"A beautiful sight," Gabriel agreed. "All those masts and sails burning like Viking pyres. It is debatable whether we should have left you behind to burn with them, for sure as I'm standing here, the fires of hell await you Capitán."
Jonas shook his head. "Too quick and easy. Moreover, it was not our decision to make."
"Aye," Hobson agreed. He helped himself to a cup of rum and poured a second one for Bella. "We have about fifty crewmen aboard who should have a say in how we avenge their mates. Some I've spoken to suggest we ought give 'im to the Turk."
Bella shuddered, recalling the screams from the Spaniard who had been flayed alive on Pigeon Cay.
They all heard another scream, this one feminine in nature and shaped around a decidedly unfeminine curse. When Bella saw Varian start for the door, she drained her rum in one gulp and blocked his path.
"I will go. The fact she is swearing is, I'm certain, a good sign."
She sent a quick glance back to Jonas then set her cup aside and went along the corridor to the cabin where Juliet Dante was confined. When she entered, Isabeau was laughing and swabbing her daughter's brow with a cool cloth. Evangeline Dante was cradling a slimy, squalling bundle who sent up a stream of piss as he was laid across his mother's belly.
"A handsome, perfect baby boy," Eva exclaimed with a smile.
"With terrible aim," Juliet gasped, barely managing to avoid getting the yellow stream in her face. "Just like his father."
"Shall I fetch him?" Bella asked. "He has paced a rut in the cabin floor waiting for news."
"In a moment," Eva said. She tied off the cord with a bit of string then cut it to free the wriggling baby. A surge of blood and dark fluids splashed onto the floor as the afterbirth was delivered, then with Bella's help, they cleaned the babe and covered Juliet with a clean sheet.
A nod sent Bella back to the captain's cabin where she met Varian's worried look with a smile. "You have a son, Your Grace. A big, boisterous son with—as you can doubtless hear—very healthy lungs."
"Juliet?"
"Already putting the babe to her breast."
He clasped Bella by the shoulders and lifted her into an exuberant kiss on the cheek before rushing out.
"By God's ballocks, this calls for a celebration." Grundy snatched up the rum and refilled his cup with the last drops from the bottle. Jonas stood and unstoppered another, filling two cups and bringing one to Bella. Their hands touched and his eyes gleamed his pleasure along with something else. Something that traveled warmly from her fingers into her blood stream and from there to her heart, where it lodged with a finality she knew she could no longer deny.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Avenger rendezvoused with the Tribute just as dawn was blooming along the eastern horizon. The storm that had aided their escape from Havana had swept inland, leaving the sky clear and the air sweet with the scent of the rain forest.
Artemis Franks greeted Jonas as if it had been a year, not a mere few days since they had parted company. He was shocked nearly speechless, as was the rest of the Tribute's crew to see Simon Dante, Isabeau, Gabriel, Evangeline, and Juliet emerge on the deck of the Avenger. As subsequent groups of rescued kinsmen came on deck, they were greeted with cheers and madly stomping feet. When the two ships were grappled close together, the men moved back and forth like happy ants sharing food and rum.
Franks had used the time well, replenishing every barrel on board with fresh water. The Miskita tribesmen had filled the holds with livestock and fresh produce in exchange for casks of black powder and muskets. A rebellion was fomenting on the island, pitting the indians and the slaves against the plantation owners, and Artemis was only too happy to provide weapons and powder.
As soon as the Avenger was snugged against her sister ship, a bevy of carpenters went to work to shore up the repairs the Spaniards had begun. To fully patch the leaks in her hull, she needed to be hauled onto shore to have her keel exposed, but they needed to be far, far away from the island of Cubana before they dared risk it.
Simon allowed the crews a day and a night to celebrate and recuperate, but as the second dawn smeared the horizon with pale azure, he called the men to attention on deck. Bathed and clean, his black hair gleaming silver at the temples, he looked every inch the Pirate Wolf. He stood on the quarterdeck of his beloved Avenger, flanked by his wife and two sons. Juliet was seated on a capstan with Varian by her side holding Lily Rose in his arms. Evangeline was present with her own baby, Joseph. Bella and Molly stood by the rail while Hobson Grundy and Artemis Franks watched from the opposite side of the quarterdeck.
