“I did. I did not see as I had a choice.”
“Some hand with a sword, are you?”
“Fencing is a gentlemanly pursuit.”
At that the pirate smiled and looked Bickerstaff square in the eye, his intelligent, bemused brown eyes locking with Bickerstaff’s pale blue. “And you reckon yourself a gentleman?”
“I instruct gentlemen.”
“And what the fuck do you mean by that?”
“I am a teacher. I was taking passage to the colonies to act as instructor to the children of the gentleman who sails with his family aboard this vessel.”
“Sailed,” the pirate corrected. “He’s dead. Run through while he was cowering like the pile of shit he was. Like all them gentlemen. Cowardly bastards. You’re the only one that fought worth being called fighting. We lost eight of our men, and you done for five of them.”
“You do not seem very distraught over the death of your comrades,” Bickerstaff said. It was unreal, like a nightmare, standing there, surrounded by death, death waiting for him, having this conversation with a murdering brigand.
The man shrugged. “A short life, but a merry one. Now come, teacher, cross swords with me.” He gestured with the point of his sword for Bickerstaff to retrieve his weapon from the deck. “I’ll know who’s the better man.”
Bickerstaff bent over and picked up his sword, his eyes fixed on the pirate. Then the pirate gestured for Bickerstaff to move to a clear part of the deck.
“You wish to fence with me?”
“No, I wants to fight with you, and fight I will.”
“You are the captain of this villainous bunch?”
“No, I’m the quartermaster. Now, come along.”
“I’ll fight you, on condition that the children aboard this ship are not hurt.”
At that the man laughed out loud. “You’ll make no demands, teacher. If you fight and lose, you’ll get a better death than them others.”
“And if I win?”
“You’re no worse off than you are now, and you gets the pleasure of taking another of us to hell with you.” At that he raised his sword and slashed down at Bickerstaff, so fast that Bickerstaff just had time to turn the sword away. He lunged, and the quartermaster leapt back, keeping just inches from Bickerstaff’s blade, smiling.
They faced off, Bickerstaff holding his sword in the prescribed manner of a gentleman fighting a duel, the pirate gripping his great sword with two hands, like a savage Celt. The pirate attacked, slashing right then left, driving Bickerstaff back with the ferocity of the onslaught, and Bickerstaff worked sword and dagger together to keep him off.
He had no form, no style, but he was incredibly strong, and that gave him speed, and his reflexes were unfailing. Bickerstaff had never before seen such a natural swordsman. He would never have believed that any man as ill-trained as this one could both beat off his attack and put up a formidable attack of his own.
It was pure native ability that saved the pirate’s life, saved him from Bickerstaff’s accurate, well-trained attacks as the offense and defense shifted back and forth, the two men moving up and down the sticky deck.
At length the pirate stepped back, his sword at his side. Bickerstaff made to lunge, but saw that the man was not defending himself, so he paused as well.
“You should have killed me, teacher,” the man said with a grin. “You are one goddamned good swordsman, with all yer fancy moves, but you don’t know about real killing.”
“I know about honor.”
“I reckon you do,” the man said, “I reckon you do.” He swept off his hat and bowed deep, a mocking gesture. “My name is Malachias Barrett, and I just might have need of you. Come with me.”
Barrett led Bickerstaff across the merchantman’s deck and onto the pirate ship. None of Barrett’s shipmates said anything, none of them even noticed, for they had begun to tear the merchantman apart and have their fun with her people. They were the Vandals sacking Rome, and they had no thought for anything but their own vicious pleasure. Bickerstaff followed—still in that dream state—and he did not even ask where they were going.
Barrett led him down below to the pirate’s ’tween deck and then down into the hold. The conditions aboard the merchantman had seemed disgusting to Bickerstaff, but that ship was a palace compared to the dark, wet, reeking confines of the pirate ship. There was gear and personal belongings, empty bottles and half-eaten food flung in every corner, and rats moved boldly across the deck, not even bothering to keep to the shadows.
