Shadow of the Corsairs

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Hardacre looked up from the map of the Tunisian coastline. “Sharrouf is certain.”

  Elias snorted and folded his arms. “I think you put too much stock in what that man says. He’s a snake, Kit, and he’s not to be trusted.”

  “I never said he was to be trusted. He might very well hate Kaddouri as much as we do. But so long as he is a member of the inner circle, then he is useful to us.”

  “Unless Kaddouri is using him to lure us into a trap,” countered the first officer. “We’ve stopped three of his raids over the past twelve months and helped free more than a hundred enslaved souls. He’d be just as keen to see the end of us.”

  Jonathan shook his head. Kit and Elias bickered like he and his older brother used to. It was time for him to step in.

  “What’s Sharrouf getting in exchange for telling you the location of Kaddouri’s fleet?” he asked.

  “Information here and there to help with something.”

  “Which is?”

  “Kidnapping Lord William Bentinck.”

  “You jest!”

  Hardacre said nothing for a moment. The upturn of his lip was trouble, Jonathan knew that, and so did Elias who turned away with an exaggerated groan.

  “Go on,” said Jonathan. “Tell us the whole thing before you make Elias’ head explode.”

  “I might not have been completely honest with Sharrouf,” Hardacre confessed. This time, both ends of his mouth lifted and there was a twinkle of manic glee in his eyes. “I told him Bentinck plans another trip to Tunis to petition for the release of the Sicilian slaves, but I neglected to tell him Bentinck’s going with a show of strength instead of taking one ship with a single escort. Accompanying The Milford will be a dozen heavily-armed ships from the Royal Navy.”

  “And both Bentinck and Admiral Fremantle know to expect an attack,” Jonathan concluded. “That’s a good plan. What makes you sure Kaddouri will take the bait?”

  “Oh, he will. Sharrouf has told me he’s just managed to acquire a double gunned frigate.”

  Elias rocked back on his feet. “How has he managed to get one of those? That would carry almost as much firepower as The Milford.”

  “The Ottoman Navy captured it from the French and Kaddouri bought it from them. It took some damage when it was captured and it’s supposed to be heading back to Kostantiniyye for repair.”

  “So it’s no threat at the moment?”

  “Bentinck doesn’t think so but his intelligence has overestimated the damage. Sharrouf says the frigate does need repairs but it’s quite seaworthy, and Kaddouri would be bound to use it immediately if it meant winning a prize like the governor himself. That’s why we’re going in early – to destroy Kaddouri’s fleet of slave ships and take the frigate ourselves for a prize.”

  Jonathan shook his head slowly. “You are a complete lunatic.”

  “That’s understating it,” added Elias.

  The captain didn’t seem insulted. In fact, he appeared pleased by their reaction. “If you two feel that way, imagine how Kaddouri and his men will feel. Either way, you have to admit, it’s a hell of a plan.”

  “That’s not a plan, that’s a suicide mission!” Elias exclaimed. “I’m going up on deck for fresh air, Kit. I suggest you do the same and clear your head – that hashish you smoke has addled your wits.”

  Neither man reacted when Elias stormed out; both knew his temper was of short duration and he would back Hardacre to the hilt.

  “So convince me, you’re not a lunatic” said Jonathan evenly.

  “Bag-ra-da...” Hardacre emphasized every syllable. “We never did learn why your countryman betrayed you, did we?”

  “None of that is your business.”

  The Englishman shrugged. “But wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “I already do know. It was to warn my brother to change his loyalties. And the man responsible is now dead.”

  He watched Hardacre nod contemplatively as he let the map roll up and stood it upright with the others by the desk.

  “But knowing why is not enough, is it?”

  Hardacre opened out the desk drawer and retrieved a cigar box. Jonathan shook his head at the offer of one.

