by Rima Jean
“What are you called?” Howel asked the first man, a red-faced Scot with a missing front tooth.
“John Stewart,” the Scot growled, eyeing Howel suspiciously.
Howel chuckled. “You’re an angry man, John Stewart. You’ll make a charming pirate.” He then stepped over to the second rebel, a tall, muscular man with ebony hair and a dusky complexion. “And you’re John Roberts, then.”
The second rebel lifted his head and returned Howel’s gaze unflinchingly. He was several inches taller than Howel, than most of the men except Sam for that matter, and he had black eyes that were heavily-lidded, giving his face an arrogant, almost bored expression. He surveyed the smiling pirate chieftain coolly, taking his time before answering, “Aye, that I am.”
Howel paused, his eyes focusing on a silver dragon charm that glinted from around John Roberts’ neck. “O ble wyt ti’n dod?” Howel asked in Welsh.
“Casnewydd-Bach,” Roberts replied, his expression unchanging.
“You’re a brave Welshman, John Roberts,” Howel said. “I meself have a weakness for brave Welshmen. Will you sign the Articles?”
Roberts straightened almost indiscernibly. “I will not,” he replied disdainfully.
Howel grinned, pulling a pistol from his baldric and cocking it. “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me, John Roberts,” he said, his fiery blue eyes locking with Roberts’ icy black ones. “You will sign the Articles. I’ve never had to force a man to join me, but I will gladly do the honors for such a respected countryman.”
He stepped back slowly, still staring at Roberts, the pistol held loosely in his hand. Finally breaking the gaze, Howel glanced around at the faces of the slaver’s crew and said, “Which of you will enter with me? For if you do not enter willingly, I promise I will make gentlemen of you all!”
Most of the men were willing, excited even. They came forward, some pretending to be reluctant, all eventually donning a new set of clothes and a smug look on their faces. Some danced about happily and put ribbons in their hats. This was the best thing that could have possibly happened to them.
Thirty-four men joined Howel’s crew that day, and although there was some ambiguity as to whether the captains of the slavers were favored by their crews, Howel spared them. He then gave the Morrice to his Marquis del Campo prisoners and set them free.
Riding the coastal current, we sailed toward the Bight of Benin and into the Gulf of Guinea. That afternoon, the new crew members signed the Articles, including John Roberts. Of all of them, he was the only one I truly felt was disinclined to go on the account. I watched as he scribbled his name, the corners of his mouth downturned in a frown, his eyes giving nothing away.
It was true that the man had an aura about him. And it wasn’t simply his imposing physical presence, either; he was obviously at home on the sea, and moved with an ease, a confidence that was remarkable. It was hard to peg his age, but he looked to be in his late thirties, which was fairly old for a pirate. He had a broad, sculpted face that was not handsome, but Roberts nonetheless struck me as the sort of man that women found attractive, if only for his cool self-possession. He spoke to hardly anyone, preferring to keep to himself, but he watched his new crewmates – particularly his new captain – carefully, his dark eyes shifting astutely from face to face. At one point, I looked up to find his eyes resting on me, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Our eyes met for a split second, and he gave me what seemed to be a contemptuous smile, exposing a set of very white, very straight teeth. He had no reason to believe I was other than what I seemed – that is, a simple cabin boy – but I shuddered nonetheless.
He was a shrewd observer, that Roberts, and something troubling lurked in the depths of those arrogant, black eyes. It frightened me.
The morning immediately after the capture of the three slave-ships, Howel Davis captured another Dutch vessel – and this time, he hit the jackpot.
The Dutch ship showed her heels the instant it spotted the black flag, but the Royal Rover was much faster. After a brief chase, the Royal Rover sailed up next to the prey and fired a broadside. That ended the chase, as the Dutch ship struck its colors and asked for quarter. Howel Davis, being the merciful pirate that he was, always gave his surrendering prisoners quarter. He then sent a boarding party to assess the prize, and was astounded when the pirates returned, revealing that the Governor of Accra was on board, and the ship carried fifteen thousand pounds in cash.
