HF - 01 - Caribee (28 page)

' Tis drin
king with the likes of you, you mean,' Edward growled.

'Man, we're all the comfort ye know. Here, let me get ye
another
bo
tt
le.'

'No,' Edward said.
‘I’
ll drink no more this night, or I'll have it all back.' He rose to his knees, uncertainly, the stars and the entire firmament whirling about his head. But he'd not drop before the Irishmen. With a tremendous effort he reached his feet, and staggered out of the circle of light, there to stand with legs spread, sucking great gulps of air into his lungs.

A voice drifted to him, faintl
y on the breeze. 'Now, that was right careless, Paddy boy,' someone said. 'The lad is still a Warner, whatever his present discomforts. He's not to suppose we have a notion, save as he plants them there.'

Paddy's protests were lost as the wind died, but Edward did not wish to hear any more. He forced his feet to move, and staggered up the sand towards the houses of the town, darkened now, as even the colonists had retired to their beds. Father would have retired as well. No longer a hammock for
Father
. A great big tent, wide enough to sleep four, but containing only two. What had Father taught her, about the art of lovemaking? What was he teaching her at this very moment? The Carib way was
not really practical on a feath
er ma
tt
ress.

He knelt, staring up at the mass of Brimstone Hill. Mama looked down on the colony, and smiled. Or frowned. She had much to frown about, because being dead, her gaze would not be restricted by roof or wall, much less by coverlet.

What rubbish. The dead were dead, and could only be remembered. Else was Mama too encumbered by those who would surround her, to gaze down at Sandy Point with bi
tt
er hatred in th
eir hearts. More than a hundred of them, an oath of eternal friendship on their lips. But then, Mama had died
with
an oath
of eternal faith and honour on her lips. If there was the price of success, of empire and fame and wealth, it was surely a great deal too dear. He wondered he felt no

resentment, no hatred this night The announcement had been made from the steps of the church, to the assembled populace, and more than a hundred heads had turned, to stare at the Governor's heir, excluded fro
m his rightful post And yet, thi
s night, he felt only regret, and sadness. The hatred would come later, with his hangover.

Another voice, wailing through the night. A dream voice, come from the heights of Brimstone Hill. Edward found himself on his knees, staring at the dar
kness in horror. It could not b
e. The dead were dead. And this spirit was not even speaking English, all the tune.

'Help,' it shouted. 'Assistance. Mon Dieu, but
they
sleep like the dead. Help.'

Edward stood up. "What Is it, monsieur? You trespass."

The Frenchm
an stopped, to pant and stare at him. Gone were the elegant buccaneers who had first stepp
ed ashore from the Madeleine; th
ose who had elected to remain and farm the infant colony when Belain had sailed for home had very rapidly become beachcombers, with ta
tt
ered breeches th
eir only garments. Trespass? Mon Dieu. We all trespass, monsieur. And the owner has returned.'

'Eh? What do you mean?' Edward tried to focus his eyes through the haze of alcohol which surrounded his brain.

'Ships, monsieur. Caribs. Score upon score of canoes.'

'Where?'

'We sighted them at dusk, monsieur. We could not believe our eyes, at first. But
they
were
well out' 'Coming from the south
?'

'From the south, monsieur. They appeared from behind Nevis, heading north, So w
e said, they are passing St Christo
pher by, and making for one of the other islands. But then they started to close the shore. It was dark by then, and difficult to be sure, monsieur. But they were hard by the windward beach when last we saw them.'

'Oh, Christ.' Edward seized the man's shoulders and shook them to and fro. 'Now tell me straight, how many were there? Speak the truth, man.'

The Frenchman goggled at him. 'Not less than forty canoes, monsieur. This I swear.'

'Forty canoes,' Edward mu
tt
ered. Twenty men to a canoe... by Christ but you lie. There cannot be
that
many
Indian
s in the entire archipelago.'

'Well, monsieur, perhaps not so many, but monsieur....'

Edward th
rew him to one side and ran up the street towards the church. He bounded up the steps, and into the always open doorway, seized the bell rope and dragged on it A moment later the first peal echoed through the town.

'Edward? What has happened?' Mr Mailing, his nightshirt trailing the ground.

'Caribs,' Edward said. 'Keep the bell going, Reverend.'

He ran down the steps, and up the street to the Governor's House, every footstep punctuated by a vision of Susan Hilton tied to a stake, or held on her face by some Carib brave; he could not decide which fantasy was worse.

'Edward?" Tom Warner stood in the doorway to his bedchamber, naked but carrying a sword. 'What is the reason for
this
tumult?'

'A Frenchman has seen a Carib fleet making for the windward coast,
sir,' Edward shouted. ' Tis onl
y the Hiltons over there.'

'By Christ,' Tom said. 'But we shall not reach them before dawn.'

Then you'd best hurry.' Edward snatched up his sword belt, buckled it round Iris waist, found his pistols and thrust them into the belt, slung his cartridge pouch over his shoulder, and ran for the back.