  “You can know all the reasons in here,” he said tapping his temple with his finger for emphasis. “You can understand all the reasons in the world, but it still makes no difference because you feel it here.” Hardacre jabbed his finger at Jonathan’s chest. “It’s in there you want more than knowing. It’s the beast inside you that wants brutal, pitiless vengeance.”

  Jonathan felt ice-cold fingers touch the back of his head and tickle down his neck and back. Gooseflesh spread from his spine outwards. Something within him rose to acknowledge the words as true.

  Hardacre lit his cigar, lifting the wick of a lamp to do so.

  “It’s that part that tears you from your sleep with your voice hoarse from screams you never knew you made,” he continued. “It’s that part that brings you to your knees with a soul-crushing ache at the most unexpected moments. It steals your joy. It steals your future – it even makes you wonder whether you actually have one...”

  There was a faraway look in Hardacre’s eyes as his voice trailed off.

  Jonathan became conscious of the fact that he held his breath. He let it out slowly and took in another one, tasting the warm, sweet smoke from the smoldering tobacco of Hardacre’s cigar in the close quarters of the cabin.

  “If you can’t take vengeance against, what was his name – Hamid Addisu? – then why not take it against Kaddouri?”

  “Will that quiet the beast you spoke of?” Jonathan asked. “Will it quiet the beast that lives in you?”

  When Hardacre spoke again his eyes were clear. And noticeable in the lamplight were the dark shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of many sleepless nights.

  “I don’t know. We’ll both have to see.”

  Jonathan was drawn to the sound of Elias’ guitar across the rain-dampened deck. The first officer was seated on a bench at the bow. He played a simple refrain, only several bars long before he returned to the beginning.

  “Do you have a family you ever think of? A home?” Jonathan asked.

  The strumming stopped. Elias looked out at the horizon, as if searching; his sandy hair shone in the afternoon sun that had broken through the clouds responsible for the earlier sun showers.

  “My mother and sisters, mainly,” Elias answered, looking down now. “With so many mouths to feed, I wonder sometimes if they ever really missed the absence of one. I send money home, but it’s been more than a year since I’ve had a letter from them.

  “This is family – the crew here on the Terpsichore – even Kit, maddening though he is.”

  Elias picked up his guitar again and started fiddling with one of the tuning nuts.

  “Why are you here, Jonathan?”

  The question was softly asked. He wondered if he had misheard it over the plucking of the lower E string.

  “You have a family who love you, who would welcome you back home,” said Elias. “You don’t have to stay for this madness.”

  “So, you think Hardacre’s plan is madness?” Jonathan sat down beside him. He stretched his legs and examined the toes of his boots. “I don’t see you getting off the ship.”

  Elias chuffed with an amused shake of his head and stopped tuning the guitar. “Perhaps, I’m the one who’s mad. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

  Jonathan kept his focus on his feet, a safe middle distance, and said nothing.

  Elias probed for an answer. “It doesn’t matter how seductively Kit puts it, revenge is a dangerous beast to be playing with. He has his reasons, I know that. But ‘he who lives by the sword, dies by the sword’.”

  “Then what of you, Preacher boy? If vengeance doesn’t drive you, then what does?”

  “Justice.” Elias stated the word with a certainty that suggested he’d given the matter some thought. “I can reconcile the thought of my death knowing I’ve
served my fellow man in the name of my Maker, but you...”

  “‘But me’, what?” Jonathan stood, growing tired of the conversation. If they were going into battle there was still much to be done – more drills, more weapons... they’d need provisions. His mind conjured up Morwena’s beautiful face – her dark, intense eyes on ivory skin.

  Jonathan felt a thump on his shoulder. Elias had risen, too, and was giving him a knowing look.

  “Perhaps, you have more to live for than you know.”

  Jonathan stared at the prayer knot. Tomorrow they would set sail. Into battle.

  Strange. He thought he ought to be nervous... fearful. But he was not. Instead, he felt like a hollowed baobab tree. He felt like he was in captivity once more, a twilight world neither alive nor dead. Purgatory.

