Rules of War

by Iain Gale

  Trouin saw his bewilderment: ‘You see Mister Thomson, how we like to do things here. We like a little spice with our meat, eh? Both of these women were caught stealing from the company’s funds. This is their punishment. They will go at each other until first blood is drawn and then we will decide – I shall decide – if the contest will continue. The winner has the privilege of further entertaining me in my bed. Although perhaps tonight I shall take them both.’ He turned to the master of ceremonies and waved his hand. ‘Let the fight begin.’

  The two women squared up to each other and the plumper one lunged. But the other girl was quick on her feet and sidestepped so that her opponent fell sprawling to the floor. The room erupted in catcalls and cheers as the girl staggered to her feet, only to be hit with a smart uppercut by the other. Reeling, she put her hand to her jaw and eyes blazing now with genuine anger raced towards her opponent and drove her fist directly into her chest before twisting her arm behind her in a lock. It was almost too much for Steel to watch, although around the room the atmosphere was electric. The second girl, the Amazon, twisted in her grip and managed to turn just enough to grab hold of her shirt, which she tore away, forcing her opponent to let go. Half-naked now, the one they called The Fury ran at the other who was twirling the shirt in the air, in triumph.

  The room was filled with whistles now and lewd suggestions. Making contact with her opponent’s back, the Amazon shoved her forward face down on the floor and began to stamp on her. The girl screamed and Steel tensed at the sound. Surely, he thought, Trouin will stop it now? The Amazon was kneeling now, grinding her knee into the small of the blonde’s back. She grabbed her left arm and twisted it behind her. The blonde was crying now, begging for mercy. But still her opponent twisted and pulled at her arm. Suddenly the victim gave a terrible scream.

  At last Trouin intervened: ‘Enough. I think that will do.’

  Instantly the Amazon stopped her torture and stood up, making no attempt to hide her nakedness. The other girl remained on the floor, whimpering.

  Trouin ignored them both and turned to Steel. ‘So, it is settled. A pity, I preferred the blonde. But you can’t have everything in life, can you, Captain?’

  Steel tried to ignore the drama being acted out behind him where the blonde girl, her arm dislocated, was being helped up and carried off. He smiled: ‘I don’t know. Can’t you?’

  Trouin laughed. ‘Now, Captain, women – take your pick. We have many. What is to your taste? Mulatto? A northern Valkyrie perhaps with blonde hair? Perhaps you like that? Margareta.’ He beckoned a blond girl and pushed her towards Steel so that she careered into him and he felt her soft warmth. She smiled at Steel, who returned her gaze.

  ‘No, Captain. My tastes are …’

  ‘More exotic, I’ll wager. You prefer a black girl. Well, we can accommodate you there too.’ He looked about the room and made to signal to one of the women.

  Steel stopped him. ‘No, no, Captain. On the contrary, I favour an English girl. Or Scots. Or Irish perhaps. That is to my taste. But always a girl with spirit.’

  Trouin thought for a moment. ‘Then I must tell you of someone. Someone very important and exquisitely beautiful – an English milady.’

  Steel feigned ignorance, and gave Trouin a puzzled look. The pirate rose to his curiosity: ‘No, really. I have an English lady. And I intend to use her, in every way imaginable.’

  Steel shuddered but smiled at Trouin: ‘Who is she? What’s she doing here? Can I see her?’ He paused: ‘I don’t believe you. You’re full of hot air, there’s no lady.’

  The pirate to Trouin’s left went for his sword but the captain stayed his hand: ‘No, no. Captain Thomson doubts my word. If he is to serve with me then he must trust me completely.’ He thought for a moment: ‘Come, we will go to my house.’

  He clicked his fingers and Ajax followed them towards the door. Steel glanced again at Brouwer whose face now wore an expression of undisguised terror. Trying not to be noticed he mouthed to Brouwer: Get out. Go. But the man seemed rooted to the spot – and then Steel and the others were out in the street.

  They walked a few paces before turning sharp left. Ahead of them stood a house, rather grander than the others in the street with a pair of Doric columns and what passed as a portico. Trouin made an extravagant gesture with his arm.

