HF - 01 - Caribee (42 page)

So, of them all, only he had truly changed. He was shocked every time he saw himself reflected in a pool of water. But this was a pleasant shock. His size, for he dominated them all alike by his height and his breadth; his full fair beard which fi
tt
ed naturally into his uncut hair; the firmness of his mouth—here was a far cry from the vacillating creature of only a few months before. But here, too, was a man who understood only death and destruction, survival by whatever means came to hand, however horrible.

Thus he had taken his decision. The dead had been neither buried nor burne
d. They were stripped of their cl
othing, mutilated and carved, and heaped on the beach by Hilton's house
. There the ghastl
y, stinking remains had been discovered by the next patrol. Then the forest had come alive. But he had taken his people back into the recesses of Susan's cave, and there they had remained in u
tt
er security, to venture forth again and annihilate another patrol, two days later. And give one of the living captives to the women, so that nothing could be left as doubt in the Dons' minds.

This second catastrophe had stung Don Francisco de Toledo into action. The Spaniards had moved forward as an army, so quickly and in such numbers that the guerrillas had been taken by surprise. Hence the loss of Yeats and his friend. But thanks to that sacrifice they had got back to the cavern, and while over a thousand Spanish soldiers and sailors had tramped the beaches and the forest trails, they had remaine
d in safety hidden away beneath
the earth. Yet the character of the cave had certainly changed. It had changed that first day, when a dozen men had died inside its eerie half light. And it had continued to change ever since, as more than twenty people had used it as a home. Its beauty had dissolved in oaths and blasphemy, in crude jokes and cruder songs; its air had become filled with the stench of human sweat and human excreta; and its dark corners had been filled with eyes watching and wanting. Theirs was a sexless society, because Edward Warner so ordained it, and because they knew that they
lived by virtue of his leadersh
ip and his determination, and his ability. By his talents and his courage he had gained an ascendency over these people in a way his father had never done. This was a remarkable thought, but it was none the less true.

And yet he never doubted by how slender a margin his superiority ranked. His biggest headache lay in the fact that the women were as eager as the men. Not Susan, perhaps. But then, Susan merely hated the destruction of this private world in which she had spent so many hours. The Caribs, certainly. Aline, at least as regards himself. Even Meg Plummer, perhaps. They were young, strong women, living close to death and in circumstances of u
tt
er intimacy with a score of young, strong men, whom they daily watched lolling and hunting in their defence. Only by working them all to the point of u
tt
er exhaustion could he keep them from each other's crotches, and, by an almost inevitable sequence of emotions, from each others' throats. Certainly there was work enough to be done. The fish had to be caught and gu
tt
ed in the black hours before dawn, when the Spaniards did not venture over to Windward. And they could not live on fish alone. They suffered from a food shortage as it was, even if Yarico and her girls managed to keep them supplied with fresh fruit. But yet the spur was action against the Dons, for which they relied upon Edward's imagination and leadership. And for two days now no Spaniards had appeared on Windward. Thus it was necessary to take the fight to them; last night four of the Irishmen and two of the Carib girls had been late returning to the cave, and no one doubted the cause of their delay. Tonight it would be an increasing problem.

So he drew his map upon the sand. 'Like us,' he explained, 'the Dons need fish to eat. They spread their nets in the shallows off Blood River, where the
Indian
s used
to spread theirs. The nets are guarded, to be sure, but by not more than a dozen men; I have seen them. And they are well removed from the main force, which is encamped in and around the town, as you'll know. Now, there is the obvious way to discourage those bastards. Destroy their nets.'

' Twill be risky,' Paddy O'Reilly objected.

'For Christ's sake, Paddy, just kneeling here is risky,' Edward pointed out. "Why do you think there has been no patrol over here these last few days? Because they are afraid. We have made them afraid. They think of us as ghosts, because we disappear whenever they come close. We must be sure that they remain afraid. That they grow more afraid. And that they become more uncomfortable. Deprive them of a couple of days' food and there will be rumblings of discontent within the Spanish camp itself.'

