Shadow of the Corsairs

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Where do you want to go?

  He wished he had the answer.

  The guitar stopped. He crossed to where Elias sat in the shadows.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d be back tonight. I thought you may have caught up with the others on their way to the taverns. It’s just Kit, Giorgio, and me onboard.”

  “Once Morwena told her brother that I could import coffee, he insisted I join them for dinner. Then he proceeded to tell me what was wrong with the trade.”

  “Ahhh.”

  Jonathan wasn’t sure he liked what the sound conveyed. He ignored it.

  “Just you up on deck?”

  Elias picked a few notes out on the guitar once more.

  “Giorgio is asleep and Kit is working on the plans for a new ship.”

  Jonathan turned at the sound of a voice.

  “I was working on the plans, but I decided I wanted some air up on deck.”

  Hardacre walked past a lamp and used it to light a cigar. He made himself comfortable on the skylights frame. Jonathan took the opportunity to look at the captain. He looked well. The demons that nearly destroyed him a few days ago seem to be quieted, although he was under no illusion they had been exorcised.

  “So how fares the latest member of our merry band?”

  “Miss Gambino?”

  Hardacre nodded.

  “I learned more about her family. She has two brothers, both estranged from her father. There something odd about the old man.”

  “Odd in what way?”

  Jonathan shrugged his shoulders.

  “I think he’s senile. Anyway, I learned that the older brother has gotten himself caught up in bad company. He’s pressed Morwena and her younger brother for money.” He shook his head. “Mkerew mkerew enbi kale mekera ymkerew.”

  When he looked up, both Kit and Elias wore quizzical expressions.

  “An old proverb, it means ‘Advise and advise. If he refuses, then let trouble advise him’.”

  “Do you think this brother will have learned his lesson?”

  “Who knows? The younger one, Nico, seems to think this…” he paused over the name to be sure he pronounced it correctly, “gabellotti or whatever they call themselves, should be taken seriously. We’ll see what happens after tomorrow night when she meets with Pietro.”

  The captain sat up, his shoulders squared. “The gabellotti are not to be messed with. And I’d feel a lot better if we protected our investment.”

  “Who are they, bandits?” Elias asked.

  “Bandits, blackmailers, thieves… but they’re more than a gang; they’re more like a cult with rituals. It started growing worse when the overseers started using campieri – guards – to extort money from the farmers.” He gained his feet and turned to Jonathan. “So when is our thorny rose going to meet with her troublesome brother?”

  “The eastern entrance to the gardens, tomorrow night at eleven o’clock.”

  “For our sakes as well as Morwena’s, I’d like to know if this brother, what’s his name? Pietro?” Jonathan confirmed the name with a curt nod. “Whether Pietro is a victim of the gabellotti or their members. Sometimes, there is an initiation to demonstrate your loyalty to this new clan and what better way to show it than by betraying your own family for your new family?”

  Hardacre touched the knife at his belt.

  “Who fancies a nocturnal stroll to the giardino with me tomorrow?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Somewhere in the city, the clock struck the eleventh hour. The sky was clear and, without the protective blanket of clouds, the night air was cold.

  Morwena held the cloak about her, fingers aching with the tension and conscious of the weight of coins in the purse at her waist.

  “I don’t understand why Pietro wanted to meet you at the gardens,” said Nico for the third time. “He could have come back to the house.”

  “He was probably afraid of being seen by someone who recognized him,” Morwena gritted out between her teeth.

  “Well, he could have arranged to have you meet him closer or he could have come to my rooms, since he knows where they are.”

  “Shut up, Nico! I don’t know why the gardens! Stop asking stupid questions.”

  Perhaps she should have accepted Jonathan’s offer to accompany her. Despite the fact her brother was at her side, she suspected Nico would not be much help in a fight. She would feel much more confident if Jonathan was here.

  Morwena caught her brother out of the corner of her eye. He moped.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get angry at you. I’m angry at Pietro and I’m angry at myself for agreeing to do this. He frightened me, so I agreed.”

  Nico grasped her hand and squeezed.

  “You have me. I promise I won’t let you down.”

  She gave him a smile, then squeezed his hands, wishing to herself that the promise filled her with more confidence.

  At the sound of steady footfalls approaching, Nico pulled her into the shadows.

  “The night watchmen,” he whispered. “It would be better if they did not see us to ask questions.”

  She allowed herself to be led down an alleyway, crisscrossing laneways and small plazas, until finally they reached the southwestern corner of the gardens just as the last of the hour chimes sounded. The twelve foot tall wrought iron gate before them was closed, but its purpose was mostly ceremonial. The fence to which it was attached only extended fifty feet before it gave way to hedgerows.

  They walked until they reached a certain spot, then he drew her through the foliage with little damage to her hair or clothing.

  “Occasionally, a group of fellows from the docks come this way into the gardens after dark with their girls to drink and…”

  Nico’s voice trailed off and she fancied she could see her brother blushing in the moonlight. Under different circumstances she would tease him until he’d lose his temper with her, but this was not the time, nor place.