  ‘Behold, Captain. My humble dwelling. It’s not much, but it is the finest house in this quarter. Belonged to the harbour master before he went missing. Please come in.’

  Trouin pushed the door open and they entered a soaring hall with a black and white marble floor and a painted roof supported on six columns. From the centre was suspended a massive crystal chandelier of Venetian design containing perhaps five dozen white candles. Clearly, thought Steel, the harbour master had been able to command a healthy living. Or, more likely he had been creaming off a personal levy on imports and exports. Either way, the man had evidently met his maker. Steel gawped at the opulence. Trouin watched him.

  ‘Yes, I too was surprised at this place. Of course I have brought a few things here. I’m very fond of works of art. I am something of a dilettante, you know, a collector.’

  Steel looked about the hall. At intervals around the walls plinths held marble busts of Roman emperors, presumably, thought Steel, the product of Trouin’s global lootings. On the walls hung the sort of paintings he might have expected to find in a grand country house. The furniture was heavy, much of it French. Trouin caught him eyeing up an ormolu and boule-mounted secretaire.

  ‘A gift from the king. His Highness King Louis, that is, Captain. I am one of his favourites, you understand. He values my loyalty. Do come through. This is my favourite room, the salon.’

  He opened a door and led the way into a room even grander than the hall. Another chandelier hung from the ceiling, holding, Steel thought, perhaps a hundred candles. More pictures lined the walls. One in particular, a huge canvas depicting a flayed ox, struck him as extraordinary in its detail. Trouin motioned him towards it.

  ‘Please, Captain. Take a closer look. It is my supreme possession. A masterpiece, do you not think? It was painted by the great Rembrandt van Rijn. A Dutchman, unfortunately, but what a painter. Are you familiar with his work? I believe the late King of England was a collector. It is a favourite of mine. See how the blood glistens on the flesh. So realistic, so intricate. As if I had flayed the beast with my own hands. One could almost touch the living article, don’t you think? Quite delicious.’

  Trouin held his hand a few inches away from the painting, almost compelled, it seemed, to touch the paint.

  Steel watched him and wondered how such a man, who only a short while ago had sanctioned the killing of one of his own men and had presided over a barbaric spectacle in which two girls had fought until one of them had been crippled, could possibly appreciate such a glorious work of art. He stared at Trouin, with his pomaded wig, his gold-trimmed coat and flamboyant hat and tried, without success, to get the measure of him. And Trouin continued to stare at the ox. At length, unable to resist any longer, the pirate touched the painting, running his fingers along the furrows of the impasto and seeming lost in an almost sexual ecstasy. After a few exquisite moments, he stepped back, yet continued to stare at the painting.

  ‘Ah, Captain, what it must be to be a painter. What a talent. We mere mortals must content ourselves with our lesser abilities. Well, you can’t have everything, can you?’

  Steel shrugged: ‘I don’t suppose that Mijnheer van Rijn would have been much good as a soldier.’

  Trouin laughed. ‘I dare say that you’re right. But he certainly knew the look of dead meat and blood.’

  Steel felt a chill pass through him. Perhaps this man, for all his cultivated airs, was no more than he had first appeared: a simple, cruel, petty dictator.

  Walking slowly around the room, Trouin came to a halt before a full-length portrait of an aristocrat. It had been painted, Steel guessed, around fifty years before and depicted the subject stan
ding before a castle which an army, presumably his own, was busy attacking. They appeared to be winning.

  Trouin sighed: ‘I should wish to be remembered like that. To have my image painted in such a pose, before the scene of one of my many victories. D’you suppose I could find someone to do it?’

  ‘I dare say you might, in Bruges or Brussels. I hear the Belgians have a fine tradition of painting.’

  ‘But there, you see, Thomson, you have the measure of me. For I cannot wander freely in those places. I am an outlaw now. Doubly so, for I am employed by the French and now Marlborough has pushed them from Flanders. Soon we shall leave here. I think perhaps that we’ll drop anchor at Port Royal again. These people are no more than boors, they have no manners, no finesse. Do you not agree?’

  Steel nodded.