O'Reilly shaded his eyes. 'Maybe we won'
t
have to go so far.'

Edward stood up, watched Brian Connor staggering up the beach, kicking clouds of soft sand into the air behind him.

'He looks as if he's seen a ghost,' Philip remarked. "Well, there's sufficient of them on this island, to be sure,' Susan said.

'What is it, Brian?' Edward shouted. 'Are the Dons mounting another expedition?'

"They're away,' Connor shouted. They've embarked,' he shrieked. He came up to them, threw himself full length on the sand, and rolled on to his back, arms and legs outflung. "They're licked, Ted.'

Edward glanced at the Irishmen, watched the emotions, relief, delight, surprise, joy and frustration fli
tt
ing across their faces. Then without a word to each other they ran for the path which led up Mount Misery. They climbed and kicked each other, hurried and tripped, tumbled and rose again, barked shins and knees and shoulders, exchanged excited opinions and ambitions, and gained the open space above the tree line, from whence they could look down on Leeward. But long before they reached their vantage point they saw the smoke, rising above the remains of Sandy Point. From the ledge itself the erstwhile town made a sad picture, somehow more horrible than Edward remembered the same site after the hurricane. For this day the sea was calm, the breeze light, and Sandy Point had been more than an accumulation of huts. But now they all burned, individually, to reveal the Dons' a
tt
ention to detail, and generally, as the smoke from each blazing roof merged into the smoke from the next blazing roof, as
the pillars supporting the
porch of Government House crashed outwards, and the roof itself fell in, through the bedrooms and into the chamber where Tom Warner had entertained his guests.

But the desolation was not confined to the town; behind it the
tobacco plantations and the corn
fields were fla
tt
ened areas of dusty earth. And still the horizon was do
tt
ed with sails and pennants and flags, with mahogany brown hills and curling white wakes, as the fleet gathered way before the
gentle
southerly breeze

Philip knelt beside his brother. 'By all the rules of warfare we can claim a victory, Edward. You can claim a victory. We are left in possession of the field.'

'Aye.' Edward glanced at the awestruck Irishmen. 'Our misfortune is, Philip, that there are no rules on St Ki
tt
s. We make them up as we go along.'

Even from a hundred yards away, the heat clun
g to the air; the smoke had mostl
y died by now, and only the glowing ashes remained. Occasionally there was a rumble as a pillar or a roof, made from greener timbers than the rest, came crashing down to send a shower of sparks upwards.

‘It
'll have cooled by morning,' Edward said. 'Well get to work then.'

'To work?' Connor demanded. 'And what work were ye considering, Ted?"

'You'd spend the rest of your lives lying on the sand?"

"There'll be a ship along,' O'Reilly said. 'An Englishman or a Dutchman. Well beg passage on that'

"You'll desert the colony?"

'Colony? For Christ's sake.' O'Reilly removed his helmet and unbuckled his cuirass. Here was the problem; beside his armour he was carefully laying his brace of pistols and his sword. And most of his companions still wore theirs.

'And for the meantime,' Connor said. 'We'd best come
to an accommodation. We're entitl
ed to relax and enjoy ourselves.'

Another of those occasions he had long known would come. He had Philip by his side, but there were seventeen men opposed to them. Aline and Meg and Susan stood with the children, a li
tt
le to one side. They watched, and waited, and endeavoured to preserve their composure. The Carib girls had gone to see what had become of the fish nets.

'What sort of an accommodation were you thinki
ng of, Brian?" Edward said quietl
y.

'Well, our creature comforts, mostly, Ted,' O'Reilly said. 'Now we no longer have the need of a leader, we're flunking of a democratic society, like. Share and share alike. Now, there's nineteen of us, all told, and there's seven women.'

'Saving that Susan ain'
t
good for nothing,' Connor pointed out.

