Shadow of the Corsairs

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  He had made light of his injuries, but his stomach and ribs were sore from the ambush, blows and kicks. It had been three men against one, but he shuddered to think what might have happened had Morwena entered the house alone.

  To his surprise, she mastered her tears faster than he anticipated. He closed his eyes, sitting back with her in his arms, and listened to the sound of her breathing. In her exhaustion, she fell asleep in his embrace. Before he knew it, he himself dozed.

  How long they remained like that, he couldn’t say, but he stood bolt upright when he heard the sound of footsteps on the landing below.

  His abrupt rising woke Morwena with a start. He put a finger to her lips before she could question him.

  “Stay here,” he whispered.

  Jonathan prayed to God that it wasn’t the three men returning.

  “Papa? Morwena? How come the shop isn’t open yet?”

  “Nico!”

  Morwena rushed to her feet and was already at the landing by the time Jonathan reached the top of the stairs.

  He watched Morwena embrace her shocked-looking brother.

  “What’s happened? Where’s Father?”

  Enough. This had gone on long enough. Jonathan had tried his hardest to keep away from attachments, but he couldn’t escape them no matter how fast he ran. After the loss of Mellesse, he swore he would let no one get as close ever again.

  But bit by bit, as inevitable as the flow of the Nile itself, he could not fight the draw of the current. It had been useless to try.

  Now, since Providence had decided that Morwena Gambino was now his responsibility, he would shoulder it and then some.

  “It’s been a long night,” answered Jonathan. Nico looked up at him and, before he could speak, Jonathan continued. “You might as well hear it all from the beginning. And you can tell us where you’ve been all evening. Morwena, I think we’d all feel better if we had some hot food in our stomachs.”

  The two siblings’ pale-as-moonlight faces peered up at him. Jonathan merely crossed his arms and waited for them to join him.

  Soon, the kitchen filled with the smell of brewing coffee and the smell of bread stuffed with olives and capsicum.

  “We got a message that one of our clients was ill, so father asked me late yesterday afternoon to make a delivery. It was close to Aunt Savarina’s house, so I decided to stay with her overnight instead of coming home in the dark,” said Nico. “What happened here?”

  “Four men and your brother were waiting and ambushed us,” Jonathan said. “They may have taken your father.”

  Nico’s face visibly paled and then it flushed in anger.

  “Bastardo! But why?”

  “Who knows? But if they did take him, I think we can assume he’s safe for now.”

  “How do you make that out?”

  Jonathan knew from personal experience. You take a man because he’s useful to you. “I just know,” he told Nico.

  The young man addressed Morwena gravely. “I heard Pietro’s gang has been threatening the other traders around here. They haven’t said anything because they didn’t want to upset Papa. But something has to be done!” He turned back to Jonathan. “I no longer have a brother. And there is no law and order. We shall have to take things into our own hands.”

  Nico was right and it didn’t settle well with Jonathan. He’d seen enough tribal feuds to last him more than a lifetime – generations of disputes that resulted in nothing more than death, misery, and suffering – always useless suffering. Justice had to be served with the minimum amount of force.

  He shook his head to clear it.

  “After breakfast, knock on the doors and call a meeting of everyone your brother’s gang has bothered over the past two months,” Jonathan instructed. “They must all be agreed that they do not give in to extortion. If they receive any threats, they are to tell everyone in the group. Arrange night patrols in groups of three.”

  Jonathan stood, just as Morwena put down the freshly-baked flatbread in the center of the table. His stomach reminded him it was now a new day. He pulled the side of the focaccia off. Steam rose up. It was warm in his hand.

  And it was delicious.

  “Where are you going?” Morwena asked.

  “I’m heading back to the ship.”

  The disappointment in her face warmed him more than it should.

  Nico slurped at his coffee and rose. “I’ll walk out with you.”

  Morwena looked less than impressed but said nothing. Instead, she turned her back to the both of them, allowing the slamming of baking tins and plates to give voice to her displeasure.

  The sound hadn’t lessened even as the men cleared the bottom step.

  “My sister likes you.”

  “And I like your sister.”

  Indeed, he could guess at all of the things Nico wanted to know. But that being said, Jonathan wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

  “I want to know what you’re intentions are toward her.”

  “Isn’t that a question for her father?”

  “Yeah, well, he’s not here and, under the circumstances...” Nico scratched the back of his neck. “After all, you were here alone with Morwena all night and... I don’t know what it’s like where you come from, but Sicilians... we like to gossip and there will be no escaping the talk.”

  Jonathan pitied Nico. He looked nervous, reminding him of a young cousin of his who had unexpectedly found himself the man of the house, the leader of his clan. Jonathan remembered him from their first hunt. His shield was nearly as tall as he was, and the spears even more so. And yet, he’d acquitted himself well. When they had returned with the carcass of the lion that had been stealing their flock, the young man seemed to have grown inches in the space of a few hours. He stood taller, his shoulders back.

  “You’re asking whether I plan to marry your sister?” Jonathan clarified.

  Nico nearly sighed in relief and nodded.