“Holy Christ!” Howel cried upon hearing the news, his eyes widening, his grin stretching from ear to ear. He then looked at me, and I could tell he wanted to swoop me up into his arms. I pursed my lips, unable to hide the smile in my eyes.
Walter, as quartermaster, set about dividing up the loot, and while Howel, Walter, and the other pirate “officers” got larger cuts, the regular hands each got one hundred pounds, an enormous amount compared to the salary of a slave-ship sailor, which was a measly two pounds per month. The new recruits did not share in the booty, since they had been with the crew for just one day. They watched hungrily as the pirates sorted the coins into individual piles, drinking their newly acquired liquor and laughing amongst themselves.
Only John Roberts surveyed the proceedings with interest rather than longing. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, listening intently as a dispute between two crew members was set to a vote. I could see the wheels turning in that head of his as he learned the pirate system of democratically divided power. He must have been surprised, as I had been, to see that beneath the facade of lawlessness, there was an egalitarianism enforced by a strict set of rules.
The crew voted to put into Cameroon and careen their ships, the Royal Rover and the leaking King James. They finished converting the Royal Rover into a pirate ship by tearing down any remaining bulkheads and clearing the deck of clutter. The King James was a different matter – the hull was badly damaged, and required considerable timber for repair. As Howel, Walter and the crew debated what to do, Howel unexpectedly turned to John Roberts and asked, “Roberts, what think you?”
Roberts had been leaning against a stack of timber in the shadows, his arms crossed on his chest, listening to the proceedings impassively. Now, upon being addressed, his eyes flickered to Howel. “The hull’s too damaged,” Roberts answered after a pause, the sound of his deep voice causing heads to turn in his direction. “She’ll spring another leak in time, holding you back. I say strip her and leave her.”
A vote revealed the majority agreed with Roberts, and afterward he approached Howel. He pointed to the Royal Rover, which lay beached on her side as Howel’s men cleaned her. “She’s quite a ship,” he said.
Howel turned, surprised by Roberts’ apparent desire to converse. “Aye, that she is,” he replied. “She’s more than a match for any ship that wants to fight her.”
Roberts slowly ran his eyes over the large hull before saying, “We can make her even faster, stronger. That is, if you’re willing to make some changes.”
Shading his eyes from the sun to better see Roberts, Howel asked, “Aye? What sorts of changes?”
Roberts smiled enigmatically, and that was when he began speaking in Welsh. The two Welshmen retreated beneath the palms, speaking in their native tongue of things that I would not have understood even if they had been said in English. Howel’s eyes were bright as they spoke, and I felt just a hint of jealously at being unable to bring such a look to his face. He may have been a notorious pirate with the most fearsome pirate crew on the Guinea Coast, but as Howel Davis spoke with John Roberts, he could not hide the homesick longing from his countenance.
Later that night I crept into Howel’s tent, and in the stagnant heat we lay speaking softly to one another. It was too unbearably hot to make love, to even touch each other. As I wiped the sweat from my face, I lamented our lack of an air-conditioned bedroom with clean, running water and freshly laundered bedsheets. Hell, I would have settled for Governor Agostinho’s suite back in São Nicolau in a heartbeat.
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Howel would not stop raving about John Roberts. It was starting to get on my nerves. “He’s brilliant, Sabrina,” Howel said, lying on his back in a state of near nakedness, a hand thrust behind his head and his chest glistening with perspiration. “The man knows a tremendous amount about sailing rigs, courses, currents, longitude… A real bit o’ luck, getting ahold of him.”
“How can you trust him?” I asked. “How do you know he’s not trying to trick you?”
Howel smiled. “Sabrina. You’ve been with pirates long enough to know the answer to that. What good would that do him? If a pirate is a rebellious dog that defies authority, then the common sailor is a beaten bitch that’s too weak to utter a whimper. No, Roberts is too strong for that. He knows the best course for him is to stick with us and aid us in any way he can. This is his lot too, now.”
I leaned over him, trying – but failing – to hide the concern from my face. “I’m through talking about Roberts. I want to know what you plan on doing about the fact that it is now June, and that we are a stone’s throw away from Prince Island.”
