Pirate Code

by Helen Hollick

  Strength was returning into Tiola, swelling within her as she sought for, and used, her great skills of healing. Not to save the woman, the disease was beyond curing, but to ease the pain and send her on to her next journey surrounded by the comfort of love.

  The moment Tiola had set foot ashore she had been released from the quagmire that had been drawing her downward, almost drowning her. Tethys had no power on the solidity of land, her limit was the sand of the shore, the sea strand, and the rocks and cliffs that she battered with her relentless force.

  ~ I am not one of you, ~ Isabella had said to Tiola, her thoughts frail. ~ But I know of what you are, for I have a little of your kind within me. ~

  Tiola had brushed Isabella’s hair from her closed eyes, and straightened her shawl. Señor Mendez, on the other side of the bed, did not attempt to stem the tears that coursed down the tired crags of his old face. He had not heard the words, for they were spoken in the special ways of those who had the Craft. To him, his wife stepped from the sleep of life to the sleep of eternity, and he mourned.

  ~ I was unable to help my daughter when she suffered, nor could I help my grandson when he drowned, but I can help you as I leave; I can give you what little of the Craft that I have. ~

  Tiola was grateful, those small ounces of strength were all she needed to climb out of the abyss of weakness and regain her power in its entirety.

  The duty of the midwife; to safely bring into the world the new, young hope of life with its infant faith and its infinite dreams, and to send from the world the tired ebb of a soul ready to rest in the arms of Peace and to dream no more. With gentleness Tiola slipped her hand from Isabella’s and touched where a weary heart had beat its last.

  She went to Señor Mendez, the living taking precedence over the dead, and kneeling beside him, with her gift, comforted his grieving. “She is gone from us, Señor, but gone to a better place where she is young and strong again. She no longer suffers the indignities that her old body had forced upon her. And she waits for you. She will be there to take your hand when it is time for you to follow.”

  Although his heart was broken for the wanting of the woman he had loved since the first flush of youth, Tiola’s kindness meant much to him. “Will it be long before I join her?” he asked.

  Tiola smiled, touched his heart with her fingertips. It was not an answer she should have made, but Tiola did not have the ability, or the desire, to lie. “No, Señor,” she said very softly, “No, it will not be long.”

  She was not a seer, she could not read what was to be, what was to come, but she was a healer and she could hear the catch in his shortened breath, and she felt the uneven blood-pulse missing every third, hesitant beat. Before the coming of spring he would no longer be alone.

  Leaving him to make his private farewells, Tiola stepped outside and walked down to where the sea lapped at the wooden, weed-slimed pillars of the jetty. The clouds were building thicker and away to the west thunder moaned and the night sky flickered with distant lightning.

  She knelt, dipped her fingers into the green swell of the sea.

  ~ You cannot permanently harm me, Tethys. I am stronger than you. You cannot destroy me Sea Woman, as you will not destroy the man I love. ~

  The sea slapped against the wooden pillars, sending a cascade of spray brushing against Tiola’s face. She wiped the moisture aside and smiled as a patient mother calmly overrides a stamping tantrum of her child.

  ~ I respect you Tethys, for you have the ability to be wise and benevolent, and beautiful; but sadness fills my heart because you only show the hatred that has spread within and consumed you. ~

  She stood, turned her back on the sea and walked into the hills behind la Sorenta, to where she would become one with the night-shawled land. There she waited for her grandmothers to bring her their love and protection, their presence re-awakened by the gratitude of an elderly lady who had been unaware, until her soul took wing, of the small ability she had possessed.

  Tiola lay beneath the shelter of the palm trees, and slept. A restful, peaceful, sleep untroubled by dreams. Untroubled by the dabble of rain that wetted her face, and stung upon her hands. When she awoke, she would be whole again. And then, then, she would be reunited with the one she loved beyond all being. Jesamiah.

  Thirty Two

  Tuesday Morning

  Groaning, his hand going to the almighty throb of pain stabbing through his head, Jesamiah decided it would be wiser to lie here and die rather than think about trying to open his eyes. Rain was touching at his face, trickling down his nose and chin; a light, gentle rain. A kerchief was being dabbed, not so tenderly, at the blood congealing at the back of his head, a woman was leaning over him. In his mind he saw her as silver-haired, the hood of her grey cloak pulled forward to hide her features. Dangling from her neck, a raindrop diamond. He opened his eyes the vision fled. The woman turned out to be ‘Cesca.

