"A thousand pounds!" Ethan's rage was so great that he could scarcely focus his eyes on her.
"More or less." Melanie shrugged her exquisite shoulders indifferently. "I really can't see what difference it makes, Ethan. If we're to have a life together, as you tell me we will, the least you can do for me is to gratify the one wish I've ever had—without it costing you anything. You've become excited over nothing. Money has no meaning to Marinus, and he'll certainly reimburse you as soon as he comes home. I'm sure he'd want me to have the bracelet—as a wedding gift. Now kiss me, and stop worrying about things that don't matter."
Marinus Boline returned to St. Pierre as unexpectedly as he had departed after an absence of only ten days, but he arrived none too soon for the agitated Ethan, who had lived in an agony of suspense ever since Melanie had bought her bracelet. The goldsmith had confirmed the terms of the purchase, and although he had readily agreed to free Ethan's funds if he was paid by Boline, he had flatly refused to take back the bracelet under any conditions. It was unwise for anyone in Martinique, he had explained, to flout the will of Boline or his lovely ward. And so Ethan and a despairing Jed had been forced to curb their impatience as best they could.
Ethan, whose anger had not abated in spite of Melanie's reassurances, immediately demanded an interview. And Melanie, who had seemed hurt and bewildered by his continuing anger, promised him faithfully that she would make amends by using her influence to arrange for the long-delayed meeting.
She returned to Ethan in a few minutes with word that Boline had invited them to dine privately with him that evening, and she announced triumphantly that she had never seen him in a happier frame of mind. Her confidence in the outcome of the dinner was so great that Ethan took heart. The wait until nightfall seemed interminable, but at last the hour for the dinner came, and Ethan, with Melanie on his arm, walked through a labyrinth of passage ways to Boline's private dining room.
Melanie had dressed for the occasion with extraordinary care in a gown of rich oyster satin cut low over her breasts and draped to form only one sleeve, leaving the other shoulder completely bare. Her sweeping skirt was caught up on one hip, showing a brocaded silk petticoat of startling peacock blue. The rouge on her lips was as bright as her smile, and on her left wrist was the glittering bracelet that had so added to the complication of Ethan's life.
Boline was waiting for them in a small, oval-shaped dining room that was tastefully and quietly decorated. The mahogany table was set for three in creamy white china, heavy silver and delicate crystal glassware, and ordinarily Ethan would have enjoyed the feeling of luxury that filled the atmosphere. But there was so much at stake that he could not relax, even when Boline greeted him warmly.
They sat down almost immediately, and were offered a wide variety of exotic dishes complete with rich sauces. Boline, however, ate sparingly of plain roast beef and baked breadfruit, and before he touched his wine he weakened it with water. But his conversation proved to be sparkling, and he discoursed with authority on political matters in the English colonies of North America, on the state of the theatre in London and Paris and, surprisingly, on the faults which the generals on both sides had displayed in the recent war. His criticisms, Ethan discovered, were valid, and his knowledge of military matters was both vast and accurate.
It occurred to Ethan again and again that Boline was a much-maligned man. He was no ogre—on the contrary, he was affable, charming and remarkably well-informed. And like all men of intellect, he knew when to listen as well as when to speak. He repeatedly sought Ethan's opinion, nodded thoughtfully at tie answers and carefully weighed what he was told. In all, his conversation was so stimulating that for some minutes at a time Ethan forgot his personal crisis, but his tension increased again when the meal finally drew to a close and Melanie departed, leaving the men alone.
Boline ordered the doors closed, and, after taking a small sip of brandy, came straight to the point. "You and I have much to discuss."
"Indeed we do, sir," Ethan replied firmly. "You already know the original purpose of my mission from Jacques Gomez' letter to you."
"There are several properties I might be willing to sell," Boline said softly, "but I fear you have insufficient funds to purchase them from me." He paused and smiled faintly. "It has come to my attention that you've bought your bride a rather expensive gift. I applaud your generosity if not your wisdom."
