Tristan had already disregarded most of what the big man had said. He recalled the altercation with Isabella from earlier in the day, her fiery eyes and pursed lips, his racing heart and foggy mind. At that same moment, Isabella arrived at their table with a fully loaded tray. Four men quickly rose to their feet while Tristan remained seated, still lost in his daydream. The clank of tray on table, and the clink of tankards and jug brought him to his senses, and he hastily jumped to his feet, knocking the table with his knee and nearly sending the drinks on the table, flying to the floor.
‘Miss Silveira!’ He stood sheepishly watching the spilled beer, then realised that introductions were long overdue. One by one his friends made her acquaintance, each one trying to better the other’s greeting with the doctor finally showing them how it was done by kissing the lady’s hand lightly and telling that she was the purest white flower growing among a garden of wickedness. It was the first time since they had met that Tristan saw her blush, a proper blood-red blush. Her shy laugh was enchanting, like that of the sirens. No wonder those sailors stood no chance.
Tristan paid her, and when she took the money, she leaned in closer and whispered into his ear. ‘Now, that is how you greet a lady. Not by insulting her the first time that you meet her.’
‘So you’re a lady now, are you?’
‘When it suits me.’ She was so close, he could feel her warm breath on his cheek, and the smell of her hair reminded him of roses.
She pulled away abruptly and pointed to the mugs. ‘This is pombé, a millet beer that comes from the local village. See if it’s to your liking or else I can offer you ale or rum. I shall bring your food next. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.’ They were all still standing when she headed back to the bar counter.
Once she was out of earshot, Hanlon was the first to speak. ‘Aye, she’s a damn fine lass, lad. Cheers and good luck to you, my friend.’ They all grabbed a mug and toasted to their friend and his pursuit of love. The thick bitter beer was palatable, and no one complained as they wiped the brown foam from their mouths.
‘Bottoms up, fellas! Regale like there is no tomorrow. For when it eventually arrives, the real work starts, and it will make all that we have done to date feel like a gentle breeze through the sheets.’ Tristan finished his beer, kicked his feet out and sat back in a relaxed posture, resting against one of the wooden pillars.
Mugs were quickly refilled, and when the food arrived, a fresh jug of pombé accompanied it. They dug into the pottage and bread like ravenous beasts. Cuthbert had not been kidding. The soupy stew was insipid at best, but the freshly baked bread went down a treat. Throughout the evening they ordered fried river fish, roasted cassava and breadfruit. Jug after jug of beer accompanied every platter of food delivered to the table, and the men showed no restraint as they gorged themselves.
Tristan exchanged small talk and smiles with Isabella every time she visited their table. The beer had blunted his usually sharp edge and being slightly intoxicated, he found it much easier to communicate with her. For the first time since they had started this journey, he relaxed and allowed the contentment to wash over him. We are here, he thought. A small step on this vast journey, but a step it was nonetheless.
As the night wore on, the men talked more about women, the Raven and what they missed and what they did not, the journey ahead, the information and equipment that they still needed and of course, the riches they were going to acquire. Tayler, Hanlon and Jabari disappeared upstairs a few times and returned, only to lessen their thirst, happily spent in the heat of the summer.
Tristan could not forget Isabella’s flustered moment when the doctor had complimented her, and when he and Purvis found themselves alone at the table, he pushed the doctor on the matters of love. In his short yet full life, Tristan’s perception of love was limited to what he had witnessed at the brothel and what he had experienced as a sailor who had travelled from one port to another, looking for a warm, comfortable bed and the snugness of a woman’s arms. He had always treated women with the utmost respect and considered himself an adequate lover but knew in the back of his mind that there was more to love. There had to be.
‘Can I ask you a question, doc?’
‘What do you want to know, lad?’ came the courteous reply.