  Normally, she loved the gardens. In summer, they were a respite from the heat. Large arbors provided shade and just the very sound of the fountains was cooling. Now, they hid the sounds of clandestine lovers, footpads, and other ne’er-do-wells.

  The occasional hoot of an owl seemed to drive them forward.

  Perhaps, it would be best not to think about what lurked in the shadows. So she just hurried as fast as she could to keep at Nico’s side.

  The eastern gates emerged, black against the spray of stars across the midnight sky, and through them, the farmland beyond and the headland called acqua dei corsari.

  Pietro wasn’t here.

  She didn’t know whether she felt disappointment or relief.

  “Are you sure he told you the right place?” Nico asked.

  “How am I supposed to know whether he told me the right place or not? Am I a mind reader? Pietro said this was the place to meet,” snapped Morwena. Nico opened his mouth. She made sure he’d regret asking the question on his lips.

  “And yes, I’m quite sure this is the right place and, yes, this was the right time.”

  Then a figure stepped out, blocking their path. Nico straightened in response to the threat.

  “Nico!” a familiar voice greeted them. Pietro emerged into the moonlight. “So glad to see you again, Brother. I see you have accompanied our little flower – that was very gallant of you.”

  Morwena folded her arms. This was ridiculous. She had no time for this nonsense. The intervening days since Pietro’s visit had lessened her fear. The more she thought about it, the more annoyed she became.

  “Pietro, what is this nonsense? You come to me in the middle of the night like a scared little boy to say some bad man is going to harm you, and now you strut around the gardens like some peacock? What is wrong with you? Mama would be ashamed to see you behaving like a testa di cazzo!”

  “Did you bring me my money, troia?”

  Morwena’s fear evaporated. Now she was angry. Yes, she had insulted Pietro, but he deserved it. She, on
the other hand, did not deserve to be called a sow.

  “Will your manners improve if I say yes?”

  Suddenly, it seemed as though he remembered the role he was to be playing. His shoulders and head slumped. He hiccoughed a sob.

  “Forgive me, Morwena. I am so distraught. I have no idea what I’m doing!”

  He rushed toward her. Morwena wrapped her arms around him instinctively and she found herself crushed against his chest. Then one hand rose up her back until it gripped the back of her neck. She tried to pull away. Pietro gripped even tighter and shoved his other hand between them, fumbling at the purse at her waist.

  Morwena’s face was pressed to his shoulder. She could barely breathe, let alone scream. But she struggled hard.

  “Hey!” Nico yelled.

  Morwena expected Nico to intervene at any moment, but he did not.

  “Stop struggling and give me my money!” Pietro growled in her ear. Thumping him on the back didn’t seem to stop him. She reached for his face and dragged her nails down his cheeks.

  Pietro roared with pain. He shoved her hard, clipping her ear as he did so. Morwena stumbled backwards into someone else’s arms. Her ears rang. She shook her head to clear it.

  Now she saw Nico was being restrained by two men, his young face in a panic as he stared at her. A third, armed with a knife, remained at his side. “Pretty sister you have, Pietro.”

  It look her a second to react. She surged forward but only as far as a step or two before she was restrained by the man behind her.

  One arm held her across the chest, another hand searched lower. It took its time, roaming over her body until it reached the belt containing the purse.

  “A very nice gift you’ve brought us, Pietro,” the man at her ear said.

  Although hampered by her skirts, Morwena raised her foot and kicked back. Her heel connected with man’s shin and she drew the booted foot down. Her assailant refused to howl in pain at the raked shin and stomped foot; he simply held her tighter.

  The sound of a guitar came from out of the darkness. A cascade of notes heralding the beginning of a familiar folk song drew close.

  The minstrel strolled into the moonlight as though the scene before him was commonplace.

  Elias Nash!

  He continued to play as though the audience before him was a willing one, taking in the scene before catching her eye. He winked, then changed to another tune.

  “Are you drunk or stupid, man?” growled the one who held her. “Get out of here before it earns you a beating or worse.”

  Elias raised his eyes to the speaker, smiled, and continued to play.

  Morwena became aware of another presence.

  “Let the young lady go, and I’ll let you keep a kidney.”

  Jonathan!

  The man holding her loosened his grip. Morwena broke free and ran toward Elias. His guitar was now slung over his back and in his hands were a pistol and a knife.

  She looked back at her assailant for the first time. He was not that tall, certainly not as tall as Jonathan who, in the darkness of the gardens, seemed much larger still.

  “There’s only two of them, do something!” the ringleader yelled.

  “I wouldn’t recommend that either.”

  Morwena burst out laughing.

  Kit Hardacre! He stepped forward armed with a sword and a knife, pointing the larger weapon at the men who held Nico. Wisely, one of them pushed Nico forward, away from them. He stumbled toward where she and Elias stood.

  Morwena walked back to the man who had manhandled her, slapped him hard across his already scarred face, and spat at his feet.

  “You get nothing!”

  She felt Nico touch her shoulder, pulling her away. Jonathan lifted his chin, silently directing them to his side. He kicked the leader of the gang at the back of his knee, making him stumble. “Kneel,” he commanded. “You others as well.”

  The four men knelt and found themselves surrounded by the officers of the Terpsichore.