  He worried one of the knots under the pad of his thumb. He was Orthodox, he did not believe in purgatory. Perhaps Morwena did.

  Was it too late to write to her to ask that she pray for him and commend his soul? No, that would be too much to ask of her, to ask of any woman.

  He sat on the edge of his bunk and played idly with the brass beads until one of facets glinted in the lamplight. It had been a nice fantasy, this time here in Palermo, teasing him with the possibilities of a living a life again.

  There was a good chance he would not return from this battle. How could he offer Morwena anything at this time? In one strange way, everything he had he’d given to her already. His small share of the family’s coffee trading business was already hers, considering she managed it for him.

  What else was there?

  At least he knew his business share would be in good hands.

  No, it was wise to let her go.

  Images flickered before him, like a waking dream, of seeing her smile but giving it to another man, of feeling the intense power of her passion and letting another, a weak-chinned, pasty-skinned milksop, touch her...

  He shook his head violently and squeezed his eyes shut until he could see red embers behind them. The vision faded.

  He started to whisper a prayer under his breath – one that he had learned as a youth, the Prayer of Protection of Soldiers During War.

  His heart cried out to remove the shadow from it so he could feel warmth to the depth of his soul once again. The prayer gave him comfort and he said the words aloud.

  Condescend, out of Thy mercy, O Master, to grant them the fear of Thee, together with humility, obedience and good endurance; that they kill no one unrighteously, but rather preserve all righteousness and truth; that they may fear Thee and honor Justice; that they run in friendship to those who are scattered, extending Thy love to those near them, serving the elderly with justice; and that their ranks fulfill all things righteously…

  The cabin door began to open and he thought it was Elias. It was the smell of perfume which alerted him first, the bright, high scent of honeysuckle and orange blossom followed by the warmth of nutmeg.

  Jonathan sprung to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

  Morwena stepped forward, the lamplight bathing her features in an amber glow. Her hair was worn loose, swept over her shoulder, leaving her neck bare. The bodice of her gown scooped wide and low, putting her cleavage on generous display.

  He longed to kiss that neck, taste the honey of her skin, the pale softness of her breast.

  His body responded to the unmistakable invitation he saw in her eyes.

  “I’ve come to see you.”

  “Morwena... you shouldn’t be here.”

  “I know,” she said, stepping further into the room. He felt his body respond. “Every footstep told me what kind of woman I was if I came here. I could feel the eyes of the old gossips watching me, glaring at me through their curtains. But even that was not enough to stop me coming here tonight.”

  “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

  “Please don’t send me away.”

  Her plea, the way her voice hitched at the end, cut him to the quick.

  “I could not let you go without telling you how I feel. I love you, Jonathan. I know it’s selfish of me to say it because you’re still in mourning and cannot feel the same way, but I wanted there to be no misunderstanding between us, nothing that we could ever regret.”

  They now stood a hand’s span apart. If he wanted to, he could pull her into his arms and hold her there.

  A new vision filled his head. Of her naked in the throes of passion. His body surged once more, his nerve endings lit at the possibility. He clenched his fists; the knots and the beads of his prayer rope bit into his hands. He kept his arms locked to his sides – just to be safe.

  Safe for you, or Morwena?

  And yet he couldn’t deny what his heart told him. He loved Morwena in a way that was new and different for him. And, curse him as a coward, he’d been afraid of it, afraid of her and what it meant to love a woman like her. Nothing would ever have been the same again.

  Dare he take the risk?

  It would be so easy for him to drift as he was – after all, hadn’t he spent much of his life in just that way, exploring and forever on the move in the search for... what?

  The spark that lit Morwena’s eyes dimmed. Perhaps, she attempted to guess what was going on inside his head. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

  “I’ve spoken out of turn,” she said.

