HF - 01 - Caribee (35 page)

Meanwhile he had naught to do but wait. Yarico had already been, and would not return before tomorrow. If then. By tomorrow the fleet would have anchored, and Tom Warner come ashore. Tomorrow. He listened to a hubbub outside, to noise and excitement. Tomorrow. Or this evening? Things might happen more rapidly than he had supposed. But then, would not Tom Warner's first action on landing be to seek his errant son?

Footsteps, at the door. Many footsteps. The Governor, and his advisors come to see the leader of the revolution. Edward stood up, his back to the wall.

The door was thrown in. There were a great many people outside. Strangers, most of them, but very well armed, and very well dressed, too. And closer at hand, Hemy Ashton, looking pale and worried, and Joachim Galante.

The Frenchman smiled, and bowed.
‘
You are surprised, Mr Warner? Did you not suppose I would return? We made a treaty with your father.'

'My father left this colony in the certainty that no ma
tt
er
what happened,' he said, 'there would be a Warner here when he returned. I shall not betray him. I surrender Merwar's Hope to your superior force,
Monsieur Galante, but I do so u
nder protest that it is an act of war, and I intend to remain here, in whatever capacity I may, to await the conclusion of peace, and whatever arrangements may then be made, or the return of my father with sufficient force to re
gain what is rightfully his, whi
chever may be the sooner.'

The prisoners stood in a line, to be inspected by the victors. The sun was high, the sky clear, the day hot. The sails of Ashton's two ships had disappeared during the night, and the fleur-de-lis flu
tt
ered from the flagpole in front of the courthouse. Edward stood at one end of the line, with Philip beside him, and Yarico and li
tt
le Tom beside Philip; beyond them the seventeen Irish labourers and the three Carib women deserted by their erstwhile husbands also waited,
with
the four other children. All that remained of Merwar's Hope.

'A barbarous name,' Belain remarked, taking a pinch of snuff. 'We shall restore the original, St. Christopher. It has a ring to it, and is more fi
tt
ing to a Cath
olic Government. Would you not say, Cahusac?'

The Sieur de Cahusac bowed. Although he sported as much satin and lace as Belain, with his silk stockings and the ridiculous high red heels to his shoes, he was less of a dandy and more of a seaman, both in appearance and in speech. 'Nor is this the best position for a seaport.'

i
ndeed, you are right. We shall leave this place, of course, with its quaint li
tt
le buildings, as the centre of our tobacco industry, but I had already intended to build myself a real town, indeed, a city, in the bay over there, where the ships may lie close to the beach and the land is low for some distance back from the shore, giving us more space to grow. Hence the architects. But wait, the ladies have arrived.'

The soldiers from the ships had been drawn up in a guard of honour, and now, walking up the beach, there came the flu
tt
er of skirts. Not less than twenty women, in all the splendour of silk and satin, with hair p
ulled back in great mounds on th
eir heads and li
tt
le black patches on then faces and
chins, with masses of jewels on their fingers, with bare shoulders and plunging bodices, although each lady was protected from the sun by a brightly coloured parasol held above her head by an a
tt
entive young Negro, wearing coat and vest and breeches and stockings and shoes in materials and colours hardly less splendid than those of their mistresses.

'You'll bring your men to a
tt
ention, Joachim,' Belain said. 'We must give the ladies a treat.'

Galante nodded, drew his sword, and signalled his officer. A bugler blew a blast, and the pikemen brought their weapons upright with a cla
tt
er and a slap of hands on hafts. The women clapped their hands and exclaimed with pleasure, a babble of high-pitched French. Edward avoided looking at them. They represented the ultimate in achievement. More. They represented the enormous confidence which accompanied Pierre Belain like an aura. He had sailed from France to conquer Merwar's Hope, but not merely with a fleet of war. He had brought his officer's wives, and even the women for his common sailors and soldiers, and he had brought architects, and God alone knew what else, to create his conception of a colony. The idea of failure had not crossed his mind.