Howel shrugged, as though it were a small matter that could be easily dealt with. “I plan on living me life as I have before, placing me faith in the luck that brought me here.”
I could barely contain my frustration. “How can you be so cavalier about this? How can you do nothing to try and prevent it?”
Howel sat up. “Such things are out of our hands, Sabrina. I have thought on it long and hard. We do not know what will happen, regardless of what your book revealed. So many things we do not know, we cannot know… Perhaps the book is wrong. Perhaps your existence here and now have so changed events that it simply has no relevance anymore.” He reached for me, gently caressing my hot, moist skin with his fingertips. “You are sending yourself into a frenzy over nothing, me love. We must live our lives and hope for the best.”
I shook my head frantically, pulling away from his touch. “No. It’s not enough. I need more reassurance. I need… I need you to do more.”
He sighed. “What would you have me do? Me path is set. There’s no leaving this life of piracy for me. I’ve no choice.”
“No. You always have a choice. I want you to have your crew vote on going elsewhere,” I replied. “Going back west. Surely there are places that are ripe for plundering that aren’t near Prince Island.”
“You are placing too much importance on Prince Island,” Howel said softly.
“Howel, please,” I begged, grabbing his face between my hands. “Please. For me.”
His cheeks were prickly with hair against my fingers, and he exhaled. “You are determined to keep me from death, are you, lass?”
I ran my thumbs along his cheekbones, his eyebrows. “Yes. If it kills me.”
“Hmph.” He curled his hands around my wrists and brought my fingers to his lips, kissing them. “I don’t like that at all.” After a pause, he added, “Very well, then. I will speak to the crew. But you must promise that you will calm yourself on me account.” He poked me in the ribs, making me squeal. “You’ve gotten overly thin, lass. You haven’t been eating. Promise me-”
“I promise,” I replied. “I’ll chill out.”
Howel frowned at me. “I will hold you to it. You will… chill out.”
The words sounded so foreign coming from him that I giggled, finally feeling a bit of the tension leave my body.
The pirates gathered the following night to decide on their course of action. Sitting cross-legged on a beach lit by bonfires, Howel’s men were in high spirits, drinking and eating and laughing. I should make a comment about male behavior at this point: pirates of the eighteenth century or frat boys of the twenty-first, men are all the same. I watched as they whaled on each other playfully, full of bonhomie and boyish cockiness, like an undefeated high school football team. They knew they were a powerful lot, and as such displayed a ridiculous amount of arrogance together. I found myself rolling my eyes on a number of occasions, wishing they would get over themselves already.
Only John Roberts sat to the side, alone, drinking something from a pewter mug and watching his comrades with an expression that teetered between scorn and amusement.
“We must decide where we will go from here,” Howel said, addressing his crew after calling them to attention.
“The coast of Africa is ours,” Walter Kennedy said, rubbing his hands together, a greedy smile on his face. “The Royal Navy cannot afford to send their warships here. We can take what we want and expect little, if any, resistance.”
Howel looked down, his hands on his hips. “That may be so,” he replied, “but the Company’s forts will be on the watch for pirates, expecting us. Moreover, our competition – Cocklyn and La Buse, among others – have already helped in causing such mischief on the Guinea Coast that fewer ships will be putting out to sea. I ain’t sure the plunder be worth the risk.”
“What do you propose, then?” Walter asked, looking expectantly at Howel.
“Brazil,” Howel replied. “It is said that twenty-seven tons of gold are dispatched to Lisbon each year. That is a lot of gold, me friends.”
They discussed the issue for a while longer, then voted. The crew was sold on Brazil. As I sat there, relief washing over me, Walter said, “We can load up on provisions for the long trip abroad at São Tomé or Príncipe.”
I jumped, gasping audibly. Príncipe –Prince Island. Howel glanced quickly in my direction and said, “Perhaps São Tomé is the better choice, since it is the larger of the two.”
Walter shrugged. “Very well, then.”
When I was once again alone with Howel, I asked, “Is São Tomé close to Príncipe?”
