Her chin moved, slowly, up and down. Her eyes were filled with tears.
'But Joan survived.'
Her head turned, sharply.
‘I do not he to you,' Edward said. 'Little Tom saved her life.'
'Joan,' she whispered. 'Oh, God, there is a miracle.’ 'Hardly less than your own survival.'
'He wanted me' she said. 'He conceived that there could be no greater revenge than that.' 'And having got you?"
‘I do not know,' she said. ‘I do not know. I think perhaps he did mean to kill me, no doubt slowly and with as much unpleasantness as he could devise. I was tied to a stake, within feet of poor Hal Leaming.'
'And you laughed at him,' Edward said.
She sucked air into her lungs.
'Yarico told me. A proud deed.'
1 wanted to defy them. I wanted to defy Wapisiane.' Her tongue circled her lips. 'My laughter saved my life, Edward. But yet was I his captive, and yet did he mean to have his revenge.'
His throat was dry, and his stomach was light. 'He alone?" Her head shook, slowly, to and fro. 'How many?" he whispered.
‘I do not know.' Her hand came out from beneath the blanket, gripped his. ‘I closed my eyes and tried to close my mind. Or I would have gone mad.' She stared at him. 'Or would you have preferred that, Edward?"
'The Indian way?"
'Every way,' she said. 'And other things. There is nothing man can do to woman they omitted. And yet they were careful, not to hurt me.'
'Not to hurt you,' he said. He got up, walked to the stern window, and gazed at the broad, bubbling white wake which spread behind the ship.
'Edward. They could not reach my mind.’
He turned. She was sitting up, the blanket forgotten. Her shoulders were roughened with sunburn and bruises, and her breasts were pink. The most beautiful breasts he had ever known, breasts made to fill a man's hand, and how many men's hands had they filled, these past few days?
She seemed able to read his mind. She had always been able to do that. She flushed, and pulled the blanket back to her throat, and lay down. 'Had I not laughed,' she said. ‘I dunk they would have killed me, at the stake. They were very aroused. I think they would have torn me to pieces. No doubt that would have been best, Mr Warner. I am sorry. Then I wished to survive. Then, I never doubted that I could survive, and return to you.' She watched him cross the cabin and stand over her. "Then, I not only loved, Mr Warner, I thought I was loved, and I thought that our love required survival, demanded survival, for its continuance. I shall not laugh again, Mr Warner.'
How beautiful she was. Almost he stooped towards her. And then he saw the brown hands, stained with mud and filth, clawing at her body, twisting in her hair, and instead he nearly retched. But how valuable she was, in her courage and her constancy. Yet how tarnished, as every white man, every white woman, and every white child in the Caribee Isles, no, in the entire Western Hemisphere, in time, in the entire world, would know. No one would ever look at her again, without seeing her stretched on her face in the dust, her legs spread wide. No one.
He ran for the doorway, and the fresh breeze coining in from the north.
‘He was a great man,' declared the Reverend Sweeting, and raised his head as if daring anyone in the assembly to challenge his statement.
There was no risk of that. The colonists of St Kitts, men and women, and their children, stood in a huge mass on the slopes of the hill beneath the grave. Only the men on duty on Brimstone Hill were not present; even the slaves had lined up below their masters and mistresses. There could be no less than four thousand people present, Edward estimated. Some distance from the four nervous men and the excited boy who had landed on these beaches a dozen years before.
And it had, undoubtedly, been Tom Warner's doing. Even the skies, brilliantly blue and cloudless, and the breeze, drifting gently down from the peak of old Misery, and the sea, sparkling blue beneath the glowing sun, seemed to be paying their tribute to the man who had dreamed, and acted, and accomplished.
'He followed his star,' Mr Sweeting said. 'And earned himself a fortune and a fame which will endure so long as there is an English-speaking nation left upon this earth. But more than that, my friends. He never forgot who and what he was, and where his duty lay. He was an English gentleman, and he sought always to act as an English gentleman. He was a loving husband and Father, and he sought always to act as a loving husband and father. And he was a true Christian, who was ever animated by the spirit of our Lord Jesus Christ, and whose dreams and actions were given power through his desire to propagate the Christian faith.'
He was a great man, Edward thought. By any standards. Why stain his memory with hypocrisy? Can greatness, in a worldly sense, ever be separated from harshness and cruelty, from faithlessness and lust? Greatness depends upon success, and success depends upon the possession of all those vices.
