Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

by A. C. Crispin

  Captain Barbossa stepped up to the table and stood before the assembled Pirate Lords. Teague indicated a chair, but he shook his grizzled head. “Thankee, Cap’n Teague, but I prefer to stand,” he said, in a gravelly voice.

  As he stood there, gazing down at each of the Pirate Lords in turn, Jack found himself covertly studying the man with some curiosity. Barbossa had an accent that he couldn’t quite place, and he was usually good at that kind of thing. West Country. Cornwall, perhaps?

  Jack estimated he was in his early forties. His weather-beaten features with the scraggly beard wouldn’t have been handsome even if they’d been unmarred. His clothing was old and battered, stained with salt and other, less pleasant, substances. But his baldric was well oiled, and his weapons were clean. His eyes were sharp; they missed nothing.

  “Gents…Ladies…” Barbossa said, inclining his head, “’Tis lucky I am to be standing here afore ye today. Two months ago, almost to the day, me ship Cobra was attacked and sunk by one of our own. We had raised our true colors, and yet still they tried to slaughter us. We were attacked by one of our own brethren…a clear violation of the Code, ’twas.”

  His accented speech was so affectedly “salty” Jack half expected him to say “Arrrrr” at any moment. And yet, despite the accented, rough speech, here was a man of some intelligence, perhaps even a man with some education.

  Teague nodded. “Please tell us the entire story, Captain Barbossa.”

  “Aye, Cap’n Teague,” Barbossa said. “And hard tellin’ it be, sir. Every time I think about me poor Polly…” he hesitated, and an expression of genuine sorrow flickered across his face. Jack was surprised to see it. Barbossa impressed him as a tough, no-holds-barred pirate, someone who would make a formidable opponent in a fight—a good swordsman, but not one to abide by prissy rules. Here was a man who would knock you down and kick your teeth in as easily as look at you, if you were unwise enough to cross him.

  “Who is this Polly?” Mistress Chin demanded. “Your doxy?”

  Barbossa looked rather shocked. “Course not, ma’am. ’Tis bad luck to be bringing a woman aboard a ship. Polly ain’t—warn’t—human.”

  “Polly, that is the English name of a parrot,” Villanueva observed.

  “I did have a parrot named Polly once,” Barbossa admitted. “A fine bird he was, but he messed up the shoulder of me jacket.” Jack saw the hint of something that might have been sardonic humor flash across his features, and realized Barbossa was indulging in a bit of irony. The grizzled pirate sighed theatrically. “But the Polly I lost after the battle was me little monkey. Pretty little thing, she was. Understood every word I said to her.”

  Teague cleared his throat, and a touch of impatience showed in his normally impassive features. “Tell us about the battle, Captain Barbossa,” he urged.

  Jack watched as Barbossa hesitated. He came here to tell his tale, he thought. Why doesn’t he? For a moment he was puzzled, then understanding dawned. Here was a man who was so accustomed to being devious, that even when he wanted to tell the straightforward truth, it was difficult for him to do.

  “Aye, well.” Barbossa thought for a moment, then straightened his shoulders as though he were about to cross swords. “Let me just tell it as it happened, gents and ladies. Me ship was a tidy little schooner, name of Cobra. We were sailin’ in waters north of Bermuda, on our way back from an encounter we’d had with a Frenchy barque. Took a nice haul, we did. Ivory. We were ridin’ low in the water, so laden we be. Then me topman spies a sail. We thought we’d take a look, so we changed course, and they must have spotted us, too, because they did likewise.”

  Jack leaned forward, listening intently. Lady Esmeralda touched his sleeve with her fingertips and he turned to her. She gave a slight shake of her head. “He told his story to us on the voyage to Shipwreck Cove,” she murmured, for his hearing alone. “It is most disturbing.”

  Barbossa continued. “When we spied that sail, it was already late in the afternoon, and it took us a few hours to approach each other. I told me men to run up a Frenchy ensign, in honor of our rich cargo. And the stranger, he did the same—showed Dutch colors. Finally, not too long afore sunset, we came within long gun range of each other. I’d been studyin’ him through me spyglass, and I had me suspicions. The ship was a sloop, Bermuda-rigged, common vessel, especially in these parts. I caught a few glimpses of the crew, and even at that distance they didn’t seem as though they were wearin’ the right clothin’ for merchantmen. So I orders me crew to run up me black flag.