  ‘Well, that is by the way. But tell me this, Thomson. Do you suppose that I will be remembered as a monster or a rich and kind man? A philanthropist? A friend of the people? No, do not concern yourself with an answer. I know what you are thinking. I will be recorded in history as a monster, I think.’

  Steel bit his lip: ‘I do wonder, Captain. With such taste as this.’

  Trouin laughed: ‘You surely should have been a courtier, Captain. You are something of an enigma to me. You have fine manners, yet you fight as hard as any child of the gutter. I must admit, I am puzzled. I expect to learn a great deal more about you in the coming days, Captain. A great deal more.’

  Steel picked up a piece of fine Chinese porcelain that sat on an ornate gold-mounted cabinet beneath a huge, gilded overmantel mirror. But his mind was not on the craftsmanship. He would have to be careful from now on, he realized. Clearly, Trouin picked up on the slightest of things, and was liable to find him out if he made the smallest slip. Already he had allowed his experience at court to show through the pretence. But he was unable to resist one more comment.

  ‘You live like a king, Captain.’

  ‘I am a king, Captain Thomson. Here, in my own world. The French with their stupid fat governor and that brutish major, think that they control this town. But the fact is that this is my world, Captain. For the present at least.’ He paused and considered Steel’s remark again. ‘You know how a king lives, then? What do you know of kings?’

  Steel said nothing, regretting the rash comment.

  ‘How much I have to learn about you, Captain. You shall be my hobby. Come.’

  Passing through the salon, they entered a panelled corridor. Trouin turned right and then left. After a few paces he stopped outside a doorway on either side of which one of his men stood guard. Steel noticed that each was armed with a cutlass hanging at his side and a brace of pistols tucked into his belt. Steel wondered what he might expect to find inside. More paintings perhaps? A horde of golden coins? A king’s ransom in crown jewels? Trouin reached down to turn the key which sat in the lock.

  ‘And here we are.’

  Steel looked above the high doorcase to where the panelling held a small inset painting depicting Leda being ravished by Zeus in the guise of a swan. Trouin nodded to the guards, turned the brass door handle and opened the door.

  He entered and called to Steel: ‘Come in, come in. Come and see the most precious treasure of all.’

  Followed by the two guards, they entered a boudoir, hung with printed cottons. In the centre of the room stood a large four-poster bed with floral-printed hangings and by the tall window at a simple, painted dressing table, sat a girl. She had her back to them. But even from this angle, Steel knew her. He jumped as Trouin clasped his shoulder, and recoiled from the man, who was tense with lust.

  Trouin whispered: ‘Well, what do you think of her. She’s a rare beauty, eh?’

  Steel had to agree. Henrietta Vaughan was something quite rare. He had met her on several occasions in London with her cousin, his mistress Arabella Moore. Mainly these had been social gatherings, but on one memorable occasion Lady Henrietta had stumbled into her cousin’s bedroom when Steel and Arabella had been making love. It had been a sight that she was not likely to forget and as she turned Steel saw in her eyes that she recognized him instantly. She was more beautiful than he remembered. But even in that first glance he detected the haughtiness that had unsettled him on their first meeting.

  Trouin noticed the look that passed between them. ‘So, it is as I thought. She is exactly to your taste. Am I right?’

  Steel smiled: ‘Of course, Captain. How could any man not be smitten with such beauty. She is my ideal.’

  Steel had not thought that Lady Henrietta would be able to hear him across the room. He was mistaken.

  ‘How very kind you are, sir. I do not believe that I have had the pleasure of an introduction. Captain Trouin, perhaps you would be so kind.’

  ‘Of course. Lady Henrietta Vaughan. Captain James Thomson, late of the British army. Captain Thomson has elected to join me. A most wise decision, don’t you think, madame?’

  ‘I deplore deserters. In particular, I deplore deserters from the ranks of my own countrymen. You have ceased to be a gentleman, sir. You are no more than a traitor.’

  Steel smiled. How like her cousin in spirit she was. ‘My Lady, I am sorry to have offended you. I but follow my conscience.’

  ‘Then it is a strange conscience that would have you join a band of cut-throats and pirates, Captain.’

