Blood and Oak- Wolves Will Eat

by Garrett Bettencourt

  “You all right?” said Melisande, laying on the ground with her sister, face covered in dust.

  Dominique nodded.

  “Good.” Melisande scrambled to her feet and offered Dominique a hand. “Keep your head down out here.”

  “Right.” Dominique pointed to the wounded sailor, still wailing in pain. “Help me get him to the surgery.”

  “Aye. You take his right arm.”

  A moment later, with cannon fire howling over their heads, the two women carried the wounded man with his arms over their shoulders.

  ###

  The hours passed like days. The sailor with the broken leg hadn’t been the last of the wounded. Dominique’s afternoon had been soaked in blood. But eventually, a few direct hits from the skilled Allegheny crew took the fight out of the gunboats. With sunset nearing, the action lulled while the pirates regrouped. The battle wasn’t over, but Dominique took full advantage of the respite. She was on the western ramparts, staring north over the fortified docks to the shores of Carthage. She puffed her pipe, studying the rumor of classical pillars.

  “Mrs. Aubert,” said Lieutenant Ryland as he exited a castle door behind her. “Mind if I join you?”

  “On one condition,” said Dominique as he came alongside her. Her hand shook so badly, she nearly spilled the tobacco from her pipe. “Call me Dominique.”

  Ryland cleared his throat. “As you wish, erm, Dominique. But if you don’t mind, it’ll be ‘Mrs. Aubert’ in front of the captain.”

  “Good enough.”

  Ryland followed her eyes toward Carthage. “You handled yourself well during the action. The men are impressed by your courage. And grateful.”

  “Ha,” scoffed Dominique. “I threw up twice. Dr. Murphy mostly yelled at me.”

  “Naval surgeons are rough sorts at best. Why else would they go to sea?”

  Dominique chuckled.

  Ryland looked at her seriously. “Dominique, you saved lives.”

  Dominique nodded and took another puff.

  “If you see the captain,” Ryland said, “will you inform him we have suffered the loss of seven guns, eight men killed, sixteen wounded. We repelled the breach at the north wall and are breaking down the slave cages to shore it up. I continue to carry out his general orders to hold the fort. He’s gone down to the powder magazine with the Larocques and asked not to be disturbed. I know I’m asking much of you, but…”

  “Seven guns lost.” Dominique whistled smoke. “Eight dead, sixteen wounded. Breech repaired with salvaged cages. We hold the fort. I’ll speak to him. Anything else?”

  In the side of her eye, Dominique saw Ryland’s mouth bend into a smile. The lieutenant closed a fist at his hat by way of salute. An honorary gesture, given she was a woman and not in the Navy. Still, after today, she deserved nothing less. “No, madam. That will do fine. I’ll leave you to your privacy.”

  “Lieutenant.”

  Ryland pivoted. “Yes?”

  “I need to ask you a question. And I need an answer.” Dominique took a deep drag, leg bouncing with energy.

  “I’ll answer as best I can. On one condition. You call me Ryland.”

  Dominique smirked. “Done.” She took another drag, then asked, “How did Richard do it?”

  “Do what, exactly?”

  “How did Richard beat five enemy ships single-handed, only to lose to the Wolf of Tunis? And don’t give me a lot of nonsense about ‘smashers versus long guns.’”

  Ryland pulled off his bicorne hat and ran a hand through his short hair. “Barbary Pirates are known to be fairly poor sailors and gunners. Well-trained crews often beat them on rounds per minute. So it was with Captain Sterett’s Enterprise when he took on the Tripoli. The first five ships Allegheny engaged were small, and our men performed well. I would guess their crews were poorly led. When the first two struck colors, the others were quick to flee.”

  “Lucky for us,” said Dominique.

  “Not so lucky when the Wolf of Tunis showed up. That was an entirely different story.”

  “And what do you really believe, Ryland?”

  “I…” Ryland trailed off, his fingers working at the gold trim of his hat.

  “Ryland, my husband is keeping secrets from me. Dangerous secrets. I have to know the kind of man I’m married to.”

