by Andre Norton
Chapter Nine
* * *
“AN’ THAR WOS FLOWERS—”
* * *
IF JUSTIN had thought that he was to be under the eye of His Excellency he had flattered himself, for during the rest of the week he saw no one save Master Firken and Francis, both of whom worked him hard enough. Young Hynde appeared each morning for a fencing lesson, always accompanied by a stout, middle-aged man-servant who watched the lessons with wary disapproval plainly written on his face—as if he expected to see his charge murdered before his gooseberry eyes. In fact Justin suspected that Amos carried concealed about his portly person a pistol with which to finish off the instructor should the pupil be harmed.
But in teaching Francis, Blade was winning back his own supple ease and in addition he came to take pride in his work. For there was no denying that his pupil was determined to excel at this new art. Red-faced and puffing, the younger boy practiced eagerly and would have spent the whole morning at hard labor had his instructor not begged off after a reasonable lesson hour.
“Enough is enough.” Justin leaned upon a table to catch his breath. “It is not wise to wear oneself out in this heat— we who are born to the islands know that. Wipe your face, Francis. No, don’t drink all of that—curb your thirst while you are so heated—”
Amos took the glass of lime juice and water out of his small master’s hand.
“Ye’re a knowable one, master,” he observed to Justin. “No, ’e ’as th’ right o’ it, Sir Francis. No more o’ th’ juice while ye be so ’eated-loike. Mind ye be careful now or ye don’t go wi’ Amos this afternoon—”
Sir Francis stopped whining in mid-breath. “But you promised, Amos, you truly promised I could go—”
“Go where?” asked Justin idly.
“To see Danby Johns sit in the stocks. He needs must sit there for four hours each market day and the town boys pelt him with dead fish and such. It is a great sight— ”
“No doubt,” commented Justin dryly as he sheathed his sword. “And for what great sin must this Johns so suffer?”
Sir Francis snickered. “He is cracked and a lack-wit. He came to Master Shrimpton with a story of buried treasure and he was so good at telling it that Master Shrimpton did fit out a sloop and go a-voyaging after it. But there was no treasure and now Master Shrimpton has had Danby jailed because he cannot give back the money lent him before they sailed. Danby Johns spoke out ill in court so now each market day he sits in the stocks to be a warning against such trifling with the law.”
Justin tied his neckcloth and reached for his coat. “I think I am minded to visit this Danby Johns with you. I take it that Lady Hynde knows nothing of this interesting pursuit?” Across Sir Francis’ be-wigged head Blade looked to Amos questioningly.
The man shrugged and turned away indifferently, as if what Justin might think of his master’s activities was of little importance. Plainly keeping Sir Francis out of mischief was so formidable a task that Amos long ago had worked out his own methods of handling the boy. Seemingly seeing rogues receiving lawful punishment was considered a respectable sort of entertainment.
“Mother knows that I am safe with Amos; she never asks where we go. Will you truly come with us, Justin? And may we walk by Captain Jephson’s house?”
“Why?”
Sir Francis was making a mighty business of pulling on his coat. It was Amos who answered for him.
“That be th’ shorter way, Master Blade. Sir Francis, ye ’ave not fed th’ birds today an’ ’is Excellency depends upon ye t’ do that. Off now while Master Blade makes ready t’ go—”
When the boy was out of sight Amos spoke to Justin. “Ye’re right kind t’ th’ younglin’, master,” he said hesitatingly. “Ye ’ave more patience wi’ ’im than some others I can put name t’. ’Course, I know ’e’s no proper boy like the’ Major would ’ave about ’im—’e’s too pert wi’ ’is tongue an’ too missish in ’is ways. But, look ye, Master Blade, ’e’s been always wi’ ’is elders an’ ’e ’ad no father who was a proper father t’ ’im. Cared only for my lady’s money, Sir Frederik did, and when that was gone—run through his fingers over th’ gamin’ table—’e blew ’is brains out. Then my lady took Sir Francis an’ sort o’ shut ’im off as it were—said ’e must learn to be a great gentleman —told ’im that ’is father was one before ’im. She tried to forget all th’ bad that way, ye see. Things was ’ard so she tried to make them better in ’er mind loike—then she sort o’ got t’ believein’ that it was really true.