  Nico looked about them.

  “Where’s Pietro?”

  “I saw him run off as soon as Jonathan arrived,” said Elias.

  “And speaking of running along, I think these gents might think of running off to their beds before the night watchmen decide to take an interest,” added Kit. The clan leader snarled at them. Hardacre snarled right back.

  “On your feet and go.”

  “You dogs have made a bad mistake,” said the leader, rising. The man signaled to his compatriots. They sank into the night.

  Morwena let out a shaky breath. She couldn’t feel her feet. Her entire body had become numb. She turned to Jonathan and put her arms around him.

  ***

  Jonathan was surprised to see Morwena had turned to him first, instead of her brother, Nico.

  He hesitated only a moment, sheathed his knife, and returned the embrace.

  Poor Nico hadn’t dealt with the ordeal with quite as much fortitude as his sister. He stumbled a few paces away and threw up.

  “I can’t believe it! Our own brother – he betrayed us, Wen. What are we going to do?”

  Jonathan wasn’t aware that she had started sobbing until she pulled her face away from his shirt, the moonlight catching a silver trail at her cheek.

  “I don’t know, Nico,” she said.

  “The first thing to do is get you home safe,” said Jonathan.

  Morwena looked up at him; trust shone through the tears and, before he could check himself, he caressed her cheek. She offered him a brave smile but did not move away. Instead, she addressed her brother.

  “Nico, enough is enough. You have to come home. Make peace with Father. He has already lost one son. It would kill him to lose another.”

  “I can’t…”

  Jonathan found his lip curling with contempt. “Enough! Be a man and protect your sister. You can do that, can’t you?”

  Nico dropped his head in shame. “Yes.” he whispered.

  “Escort them both home, Jonathan,” said Hardacre. “Elias and I are going to take a look around to make sure there are no more unexpected surprises tonight.”

  Morwena broke away from him and ran up to Elias. She kissed him on both cheeks and did the same to Kit. He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Belatedly, her brother moved forward and shook both men’s hands.

  Kit performed a flourished bow before he and Elias disappeared into the night once again.

  Jonathan turned to Nico. “What is the best way out of here?”

  He found Morwena’s hand with his left – the right still carried the knife. They followed Nico through a break in the hedge which brought them to the promenade at the Porte Felice.

  The trio made their way through the quiet streets of Palermo in silence and not once did Morwena’s hand leave his.

  He liked it, this trust. He was honored by it. In this way, Morwena reminded him of Mellesse. When both women made up their minds, it was final. He smiled to himself. They would have liked one another, he was sure of it.

  Mellesse, there wasn’t a day in prison I didn’t think of you and our girls…

  It was an excuse, an apology for thinking about Morwena in the same mental breath as his wife. He was well aware there was still much unfinished, he didn’t need his conscience plaguing him. What kind of weak character was he that found another woman attractive when his wife had been dead for little more than a year? And still, he could not bring himself to relinquish Morwena’s hand.

  Was it his drive for justice for his wife and daughters that gave him pause? Perhaps, it was only his fear. Perhaps, that was no longer a good enough reason.

  The night air grew colder still. It had to be early morning. He breathed it in and forced it deep into his lungs to wake himself as Morwena unlocked the back door of the shop.

  “Papa isn’t expected back until noon, you can sleep in your old room,” she told Nico.

  The young man
still looked pale. He nodded listlessly and shuffled his way up the stairs.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Jonathan asked.

  “Eventually. Nico idolized Pietro. It has been a shock to him.”

  Jonathan perceived an edge in Morwena’s voice. In the newly-lit lamplight he looked at her, and noted dark shadows under her eyes. Her skin revealed so much to him without words.

  “But it was not a shock to you.”

  Morwena shook her head and headed up the stairs also. She looked back at him which he took as an invitation to follow.

  “I love my brothers, but I was always closer to Nico. I suppose it was because we were nearly the same age. Pietro was much older,” she said.

  They ended up in the kitchen. Morwena restoked the fire in the stove and set a pan of water on it to boil. Jonathan himself did not want for anything, but he suspected Morwena needed to do this to keep busy.

  “He was always a bully, but he became worse after mother died,” she continued. Before Jonathan knew it, he found himself seated at the dining table.

  “Perhaps that was his way of coping with grief. Anyway, he and Father would argue bitterly. One day, Papa learned that Pietro had been taking money from the till and threw him out.”

  “Morwena…”

  “… I still remember Pietro standing outside the shop screaming curses on us all. That was six years ago.”

  She hiccoughed another sob

  “Morwena...” Jonathan stood up and approached her. His first instinct was to pull her into his arms once more, but he held back. “Sometimes in life there are things we can’t control. All we can do is wait out the darkness and pray for the dawn to arrive soon. And it will arrive.”

  Silence fell between them for a moment and Jonathan wondered whether he’d revealed too much or too little of himself in his attempt to comfort her.

  She set the boiling water aside.

  He wished he hadn’t turned around at that moment. If he couldn’t see her eyes, he could deny the truth, even to himself, but now she was here before him, so much color – black hair, beautiful, large, brown eyes, soft, creamy skin, and lips, now red from biting them.