  “I thought you’d be long gone,” he said, wincing as he pushed her administering hand aside and sat up.

  “And leave you in this state? Why would I do that?” ‘Cesca persisted with her dabbing. She had found the lantern, had rummaged in Jesamiah’s belt pouch for his tinderbox, had lit it. The candle inside was growing low, but it’s light was sufficient for what she needed.

  “Why? Because of something I said, or because of him?” He nodded in a vague direction downhill. Regretting the movement, took the kerchief from her and pressed it tight to the head wound. “I assume he’s gone?”

  “Yes. With the casket, the crucifix and the diamonds.”

  Jesamiah grunted.

  “You have misjudged me, Jesamiah, I swear. Yes, I knew of the diamonds. They were for Henry Jennings and Governor Rogers. They are – were – the payment we owed for the muskets and pistols they provided; for the bullets and the gunpowder. Diego Wickham was supposed to come and collect them, but he had a feeling that something would happen. We often used to say he had something of the fairy folk in him, as his premonitions were often right.”

  She took a shuddering breath. “Diego was my friend, I sometimes felt as though he was my only friend. Between us we decided what information I could pass to del Gardo. On the nights when Diego had a run, we made sure your little whore and her brother – yes, the Feathered Hat was her brother – were otherwise occupied. But I would never have betrayed Diego. Never.”

  Jesamiah grunted again. He wished he had that bottle of rum. He could do with a tot or two. Or three. “For a moment there, I almost believed you.”

  ‘Cesca sat back on her heels, ignoring the rain that was falling heavier. “Yes, I wanted the diamonds,” she said suddenly, viciously. “I only decided I wanted them when I was being dragged away by those two sons of bitches. It’s alright for you, you are a man. I am a woman, a woman used and abused by del Gardo. Other bastards tend to think that makes me fair game for any of their depraved ideas. Well I decided I was not going to be raped yet again. I decided to bargain with them instead. They knew nothing of the casket or what was in it – but they were pretty damned interested when I told them! Interested enough to leave me alone and agree to split the contents three ways!” She ranted on; “And then I decided being the imbeciles they are, they would have no idea of the immense value of the casket, but del Gardo would. He is a vile pig, but greedy men know by instinct what is priceless.”

  Jesamiah could not argue with that. He had been aware the casket itself was worth more than a mere gold coin or two.

  “And I ran because I realised that if I made del Gardo finally trust me then maybe I could buy my son’s freedom.” She flung her hand towards the upward slope of the hill, towards where the fires were dying down, put out by the rain. “It’s over isn’t it? The whole stupid, pathetic idea of raising a rebellion. You saw those useless men. How are they going to fight? Del Gardo’s beaten us before we even start. As those bastards were making me run I realised I can’t face doing what del Gardo makes me do any more. I can’t! If I presented him with that caske
t then maybe, just maybe, he would let me and my son go!”

  Shaking his head, Jesamiah answered her with the truth. “I doubt it darlin’. He’s not the sort of man to give up what he enjoys, no matter what the bribe.”

  ‘Cesca wiped at her tears. “That casket is made from the Devil’s bones.” She laughed, unamused. “I thought it fitting for del Gardo to have it.”

  For a while they sat there, listening to the sound of the rain. The candle within the lantern sputtered and went out.

  “What happens now?” Jesamiah asked.

  “The rebels will be marching on Santo Domingo, but they will have very little powder. What we had was in those barrels. I don’t know how much of it is left. We were to put it aboard the Kismet and take it to a rendezvous point a few miles up the Ozama River.” She sniffed back tears. “So I doubt anything will happen now. Our men will just turn round and go home.”

  “There never was any brandy was there?”

  “Yes there is brandy, Diego was a very good smuggler. but it is still at the convent.”

  “And the indigo?”

  “I know nothing of any indigo. I suspect your Henry Jennings invented its existence as a method of hiding the code date. It was very clever of him.”