“But when th’ Major ’ad ’er an’ Sir Francis out from England ’e was mightily disappointed in th’ lad. ’E took th’ boy shootin’ once an’ came ’ome mad as Satan because o’ ’ow unhandy Sir Francis was. Though th’ Major’s a mild man most times ’e ’as a temper right enough. Then Sir Francis would speak up t’ ’im in such a way as no man like th’ Major will stand an’ my lady did not correct ’im for it—because she sees nothin’ wrong in aught ’e does.
“Now ye, master, well, ye’re like Sir Robert . . . Sir Francis has taken an interest in ye as it were. An’ now ’e’s been braggin’ t’ some o’ th’ town boys as ’ow ye are a pirate an’ ’e knows ye. Captain Jephson’s son—’e’s called names after Sir Francis an’ laughed at ’im. But if ye were to walk wi’ Sir Francis by th’ Captain’s ’ouse—well, maybe tomorrow then young Master Ralph won’t be so free wi’ ’is tongue—”
“So I’m a great man of sorts?” Justin laughed. “All right, Amos, we shall most assuredly walk by Captain Jephson’s house. But do not think that I shall continue to dry nurse Sir Francis. He needs a firm hand; that you know as well as I.”
The serving man nodded. “Aye, master. But there be too much good in ’im not t’ wish there was more. ’Ere, master, let me ’old that for ye.”
Almost eagerly he picked up Justin’s coat and helped slip it over the boy’s still tender shoulders.
After Tortuga the streets of Bridgetown seemed marvels of cleanliness and order, although the closer one came to the sea the more varied and pungent were the odors to be fought. Justin also found himself the focus of no little attention and he was glad that his coat was whole and that he was otherwise clad as became one of modest standing in the community. A man with a decent suit to his back could meet stares coolly and pretend that he did not hear comments. But the ordeal set him to wondering if he would ever be at home in Bridgetown.
They heard the sounds of the raree show by the market place long before they turned into the open square. Catcalls and the thin screeching of small boys made a din to drown out anything the wizened little man in the tight clamp of the stocks might be trying to say in his own defense.
The filthy refuse of the whole market was plastered across the stock boards, the man’s narrow shoulders, and his bruised face, as he sat with hanging head, his bearded lips mumbling words only he could hear.
As soon as they were within range Sir Francis snatched a decayed orange from a fruit stall, but as he drew back his arm to hurl it, Justin’s fingers clamped about his wrist and forced him to drop his smelly ammunition. The younger boy struggled furiously to pull free.
“Let me go—let me go, you—you pirate rogue!” his voice was a bat squeak of rage.
“When you act as becomes a gentleman.”
“Let me go!” Sir Francis’ lips drew back and for one disgusted moment Justin thought that his captive was going to use his teeth to gain his freedom. He administered a shake which brought young Hynde’s wig down over his eyes.
“Would you behave as the scum of the town? What if you sat there so—would you relish rotten fruit in your face?”
Francis’ eyes went large with honest surprise. “But I would not be put in the stocks,” he countered. “I am a gentleman—and that is for common rogues.”
“And commoner ones do the pelting. If you are a gentleman—act as one. Do you ever see your uncle or Sir Robert about such business? When you are with me I am answerable for your conduc
t—and you will not be a street brat! Understand?”
For the first time since he had known Sir Francis the boy was subdued. He straightened his wig, put on the broad-brimmed hat which had fallen off and stayed close to the side of his companion.
“Flowers fer Danby—gi’ ’im flowers.” Someone close to the stocks shouted and a mass of wet vegetation was flung into Johns’ face, the act being greeted by a joyous roar from the crowd.
“Thar be yer flowers, Danby. See ye th’ gold yet?”
Justin, mystified, turned to Amos for enlightenment “What is this about flowers?”