  Ryland sighed. “I suppose something about it didn’t feel right. As if the first wave of pirates weren’t putting up a real fight. When one passed close enough for a look, their decks were manned with skeleton crews.”

  Dominique smirked. “Hollow ships.”

  “‘Hollow ships?’”

  “What about the Minerva?” Dominique pressed. “When we returned to the bay before the Wolf arrived, we found the tribute ship already sunk. You said it yourself then—why would pirates sink the very treasure they were trying to steal? And how could most of the crew drown?”

  “I don’t think I can answer those questions,” said Ryland, a solemn note in his voice. “Surprising as it may be, most sailors can’t swim. The men likely didn’t make it to the boats. But if I’m being honest, nothing about that day adds up.”

  “Almost as if…” said Dominique, her eyes fixed on a single stone pillar of Carthage, “…it was all arranged.”

  Ryland fell silent. A cormorant crowed and dove for a fish. “I couldn’t say, Dominique.”

  “I think you just have.” When he didn’t reply, she added, “Thank you, Ryland. That will be all.”

  “Madam.” Ryland returned to the castle barracks.

  Dominique took one last drag, then emptied her pipe. She knew where she had to go. Her eyes traced up the Grand Tower. She ground the ash under her slipper.

  Chapter 40

  The Lake Fort

  The Secret Passage

  Tuesday, September 13th, 1803

  Day 4, Late Afternoon

  “Damn!” Dominique heard the sound of rending cloth.

  In the darkness of the hidden passage, she couldn’t see where her gown was caught. She hadn’t intended to climb the vertical shaft a second time today—it felt like being in a coffin. A smell like old bandages kept blowing up from the dungeons. Cold sweat ran down Dominique’s spine. She felt along her skirts and her fingers touched a spike in the wall. As she tried to free her dress from the snag, her other hand slipped on the stone rung.

  Dominique aborted her scream and grabbed the rungs with both hands. She paused to steady her pounding heart, having almost fallen to her death. What the hell had she been thinking? Climbing up Kaitlin’s hidden passage from the kitchen, and for what? To spy on her own husband? And in a dress and slippers, no less!

  “I know you’re scared, Dom,” Sully says. “But that doesn’t matter. Because I also know you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met.”

  Dominique wants to kiss him. She wants to wrap herself in his arms. More than anything, she wants to believe him.

  Dominique took another deep breath. She reached down and ripped the snag free.

  “I believe you, Sully,” Dominique whispered. With steel in her heart, she climbed.

  When Dominique reached the top of the tower, she looked through the tiny peephole into the Grand Tower Suite. She peered through, carefully scanning the room. The hearth was cold, the curtains dancing in a breeze, the pages on the table fluttering beside the tea service. No one. Dominique found the latch on the hidden panel and clicked it open. She climbed out of the passageway and into the daylight.

  Dominique searched for her husband’s hidden correspondence. She found his captain’s coat draped over a chair and rifled the pockets. She leafed through the journals on the table. She ran a hand under the straw-stuffed mattresses. Nothing. She roamed the room, despairing that her prize might be with Richard in the powder magazine. As she passed the window, she stopped, her eyes catching sight of the city across the lake.

  A billowing column of flames rose near the bey’s palace. Smoke hung in a thick black cloud. The sounds of battle were a cacophony. As if
the whole city had descended into chaos. Had Sully failed? Was he still alive? Dominique pushed the worries from her thoughts. She had to believe John would succeed. And she had work to do.

  Dominique heard a knocking sound. Her blood turned to ice. She spun and looked at the door by the hearth, then the door on the north side of the room by her bed. The door onto the balcony banged in the wind, evidently left open, the water beyond glittering under the sun. A pigeon exploded from under the table, fluttering straight toward her. Dominique dove for the floor with a shriek. The bird landed on the window sill and cooed. She watched it strut about for a moment, then fly away.

  “Fucking bird.” She blinked. Her eyes were on the little metal panel above the hearth—the door used for cleaning the flue. Dominique launched to her feet, walked to the fireplace, and threw it open.

  Inside the chimney, a little red book was stashed on an ash-blackened ledge. Dominique snatched the book and flipped through the pages.