“Lovely, ain’t she? Like the fucking Royal yacht,” Barrett said. “I’ve a mind to leave her.”
He opened the door to a small, dark room, then looked down at the sword and dagger that Bickerstaff still clutched in his hands. “I reckon I better take them,” he said.
Francis nodded dumbly. The blood had dried on the grips, and he had to peel the weapons from his hands before handing them over. Barrett gently pushed him into the dark room and shut the door. He heard a lock clicking in place, and then there was nothing but darkness and distant, muffled screams.
Bickerstaff opened his eyes. The stars were still there, blinking as the Plymouth Prize’s rigging swayed in front of them.
“He saved my life, you see, locking me in that bread room,” he explained to Elizabeth. “The pirates killed them all. Killed them in a most horrible manner. All but me and the children, whom Marlowe managed to hide as well.”
“Why you? Why the children?”
“As to the children, I do not know. They were of no use to him. Perhaps he decided to honor my condition for fighting him. I like to think it was some spark of humanity that the pirates had not stamped out of him.
“As to why he saved me, well, there was a good reason for that. He had a mind to leave that life on the account, you see. Had been thinking on it for some time.
“These Brethren of the Coast, as they call themselves, sometimes they make quite a bit of money, but generally they gamble it away or drink it away or lose it in some manner. But Marlowe, or I should say Barrett, was smarter than that. He had been hoarding it for some time, years I should think.
“It was his intent to set up in some estate as Lord of the Manor. I can tell you, life aboard one of those pirate ships is no better than a prison in the matter of the food, the conditions. Disease. Marlowe was sensible enough to know he could do better than that.”
Elizabeth spoke at last. “But how had he come to be with these men?”
“That is his story, not mine, but I will tell you what I know. He was a sailor, it seems, on a merchant ship. They were taken by this pirate, this Jean-Pierre LeRois, some years before, and Marlowe was pressed into service with them. It is not at all uncommon for those on the account to make others come with them, especially if they have some certain skill or other. I believe Marlowe just took to the life eventually. Embraced it as his own.
“In any event, he had a mind to leave LeRois and so did a number of the others. This LeRois was a madman, it seems, and they had had their fill of him. So after they had plundered the ship I was on, and had their bloody fun, Marlowe announced to this LeRois that he was taking our ship as his own, and taking a good part of the crew with him.
“LeRois, as you can imagine, was quite put out by this. They argued, swore, cursed one another. It seems LeRois had taken Marlowe under his wing, as it were, made him quartermaster, which is a high rank among those people. At last they took to their swords. LeRois was quite a swordsman, I can assure you, and I have told you already how very good Marlowe is. They fought for some time, the whole tribe looking on. Fought ’til each was cut to ribbons and nearly exhausted.
“In the end Marlowe bested LeRois, in large part because LeRois stumbled on a ringbolt in the deck and gave Marlowe that one opening to deliver a serious wound. Thought he had done for him. Left him bleeding on the deck and took the ship, the one we had sailed from England, and me with it.”
“But I still fail to see—why save you?”
&
nbsp; “Marlowe had all the money to set up as a gentleman, but he had no education, and he knew he could never pass for quality. He thought I could teach him. I told him that he would fool no one in England, but perhaps in the colonies it might be possible.
“I sailed with him for four years, and in that time I went from being his prisoner to his teacher and then his friend. I never participated in any of their raiding and he did not insist, though I can tell you he was never the murderous villain that LeRois was. He had a certain humanity about him. I never saw him murder anyone, nor could I have called him friend if he had.
“At length he had had enough, and had gathered enough wealth to set himself up, so we parted with the others and came to Virginia. The rest, I believe, you know.”
“I thought I did, to be certain,” Elizabeth said. “But there is still so much about him…. Why ever did he free his slaves? Is he such a man of God that he could not bear to own Negroes?”
At that Bickerstaff smiled. “No. I wish I could tell you that he gave them their freedom out of sense of humanity. I should have done so, had they been mine. But with Marlowe it was as much self-preservation.