But no one present was inclined to dispute even these specious words. The Sieur de Poincy stood on the left of the grave, with his principal officers, amongst them the two heroes, Lafitte and Solange, veterans of the Indian campaign, immediately promoted to commands in the French militia. The Warners were gathered on the other side. A surprisingly small group, for the family and friends of such a man. Lady Warner, her face shrouded beneath a black veil which hung from her broad-brimmed hat, the back of her gown darkening with sweat, for this day she was dressed as she would for court, from gloves to heeled shoes, and no doubt even a corset to hold her straight. Philip Warner stood close, ready to provide her with comfort and support, if need be. His face was solemn. Harry Judge was at his side. Yarico had donned a gown for the occasion, and stood a few feet away, little Tom clutching her hand and gazing into the grave where lay his father. With them was the tall figure of Tony Hilton, in full armour, for he possessed no other clothing, and beside him Brian Connor, short and also very military, together with John Painton.
Edward Warner was by himself, the sun beating down on his bare head, his hands clasped in front. He wore no sword, and his clothes were the homespun of the farmer. The breeze ruffled his hair and plucked at his beard. He knew how many were surreptitiously watching him.
For there remained two other Warners, also standing by themselves. Aline, in a borrowed gown and a borrowed hat, both supplied by her stepmother-in-law, clutching Joan in her arms. Joan had not left her arms since her return.
'And so he died,' Mr Sweeting said. 'As a gentleman and a Christian, but more, as the man he was, Governor of the Caribee Isles. He perceived his duty, and he went about it without a moment's hesitation, whatever his age, whatever the calls upon his nature to remain in comfort and security. By doing so he put many of us here to shame. And in doing so he died. Yet were even his last moments crowned with success. Can there ever have been a more successful venture than the expedition to Dominica? Have we not now settled accounts with the Caribs once and for all? Is not this island, and all of these islands, now safe for us and our children, aye, and our children's children, to live in? Shall we not build a new nation here, in these tiny paradises? For this must be our charge, my friends, to realize Tom Warner's dream, to watch it unfold to make it come true. This was the duty he left us, and this is the duty we must perform.'
Tom could have spoken those words himself. He might even have written them, for his own epitaph. Because he had spoken them before, many years ago, mid watched them turn sour. As these would turn sour. These people had taken no part in the fight against the Caribs, yet they would suffer. Edward had no doubts about that. The Indians were defeated, but they were far from beaten. They had tasted blood against the white men, and now they had a deal to avenge. And were they the only menaces of the Caribee colonies? Were not the Spaniards still the dominating power in tins beautiful sea, but waiting their moment to liquidate all intruders? Was there really any possibility of French and English sharing an island as small as St Kitts for any length of time without again coming to blows? Was their any possibility of the English settlers, even if left stri
ctly to themselves, living in complete harmony, where factions mid rivalries sprang up overnight almost like magic?
And supposing all those things were possible, had not Tom himself planted a canker in the very centre of the colony, a canker which at present gazed up the hill at the white people solemnly burying their leader, and like the Caribs, watched and listened, and remembered. And prepared to grow.
And yet, foreseeing all these insuperable problems, he must tread the path delineated for him by his father, and count himself fortunate. For Mr Sweeting was finished, and the grave was being filled, and the people were waiting for him to begin.
'Mr Sweeting has done my father no more than justice,' he said. 'He was a great man, and we shall surely miss his leadership and his inspiration. Yet shall we not fail him. St Kitts has already grown to the proportions of a nation, and I know that it will continue to prosper under the sure governorship of my brother here. My father's dying words were to charge me with the restoration of the Antigua colony. This I mean to do, and immediately. But I wall need volunteers, men and women who will be prepared to start their lives afresh, and look for new prosperity.'
'We're with you, Captain Warner,' Robert Anderson shouted. 'We'll be back to St John's as soon as it can be managed.'
'Aye, and you may count on me, Captain Warner,' Tom Doughty shouted.
They would not follow him to Dominica, but now the crisis was over they were his men again. And more. There were endless cries of support. He was the hero, now. He had fought and won. Time and again. And time and again?
He held up his hands. ‘I thank you. Mr Anderson, you'll be in charge of recruiting. I'd ask you to set up a table on the beach. I shall join you within the hour.'
'You are to be congratulated, Ned,' Tony Hilton said. 'Susan will be proud of you.'
'And you?"
‘I must be back to my rock. We shall never grow rich from the soil, like the Warners, but we pluck a living from the sea.'
'And it is more to your taste.'
Hilton's mouth split in that tremendous grin. ‘It was ever so. But you can be sure that if you ever need a stout right arm, and many more besides, you have but to send a sloop north to Tortuga.'
'And you will count on me in a similar vein, old friend."
‘I never doubted that, Ned. God speed.'
'And I also must take my leave, Ted.' Connor took off his hat. 'But I’ll pay ye a visit, when ye've set yourself up again.'
'And meanwhile, Montserrat prospers. We've come a long way from that empty beach, Brian.’
