by Sarah Lark
Barefoot looked out from under his furrowed brow. “The woman, too?” he asked. “That’s funny, I had thought … Well anyway, you would know better. My … heartfelt sympathies.”
“Thank you,” Doug said, and fought back the constricted feeling that always gripped his heart when he thought of Nora.
“Well, what do you want to know?” Barefoot then asked. “It’s about the Maroons, is it not? Another punitive expedition? Well, I won’t lead you there. And I advise you against it. Anyone who goes there, whether friend of foe — they have him in their sights an hour before he can even see the settlement. Forget about it, more than one governor has found trouble up there.”
Doug nodded again. “I know,” he said. “I know the mountains. But I would like to know about something else. Is there anything to the rumor that the Maroons have white slaves?”
Barefoot’s eyes looked completely astonished. “White slaves? Where did you hear that? But as you already said; a rumor. It wouldn’t be worth it for them. They raise a bit of sugar cane, but only for their own use. It doesn’t grow well up there at all. Anyway, they send their women to the fields, as is common in Africa. And they manage well with the vegetables. They would have to supervise slaves, which they have little interest in doing. On top of that, whites would die off like flies. You know yourself that whites are not made for hard work in this climate.”
Doug rubbed his forehead. “My informant spoke of white slaves,” he then said.
Barefoot pursed his lips. “Oh, you mean … There’s actually only one up there.”
“But there is one?” Doug looked up, alarmed.
“In Nanny Town,” Barefoot informed him calmly. “Showed up just after the raid on your plantation. That’s why I thought … The fact is that I’ve never seen the woman. She should be there, anyway, it was a hot topic for the niggers up there — they talked about it a while. In any case, she belongs to a deserving warrior — well, you have to understand it in a figurative sense. The lad drags weapons around with him, but they actually need him more for the negotiations. Supposedly, he can read and write.” Doug felt like he was getting hot.
“And?” he choked out. “Can he?”
Barefoot shrugged. “No idea, I can’t do it,” he admitted. “But this one is something special up there. They think he’s God’s gift, the king and queen. Well, and that’s also why she probably didn’t want to refuse him. Anyway, he has a white slave. Or had — he was to marry her by now. Another thing that upset the old Maroons. He also has a black wife. At any rate, the white should be free now, it’s surely important with the big treaties coming soon. The governor would not be thrilled if he knew they were defiling white girls.”
Doug swallowed. “So, she … is staying there voluntarily?” he asked in a throaty voice.
Barefoot rolled his eyes. “How should I know that? When I come, they push the girl aside. Not exactly a sign that she’s there voluntarily, but like I said, no idea. But she is definitely the only one. There is no question of white slavery on a large scale.”
Doug pulled at his collar, feeling like he was going to suffocate. “You’ve never heard the woman’s name,” he said, quietly, “But have you perhaps heard the name of the warrior?”
Barefoot nodded. “Yes, if I can just remember. Something African — another thing that the old Nanny really likes. Hang on, something with Ak … or Ab … Abwasi!”
“Akwasi,” Doug corrected him.
His voice sounded thin. He could still hardly believe what Barefoot had revealed to him.
“And the woman … the woman is … You don’t know how much you have helped me, Barefoot!” Doug suddenly felt like a nightmare that had been weighing him down for years was being released from his chest. “I never believed that she was dead. Never. It was just a feeling, you know.”
He stood up and put a gold piece in Barefoot’s hand, who was completely baffled. Then he left the tavern and gave the black woman in Barefoot’s shop a second one.
“For taking care of my horse!”
Amigo stood dutifully in front of the shop and hadn’t needed anyone to look after him. The girl looked at Doug, stunned.
“God bless, Backra!” she then whispered. “God bless!”
Doug mounted his horse and smiled at her. “I am going to need it,” he said to himself.
“You know the white woman in Nanny Town?”
Doug had gone through all of the formalities as quickly as possible to get an audience with the governor. And now he didn’t waste anytime on preliminary conversation.
Edward Trelawny nodded. “We have caught wind of it,” he admitted. “But our negotiators have never seen her, which doesn’t really mean anything. We usually negotiate in Cudjoe Town.”