  “The moment we raised our true colors, that sloop, he run up his flag, too. A red flag, with a black demon skull on it. ’Twas then I knew for certain that he was another pirate. We all had a good laugh, me and me crew. We waved at ’em. They waved back. Then I gives the order to come about, to put our rudder to ’em. The Code calls for us all to respect our fellows on the account, and I was abiding by it.”

  “On the account” was pirate slang for piracy. Jack saw the Keeper of the Code nod approvingly as Barbossa described his actions. “What happened then?”

  “We’d no sooner put our stern to ’em than the blackguards fired on us! I’d noticed a big, fancy ornamented brass bow chaser on his vessel through me glass. Indian work, it looked to be. Fired a big shot…nine-pounder, maybe. The first one missed us, but the second one got us, and blew our rudder to flinders. Cobra began taking on water. I used me sails and threw out me anchor to turn her, and returned fire. Broadsided ’em good, we did.”

  Barbossa’s words were weaving a spell in the room, Jack realized, glancing at the Pirate Lords. Each of them was listening with an expression that said, clearer than words, that the captain’s account was bringing back memories of hard-fought engagements.

  Barbossa’s voice grew a bit rougher, as if remembering this part was almost painful. “They shot back, of course, and we battled till the air was so thick with smoke that you could scarce see your target, save by the muzzle flashes from her gun ports. It was a fight, it was. Half me men were dead or dyin’ when I realized that the sun must have set. By that time I knew there was no hope for me poor Cobra; she was sinking fast. I knew darkness was our only chance to escape, so I gives the order to abandon ship. Half our boats had been reduced to kindlin’ but we still had a few that were seaworthy.”

  Jack, envisioning the situation, swallowed hard as he reached for his wine goblet. He’d been on a foundering ship before, following a losing battle, and Barbossa’s story brought the memories back. The smell of the blood mixed with the acrid tang of burned powder. The screams, moans, and curses of the wounded. The deck, slippery with blood and spilt entrails beneath one’s boots…and the smoke, making your eyes water, the tears making clean trails down the blackened faces of the gunnery crew…

  Barbossa stood there, looking at the expressions on the faces of his listeners, and nodded. “You all know what it was like. We launched the boats as best we could, but several of ’em tipped as they lowered, spillin’ some of us into the sea. The gunnery crew kept firin’ to hide our effort, and then leaped into the water just as Cobra began to go down. A dozen of ’em got sucked down with the ship.

  “I was in the water, no boat within reach. Me poor Polly had been holdin’ on to me shoulder. She was wearin’ her little blue dress, but suddenly she wasn’t there and I couldn’t see her. I swam under, gropin’ through the water and the wreckage, tryin’ to find her, but she was gone. When I came up to breathe, ready to dive again, even though I knew ’twas hopeless, two of me crew, witless one-eyed Ragetti and his grinnin’ imp of a friend Pintel, grabbed me jacket and pulled me into their boat. Fools they be, but I’m grateful to ’em.

  “Only the darkness saved us, for they sent out boats to kill those they found alive in the water. Hard to say which was worse, them or the sharks. We heard that devil crew laughin’ when men screamed as they were pulled under. Davy Jones’s locker be too good for soulless wretches like that.” Barbossa took a deep breath, then added, “We stayed
quiet, muffling our oars with our clothes as we rowed away. We rowed in shifts, silent that whole night. When dawn reached us, there was no sign of that cursed ship and her crew of murdering blackguards.”

  He drew a deep breath. “There’s little more to tell. We managed to reach an island, and by good fortune it wasn’t barren. We built a signal fire. A week or thereabouts of tending it, and a ship—men on the account—dropped anchor and sent a boat to see who we were. They took us to Tortuga, and there we met Don Rafael, who told me the Pirate Lords currently present at Shipwreck Cove would want t’ hear me story. Which is how I came t’ be standin’ here before ye today.”

  Barbossa fell silent, seeming drained by the recitation.

  Borya, Pirate Lord of the Caspian, was the first to break the silence that filled the chamber. “Monsters, not men, da?” he said, quietly. Then, so suddenly that Jack jumped, the little Russian slammed his dagger down into the scarred tabletop, so it stood, point-down, quivering, and added, “Such evil deserves only death from us, Captain Teague.”