“There were a number of Africans with the pirates, escaped slaves who had turned to the sweet trade. They could be the meanest of all of them, for there was no chance of anything but death for them if they were caught. And Marlowe had fought side by side with them. I reckon he is the only member of the tidewater gentry to ever consider a black man to be an equal. He has seen the smoldering hatred of men in chains, and he knows how dangerous they can be. He did not care to live with that nagging at him.”
“I see.”
They were silent for a long time. Finally Elizabeth spoke again. “And so today…?”
“I gather this person who was on the sloop was someone who recognized Marlowe from the days in the sweet trade. He has been living in terror of coming across one of his old fellows.”
“And what will this mean?”
“I do not know. But I am so very afraid that we shall lose our Marlowe. That he is becoming Malachias Barrett once again.”
Chapter 27
FROM THE quarterdeck of the Plymouth Prize they could see them quite clearly, the noble coach and four, the footmen in their livery, the dignitaries in their fine clothing, the boat crew in matching outfits on the thwarts of the launch, oars tossed, made fast at the foot of the ladder below the dock.
“Well,” Marlowe said to the company in general—Elizabeth, Bickerstaff, Lieutenant Rakestraw—“this is not entirely unexpected.”
“A shot across the bow would keep ’em off, sir,” Rakestraw suggested. “Guns are loaded and run out.”
Marlowe turned, regarded the first officer. Wondered at how it had come to this, that a naval officer could even suggest such a thing.
“That is the governor, for the love of God,” Marlowe said. “I don’t think we’ll be lobbing round shot at him.”
“Beg your pardon, sir,” Rakestraw muttered, the outrageousness of that suggestion apparently dawning on him.
Unwilling as he was to fire on Governor Nicholson, still Marlowe was not looking forward to the coming interview. He did not know what to expect, but he did not expect it to be pleasant.
He was no longer sure of his status, his standing with the governor. Nicholson might well be coming to relieve him of command of the guardship. And if he was, Marlowe would have to refuse. The guardship was his sanctuary—or, more to the point, Elizabeth’s sanctuary—and the Plymouth Prizes would stand with him. But then he would be no more than a pirate once more, with a stolen government ship to boot.
They watched the governor and his party, three men in all, climb down the ladder and settle themselves in the stern sheets of the launch. One of the men was the governor’s secretary. The other, Marlowe was quite certain, even from that distance, was President of His Majesty’s Council John Finch, a powerful man in colonial government, a particular friend of the Wilkensons. No, this would not be pleasant at all.
“Mr. Rakestraw, please see to a side party. I wish to have the gentlemen welcomed aboard with all due ceremony.”
“Aye, sir,” Rakestraw said, still blushing from his suggestion, and hurried off to see to that detail.
“Thomas, I’ll not have you jeopardize your position for me,” Elizabeth said.
“And I’ll not have you used as a pawn any longer,” Marlowe said in a tone that did not admit protest.
“Shall I…Perhaps it would be best if I did not show myself,” Elizabeth suggested.
Marlowe pulled his eyes from the distant boat and looked at her, then reached out and took her hand. “I have no misgivings about taking you from the jail. I will not have you skulking about like a criminal. The crime was in their locking you up. You have been horribly used, and now it is time that you receive some justice, and if they are not inclined to give it then they will answer to me.”
He held her hand, held her eyes, until he heard the coxswain yell “Toss oars” and the launch was alongside.
“Come with me,” he said. “We must go and meet our guests.” He led her down the quarterdeck ladder and across the waist, where a detail of the Plymouth Prizes were formed up in two rows on either side of the gangway, boarding pikes held upright to form a straight if somewhat intimidating corridor for those coming aboard.
Marlowe took his place beside Rakestraw just as the governor’s head appeared above the gunwale. Nicholson climbed with some effort and cast a wary eye around as he stepped on deck. It occurred to Marlowe that the governor was no more sure of his status with Marlowe than Marlowe was of his with the governor.
Grand, he thought, we shall be like two drunken blind men flailing at each other.