  “It was the diamonds he wanted wasn’t it?”

  “As the payment he was owed. Yes.”

  Jesamiah snorted. He had to admire Jennings’ gall. “The other thing he wanted was for me to find Francis Chesham. Jennings was busting his breeches to know who he was, how to find him. He’ll be disappointed to discover that was a waste of time too. The poor sod’s dead. I assume Chesham knew about the diamonds?”

  “Yes. Chesham did.” Another silence.

  “You knew him then?”

  “I know her. Yes.”

  A longer silence.

  “Her?”

  “I am Chesham. Frances Chesham. It was my mother’s maiden name. I changed Frances to Francesca when I married Ramon.”

  “Oh.” It seemed an inadequate answer, but Jesamiah could not think of anything more appropriate to say.

  “No one except Diego knew me as Frances Chesham, not even my father-in-law knows. And now it is only you. I would ask for you to keep it so.”

  Jesamiah nodded, then said, “But that man when he died, he told me his name was Francis Chesham.” He reconsidered. “No, maybe he didn’t, I just assumed he did. He said ‘Ches…’ he was trying to say Francesca wasn’t he?”

  Her turn to nod. “He was one of our co-ordinators. He gave nothing of the rebellion away, not even after what they did to him, and it has all been for nothing.”

  They sat beneath the trees, listening to the rain rattling on the leaves and dripping to the ground.

  “I suppose we ought to climb back up this hill. See who and what is left.” Francesca said.

  “I suppose.”

  They remained where they were, not moving, not talking, and after a while, no longer noticing the rain. Nor did Jesamiah see the faint outline of a woman in grey watching them from the far side of the clearing, for he had slid his arm around ‘Cesca’s waist and had kissed her.

  Had no problem with functioning as he should this time.

  Thirty Three

  ~ The Witch Woman said I was beautiful. ~

  ~ You are not beautiful, Mother, you are ugly. Ugly because you are always angry. ~

  Tethys did not answer that the Witch Woman had said that to her as well.

  ~ You were as angry as me. I heard you. ~

  ~ I was not! ~

  But Tethys was right, Rain was angry. She did not like the pretty red-haired woman. She had tried to stop him liking her, but had failed. She had tried to wake the Witch Woman but had failed in that too. And now her mother was mocking her. Her mother had always mocked and goaded her. She did not like being mocked or thought of as worthless.

  Out over the sea, thunder grumbled and began building into black, ominous, storm clouds.

  Thirty Four

  As the light began to strengthen, they found several diamonds beneath his coat. Many, Feather Man, as Jesamiah called him, had hastily collected up, most were lost beneath the leaves or had rolled away. Some lucky person, some day, might find them. Jesamiah gave half of what they scavenged to ‘Cesca, kept the rest for himself.

  Scrabbling up the hill proved to be harder than the descent had been. Going down, Jesamiah had let gravity and his own momentum take him. Going up, he felt every ache, bruise, bump and cut. He felt like a tired old man as he grabbed at branches and forced his body to take another and another step. At the top, in the pale light of a cloud-covered dawn, the destruction was depressing. Dead mules, dead horses, some with their throats cut to alleviate their suffering. Dead men; the wounded lying, sitting, slumped under the shelter of the trees. Juliana Maria, her habit torn, face and hands smeared with blood, was tending them, a few of the surviving men fetching water, doing what they could to help. Six mules had been caught and were tethered, still harnessed, still with their loads. The gunpowder kegs that had remained intact had been removed from the dead animals and stacked to one side. Parts of the woodland, the scrub, the trees, were charred and burnt; smelt of wet, acrid smoke and soot.

  Tipping his hat to the back of his head Jesamiah counted how many men he could use. Eight. The extra kegs would be heavy for the mules, but there was not much further to go.

  He waited for the Reverend Mother to finish a prayer over a man who was near death, then taking her by the arm, steered her to one side.

  “You look tired, Lady. Have you sent someone up to the convent to fetch help?”

  She nodded, she had.

