So then, did she believe? Would she be able to fulfil her sacred mission, as taught her by Boukman?
She walked away from the men, and into the centre of the circle, stood next to the young man. Her head spun with the rhythm of the drum; she knew the frenzied tearing at her self-control which was coming ever closer to the surface. And the drum was getting louder.
She threw her arms to heaven, and shouted. 'Hear me, O mighty one. Hear me, O Serpent, Damballah Oueddo. Hear my prayer, and promise me deliverance for my people.' She paused, and breathed, and listened to the moaning chant which arose from around her. She filled her lungs with air. 'How long, great Agone, Master of all the Oceans of the World, must we wait? Hear me, O mighty lord. Speak to me, great Loco, Lord of the Trees. Grant me and my people thy sign of deliverance. Come to me, Gentle Ezilee, sweet maitresse, and take from my mind, from my body, the very last weakness.' Once again she paused, and now the chant had grown louder. And now sweat ran down her arms and body and legs as if it were raining. And once again her lungs were full. 'Come to me, O mighty Ogone Badagris. Come to my people, O Dreadful One. Lead us to war, as is thy purpose. Grant us an end to all white people. Grant us the mood of hate and cruelty, that their destruction may be known throughout the world, and forever. Grant us revenge, O Dreadful One, for the wrongs that are daily committed upon us. Grant us now a sign, my lords, that our prayers are heeded.'
She gasped, and fell to her knees, exhausted. She felt rather than saw Boukman leave the circle of devotees, knew rather than observed the machete he carried, blade honed to a razor-sharp perfection. She wanted to get up again. She wanted to scream, no, no, no, I did not mean a word of it, I do not understand what power I set in motion here, I do not know ... and now I am afraid, O Mighty Serpent. But she moved nothing, save her head, which slowly came upright, to watch Boukman before the young man, neither man even blinking his eyes, as the hougan threw back his head and screamed to his gods in an unknown tongue, and then whirled the cutlass around his own head, and with a single unbelievable sweep of the razor-sharp sword swept through the neck of the victim.
The head fell forward, and the machete had been dropped. Boukman caught the head, his great hands immediately smeared with blood, while the two girls hastily fanned the still upright, blood-spouting neck with vigorous anxiety; should but a speck of dirt, a single insect, settle on the tortured flesh, the sacrifice would be a failure.
She forced herself to watch. Because I am not seeing, she told herself. I am dreaming, as I surely dreamed that first night on Hodges, as I have surely dreamed ever since. But the blood spurting from the severed arteries held her spellbound.
And now Boukman was advancing again, having held the dripping head high to present it to the worshippers. Slowly he advanced, and slowly he replaced the head, carefully, exactly, while in that moment another young woman threw a large piece of red cloth over the dead man.
The dead man? Within seconds his feet began to move, and then his arms, and the throbbing of the drum had resumed command over all their senses. The young man's mask was taken away, and he was unchanged, but shuffling and posturing immediately in front of her, calling her to her feet, calling her to discard her gown, calling her to take his sex as he would take hers. And the drum was reaching a crescendo, even as she was impaled. By a dead man? She clung to his shoulders, nails tight in his flesh, as he whirled her round and round, her feet also lost from the ground, and thrust himself against her, time and again. But she scarce felt him, now, so persistent, so irresistible, was the beat of the drum. And of course it was no more than an illusion, a gigantic trick, perpetrated by the rhythm of the drum, by the mood of the worshippers. A trick in which she had been a willing assistant, their mamaloi. For certainly it could not be real. This thought swung through her mind time and again, as the dancing grew more frenzied, as she lost her young man and found herself with others, and in time as the drummers themselves grew exhausted and she lay beneath the trees, cradled in Boukman's arms, weeping like a babe from overstretched desire and overstretched fear. A trick, an illusion, necessary to bring these people to the pitch where they would kill, and die, and suffer, for their freedom.
Her head was on Boukman's chest, and his chest was wet. She raised a hand, and stroked her chin, and held the finger in front of her eyes, in the moonlight, and looked at the blood. And shuddered.