  “Perhaps, this is a conversation we could have again when your father is safely found and Pietro is dealt with once and for all. And, for the gossips’ information, your sister and I spent all night tied up in separate rooms behind locked doors.”

  Nico laughed humorlessly and held out his hand. Jonathan clasped it firmly.

  “What am I to do about finding Father?”

  “Pietro needs money, right?”

  Nico nodded.

  “Then he’ll contact you soon enough. A ransom only works when there is something of value to trade. But right now, I need to get back to the Terpsichore. I need to tell Hardacre what’s going on.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The docks were beginning to waken by the time Jonathan returned. He climbed the gangway and found Elias sitting cross-legged in the sun making repairs to a large sheet of canvas.

  “It’s a good job Kit doesn’t take a roll call,” he said.

  “Have I broken curfew?”

  “Not that it’s any of my business, but how is Morwena?” Elias looked up at him and grinned.

  “She’s fine.”

  Elias frowned, now appearing to notice the various cuts and bruises Jonathan sported.

  “Her brother has become a problem again.”

  “Pietro? I thought we saw the villain off? He looked suitably terrified when we showed up armed.”

  “He’s taken Morwena’s father.”

  “What?” Elias abandoned the canvas and got to his feet.

  “I’m going down to tell Kit I’m not going to join the next voyage out. Morwena and Nico need help. I’m going to see if I can get the community involved to expel these extortionists.”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “You don’t get to do this on your own.”

  “Have you turned into Hardacre or something? Not everything is your problem to solve.”

  “It is if it involves friends. You, Morwena, Nico...”

  “Thanks, but I’m sure we’ll manage.” Jonathan backed away and headed
below deck. Elias followed.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I want to see how you’re going to convince Kit to keep his beak out of this. I don’t think it’s ever been done before.”

  Jonathan made it only as far as the bottom of the steps when Hardacre bade him enter through the open cabin door.

  “How did you know I wanted to see you?”

  “Perhaps, I wanted to see you,” said Kit, his eyes on the task before him – a miniature ship which took up half the mapping table.

  “Since you two convinced me to lay off the opiates, I’ve had to have something to occupy my attention. So this is it, I call her The Calliope.” He glanced up. “Come on in, Elias. You, too, stop skulking around the corner.”

  Elias propped himself against the door jamb and folded his arms, giving Jonathan an “I told you so” look.

  Hardacre dipped a brush into a small copper pot. Jonathan caught the slight aroma of fish as Hardacre dabbed a piece of shaved wood and glued it in place to form part of the hull.

  “So, how is Morwena?” he asked, focused on his model building.

  Jonathan was beginning to resent the question.

  “Captain...”

  On hearing himself addressed by his official designation, Hardacre put down the brush and gave Jonathan his full attention at last.

  “Mr. Afua,” he returned formally. “State your business.”

  “I request permission to leave the ship.”

  “You didn’t require any permission last night.”

  “Come on, Hardacre, stop making a jest of everything.”

  “Then tell me what’s going on, Jonathan. And start, please, by reassuring me the other chap got off worse than you.”

  Giorgio had just taken on a new cabin boy aged about ten years old. He seemed to be all arms and legs. He lit the lamps in the captain’s quarters and turned to look at the officers expectantly.

  “Thank you, Marco, you can go.” said Hardacre.

  The boy grinned broadly. “Aye, Captain,” he said, saluting, and turned to leave.

  “Marco...”

  The youngster turned back. “Yes, Captain?”

  “We don’t...” – Hardacre gestured a lazy salute with a wave of his hand – “... here.”

  “Yes, Captain!”

  The boy departed and Jonathan wondered if Hardacre saw the ghost of himself in the child.

  The captain spread out a map of Palermo and its surrounds. Jonathan acquainted himself with streets he knew through walking them, their lines and curves at once familiar but equally not when revealed from a perspective only a bird would see.

  Jonathan appreciated the cartographer’s art and had started making maps of his own. His eyes followed the passages from the dock to the via Ballaro and then past the ancient fortifications into the countryside beyond, up to the hills where he had never been.

  Then he saw the name. Villagrazia.

  “What is this place, a town?”

  Elias stepped forward and peered where Jonathan pointed.

  “A village; nothing more than a church and a couple of shops serving the farms in the area.”

  Hardacre had lounged back. Now the front legs of his chair hit the floor with a thud, bringing him back into the conversation. “So, we’re not looking for a villa after all, we’re looking for a place?”

  “Now I see the name, I’m sure. Villagrazia.” Jonathan rubbed the back of his head without thinking, recalling the conversation he vaguely perceived after being knocked out. “That’s what they said.”

  “I know the area well,” Elias chimed in. “I’ve been in negotiations over the past six months to buy the old Mineo property there. It’s close enough to the city to cause trouble and far enough away to hide. There are a quite a few old farming allotments that have been abandoned over the past couple of years – they’d make good hideouts, not to mention the forests and ravines.”

  Hardacre looked up. “How soon are Morwena and Nico expecting to hear from Pietro again?”

  “Two days with instruction on the demands,” Jonathan confirmed. “Pietro sent a boy as a messenger instead of coming himself.”