“It be this way, Master Blade. This Johns did tell Shrimpton that th’ buried gold ’ad been well marked for those who came after. But when they reached th’ cay ’e was confused like. It seems they ’ad planted flowers t’ mark th’ spot an’ those ’ad thrived an’ spread until no man could tell where they was first planted. So, though ’e an’ Shrimpton stayed some weeks an’ dug in likely spots they never found no treasure. An’ it turned John’s wits so now all ’e talks o’ is th’ flowers.”
“Poor devil. How much does he owe this Shrimpton?”
“A matter o’ five shillin’ or so. But ’e ’asn’t a copper t’ ’is name an’ who will put up for ’im—cracked ’ead an’ lack-wit that ’e is? ’E’ll rot in jail less th’ sun lays ’im low some market day.”
“This Shrimpton must be a hard man.”
“Well, ’e be not one t’ be known for an open purse. ’E is from th’ northern colonies, a trader. An’ ’e was made th’ butt o’ much laughter among th’ gentlemen—so does ’e now ’ave a ’ot feelin’ over th’ matter.”
“Five shillings.” But Justin did not put hand to pocket as he would have liked to do. He had never owned a purse in his life, nor did he have any more now than Danby Johns—except his freedom. Sir Francis tugged at him.
“They come to take Johns back to jail again. Prithee, let us go behind them and look upon the pirates once more.”
But to see his fellows from the Naughty Lass was the last thing Justin wished. And he was firm in turning back up the hill, the reluctant Sir Francis still with him. But when the Baronet discovered that a show of black sullens made no impression on the older boy, he set about finding some more subtle kind of devilment.
“Will you be there to testify at the pirates’ trial?” he asked innocently. “I heard Uncle Humphrey say that you would—”
However, Justin refused to rise to the bait. “We shall see when the time comes.”
“I would like to testify in court,” continued the irrepressible Francis. “To have everyone listen to me while I told of the many wicked sins of pirates—that would be fine—”
“Aye. But I hardly think you will ever be called upon to do so.”
Sir Francis gave a little skip. “Some day I shall—you will see. I shall stand in court and testify and then shall my uncle be greatly surprised and all these stupid islanders shall say that I am of some account after all. You shall see, you and Amos, when you stand and listen to me!”
“Mayhap,” returned Justin absently. “Stranger things than that have happened in this world. Look you now, Francis— surely it is time for you to be returning home. Lady Hynde will be thinking you lost.”
“She will believe me at the palace and she likes to have me go there. Other town boys are not invited. But Sir Robert knows that a Hynde is not like these colonials—”
“Now you are being tiresome again.” Justin was fast reaching the end of all patience. “Run along with you. Amos, see that he goes straight home.”
Justin thought that he would have to face some teasing and whining which was the usual result of dismissing his charge, but Francis went off with Amos without further complaint and Blade walked more briskly on alone. Perversely, now that Hynde was gone, he missed his chatter and the garden of the palace, when he gained it, seemed rather empty. He dawdled on his way to the house, having little desire for the rest of the day’s program—a cheerless afternoon to be spent squirming under the probing of Master Firken who had been instructed by the Governor to discover the full extent of Justin’s lack of education. This project delighted the secretary who entered into it with a good will which Justin found smacked of the zeal of the Inquisition and which he at no time enjoyed.
But Master Blade was not to spend the afternoon so tamely. Instead, just within the door, he was pounced upon by a worried Firken and hurried to Sir Robert’s own study. He gathered from the secretary’s reproaches that he had been guilty of the awful sin of keeping His Excellency waiting.
“So here you are at last,” was his greeting. “And a long time about it you were. May I inquire as to where you managed to conceal yourself so well that half my staff could not find you until now?”
“I was in the town with Sir Francis, Your Excellency.”
“And what took you there?”
“Sir Francis wished to see a certain Johns in the stocks.”
Sir Robert nodded. “I might have guessed. That young rogue has a taste for such amusements. He was here for his lesson this morning?”
“Aye, sir.”
“How does he shape?”
“He has been carefully taught—but he wishes to learn more than the beginner has knowledge of.”