'Now there's a true word. 'Tis a shame poor Paddy O'Reilly never lived to see the day. But he's watching us, ye may be sure. I’ll wish ye fortune.'
‘I, at the least, need say only a temporary farewell,' Painton said, 'as my next cargo will be bound for Antigua. This was your father's wish.'
'And I shall honour his desire, of course,' Edward said. ‘I but wish I could convince myself that what we do is not condemned by God, and does not carry within itself the seeds of our destruction.'
Painton laughed, and slapped him on the shoulder. "What, would He condemn us for increasing His congregation? Be sure that all those blacks down there have already been baptized. Believe me, Ned, this is but a necessity, to which you will soon become accustomed. I shall be back in six months.'
Edward watched him walking down the hill, behind the slowly dispersing crowd.
'Your day of triumph,' Anne Warner said, softly. "Well, perhaps you have earned it, Edward. If Hilton and the others are to be believed, and I am prepared to believe them, it was Sir Thomas's last wish that you plant cane in Antigua, and that we supply you with whatever finance is necessary to accomplish that. This also I am prepared to do. But there is an end to the matter. You have chosen to oppose me in every possible way since I came to these islands, and I hold you and your lust after glory and bloodshed as directly responsible for the death of my husband and your father. Take what you wish and go, Edward. We have no wish to see you in St Kitts again.'
Edward bowed. ‘I would rather hear such a message from the Governor, if I may, Lady Warner.'
Philip licked his lips. ‘I endorse Lady Warner's words, Edward. God knows, I have fought with you and for you oft enough, and I have tried to see the world with your eyes. But we are different people, you and I, and you seem to attract at once the support and the anger of the Fates. We would prefer a more settled life, here in St Kitts. And if, as you claim, you possess the finest harbour in the Caribee Isles, then you should not suffer by conducting your own trade with England.'
Edward nodded. 'Be sure that the Antigua colony will prosper. Nor will I again call on you for assistance, Philip.
Yet I am proud to have been associated with you during our battles with the Dons. Here is my hand.'
Philip hesitated, and then held out his own, and their fingers locked, for an instant.
'Now we should be obliged,' Anne Warner said. ‘If you would leave us with our grief. And take your chattels with you.'
Their grief. He had not taken half a dozen steps before their heads were close together, discussing the treasures which had fallen into their outstretched hands. Well, let them plot and even prosper. They were behind him, now.
And his chattels?
'We go home?' Yarico asked.
'And where would you call home?" he asked.
She gave a shriek of delightful laughter. 'Yarico home is War-nah home. And War-nah home is Antigua.'
She had even managed to bring a smile back to his face. 'Aye, sweetheart. So we will go home. Take the boy and I will join you on the beach.'
Yarico nodded and looked past him. She seemed about to speak, and then thought better of it, grasped little Tom's hand, and went down the hillside.
Edward turned. From these south-facing slopes it was possible to look at Nevis and Montserrat, and the islands beyond. It was even possible to look across the brow of the hillside and catch just a glimpse of Antigua. It should have been possible, had there not been a fluttering skirt in the way. The skirt alone had moved in the past hour, except once, when Joan had cried, and been immediately rocked back to sleep. She had stood this silently while her fate had been decided, the night Tom Warner had returned from England for the last time, and she had waited with equal patience, alone in the forest, until she could seek him, when her people had evacuated the island. Her strength was passive, but it was the greater for that. It was not a strength that word or rumour could tarnish.
And had not Father himself reminded him that he was no less vulnerable, could he but trust himself?
He climbed, and wiped sweat from his brow. But then, it was an uncommonly hot day.
'You must be the most patient woman I have ever known," he said.
'For which I thank God, Captain Warner.' 'No doubt we have much to thank Him for, you and I. Ill take the child for the walk. Your arms must be weary.' She hesitated.
'She is my daughter as well,' he said, gently. She held out the babe, and her arms fell back to her side. 'Are you coming?' he asked. ‘I would know where, sir.' 'My name is Edward, and you are my wife.' "Yet am I walking in as much darkness as the night I first trod this hill.'
'Aye,' he said. ‘It can have been the lot of very few women to have been so mistreated twice in their lives, and survived.' 'And you condemn me for that?'
He shook his head. 'No. I honour you.' He held Joan against his shoulder and pointed with his free hand. 'These islands, this very sea, are Warner's. And I am of that blessed name, and will hold what we have taken, as will my children. And you are Warner's woman, Aline. Nor can I conceive of any other, living or dead, who could sustain that burden, and that glory, and yet stand erect at the end of it.' He held out his hand. 'You'll walk with me to the ship, Mrs Warner.'
THE END
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