Ethan looked across the table and his heart sank; Boline's eyes were cold, and something in his voice was grating and unpleasant. Plainly he had no intention of making good the price of the bracelet, regardless of Melanie's loud protestations. "I was hardly generous, Master Boline. I knew nothing of the purchase until it was completed, and if the goldsmith would take the damned trinket, I'd give it back to him this very night. Perhaps a word from you, sir, would soften his stand on the matter. He's being as stubborn as Melanie."
Boline reached into a satin-lined silver box at his elbow, selected a segaro and lit it carefully. "You would be showing great intelligence if you accepted the inevitable. Captain Wade," he said, emphasizing Ethan's military title. "You demonstrated restraint and maturity when you consented to marry Melanie, and I urge a similar attitude now. Our French laws are as severe as your English ones, you know, and you bear full responsibility for Melanie's purchase. If you refuse to meet your just obligations you'll be sent to a debtors' prison in the interior, and I'm afraid you would remain there for the rest of your days, as you would have no opportunity to earn enough to pay off what you owe."
"So my choice is a debtors' jail in Martinique—or prison in New York on charges of embezzlement." Ethan's voice reflected the bitterness of his thoughts.
"No, you have another alternative, it so happens. If you will look back at your immediate past, Captain, perhaps you'll begin to see that the predicament in which you find yourself is not accidental."
Ethan thought he had not heard the other correctly. "I beg your pardon?"
"Examine your situation, and you find that you no longer have room in which to maneuver. You are, in brief, in an impossible situation. You can extricate yourself only with my help."
"And you're willing to give that help—for a price." Ethan controlled himself with a great effort.
"You're alert. I like that." Boline nodded his white head approvingly. "The advance reports I had on you were so glowing that I could scarcely give them credence, but the more I see of you, the more accurate they become."
"Advance reports, Master Boline?"
"Of course. You don't think your presence here in St Pierre is accidental, I hope." He examined the ash on his segaro before flicking it into a gold-edged, tiled bowl. "You're here because you can be useful to me. You will be useful to me."
"In what way ?" The older man's air of calm superiority grated on Ethan's nerves.
"You have a distinguished military record. One of my problems is that I have too few officers who understand the principles of command and the art of war. So your obvious qualifications make you valuable. But you have another asset that makes you unique. You—and you alone—know all of the secrets, all of the strengths and weaknesses of the defenses of New York Town. That knowledge is essential to me, particularly now that I have decided to make it my capital rather than Boston."
Startled, Ethan gaped openly, convinced that he was conversing with a madman. He started to reply, then changed his mind and said nothing.
"You accept a situation that is unique in the annals of history more readily than I suspected you would," Boline observed impersonally. "I congratulate you. Wade. Some of my lieutenants were recalcitrant for a time, and had to be taught manners. If you continue to show good sense, there's every reason to hope that I'll grant you a commission as a colonel immediately after you finish your special training."
"In whose army—will I be commissioned?" Ethan couldn't decided whether to laugh or to throttle Boline with his bare hands.
"Why, in mine, of course. I've made my plans carefully over a
period of years. It's absurdly simple. I shall take New York, New England and Pennsylvania first. The French in Quebec are ridiculously weak, and I can then conquer them at leisure, whenever I choose. And the southern English colonies, Virginia and Carolina in particular, will flock to my banner when I hold everything to their north. England and France are sick of war, and by the time they can prepare to take North America from me, I'll be too strong for them to attack. It's all so easy that I'm constantly amazed that some other man of imagination and courage hasn't thought of it before me. Have you ever heard it said that all great ideas are so simple that only men of rare intellect think of them? It's quite true, as I shall prove for all posterity when I establish the Empire of the West."
Ethan felt a chill move up his spine. Marinus Boline might be mad, but he meant every word he said, and there was a chance that he might bring his insane dream to pass. England and France were war-weary and complacent, the colonies were disorganized, each interested only in its own welfare. A ruthless campaign conducted by someone who had enough men, ships and supplies at his disposal might conceivably result in the establishment of an empire such as Boline envisaged. But anyone who joined such an enterprise would be forsaking his country and his honor, and the mere notion disgusted Ethan.