His hands were on her shoulders. 'It is said how you are the white woman's friend,' he whispered. ‘Nay, her inseparable companion. It is said that you share her bed, and her body.'
'It is the wish of Corbeau,' Gislane whispered. 'And you do not love her?'
Gislane looked at her finger. 'When the time comes,' she whispered, 'I have changed my mind. You may give Corbeau to his people. Give me the woman. Oh, Boukman, grant me that, and they will hear her scream in Africa.'
Boukman's lips brushed hers. 'It shall be. You shall have them both, my woman.'
Movement, and she rolled on her back, her head still resting on her lover's chest. Christophe stood above them.
‘It is good,' he said. 'Ogone Badagris has sent his sign, that he is there, and will listen. Toussaint will be pleased.'
'But still we must wait,' Boukman said.
'It is the prophecy.' Christophe knelt beside them, and slowly reached out. He had not touched her during the dance, and she had wished for it. He was the most magnificent man she had ever seen, saving only Boukman himself. But now he touched her, taking first her hair, and then lifting her hand, to look at the white skin, to hold it for a moment against his own. Then he released her, and stood up again. 'Toussaint will be pleased,' he said again, and vanished into the night.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE PROSECUTOR
BANG, bang, bang, went the shutters, each crash accompanied by the rasp of the steel bolts being dropped into place to hold the greenheart timbers against the strongest gusts. And with each bang the house grew darker. Matt could hear the men on the roof, hastily placing boards across the skylights, thudding their nails into the shingles to protect the glass. Christ, how inadequate he felt, when there was so much to be done.
'Papa. There is to be a storm.' Tony raced into the room, as he raced everywhere. 'Maurice says the sky is black.'
Behind him crawled his brother Richard, hardly more than a year old, determinedly following his guide and mentor wherever he could. Both boys were clearly Hiltons, as much in their fair hair as in their features. But then, how could they be anything else?
'Aye.' Matt sank back on the cushions. 'But we will be safe in here. Hilltop has stood up to enough hurricanes in the past.'
Tony crawled on to the couch, leaving poor Dick to scrabble at the legs. 'Were you in them, Papa? Were you? Tell us.'
'I remember one, when I was scarce older than you,' Matt said. 'But that was on Green Grove.' He scratched his son's head, and wondered what the little fellow thought of a father who could hardly move, whom the effort of crawling down a flight of stairs left utterly exhausted. And it was more than twelve months since Mounter had cut the bullet from his chest; the pain remained. He looked at his hands, so thin and wasted. Those hands had once upon a time been able to fell a man like a blow from an axe. Would they ever do so again?
Richard started to cry, a high-pitched wail, as he realized he was not going to be able to reach his brother.
‘You'd best help him,' Matt suggested. He could not even lift his own babe, in safety.
But the wail brought Sue hurrying up the stairs. Her hair was wrapped in a bandanna, and her gown was untidy and stained; she had been working as hard as anyone to prepare the house for the shock of the wind. 'He's not hurt?'
'Just impatient,' Matt said. 'I can hardly blame him for that.'
She scooped the boy from the floor, set him on the couch, stooped to kiss her lover; the divorce was still pending, although there could be no doubt of it now. On the other hand, could he really permit her to marry a cripple?
'You are hot,' she said. "You've not
been fretting again?'
'And should I not?' he demanded. 'To lie here, every breath a painful memory, with no news ...'
'Well calm yourself,' she recommended. 'Because today there is news. We have a visitor.'
'Tom.' He sat up, looking past her at the always plump figure in the doorway.
'Matt. You're looking well.'
'Don't lie to me, old friend.'
'But you are. I swear it. Much improved on the last time.'
‘I wish you'd be convinced of that, Matt,' Sue said, and sat beside him. 'It is a miracle you are not dead. How can you expect to snap your fingers and be again the man you were? These things take time.'
'Time. The world does not stand still. Does the chapel prosper, Tom?'
'In its small way. I have a congregation, of sorts. And Manton is a tower of strength.'
'And no assaults?'
'Oh, they have forgotten my existence, with you absent. Although I doubt things will remain that way for long.'