  “We need to get all of Pietro’s gang together if we’re going to deal with them effectively,” Hardacre announced. “It’s too easy for them to melt into the city. We need a honey pot. Elias, is the old Mineo place abandoned, too?”

  “It is... it’s surrounded by forest, but it also has great sightlines from the olive grove down to the house.”

  “Then take whatever men you need and get up there, camp out for a couple of days in the grove. Jonathan, get Morwena to agree to his terms, but tell him she won’t sign anything until she sees her father safe. Suggest the Mineo villa.” Hardacre paced back and forth, back and forth. The restless energy Jonathan witnessed before battle had returned.

  “Pietro will be bound to check the place out for himself beforehand,” Hardacre continued. “So we’ll see how many people he brings with him on his recce – and they’re likely to send men out to watch the place, too, so let them do it – just don’t let them know you’re watching.”

  Kit looked back to Jonathan.

  “Pietro will expect you to be there on the day. Keep him on edge. If he thinks the main threat will come from you, he’ll keep his attention there. Besides, I think you’ll feel better if you stayed close to Morwena’s side.”

  Jonathan was proud of the way he kept his mouth shut. He wished they would mind their own business and leave him the hell alone. He offered a tight, close-mouthed smile that he was sure looked like a sneer.

  “Not happy with the arrangements, Mr. Afua? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  “Don’t you worry about me, Captain. I’ll be ready.”

  ***

  If someone asked her one more time how she was feeling, Morwena was convinced she would be homicidal. How did they expect her to feel?

  She sat by the window, the one that afforded the best view of the street and waited. At least everyone had the presence of mind to leave her be for one blessed hour.

  During the day, the shop had seen a stream of people through the door – the men spoke in earnest terms to Nico and Jonathan, the women clucked like hens around her offering their condolences, as though someone had died.

  Pietro was dead to her.

  She wouldn’t spit on his body if it were on fire. May he roast in hell.

  She couldn’t sleep. When she did, she dreamed of Papa. She dreamed of the day she saw him strike her older brother across the face and forbade him from stepping foot inside the door again, and of the stream of curses Pietro screamed in response. She also dreamed of a frail old man, tormented by a man more than thirty years his junior. In every case, she woke up with her heart racing.

  Behind her, she heard the familiar tread of Jonathan ascending the stairs. She wanted nothing more than to be held in his arms, to let him give her futile reassurances that everything was going to be all right.

  Now she was sorry she had ever scoffed at the old women who claimed to have the second sight. Someone was going to die, she was convinced of it. She turned the rosary beads in her hand, not so much in prayer as to give her hands something to do.

  Jonathan’s reflection loomed in the window as he stepped up behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder. He caressed her hair which she had not bothered to tie up. Fingers trailed along her shoulder and her neck.

  He silently studied her through the image in the window.

  “It will be over soon,” he said.

  “The waiting is worse than the deed,” she agreed. “All I can think of are questions. What if Pietro won’t agree to meet at the old farm? What if Kit and Elias were ambushed themselves? What if Father is dead? What if this is not the end?”

  She swallowed against the hitch in her voice. Jonathan’s hand rubbed her back gently, as though she were a child.

  “Shhhh,” he said softly. “You cannot worry about the things which are outside of our
power to change. Just take it moment by moment. It’s all we can do.”

  She touched her own hand to his and felt a soft kiss at her crown.

  “Thank you, I...”

  She felt Jonathan’s posture change a split second before she saw what caught his attention, a tall man in a long coat, hunched against the wind, approaching the shop.

  “It’s him,” she whispered.

  “Nico!” Jonathan called behind him. “Get ready, it’s time.”

  The merry tinkling of the shop bell seemed incongruous under the circumstances but, at the sound, Jonathan led the way down the stairs with Nico close behind him and Morwena bringing up the rear.

  Pietro didn’t even acknowledge his siblings, but focused his attention on Jonathan.

  “For the sake of your health, African, go back to where you came from. This is a family matter.”

  Jonathan folded his arms slowly, provocatively. “As far as you’re concerned, I am family,” he said. “Well? When do we see Thomasso?”

  “The deed to the business or two thousand gold ducats is the price. I don’t see that much money on you or a contract in the hand of my lovely sister.” He turned to Morwena. “Vinislau sends his most fond regards.”

  Morwena spat at his feet, but said nothing, as they had all earlier agreed, but the flush to her face revealed the price she paid. Jonathan drew Pietro’s attention back to him by untying a pouch at his waist. He held it up and jingled the pouch.

  “There is one hundred here, but nothing more until the old man is safe.”

  Pietro raised his chin toward Nico and let his contempt show. “Does the blackamoor speak for you? Has he taken your tongue as well as your balls, Nico?”

  Beside her, Nico stiffened. Morwena touched her younger brother’s arm, hoping to calm him. He bared his teeth at Pietro.

  “I will make you pay, Brother. Mark my words.”

  Pietro didn’t react to the threat, giving only a satisfied nod as though the outburst was only to be expected. He gestured to Morwena and Nico with his hand.

  “Then wrap up warm dear sister and brother. We’re going for a ride,” he said. He pointed at Jonathan with his other hand. “But not you.”