Boline, who had been watching him closely, suddenly ground out his segaro in the tile bowl. "It's as I first suspected," he declared serenely. "You aren't yet ready to join me, and if you did your loyalty would be questionable. You must first be taught what it means to be one of my followers, and after you've learned your lesson you'll be devoted to me."
Ethan hesitated no longer; it was either Boline's life or his own, and he leaped to his feet. But before he could cross to the far end of the table and strike the white-haired man, Boline rang a small silver bell at his side. The door behind him opened and two guards armed with muskets appeared in the frame, their weapons leveled at Ethan,
It was one thing to know that he was trapped, but quite another matter to submit without a struggle—Ethan recklessly elected to fight. He picked up a chair and hurled it at the men, even as he continued to press toward Boline. More guards entered on the heels of their comrades, but Ethan ignored them. He drove his right fist hard into Boline's face, then hit him again with his left. Boline staggered back against the wall, but as Ethan tried to follow, the guards closed in on him.
He used his fists, his knees and his feet in an attempt to beat them off, but they were too many for him, and they swarmed over him, flailing him unmercifully with the butts of their muskets. At last he toppled to the floor. Then, as though from a great distance, he heard someone speak.
"Stop!" Boline commanded. "I don't want him to lose consciousness—yet. Stand him up. And hold him."
Rough hands jerked Ethan to his feet, and in a few moments the room stopped spinning. Blood and perspiration ran into his eyes, but through the film he saw Boline, who was holding a lace handkerchief to his face. It was somewhat satisfying to see that he, too, was bleeding. Francisco Hernandez dashed into the room and ran to his master, but obediently fell back when he was waved away.
"I would have saved you the final humiliation had you not struck me," Boline said to Ethan. "I admire spirit and consider it essential in my troops. But you must learn that it is as grave a crime to raise your hand against me as it would be to attack George of England or the boy king of France." The would-be emperor turned to Hernandez. "Summon Melanie," he directed.
It was very quiet now in the dining room, and Ethan would have sagged to the floor had not the guards on either side of him supported him. His head and body throbbed, but he was indifferent to his physical pains. He had been tricked and cheated by Boline, and obviously Melanie had been privy to the plot against him from the first. He swore to himself that he would repay them both if he did nothing else on earth before he died.
Melanie entered breathlessly, and after one glance at Ethan's battered face she turned quickly to Boline. "Was it necessary to beat him?" she demanded. "You promised me—"
"It was necessary." Boline held up his blood-spattered handkerchief, then seated himself in his chair and roughly pulled the girl onto his lap. "Melanie, your wife, is not my ward," he said to Ethan, slowly and deliberately drawing his hand across her breasts as he spoke. "She is one of my mistresses and has been for the past two years. But she is your legal wife. By the time you've finished your schooling I shall probably be through with her and will return her to you. You'll find she's an amenable wench, principally because she's ambitious. She'll gladly do your bidding for money, provided you give her enough of it And when I make you military governor of New York, she'll certainly look the part of the governor's lady. Won't you, my sweet?"
Ethan stared hard at Melanie, but she, unable to return his gaze, looked dully at the floor, even as Boline continued to fondle her. Ethan tried to speak, but the words would not come out, and he thought hazily that it was just as well. He was incapable of expressing his contempt for her.
Boline suddenly lifted Melanie to her feet and stood. "Do you want to say goodbye to your husband before he leaves for Dominica, my sweet?"
"Must you send him there, Marinus?" She seemed truly distressed.
"If there were some other way, your concern for him would soften my heart. But you must accept that which is necessary philosophically, dear Melanie. You want to live in the governor's mansion in New York, don't you?
And you want the title of countess that will come to you when I create your husband a member of my nobility?"
