the request of a virgin. If there is a God, that has to qualify us for a double blessing.”
####
The Isle of Lamina sat on the top of a volcanic caldera. Two rocky ridges shot out from the island parallel to each other like the legs of the letter ‘U’, forming a natural harbor.
Lothar could see other ships moored in those shallow waters as they approached the island. Some men from the two other ships splashed through the water and headed for shore with bags held high above their heads. Two hulking men waited on the beach with a thin woman between them. She was pale, with long, strawberry blond hair. The two hulking men were darker than the woman, with wide shoulders and sloped heads that sat on thick necks. The three of them were dressed like members of a royal court . The men wore red velvet frock coats and tight breeches and stockings. Identical powdered white wigs sat upon their massive heads. The woman wore a wide green dress with an elaborate bustle and a severe plunging neckline.
“Listen up gents,” the Bandit King began. “Me, Horus, Liam, Octon, Lothar, Semi and the sister are going ashore. We will take stock of the situation then, after dark, we will signal the rest of you. We have discussed our plan, now I trust each of you to do your part. What is our motto?”
“We hang together, or we hang separately!” the crew said in unison.
“Good gents. Very good,” the Bandit King said. “Alright, let’s get in the dinghy. Someone rouse the sister.”
“I’m here,” she said.
Lothar turned his head toward Sister Abigail and his jaw dropped. The sister had traded in her habit for a pair of tight breeches and a close fitting white shirt. Her hair was twisted into two long braids that fell over her full breasts.
“Well, look what we have here,” the Bandit King said, smiling. “Now you look like a woman ready to sin!”
“I still don’t know why I have to wear this ridiculous attire,” she said. Her face was pinched like a puckered wound.
“Sister, we want to go in like any other fellows looking for a bit of the good stuff,” Back Tom said. “It wouldn’t do to be seen bringing in a nun now would it?”
Sister Abigail said nothing.
“Let’s go. The welcoming committee awaits,” the Bandit King said.
Lothar had thought Port Royal was the height of hedonism. One look around the Isle of Lamina forced him to reevaluate that assertion. The brothel was decadent in a way nothing in Port Royal could ever hope to match. All around him men and women engaged in every manner of congress.
Horus dragged a stunning woman with slanted eyes over to a velvet covered couch and lay his entire bulk upon her back as he grunted and keened like a hog. The other members of the crew followed suit.
All, except the Bandit King.
He sat next to Sister Abigail and watched the proceedings with a strange impassiveness on his face.
A slight man plucked away at a harpsichord. The dulcet tones of the instrument seemed woefully out of place amid the grunts and groans that filled the hall.
The music ended abruptly. A dandy appeared on a raised dais that looked down upon the gyrating bodies. He wore a bright green frock coat and white stockings that bulged with his manhood. He had on a powdered wig and held a tankard in his hand.
“Gentlemen, I am your host, Verpa,” the dandy squealed. “Please pause your exertions for a moment to join me in a toast!”
Verpa’s monstrous associates moved through the crowd handing out earthen cups to only the men.
A brute with a face like a barnacle put a cup in Lothar’s hand. After his previous encounter with ale and rum, Lothar had silently sworn off alcohol. The barnacle-faced man handed the Bandit King a cup as well.
“Now join me in a toast to your good health, to full pockets and to empty balls!” Verpa screeched in a high, womanish voice.
Each man in attendance threw back the cup; everyone, except Lothar.
The Bandit King dropped his empty cup. “What…did …you …do …to me?” he mumbled. He rose from his seat and took two steps toward the stage before falling face first onto the table.
Verpa stopped smiling and hopped down from the dais. The other men in the room slid off the backs of their chosen mounts and collapsed onto the floor.
Two of Verpa’s associates stared at Lothar.
Lothar rolled his eyes back and let his head hit the table in front of him. His heart was thudding in his chest hard enough to rattle his bones.
“Sister Abigail, are you sure he is the one?” Lothar heard Verpa ask.
“He bears the marks,” Sister Abigail replied. “What the Greeks called omega. The old tongue calls it o’ski’ra. He is the one. Take him to the grotto. Kill the others, then drain the harbor and kill the men on his ship. Take care, though, for they are men of great violence.
“As you wish, Sister,” Verpa said. “Praise the God who sleeps beneath the Sea!”
“Praise the God who sleeps beneath the Sea,” Sister Abigail echoed softly.