'News?' Matt sat up, and Sue threw her arm around his shoulders.
'These sudden movements are not good for you, sweetheart.' She rang the little brass bell on the table. 'Maurice. We will have some punch.'
'News.' Coke sat on the far end of the couch, removed Richard from around his ankles, and opened his satchel. 'Have you ever heard of a fellow called Clarkson?'
Matt shook his head.
'He cannot be much older than yourself,' Coke said. 'From Cambridge. I thought perhaps you'd have met.' ‘I attended Oxford.'
'All. Well, he has written a pamphlet concerning the ills of slavery. Essay on the Slavery and Commerce of the Human Species, he has called it.'
'And that is news? Some undergraduate has thoughts on slavery?'
'Ah, but he is no longer an undergraduate. And his pamphlet has caused a stir. Questions are being asked in the House of Commons not the Assembly. There is talk of a Parliamentary inquiry into the conditions in the West Indies. Of a society to promote the Abolition of the Trade, at the very least. And not just churchmen, this time.'
Matt took his glass from the tray held by the butler. 'They will talk, and talk, and talk. But they will not do.'
'Now that I cannot say. But I have here a letter from Nevis, for you.'
'Nevis?' Matt snatched at the envelope.
'Dearest,' Sue begged. 'You must control yourself.'
Matt slit the envelope, glanced at the contents. His friends watched the animation drain from his face.
'Well?' Coke demanded.
'It is from Captain Nelson.'
'And is that not good news?'
'Not entirely. He invites us to his wedding, Sue. Should it ever take place.'
'They have not quarrelled?'
'Not they. But he has managed to antagonize every planter in Nevis, and not merely by taking my side in the slavery matter. There is also a small matter of his seizing four American vessels out of Charleston Harbour, for contravening the Navigation Acts. Well, 'tis certain they were breaking the law. But I do not recall even Rodney being so bold in time of peace.'
'And the other business?' Sue asked. 'The indictment of Hodge?'
'Nothing. Loman had of course to refer the matter to his Governor, in Antigua, and Shirley sits, and waits. Nelson says, "the rumour is that he waits for you to be strong enough to take the stand." Then will he wait forever, no doubt. But he says more. "To be frank with you, Matt, I cannot pretend to be sorry that your cause, and more especially Fanny's testimony, has come to rest in a pigeon-hole. It will certainly cause some tumult here. And Nevis is at last promised prosperity. A hot spring has been discovered, bubbling out of the mountain, with the most marvellous health-giving qualities, it is said. People are already speaking of Fanny's little island as the Bath of the West Indies." There speaks a friend.'
'You cannot blame him,' Sue said, 'As he would seem to have problems enough. But Shirley ... there is the worst of colonial governors. He fears for his place, for his salary, should he antagonize the planters.'
'Yet did I have Loman's word.'
'Oh, indeed. But without the Governor's aid you can do nothing.' She sucked her lower hp beneath her teeth in a peculiarly thoughtful gesture, and glanced at Coke, almost apologetically. 'Sweetheart,' she said. 'If you will forgive me, do you not think that you have done all you can in this matter? That you have indeed all but given your life in this entirely futile cause? Do you not suppose that you might owe it to me, and to your sons, to make a life for yourself? Especially if Tom is right, and Parliament itself is taking an interest in our affairs. Can you not now rest on your laurels, and leave the burden to more powerful backs?'
Matt stared at her, and in despair she turned to Coke. 'Can you not persuade him, Tom? Even you must see that ours is a forlorn hope.'
Coke licked his lips. 'Well, I ... Sue, it is I must beg your forgiveness. But once you told me that you would not have Matt as otherwise than a man who did, rather than inherited.'
'Once,' she said. 'Perhaps I did not know then what I said.
And what can he do, now? Answer me that? Every man's hand is against him, against us, saving only an itinerant sea captain, who himself is beginning to doubt, and who in any event has managed to isolate himself. And who, you may be sure, will be away and forgetful of the entire West Indies the moment his term of duty is completed. Where will we be then?'
'Sue ...' Matt protested.