Molly's gaze had rarely left Artemis Franks' face causing Bella to wonder about the flush that had not left her cheeks since being reunited with the scarred gun captain. The fact Franks flushed as often and smiled each time their eyes met almost made Bella want to push the two openly together, which she might have done had the occasion not been so ominously solemn.
At the rattle of a drum, complete silence fell over the decks of both ships. Men lined the yards and the rails, they stood scores deep in the belly of the main deck of the Avenger. The silence was so complete and so profound Bella could hear the faint clinking of a metal cleat high on the mainmast. Every man was as still as a statue; every face was grim. All eyes were on Simon Dante.
"Over the past twenty-four hours I have spoken to most of you men. I have shared your stories and your tears. I have listened to your tales of courage and loss. It must be clear to all of you that we have also lost our home. We cannot return to Pigeon Cay, we must find another safe haven to drop our anchors. Some of you may wish to turn to the land instead of the sea and to those who so desire, you will not go as poor men. The shares of gold we have on board will make you very rich. There are many islands friendly to wealthy colonists and it is my pledge to ensure each and every one of you is settled wherever you choose.
"To the others who have only known the sea, you are happily welcomed to remain on board until such time as you decide to strike out on your own. At this precise moment I have no idea where the wind will take us. We have heard tell of a possible refuge on Isla Tortuga, and that is where we will be bound on the next tide. For my own part, I intend to finish repairs on this valiant ship before deciding what course might lay in my own future. We have all heard tales of the vast riches in the far east, in the land called China that lies below the horizon. A last grand adventure, perhaps—" he turned and smiled at Isabeau—"before we succumb to our dottage." He turned back to the crew and his smile became grim.
"We have, however, one more item of business to attend before we leave this place."
He nodded to Hobson Grundy, who beckoned to two of the crew waiting in the hatchway. They emerged into the blossoming light hauling a bound and struggling Juan Pedro Recalde between them. The Spaniard was barefoot, wearing only a shirt and breeches. A thick strip of cloth was wrapped around his mouth, muffling his protests to pig-like grunts and nasal squeals.
As the rest of the crew spread back to clear a space, they dragged him across the deck and stopped in front of the mainmast. He was forced against the trunk and his wrists were bound tightly around it. His legs were spread and chained to ring bolts on the deck planking.
"By my reckoning, close to nine hundred and seventy lives were lost on Pigeon Cay, many of them women and children, all of them our friends and loyal companions."
A ripple of low grumbling spread through both ships.
"A goodly number of those lives were lost in the act of trying to defend our home. Others, I'm told, were taken long after the attackers had accepted a surrender. I speak of the wounded who were thrown—most of them still alive—into the shark infested waters."
Another surge of angry curses and waved fists lasted a full minute before the men acknowledged Simon's call for silence.
"Had the surrender been honorably met and the wounded treated with dignity, we would simply have hung the prisoner from a yardarm and be done with him. However, there was no honor i
n what was done to our people and it is our judgement that this man's punishment reflect his crimes. I therefore decree that he should receive one lash for every man, woman, and child murdered on Pigeon Cay. Further, that the lashes not be delivered consecutively, but dealt in increments of fifty with enough time between to allow a modicum of healing before the next lot is delivered. Whatever may be left at the end of the nine hundred and seventy lashes will be bound by the ankles and towed behind the Avenger until such time as the sharks remove every trace of him from this earth.
"If anyone objects to this sentence, he may speak now on behalf of the prisoner."
When nothing but cheers of support met the pronouncement, Recalde's eyes bulged. He squirmed and twisted and screamed into the linen gag. A dark stain spread down the front of his breeches and soaked the garment to the knees.
The crowd on the deck parted again as the Turk strode out of the shadows. He was bare-chested, a solid wall of hard, bulging muscles covered with enough dark hair to resemble fur. In his hands he carried a whip comprised of a thick braided handle bound around nine long strips of leather, each with metal studs knotted at the ends.