Trelawny folded his slender white hands in his lap. The governor was the son of a bishop and had an affinity for the arts. The citizens appreciated him for his willingness to negotiate and compromise. He had even received Doug immediately after his request and seemed to find his directness strange, but did not hold it against him.
“You assume that she is there voluntarily?” Doug asked. He had no interest in where Trelawny negotiated with the Maroons.
Trelawny raised his hands. “It might not seem understandable to us, Mr. Fortnam,” he said in a soft voice, “But you know yourself that many white men are attracted to black women. Why shouldn’t the opposite be true as well? As far as we know, the lady lives there as the wife of a respected warrior.”
“Or as his slave!” Doug snapped. “You don’t know who she is?”
The governor shrugged under his brocade waistcoat. He was very carefully dressed and under different conditions, Doug would have almost been ashamed of his breeches. He was really asking a lot of the governor, considering his appearance … maybe, he thought, I should at least be more polite.
“No one was reported missing, if that’s what you mean,” Trelawny remarked. “So, we assume she was, well, a woman from the docks. Maybe even one of the convict women that they still send here sometimes, even though we have already repeatedly openly refused to tolerate that here …” He made a helpless gesture.
Doug shook his head. “There are indications that it is not so,” he then said. “The woman in question was abducted. There’s a high probability that she is Nora Fortnam, the wife of my murdered father.”
Trelawny lifted his head, interested. His wig sat perfectly above his white-painted face. “But Mrs. Fortnam was killed. Didn’t they find her body?”
Doug rubbed his forehead. “The found several horribly dismembered corpses,” he said, trying to forget the image that had just come to mind. “On top of that, they were charred beyond recognition. No one could identify them with certainty. Naturally, we assumed that Nora was among them. The Maroons take no prisoners.”
“And what makes you think anything otherwise now?” Trelawny asked.
Doug told him.
“This Akwasi harbors an immense hatred for me,” he then concluded. “Although I’ve never really given him any reason, but my father … well, it doesn’t matter. But Akwasi always wanted exactly what I wanted. Or what I had … So he took Nora.”
There was quiet disapproval in Trelawney’s face.
“Are you confessing to me that there was an affair of sorts between you and your stepmother?”
“Of sorts,” Doug confirmed. “I would rather call it love. But that really has nothing to do with the current problem. So, what do you intend to do now, your Excellency? Nora Fortnam never had an affinity for black men. So, she is certainly not in the Blue Mountains voluntarily. She was kidnapped and is being held captive. For the past five years. Isn’t it about time to free her?”
The governor chewed his lower lip, smearing his carefully applied, red makeup in doing so.
“That is a long time, Mr. Fortnam.
Doug forced himself to be patient. “Too long, your Excellency. And please do not try to now suggest that Nora has since possibly fallen in love with her captor.
That is nonsense. She is … very faithful.”
Trelawny smiled almost sympathetically. Doug knew that it wouldn’t be very helpful to now mention the name of a spirit named Simon Greenborough.
The governor cleared his throat. “Look, Mr. Fortnam, all due respect to your faith and your devotion to your … stepmother. But I have to think about the bigger picture. I think you know that we are about to sign a major agreement between the Crown and the Windward Maroons. It will recognize the blacks’ settlement and legitimise their trade in our cities — and it will put a stop to any future raids with such tragic outcomes as the attack on your plantation forever. The Maroons will return the runaway slaves … they are ready to commit to keeping the peace. And now, just before the signing, you want me to send in my troops to free a woman who might not even want to be freed? I am to accuse my negotiating partner of kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment?”
“But they are guilty of it!” Doug interrupted him, agitatedly. “You don’t really want to write off every past suspicion of murder and arson!”
Trelawny raised his hands apologetically again. “Without an amnesty, it won’t happen, Mr. Fortnam. You are a reasonable man … One must let the dead lie—”
“But Nora Fortnam is not dead!” Doug knew he shouldn’t have, but he shouted at the governor. “She is being held prisoner up there and you say to my face that you want to sacrifice her on the altar of theoretical peace!”