Lothar felt rough hands pick him up and throw him on top of his mates in a wooden cart. One of the misbegotten footmen rolled the cart out of the hall and turned onto a well worn path that cut through the lush verdant foliage of the island. Lothar kept his eyes closed and tried to quiet his fear, but his fear was a screaming baby in his head. That they had been betrayed was obvious. But to what end?
You will figure out a way to escape. You have to. Today is not the day you die a free man, he thought.
####
The Bandit King raised his head. His wrists were in shackles attached to chains that hung from the roof of a great cave. The air in the cave was cool. His chest was covered in goose-bumps. He kicked his feet and heard water splash. He craned his head and saw the opening to the cave behind him. In front of him was a gargantuan wooden door set in the very back of the cave. In the center of the door was a circular metal plate with bizarre etchings scrawled across it. The cave was a natural formation with some manmade additions. Torches ran up and down the wet limestone walls of the cave. Above the door was some type of balcony carved out of the rock. A pathway ran around the perimeter of the cave up to the balcony.
“He awakens,” a female voice said behind him. Sister Abigail walked through the shallow water in the cave and stood in front of him. She was naked. Her long black hair was loose and fell across her full breasts.
“I take it you are not truly a virgin.” the Bandit King said.
Sister Abigail threw her head back and howled. It was a wild sound, like a puma screeching in the dark. “No, my dear king, I am not. But let’s not discuss what I am not and let us commiserate on what you are.”
Her eyes searched his face. He could almost feel the intensity of her gaze.
“I am a brigand remember,” he said.
She touched his face. “Oh no, you are so much more than that.” Her voice was tender. “Have you ever wondered what those marks on your forearms are? They are not made of ink like the marks on your chest. I heard tales of the great, Black pirate with the omega birth marks. The merchants who came to our island were in awe of you. But I wasn’t sure until I saw you fight.”
“Sure of what?” the Bandit King asked.
“The shair ‘vi corant. The words slithered off her tongue. “The great warrior, whose seed will open the doorway for the God who sleeps beneath the Sea, so that he may return and wipe away all manner of false gods and reclaim his rightful place in this world. We are his last true subjects. We have searched for you for a very long time, my king. Your seed will open that door.”
She pointed to the enormous door at the back of the cave.
“Sorry to disappoint you, deary, but I wouldn’t touch you if you were last piece of cunny on earth,” the Bandit King said.
“Oh no, my king, you will not plumb my depths,” Sister Abigail said. “We will milk you like a maiden does a cow. And we will use that seed to open the door. Of course, the God who sleeps benea
th the Sea will require nourishment after his long slumber. Unfortunately, you will be the first thing he sees, but I console you with the thought that you will have ushered in a bold new reign for our God.”
A glassy sheen came over her eyes.
“I tell you what, my lady, when my men get here, I’ll make sure I kill you quickly, and you can meet this god face to face without me losing my seed or my life,” the Bandit King said.
Sister Abigail smiled. “Your men are dead, Bandit King. The ones who came ashore with you have had their throats slit and their bodies dumped in an old well. The ones you left on board your ship found themselves mired in a muddy whirlpool after we drained the harbor. We have been doing this for a long, long time my king. My family has lived here on the Isle of Lamina for over a thousand years. The Island of Tears is our home.”
The Bandit King did not drop his head as she reported the deaths of his crew. He did not shed a tear. Instead he rolled his tongue a few times and then spit in her face.
Sister Abigail wiped away the spittle. “I will return with my sisters and my brothers shortly. The ceremony will begin.”
She walked out of the cave.
This is all far from over, my dear lady, he thought.
Turgid water sloshed against his boots and the chains rattled.
####
Lothar felt every bump and every hole on the path as the wagon full of bodies was pushed toward its destination. Horus’ inert form crushed him and sweat ran into his eyes, but he remained silent and motionless. He did not know what he was going to do or how he was going to do it but he knew his only advantage was the element of surprise.
Finally, the cart came to a halt.
The man with a face that looked like a partially chewed piece of meat put a rock under the wooden wheel of the cart and let out a deep sigh. Using only one hand, he dragged Horus’s body out of the cart . The cart was wide enough for bodies to be stacked three wide and two deep. Lothar couldn’t see what the man was doing but when he came back to the cart and grabbed Liam, Lothar could see his hands were covered in blood.
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