Bring It Close

by Helen Hollick

  Charles chewed his lip for a while, considering what to say next. “Carlos was my dearest friend; I also loved the woman he took as wife. Although it was not me she loved in return, I promised to look after her if ever anything happened to Carlos. It was a promise I did not expect to fulfil for many years. Certainly not on their wedding night. She never spoke again after what they did to her. She barely ate, refused to leave her room. She became a wild thing if ever I tried persuading her, so I soon stopped trying. When the child was born she would have nothing to do with him, and when he was two years old she hanged herself.”

  He plucked a blade of grass, shredded it. “I had no affection for the boy. I left him in the care of servants and sailed away, returned to piracy. The boy, Phillipe, blamed me for her death.”

  “But he was a child, how could a two-year-old blame you?”

  “No, no, I mean when I eventually returned. He blamed me for everything. And he was right to do so, for it was my fault. It should never have happened.” He gazed across the tranquil river at the leaves stirring in the breeze.

  “When I returned I brought a new wife and our baby. Jesamiah. I truly thought it would be a new beginning, that the past was ended, that we could start again. I thought the jealousy Phillipe felt for Jesamiah would pass. I should have told Phillipe who his father was and how he came to be born. But I did not. He had no idea why I preferred Jesamiah to him. Is it any wonder there was such hatred?” He plucked another blade of grass, then another.

  “You promised to look after his mother, you did what you could. Why did you keep her son? Why did you not place him in an orphanage, or a monastery?”

  “You ask me that; you of all people? Would you abandon an innocent child?”

  Tiola shook her head. No, she would not.

  “I had an obligation to his mother. I could not just send him away. You see, before he was born I had hoped he was Carlos’s child, and for her sake I thought it best to maintain that I was the father, that I was her legal husband. She had married Carlos in secret, no one beside me and the men who abused her that night knew the real story. Her servants later discovered that del Gardo, her own brother, had raped her, but they knew nothing of the rest of it. Nothing at all.”

  There was a long pause. Tiola sat silent; waiting, realising there was more of the confession to come.

  “Bad enough,” he said, “that her brother defiled her and that the boy could have been born of incest, but I knew from the day he came into the world which one of them had sired him. Phillipe was Edward Teach’s son.”

  Her turn to gasp, then hesitate, consider. “You could not have known that for certain, Charles.”

  “Oh, I knew it; when I returned with Jesamiah there was no denying it. The resemblance was unmistakeable.” He groaned; an agonising sound of despair. “I had my precious baby, Jesamiah, in my arms. I so loved him, that tiny little man. His fingers curled around mine; his beautiful dark eyes so full of trust.” Charles’s voice choked. “And as I showed him to Phillipe I never thought to hide my pride. I looked into Phillipe’s eyes and saw Edward Teach looking back at me. From that day I knew I had to make a choice: destroy Phillipe or shut myself away from my son. I chose the latter. I did not love Phillipe, I despised him. How then could I openly love Jesamiah? For his sake, apart from ensuring they were both fed, clothed and had an education, I turned my back on the both of them.”

  “You allowed Phillipe to make his life a misery.” Tiola’s contempt was audible.

  Charles shook his head. “Yes, Jesamiah had a tough time, but life is tough. Tougher. And because of Phillipe he has learnt to survive. No amount of love could have taught him that. He learnt how to endure and when something worse occurs, he will know how to endure that as well.”

  “Worse?” Tiola almost laughed. “Could there be anything worse than those childhood years of pain and torture?”

  Charles Mereno got up, walked to the trees where the sunlight was not yet penetrating.

  “Oh yes,” his voice was receding, growing fainter as the shadowed trees swallowed him, “there is much worse. There is Edward Teach.”

  Eighteen

  Someone kicking his shin woke Jesamiah. He had eventually curled up to sleep on the quarterdeck, out in the open where it was colder and damper but smelt fresher. Irritably, for his head was pounding, he opened one eye. The man standing there blotted out the early morning sun, which was behind him. His face was in blackness, a halo of light around his head. But this was no angel, unless it was the Fallen Angel himself. The Devil.

  “I been thinkin’,” Blackbeard said.