“One of actual peace,” Trelawny said, temperately. He was a tolerant man. “And now calm down, Mr. Fortnam. Think it over. What could I do?”
Doug shrugged. “Make her release a condition,” he suggested. “Write the name Nora Fortnam in your peace treaty!”
Trelawny shook his head. “I can’t do that. I can’t demand that they hand over the wife of one of their leaders. How would that go? Every Maroon sitting up there would then probably demand a slave from one of the plantations. These people are very sensitive, Mr. Fortnam. Ashanti. A very powerful people in their homeland, as I’ve heard. Very proud …”
Doug didn’t point out the paradox of Trelawny recognizing the Ashanti as proud negotiating partners on the one hand and then, on the other, unhesitatingly enslaving them when they were delivered to him in chains, rather than free in the Blue Mountains. A discussion wouldn’t change anything. For Trelawny, his “peace mission” was more important than Nora’s freedom. A slave, more or less … this time a white woman, although no one had ever seen her.
“I will not let this rest,” Doug said, straining to remain composed. “Even if you give up on Nora, I will not. I will free her myself.”
Trelawny made a resigned gesture. “Do what you must,” he concluded. “But don’t unleash a war. I won’t say anything about one or two armed men in your company — but I doubt that you will find someone stupid enough to undertake such a mission. But if I hear that you pulled together larger scale troops, I will have you arrested.”
Doug nodded and stood up. “I understand,” he said, coolly. “I’ll go alone. And come back with Nora or not at all. In any case, your Excellency, your problem with me is solved.”
CHAPTER 5
“Dead?” Nora whispered. “He … he thinks I’m dead?”
She could no longer suppress the shaking in her hands. She looked at Alima, stunned.
“Missy Nora dead!” the girl said with conviction. “Mama also know, yes? Mama, you know where grave of Missy Nora…”
Keitha translated something. Khadija nodded and answered something in their language.
“Yes, women always bring flowers,” Keitha continued translating.
“And Reverend always pray for Missy Nora and Backra Elias,” Alima added. “We pray, too, because Backra Doug good man. And Mama Adwe say Missy Nora good woman, but dead.”
The girl was determined to insist. Nora had time to compose herself while Mansah tried to convince Alima.
“This is Missy Nora. Definitely. She is not dead, I swear!”
Maria looked at Nora. “You thought he forget you,” she said quietly. “You thought he—”
Nora bit her lip. “I can’t think anymore,” she whispered. “I … I’m so ashamed. I should have known he would never …” Maria wrapped her arms around her.
Meanwhile, Mansah had convinced Alima — to which her new friend surprisingly jumped up and was about to run to the village.
“Missy Nora alive! Really! Mama, I have to tell Papa! He have to go to Cascarilla. Or send someone. Have to tell Backra Doug. Then he not sad anymore!”
Doug Fortnam planned an expedition with little baggage. He would go into the mountains alone, as he had promised the governor knowing that a man alone would have the best chance.
At least, that’s what Kenneth Leisure thought, a veteran who had been a part of previous attacks on the Maroon settlement. Doug had contacted his new friend Barefoot again, who hadn’t wanted to help, but did offer the names of a few soldiers who had fought against Nanny Town.
“They effortlessly drove us back,” said Leisure, a strong man who had been hardened in battle. He had a full glass of rum in front of him in the tavern near Barefoot’s “trading house.”
“No casualties among them, very few with us, you had to be very stupid to walk within firing range. Our Sergeant wasn’t even dumb enough as to risk an attack with his two thousand men.”
“Two thousand men?” Doug asked, in shock.
Leisure nodded. “But to get in there, it would have taken ten thousand, or more — ultimately it would have depended on how much ammunition they had. The river was between us and the town, and the niggers could have used us for target practice while we crossed. Fortunately, the governor didn’t want that. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here now.”
Doug ordered the man another rum. Then he slowly came to heart of the matter.
“So, if I wanted to get someone out,” Leisure blustered after the third drink. “I’d send in a nigger.”
Doug paid close attention.
