Easton (3 page)

It is difficult to tell with her head turned mainly from him, but Richard seems to catch a momentary smile on the slave’s face too, as she leaves the jug on the serving table and slowly turns to leave.

Richard notices his young companion stiffening dangerously; it is that intense scabbard-reaching manner he has come to recognize through decades of battles and brawls and the company of military men. He reaches out quickly and touches Dawson’s forearm while Easton turns and watches the hatch close. The reminder is enough. Dawson calms. Richard hears him sigh—a slow, deliberate self-calming exercise—as Easton turns back to them and raises his goblet.

“To friends and good company. May they not easily be parted,” Easton proclaims with a grin, and sips deeply. Richard does the same and is surprised at the rich and mellow taste, tingling with the merest hint of effervescence. The colour of the wine seems deep red and the temperature is perfect, slightly cooler than the warm cabin. He feels as though many long dead sensations have been revivified in an instant. “Please taste it, young captain,” Easton urges.

Dawson raises the goblet to his lips.

“How do you find it, Admiral?” Easton asks Richard.

“It is excellent. Really excellent,” he responds.

“Better, I’ll warrant, than the wine that survives the journey to the blustery shores of this New-found-land. I hardly think the merchant would allow his best to come the way of a straggling bunch of soldiers and fishermen.”

“Honest toil is rarely given the best rewards,” Dawson says, his stiffness and red face returning.

Richard flashes a glare in his direction, but it is too late.

“May I ask,” he continues, “where you got yours?”

There is the slow creak of a mast somewhere above the cabin.

Easton stares off into space, tasting the wine and closing his eyes for a second. “From a French captain,” he answers with slow deliberation. “He was commander of a large and well-armed frigate.”

There is another creak, this time from below.

“He saw immediately that it was futile to deny or annoy me.” Easton takes another sip of wine. The boards groan again through the silence. “But then he was a man of some experience.”

Dawson has felt the sting, Richard sees. His cheek has turned pink and for once he is not searching for a riposte.

There is a rap at the cabin’s main entrance. Easton puts down his goblet and rises. “You will excuse me for a few minutes, gentlemen. I have some arrangements to see to.” Richard watches Easton stride across the room. “Please make yourselves at home. I shall return very shortly.”

He goes through the door which closes after him. There is a momentary sound of muffled voices outside which fades away into nothing. Suddenly, the two men can hear each other’s breathing.

“Admiral Whitbourne,” the young man gasps after a pause. “This is a disaster. We are prisoners and he is going to take over the harbour.”

“Calm yourself.”

“We should have attacked when we had the chance!”

“Nonsense!”

“I’d rather die than give up our fortifications without firing a shot!”

Richard thinks for a moment and says nothing. There is no sign of anyone returning. He must communicate with Dawson and quickly. He turns to the young man. “Listen to me,” he says in an urgent whisper. “We are undefended and unarmed. Our fortifications are open to him for the taking at any moment. You are right about that. But so far he has held off. This can only mean one thing. He wants something from us—”

“But—” Dawson tries to interrupt.

Richard stops him by holding up his hand. “Listen. When you have no arms, you have only one weapon, the tongue. What we do and say is of vital importance. We must find out what it is he wants. We do that through diplomacy. I do not want you to say anything that would upset or displease him, do you understand?”

Dawson shakes his head, his eyes so alive with indignation they look as though they might burst.

“That,” Richard adds emphatically, “is an order.”

The young captain grits his teeth. “Then I must obey it,” he says casting his eyes downward.

Richard hears the sound of footsteps approaching once more. The cabin door opens again. Easton appears and smiles at them. “Excuse me again, good sirs,” he says with a genial sigh. He comes back to his seat. “Tell me, how do you find this climate? It is only October, yet perilously cold.”

Richard smiles. “The summer is short. The winter long. The growing season we have found lasts only from June to August or perhaps September.”

“You think it a poor hideout then?” Easton asks, touching the bell.