"You know I do," she said with spirit. "But Dominica—"
"I am building my empire on the flames of the human spirits that are forged in the crucible of Dominica," Boline declared grandly. He looked at Ethan, and a sardonic smile touched the comers of his mouth. "You have no one but yourself to blame, Wade. You made this step inevitable when you went to the Governor. I had planned to handle you differently, but you made it necessary for me to arrange a legal marriage that would be recorded in the official archives. I pride myself on my ability to organize even the most infinitesimal detail, and now—when you disappear—we'll give out word that you've gone away on a long honeymoon. That will keep even the Governor quiet, if he should become suspicious, but I must say you've forced me to go to a tremendous amount of trouble on your behalf. I can only hope that you'll eventually prove to be worth it."
There was a heavy silence as he moved to the door and turned once more to Melanie. "You may expect a visit from me later this evening." The guards stood at attention as he left.
Melanie walked slowly across the room to Ethan and stood directly in front of him. "I'm sorry, darling," she whispered, and lifted her hand to caress his cheek.
With his last remaining strength Ethan drew himself up proudly and spat in her face. Then something heavy crashed against the back of his head, and his world went black.
Nine
ETHAN AWOKE at dawn to discover that he was sprawled on the aft deck of a small fishing schooner that was plowing through open seas. The morning was typical of the tropics, with a cool breeze, soft yet refreshing, holding the heat at bay. But Ethan, whose head was sore and whose body ached from the beating he had received, was in no mood to appreciate either the weather or the sunrise. A dark-skinned man, nondescriptly dressed, was at the tiller and two other sailors lounged nearby; of greater importance was the presence of three of Marinus Boline's guards, all awake and alert, all heavily armed with muskets, pistols and poniards. And huddled in the cockpit was a dejected group of five men whose very attitude of misery indicated that they, like Ethan, were prisoners.
Two, judging by their clothes, were sailors from merchantmen, another was an elegantly-garbed youth, and a man snoring gently seemed to be sleeping off a drinking bout. The fifth victim was Jed Moulton, who sat upright, his back resting against a bulkhead as he stared out at the blue-green water. Ethan rose and made his way forward on unsteady legs. The guards made no attempt to stop him but observed him carefully as he cl
imbed into the cockpit and touched Jed on the shoulder.
The little man turned and shook his head mournfully. "I thought maybe you were dead," he declared lugubriously. "And from all I hear, you'd be better off. They're taking us to Dominica, and the swine who's in charge back there told us that those of us who survive will eventually join Boline's army. They're out of their heads, all of them."
Ethan agreed and related all he had learned of Marinus Boline's wild scheme. The elegantly-dressed man, who apparently understood English, listened to him in open-mouthed horror, but Jed's expression did not change until Ethan, lowering his voice, brought his friend up to date on Melanie.
"I told you we should have gone home when we had the chance," Jed said, his voice shaking. "Now it's too late."
"It's my fault that you're involved. I should have insisted that you return to New York."
"No, I said I'd stay with you, and I meant it. Last night, when they came to my room at the Fleur-de-Lis and made me come with them, I told them as much, too.
They said I wasn't the kind of material they like, but that I knew too much, so they had to ship me off with you. And when I told them that I was glad, because justice and right always prevail, they laughed at me. But we'll show them before we're through, Ethan."
"I'm not so sure that we'll show them anything. You see those muskets?" Ethan nodded in the direction of the watchful guards. "Right and justice in this part of the world are determined by bullets and gunpowder, Jed. And don't forget it. We want to stay alive. We've got to keep our ears and eyes open. We've got to be inconspicuous. And above all, we've got to be patient." He seemed to be speaking as much for his own benefit as he was for his friend's.
"I agree!" the nearby youth said unexpectedly, and his accent immediately identified him as an Englishman. He introduced himself as David Stanley and his story, a simple one, revealed much regarding Boline's recruiting methods. Stanley, the youngest son of a viscount, had stopped off in Martinique on his way to Jamaica, where he had hoped to purchase an estate. Last night, his first in St. Pierre, he had gone to a bawdy house that had been enthusiastically recommended to him by the owner of the inn where he had taken lodging. He had accompanied a wench to an upstairs chamber, but no sooner had he set foot inside the door when three armed men had taken his money from him, trussed and gagged him, and sometime after midnight had taken him down to the waterfront in a cart and had dumped him on board the schooner.
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