  Good for you, Jesamiah thought.

  “A’cause o’ thy stupidity we could be ‘avin’ the whole of Bath Town baying fer us’n blood by tha morrow.”

  More than likely, Jesamiah also thought.

  “I’ll o’course tell they it were thee who drowned ‘er. They bain’t goin’ to suspect me, ‘er ‘usband, be they?”

  Sighing heavily Jesamiah crawled to his knees then his feet. “No, I suppose not. What do you want me to be doing then? If it involves killing someone, forget it. I make it a rule not to kill people ‘til after I’ve fed me belly.” Jesamiah moved around. He did not like squinting into the sun, not being able to see Blackbeard’s eyes.

  “Killin’? Nay, nay, all I want thee t’do is get this ship underway. I’ve decided to shift anchorage. We’ll drop down to tha Ocracoke.” He yawned and stretched, filled his lungs with fresh air then spat over the side. No sign of a body floating there; it was possible the incoming tidal current had already taken it up river. To Bath Town. It could be bobbing, even now, against the uprights of the bridge. Or washed up on Governor Eden’s front lawn. Teach thought that was funny and guffawed.

  On the other side, this could put an end to the lucrative little business venture he was running. Best be gone, then he could feign surprise and grief, make out she had run away from him. Must have met with ruffians. Curse them. Perhaps it would be a good idea to leave her clothes in a heap somewhere ashore? He knew just the place. “Make way then, Acorne, if ’n thee please.”

  He turned around and stamped off below, leaving Jesamiah disconcerted. The crew consisted of twenty-six men. All of whom were drunk. Adventure was a sloop; minimum crew would be five or six hands. Could he rouse those who were sober enough to set sail? He scratched at his beard growth then under his armpit, aware he was beginning to stink as bad as the rest of them. Did he have time to strip off and have a quick swim? It would take the buggers twenty minutes at least to wake up enough to cast off. Probably twice that to find their way to the mooring ropes! And he could always use the excuse he was searching for the corpse.

  Swim first, get underway after. He peeled off his clothes, secured a length of cable and tossed one end over the side – in case there was no one to help him aboard again.

  The river was cool and refreshing, made him feel clean and cleared his head. He waded among the reeds for a short way, found only a bucket with a hole in it and four dead rats. Of Mary, nothing. Jesamiah was hit by a fresh wave of grief and guilt. He had not meant her to drown; had wanted only to save her further degradation and certain death at Teach’s hands. What else could he have done? They were only yards from the shore. Why could she not have splashed her way to safety?

  “Halloo! Ahoy!”

  Turning quickly, Jesamiah’s foot slipped in the silt and he toppled backwards into the water, arms flailing. A jolly boat came alongside, the young man rowing, reaching down to offer a hand.

  “I apologise. I did not intend to startle you.”

  Jesamiah stood up, realised the water only came as high as his knees and waded in deeper. Modesty did not bother him, but it was difficult to shout at someone for being a bloody fool when standing naked in a river displaying tool and tackle. “Who the bugger are you?”

  “Jonathan Gabriel. I want to speak to your Captain. I want to become a pirate.”

  “Do you now?” Jesamiah’s answer was gruff. This boy
could be no more than eighteen years old. What sort of romantic nonsense had he heard about Teach? How would he feel about joining this crew if he knew what had happened here last night?

  “I need the money, Sir,” Gabriel said. “So I can get wed.”

  Swimming towards the ship Jesamiah made no answer. He grasped the trailing rope and hauled himself up to where the ladder cleats started – the lowest four were missing. On deck, he dried himself with his shirt and began to dress. What a surprise, no one else was up and about yet.

  Jonathan Gabriel’s head appeared above the rail. “Are you the Captain’s first officer? Will you take me?”

  “No I ain’t, and no I won’t. Get yourself home.”

  “I cannot do that. I would seem the fool if I did.”

  Ah, so there had been some bragging and tomfoolery in Bath Town? Over-indulgence at Teach’s wedding probably. Perhaps it would learn this boy a valuable lesson to sail with them as far as the estuary, then set him ashore with a clip round the ear and a hefty boot to the backside.