‘How do you know so much about women? I’ve watched you over the years in places like this. When other men run off the first chance they get, to throw themselves in the arms of mistresses and whores, you sit quietly and wait patiently, as if you were expecting someone. And then, as the room gradually empties with suitors and seductresses taking their business behind closed doors, only then will you find yourself a woman, spend all your time entertaining her with food, wine and talk, and reward her handsomely when the night’s done. Why?’ Tristan took a bite of fried fish, which gave a delicious crunch under his teeth and washed it down with beer. ‘No one else I’ve seen or known does that sort of thing.’
The doctor said that he had better order another jug and Tristan obliged. The man finished lighting his pipe and puffed away, billows of grey smoke obscuring his face momentarily. ‘Well, first off, I can’t recall telling you this during our many discussions over the years, but I was a scientist first, and only then did I become a doctor. And, as scientists, our studies are not limited to plants and animals but extend to the human body too, its inner workings and in particular the psyche. You see, lad, I have seen and experienced both the beauty and the cruelty of love. First I courted, then wedded and then made love to the most beautiful and most charming woman in the world, but it wasn’t long after that I realised our love wasn’t meant to be.’
‘But you said she was the most beautiful and most charming wo—‘
‘Let me finish, lad. See, love consists of a mental and physical attraction. She and I could talk and laugh for hours about anything. In that regard, I had found a mate for my soul, or I had met my equal, as you have said earlier. But that wasn’t the problem. ‘Twas the physical part where I found myself lacking for I purely had no interest or desire to lay with her. Six months later, we went our separate ways. I was powerless for there was no remedy. The wise Mr Purvis, with all of his knowledge, couldn’t cure his own marriage. It tore me up inside.’ Tristan could see the slight hint of anger and hurt in the doctor’s eyes before the man’s face was obscured by the bottom of his mug. He tried to imagine what it might feel like and remembered the mixed emotions that had torn through his insides when Lucy had told him about his birth mother, and even though it was not remotely the same, it was the closest instance that he could recall.
Purvis gathered himself and carried on. ‘For years, I desperately wanted to fill the void that she had left behind, but I soon realised that I was not meant to find another one to love in this lifetime. Perhaps there’s simply no place in my heart for another or perhaps innermost I know that I won’t give another relationship the fairness it deserves. Back then, it would’ve been so easy to drown my sorrows in sack and eventually throw myself into the Thames but thank God sanity prevailed, and I threw myself into my work and studies instead, where science soon became my new true love.
‘Having my mind occupied with big questions about diseases and mortality and spending most of my time trying to answer those questions certainly helped, but I still went home to an empty house each night. So when the captain’s offer to work as a surgeon on the Raven presented itself, I saw an opportunity to get away from everything that continued to remind me of her and our, or rather my failed attempt at love.’ Purvis pensively scratched an itch in his side. ‘Yes, like for so many others, the Raven became the only place where I could find immediate salvation and in the long run, true peace of mind.
‘But I did miss her company. In fact, I still do. That is why I do what I do, lad. I wait until all the chosen bawds have been taken, then I choose one of the broken, the damned or the scarred, and treat her like a lady, if only for a night, for not only are they the most personable but in some cases, they are also the m
ost interesting. Now, it may not be love, but it’s the closest I can get to what I had with my wife, and it gives me the fulfilment and stimulation that I need, which exceeds the physical act, for it’s her mind that I miss foremost.’
‘So, you never miss…you know…it?’
‘Oh, I have my guilty pleasures, lad, but I fear they will leave you none the wiser.’ Purvis was momentarily lost in thought, then chuckled, almost choking on his beer. ‘There was this crazy beggar in the town where I grew up. He had this saying whenever somebody walked by: Love is indeed an insane notion and for the hapless few a misconceived emotion. Fear it, you senseless man, for should it ever cometh your way, don’t be a fool like me. Walk away or better yet, run away. I remember it till this day, every single word, even his toothless smile. Then he would cackle like a hen and hold out his hand as if you had to reward him for sharing the most prodigious secret in the world. We, scientists, have tried to understand love for many centuries, while writers and poets have tried to capture its essence for even longer, yet it was a toothless beggar who could epitomise it in a few wise words.