Justin was treated to a flash of Sir Robert’s wolf grin. “It is always good for any man to increase his store of knowledge. Which leads me to this most complete report from Master Firken concerning your own attainments.” He picked up a sheet of paper to consult from time to time. “It appears that you can read your mother tongue with some facility, that you are able to write—and not too crudely. But for the rest—you are vastly ignorant of all the most common style of living—”
Justin’s lips pressed tight at the flick of contempt in the Governor’s emotionless appraisal of his education.
“On the other side of the ledger—for your age and reach, you are one of the finest swordsmen I have ever seen.”
At Justin’s startled face Sir Robert laughed.
“Oh, aye, did you think that I would allow you to lesson Francis without judging you? Who was your master?”
“Pym Snelgrave. He was a major of horse under Churchill until he joined Sir John Fenwick in Berwick’s revolt. Now he teaches the sword to those who wish to learn—in Tortuga. It was he who taught me books also.”
“Snelgrave,” repeated Sir Robert as if to fix the name in his memory. “He seems a man of many accomplishments. Did he teach you that matter of using either hand also?”
“Aye. He lost his right hand in the wars, and fences with his left. So it is his argument that all men should learn to do likewise lest they have his misfortune and find themselves helpless.”
“Something of a philosopher, this Snelgrave. Does he make a living teaching his tricks to the bully boys of Tortuga? Such niceties would be lost on heads as thick as most of theirs.”
“He manages to scrape along after a fashion. Some of the captains come to him for instruction—”
“But he has not joined any crew?”
“No. He swears that he hates the sea, Your Excellency. The truth is that on the water his stomach rebels.”
“There I can feel with him—seeing that in storms I am apt to share the same discomfort. So much for Snelgrave —since it is your affairs with which I must now be troubled—”
Justin did not venture to reply to that in spite of Sir Robert’s short pause.
“Were you some years older, you could set up as a fencing master and so make your way in the world. But few of our planters would go to a boy for their sword schooling. And you are no plantation hand—I am certain of that. So what are we to do with you, Master Blade?”
“I am a seaman, Your Excellency. And many ships putting into port here lack a man for their crews. I can find a berth aboard such a one easily enough.”
“No doubt, no doubt.” Sir Robert had fallen to pleating the edge of the paper upon which Firken had listed the boy’s schoo
ling. “But there is no need for hurry. Major Cocklyn has made a suggestion which seems good. Master Lewis who has been tutor and companion to Sir Francis since before the Hyndes left England finds that this climate is breaking his health. He wishes to return home and that speedily. In the meantime young Hynde will be left to Amos and Cocklyn thinks that, while he is careful enough of the boy, he panders too much to his taste for just such sights as you attended today. So his uncle wants healthy sports brought to his attention—”
“And Lady Hynde wishes?” Justin was afraid of where this might be leading.
“Lady Hynde, too, is finding the climate trying to her health and nerves. She has agreed to give over management of her son to Cocklyn. And since the boy shows an unusual liking for you his uncle would like you to play the friend and companion to him. You could establish an influence which might bring him out of his more trying ways. Cocklyn would be more grateful than you can guess and you will be paid what Master Lewis has received.”
“And if I do not choose to play dry nurse to Sir Francis?”
“Then you shall find it difficult to secure a berth aboard any ship in this harbor. Reformed pirates are held suspect by honest captains.”
“You leave me no choice—” flared Justin.
“Do you think I intended to?” returned the Governor crisply. From the drawer of the table he took a netted purse and tossed it toward Blade.
“Your first quarter’s wages. Spend them wisely.”
Silver gleamed up from the bag. Justin counted out some coins and put them down before Sir Robert.
“And these?” Scarlett stirred the pieces with a long forefinger.
“You’ve a man in jail I have a fancy to have out— Danby Johns.”
“Why this solicitude for that crack-crown?”
Justin shrugged. “I don’t know. Say because I am squeamish and don’t care for your market place shows. Put any name to it you wish.”
“D’you know”—Sir Robert made of the shilling pieces an even pile—“I believe, Blade, you are going to leave your mark on Bridgetown.”
