Caribee

by Christopher Nicole

  So he drew his map upon the sand. 'Like us,' he explained, 'the Dons need fish to eat. They spread their nets in the shallows off Blood River, where the Indians used to spread theirs. The nets are guarded, to be sure, but by not more than a dozen men; I have seen them. And they are well removed from the main force, which is encamped in and around the town, as you'll know. Now, there is the obvious way to discourage those bastards. Destroy their nets.'

  ' Twill be risky,' Paddy O'Reilly objected.

  'For Christ's sake, Paddy, just kneeling here is risky,' Edward pointed out. "Why do you think there has been no patrol over here these last few days? Because they are afraid. We have made them afraid. They think of us as ghosts, because we disappear whenever they come close. We must be sure that they remain afraid. That they grow more afraid. And that they become more uncomfortable. Deprive them of a couple of days' food and there will be rumblings of discontent within the Spanish camp itself.'

  O'Reilly shaded his eyes. 'Maybe we won't have to go so far.'

  Edward stood up, watched Brian Connor staggering up the beach, kicking clouds of soft sand into the air behind him.

  'He looks as if he's seen a ghost,' Philip remarked. "Well, there's sufficient of them on this island, to be sure,' Susan said.

  'What is it, Brian?' Edward shouted. 'Are the Dons mounting another expedition?'

  "They're away,' Connor shouted. They've embarked,' he shrieked. He came up to them, threw himself full length on the sand, and rolled on to his back, arms and legs outflung. "They're licked, Ted.'

  Edward glanced at the Irishmen, watched the emotions, relief, delight, surprise, joy and frustration flitting across their faces. Then without a word to each other they ran for the path which led up Mount Misery. They climbed and kicked each other, hurried and tripped, tumbled and rose again, barked shins and knees and shoulders, exchanged excited opinions and ambitions, and gained the open space above the tree line, from whence they could look down on Leeward. But long before they reached their vantage point they saw the smoke, rising above the remains of Sandy Point. From the ledge itself the erstwhile town made a sad picture, somehow more horrible than Edward remembered the same site after the hurricane. For this day the sea was calm, the breeze light, and Sandy Point had been more than an accumulation of huts. But now they all burned, individually, to reveal the Dons' attention to detail, and generally, as the smoke from each blazing roof merged into the smoke from the next blazing roof, as the pillars supporting the porch of Government House crashed outwards, and the roof itself fell in, through the bedrooms and into the chamber where Tom Warner had entertained his guests.

  But the desolation was not confined to the town; behind it the tobacco plantations and the corn fields were flattened areas of dusty earth. And still the horizon was dotted with sails and pennants and flags, with mahogany brown hills and curling white wakes, as the fleet gathered way before the gentle southerly breeze

  Philip knelt beside his brother. 'By all the rules of warfare we can claim a victory, Edward. You can claim a victory. We are left in possession of the field.'

  'Aye.' Edward glanced at the awestruck Irishmen. 'Our misfortune is, Philip, that there are no rules on St Kitts. We make them up as we go along.'

  Even from a hundred yards away, the heat clung to the air; the smoke had mostly died by now, and only the glowing ashes remained. Occasionally there was a rumble as a pillar or a roof, made from greener timbers than the rest, came crashing down to send a shower of sparks upwards.

  ‘It'll have cooled by morning,' Edward said. 'Well get to work then.'

  'To work?' Connor demanded. 'And what work were ye considering, Ted?"

  'You'd spend the rest of your lives lying on the sand?"

  "There'll be a ship along,' O'Reilly said. 'An Englishman or a Dutchman. Well beg passage on that'

  "You'll desert the colony?"

  'Colony? For Christ's sake.' O'Reilly removed his helmet and unbuckled his cuirass. Here was the problem; beside his armour he was carefully laying his brace of pistols and his sword. And most of his companions still wore theirs.

  'And for the meantime,' Connor said. 'We'd best come to an accommodation. We're entitled to relax and enjoy ourselves.'

  Another of those occasions he had long known would come. He had Philip by his side, but there were seventeen men opposed to them. Aline and Meg and Susan stood with the children, a little to one side. They watched, and waited, and endeavoured to preserve their composure. The Carib girls had gone to see what had become of the fish nets.