But if Edward would not look at the women, the women seemed determined to look at him. They wandered down the ranks of the prisoners, talking to each other behind their fans, laughing and exchanging comments, stopping to gaze at Yarico, and then at Edward, no doubt acquainted that one was a member of the terrible Carib race and the other the surrendered Governor of the colony. They exuded perfume, but li
tt
le beauty, to his eyes; he disliked the caked eyes and the puffy cheeks, the flashing insincere eyes, the obvious layers of clothing which must be clammy with sweat, all the effulgence of court ladies. He had not known this style for too long.

'Now then, Mr Warner,' Belain said.
‘I
would have you and your people put forward your best appearance. Stick out your chest, man, and take on a manly look. You have a reputation to uphold.'

'A reputation, monsieur?' Edward inquired.

'Oh, indeed. Terrible people, the Warners and their colorusts. Men who would massacre even the fierce Caribs in their beds.'

'And you played no part in that, monsieur?"

‘It
is not really my style, Mr Warner,' Belain said. 'Besides, I would seek to tarnish none of your glory. For to these ladies it is glorious, you know. As they have naught to do with their lives save their flirtations and their amours, it amuses them to consider men, whom they conquer with such ridiculous ease, as very devils incarnate when opposed to other men. For where is the satisfaction in conquering anything puny?"

Contempt. All contempt. But none to match the laughter of the girl.

His head turned, without meaning to. She stood next to Captain Galante, and was obviously his daughter, or his very young sister, for she had his height, and even his face. But the features which in the man were gloomy and even sinister, in the girl were almost beautiful. Almost. Her nose was strangely short, and looked out of place beneath the wide set green eyes, and above the equally wide mouth. Symmetry was supplied by the chin, which was also too small for the rest, as it came together in a point. Her neck was long, her shoulders bare, and the cut of her bodice revealed swelling breasts. Yet strange to say, the possible delights of her figure did not at this moment hold his a
tt
ention. Nor even the splendour of her pink satin gown, not quite brushing the sand and allowing her shoes, of a similar colour and material, to be seen. Her gloves were white, and her hat, broad-brimmed and drooping over her eyes, was of a dark shade of pink, and sported a tremendous white feather. Her hair was a splendid rich brown; she also wore the fashionable bun, but her ringlets undulated gently from beneath the huge hat to rest on her shoulders and wisp behind, with just a strand in front. It all added up to a picture of grace and health and confidence and wealth he had not seen since leaving England, as if an entire rose garden had mysteriously been picked up and transplanted to this empty shore. Certainly she dominated the other women. Yet none of these obvious a
tt
ractions equalled the laugh. Here was no simpering smile and no coque
tt
ish giggle, no suppressed amusement, and not even the delightful wicked shriek which was Yarico's. This girl laughed, with genuine humour, mingled with, he feared, a good deal of contempt, and above all, with a joyous pleasure in being alive, in being where she was and what she was. He received an impression of pink tongue and gleaming white teeth, of head moving backwards to display neck and chin.

And then the laughter died, for just a second, as she said something else to Galante, before another peal of amusement drifted across the sand.

Clearly she was not the most popular of the ladies, amongst the ladies. They mu
tt
ered to each other behind their fans, and moved on down the line of men.

'Now there,' Belain said, 'you have already caused a disappointment, Mr Warner. My niece cannot believe that you are the pirate you have been depicted. You must impress her. And she speaks English, you know. Aline, would you care to meet the monster?'

She came closer. She carried a fan, dangling by its string from the forefinger of her right hand. And her dress had a sash, in the same colour as her hat, sucking in her already restricted waist, so that it was a miracle she could breathe at all, while every breath brought a vision of swelling white up to meet his gaze. The Negro boy with the parasol hurried behind her.

'Aline, I would have you meet Edward
Warner
, eldest son of the famous captain. A very devil in his own right, I do assure you.' Belain watched Edward.

‘I
am enchanted, monsieur.' Her voice was liquid, but it sparkled.

Edward bowed. 'And I, mademoiselle. It is seldom that Merwar's Hope, I beg your pardon, St Christopher, is graced with such beauty.'

'A gentleman,' she said. 'And a pirate, and a murderer.' Her voice had dropped to a whisper, but now suddenly it exploded into sound, bringing all her scented breath into his face. 'Monsieur, monsieur, quickly.'

He swung round, as did Philip and indeed everyone present, to gaze at the empty street.

