Pirate Code (30 page)

Thirty

For one whole minute the second man was transfixed, standing bolt upright, eyes staring like a startled rabbit; and then he grabbed the coat from ‘Cesca’s arms and fled.

Jesamiah scurried for the dead man’s pistol, yanked it from his belt and taking a chance that it had been loaded correctly and would not go off half-cock, he thumped the hammer back with the side of his palm, aimed and pulled the trigger. A satisfying flash as the pan ignited, a billow of smoke, a bang and a second flash. The running man cried out, dropped the coat, staggered a few paces, his arms whirling like windmills and fell, face down.

Closing his eyes in sheer exhaustion, Jesamiah leant one shoulder against a tree. He ought to check the man was dead. Ought to reload his weapon. Ought to go to ‘Cesca, but at that moment all he cared about was staying upright. And suddenly he did not even care about that. He sank to his knees, knelt there, head drooping against the tree, wondering if it would feel a lot better to just die and have done with it. Did not even feel the first few drops of rain.

He could hear ‘Cesca weeping. Opening his eyes he looked across the clearing at her. There was enough diffused light to see, and the temporary blindness from the pistol flash had worn off. Like many sailors Jesamiah had good night vision. They needed it aboard ship, for apart from the lamp to illuminate the compass, and occasionally the stern lantern if in harbour or near other vessels, they did not use lights on deck when at sea.

Holding on to the trunk he hauled himself upright, wandered the short way down the hill and after toeing at the man – he seemed dead enough – he retrieved the man’s hat and his own coat.

“Are those real tears or are you putting them on for my benefit?” he said as he returned to ‘Cesca and stood about a yard from her. “You have been playing me for the fool right from the start, haven’t you?” He had dropped his own pretence at the common sailor’s uncultivated accent that he had used since sailing into Santo Domingo harbour. Jesamiah was an educated man, he could talk with perfect correctness when he needed to.

“No,” she whispered, shook her head, “but what is the point of denying it? You will not believe me.”

“Too bloody right I won’t!” He tossed the hat at her. “Oh you made plenty of noise when you thought we could still hear, but you got friendly with Ostrich Feather pretty quick, didn’t you? Did you suddenly decide to change sides, or did you know the bastard anyway? Are you his whore as well? Or maybe he’s your pimp? Oh, no, forgive me. My mistake, your pimp was Scarface. He’s dead. Don’t waste your tears on him.”

The tears, however, were streaming down her face. “Please Jesamiah, you must believe I intended you no harm.”

“You set them on me at the tavern. You had them beat me up. You knew we would be returning down this track with a load of sodding gunpowder, and you told them where to set an effective ambush. You have been making sure this rebellion does not get to fire even one shot right from the start, haven’t you?” He was shouting.

“No! No,” she screamed, utterly distraught. “You do not understand!”

“Understand? Understand! Oh I bloody understand. I understand that you are a liar and a traitor. That all those pathetic little tales of how bad del Gardo treats you were to make me feel sorry for you. Well I do feel sorry, I pity you; want to know why? Because you are worthless. You’re of less value than that strumpet I bedded last night!”

“No!” she screamed again at him as she got unsteadily to her feet. “I am not a traitor! It was not me who betrayed you, it was her – that strumpet! Oh I’ve just found out all about her! Him over there,” she tossed a contemptuous look in the direction of the dead man, Ostrich Feather. “He always was a fool and he surpassed himself tonight! He blabbed everything!”

She took a breath, ranted on, “Del Gardo pays her – I don’t know why we didn’t realise it, Feather Hat, or whatever you call him, is her brother after all.” Her voice was rising shrill, almost hysterical. “He has just told me that Scarface tattled on Emilio to get the
Sickle Moon
, that was a fact he kept damned quiet from everyone, even his wife. My sin is that I suspected they were planning something for tonight but I said nothing of it to Juliana Maria, so all that up there is my fault! I should have told them del Gardo was watching the convent, but I didn’t!”

“Of course you didn’t! You wouldn’t tell because you wanted to get this didn’t you?” As he was yelling, Jesamiah reached angrily into his coat pocket. He pulled out the casket and waved it under her nose, dropping the coat.

“You knew this was at the convent but you couldn’t get your grubby little hands on it could you? You had to wait for the code word for it to be released from safety. Wickham was wise to you wasn’t he? He knew you were the bitch who led those traitors. He knew all you wanted was this!”

He opened the lid and tipped out the contents, expecting only the solid gold crucifix to fall at his feet. Was not expecting the cascade of sparkling, exquisite, rare, diamonds to tumble from beneath the velvet.

He saw ‘Cesca’s face, the dismay. Saw her look beyond him, heard her gasp, felt her hand reach to his chest and fiercely push him aside; then the sharp, deep, jolt on the side of his head. Thought, as he crumpled to the ground that he should have ensured her colleague was dead.

Thirty One

Señora Isabella Mendez passed to her God as the moonlight faded behind a bank of cloud. She felt no pain as she held Tiola’s hand, but smiled into the young woman’s eyes, knowing only peace awaited her.