Nicholson stepped briskly past the line of men, and Marlowe stepped forward to meet him, hand extended. “Governor, how very good to see you again,” Marlowe said.
Nicholson took his hand and shook it. “And you, Marlowe,” he said. His eyes darted to Marlowe’s side. “Mrs. Tinling, I trust you are well.”
“Very well, thank you, Governor,” Elizabeth said with a curtsy. There were few men more gracious and diplomatic than Governor Nicholson. It was what made him so very good at his job.
The same was not quite so true of President Finch, who stepped up behind Nicholson, gave Elizabeth an unpleasant look, and said, “Marlowe, we have a great deal to discuss.”
“I should think so, Mr. President,” Marlowe said. Nicholson did not much care for Finch, and Marlowe imagined that the burgesses had foisted the man on him, afraid that left alone Nicholson would be too forgiving with his wayward guardship captain.
He gestured toward the after cabins. “Please, sirs, won’t you join me in my cabin, where we shall have a glass and discuss this?”
Five minutes later, the four men—Marlowe, Nicholson, Finch, and the secretary—were seated around the table in the great cabin, brimming glasses of wine before them.
“Well, Marlowe, it seems we have some problems here that need addressing, what?” Nicholson said. “Now, I am aware of your relationship with Mrs. Tinling, but I think you had best understand she has been accused of a capital crime—”
“She has been used horribly, and for some years—first by that pig of a husband, and then by the whole stinking Wilkenson brood, and I shall not have her suffer any further.”
“Well, sir,” Finch broke in before Nicholson could speak. “As to her marital status, I think we all know the truth in that.” He pressed on through the governor’s angry look. “That, however, is of minor concern. Of more importance is a charge of murder that has been brought against her—”
“There has been no charge of murder, sir. The charge is of being an accomplice, and to that there is not a bit of evidence. I have read Lucy’s statement—she does not implicate Elizabeth in the least. Quite the opposite. This is a sham, brought against her by the bastards Wilkenson, and done so for the sake of vengeance, no more.”
“You will not, not speak of the leadin
g family in this colony in that manner,” Finch said.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Nicholas held up his hands, and Marlowe and Finch were quiet. “Please, Captain Marlowe, for all that, Jacob Wilkenson is a member of the House of Burgesses and he has brought charges that can only be cleared in a court of law. I beg you understand that Mrs. Tinling must still be considered a prisoner until her trial.”
“I understand that.”
“Then you will allow us to take her back into custody?”
“I will not.”
“Then, sir,” Finch said loudly, “we shall arrest her anyway, and your own base desires be damned.”
“And how, sir,” Marlowe asked, “do you propose to do that?”
“Now, Marlowe,” Nicholson tried to inject civility once again, “this is really harboring a fugitive, you know, and it won’t do.”
“I understand all of that, Governor.”
“And understand as well,” Finch broke in, “that your own status is very much in question, very much in question indeed. There is reason to believe that you are not who you say, sir, and might well be wanted by the law, right along with that little tart.”
Marlowe shifted his gaze to Finch, and his cold stare stopped the president in mid-bluster. He resettled himself in his seat and cleared his throat.
“Men have died for less than that, sir,” Marlowe said. “By my own hand.”
“Are you threatening me, sir?”
“Yes.”
Finch was at a loss for words, taken aback by the directness of that answer, and Nicholson leapt into the breach.
“Now, gentlemen, I think there is no need for this. We are all of us on the same side, what? Not squabbling like a bunch of Dutchmen. But see here, Marlowe, it is true that there have been questions raised. I should not like to have to relieve you of your command.”
“I should not like to have you try.”
“Be that as it may…” Nicholson was too much of an old campaigner to be thrown off by that implied threat. “I’ll own there’s no evidence against Mrs. Tinling, that her arrest was all Wilkenson’s doing. I think perhaps we can forget all of that, the charges and such, in consideration of the good work you have done, and the service I hope you will continue to perform.”
The Guardship Page 26