  Jack glanced at the little man, and saw a flash of something behind his spectacles. Pity? Anger? Some strong emotion, it had been. And yet, Borya’s words, despite his violent gesture, had been spoken in a level voice, completely dispassionately. Jack frowned, struck by the contrast between that gesture and those words, and how they had been voiced.

  The Keeper of the Code indicated a seat at the table. “Please sit down, Captain Barbossa. We would like you to remain for our discussion.” Teague nodded at the servitor. “Some wine for the captain.”

  “Thankee, Cap’n Teague,” Barbossa said, seating himself. He took the wine goblet that was offered to him, and drained it in a few loud gulps. “Thirsty work,” he announced, setting it back down. “You’d think it would grow easier in the tellin’…but it doesn’t.”

  “The Butcher is right; Code-breakers deserve only death from us,” Mistress Ching announced. Her sightless eyes shone eerily in the dimness.

  “As the Keeper has pointed out, the navies of the world will not discriminate between them and us,” Villanueva said. “These rogues could take us all down with them.”

  “We should find them and deal with them,” Don Rafael said. “We know the seas better than any naval vessel.”

  “We do, da,” Borya said. “Koldunya stands ready to find rogue vessel and capture her.”

  Jack surprised himself by speaking up. “It seems to me that there must be more than one vessel. After listening to so many reports, there are just too many encounters or near-encounters for one vessel to be causing them all.”

  Teague gave him a glance, and it was clear that the Keeper was surprised to hear Jack say something relevant and sensible. He did not speak, however, only nodded.

  “Aye, lad,” Barbossa said. “From what Don Rafael told me, you’re making sense. Too many attacks within a short time period, too widely spaced. Can’t be the work of a single devil ship.” He gave Jack a measuring glance. “And who be ye, lad?”

  “Jack Sparrow,” Jack replied, with a cordial nod. “It’s always regrettable to hear about the loss of a good ship, Captain Barbossa.”

  The man nodded back. “Aye, ’tis. And when we find the scurvy blackguard responsible, he can apologize to me little Polly personally, in Davy Jones’s locker.” As his gaze met Jack’s, Hector Barbossa grinned, a brief, grim flash of stained teeth, and added, “I’ll volunteer to stand executioner, Cap’n Teague. There’s nothing I’d like more than to make each of those devils a hemp cravat. Shooting’s too good for the likes of scum like that.”

  In a few more minutes the meeting broke up. Jack rose, as did Esmeralda. But Don Rafael remained sitting, as he and Teague continued to question Captain Barbossa.

  Esmeralda laid a hand on her grandfather’s shoulder. “I’m tired, Grandfather. I’d like to return to my cabin, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, mi corazón,” Don Rafael, said, patting her hand and smiling up at her.

  “I’ll summon one of my men to escort Lady Esmeralda back to Venganza,” Teague said.

  Jack seized this golden opportunity, and, ignoring the Keeper’s warning frown, stepped forward, bowing deeply to the Pirate Lord of the Caribbean. “Don Rafael, I would be honored to accompany the Lady Esmeralda back to your vessel.”

  Esmeralda gave Jack a sidewise glance, then smiled. “Why, that would be very nice. Thank you, Jack.” Jack bowed to her, then formally crooked his arm. Esmeralda placed her hand on it, still smiling at him with a warmth that made his head swim, far more than the wine he’d drunk.

  “Thank you, lad,” Don Rafael said, giving him a smile and a nod.

  Jack resolutely refused to look at Teague as he escorted Esmeralda out of the chamber.

  “Look at her come!” Robby Greene’s exclamation broke into Jack’s memories, pulling him back to the present. He blinked, focusing on their pursuer. In the few minutes he’d been woolgathering, Venganza was visibly closer. The pirate vessel was approaching in a rush, now that the Fair Wind was more or less stationary.

  Jack figured in half an hour, she’d be right on top of them. “Mr. Greene!” Captain Bainbridge’s voice reached them from the quarterdeck. “Hoist our colors!”

  Jack watched as Robby hastily complied. First, the red, white, and blue Union Jack rose fluttering into the air all the way to the peak of the spanker gaff. Then Robby moved to the mainmast, and their house ensign, the East India Trading Company’s dark gray flag, went skimming skyward, all the way to the truck of the mainmast. Training his spyglass on Venganza, Jack smiled grimly as he watched the navy’s mostly white version of the Union Jack ascend. When he saw the British flag raised on the other ship, Bainbridge looked down from the railing of the quarterdeck and pointed, as though to say, “See! She’s Royal Navy, just as I told you.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. Raising false colors was one of the oldest tricks in the book. Bainbridge had served in the Royal Navy; he should know that. And perhaps he did, but was just managing to conveniently “forget.”