Strength was returning into Tiola, swelling within her as she sought for, and used, her great skills of healing. Not to save the woman, the disease was beyond curing, but to ease the pain and send her on to her next journey surrounded by the comfort of love.

The moment Tiola had set foot ashore she had been released from the quagmire that had been drawing her downward, almost drowning her. Tethys had no power on the solidity of land, her limit was the sand of the shore, the sea strand, and the rocks and cliffs that she battered with her relentless force.

~
I am not one of you,
~ Isabella had said to Tiola, her thoughts frail. ~
But I know of what you are, for I have a little of your kind within me.
~

Tiola had brushed Isabella’s hair from her closed eyes, and straightened her shawl. Señor Mendez, on the other side of the bed, did not attempt to stem the tears that coursed down the tired crags of his old face. He had not heard the words, for they were spoken in the special ways of those who had the Craft. To him, his wife stepped from the sleep of life to the sleep of eternity, and he mourned.

~
I was unable to help my daughter when she suffered, nor could I help my grandson when he drowned, but I can help you as I leave; I can give you what little of the Craft that I have
. ~

Tiola was grateful, those small ounces of strength were all she needed to climb out of the abyss of weakness and regain her power in its entirety.

The duty of the midwife; to safely bring into the world the new, young hope of life with its infant faith and its infinite dreams, and to send from the world the tired ebb of a soul ready to rest in the arms of Peace and to dream no more. With gentleness Tiola slipped her hand from Isabella’s and touched where a weary heart had beat its last.

She went to Señor Mendez, the living taking precedence over the dead, and kneeling beside him, with her gift, comforted his grieving. “She is gone from us,
Señor
, but gone to a better place where she is young and strong again. She no longer suffers the indignities that her old body had forced upon her. And she waits for you. She will be there to take your hand when it is time for you to follow.”

Although his heart was broken for the wanting of the woman he had loved since the first flush of youth, Tiola’s kindness meant much to him. “Will it be long before I join her?” he asked.

Tiola smiled, touched his heart with her fingertips. It was not an answer she should have made, but Tiola did not have the ability, or the desire, to lie. “No,
Señor
,” she said very softly, “No, it will not be long.”

She was not a seer, she could not read what was to be, what was to come, but she was a healer and she could hear the catch in his shortened breath, and she felt the uneven blood-pulse missing every third, hesitant beat. Before the coming of spring he would no longer be alone.

Leaving him to make his private farewells, Tiola stepped outside and walked down to where the sea lapped at the wooden, weed-slimed pillars of the jetty. The clouds were building thicker and away to the west thunder moaned and the night sky flickered with distant lightning.

She knelt, dipped her fingers into the green swell of the sea.

~
You cannot permanently harm me, Tethys. I am stronger than you. You cannot destroy me Sea Woman, as you will not destroy the man I love
. ~

The sea slapped against the wooden pillars, sending a cascade of spray brushing against Tiola’s face. She wiped the moisture aside and smiled as a patient mother calmly overrides a stamping tantrum of her child.

~
I respect you Tethys, for you have the ability to be wise and benevolent, and beautiful; but sadness fills my heart because you only show the hatred that has spread within and consumed you
. ~

She stood, turned her back on the sea and walked into the hills behind la Sorenta, to where she would become one with the night-shawled land. There she waited for her grandmothers to bring her their love and protection, their presence re-awakened by the gratitude of an elderly lady who had been unaware, until her soul took wing, of the small ability she had possessed.

Tiola lay beneath the shelter of the palm trees, and slept. A restful, peaceful, sleep untroubled by dreams. Untroubled by the dabble of rain that wetted her face, and stung upon her hands. When she awoke, she would be whole again. And then, then, she would be reunited with the one she loved beyond all being. Jesamiah.

Thirty Two

Tuesday Morning

Groaning, his hand going to the almighty throb of pain stabbing through his head, Jesamiah decided it would be wiser to lie here and die rather than think about trying to open his eyes. Rain was touching at his face, trickling down his nose and chin; a light, gentle rain. A kerchief was being dabbed, not so tenderly, at the blood congealing at the back of his head, a woman was leaning over him. In his mind he saw her as silver-haired, the hood of her grey cloak pulled forward to hide her features. Dangling from her neck, a raindrop diamond. He opened his eyes the vision fled. The woman turned out to be ‘Cesca.

“I thought you’d be long gone,” he said, wincing as he pushed her administering hand aside and sat up.

“And leave you in this state? Why would I do that?” ‘Cesca persisted with her dabbing. She had found the lantern, had rummaged in Jesamiah’s belt pouch for his tinderbox, had lit it. The candle inside was growing low, but it’s light was sufficient for what she needed.

“Why? Because of something I said, or because of him?” He nodded in a vague direction downhill. Regretting the movement, took the kerchief from her and pressed it tight to the head wound. “I assume he’s gone?”

