Voyage of Plunder (21 page)

Silence pressed down.

The captain picked up the packet and with a tug opened it. He tapped the contents into his palm. Diamonds. Sparkling like ice.

The captain's voice was steely as a cutlass. “As I said, throw him in the brig. We'll return to Boston, where he'll stand trial for piracy. And may the Lord God have mercy on his soul.”

et the prisoner at the bar!”

The guards grabbed me and propelled me forward. Leg irons clanking, wrists manacled, I shuffled to the waist-high rail that divided the courtroom. Murmurs rippled through the crowd—standing against the walls, seated shoulder to shoulder on the hard wooden benches.

All of them watching me.

Me, Daniel Markham. Accused of piracy and villainy upon the high seas.

Before me, the judge's bench towered, a formidable fortress. On the wall behind the bench were the king's arms, and above that the silver oar of the judge of the Admiralty The judge peered down from his great height, his eyes small and unsympathetic in a pink, fleshy face.

My hands itched to hold my locket, for it had always been a source of comfort and strength. The locket and the treasure map were still on my person, for though I had been searched, an elderly jailer had let me keep the locket, moved by my tears. And though he had made me remove my crossbelt during the search, he had seemed unconcerned when I fastened it around me afterward.

I knew I looked the guilty wretch—hair to my shoulders, matted, crawling with lice, a scruffy beard, my clothes now grayed and tattered as the sails of a neglected ship, barefooted. Likely I stank too. After six months in jail my world was filled with stink.

The judge frowned, his voice thundering through the rafters of Boston's Town House. “Read the indictment against the prisoner.”

“That Daniel Markham, on the seventh day of January in the eighth year of the reign of our sovereign lord King William, did, against the peace of God, upon the high and open seas, pirati-cally and feloniously set upon one ship
Mercury,
during which time the captain was slain and the men placed in bodily fear of their lives.…”

Dressed in silver-buckled shoes, silk stockings, breeches, pale blue silk coat reaching to his thighs, waistcoat, and powdered wig, the secretary read in a flat monotone, as if he were reading instructions on how to thread a needle.

“He did feloniously and piratically steal, take, and carry away her tackle, apparel and furniture, ninety pieces of weaponry, fifteen tons of bread, two hundred pair of woolen stockings, one hundred barrels of wine and rum, and three hundred ten pounds in gold specie.”

A vast numbness crept through my mind, as if he were talking about someone else—someone who had committed terrible,
vile acts against humanity. I scarce heard his voice now, droning from across an entire ocean. On and on he read. The
Jedda …
the
Surat Merchant…

The list of charges was long. So long …

Robbery…

Murder…

Terror …

For months I'd lain in my cell, day after day, hour after hour, awaiting rescue. And as each month passed to the next, I gradually understood that there would be no rescue. The pirates had deserted me. Josiah had deserted me. Surely they had heard of my fate. All of Boston was talking about it, the jailer had told me. If only they could have captured Josiah Black, everyone was saying, a villain if there ever was one. But they had Daniel Markham instead—once such a nice boy, grandson of the former governor, now a bloodthirsty pirate. Daniel Halfhand, they called me.

I only hoped that once I was allowed to speak in my defense, everyone would recognize my innocence. I'd been told that innocence never failed to shine forth, which was why, they said, I did not require an attorney and must perforce make my own defense.

The judge was speaking to me. “How sayest thou, Daniel Markham? Art thou guilty of this piracy and robbery or not guilty?”

“Not guilty.” My voice, a whisper.

“Eh? Pray speak up.”

“Not guilty.”

“How wilt thou be tried?”

I blinked, confused, my knees trembling. What was I to say? “Sir, I—I beg you, I am ignorant of the proceedings.”

The judge's face did not soften. There was a titter of laughter from behind me. I saw the frowns from the twelve men
seated in the jury box, all merchants and shipowners of Boston. “How wilt thou be tried? You must answer, ‘By God and my country’”

“By God and my country.”

“Call for witnesses.”

The crier stood. “Hear ye! Hear ye! If anyone can inform my lords the king's justices, the king's sergeant, the king's attorney general, or His Majesty's advocate in his High Court of Admiralty, of the piracy and robbery whereof the prisoner at the bar stands accused, let them come forth, and they shall be heard.”

After a moment of silence, rain spattering the windows, there followed a rustling in the audience. The whisper of clothes. Steps upon the planked floor. The tap of a walking stick. Then, to my dismay, five men joined me at the bar. Three I did not recognize, yet two I knew: one of the men who'd been playing cards aboard the
Jedda,
and the captain of the man-o’-war, who had thrown me into the brig. All of them were dressed in fine silks and laces, one crinkling his face at me in disgust, pressing an embroidered handkerchief over his nose.

“This court recognizes one Benjamin Lewis of Boston, mariner and first mate aboard the merchant ship
Mercury.
The rest of you may be seated until called forward.”

Mr. Lewis approached the witness stand and was sworn in.

The attorney general, a finely dressed and bewigged gentleman with a face like a bloodhound, strolled before the witness stand. Whenever he glanced at me, it was as if I did not exist, as if I was already guilty, hanged, buried, and forgotten. “Pray, Mr. Lewis, will you give my lords and the jury an account of what you know of the prisoner and his part in the capture of the
Mercury
?”