  Before she had taken a full step away, Jonathan’s hand shot out as swiftly as a cobra and took her arm. He hardly knew why he did it, except for the unshakable certainty that if he didn’t, he would regret it for the rest of his days – whether those days be long or short.

  “Ah fikh er hah lehu,” she whispered.

  I love you.

  He hadn’t heard that term of endearment in his own tongue for years. It was one of the first things his wife had said to him on their wedding day. A commitment of love as well as arranged duty. A vow.

  She turned to him now and Jonathan held her close as if by doing so he could hold himself together.

  “Do you understand the full import of what you’re saying... what you’re promising me?”

  Morwena swallowed but nodded. He drew her even more tightly into his arms.

  Everything felt right when she was there.

  “Ahn-chee nehf-say nesh… you are my soul, Morwena. I love you.”

  “Then show me.”

  Jonathan pulled back, but Morwena held on to his arms which remained around her waist.

  “We don’t know what tomorrow will bring,” she whispered. “So tonight I wish for only one thing, pretend tonight that I am your wife.”

  Jonathan closed his eyes and tried to conjure up the face of Mellesse but he could only hold her image for a short time before the face before him in his mind was Morwena’s.

  “If it helps, tell yourself that this is a dream,” said the temptress. “You can’t be held responsible for your dreams.”

  He opened his eyes. The scent of Morwena’s fragrance was intoxicating and it became more intense as she pressed herself to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She dropped small kisses around his upper cheek, where his beard did not grow.

  When her lips eventually touched his, he was lost.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “I notice you never call me by my first name.”

  What? Jonathan frowned and raised his head from the map. He looked into Hardacre’s pale eyes. He couldn’t believe this was the conversation he was having with the man who was about to lead them into battle.

  “Does it bother you?”

  Hardacre sat on the corner of the desk. He shrugged and plucked an olive from a half-forgotten plate someone had put on the table while Jonathan was concentrating on the maps.

  “Ridiculous, I know,” Hardacre continued, “but I’ve noticed that’s what you do. I have a theory about it. Do you want to hear?”

  “Not particularly.”

  Jonathan knew why. It was to keep his distance. He could fool himself into believing he was
a man apart and he could walk away from Hardacre and the crew of the Terpsichore any time he chose.

  However, that might have been true in the beginning, but was no longer.

  “Would you shut up and let me get on with my work if I called you Kit?”

  Hardacre’s… Kit’s eyes lit up. “For a while there, I thought you didn’t like me.”

  Jonathan lifted his chin and raised his mouth in a half-grin. “What makes you think I do now?”

  The captain’s laughter was full of mirth. But just as quickly, he sobered up. “Come up on deck when you’re done, Jonathan. By my estimation, we’re three hours out and there’s still a lot to prepare.”

  At two o’clock in the afternoon, the coast of Tunisia appeared on the horizon. Kit gave orders for the ship to drop anchor.

  Elias stood with the ship’s Bible and preached a short sermon before offering Communion and ending the service with a prayer for strength and protection.

  Kit joined him on the forecastle and looked down over the crew scattered amongst the upturned hulls of four small craft that had been lashed to the deck. He raised his voice to make it heard over the wind.

  “Men! Today we farewell this mighty ship which has served us well over the past five years. The Terpsichore will soon become a hellburner to send Kaddouri’s fleet down to the Devil himself!”

  The crew cheered.

  “God willing, it will be the French frigate The Foudre, that we sail home in! What a mighty bounty she will make for all of us. This is not without risk but, if we fail, we will die fighting like men!

  “Never have I sailed with a braver and hardier bunch. It’s my honor to serve as your captain. You know what to do. Godspeed!”

  Everyone knew their tasks and set about them. Jonathan and Elias would sail under the cover of darkness into Bagrada, avoiding the massed fleet of galiots anchored in the shallow harbor.

  The Foudre, which, because of its draft, was anchored in deep water off shore, would become the target of ten men in two boats whose mission was to deal with the skeleton crew aboard.