The hatch opens again and the slave reappears. Richard sees Dawson become agitated at the sight of her; he leans backward then forward in his chair and covers his mouth as she refills his goblet. The slave tops up Easton’s cup and then Richard’s. There is no flirtation this time between her and Easton, and Dawson seems to calm down when she retreats to her doorway.

Richard continues to explain how the plantations work, probing at Easton’s area of need.

“I think provisions of all kinds—fuel, vegetables, warm clothing—all of these things are a necessity,” he says. “I would not consider advising anyone to stay without assurances of a constant supply.”

Easton takes a sip from his goblet and frowns. “My supplies are excellent in most things, including the finest tobacco and wines.”

“But there must be something that you lack,” Richard urges.

“That most valuable commodity. Men. Good hardy men. Fishermen make excellent all round sailors. The type you rely on in a crisis.”

“And that is the one thing this new land of ours can barely spare. What manpower we have is constantly attacked by consumption, fever and the like. The fishery is such a vital industry to the Crown, you understand.”

“Ah,” Easton smiles, “the Crown!” He pauses. “You must forgive me, Admiral. It is difficult for me to unreservedly pay the present incumbent of that exalted station the full deference he is due. I served, as did you, under the good Queen Bess. There was a monarch!” he raises his glass. “She knew that England’s true destiny was to be ruler of the high seas and all the treasures to be found therein. Leave petty, sneaking diplomacy to lesser states.”

Richard hears Dawson gasp. He sees the young man’s twitching fingers close upon his scabbard. Richard fires him a warning glance. Dawson drops his hand from his scabbard and clenches a fist by his side; he has evidently taken the caution.

Richard searches hard for something to say that might assuage his patently treasonous host without compromising himself.

“It must have been a severe blow, sir...” he finds himself stuttering, “...when you found that King James had cancelled your letters of commission.”

“It was a blow to England, Admiral, and to all the valiant men who have fought for her glory,” Easton replies.

“I hardly wonder you are still smarting,” Richard says evenly.

Easton sighs deeply, so deeply that he makes a noise almost like a growl when he breathes in again. But his face is placid enough. “King James,” he says, then lets the words hang, as though the idea of such a creature were absurd enough for anyone’s ears without needing further scorn or explanation. “When the Queen died, sir, it was as though the spirit of England was thrown onto the ground and shattered like a chalice of crystal. But, like shattered glass, the fragments still exist. They spilled to the four corners of the globe, igniting that spirit once more in her former servants who roam in search of glory for England’s sake.”

The candlelight shows like golden stars in Easton’s dark eyes and his voice is plaintive. “England’s glory is not to be found in a wine-sodden Scottish king, sir. England’s glory is in exile.”

They lapse into silence. The various creaking noises have been continuous since Richard boarded. But now they have spread from below to above. Other curious sounds and vibrations are coming from all around. Richard hears the sound of sails unfurling and flapping like thunder. The ship has started to move, it seems, very slowly and in a circular direction.

“You are changing your anchor, sir?” Richard asks.

Easton, who has fallen into a reverie, now looks up at him as though startled.

“No, sir. I thought I had informed you. We are going on a voyage.”

“A voyage?”

“Please don’t trouble yourself about the details, Admiral. We are leaving six ships behind to guard your harbour, and one of my best lieutenants to supervise your fortress, if necessary. None of your enterprises will be harmed while we are away.”

Richard stands up, the drum roll of battle pulsing through his veins.

Dawson springs to his feet also.

“I must ask you frankly, sir,” Richard says, “where do you intend to take us? And why?”

“Why,” Easton replies leaning back and frowning as though genuinely surprised, “to the Indies, where Spanish ships full of gold are there for the taking and there are slaves to replenish our stock of men. I thought we understood each other.”

“We must insist, sir, that you let us ashore immediately,” Richard demands.

Easton, still sitting, shrugs helplessly as though this were a sudden eccentric demand from a hitherto placid guest.

“Please, sir, an answer!”

Dawson comes close to Richard’s side, his hands around his belt as though searching blindly for a non-existent pistol.