With a few clearings of the throat and a cough or two, Mr. Lewis began. “We approached the ship—the, uh,
Tempest Galley
—
on account of the man who stood at her masthead. On account that he was waving a flag that appeared to have blood on it. We thought they were in trouble and required our assistance. Perhaps they did not have a doctor aboard.”

“But I was only trying to—” I began.

“Silence!” thundered the judge, pinning me with a baleful stare. I shrank back, manacles and leg irons clanking.

People shifted on the hard-backed benches behind me, and I heard whispers, laughter.

The judge hammered his gavel, his periwig flapping like a sail, wig powder dusting his black robes. “I will have order!” With a scowl, he pointed the gavel at me. “One more word from the prisoner and I will have you gagged. Do not speak unless spoken to. You will have an opportunity for your defense after the witnesses have spoken.” The judge straightened his wig. “Proceed.”

I was the one who had lured them to the ship, Mr. Lewis testified. Aye, he recognized me, for I had spent all day at the masthead, on the lookout for more ships, coming down late at night to fight and kill one of my fellow pirates.

The prosecutor frowned. “He killed one of his fellow cutthroats, you say?”

“Pushed him off the mast, and then came down and kicked him when he was dead, meanwhile shouting murderous oaths. That's when Captain Black—”

“Do not call him a captain. He is a pirate.”

“Certainly. My apologies. That's when Josiah Black took him to his cabin. They seemed very familiar with each other. Josiah Black called him ‘Daniel, my boy’”

“And when the
Mercury
was finally released, did the prisoner make any attempt to go aboard her and thus forsake the life of robbery and villainy?”

“No, my lord, he did not.”

“Did there appear to be any attempt by the pirates to hold him against his will?”

“No, my lord.”

Two more witnesses from the
Mercury
testified likewise. My chest burned with the desire to speak on my behalf, to tell them the truth—that I was a forced man, that I'd done none of this of my own accord, that I'd been trying to warn them. But I dared not utter a word.

And then the man from the
Jedda
testified. I remembered him. I remembered asking him if he spoke English, and his blank look of incomprehension.

But he'd been lying, for now he spoke in perfect King's English. “He burst into the captain's cabin with the rest of his gang of cutthroats. They put pistols to our heads and commanded us to surrender the ship or they would kill us all.”

“Pray, go on.”

“That man there—the prisoner—told us his name was Daniel Markham, and if we didn't move, we wouldn't be hurt. He then held us and all the passengers prisoner at the bow. He kept smiling.”

Again the prosecutor frowned, glancing briefly at me. “Smiling?”

“Yes, as if he enjoyed our plight. He kept smiling and waving his pistols. We were very much afraid. The women and children were crying, believing themselves about to be murdered.”

“Did he take his portion of the share?”

“Doubtless he did, for he seemed to be part and parcel of that murderous lot.”

“But you do not know that for certain.”

“No, sir. Not for certain.”

I stared at the floor. At the dust gathered in the corners of the room. At the polished gold buckles on the attorney's shoes as he
paced, turned, paced. At his silk stockings, bunched slightly around his bony ankles.

This cannot be happening.

After a few more questions the witness was dismissed, and Captain Wellington of the man-o’-war was called and sworn in. I remembered his pale blue eyes staring at me, his voice that of a man accustomed to instant obedience. He had shown no pity for me then, and I knew he would show none for me now.

“Sewn in the lining of his coat, you say?” the attorney was asking.

“Indeed. Gold, silver, rubies, emeralds, diamonds, pearls. A treasure worthy of a king.”

I shifted my feet as the crowd gasped. My face burned, miserably realizing for the thousandth time that I'd set a trap for myself.
Such a fool I was!

“Pray tell me, good captain, how a man who is, shall we say,
forced
into piracy comes into possession of such treasure.”

“Only by devious means.”

“No further questions.” So saying, the prosecutor then turned to me. “If the prisoner at the bar will ask any questions of any of the witnesses, he may.”

Blood rushed to my head until it thundered in my ears like the roar of a cannon. I licked my dry, cracked lips. “Cap-Captain Wellington—”

“Pray, speak up, boy,” ordered the judge. “And do not address the captain directly. You will address the court.”

“I desire to know whether I turned myself over to Captain Wellington willingly.”

The prosecutor turned to the captain. “He desires to know whether he turned himself over to you willingly.”

“Yes, he appears to have done so.”

“And I desire to know,” I continued, “whether that does not speak of my innocence.”

Again the prosecutor repeated the question.

Captain Wellington smiled at me as if looking upon an errant child who did not understand. “Perhaps the prisoner intended to collect the reward for the capture of Josiah Black—I do not know. But as to the prisoner's innocence or guilt, that is not for me to decide. I leave that to the esteemed gentlemen of the jury.” Captain Wellington exchanged glances with the jury. There were knowing nods and smiles.

“There was a document,” I continued, “attesting to my innocence. It was in my coat.”

“Ah,” said Captain Wellington. “The coat lined with jewels and coins?”

Again a ripple of laughter echoed through the room, and the judge hammered his gavel. Once the courtroom settled, the captain continued. “Yes, there was a paper, indeed. But it was illegible. Messily written, smudged with grease, and water-stained. The jury can see for themselves.”

The prosecutor handed a familiar paper to one of the men in the jury box. He squinted, adjusted his spectacles, held it up to the light, then passed it around as more and more men shook their heads and clucked their tongues.