Recalde saw the enormous hulk approaching and screamed into the gag again. With a few slashes of a knife, the Turk cut Recalde's shirt from his torso. A few slashes more and the breeches were torn away in shreds, leaving the Spaniard's pale body naked against the mast.
"I don't think I can watch this," Molly said, her hand trembling as it rose to cover her lips.
Varian heard the terrified whisper and walked over. "I would be grateful if you could take Rose below to our cabin. I don't think she needs to see what is about to happen."
Molly's eyes shone with gratitude. "Of course Your Grace. I would be happy to do so."
He passed the little girl into Molly's arms, then gazed at Bella and smiled. "She can be a bit of a handful; it might take two of you to entertain her."
Bella cast her gaze around the quarterdeck.
Evangeline had moved to stand by her husband. Isabeau was beside Simon. Juliet had the baby cradled in her arms but was remaining steadfast with her family.
Two months ago she might not have been able to watch the flogging either, and while it was strange to think she might have changed so much in such a short time, she knew she had. London seemed like a lifetime ago and she could barely remember why it had been so important to forget who she was in her efforts to become someone else. She was Bella Baker. She was a thief and she was in love with a pirate. In all her years, in all of her guises and transformations from urchin to lady, she had never felt half so safe nor half so much at peace with who and what she was than right now, standing on the deck of a ship three thousand miles from anywhere remotely civilized.
My woman, Jonas had said. And if Bella had doubted she was capable of accepting it before, she no longer had those doubts, regardless how fraught with danger their future adventures might be.
"Thank you, but I am certain Molly can cope on her own," Bella said quietly.
Varian searched her face a moment, then nodded and stepped back.
Bella walked over to where Jonas was standing. His only reaction, as he watched her approach and take her place by his side, was a slight narrowing of the amber eyes.
"I won't tell you you're being unnecessarily stubborn," he said quietly, barely moving his lips. "I suspect that would be a waste of my breath. But if you feel faint, turn your head. No one will think any the less of you."
"Yes, my love."
He stiffened a moment, after which Bella sensed, rather than saw his chest swell at her words. She suffered through a dozen pounding heartbeats before his hand went around her waist and he drew her close against his side.
"Your words have a sweet sound to them," he murmured. "I will enjoy hearing them often."
On a signal from Simon Dante, the massive shoulder muscles across the Turk's back bunched up and came together as he swung his trunk-like arm behind and brought the nine tails of the leather cat lashing forward to strike Recalde's naked back.
The Spaniard stiffened and strained against the ropes, and to his credit, he managed to bite back a scream as the leather strips fell away leaving nine red lines across the stark white flesh. A second, third, and fourth strike left criss-crossing marks, none yet cutting the flesh, but every one undoubtedly feeling like a thousand bee stings.
Some of the crew started to chant. Some called for blood. Some took wagers on how long the Spaniard could endure the pain before he screamed.
Those who said eight won the first lot of coins.
On the twelfth stroke the lashes began to cut into the swollen flesh. At twenty strokes Recalde fainted and the punishment paused while buckets of salt water were thrown over his head to revive him. Soon enough, the deck was spattered with blood and Recalde's back and hindquarters began to resemble raw meat. The Turk moved effortlessly, tirelessly, the hiss and slap of the leather tails moving in a rhythm set by cold, pure anger. Each stroke was precise, the lashes landing from shoulders to ankles then back up again, the metal studs dancing over the offered flesh to find the most vulnerable, sensitive areas.
One such stroke flew wild and curled around Recalde's neck, the stud flung upward to strike an eye. Despite the closed lid, the eyeball squirted out like a ripe fruit leaving the orb hanging down his cheek by a vein.
Eventually no amount of gleefully thrown seawater could revive the Spaniard, and the last few strokes were delivered with a finality that saw the Turk run the tails of leather through his hand to wring off the blood and bits of flesh.