  This is it! thought Dominique. She thumbed past log entries, longitudes, latitudes, and hastily sketched maps. All of her husband’s secrets laid bare. She paged faster and faster—until a particular map caught her eye. She stopped on a drawing of a bay off the coast of Sicily, a crude “X” in the middle. It was unmistakable—a chart showing the exact location where the Minerva sank. She thumbed to the next page.

  She found a copy of the letter she read in Aubert’s cabin a month ago:

  A,

  Congratulations on securing the prize. Our agent in Paris has made contact. The number is five. The cost is ten percent. Paper ships. Hollow crews.

  The Restoration is at hand.

  L

  Dominique paged again and found a reply.

  L,

  It’s done. Our paper crews are hired. The location is decided. Chart enclosed.

  Our captain on the prize has his orders. Barrels floating at one fathom. The spot will be marked at low tide.

  Our Restoration begins. Napoleon faces his reckoning.

  A

  Dominique paged again. She skimmed several log entries.

  …Only the loyal crew shall be on watch…Minerva’s captain has agreed to the price…will use heavy nets over the main hatch. Locks on the rest…a regrettable loss of men, but a necessary sacrifice for France…

  The book snapped closed. Dominique’s mouth fell open. It all came into focus. She saw her husband’s plan come to life in her mind’s eye as if she’d been standing on the Minerva that day.

  Marquis Larocque lowers the spyglass from his eye. He sees the last “hollow ship” filled with mercenaries chase after Aubert’s ship. They’ve been offered a tenth share of the Minerva’s tribute for their part in this ruse. Allegheny’s guns rumble in the distance as she fights the ships filled with “paper crews.” The time has come. He gives the Minerva captain a knowing look and nods.

  “Marines!” shouts the captain. He gives the secret order to his conspirators. “Batten down!” The Marines are part of the plan, and they hurry to their work. A few of them light charges hidden in the hold, at the bottom of the ship. Then come above decks and clap iron locks on all the hatches. Most of the crew have been ordered to wait below. The captain has fed them some lie about needing all hands manning the guns and ready to defend the treasure against boarders.

  A few sailors on the gun deck look up in puzzlement. The crew on the spar deck are pulling a net of thick rope over the large square opening amidships. The charges detonate and blow out the ship’s bottom. The sea boils up from below, and there’s a terrible panic. Men crowd up the steps of the fore and aft hatches, but they’re secured with iron padlocks.

  Now it’s chaos. The crew below decks are yelling and screaming—some confused, others enraged—all begging to be let out. But Sebastien and Angele Larocque join the traitorous conspirators in a jolly boat. They row away from the Minerva. Barrels are tethered to ropes hanging from the crosstrees in the rigging. When the ship goes down, the barrels will float up and hover below the surface, visible at low tide to mark the treasure.

  The screams of the trapped men are deafening. They’re pleading. Begging. Threatening. But Larocque and his wife watch with cold detachment. The rowers mind their work. The captain minds the tiller.

  As the Minerva tips onto her side, she drags over forty screaming men into the sea.

  Dominique clapped a hand over her mouth. She let out a cry of horror. Tears ran down her face. She couldn’t believe what her husband had done—to his own countrymen! She didn’t want to believe it.

  “I see the tower has grown on you,” said a brusque voice behind Dominique.

  With a start, Dominique whirled to find her husband, Captain Richard Aubert, standing by the door to the balcony. She realized now he’d been hiding out there on the terrace, watching her the whole time.

  Her heart raced. “Richard, what is the meaning of this? What have you done?”

  “Exactly what I’ve always done.” Aubert started pacing toward her, taking one slow step after the other. “I have secured our future.”

  “You don’t even deny it? Richard, tell me this isn’t true. Tell me you didn’t drown all those men. Betray your own country!”

  “My country is France!” Aubert paced around the table, backing his wife toward the hearth. “And this is war. Men die. Do you have any idea what the rabble did to my family before we fled? To yours? They dragged honorable nobles out of their homes. Burned houses and fields. Paraded innocent people through courts of mockery. Put men, women, and children to the guillotine. The peasant rabble murdered a royal family.” Aubert sneered as if the words dirtied his mouth. “Can you imagine it? Flea-infested, lice-chewed savages, daring to spill king’s blood!”