'You'll come back here,' Tom bellowed. "There is naught you can do by yourself, and you'll be needed to guide the foot'

'Yarico can do that,' Edward said
over his shoulder. 'She knows th
ese woods even be
tt
er than I.' He dashed across the fields behind the town, climbing now, towards the forest. Susan, Susan, Susan. The thought drove him on, while the alcohol poured from his blood in endless sweat

Yet it was fight before even he found Ins way down the pass on the far side of Mount Misery, towards the windward shore. Now he faced the eastern ring of islands, fringing the
Atlantic itself, and the breeze had already freshened, driving into his face, and driving, too, the constant big rollers which pounded on the beach below him. By now, too, exhaustion haunted his steps. Yet he was still sufficient of the
Indian
to have paced himself; he had
loped through the forest, neith
er walking nor running, but travelling as fast as he could without dropping. He sweated, but this was clean sweat; the alcohol haze had quite gone from his head, and only a dull ache remained. But with it, the ache of despair, creeping up out of his belly. From this vantage point he looked down on an empty beach, but not an empty sea. The horizon, to which clung the islan
d of Antigua, a glowing cloud in
the path of the rising sun, was do
tt
ed with canoes. Not forty. Not even twenty. Six of them, already several miles from the beach, rising and disappearing again into the swell, hurrying southwards. With what on board? And with what accomplished?

The smoke drove him on. Hilton had cleared a deal of land, considering the size of his work force. Now it was a layer of black ash. And beside it, only the main timbers of the house still stood, and these surely not for long, as they still glowed, and sent wisps of smoke upwards into the clear air. Edward panted down the last slope and reached the sand, staggered and dropped to his knees, to stare at the destruction in front of him. Now he could even feel the heat, driven towards him by the wind. A successful raid. How successful? Tony's dog lay on the sand, dried blood stretching away from its open mouth like a hideously elongated tongue.

He stood up, tiptoed forward, slowly. He stood as close to the ruins as he dared, gazed at the smoke and the ash and the flame, inhaled, and tried to imagine whether burning white flesh would smell different from the holocaust which had marked the end of Tegramond's people. But surely, if the Caribs had taken the place before se
tt
ing it alight, the bodies would also be sca
tt
ered about the beach, the remains of a human butcher's shop.

'Edward?
’

He refused to turn. It had to be a dream, a delusion, like the voice from Brimstone Hill, not o
nly because she could not be ali
ve, but because if she was alive she would not have spoken his name. Not after four years of silence.

'Edward?' It was so close it could touch him. And then it did, a handful of fingers on his arm. Warm fingers.

He turned, slowly filling his lungs, preparing himself for something horrible. Red hair, drifting back from her face in the wind. The strong, purposeful face, revealing at this moment only pleasure. She wore a co
tt
on nightdress, torn in several places and soiled from a night in the forest. But she was unharmed.

'Susan?" he whispered. "Where is Tony?"

‘I
don'
t
know,' she said. 'We could not defend the house
, so we went into the forest. All
of us. They left me and returned to see what could be done. I think I fell asleep. But when I woke up it was fight, and I could see the smoke. I came down here."

In the forest a musket exploded, and another. They're looking for you now,' he said. She gazed at him.

'Oh, Christ,' he said. His hand left his side without any impulse from his brain, touched the line of her jaw, stroked down her cheek and neck. She put both hers up, clasped them round his wrist, and turned towards the trees.

'Tony will be out of his mind with worry,' Edward said. 'And there are men coming from Sandy Point.'

'They can rebuild our house for us." She released his wrist to walk into the forest. 'Do you know the windward coast?'

'No.' Now they were hidden from the beach. That quickly.

‘It
is more steep-to than the west. You can see that. When there is a storm the waves come right up the beach and pound on the rocks. So there are caves. There is one here.' She went through the bushes with the utmost assurance. A white
Indian
, with flaming hair. But then, was he not also a white
Indian
? That was the opinion generally held of him.

'Four years,' he said.

She parted the bushes in front of them, showed him a cleft in the rocks. 'And then we were interrupted.' 'You mean you remember that?'

'No one knows of this place.' She had disappeared, into the darkness. He sat on the lip, allowed himself to slide down the slope behind her, feet scrabbling on the suddenly dry earth. But it was not far, hardly six feet. 1 can'
t
see you,' he said.

'Wait,' she whispered, from beside him. 'Just wait.'

Slowly the light came, seeping out of another hole in front of them, and at a distance, allowing him to u
nderstand the vault of the cavern
, rising a score of feet above his head, and then dwindling away at the far end, where the glow came from.

'What is it?' he whispered.

‘I
don'
t
know. I have never been farther in
than
there.'

He glanced at her, crouching beside
him
.

‘I
have a lot of time to myself,' she explained.
‘I
go for walks. But there is so much to be afraid of, in the forest.'

'They think you are mad,' he said. 'They think the lash drove you from your mind.'

She crawled away from him, over the strangely smooth rock. 'No doubt they are right,' she said. 'Will you come? I have always wanted to explore in there, to see where the light comes from. But I waited, for you.'

'For me?'

She was at the foot of the next rise, where the floor almost met the roof; where the light seeped through.
‘I
thought you would come back, one day. When you stopped being afraid of Tony. When you stopped being afraid.'

'You were in Sandy Point, when Belain came.'

Three years ago. And you were still afraid. I could see it, then.'

'And what makes you think I am not afraid, now?
’
'You are here.'

‘I
thought of you, being torn to pieces by savages. I was afraid of that.'

'Well, then,' she said.
‘I
s not all life a layer of fear, winch is uncovered by discovering something you fear more
than
anything you already know?"