  ‘I would rather fight beside such men than for a government which murders innocent people on account of their religion and which serves a usurper to the thrones of England and Scotland.’

  ‘You are a Jacobite?’

  ‘And proud of it. I know no king but King James.’

  Lady Henrietta smiled. He had been certain that she had recognized him. If so then she was playing this game with him and must have realized the true reason for his being here.

  ‘You are foolish, sir, to follow a king with no throne. Queen Anne is our rightful monarch and her dynasty must prosper. You would do best to recant.’

  Steel was enjoying the game now, warming to his role and the thrill of subterfuge. ‘I am a man of honour, My Lady and would never betray my true loyalties.’

  ‘That’s not what I heard, sir.’

  Steel froze and felt a sudden terror in the pit of his stomach. For the words had not come from Lady Henrietta but from somewhere behind him. Steel knew the voice instantly; he did not need to turn to see its owner, but did so all the same. He gazed hard and incredulous into the pair of close-set, grey weasel eyes that smiled at him with a ghastly familiarity and knew that, failing a small miracle, he was deep in trouble. Sergeant Stringer.

  The man spoke: ‘Mister Steel, sir? Can it really be you? I had thought you must have been killed long before now. You’re very reckless, you know. You should be more careful. Saw you in the inn. Couldn’t believe it was you, sir, had to come and see for myself. Brought your little Belgian friend too. Saw you signalling to him in the inn. Silly bugger should ’ave cut and run while he had the chance. Takes some men that way, fear does.’

  Steel saw that behind Stringer two of the pirates were holding Marius Brouwer in a tight grip. He was as white as a sheet and a fleck of blood at the corner of his mouth showed that he had already taken a beating.

  Stringer leered at Steel. Trouin spoke, slowly: ‘You know this man?’

  ‘Know him, sir? Why I’d know him anywhere. This man is a British officer.’

  ‘But of course he is, Sergeant. He has told me all about himself and his reasons for wanting to join our crew.’

  He looked at Steel and smiled, unwilling to believe that this newcomer might be justified in his evident suspicions of Steel or that his own judgement of the man might be at fault. ‘And now, God forgive me, I trust him. He’s a good fighter too, Sergeant. As good as they come. He killed Alexis.’

  The man shook his head. ‘Oh my good God, Captain. What a loss. And at what a price. You’ve been ’ad, sir. No disrespect meant, Captain. But you’ve been good and ’ad. And he’s killed one of your best men an’ all
. I tell you, this man is no deserter. He’s a liar.’

  Steel attempted to look indignant. Trouin looked at him, searching for any self-doubt. ‘Is this true, Captain Thomson? Have you lied to me?’

  ‘On my word, Captain Trouin, I am no liar. I serve only you and the true king.’

  Stringer laughed and spoke again: ‘What did you say his name was, sir? Is that what he told you? Thomson? Oh no. No, no. This man’s name is Steel. Mister Jack Steel. Captain now in Queen Anne’s army. Why he’s a friend of the duke ’isself they say.’

  Trouin looked at Steel again and back to the man: ‘You’re mistaken, Stringer. Or perhaps you’re just drunk. I trust this man.’

  ‘More than you trust me, sir? Who was it as saved your life at Dunkirk, sir? Surely you trust me before you believe a stranger? And smell my breath, sir. Am I drunk?’

  Trouin considered the situation and turned to Steel. ‘He’s right. He did save my life and risk his own.’

  Steel decided to bluff it out. ‘I have never seen this man before in my life, Captain. I –’

  The words were lost as Stringer spat a wad of tobacco into Steel’s face and struck him in the solar plexus with a blow so unexpected and of such ferocity that it bent him over double. He held his stomach and feigned the severity of the pain, then straightening up, with all his force struck Stringer on the side of the head with a wicked left hook that sent him crashing into a gilded escritoire. And then Steel was upon him, fists pounding into stomach and face. Stringer straightened his leg and connected with Steel’s groin, sending him backwards, broken over in agony.

  Getting up from the floor, Stringer spat teeth and blood and yelled at Trouin, ‘He’s a bloody spy, sir. Don’t listen to him.’