  'What sort of an accommodation were you thinking of, Brian?" Edward said quietly.

  'Well, our creature comforts, mostly, Ted,' O'Reilly said. 'Now we no longer have the need of a leader, we're flunking of a democratic society, like. Share and share alike. Now, there's nineteen of us, all told, and there's seven women.'

  'Saving that Susan ain't good for nothing,' Connor pointed out.

  'Aye, so it really works out to one woman to every three and a half men. But I've a better idea, Ted, lad. Your brother ain't hardly even a half, yet, and ye've no taste for the flesh, now have ye? In any event, the brat in Sue's belly is likely yours, by all accounts. So well let ye take care of her, and the rest of us will take care of the others, which’ll give us better than three to one. We'll work it out'

  'No,' Meg Plummer said. 'Edward, you cannot permit this.'

  Aline said nothing; she breathed deeply and there were pink spots on her cheeks.

  'And if I'd not agree?" Edward demanded.

  ‘Why, then, lad, 'tis sorry we'll be, to be sure, but well be inclined to take what we require. Ye'll not draw a sword against me, Ted. We'll have your throat cut before ye can get it clear of your scabbard.'

  'For God's sake,' Susan shouted. 'Can ye never stop fighting? Where would ye be without Ted? I’ll tell ye. Ye'd be lying on that beach, bits of ye.'

  'Sure, and we know that, Sue,' O'Reilly agreed. 'So we're content to leave him be, and leave ye be as well. All we're claiming is our just rights as men. Tis what we fought for. Just as, make no mistake, he fought the Dons not for us, but for this island. Well, he can have it, after we're gone. Now then, Ted, lad, take Sue and your brother and make tracks into that forest'

  Edward hesitated, glancing at Philip.

  ‘You cannot leave Aline and me to these men, Mr Warner,' Meg begged.

  'Be off wi' ye,' O'Reilly growled 'Be off wi' ye, before I changes my...'

  The phssst cut the afternoon air like a physical impact. The shaft slammed into O'Reilly’s chest with such force it knocked him off his feet, reducing his words to a bloody froth.

  'By Christ' Connor yelled, reaching for his sword, to be halted by another singing arrow which sliced into his thigh.

  'You stop,' Yarico called from the bushes. ‘I kill you all.'

  The Irishmen gazed at the trees, and waited; they knew too much of her accuracy. O'Reilly tried to sit up, and fell back, coughing once again. Susan hurried forward to kneel beside him.

  'God's truth,' she whispered. 'Hell not survive.'

  ‘You come,' Yarico called. 'You come, if you want We go. You come, Ed-ward?’

  ‘I come,' Edward said. ' 'Tis sorry I am about this, Brian Connor, but you brought it on yourself. Get that arrow out and patch up the blood, and you'll be all right Aline. Meg. You'll bring the children.'

  He drew his pistols, and Philip followed his example, and they slowly withdrew up the beach, while the Irishmen gazed after them and muttered to each other and O'Reilly coughed his last on the sand, the arrow sticking skywards from his chest like an avenging finger. After a moment's hesitation, Susan laid his head on the sand and followed the other women. Yarico stood at the edge of the trees, with her three companions.

  ‘I owe you my life,' Edward said. 'And not for the first time. I wish I could understand you, Yarico.'

  She tossed her head. 'Yarico War-nah,' she reminded hirn. 'Ed-ward War-nah. Philip War-nah.' She smiled at her son. 'Tom War-nah.' She extende
d her arms to embrace the entire island. 'War-nah land.'

  The Irish knew too much about the cave and the defences of the windward coast Edward preferred to make camp on the upper slopes of Mount Misery, from whence they could command both coasts and even the sea beyond, and where there was a spring they could use for fresh water. Food remained a problem, which necessitated a trek down to the beach every day to clear the nets and to search for fruit. But for this he was grateful. It was necessary to keep occupied, or he had no doubt that the women would in time become quite as unruly as the men had been. And soon enough they relaxed most of their precautions. The Irish never came to Windward. They never seemed to go anywhere, but camped on the beach beside the burnt out ruin of Sandy Point, fishing where they could, living on the coconuts which grew in profusion along the shore. O'Reilly had died, and Connor was not quite in the same mould. Lacking leadership, they were content to lie on the beach for the rest of their lives, if need be.