To the jeers and hisses of the crew, the Spaniard was cut down and dragged away, his feet leaving two broad smears of blood behind. He was taken below and locked in one of the holds where a crewman was assigned to bandage the eye and treat the lacerated shreds of flesh, covering them with linens soaked in turpentine and salt to staunch the bleeding.
On deck, the men began to disperse. Half remained on board to crew the Avenger the other half crossed the planks and returned to the Tribute. As had been previously discussed, the two ships glided out of the cove with the morning tides and set a course south for Isla Tortuga where they hoped to find sanctuary long enough to heal the wounded and decide where Fate might take them.
Epilogue
The sun was a burning disc of gold overhead, bleaching the sky to palest blue and turning the surface of the water to gleaming silver. Jonas Dante stood alone at the quarterdeck rail, his spyglass held to his eye as he scanned the horizon. His hair was loose and flowed off his shoulders in the strong breeze. The linen of his shirtsleeves filled with air making his arms seem even more impressively muscular than they were. He was hatless, for a change, having given his prized tricorn to the sailmaker to repair a hole in the leather and fit the cocked rim with a jaunty new spray of feathers. His shirt was open to the waist, his booted feet were planted wide apart to ride the motion of the Tribute as it cut through the rolling waves.
Bella thought she had never seen anyone so breathtakingly handsome in all her years.
She was content, for the moment, to stand unnoticed at the top of the ladderway. She had nodded and smiled a polite response when the helmsman touched his cap in a respectful greeting, but she pressed a finger to her lips to discourage him from announcing her presence. They had been at sea four days since leaving the cove and had followed the coast of Cubana south until they crossed the Windward Passage. There had been some debate concerning the proximity of Tortuga to the Spanish-held island of Dominica, but thus far the only other ship they had seen had been a merchantman riding low on the eastern horizon, in a hurry to reach Havana before the fleet... or what was left of it... sailed for Spain.
The Avenger's injuries determined the pace and that pace would have made a beached turtle proud. Jonas, keeping the Tribute close on her wake, felt exposed but there was nothing to be done but keep vigilant eyes on the seas all around them. Dominica lay several leagues to the west, viewed through a strong spyglass as a thi
n purplish line across the horizon. They sailed without lights at night, allowing not so much as a small pipe on deck lest the glow betray their presence. By day they ate cold meals below decks and threw nothing overboard that might attract flying rats. Seagulls were normally viewed with pleasure or relief signalling landfall close by, but on this occasion, they did not want to see or hear any of the feathered vermin. Too many times the location of a ship attempting to hide in a bay or behind an island was revealed by the flocks of screaming gulls circling in a cloud overhead.
Both ships flew large yellow flags on their foremasts as a warning, should they unavoidably happen across a curious traveller, that there was fever on board. This came at the suggestion of Evangeline Dante, who had experienced first-hand the haste with which passing ships hastened to steer clear of a vessel that carried the flag of contagion.
There was only one life-threatening fever on board, however. Geoffrey Pitt's had raged for a day and a night, but the damaged leg showed no signs of creeping gangrene. The flesh above the wound was pale and clean and the only foul smell came from Digger's fix-all unguent. Pitt's eye was still filled with blood and he claimed no vision as yet, but the flood of tears he shed each day over the loss of his wife and children kept both eyes too swollen to allow healing. Young Pitt had not left his side except to bear witness to the second round of floggings dealt to Juan Pedro Recalde.
The two ships had again come together to bear witness but this time Bella had chosen to remain on board the Tribute rather than row across to watch the punishment. She and Molly stayed with Lily Rose and the new baby, who had been blessed with a name longer than his toes: Michael Edward Spence Dante St.Clare, Marquess Brombury. In time he would become the thirteenth Duke of Harrow, although both titles meant little on the vast Ocean-Sea.
And it was vast. With the wind in her hair and the salt spray glistening on her skin, Bella felt as though they were travelling through an enormous universe comprised only of sky and water. Each crack of wind in the canvas sheets overhead sent an exhilarating rush of excitement coursing through her veins, stirring a sense of adventure within her, and rousing a curiosity for the unknown.
The Far Horizon Page 31