“A slave?” he asked. “How do you mean?”
“Main thing is he’s black. He just needs to wander around the area a bit like a runaway slave. Then Nanny will bring him in. Surely, there’s no slipping up there. And when he gets inside the town, then he looks for the woman and they run off together. Very easy thing.”
“Except for the guards,” Doug said.
Leisure shrugged. “At night, all niggers are gray,” he mused. “And the girls go with the guy in the bushes — or wherever else. Dark times for white people.” He chuckled at his puns.
Barefoot shook his head.
Doug considered it. “That idea isn’t so bad,” he then said. “I just think it would be hard to find a volunteer. Who would go into the mountains and then back again? Certainly none of the slaves. And to approach a free black … there’s too much risk of him ratting on us. But it could be done differently … Barefoot, old buddy. Everything in your shop is for sale, is it not?”
The trader grinned. “Personally, I come at a high price,” he quipped.
Doug smiled back at him. “You’re too fat for me,” he said. “But your girl in there … What about her? Will you sell me your slave?”
The scared girl in Barefoot’s shop could hardly believe her luck.
“You buy me free? I in mountains?” She was about to throw herself on the floor in front of Doug. “You already give me gold piece. I already rich, soon buy myself, I—”
“You can go to the mountains tomorrow, Princess,” Doug repeated and wondered who had given the girl that ridiculous name. “But it’s not all for free. You have to do me a small favor.”
Princess looked at him a little confused. It had crossed her mind that there were prettier girls at the harbor, and probably even on Fortnam’s plantation. To have a woman like Princess, he hadn’t needed buy her freedom.
“Not what you think, Princess,” Doug said, reassuringly. “It’s about something else. When you go to the Blue Mountains, I will follow you. You won’t notice me and hop
efully the Maroons won’t either when they capture you. But I will be there and I will hide myself. There is a spring two miles downstream from Nanny Town,” At least according to Leisure, who claimed to have discovered the place as a member of a reconnaissance team. “I will wait at the spring. And you will look for a woman in the town. A white woman named Nora Fortnam. And if she … still wants … well, if she is not voluntarily with the Maroons, but wants to escape, then she should meet me there. At the spring. She doesn’t need to rush. I will wait a long time.”
Doug would have been willing to wait his entire life, but his sense of reason told him that it would be enough to give Nora a month.
“I will wait four … no, six weeks. She should find an opportunity in that time.”
“And if she don’t believe story?” Princess asked. “Am only unknown nigger. What if she think I a liar?”
Doug furrowed his brow. “Why wouldn’t she believe you?” But then he reached into his pocket for Nora’s pendant and handed it to the slave with sad reluctance. “Look after this and give it to her,” he said, hoarsely. Then she will believe you. And she can keep it anyway. It … it was very precious to her.”
“And then I free?” Princess asked again, warily.
Doug sighed. Then he looked her in the eye.
“Princess, from the moment that you leave Spanish Town, you’re free — just be careful in the first few miles that you don’t fall into the hands of slave hunters. I cannot force you to follow through on this task. But I’m asking you—”
Princess nodded and put up her hand. “I promise, sir. I swear to God!”
Doug remembered that she was devout. And found himself praying with all of his heart for the first time in many years.
Princess could hardly wait to get going, but Doug still needed a few days to get his equipment together. He would go into the mountains with light baggage and light weaponry — if he were forced to go up against a larger group of men, he would lose anyway. His hope was just to not be noticed on the way out because he would stay directly behind Princess. The woman would move openly without any cover through the Blue Mountains and undoubtedly draw the scouts’ attention right away. Doug hoped that the men would then follow her and not wait to see if there was anyone sneaking after her. Granny Nanny would probably not be expecting an attack so close to the signing of the treaty with the governor, so it was unlikely the lookouts would be doubly or triply occupied. And regarding the way back … he could hardly expect to go unnoticed, but there was no other choice than to rely on the posts being sparsely occupied. He could surely fight off one or two guards. And maybe Nora also had an idea. She had lived among the Maroons for five years — it was impossible that she was still very closely guarded.