  “But the Minerva crew weren’t Frenchmen—they were Americans. Your own comrades!”

  Aubert scoffed as he loomed closer. “And where do you think the rabble in France got the whole idea, hmm? Fighting the British Crown, right alongside the Yankee mob. ‘American’ is just another word for ‘peasant.’”

  Feeling her back against the mantle, Dominique side-stepped. “Richard—all those men. They trusted you, and you killed them. My God—Kimble. He believed in you—fought for you—and he died for nothing!”

  Aubert wheeled to follow her. “I disagree. Lieutenant Kimble died for a cause far greater than he knew. With the bey’s quarter million in tribute, the agents of the Restoration will have all the funds they need to assassinate Consul Napoleon, raise a royal army, and restore a king to the throne of France. I gave Kimble and the others an honorable death. They should go to the afterlife with gratitude.”

  “That’s why you wanted escort duty from Commodore Preble! To steal Bey Hammuda’s tribute. But you never counted on the Wolf of Tunis, did you? When your crew finds out about this—they’ll mutiny.”

  “In a matter of minutes, none of that will matter.”

  Dominique nearly tripped on her skirts. “Richard, what are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about you and me leaving this rabble behind. I’m talking about a new dynasty of French royalty. I’m talking about King Richard Aubert I and his wife, Her Majesty Queen Dominique. I’m talking about the future you’ve always wanted, mon chaton.”

  “No.” Dominique shook her head. “I never wanted this. I never wanted power at the cost of innocent lives.”

  “And how do you think power is achieved, eh? At this very moment, Naim’s soldiers are laying charges. Thank you, my dear, for sharing the Irish snotty’s secret passage. The Turks made great use of it, and in return, we get our freedom. A few minutes after we’ve gone, this whole place will be a pile of rubble. Whatever’s left of these peasant sailors will be the bey’s problem. That is the purpose of their class, my dear. To help their betters ascend.”

  “Richard, you don’t know who you’re dealing with. Naim doesn’t care about slaves or money. Whatever deal you’ve made, it won’t end how you think. We have to warn the Allegheny crew before it’s too late!”
<
br />   Dominique ran for the door, but Aubert swooped in like a hawk. He seized her by the arms and dragged her close. His eyes blazed with fury.

  “Now you listen to me, you scheming wench,” Aubert growled. “You are my wife, and you will obey me. I will drag you into your glorious future, to the very summit of power. And you will thank me. And you will honor me. With your heart, with your mind…” Aubert’s eyes slid down Dominique’s figure. “…with your body.”

  “Richard, please,” said Dominique. “You’re hurting me.”

  Aubert’s eye twitched. “It’s him, isn’t it? That detestable Irish urchin. You don’t want my hands on you—you want Sullivan’s. Tell me, mon chaton, while he was here, did he fuck you?”

  “No, Richard,” sobbed Dominique. “Stop this. I swear. I love you. I would never betray our vows.”

  “You’re lying.” Aubert pulled down Dominique’s corset, exposing her breast. “You don’t want your husband—you want that deserting midshipman. You want him to take you from behind like a rutting whore!”

  “Richard,” cried Dominique. She managed to twist an arm free. “Please…”

  Aubert caught her with both hands and pitched her to the floor. Dominique cried out as her shoulder slammed onto the flagstones. In the next moment, Aubert was on her, pinning her down, tearing at her clothes. He pulled up her dress.

  “Richard, no!” shrieked Dominique.

  “You need a lesson in proper respect.” Aubert tugged his manhood free of his trousers and forced his body between her legs. She struggled and fought, but his greater strength and weight were too much. “If you will not humble yourself, then I will humble you.”

  Sound and light became a blur. Dominique’s own cries sounded far away. As she struggled under the ruthless grip of her husband, she felt distant. Detached. Like someone else watching from afar. She heard her own breath in her ears. Saw her terrified reflection in her husband’s mad eyes. Was this really happening? Or was this some terrible dream?