  Onward came the pirate vessel. Jack stood on the weather deck, legs braced against the heave and dip of the sea, feeling his heart beat faster.

  It had been years since he’d seen her. The last time had been outside a little inn in Barbados, and she’d been “in disguise”—dressed as a Spanish noblewoman. She’d pulled it off well, which was no surprise to Jack, since, at least by birth, she actually was a Spanish noblewoman. They’d met, recognized each other, then stepped off the path to stroll under the palm trees, not far from the beach, talking softly so they wouldn’t be overheard, their voices muffled by the roar of the surf. There hadn’t been time or privacy for anything more. They’d had barely two hours, and then he’d had to report back to his ship. That had been…what? Two years ago? Almost three, now.

  That brief visit had been when she’d told him about Don Rafael’s untimely death, leaving her captain of Venganza, and the new Pirate Lord of the Caribbean.

  He watched as Venganza changed course as she approached the brig, so that she made a half-circle around Fair Wind and then hove to on her windward side. This was a typical pirate maneuver, designed to cut off the wind from the prey. Jack glanced up at the quarterdeck, wondering whether Bainbridge had yet realized who their visitors were.

  He didn’t see the captain. Frowning, Jack started forward, mounting the ladder quickly. The quarterdeck was empty, save for the helmsman. Where did the captain go?

  Just as he was about to run back down the portside ladder, Bainbridge appeared at the bottom, and climbed up. He was wearing his best ceremonial sword—the one with the gold wire threaded into the grip, and his initials on the pommel—and carried his own spyglass in his hand. Jack stepped aside as the older man rushed past him and strode across the quarterdeck, then put his eye to the spyglass and stared long and hard.

  Jack surveyed Venganza through his own spyglass, and could clearly see figures bustling around her deck—armed figures who wore a motley assortment of cl
othing, running the gamut from stripped to the waist to being elegantly turned out in long satin coats, perukes, and stylish knee britches. Many had scarves tied over their heads. They were armed to the teeth, many wearing baldrics holding two or more pistols, and all wore cutlasses. The sailors on the port side were readying grappling irons.

  Lowering his spyglass, Jack turned to the captain. Bainbridge was staring at the frigate, shock etched in every line of his countenance, which had gone a peculiar shade of pinkish gray. Remembering how Bainbridge had lectured him earlier, Jack had to bite his lip to keep from saying, “Told you so.” Clearly, the light is dawning for our beloved captain. Well, a bit of a shock is bracing, they say.

  As Jack watched, Bainbridge took out a leather flask and raised it to his lips, then drank deeply. The sweet smell of the wine wafted on the breeze. Bainbridge lowered the flask, then looked over at Jack. “I could see…” he stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “I could see…they’re not Royal Navy. You were right, Sparrow. Pirates.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack said, as neutrally as he could. “Perhaps we should discuss the best way to deal with them? We don’t want anyone harmed. I recommend we strike our colors immediately and hoist a white flag.”

  “Surrender?” Bainbridge gulped. He swiped his hand across his sweating brow, then his upper lip. “That doesn’t seem right. We’re Englishmen. We’re supposed to fight, Mr. Sparrow,” he whispered, shakily. His speech was beginning to slur a bit.

  “Not in a situation such as this one, Captain,” Jack said, “No one will question your decision to surrender. We can’t get away. She’s faster than we are, and now she’s blocking our wind. She’s a twenty-eight gun frigate, and pirates are experienced in hand-to-hand fighting. They’ll cut our men down if you order them to resist, and they’ll have died for nothing. You can’t want that.”

  Bainbridge shook his head, not speaking. His shoulders slumped.

  “Captain…” Jack used all his powers of persuasion. “All we have to do is stay hove-to and run up a white flag. They’ll board us, they’ll take the rum, then they’ll sail away. We’ll be a lighter vessel, but no one will be hurt. And it won’t be the first time the EITC has lost a cargo to pirates.” This last comment was tinged with irony, as Jack recalled several EITC ships that he’d helped Teague take while he’d been serving aboard Troubadour.