Aline Galante's laughter rushed around his head like a tumbling wave. 'My apologies, monsieur,' she said. And once again her voice dropped to hardly more than a whisper.
‘I
th
ought I saw a Carib warrior, sneaking from house to house. And I was sure you would wish to be informed.'

Her gaze held Edward's for a moment, her mouth widely smiling.

'And you were mistaken, mademoiselle,' he said. 'And perhaps disappointed.'

'Oh, indeed, monsieur. But then, so much of life is disappointing. Or have you not yet discovered that?"

'Enough,' Belain said.
‘I
would address the prisoners.' He stood before them. 'Now mark my words well. I have accepted your surrender in good faith, and would place no more restraint upon you than is necessary. You will work the fields, as in this you are more experienced than my people. You may build yourself some huts at a suitable distance from this town of yours, for my people shall require those houses until our own city is built. Now, your governor has elected to remain with you, and so far as you are concerned his authority is undiminished. I would have you know that. As for you, Master Warner, I hold you responsible for the behaviour of your people, and also for their work. Be sure that you understand me.'

‘I
understand you, monsieur.' He a
tt
empted to meet Be
lain's stare, but always his gaze kept straying to where Aline Galante stood next to her father, once again laughing at something, it could have been anything, which had caught her fancy. A woman, who either had lived too much, and found all life contemptible, or had not yet lived at all, and therefore
found all life excitingly amusin
g. He wondered which it could be.

'By the great God Him
self, I’ll
work no more this day.' Yeats threw down the axe, and threw himself with it.

His compatriots exchanged glances, and then slowly lowered their own tools. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the day had been one of extreme heat. But it wanted yet three hours to dusk, and there was a great deal still to be done. Over the past week they had cut down the trees that Edward had estimated they would need, and this day they had commenced cu
tt
ing the wood into planks. Houses were their first necessity; since the coming of the French they had slept like savages on the beach. Savages? Why, that wa
s all they were. At the least th
ey had all been so exhausted that even Yarico had gone rapidly into a deep sleep, and he had feared her more than any other. Although perhaps even Yarico, as she cuddled li
tt
le Tom to her breast, had changed.

Yet he had known all along that the Irishmen would become his most pressing problem, and this confrontation bore no comparison with the brawls he had indulged in during his months in gaol. Then he had still been the Governor's son, with all the weight of government there to preserve his life until the return of his father. Now he lowered his own saw, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. At least they were all in front of him. Only Philip, still chiselling away at what would eventually be a door, was behind him. And Philip, at this moment, he could trust. His plight was no different.

Now, as he straightened and pressed a hand to the aching muscles in his back, the whole afternoon seemed to wait upon Iris reply. It did not, of course. Even at this distance he could hear the rumble from farther down the beach, beyond Brimstone Hill, where the French were commencing their city, their Basseterre, as they called it. And on Brimstone Hill itself the sentries patrolled between the great cannon; unlike the Warners, Pierre Belain was not the man to risk surprise. He had less faith in human nature. In Sandy Point, the lad
ies were gathering for one of th
eir soirees, for the first tiring brought ashore from the ships had been a virginal, and the last few evenings even the Irish had gathered in a group on the beach to listen to the clear sweet sounds drifting through the breeze.

Perhaps there was reason for the absence of hate. The French had behaved with treachery, no doubt. Yet war had been declared, and if the English were uncaring of it, the fault was surely theirs. Nor had Belain, in seizing the colony while the Governor was absent, behaved any differently to Tom and himself in assaulting the Carib village; he was in pursuit of the most profit for himself and his people. And the

French knew more of living than the English. In scarce a week they had changed the very air on St Christopher. The music was but a symbol of the whole, of the perfume and fine clothes and the styled hair and the gli
tt
ering jewels and the lilting laughter. Mama should have lived for this, for then she would have lived forever. This was, indeed, the dream that had given substance to the colony. But it would take men like Belain and Galante, and women like Galante's daughter and Belain's wife, to give that dream substance. Because they were gentlemen, and their women were ladies.

And for the Warners? A disappearance from history. A disappearance which had already begun, and was now to be hastened on apace. For the Irish were watching him, knowing too well his reputation for sliding away from violence.