'He can keep on trying, and we can keep on supporting him,' Coke said, with unusual vehemence. 'All is not dark. The real reason for my visit is that I also have some news, from St. John's, of which perhaps your friend Horatio is unaware.'
Matt frowned at him. 'Good news?'
‘I think so. It is that Shirley has been recalled. His term of office has expired, certainly.'
'And his successor will be of a different stamp?' Sue demanded.
'I think there is a chance. His name is Hugh Elliott. You've heard it, I imagine. He is a brother of Lord Minto, and is thus scarce dependent on his salary, like Shirley. You'll be sure of a disinterested hearing, at the very least, Matt.'
'By heaven,' Matt shouted. 'You are right. I will to Nevis once again, and ...'
'You'll wait until you are fully restored to health, I hope,' Suzanne said. 'And in any event, where is the point until the new man actually takes up his office? And this time, I will accompany you. Robert can play the good uncle, for once in a while. Am I not right darling brother?' For they could hear the stamping feet and the barking terriers, and a moment later Robert was in the room.
'What? What? Here again?' he shouted at Coke. 'Are we to become a meeting place for revolutionaries?'
'Oh, take a glass of punch, Robert,' Sue suggested. 'Dr. Coke has merely brought letters, and risked the wind to do so.'
'Wind?' Robert demanded. 'It is not here, yet.'
'It will be here soon enough. Listen,' she said. 'There is the first of the rain. You'll spend the night, Tom. It will scarce be safe to return to Kingston.'
'Why, I... I doubt Mr. Hilton will second that idea.'
'Of course he will,' Sue said. 'Robert?'
'By God,' Robert declared. 'By God. You'll not credit this, Coke, but I doubt I am still master in my own house. Thanks to this... pair of scoundrels, I am quite cut off from polite conversation. Even the governor is afraid to have me to cards of a Saturday night, for fear there is a challenge. The presence of Matt under my roof suggests to all my erstwhile friends that I am a supporter of these ridiculous ideas. His living here in open immorality with my own sister is brought against me even in church, so that I never attend the thing any more ...'
Sue burst out laughing. 'Oh, really, Robert. When did you last attend church, save for a wedding or a funeral?'
'And my other sister,' he continued, as if she had not spoken, 'has disappeared into the arms of foreigners. A year now, she has been married, and not a letter. Not a line. Not a message, save her affection. And she is a mother.'
'Then how ...' Coke inqu
ired.
'Louis writes,' Sue said. 'Constantly. Oh, he makes his excuses for Georgy, says she is far too busy. The fact is she was ever a poor correspondent. During her two years in England we never heard from her once.'
'At least she is in an honourable state,' Robert grumbled. 'But truth to say ... I think you should pay her a visit, Sue. She may need your support. Surrounded by foreigners. And that Corbeau ...'
'Oh, I agree,' Sue said. 'But there you have the very reason I will stay in Jamaica, if you do not mind. He looks at a woman as if he is stripping her naked with his eyes. I have no doubt that in the privacy of his own home he goes further than that. Georgy chose to marry him, not
'Jealous,' Robert bawled. 'That's what you are, jealous. She has married a man, not a puling preacher who cannot hold a pistol.'
'By Christ,' Matt said, attempting to get up.
'Oh, hush, sweetheart,' Sue said, both arms round his shoulders. 'He must babble, like a stream. He means no harm.'
'By God,' Robert shouted. 'By God.'
'Ahem,' Coke said. ‘I think I should endeavour to return to Kingston before the storm breaks. I doubt that my presence really is of use here.'
'You'll stay the night,' Sue said. 'Robert?'
'Oh, sit you down, Coke,' Robert shouted. 'Sit you down. What, man, would you know us if we did not fight amongst ourselves? Our name is Hilton, Dr. Coke. You'll not forget that.'
With the following spring, Matt found himself able to leave the house, although he could sit a horse for no more than a few minutes, and Sue invariably insisted that he be driven in the trap, either by her or by one of the footmen. She continued to profess herself satisfied with his progress, as was Dr. Mounter.
Mistress of Darkness Page 44