  “Very well. Know anything about ships?”

  “Not a thing, Sir. I am a tailor’s son.”

  Jesamiah strolled towards the quarterdeck, stepping over lengths of discarded cordage, broken cleats, empty bottles and other piles of stuff he had no intention of identifying. And snoring men.

  “You’ll have to learn bloody quick then, won’t you?”

  He kicked two men awake, put his hands round his mouth and roared his first order aboard the Adventure.

  “All hands! Get your shitty, pox-riddled pieces on deck! Now!”

  He had to go below, do a good bit of kicking and prodding – and throw a few buckets of cold water around – but after thirty minutes had most of the men assembled. Not one of them was sober. Bleary-eyed, mouths like a parrot’s cage, hangovers as heavy as a ton of rock, but on deck.

  Nineteen

  Several times at breakfast Tiola had glanced sideways at Perdita. She ate virtually nothing and the signs that she had been weeping were clear, even to the blindest fool. Tiola counted Governor Eden as the head of the list in that category. The matter of Perdita’s marriage to Tobias Knight had arisen at the wedding. Knight had come right out with it, publicly announcing the forthcoming arrangements. Nobody had thought to ensure that Perdita had been pre-warned of her engagement, she had found out from a delighted family on their return to Archbell Point.

  Tiola assumed the tears, the obvious sleepless night, were for the devastation the girl felt, but come mid-morning when everyone was soundly dozing in various chairs or beds after an extensive luncheon, she went in search of the girl. Found her where she guessed she would be, in the lovers’ trysting place in the clearing beside the river. Perdita was sitting beside the tumbledown hut, her back against the rotting wood of the wall. It only took Tiola to sit beside her and take her hand for the story to flood out, accompanied by fresh sobs of despair. Perdita was desperate to confide in a friend.

  Jonathan had gone. Outraged that another may steal the one he loved, he had left a note to say he had taken ship with a crew and would be back in a month or two with a fortune.

  “He has joined Teach,” Perdita wailed, the sobs choking her throat. “I know he has. He will be caught and hanged and then what shall I do?”

  Comforting her was difficult, for she was probably right. The fool! Oh the silly, stupid fool!

  “I was going to speak with you,” Tiola said, annoyed with herself that she had not done so before now. This was her fault. Had she spoken, this would not have happened. “When my husband comes for me…”

  “Husband?” Perdita whipped her head up. “You said husband?”

  Another confession. “Ais. I did. Jesamiah had some personal business to attend here. We took the opportunity to marry in secret. And before you say it, we were wed in the way of my belief, beneath the witness of the stars. When he comes to fetch me I intend to ask if he will take you and Jonathan to Williamsburg. I have some money aboard his ship – I would like to purchase a tailor’s shop for you both.”

  Perdita was almost speechless. “You would do that for us?”

  Tiola nodded. “No couple who are in love should be parted. All we have to do is persuade your foolish amour that life as a pirate is not a good choice.” She patted Perdita’s hand. “Jesamiah will find him, look after him, I am sure.”

  Relieved, and with too much on her mind, Perdita asked no awkward questions. She twisted the linen handkerchief between her fingers. “I must marry Jonathan. I cannot wait to become Mr Knight’s wife next May.” Said in a rush, “My flux has not come.”

  Ah!

  Tiola smiled, said tactfully, “It is only a few days since you lay with Jonathan, my dear.”

  “I know, I may just be late but I have never been so before. Usually to the hour I start to bleed.”

  With gentleness Tiola laid her hand above Perdita’s womb and searched with her Craft for the energy of life. It was there, minute, very new, barely more than a spark, but there.

  Perdita placed her hand over Tiola’s. “It is only a matter of days, but I am certain that I am with child. Please do not say that I could not possibly know this, for I do. I carry my beloved Jonathan’s son. And I will have this child and wed no one but his father.”

  From beyond the trees, in the direction of the house, a woman’s scream rose hysterically in pitch – Elizabeth-Anne? Tiola jumped to her feet. “Stay here. I will go.”

  “Do you think it is the babe?” Perdita was also standing, anxious. “Elizabeth-Anne may need us both.”