'Aye, so it really works out to one woman to every three and a half men. But I've a be
tt
er idea, Ted, lad. Your brother ain'
t
hardly even a half, yet, and ye've no taste for the flesh, now have ye? In any event, the brat in Sue's belly is likely yours, by all accounts. So well let ye take care of her, and the rest of us will take care of the others, which
’
ll give us be
tt
er than three to one. We'll work it out'

'No,' Meg Plummer said. 'Edward, you cannot permit this.'

Aline said nothing; she breathed deeply and there were pink spots on her cheeks.

'And if I'd not agree?" Edward demanded.

‘
Why, then, lad, 'tis sorry we'll be, to be sure, but well be inclin
ed to take what we require. Ye'll
not draw a sword against me, Ted. We'll
h
ave your throat cut before ye can get it clear of your scabbard.'

'For God's sake,' Susan shouted. 'Can ye never stop fighting? W
here would ye be without Ted? I’l
l tell ye. Ye'd be lying on that beach, bits of ye.'

'Sure, and we know that, Sue,' O'Reilly agreed. 'So we're content to leave him be, and leave ye be as well. All we're claiming is our just rights as men. Tis what we fought for. Just as, make no mistake, he fought the Dons not for us, but for this island. Well, he can have it, after we're gone. Now then, Ted, lad, take Sue and your brother and make tracks into that forest'

E
dward hesitated, glancing at Phil
ip.

‘
You
cannot leave Aline and me to th
ese men, Mr Warner,' Meg begged.

'Be off wi' ye,' O'Reilly growled 'Be off wi' ye, before I changes my...'

The
ph
ssst
cut the afternoon air like a physical impact. The shaft slammed into O'Reill
y
’
s chest with such force it knocked him off his feet, reducing his words to a bloody froth.

'By Chris
t' Connor yelled, reaching for h
is sword, to be halted by another singing arrow which sliced into his thigh.

'You stop,' Yarico called from the bushes.
‘I
kill you all.'

The Irishmen gazed at the trees, and waited; they knew too much of her accuracy. O'Reilly tried to sit up, and fell back, coughing once again. Susan hurried forward to kneel beside him.

'God's truth,' she whispered. 'Hell not survive.'

‘
You come,' Yarico called. 'You come, if you want We go. You come, Ed-ward?
’

‘I
come,' Edward said. ' 'Tis sorry I am about this, Brian Connor, but you brought it on yourself. Get that arrow out and patch up the blood, and you'll be all right Aline. Meg. You'll bring the children.'

He drew his
pistols, and Philip followed hi
s example, and they slowly withdrew up the beach, while the Irishmen gazed after them and mu
tt
ered to each other and O'Reilly coughed his last on the sand, the arrow sticking skywards from his chest like an avenging finger. After a moment's hesitation, Susan laid his head on the sand and followed the other women. Yarico stood at the edge of the trees, with her three companions.

‘I
owe you my life,' Edward said. 'And not for the first time. I wish I could understand you, Yarico.'

She tossed her head. 'Yarico War-nah,' she reminded hirn. 'Ed-ward War-nah. Philip War-nah.' She smiled at her son. 'Tom War-nah.' She extended her arms to embrace the entire island. 'War-nah land.'

The Irish knew too much about the cave and the defences of the windward coast Edward preferred to make camp on the upper slopes of Mount Misery, from whence they could command both coasts and even the sea beyond, and where there was a spring they could use for fresh water. Food remained a problem, which necessitated a trek down to the beach every day to clear the nets and to search for fruit. But for this he was grateful. It was necessary to keep occupied, or he had no doubt that the women would in time become quite as unruly as the men had been. And soon enough they relaxed most of their precautions. The Irish never came to Windward. They never seemed to go anywhere, but camped on the beach beside the burnt out ruin of Sandy Point, fishing where
they
could, living on the coconuts which grew in profusion along the shore. O'Reilly had died, and Connor was not quite in the same mould. Lacking leadership,
they
were content to lie on the beach for the rest of their lives, if need be.