‘Love is a fickle affair, lad. The more you try to understand it, the less you seem to know. It can drive sane men mad with heartache and lust, make grown men weep, and even tame the fiercest of warriors. Hell, I have seen broken-hearted men throw themselves into the deep blue without a sense of existence. But enough of the lecture.’ Purvis refilled their mugs and leaned forwards, resting on his elbows. ‘Forget everything that I’ve said and remember only this lad…she’s already taken a fancy to you. Any fool can see that. As you know, coition is easy. Even a blind man can be accomplished at it. You have grown up with it and lived most of the latter part of your life as a sailor which meant you have probably loved in every city you’ve been too. However, it is the intellectual pursuit that matters most with a woman like her. It will most certainly pique her interest and make forthright to her that your motives aren’t just pure carnal. As for the rest of it, that you already know. There’s no secre—‘
‘You should keep that nigger of yours on a chain and feed him outside, where he belongs.’ The snide remark came from one of the British crew, a tall and lanky man, who had taken a leak outside and was now on his way back to his mates.
Purvis’s mug slammed into the table and sent beer flying everywhere. ‘That so-called nigger is a free man who can come and go as he pleases and that includes the ingurgitation of pabulum in places such as this! Now before your pea-sized brain explodes trying to figure out what it would never be able to comprehend, why don’t you piss off and go ask your captain to explain it to you, nice and slowly.’ The doctor’s response caught Tristan completely off-guard, not so much the choice of words but rather the venom with which it was delivered. In all their years on the Raven not once had he seen the doctor behave or heard him talk this way. Perhaps his newfound freedom, accompanied with seven mugs of beer, had given him this bravado. Tristan smiled. He liked it, and from the surprise on the doctor’s face, Tristan could gather that he did too.
Next to their table, the tall man clenched his mouth and started shivering as he struggled to control his anger but being outnumbered, he decided not to proceed. ‘I’d be sure to ask him,’ hissed the man and stormed off.
Tristan casually replenished the doctor’s mug, gave him a nod of approval and once again sagged backwards using the pillar for support.
‘Forgive me, lad,’ apologised the doctor, ‘I’m unsure as to the origin of that outburst.’
‘Nothing to fret over, doc. You saved me the trouble.’ By finding us some bigger trouble, thought Tristan. There was no doubt in his mind that the man would be back, and not alone this time. ‘I hope you can throw a punch or swing a jug should the need arise.’ He tried to make light of the situation while he cast an eye upstairs, looking for a familiar face. The other three had been gone for a while now and were due for another refill.
The British crew at the back suddenly went quiet and not a minute had passed before the group started making their way to where Tristan and Purvis were seated, with the young captain leading the charge.
‘Good day, gentlemen.’ It was a friendly yet conspicuously deceitful greeting, more so because it was spoken with a pompous arrogance that reeked of a privileged and quite possibly, aristocratic upbringing.
Tristan already knew that this was the man that Cuthbert had been talking about. Percival Bradford. Up close, Tristan was able to size the man up properly and estimated the young captain to be about eight years older than himself. With a sailor’s tanned skin, neatly trimmed black hair and strong facial features, Percival was of similar height and build.
Neither Tristan nor the doctor acknowledged Percival’s greeting and carried on sipping their beers after which the doctor started cleaning out his clay pipe, readying it for a fresh load of tobacco.
‘I see manners are lost on you lot, so let us save the introductions then because frankly, I don’t care for you or your business here. I do believe, however, that you’ve insulted an officer of the Royal Navy and therefore one of His Majesty the King’s subjects, so it’s only fair to assume that an apology is in order.’