“But you seemed to show such interest,” Easton explains, smiling patiently, his large hands making helpless gestures. “I wanted you to have a taste of our life here so that we could be in better shape to do business together. Think how wonderful it will be!”

The ship is now turning harder. The cracking sails send vibrations through the planks below their feet. Crew members shout to each other above. Every peg and beam joins into the strange harmony of yelps, creaks and groans.

“Sir,” Richard continues trying to fix Easton’s genial eye with his own sternness. “My commission is quite clear. I am to remain here on the shores of the New-found-land supervising all business pertaining to the fishery, shipping and the law. This is why I must insist in the King’s name that you see myself and Captain Dawson ashore before you leave.”

“My dear Admiral,” Easton replies making no move to stand. “You have surely noticed I never do anything in the King’s name.” He smiles once more, a smile no less convivial than before, easy and charming without the vaguest hint of a threat. “Now please, gentlemen, be reasonable. I will take care of your harbour. You have my word.”

Richard remains standing but feels the energy drain out of him. The drumming, flapping noises of the sails against the wind overhang the cabin like the wings of some great creature of legends past. As he continues to stand above the ever-placid Easton, Richard is recalled to a world he thought gone, to forty years ago when he had been a child trying to goad his all-powerful father into battling him in the schoolroom. He suddenly knows that if he were to curse and insult Easton that smile would not slip. The pirate’s affability hides an ocean of power.

Richard sighs and feels his shoulders sink. He can sense the nervous energy of Dawson beside him—coiled, eager, ready for anything. He knows they will be reaching the mouth of the harbour soon.

“Now, Admiral,” Easton says, soothingly, leaning forward in his chair. “What is done is done. We are bound for the West Indies and we cannot turn back. That is the only part of our deal that is non-negotiable. I give you my solemn word, however, that your harbour will remain unmolested and my ships will look out all along the coastline for—”

“Pirates!” snaps Dawson, finally unable to restrain himself.

“Quite so,” Easton smiles a little broader and continues. “I also give my word that you and the young captain will be well cared for and that we will return you both to St. John’s before Christmas. Your masters in England need never even know that you were away.”

Richard sighs and nods.

“So we have a deal? Good, I’ll show both of you to your cabins.”

The young captain
lies on the bed. The anger which has knotted his muscles and tightened his chest has finally worn him out. He can be coiled for battle for only so long. Now that ball of fire within him has dispersed, remaining only in a tingling sensation in his fingers. He has removed his sword at last, the only weapon he brought on board. It lies within arm’s reach, nestled in his folded outer tunic, which is on the floor by the bed. Other than his tunic, George Dawson is fully dressed.

They have been sailing south at a steady clip all night and George senses that the dawn must be near. The cabin is much smaller than Easton’s quarters yet far more opulent than anything he has known since leaving England in the spring. His tongue, which in his six months in the St. John’s fortifications has become accustomed to the harsh taste of salt beef and root crops mixed into a porridge, has been unexpectedly called back to life. The rich French wine has washed away the months of coarse navy brandy and aqua vitae. The oranges, grapes and figs which shine under the glass cover upon the little cabinet by the wall are like some fantasy sprung from a dream. Where did Easton get them and when? And how in the world has his crew kept them all so fresh?

George has to remind himself that, confident and smiling though he is, Easton is a murderer, a thief and a rogue. His home-like comforts—the wine sliding pleasantly over his tongue; the soft bed, fine linens and embroidered hangings—are a mockery, however much they remind him of England. And they do remind him of England. More agonizing still, they remind him of Rosalind, his intended. Rosalind, whose soft voice has echoed in his dreams every night of his six months away. “Just one year,” she has reminded him whenever he closed his eyes. “One year in the New-found-land and then a better commission, marriage, children, a home.”

Where is this promise now? George wonders to himself. Is Easton to be trusted when he says he will bring them back to New-found-land? One thing is certain; that every time his senses are enlivened by the traitor’s bounty, he is sharing in the pirate’s sin. He is moving further and further from Rosalind and is surely in peril of losing his calling in the English navy entirely.