  Compassionately, Jesamiah brushed his fingers against her cheek. “It’s not the end Angelita, this is only a beginning. So your little band has not managed all it was supposed to do, but you still have gunpowder, you still have me, and you still have the Kismet down in Puerto Vaca harbour.”

  She looked up at him a vague light beginning to glow in her eyes again. “You are willing to help us?”

  He chuckled. “Not much else I can do, is there? Until I can find my ship, I’m stuck on this island. And I hate del Gardo as much as you do. Although I suppose, hate is not an emotion a nun should be entertaining?”

  She smiled. “I am the servant of the Lord and I do his bidding.” With her finger she drew the pattern of the cross on Jesamiah’s chest. “And He works in mysterious ways. He has sent me you.”

  “Well actually it was Henry Jennings, but I won’t quibble.”

  She laughed. “What are you going to do?”

  “I am going to take this gunpowder and I am going to load it aboard the Kismet. Then I am going to sail up the Ozama River and find your rebels.”

  “You are a good man, Jesamiah Acorne.”

  “Nope. I’m an idiot, but that fact has never stopped me before.”

  Twenty minutes later all the kegs were strapped to the remaining mules and Jesamiah was ready to move off with the eight men who were willing to continue and do what they could. At least they had bested del Gardo’s ambush but at what cost? The rebellion, for this side of the Island, anyway, was almost dead in its tracks.

  When ‘Cesca came up to him he was not surprised as she said, “I am returning to the convent, I can help with the wounded and,” she sighed, the tiredness and despair quivering in her breath. How could she say ‘And I cannot come with you’? He would not have her, he would not take her aboard his ship, love her as he obviously loved this other woman he had spoken of.

  She took another breath, started again, “I cannot return to del Gardo. I cannot.” Tears were brimming, one trickled down her cheek. After she had known Jesamiah? How could she?

  “Del Gardo will leave Señor Escudero alone, he is an old man who can tell him nothing, and as fond as I am of him, that bastard knows, for all my sins, I would not die for my-father-in-law. But,” another tear followed the first, and another, “but I can only pray that he leaves my son alone, for him I would willingly giv
e my life.”

  Jesamiah brushed the tears away with his thumb. “Well, so there you have it, Señora. If he believes you dead, ‘Cesca, Don Damian will have no reason to hurt the boy, will he? The Reverend Mother over there successfully killed her persona of Angelita so her son could live. You could do the same. Go back to being Frances, only, don’t stay in the convent too long. You’re not a nun. You never will be.” He gave her a kiss, chaste, on the cheek, turned to go, waving to the man at the head of the depleted column to move out.

  ‘Cesca caught his arm, stopped him from walking away. “Jesamiah there is something you ought to know. Something Señor Escudero told me about your father.”

  “What about him?”

  ‘Cesca told him. Quickly, the plain facts without embellishment.

  He said nothing. Merely nodded once, turned and strode away down the hill, shouting impatiently at the men to get the mules moving faster, that this was not a family picnic. His fingers, as he reached the head of the column, went to where his blue ribbons would have been tied into his hair. He dropped his hand to grip the hilt of his cutlass instead. Felt the nausea churning in his stomach and rising into his gullet. Told himself it was the carnage behind him that had stirred this bitter taste in his mouth.

  He wanted to scream; wanted to rage and shout, to draw his cutlass and kill someone. Anyone, he didn’t care who!

  ~ Jesamiah? ~ Tiola’s soft voice eased into his sobbing, confused, angry, mind.

  Distraught, he did not hear her.

  Thirty Five

  Only the sight of the sea brought Jesamiah out of his dark and brooding mood. It was grey, white capped where the wind was tossing the surface into leaping, mane-flying seahorses. Grey to match the sullen sky that drizzled its persistent fall of rain, and his emotional turmoil.

  The sight of the sea and the two ships, one moored, the other at anchor in the harbour roused him. Kismet was where he had left her, and the other…the other he would know anywhere! Sea Witch. His beloved Sea Witch! Her presence filled his senses, joy and relief pouring through him almost as if he were drunk. He quickened his pace, ran. Everything would be alright now. All he had to do was reach his ship. Once he was aboard, once they were sailing all this would not matter any more! Oh, Sea Witch was there, waiting for him! Sea Witch!