He didn’t look at me, busying himself with cleaning his pistols. “About half a day’s cruise,” he replied. I stood before him, silent. He looked up at me then, a crease of annoyance between his eyebrows. “It’s the best I can do, Sabrina. Suggesting we go elsewhere for provisions would not be practicable, as São Tomé and Príncipe are thriving Portuguese colonies and often used as final ports o’ call for ships preparing to sail abroad. If I suggested anywhere else, the men would think me wit was getting dull.”
I put my hands behind my back, bit my lip. “How long will we be there?”
“Just long enough to stock up, lass,” he muttered, turning away from me. “Remember, Sabrina. You promised that if I spoke to the crew and convinced them to leave Africa you would… chill out. I have yet to see evidence of it.”
I sighed, turned and began to walk out of the tent, but suddenly stopped to look back at him. “Howel,” I said, my voice cracking a bit.
He looked at me, wary. “Aye?”
“I love you,” I said softly.
To my dismay, he reacted to my words by scowling. “You do so overmuch,” he said gruffly, tossing a dirty rag to the ground. “I ain’t deserving of it, and nothing good can come of it.”
That was not the reaction I had hoped for. I said, “You don’t mean that.”
He looked me directly in the face, his eyes like blue ice. “Oh, but I do. Watch out for yourself, lass, because I cain’t do it.”
I left then, my heart aching. He didn’t mean it. Did he? He had never told me he loved me. I hadn’t read too much into it, since he clearly cared for me. Besides, maybe the words didn’t carry the same significance back in 1719 as they did in 2011. But Howel had been particularly moody in the last few days, and now I wondered. Even if he did love me, the impact of knowing his supposed death was just around the corner must have had a profound effect on his psyche, regardless of whether he showed it. Maybe distancing himself from me emotionally was the way he was dealing with it.
I rubbed my temples. Shit, I was a regular Sigmund Freud. I flopped down on the beach and watched the pirates as they began loading the cargo back onto the Royal Rover, which was now careened and ready to go. I spotted John Roberts in the distance as he lifted a hogshead and carried it several feet to deposit it in a boat. He was shirtless and barefoot,
a red kerchief tied about his head, and he barely strained beneath the weight of the large cask, his massive muscles gliding with ease beneath the glistening brown skin. He turned to retrieve another hogshead, the silver dragon flashing on his bare chest. He saw me watching him and his eyes lingered on me for just a second, before moving on.
Although he was too far for me to know for sure, I could have sworn I saw him smile that haughty, mysterious smile of his.
Chapter Thirty-Five
São Tomé was yet another tropical paradise, with its towering green mountains and pristine jungles that stopped just short of the seafront. They bulged and pulsed with life – even as we sailed into the bay, we could hear the calls of the birds and monkeys emanating from the dense tangle of vines and trees.
This time, Howel was disguising his ship as an English man-of-war hunting pirates, flying the Royal Navy flags and once again dressed his crew down as common sailors. So long as they were careful, the authorities were unlikely to question them too much, since they were bringing much-needed business. He told me, “São Tomé and Príncipe are islands of disrepute. The Portuguese send their prisoners there to man the garrison, and there isn’t a local who’d hesitate before swiping the hat from your head or the coins from your purse. Only a fool would set foot on these islands without a weapon at the ready.”
Howel hadn’t wanted me to set foot on the island at all, but I was not going to be left behind – not when we were so close to Prince Island and to what Rovers of the Sea had revealed as the end of Howel Davis. The Portuguese officials who rowed out to the ship to greet us accepted Howel’s story without question, and after inviting Howel and his officers to the house of the governor, they sent word to the fort, which fired a salute in honor of its Royal Navy guests. Howel had the Royal Rover return the salute, and soon we were anchoring in the harbor and coming ashore. As Howel, Walter, and Thomas were escorted to the governor’s residence, the rest of the crew went into the town. I did so as well, with Sam beside me like a shadow. Under Howel’s protection, Sam had abandoned Levasseur’s crew and was now Howel’s boatswain and one of his most trusted men. As such, one of his unspoken duties was to keep an eye on me, which he did all too well, in my opinion. Sneaking after Howel was not an option with Sam around.