  For the rest of their lives. From the upper slopes of Mount Misery the other islands, Nevis, Antigua, Montserrat, even the more distant peaks, were clearly visible. And the sea between. An empty sea. The Spanish fleet had sailed north, and left desolation behind them. Not even a Carib canoe. For the word would have spread across the islands that the dreaded Dons were out in force, and even the Caribs preferred to remain hidden until quite sure the danger was past.

  And Pierre Belain? Back in France, no doubt. Grieving for the death of his niece, for the loss of his investment. Although perhaps he had managed to recoup himself as he had hoped. But, assuming Aline to be dead, he would be vowing vengeance on Edward Warner. So would Joachim Galante. another pair to set beside Wapisiane. And how many others?

  And Tom Warner? And Tony Hilton? It was now near a year since they had sailed away. To be lost at sea? To decide that it was not worth their while to come back? The news of the French assault on St Kitts must surely have filtered back to England by now. Not come back? Tom, not return to his dream? To his island, to his family? Tony, not return to Susan? There was an impossibility. Certainly it was not something his brain would accept.

  Movement, in the bushes behind him. He only half turned his head. It was of interest, to know who would be the first to seek him out on his own. But he did not really doubt. They each had a reason to hate him, saving the three Carib girls and Margaret Plummer. But then, Meg Plummer had no reason to seek him, either.

  'You risk much, mademoiselle.'

  She knelt beside him. They are all asleep.'

  'Yarico does not sleep. At least, not in the manner you or I would understand.'

  'And you fear her?’

  He turned to look at her. ‘Why, yes, Aline. I think I fear her.'

  She wore her shift, and had untied her hair. So then, in what way was she different from Susan Hilton, or even Yarico herself, in the dark? Except that the moon had risen, and it was not that dark. She differed in the whiteness of her skin, even after two months in the tropical heat. She differed in the length and shape of her legs, so thin when compared with the rest of her, and yet, now that constant walking in the forest and on this mountain had given her the muscle she needed, so flawlessly shaped. She differed too in what he could see heaving against the thin material, the nipples swollen and anxious, because of the slight chill in the night air, certainly, but anxious because of what?

  But more than any of them, she differed from the others, from Mama herself, because of what he knew of her. Because of the humour he knew to lurk beneath that occasionally petulant exterior. Because of the breeding he knew to control that mind. Because of the mind itself.

  ‘You are strange,' she said, having allowed him several seconds in which to inspect her. ‘I understand that she is all of a stepmother to you. Does that not make you precious to her?"

  'You'd not understand,' he said. 'And you'll not tell me.'

  'No,' he said. "Why have you come?" He turned away from her and lay on his stomach. ‘I had assumed that you had decided our betrothal was a mistake’

  'Perhaps I would dream’

  'Of what?'

  'Oh. . . ‘ the leaves rustled as she sat. Her knee brushed his. There is much of which I must clearly dream, for the remainder of my life. Of hot baths. Of perfumes. Of clothing of which a woman might be proud. Of the jewels I used to wear. Of the men who would kiss my hand. Even of the men themselves, perhaps’

  'When my father returns’ Edward said. ‘I will have you shipped back to Europe. You can tell your father and your uncle that I lied to them, that in reality you were bound and gagged at some distance from the town, and therefore escape was impossible for you. And that afterwards, why, you were my slave. They will certainly forgive you. They will be too overjoyed to have you back. As for your virginity... well, its loss will have been none of your doing.'

  ‘Your understanding of society is indeed limited, Edward,' she said. 'Certainly they would be overjoyed to have me back. But equally certainly they would see me to a nunnery the same day.'

  They'd shut you up, for being raped?’

  'Would they not bury me, for being murdered?'

  'By Christ,' he said.

  'So I would ask you this,' she said. 'Last week on the beach, supposing that Yarico had not come to your rescue, or perhaps even sided with the Irishmen, what would you have done? Would you have left me with them, or would you have died in my defence?"

  'And on that answer depends your decision, a nunnery or marriage to me?"