“Yes. With the casket, the crucifix and the diamonds.”

Jesamiah grunted.

“You have misjudged me, Jesamiah, I swear. Yes, I knew of the diamonds. They were for Henry Jennings and Governor Rogers. They are – were – the payment we owed for the muskets and pistols they provided; for the bullets and the gunpowder. Diego Wickham was supposed to come and collect them, but he had a feeling that something would happen. We often used to say he had something of the fairy folk in him, as his premonitions were often right.”

She took a shuddering breath. “Diego was my friend, I sometimes felt as though he was my only friend. Between us we decided what information I could pass to del Gardo. On the nights when Diego had a run, we made sure your little whore and her brother – yes, the Feathered Hat was her brother – were otherwise occupied. But I would never have betrayed Diego. Never.”

Jesamiah grunted again. He wished he had that bottle of rum. He could do with a tot or two. Or three. “For a moment there, I almost believed you.”

‘Cesca sat back on her heels, ignoring the rain that was falling heavier. “Yes, I wanted the diamonds,” she said suddenly, viciously. “I only decided I wanted them when I was being dragged away by those two sons of bitches. It’s alright for you, you are a man. I am a woman, a woman used and abused by del Gardo. Other bastards tend to think that makes me fair game for any of their depraved ideas. Well I decided I was not going to be raped yet again. I decided to bargain with them instead. They knew nothing of the casket or what was in it – but they were pretty damned interested when I told them! Interested enough to leave me alone and agree to split the contents three ways!” She ranted on; “And then I decided being the imbeciles they are, they would have no idea of the immense value of the casket, but del Gardo would. He is a vile pig, but greedy men know by instinct what is priceless.”

Jesamiah could not argue with that. He had been aware the casket itself was worth more than a mere gold coin or two.

“And I ran because I realised that if I made del Gardo finally trust me then maybe I could buy my son’s freedom.” She flung her hand towards the upward slope of the hill, towards where the fires were dying down, put out by the rain. “It’s over isn’t it? The whole stupid, pathetic idea of raising a rebellion. You saw those useless men. How are they going to fight? Del Gardo’s beaten us before we even start. As those bastards were making me run I realised I can’t face doing what del Gardo makes me do any more. I can’t! If I presented him with that casket then maybe, just maybe, he would let me and my son go!”

Shaking his head, Jesamiah answered her with the truth. “I doubt it darlin’. He’s not the sort of man to give up what he enjoys, no matter what the bribe.”

‘Cesca wiped at her tears. “That casket is made from the Devil’s bones.” She laughed, unamused. “I thought it fitting for del Gardo to have it.”

For a while they sat there, listening to the sound of the rain. The candle within the lantern sputtered and went out.

“What happens now?” Jesamiah asked.

“The rebels will be marching on Santo Domingo, but they will have very little powder. What we had was in those barrels. I don’t know how much of it is left. We were to put it aboard the
Kismet
and take it to a rendezvous point a few miles up the Ozama River.” She sniffed back tears. “So I doubt anything will happen now. Our men will just turn round and go home.”

“There never was any brandy was there?”

“Yes there is brandy, Diego was a very good smuggler. but it is still at the convent.”

“And the indigo?”

“I know nothing of any indigo. I suspect your Henry Jennings invented its existence as a method of hiding the code date. It was very clever of him.”

“It was the diamonds he wanted wasn’t it?”

“As the payment he was owed. Yes.”

Jesamiah snorted. He had to admire Jennings’ gall. “The other thing he wanted was for me to find Francis Chesham. Jennings was busting his breeches to know who he was, how to find him. He’ll be disappointed to discover that was a waste of time too. The poor sod’s dead. I assume Chesham knew about the diamonds?”

“Yes. Chesham did.” Another silence.

“You knew him then?”

“I know her. Yes.”

A longer silence.

“Her?”

“I am Chesham. Frances Chesham. It was my mother’s maiden name. I changed Frances to Francesca when I married Ramon.”

“Oh.” It seemed an inadequate answer, but Jesamiah could not think of anything more appropriate to say.

“No one except Diego knew me as Frances Chesham, not even my father-in-law knows. And now it is only you. I would ask for you to keep it so.”

Jesamiah nodded, then said, “But that man when he died, he told me his name was Francis Chesham.” He reconsidered. “No, maybe he didn’t, I just assumed he did. He said ‘Ches…’ he was trying to say Francesca wasn’t he?”

Her turn to nod. “He was one of our co-ordinators. He gave nothing of the rebellion away, not even after what they did to him, and it has all been for nothing.”

They sat beneath the trees, listening to the rain rattling on the leaves and dripping to the ground.

“I suppose we ought to climb back up this hill. See who and what is left.” Francesca said.

“I suppose.”

They remained where they were, not moving, not talking, and after a while, no longer noticing the rain. Nor did Jesamiah see the faint outline of a woman in grey watching them from the far side of the clearing, for he had slid his arm around ‘Cesca’s waist and had kissed her.

Had no problem with functioning as he should this time.