  “No!” Tiola said too sharply. She took Perdita’s hand, squeezed it. “Please, trust me. Stay here for a few minutes, then follow slowly.” She smiled, touched the girl’s belly. “Just in case. We want nothing to startle your child.”

  A cart was drawn up on the gravel drive before the front door. Everyone from the house was gathered around: the women, the servants, even the men were weeping.

  Without going near, Tiola knew what burden lay there. Someone had found Mary Ormond’s body.

  Twenty

  With the wind against them and after several hours of laborious tacking, the Adventure had sailed less than halfway down the Pamlico River.

  Jesamiah had asked, cajoled and ordered Teach’s crew into working as a team, but had given up. Trying to explain they would not miss stays so often if they all hauled at the same time and in the same direction was like squeezing blood from a stone. How in the love of God these men had ever managed to capture a Prize, he did not know.

  When Teach himself ambled on deck, beard combed and looking as fresh as a daisy sprouted in the middle of a pigsty, Jesamiah hoped the men would rally a little. When they had to tack again and a scuffle broke out for’ard, he realised it to be a forlorn hope.

  “Why the Navy is so damned scared of you I cannot imagine,” he grumbled after Teach had stared at the flapping sails and tapped the hourglass a few times. No sand trickled from the top to the bottom, for the glass was cracked and damp had got in. The fine-powdered sand was a dark, solid mass wedged into the narrow centre. The thing was useless.

  “Thee bain’t seen us in action, have thee though?” Teach was now staring at the shore, not particularly interested in what his men were or were not doing.

  “I am not certain I wish for that pleasure. Do any of these imbeciles actually know what ‘haul’ means?”

  Edward Teach was not listening. He called for Israel Hands, who came running up from below.

  “Cap’n?”

  “Did any one of thee stop to think about water?”

  Hands scratched at a louse in his hair. “We had full kegs a few days ago.”

  “A few days? A few days! There bain’t be more’n two kegs of green muck down there! We bain’t shipped water fer more’n a month!”

  Israel Hands shouted back at him, “It ain’t my job t’see t’the water! You shot Black Nero, it were ‘is job to keep an eye on the bloody stuff!”

  “An’ it bis
t thy job to replace him!”

  Laconically, Jesamiah folded his arms and leant against the taffrail. “You can either stand there and argue, Teach, or do something about the fact that we will be hitting the bank in less than five minutes.”

  Looking up sharply, Teach saw Jesamiah was right and issued a string of orders at full voice.

  Ten minutes later, Jesamiah had to admit that perhaps this slovenly crew did have something in them after all. One broadside from Teach and they scuttled like beetles from beneath an up-ended rock. Another fifteen minutes; with a minimum of fuss, they were moored and the men were swaying the empty water kegs ashore and heading into the woods in search of a freshwater stream, which Teach said they would find beyond a stand of trees. Israel Hands, Jesamiah noticed, was carrying Mary Ormond’s clothing.

  Quiet settled on the river when every one of the men had gone ashore. Jesamiah took the opportunity to explore the ship; he had intended to have a thorough inspection, but after twenty minutes came back on deck where Teach was sitting, dozing.

  “Finished pokin’ and pryin’, have thee?”

  “I’ve seen wrecks in better condition than this sloop.”

  “I had a perfickly good ship ‘til thee ran her aground.”

  “You and your men scuppered the Queen Anne’s Revenge, not me. From what I’ve seen of their slovenliness, I‘m not surprised you lost her.”

  “They bain’t lubbers, Acorne. Tell ‘em as what be needed an’ they get on with it. They as don’t need wet-nosed nursing. We’ll get a better vessel soon as we can, but we bain’t keen on thy kind of orders aboard the Adventure.” He did not add that he hoped, soon, to hold the proud claim of being the new captain of the Sea Witch.

  Jesamiah nodded. It was so on many a pirate ship where the captain took command only during a Chase. Decisions were made democratically with a vote taken after general discussion; the men working together with the barest of effort, able to sail a ship whether drunk or sober. That was the allure for many of them: the freedom to do as they pleased. Although here, aboard the Adventure, it was a false freedom. The men could do what they wanted – as long as Teach approved.