  'Oh, no, Edward. I will still marry you. No matter what happens, I will marry you. I could never contemplate shutting myself away from life and laughter. I would rather be dead, and I am not prepared to contemplate that either, at this moment. I merely wish to know whether it will be possible for me to love you.'

  ‘I would have left you.'

  She caught her breath. 'You... .’

  'As you have just said, death, for either of us, is not worth contemplating unless it is inevitable. I would have left you, and hoped to rescue you in due course.'

  'And would I have been worth rescuing?'

  'Your body would have been bruised. You would have been entered by several men, perhaps by all of them, instead of just one. Yet I think both of those things would have been set right by one of those hot baths of which you dream. As for your mind, Aline, had it also been bruised, then I doubt whether you would have been worth having back. But then, could your mind be bruised by such an event, you would not have been worth dying for, either.'

  'Mon Dieu,' she whispered. 'And you call yourself a man? Have you no notion at all of honour?'

  ‘I would rather say that your society has no notion of honour, Aline. Honour must surely be related to Christianity, as we claim to be Christian. So then, is it honourable to kill a man? It is certainly un-Christian. It can surely only be justified by dire need, the preservation of another life, perhaps. Those men would not have killed you, Aline. You are too beautiful.'

  'Mon Dieu,' she said again. 'That I can have been so unfortunate. ...'

  'As to find yourself encumbered with a man such as I? Well, then, how does your nunnery seem now? I do assure you, that were the honourable thing to do.'

  Her breath came sharply. 'And you,' she said. ‘If indeed you lack all conception of honour, do you not at least feel the stirrings of manhood? I kneel beside you, wearing but a single garment. Perhaps I would scream were you to assault me, but I doubt that anyone lying over there would care to rescue me.'

  Of course she wanted him to rape her again. She wanted sex, and she wanted reassurance, and she had found his sex at once exciting and reassuring. And also, from her point of view, victorious; he had been her subject, for a while, afterwards.

  'As you are so determined to marry me, Aline,' he said. ‘I can wait. For the return of my father. He will surely have a priest with him.'

  Her nostrils dilated. 'Ah, yes, Master Warner,' she said. 'He will have a priest with him. And the first thing he shall do is marry us. And then you will make me
pregnant, Edward. Again and again and again. I want a great many children, Edward, so I can raise them all to hate you.'

  She got up and walked back towards the others. Edward sighed, and watched her go. How hard his weapon, how anxious his mind. She did more to arouse him than any woman he had ever known, save... horrible thoughts. But thoughts to be thought, as he was being honest with himself. And he would possess her one day. But on his own terms.

  'You strange,' Yarico said.

  He dared not turn. 'Do you watch me constantly?'

  Her laughter tinkled, but softly. 'Yarico not watch, Edward die. All die.'

  'You think so?" He rolled over, found himself against her, and she was naked. 'Oh, Christ almighty, go back to your couch.'

  She cupped her hands on his breast, squeezing the hard muscled flesh as she was so fond of doing. 'Why you not take that girl?'

  ‘I intend to marry her. Before the priest and before God. I wish it to be done properly.'

  'Proper,' Yarico said. She put her arms round his head and pulled it against her breasts. Her breasts had grown with motherhood, and sagged where once they had pointed. He could hear her heart beating, and before he could stop himself his aims went round her waist and his fingers sought the roundness of her buttocks.

  'You are my stepmother.'

  ‘I am your woman, Ed-ward. You not forget that' 'My father....' 'War-nah not come back.'

  'Aye,' he said. 'You could well be right' Besides, this night he wanted her to be right. A combination of pride and guilt kept him from taking Aline, however much he desired her, however much she deliberately inflamed his desire. But there could be no pride, and there could be no guilt, where Yarico was concerned. They had earned each other.

  Yet the ships came, as Edward was fast coming to believe they always would, eventually. Two ships, flying the cross of St George, and large, well-found vessels, too, with a dozen guns in each broadside. And crowded with colonists.

  He led his brother and his women down to the beach, wearing Spanish armour and carrying their weapons, for the Irish were also fully accoutred, and stood in an uncertain group in front of the ruins of Sandy Point.