Thank God! Tristan had seen Jabari exit from one of the rooms and the African was now frantically knocking on doors, obviously aware of the situation that was starting to unfold downstairs. From his relaxed position, Tristan jumped up and startled not only the captain but also the six men standing behind him. ‘I tell you what, Percival, as soon as your officer apologises to Mr Jabari – that’s him coming down the stairs now – for calling him a nigger, I’m sure Mr Purvis – that’s him lighting the pipe – will apologise to your officer for insulting his intelligence, even though Mr Purvis might be able to prove his accusation scientifically.’
Taken aback by the brazen lack of respect, including the mentioning of his first name, the young captain seemed confused, and Tristan quickly realised that perhaps the man had not been told the full version of the events. What the captain also did not know was that Tristan had deliberately played on his greatest weakness and was banking on him to lose his temper, thereby drawing the attention away from the doctor and the original quarrel.
‘What have we missed?’ Tayler was still buttoning up his breeches as he arrived with the courageous swagger of a man who had had his fair share of spirit.
‘My, my, it’s been a while since I’ve seen such a pack of riffraff. Out of the darkness like moths to a flame you’re drawn, or shall I liken you to flies that swarm around a piece of African dung,’ said Percival, whose face had taken on a reddish colour.
‘You can say whatever pleases you, but I‘m the captain of this here pack of riffraff,’ – Tristan’s steely blue eyes bored into Percival’s – ‘and that last insult just meant that your quarrel is with me now.’
‘You hear that, boys, sounds like this young stripling is challenging me.’ Cheers and laughter rang out behind him. ‘What shall it be, boy? Pistols? Or a quick parry at dawn?’
‘How about fists, right here, right now? Loser leaves this place and the others in peace.’
A smile of satisfaction spread across Percival’s face. ‘Sounds fair. I accept. Let’s see if your bite is the same as your bark.’ He turned around and while looking at his crew, said, ‘Give us some room, fellas!’ He grinned while he took off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, handing it to the nearest officer, the same man who had started the whole incident. ‘After this, you owe me. A night out with that sweet little sister of yours would suffice,’ murmured Percival before he turned around to face his opponent, just in time to see the big black man whisper something in Tristan’s ear. ‘I should warn you, lad, in my days at Oxford I was boxing and fencing champion for two years running.’
‘Good. I will go easy on you, then.’ Tristan had also removed his shirt and had carefully wrapped his stiletto in it before he had entrusted the parcel to Jabari. The fire of the surrounding lamps danced on his bronze skin and over the ridges and falls of toned
muscles.
The two men immediately started to circle each other, fists raised and ready. Behind their backs, the obligatory cheers for their man and jeers for the opponent rang out from the respective crews and brought the tavern to a standstill. Not many patrons were left, but the few that were forgot about their drink and food as they eagerly watched the cockfight.
Percival danced side-to-side, placing his weight on one foot, then the other. Suddenly he lurched forwards, striking hard and fast with his right fist. Tristan had seen it coming and reacted immediately, giving his opponent a taunting smile as the blow flew harmlessly past his head.
‘You need to do better than that!’ Tristan needed him angry.
Percival unleashed a flurry of blows with most of them missing the target while Tristan managed to block the others using his forearms. Another flurried attack followed, and a left hand snuck through Tristan’s defence and caught him in the chest. He felt the power behind the punch and heard a deafening roar of cheers and praise from the man’s supporters. Tristan waited patiently, and after absorbing another attack, he could see a pattern unfold in the man’s style of fighting and waited for the right moment to counterpunch.
Percival launched another flurry and this time they were body blows, most of which Tristan could block. When Percival retreated, gasping for air, the heel of his right boot caught a raised floorboard and caused him to stumble. He briefly dropped his guard while he looked down and Tristan quickly stepped in with a fake left-hand blow which was aimed at the man’s head. Percival ducked to his left but fell for the trap because he walked straight into a right hook which landed on the bridge of his nose. Tristan felt the crunch of the bones as they gave way under his knuckles before Percival’s head jerked backwards. The man reeled on his feet as he shook his head to rid it of the searing pain.
The Fire Within Page 33